Flash: Twenty Monks and A Nun
From Silver Garland
Remember the story—
twenty monks
and one nun
meditating beneath a certain master?Head shaved,
robe plain,
utterly still—
she was beautiful.One dusk,
an unsigned letter:
a monk professing love,
asking to meet
beneath the next full moon.Morning.
She rises,
faces the group,
and says:“If you truly love me—
then come.
Embrace me.
But now.”
From Silver Garland, a small collection written to accompany illustrations by Britt Maton of Nin Studio.
Versión en castellano
¿Te acuerdas de esa historia
de los veinte monjes
y la única monja
meditando juntos
con un maestro severo?Ella,
con la cabeza rapada,
el hábito sencillo,
quieta como una piedra.Y aun así—
era hermosa.Una tarde, al anochecer,
apareció una carta sin firma.
Un monje confesaba su amor.Le pedía verla
bajo la próxima luna llena.A la mañana siguiente,
ella se levantó,
miró a los veinte,
y dijo,
sin levantar la voz:—Si de verdad me amas,
ven.
Abrázame.
Ahora.
// Zero Strike
hola, leafbox.
a truly beautiful koan/poem! love it.
and such interesting timing because my friend on monday sent me a rumi poem that had perfect synchronistic timing with my friend who had visited with me on sunday.
perhaps you may enjoy it as well:
This place is a dream.
Only a sleeper considers it real.
Then death comes like dawn
and you wake up laughing
at what you thought was your grief.
But there’s a difference with this dream.
Everything cruel and unconscious
done in the illusion of the present world —
all that does not fade away at the death-waking.
It stays, and it must be interpreted.
All the mean laughing,
all the quick sexual wanting,
those torn coats of Joseph —
they change into powerful wolves
that you must face.
The retaliation that sometimes comes now,
the swift, payback hit,
is just a boy’s game
to what that other will be.
You know about circumcision here.
It’s full castration there. (Laughs)
And this groggy time we live —
And this groggy time we live, this is what it’s like:
A man goes to sleep in the house
where he has always lived and dreams he’s living in another house
in another town.
In his dream he believes the reality of the dream town.
He doesn’t remember the bed he’s sleeping in his house in.
The world is that kind of sleep.
The dust of many crumbled cities
settles over us like a forgetful dream.
The dust of many crumbled cities
settles over us like a forgetful dream.
But we are older than those cities.
We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life
and into the animal state, and then into being human,
and always we have forgotten our former states —
except in early spring when we slightly recall
being green again.
This is how a young person turns toward a teacher.
This is how a baby leans
toward the breast, without knowing the secret
of its desire, yet turning instinctively.
Humankind is being led along
through this migration of intelligences
and although we seem to be sleeping —
Although we seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream
and that will eventually startle us back
to the truth of who we really are.
There is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream
and that will eventually startle us back
to the truth — of who we really are.
Hopefully soon.
this is nicely read by sam husseini in his substack:
Rumi: This Place Is a Dream...You Wake up Laughing at What You Thought Was Your Grief.
"The dust of many crumbled cities settles over us like a forgetful dream... And always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again."
https://husseini.substack.com/p/rumi-this-place-is-a-dreamyou-wake
we are living the bhagavad-gita wedded to the great apocalypse! all the best with what is changing. everything changes! with peace, respect, love and equanimous enthusiasm.
🙏❤️🧘♂️🙌☯️🙌🧘♂️❤️🙏