I find this an amusing Rumi poem about vocations . . . especially his idea of
what not to commit . . . not so plausible in our age, I guess . . .
especially after the AA virus . .
Proper Vocation
Nothing occupies us, Sir,
save service to that cupbearer;
Saki! another round, please --
& deliver us from Good & Evil.
God, Sir, has created no one
without a proper vocation;
as for us, He has appointed the job
of permanent unemployment: --
by day dancing in the light
like motes of dust;
by night, like stars, curcumambulating
the moon-visaged beloved.
If He wanted us to work, after all,
He would not have created this wine;
with a skin-full of this, Sir,
would you rush out to commit economics?
What job could a drunkard do
other than the work of the wine itself?
that sacred vintage, transported across
earth & heaven to the Everlasting Refuge.
Drink mere worldly wine, sleep
one night & it passes;
drink from the falgon of the One & your head
will follow you to the grave.
The source of all mercy, Sir,
pours it out for free;
& these sakis treat us as sweetly
as nursemaids their children.
Drink, my heart, & go drunk,
wherever you go, go drunk,
introduce others to this pleasure.
& God will keep you well supplied.
Where you witness some beauty
sit & be a mirror;
Where you see ugliness
slip the lookinglass back in its bag.
Wander happily about the streets
mingling with the young &
beautiful
reciting, Nay I swear
by this city . . .
bravo!
. . . ah, but my head,
my head is spinning from this wine;
I will dry up & be silent,
I will not sit here & count blessings
which mathematics cannot
comprehend.
-- Mawlana Jalaloddin Rumi
