Poetry Chaikhana Sacred Poetry from Around the World

Muslim / Sufi 13th Century	About Jelaluddin Rumi Timeline (1207 - 1273)
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English version by Andrew Harvey Original Language Persian/Farsi	The grapes of my body can only become wine
Commentary by Ivan M. Granger Themes   Bliss   Heart   Smile   Wine     Recommended Books Delicious Laughter: Rambunctious Teaching Stories from the Mathnawi of Jelaluddin Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks East Window: Poems from Asia, Translated by W. S. Merwin The Essential Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks The Hand of Poetry: Five Mystic Poets of Persia, with Lectures by Inayat Khan, Translated by Coleman Barks Holy Fire: Nine Visionary Poets and the Quest for Enlightenment, Edited by Daniel Halpern More >>	The grapes of my body can only become wine After the winemaker tramples me. I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy. Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing "I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty" The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: "I am not working in ignorance You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse, But it is I who am the Master of this Work. And when through my Passion you reach Perfection, You will never be done praising my name."     -- from The Way of Passion: A Celebration of Rumi, by Andrew Harvey Amazon.com
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Commentary by Ivan M. Granger

This verse by Rumi says so much. Here he is telling us that the wine of the mystic is really the refined essence of oneself. It is formed from “the grapes of my body.” The wine is the juice emitted by the ego, the selfish, separate idea of the self when it finally surrenders and allows itself to be crushed into non-existence.

Of course, working toward that complete surrender can be terrifyingŠ so long as you identify with the ego. There are times when the seeker calls out, "I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty." But the Winemaker, caring for us too much to let us remain comfortably incomplete, continues with the work, knowing the pure sweetness of completion.

When we finally free ourselves from identification with the ego-self and reverently place it as a sacrifice upon the wine press, we watch it collapse into nothing, the old “you” becomes nothing - it dies, but something new is born. From the death of the grape, the juice appears!

Ivan M. Granger's original poetry, stories and commentaries are Copyright © 2002 - 2008 by Ivan M. Granger.
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