Rumi, Dickinson, and Whitman: A Dialogue of Possibility and Self

Emily Dickinson once wrote: “I dwell in Possibility — / A fairer House than Prose.” Her metaphor of the self as a dwelling with infinite windows and doors has its counterpart in Rumi’s Masnavi, where the soul is described as a house for passing states.

Persian (Masnavi V, 155):
هست مهمان‌خانه این تن ای جوان
هر صباحی ضیف نو آید دوان

This body is a guest house, O young one.
Each morning, a new guest comes rushing in.

Rumi’s guest house is Dickinson’s house of possibility. Both imagine the self not as a fixed structure but as a dwelling open to arrivals from beyond. For Dickinson, these arrivals are “possibility” itself, enlarging the chambers of being. For Rumi, they are the visitors of joy, sorrow, fear, or wonder — each to be welcomed, each to be let go. Both affirm that life’s fullness is not in closure but in receptivity.

Another Masnavi passage expands this sense of openness into a vision of perpetual becoming.

Persian (Masnavi IV, 135):
آمده اول به اقلیم جماد
وز جمادی در نباتی اوفتاد

At first he came to the realm of mineral;
from mineral he passed into plant.

Rumi traces existence as a journey through forms — from mineral, to plant, to animal, to human, and onward. Dickinson’s “chambers as the cedars” resonate here: each stage is another room, more spacious than the last. Life, for both poets, is not confinement but expansion — an invitation into ever-wider possibility.

If Dickinson finds kinship in Rumi’s house of possibility, Walt Whitman finds his mirror in Rumi’s cosmic self. Whitman’s “Song of Myself” exults: “For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.” In the Masnavi, Rumi sings the same truth:

Persian (Masnavi IV, 117):
ما ز بالاییم و بالا می‌رویم
ما ز دریاییم و دریا می‌رویم

We are of the Above, and to the Above we rise.
We are of the sea, and to the sea we return.

Here the self is not bounded; it belongs to sky and sea alike. Whitman’s multitudinous “I” and Rumi’s wave-soul both dissolve into the Whole, affirming that individuality and universality are one.

And just as Whitman delights in the newness of each perception, so too Rumi celebrates renewal:

Persian (Masnavi IV, 124):
هر زمان نو صورتی و نو جمال
تا ز نو دیدن فرو میرد ملال

At every moment, a new form, a new beauty;
in seeing anew, weariness fades.

This is Whitman’s sacred present tense, where each blade of grass or pulse of the body is fresh. Rumi affirms the same: creation is not finished but endlessly unfolding, and the soul that can see with new eyes never tires of life.

Conclusion

Placed alongside Dickinson and Whitman, Rumi’s Masnavi becomes a voice in a centuries-long conversation. Dickinson dwells in possibility; Rumi opens the door of the guest house to welcome new possibilities. Whitman sings the self as cosmos; Rumi declares that we are of the Above, of the the Unbounded Ocean of Being. Each affirms that human life is not a cage but a dwelling, a journey, a song — and when we are open to what comes, we are renewed by what is and what may come.

Tell me how you feel

 

Masnavi, Book V 

These words go beyond measure.
my friend, now tell me how you're doing

describe your states of being.

Your states rise from a wellspring that's ever new—
how could you settle for the stale and worn?

Tell us of those luminous moments.
where dust is lifted from lessons and numbered rules,
for the light of the heart shines greater.

If your inner state cannot be spoken,
then tell us of the outer one.

By the grace of the Friend,
even bitterness has become sweeter to the soul
than sugared cane.

A grain of that sweetness,
cast into the sea,
would turn its vast salt waves into honey.

Hundreds of thousands of states appear like this—
and then return again to the unseen.

Each day’s state is like the song of the reed,
a stream flowing, bound by no dam.

Each joy is new in kind,
each thought leaves another mark.

---

This body is a guest house, O young one.
Every morning, a new guest rushes in.

Do not say, “This one is an additional burden around my neck!”
For soon enough it will return to nothingness.

Whatever comes from the hidden world
is a guest in your heart.
Welcome it.
Receive it with joy.

---

And hear this story—

of that guest whom the woman of the house said,
“The rain detained him.
He has stayed upon our neck until dawn.”

The guest replied,
“O woman, speak not in excuses!
The rain does not fall so much—
he should have gone quickly.”

But again the guest remained another night.
And the woman said,
“It was the rain that held him back.”

The guest answered,
“O woman, make fewer excuses!
The rain does not fall so much—
he should have gone quickly.”

---

Waves of states come and go,

like guests who stay but never remain.
Excuses are illusions—
for each one is only passing through.
All that comes, comes from beyond.
The heart’s work is only this:
to welcome,
to receive,
to let go.

Welcome to the Guest House

 The Guest House — 

This body—
listen to it from within.
Think of it as a guest house,
who welcomes those who arrive.

Each morning,
a new guest comes hastening in.

Do not think:
“Why another? Another that I'm stuck with.”
For the guest may suddenly
fall back into the Unmanifest,
into the realm of Pure Being from which it came.

Whatever comes to you
from the Hidden realm— the Unmanifest
welcome it,
as you would welcome a guest at your door.

In your heart,
every feeling, every thought,
is but a guest.

Hold them with care.
Receive them with openness.
Welcome them.