! In The Steps Of Rumi 88: Metaphor

Simile – what looks like something else – that’s a fun game for the senses, for the mind: oh look Dad, there’s a scarecrow in that field that looks just like a man, does it really scare crows? Oh look Dad, there’s a beggar in the street who looks just like a scarecrow, I wonder if the same crows see him too? But metaphor – ah, that’s something else: explanations don’t quite explain it: you see something; it brings to mind something very different; maybe you just forget it, pass on; maybe you’re a poet, and you think, that other thing casts a subtle light on this first thing, I’ll see if others find the same.. and, sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t… Metaphor brings the whole universe, world upon world, to the mind: you could write a poem full of metaphor as long as the circumference of the world, and when you’d written it out, you’d find yourself right here again just where you were.. but what a lot you’d seen on the way… We’re so used to some metaphors because by now, they’re shared, written into language (lucky the people who inherit languages such as these, they’re born into poetry…) : take ‘bread’: you walk past the baker’s shop in the early morning when the air is clear – or better, go in to buy your breakfast rolls: the smell couldn’t be more wonderful, more promising.. the bread’s so delicious, and best eaten today.. ah yes, ‘daily bread’ – that becomes a metaphor for all that each and every day brings – waking up, new thoughts, new experiences, all that brings life to life… that covers so many subtle things… where does it all come from? that’s for you to say… Sometimes it seems that the whole world is a metaphor for something… for what? For its own unity, for its very creation, for that which we call God, for our very self? that’s for you to say… Metaphor. When you meet it, does it make you think of English class, another boring poem, another boring question to answer as you chew your pen – ‘What does the poet mean when he speaks of, lies like oyster shells to be penknifed for their pearls? ’… or - does it fill your heart with joy as if someone had given you a golden key to a secret garden which is all you ever hoped for; more than you could ever imagine… and yet you recognise it’s all really just yourself? … In the corner of your room there's a little girl curled up in a large armchair, reading a book. Don't disturb her. The book she reads with all her self today, may never read again, doesn't need to - is a metaphor for all she needs to know today about the world, about herself; she finishes the book, closes it thoughtfully, looks up at you; she knows herself a little more today.