The other day, I came upon an old Rumi poem that I had read before but not very thoroughly. It’s always interesting when something you had sort of skipped over before blows you away on the second pass. Before my second time reading this poem, there were no pen marks in sight on the page, but afterward, there was something underlined in at least every stanza. The poem is called “Childhood Friends,” and though the whole thing is phenomenal, I’m only going to quote a section of it here.
An empty mirror and your worst destructive habits,
when they are held up to each other,
that’s when the real making begins.
That’s what art and crafting are.
A tailor needs a torn garment to practice his expertise.
The trunks of trees must be cut and cut again
so they can be used for fine carpentry.
Your doctor must have a broken leg to doctor.
Your defects are the ways that glory gets manifested.
Whoever sees clearly what’s diseased in himself
begins to gallop on the way.
There is nothing worse
than thinking you are well enough.
More than anything, self-complacency
blocks the workmanship.
Put your vileness up to a mirror and
weep. Get that self-satisfaction flowing out of you!
Satan thought, “I am better than Adam,”
and that better than is still strongly in us.
[...]
Don’t turn your head. Keep looking
at the bandaged place. That’s where
the light enters you.
And don’t believe for a moment
that you’re healing yourself.
Words of encouragement (or exhortation, maybe) for anyone doing creative work. I think the reason this poem stuck with me this time around is that, because I’ve started writing some personal narrative stuff over the past few months, this part about looking into the mirror really resonated with me. When writing, I’ve had moments where I’m about to talk about a thought or a dream that I had, and I’ve thought to myself, “Do I really want to put that on the page? Do I really want people to know this about me?”
I suppose it’s the choice anyone writing in the first person gets to make, consciously or not: Do you cast yourself as a savvy ubermensch who can do no wrong, or will you be vulnerable, be honest, and put something out there that might change the way people think about you (for better or worse)?
It takes a lot of humility, but I think Rumi would choose the latter. Maybe someday I’ll work up the courage to do the same.