If I’m the truthful one, abandon doubt,
Even if, “Sky is land!” you hear me shout!
If I am perfect, you can’t disagree,
And if I’m not, then why keep pestering me?
I won’t leave my seclusion from all cares,
I’m busy now with spiritual affairs!’
The disciples object to the vizier’s seclusion
They said, ‘It’s not that we’re refuting you,
Our words don’t give a stranger’s point of view;
Deprived of union mournfully we cry,
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In unison our tortured spirits sigh:
A child which never argues with its nurse
Cries, but can’t tell what’s better and what’s worse.
We’re like a harp you pluck in various ways,
This sad lament’s not ours, it’s you who plays,
We’re like the flute whose music you blow out,
The mountain which must echo what you shout,
Chess-pieces, winning now, and now in mate:
It’s you, majestic one, who seals our fate!
Who are we, soul of souls, that we should sit
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Beside a man like you when we’re unfit?’
Non-entities, we’re forced to fade away,
Eternal One, our transience you display,
We’re just like lions men paint on their flag
Who only charge when wind should make it sag:
Our charge is visible, while wind is not—
May that which is invisible be sought!
This wind, our very being, blows from You,
You brought to life our whole existence too:
When You showed non-existence Being’s light,
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It gave itself to You, love at first sight!
Such great attractions please don’t gather up,
Nor take away the wine and drinking-cup,*
For if You take them who can challenge You—
Paintings can’t tell their artist what to do!
Don’t gaze at us, nor look on secretly,
Witness instead your generosity:
We were not there, and we made no demands,
You heard our prayer before we raised our hands!
The fabric hanging in the weaver’s loom
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Is helpless like a child inside the womb,
The people at the court before His might,
Like cloth before the needle, cannot fight:
Sometimes it sews a demon, then a man,
Sometimes sheer joy then pain is in its plan,
Cloth has no hands to save itself from it,
Nor tongue to tell its harm and benefit.
Read out from the Koran that verse we know
Where God says, When you threw you did not throw!*
When we fire arrows don’t give us the blame—
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We’re just the bow, it’s God who’s taking aim!
Don’t dwell on our compulsion, but His might,
To know humility keep this in sight,
Our wretchedness confirms this further still
While feeling shame just proves we have free will:
If we’re not free to choose then why feel shame,
Express regret and grief, and take the blame?
And why should students strive and teachers guide,
Why does the mind shove fate’s decree aside?
And if you say, ‘He’s blind to fate and proud,
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The moon of truth is covered by a cloud’,
This is the answer if you’ve ears to hear—
Quit unbelief, and faith will make things clear:
When you fall ill you grieve and feel so low,
You’re then awake to what you need to know,
When starting to feel sick your prayers begin,
You beg forgiveness for a life of sin,
Its ugliness the Lord to you displays
So you’ll resolve to follow righteous ways:
You swear to God that you’ll at last take heed
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And make your every act a pious deed,
That being sick can heal you thus makes sense,
It wakes you with increased intelligence!
So heed this principle and never doubt,
Whoever’s suffering pain has worked this out:
The more awake they are the worse their plight,
Their suffering turns their tortured faces white!
Before His power where’s your humility,
Admit that you’re a slave to His decree!
How can a man who’s chained feel joy and ease
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Or prisoners do exactly as they please?
And when your feet are shackled like a slave
While officers make sure that you behave,
Don’t proudly seek from weaker men respect—
For poor souls being humble’s more correct!
When you don’t see His power, don’t claim you do!
Or prove it if you really have a clue!
In every act with which you’re satisfied
You give yourself the credit with such pride,
But when your actions make you blush with shame
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You say, ‘He forced me; God’s the one to blame!’
Prophets in this world follow God’s command
While infidels receive in hell what’s planned:
In heaven, prophets have free will, that’s clear,
But fools will claim it for themselves right here!
Since every bird will fly to its own kind,
Its soul ahead, the body dragged behind,
Hell’s dungeons are where infidels belong
For in this world the prison’s where they throng;
Prophets belong to heaven, that’s their goal,
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That’s why they seek the depths of every soul—
This talk is incomplete, but anyhow
Let’s finish the main narrative right now.
The vizier makes the disciples give up hope of his ending his seclusion
Then the vizier cried out from his locked cell,
‘Now listen well to what I have to tell:
Jesus has issued this command to me
To separate from friends and family,
To face the wall and sit here all alone,
Renouncing life, and that includes my own:
From now on I’ve no right to even speak
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Let alone teach the wisdom that you seek,
I’m dead from now on, friends, so it’s goodbye,
I’m taking my belongings to the sky!
In order not to burn like wood in hell,
Enduring blame and hardship there as well,
I’ll sit with Jesus from now on up there
In heaven’s summit, like a perfect pair.’
The vizier’s appointment of each one of the group-leaders as his successor
He summoned each group-leader on his own
To privately divulge what Christ had shown:
He said to each one, ‘Christ has chosen you
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As my sole heir and God’s own spokesman too;
The other leaders are your deputies,
You should consider them your own trainees,
If one of them should grumble or protest
Kill him, or put him under house-arrest!
But don’t disclose this while I’m still the head,
Don’t seek my role until I’m finally dead,
Until that time, act like you haven’t heard,
Don’t make a claim, nor breathe a single word!
Inside this scroll is Jesus’s decree—
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Recite it then to his community!’
To each of them he said, ‘This is your role,
There’s no one else who can assume control.’
He treated each one like a special king,
And promised each of them the same old thing;
To each he gave a separate scroll he’d signed
With different rules as if God changed his mind!
Discrepancies in them were easily read,
As different as the letters A to Z,
Each contradicted what the rest declared,
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Already news about this ploy I’ve shared.
The vizier’s suicide in seclusion
He stayed apart a further forty days
Then killed himself to flee his own vile ways,
When people heard the news they moaned and screamed,
For some, the end of time had come, it seemed:
Towards his grave they came in disbelief
And pulled their hair, and ripped their clothes in grief!
Who knows how many came in those first weeks,
Including Arabs, Turks, the Kurds, and Greeks!
They kissed his grave’s soil, thinking it was pure,
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Redemptive suffering they sought as their cure:
For one whole month the crowds wept tears of blood,
Creating round his grave a massive flood.
The followers of Jesus ask their leaders, ‘Which one of you is his successor?’
After a month had passed in bitter grief,
The people asked, ‘Who now can serve as chief?
Which one do we consider up to it
To swear allegiance to him and submit?
We’ve roasted, but the sun has left no trace—
Don’t we now need a torch to take its place?’
When union with the Lord has left our sight
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We need to be reminded of His might,
Like when the fragrant rose’s life is spent
Rose water lets us still breathe in its scent;
God won’t reveal himself although He lives
So prophets serve as representatives,
They’re not apart from what they represent—
That’s incorrect, it’s not what I first meant:
They seem distinct if to their form you’re tied,
Discerning eyes can tell they’re unified.
You’re seeing double if their form’s your aim,
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Observe their light, you’ll see that it’s the same!
Who can discern his own eyes’ share of light
When it’s this light which gives each man his sight:
If you light up ten lamps when there’s a storm
Each differs from the other in its form,
But no one still can separate their light
Which makes the space around you clear and bright;
You now see countless apples in the cart
But once they’re crushed you can’t tell them apart:
The spirit’s realm has no plurality,
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Division, individuality;
This union of the lovers waits for you,
Hold on, don’t let its form obstruct your view,
Melt stubborn form through hardship and be bold
And you’ll find unity beneath like gold!
If you don’t melt it, then his kindness will,
The master of our hearts supports us still:
He shows his face inside your happy heart
And sews the Sufi cloak that’s torn apart.
Like one expansive whole was our past state,
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Beyond one could not differentiate,
The same throughout in form just like the sun,
Like water, clear and still as if it’s one;
When it took form that pure light multiplied
Like shadows of the battlements outside—
Demolish all of them my faithful troop,
Erase the differences among this group!
I would have clarified this all, my friend,
Had I not feared you wouldn’t comprehend,
These points are finer than a sabre’s tip,
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Escape, if you’ve no shield yet in your grip!
Without a shield don’t try to hold your own,
In murder this cruel blade no shame has shown,
I’ve put my own sword in its sheath again
So my intentions aren’t misread by men;
Now let’s complete the story rapidly
About those godly Christians’ loyalty:
After their teacher died they tried to find
Someone to fill the role he’d left behind.
The struggle between the leaders over successorship
One of the leaders stepped up, tall and proud,
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Before the faithful and expectant crowd,
He said, ‘I’m the successor of that sage
The Masnavi, Book One: Bk. 1 (Oxford World's Classics) Page 10