The Masnavi, Book One: Bk. 1 (Oxford World's Classics)
Page 32
The dog’s your only help in hunting prey:
Feed it much less, so it will then obey!
If it grows proud and disobedient
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It won’t race happily towards the hunt.
Want drove that bedouin along the road
Towards the court, where fortune was bestowed;
Of the great king’s beneficence we’ve told,
His generous granting of a jug of gold.
When lovers speak love’s scent is smelt on them,
It comes out of their mouths in love’s pure realm;
If he talks law, then poverty is heard—
Poverty’s whiff spreads from his every word;
If unbelief, then we smell true faith’s scent,
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Certainty’s perfume from his argument:
The crooked wave that’s risen in the sea
Is sound—its origin’s sincerity;
Consider that wave pure and worthy too
Like the beloved’s mouth reproaching you:
That harsh expression which you didn’t seek
Became so sweet because it showed his cheek.
His words are true though faults you first detect—
What crookedness which can make things correct!
If you bake sugar in the shape of bread,
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It won’t taste like a loaf, but sweet instead:
A golden idol’s found by a believer—
He’ll keep it from the heathen unbeliever,
He’ll burn it in a bonfire straight away
To break its transient, borrowed form this way,
So that the idol’s form won’t last in gold
And thus mislead men from truths they’ve been told.
Gold’s essence has come from divinity:
The idol’s form in gold is temporary.
Because of one flea don’t burn the whole rug,
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Don’t be distracted by a fly or bug!
You worship idols when fixed in form’s realm,
Leave form behind, find meaning inside them!
To make the Hajj* seek a companion
Though he be Arab, Turk, or Indian;
Don’t judge him by his figure, form, or name,
But look at his intention and true aim;
Though he is black he’s in accord with you,
He shares your hue within—call him white too!
This story has been told the wrong way round
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Like thoughts of helpless lovers that astound:
Headless, predating pre-eternity,
Tailless, for it’s like post-eternity,
But it’s like water: every single drop
Is head and tail and neither—I should stop,
For God knows this is not a tale to share
But the pure substance of our state—beware!
The Sufi has achieved true mastery,
Of past things this man has no memory.
We are all three: jug, king, and bedouin!
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They’ve turned away from it*—they’re vile within!
Reason’s the husband, greed the wife, that’s right,
Both dark deniers of true wisdom’s light.
Now listen to how such denial starts
Because the world consists of various parts,
For parts aren’t separate from the whole: your nose
Breathes in the scent which is part of the rose;
Leaves to the rose’s beauty too belong,
The dove’s coo to the nightingale’s sweet song.
If I put problems and their answers first,
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I can’t give water to those who have thirst;
If problems make you feel much stress and grief,
Be patient—patience is what brings relief!
Abstain from thoughts though they tempt and harass—
The heart’s the forest, thought a crazed wild-ass!
The best of medicines is abstinence,
Scratching increases itches, even once,
For this is medicine’s key principle—
Abstain and watch your soul grow powerful.
Prick up your ears to hear what I have told
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And I’ll make you an earring of pure gold
To mark you as a servant of the moon,
So you will soar up to the heavens soon.
Created things are so diverse, it’s said
They differ like the letters A to Z;
The different letters may need sorting out
Although from one view they’re the same throughout:
From one view opposites, from one the same,
From one view serious, from one a game!
On Resurrection we face scrutiny,
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The beautiful wait for it eagerly,
But if you’re like an Indian cheat that day
You’ll be disgraced, your cover blown away!
Since his face isn’t sun-like, clear, and bright,
He wants to hide beneath the veil of night;
He’s just a thorn without one petal, so
Spring is the secret of this rose’s foe,
For one who’s like a rose all over, spring
Is a reunion that he’s welcoming;
Autumn is what the soulless thorns prefer,
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Rose gardens then are not superior:
Their beauty’s covered like the thorn’s own shame:
You can’t tell them apart, they look the same,
So autumn gives it life instead of spring—
Then stones and rubies look like the same thing;
God’s gardener spots it in the autumn too,
His glance sees more than the whole world can view:
That person has the whole world in his soul:
Celestial stars are part of the moon’s whole,
And thus each image is now beckoning,
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‘Glad tidings everyone, here comes the spring!’
When blossom’s radiant like a coat of mail,
How then can fruits their charming form unveil?
When blossom falls, that’s when fruit takes its place,
When bodies are destroyed souls lift their face—
Fruit is the spirit, blossom is its form,
Blossom’s good news, fruit ripens when it’s warm:
When blossom’s shed, fruit then begins to show,
When one’s decreased, the other starts to grow;
How can bread nourish till it’s broken up?
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Can uncrushed grapes become wine in your cup?
Unless some healing herbs are ground with it
How can a medicine give benefit!
On the nature of the Sufi guide and obedience to him
Hosamoddin, please fetch a sheet or two
And write about the guide what I tell you;
Although you’re frail, lack strength and energy,
Without the sun there is no light for me,
Though you’ve become the lamp and glass,* my friend,
You lead the hearts which follow the thread’s end:
You hold the thread’s end, from which you won’t part;
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Your bounty gave the pearls strung round my heart!
Write down about the guide what I now say
And choose him—he’s the essence of the way,
The guide’s the summer, others autumn’s blight,
He’s like the moon, while they’re the dark at night.
I’ve called young fortune, my Hosam, ‘old sage’
For he’s mature with God, though not in age:
Without beginning he’s extremely old,
A rare pearl whose description can’t be told:
He grows more potent just like vintage wine,
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Especially the drink that is divine.*
>
Don’t try this path alone, first choose a guide!
Its dangerous trials will leave you petrified!
Even on routes which numerous times you’ve used
Without a guide you’re hopelessly confused—
Beware then of this new, uncharted way,
Keep focused on your guide, don’t turn away!
If you’re not safe in his protective shade,
The monster’s wails will leave you stunned, afraid,
Diverting you straight into further harm—
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Much shrewder men than you could not keep calm.
Heed the Koran on those who went astray*
And how the wicked Satan made them pay:
He lured them all a thousand miles from here,
Reducing them to nakedness and fear—
Look at their bones and hair, and now take heed!
Don’t be an ass, don’t let your passions lead!
Grab hold of its thick neck and pull it back
Towards the knowing guide’s specific track,
If left alone this donkey’s bound to stray
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Across the field towards the mounds of hay;
Don’t you forget to hold with force its leash
Or it will bolt for miles to find hashish!
A donkey drugged—what greater enemy!
That donkey’s ruined countless—can’t you see?
If you don’t know the proper path, just do
The opposite of what it wants you to:
Consult them, then do just the opposite!
Or else you’ll always be regretting it.*
A friendship with desire you can’t afford,
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It leads you off the path towards the Lord,*
But nothing conquers passion better than
The company of fellow travellers can:
The messenger of God advises Ali, ‘Since everyone seeks proximity to God by means of an act of worship, seek proximity through companionship with the special sage and servant of God, so that you can excel all the rest’ *
The Prophet called Ali once to his side,
‘Lion of God,* brave hero of my pride!
Don’t count on courage on its own to cope,
Take refuge too beneath the tree of hope:
Enter the realm of that pure intellect
Whom no opponent can from truth deflect.’
His shadow is just like Mount Qaf* in size,
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His spirit like the phoenix soars the skies,
We could continue with this man’s applause
Until the end of time without a pause,
He is the sun, though human in our sight,
Please understand that God knows best what’s right.
‘Of all the good deeds on the path, Ali,
You choose God’s special slave as sanctuary,
Others perform each single righteous deed
So from their carnal souls they might be freed.
Instead step in the shade of this true sage
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To flee that hidden enemy’s tight cage;
Of all the acts of worship it’s the best,
It makes you that much better than the rest.’
If he accepts, surrender to the guide
Like Moses with his master Khezr* once tried,
Stay calm, don’t question what he should commit,
So he won’t say, ‘Enough! Here’s where we split!’*
If he destroys their boat, don’t you go wild,
Don’t tear your hair out if he kills a child!
Since God has said, ‘His hand is as my own’,
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And ‘Up above their hands rests God’s alone,’*
With God’s own hand he slays the helpless boy,
To let him live with pure, eternal joy.
Whoever tried this journey on his own
The guides still helped—he didn’t walk alone;
The guide’s hand is for all across the land,
It has to be then naught but God’s own hand;
If absent people can gain gifts galore
Those present with the guide must gain much more,
If absent men receive such gifts for naught
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Imagine what his personal guests are brought;
You can’t compare his faithful followers
With those who choose to be mere onlookers.
Don’t be too squeamish when your guide’s around,
As weak as water, crumbly like soft ground,
When each blow leaves you bitter, don’t expect
Without pain like a mirror to reflect.
A man from Qazvin* gets tattooed with the image of a lion on his shoulder but regrets it because of the pain caused by the needle
Now listen to this tale on what I’ve seen