And even if that thought is multilayered3240
It’s error upon error that’s been layered.
Sea waves keep striking him without relenting,
And yet he dreams he’s thirsty and keeps panting,
As though he’s in a desert with no water—
In fact real water’s closer than his jugular !*
Story about that ascetic who was happy and laughing in a year of drought, despite being penniless with a large family, while people were dying of hunger. They said to him, ‘What a time to rejoice! This is the time for a hundred laments.’ He responded, ‘For me it isn’t a burden.’
It’s like that strange ascetic who would smile
In drought when other men wept all the while.
They asked, ‘What are you smiling now about?
Good people have been ruined by this drought.
God’s mercy’s closed its eyes to us; the sun3245
Is so strong that our meadows all now burn.
Orchards, vineyards, and farms have all turned black.
No moisture in the soil, a total lack.
People are dying due to drought and torture
Now by the hundreds like fish out of water.
Don’t you feel for your own community,
One body with deep family unity?
And if a single body part should suffer
In peace and war that pain is shared together.’
‘To your eyes this is a harsh drought,’ he said,3250
‘To mine this land’s like paradise instead:
I see in every place I look upon,
Reaching up to my waist, abundant corn.
Wind blows those ears—by me it’s clearly seen—
This fills the desert and makes it so green.
To test, I reach and touch them—how can I
Withdraw from all of this my hand and eye?’
Base people, you’re the Pharaoh-body’s friend—
That’s why you see the waves as blood. Ascend!
Be Moses of true wisdom’s friend. Move faster3255
For blood to leave so you can see the water.*
Fall badly out with your own father and
He’ll seem to you a cur, but understand
He’s not a cur—That’s due to your rebellion:
That mercy seems a cur to your warped vision.
His brothers saw as wolf-like due to envy
Sweet Joseph, for they had become so angry.*
Make peace now with your father! Rage will end
And he won’t seem a cur, but your best friend.
Explaining that the whole world is the form of the Universal Intellect. If you treat Universal Intellect unjustly by your corrupt action, the form of the world increases your grief in most situations, just as when you have fallen out with your father—his form increases your grief and you can’t look at his face even though before he would have been the light of your eye and the comfort of your soul.
The world’s the Universal Intellect’s form, father3260
To human beings who heed God’s ‘Say! ’* as follower.
When someone shows ingratitude to it,
All forms look at him just like curs to hit.
Make peace now with the father, end rebellion,
So this world seems a gold rug to your vision.
The Resurrection will be felt by you;
Heaven and earth will both transform then, too.
Since I’m at peace with him, to my own eyes
The world appears a wondrous paradise.
A new form and new beauty will appear3265
Each moment; weariness will disappear.
I see the world as something full of bounty,
With springs that keep on gushing water strongly;
Their waters’ noises reach my ear—I find
Myself a drunk and lose my wits and mind:
Like worshippers the branches are all dancing;
Like minstrels all the leaves on them are clapping.
A flash now shines from inside its felt cover—
Imagine then when you see the full mirror!
It’s not one-thousandth of it I’ve set out:3270
It’s less, but all these ears are stuffed with doubt.
To their imaginings it shows future days,
But ‘Here’s my cash in hand now,’ reason says.
The story about the sons of Ozayr who were asking after their father from their father himself without knowing. He answered, ‘Yes, I’ve seen him. He is coming.’ Some recognized him and became unconscious. Others didn’t and said, ‘He only gave news about the future, so why fall unconscious?’
It’s like the case of the sons of Ozayr
Who’d ask for news about him everywhere.
While he was made young they had all grown old;
Their father came once, as it has been told:
Not recognizing him, they asked him, ‘Traveller,
Do you have news about Ozayr, our father,
For just today we all were finally told3275
Despair has gone; he’ll come back to the fold?’
He said, ‘Yes, he’s behind me on the way.’
A son rejoiced at what he heard him say:
‘May this kind bearer of good news feel joyous!’
Another recognized him, fell unconscious,
Saying: ‘It’s not the time for forecasts, brother,
For we have fallen in a mine of sugar.’
The wise experience; forecasts aren’t direct:
The forecast’s eye is veiled by a defect.
It’s pain to infidels, while to believers3280
It’s good news. But experience can sate seers:
Since lovers get drunk when they taste directly,
Beyond both faith and unbelief, they’re lofty.
The latter pair are doorkeepers, outside
Like shells that hold the kernels deep inside;
The dried shell’s unbelief; it looks away.
The inner skin’s faith—some taste spreads its way.
Dry shells belong in hell, while skins that meet
With kernels held within will all turn sweet.
Kernels transcend this sweetness nonetheless;3285
They grant this sweetness from their own largesse.
This talk could go on till infinity—
Return, so Moses can transform the sea.
This discourse so far suits the average brains;
Concealed things follow in what now remains.
Your intellect’s gold is like grains and filings—
How can I mint a coin with those small triflings.
Dealing with crucial things divides your brain,
Numerous desires and matters strange or plain—
Love joins the separate bits with its own hand3290
So you’ll become as fine as Samarqand.
Once, grain by grain, you have become united,
The King’s coin can through you be freshly minted.
And if you’re larger than a coin’s size too,
The King will make a golden cup from you,
With His name, royal title, and his face,
Seeker of union, all etched in their place.
So your Beloved can be bread and water,
Lamp, witness, wine, and almonds wrapped in sugar,
Make yourself one! Union’s a merciful grace.3295
I’ll tell you what is real then to your face,
For speaking’s aim is that it be accepted;
Polytheism’s soul heard, but rejected.
The soul is scattered by things in the heavens
And shared among some sixty different passions—
Silence is therefore best, for it gives permanence:
The answer to the stupid wretch is silence.
I know this; bodily drunkenness though still
Opens again my mouth against my will,
Just as in sneezing and in yawning too,3300
Your mouth will op
en, though not willed by you.
Commentary on the Prophet’s saying: ‘I ask God for forgiveness seventy times every day.’
Like our dear Prophet, I repent each day
Seventy times for things I loosely say,
But drunkenness breaks my repentance vow,
Makes me forget and rend clothes anyhow.
The wisdom of revealing all past history
Gave drunkenness to knowers of the mystery.
With drum and banner, hidden mysteries
Have gushed out from ‘the pen’s dry ’,* which decrees.
The Boundless Mercy’s in a constant flow,3305
But you who are asleep still cannot know.
Sleepers’ clothes draw in water from the streams
While they seek a mirage out in their dreams,
Saying: ‘There’s sign of water miles away.’
Their thinking blocks themselves from the right way.
The sleepers said, ‘Away’, from fantasy,
So they divorced thus from reality;
Their souls sleep while they search so far away—
Feel sorry for those travellers today!
I’ve not seen true thirst cause sleep, no, not once;3310
Sleep comes from thirst in those with ignorance.
True wisdom’s that which God Himself has fed,
Not that which Mercury has brought instead.*
Explaining that the particular intellect does not see beyond the grave. Regarding such things it is dependent on the Prophets and Friends of God.
This knowledge sees up to the grave, not past;
The mystic sees till Resurrection’s blast.
This knowledge doesn’t pass graves any further;
The foot does not step in the realm of wonder—
Leave both this foot and intellect behind.
Seek eyes for the Unseen. Much gain you’ll find.
How can one who needs teachers, books they write,3315
Shine from his breast, like Moses, purest light.*
Opinion’s knowledge gives just vertigo—
Instead choose waiting for what He’ll bestow.
Do not expect to rise up through your speaking;
Superior to your speaking is your hearing.
Teaching posts are craved after by fierce rivals;
Mere thoughts of cravings on this path are idols.
If every fool could find paths to His grace.
Why did God send the Prophets to this place?
Particular intellect’s a lightning flash—3320
In just one evening how can one reach Vakhsh?*
Lightning’s light’s not to lead us just like sheep
But a command to clouds that they must weep.
Our intellect is meant for tears: for instance
When non-existence weeps to gain existence.
The child’s brain tells him, ‘Go to school!’ But it
Can’t on its own learn; clearly it’s unfit.
The sick one’s intellect leads to a healer,
But it can’t on its own cure sickness either.
Devils went to the heavens once to spy,3325
Listening to secrets that were shared on high:
They first stole a few little scraps away,
But then the shooting stars drove them away:
‘Begone! A Prophet’s gone to earth to speak;
You can acquire from him the things you seek.
If you seek priceless pearls, the scripture states:
“Enter their houses through their proper gates! ”*
Knock and stay waiting at the door, for there
Is no way for you to alone soar there.
The long route to here wasn’t necessary;3330
We’ve shown to humans every mystery.
If you’re not heedless, go to him! Take heed.
Be sugar cane soon, though now a plain reed.’
The guide will make grass grow on dust as proof;
He isn’t less than Gabriel’s horse’s hoof.*
You too will soon be fresh and green, of course,
If you become the dust of Gabriel’s horse.
That verdure that gives life which Sameri
Put in the calf to have efficacy,*
That verdure gave it life, so it then roared3335
In such a way that its foe then was floored.
Come to the secret’s knowers truthfully
And, like the hooded falcon, you’ll break free—
The hood blocks ears from hearing, eyes from vision,
And it has made downtrodden that poor falcon.
It blinds that falcon’s eyes since they’re inclined
Always towards the birds of their own kind—
It joins the king once severed from its own;
The falconer opens its eyes then alone.
God drove the devils far from His watchtower3340
And the particular intellect from power,
Saying, ‘Don’t domineer; you aren’t a ruler,
But the heart’s pupil—that is what you’re good for.’
Go to the heart—you’re part of that heart’s whole,
A servant of the Just King is your role.
Being His slave’s better than being a sultan,
For ‘I am better ’ were the words of Satan.*
Choose, captive, once you’ve seen the difference,
Adam’s slavehood not Satan’s arrogance.
‘May he whose carnal soul has been undone3345
Be blessed!’ said His path’s special mystic sun.
Go to the Tuba tree’s shade and sleep well;
Rest your head in that shade and don’t rebel.
The shade of one whose self has been effaced
Is where those seeking pureness will be graced.
If you leave this shade for your selfishness,
You’ll lose the path through sheer rebelliousness.
Explaining the Qur’anic verse: ‘You who believe, don’t put yourself before God and His messenger.’ * Since you are not a prophet, be a member of his community; since you are not a sultan, be a subject; be silent and don’t bring arrogance and opinion from yourself!
So go, be silent in sincere surrender,
In the shade of commands made by the mentor,
Or, though you’re able and have the potential,3350
Boasting perfection will become your downfall.
You’ll even lose potential for the future
If you rebel against the mystic tutor:
Be patient, cobbler, with your own position,
Or you’ll be a rag-mender through demotion.
The rag-mender through patience and forbearance
Learns to become a tailor soon, for instance –
So strive on, and from weariness declare:
‘The intellect’s a fetter. ’ Let’s compare
With the philosophers who at the Hour3355
Saw their intelligence did not have power,
Admitting, though they didn’t want to ever,
‘We rode our horse in vain through being clever,
Rebelling then against the true men, we
Swam in a sea that was imaginary.’
To swim inside the spiritual sea’s delusion;
Other than Noah’s ark there’s no solution.
Mohammad, King of Prophets shared this notion:
‘I’m the ship in the Universal Ocean,
Or one who is a visionary like me,3360
Becoming my successor spiritually.’
We’re Noah’s ark in seas now—that’s the truth.
Don’t turn your face away from this ark, youth.
Don’t head, like Canaan, to each soaring mountain:
‘Today there’s no protection ’* —you should listen.
With blinkers on, the ark looks low; it’s not.
You view as high the mountain of mere thought.
Don’t deem low what is really lowliness;
It’s l
inked to grace sent from His Holiness.
Don’t be impressed the mountain of thought’s tall3365
When just one wave can make that mountain fall.
If you’re like Canaan, you will not believe me,
Though you hear hundreds of such counsels from me.
Canaan’s ears won’t accept these words I share
When God has put on them His seals to wear:
Sermons can’t pass through God’s seals, so how can
A transient thing change what’s ordained, good man?
But I am telling news about good fortune,
All in the hope that you are not a Canaan,
So in the end you can sincerely say3370
That from the first you see the final day:
You now can see the end. Do not make blind
Your eyes which see the end from far behind.
One who is blessed to be a visionary
Won’t trip up on this true itinerary.
If you don’t want your stumbling to repeat,
Give your eyes vision from the mystic’s feet.
Make his feet’s dust kohl for your eyes instead,
So you can strike at every hoodlum’s head.
Through being a student who is spiritually needy,3375
From needle-thin you’ll be the sword of Ali.
So make your kohl from dust of those who’re pure
And, though at first it burns eyes, it will cure.
The camel’s pair of eyes is very good
Because for their sake it seeks thorns for food.
Story about the mule’s complaint to the camel: ‘I fall on my face often while moving, but you don’t—why is that?’ The camel answers it.
One day a mule saw that he had retired
Next to a camel, so he then enquired:
‘I fall so frequently flat on my face
On the hills, roads, and in the marketplace,
But from the mountain top especially—3380
I topple down head-first there dangerously.
But you don’t fall on your face—why is it?
Perhaps your pure soul is more fortunate?
I fall down on my head and bang my knees;
Like my soft snout they start to bleed with ease—
My load and saddle then fall on my head
And riders on me strike although I’ve bled.’
It’s like those who have weak intelligence,
Who break their vows with further sins at once—
Satan mocks joyfully all weak-willed men3385
Who break their vows so quickly once again.
The Masnavi, Book Four Page 25