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Writing like Rumi

I do not write like Rumi.  This is a given as I am not Rumi, but I find his writings beautiful and have been trying to analyze how and why so that I may incorporate parts of that beauty into my own work.  

Rumi rambled and rambled, saying the same thing over and over again as he sought to capture the rapturous emotions he was drowning in.  Eventually, he would always realize his efforts would never quite capture the truth and he would get more and more abstract before ending entirely with Shams.  The result is so many attempts piled together like a book of old sketches.  Flipping through them, one sees so many individual pictures-- some detailed, some anecdotal, some abstract, some painted, some written in the air with a hand.  Each beautiful, yet one gets the feeling that they are all connected.  Looking at the sketchbook as a whole, the pieces blend together and his whole truth becomes more visible in the blurred image of all of them as one.

My writing is much more poignant.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.  To keep to the simile consistent for comparison's sake, my sketchbook is like a comic book.  Each paragraph is a very detailed piece of the puzzle that fits together in order.  I use smaller statements, more stylistically similar so that the reader may see what I see.  However, no eye sees as my eye sees.

Rumi knows this.  His writing at its core recognizes that the whole of experience is so subjective, yet there is a deeper undercurrent felt by all. The many different sketches in each of Rumi's works tries to capture that undercurrent by not attempting to capture anything specific at all and letting the reader feel his joy through his writing rather than pointing at the joy by the definition of the words.

Let me say that again.  Rumi's joy is felt through his writing and his attempt to capture something beautiful.  My writing points at the joy I am experiencing.  To me, writing is telling a story to say something or show something beautiful.  To Rumi, writing is a joy and, therefore, is a joy to read.  

In order to write more like Rumi, I should try to find joy in simply speaking; I must throw away my attempts to create structure and let the words flow through me.  When a lion roars or an empowered youth yawps, the conscious choice of what sound comes out is the last thing on their mind, yet the sound made, however incoherent or formless, communicates perfectly the soul that needs to be spoken.  I must forget the control and pinpoint accuracy I use to show what I want to say, I must yawp and let whatever garbage noise come out be understood in perfect clarity by the soul within it.  That is what Rumi knows and that is how Rumi writes.


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