Is given insight by his sleepless state,
And sleepless nights enable him to bring
A tried and wakeful heart before his king.
Since sleepless watches nourish vigilance,
Sleep little, guard your heart with diligence –
What shall I say? What words have ever found
A means to save the sinking? You are drowned!
But lovers journey on before us all;
Intoxicated by their love, they fall –
Strive, drink as they have drunk, discover love,
The key to this world and the world above;
A woman will become a man, a man
A sea whose depths no mortal mind may scan.
Abbasseh told a wandering scholar once:
“The man who’s kindled by love’s radiance
Will give birth to a woman; when love’s fire
Quickens within a woman this desire,
She gives birth to a man; is it denied
That Adam bore a woman from his side,
That Mary bore a man? Until this light
Shines out, such truths are hidden from your sight;
But when its glory comes you will receive
lines 3564–80
Blessings far greater than you can conceive.
Count this as wealth; here is the faith you need.
But if the world’s base glory is your creed,
Your soul is lost–seek the wealth insight gives;
In insight our eternal kingdom lives.
Whoever drinks the mystics’ wine is king
Of all the world can show, of everything –
Its realms are specks of his authority,
The heavens but a ship on his wide sea;
If all the sultans of the world could know
That shoreless sea, its mighty ebb and flow,
They’d sit and mourn their wretched impotence
With eyes ashamed to meet each other’s glance.
Mahmoud and a dervish
Once in a ruined palace Mahmoud met
A dervish bowed by sorrow and regret,
Who when he saw his noble sovereign cried:
“Get out of here or I shall tan your hide –
You call yourself a king; you’re just a lout,
A thankless, selfish infidel – get out!”
The king said: “I am Mahmoud; I suggest
That ‘infidel’ is not how I’m addressed!”
The dervish answered him: “O splendid youth,
If you but knew how far you are from Truth,
You would not smear your humbled head and face
With dust and ash; live coals would take their place.”
The Valley of Detachment
Next comes the Valley of Detachment; here
All claims, all lust for meaning disappear.
A wintry tempest blows with boisterous haste;
It scours the land and lays the valley waste –
The seven planets seem a fading spark,
The seven seas a pool, and heaven’s arc
lines 3581–99
Is more like dust and death than paradise;
The seven burning hells freeze cold as ice.
More wonderful than this, a tiny ant
Is here far stronger than an elephant;
And, while a raven feeds, a caravan
Of countless souls will perish to a man.
A hundred thousand angels wept when light
Shone out in Adam and dispelled the night;
A hundred thousand drowning creatures died
When Noah’s ark rode out the rising tide;
For Abraham, as many gnats were sent
To humble Ninirod’s vicious government;
As many children perished by the sword
Till Moses’ sight was cleansed before the Lord;
As many walked in wilful heresy
When Jesus saw Truth’s hidden mystery;
As many souls endured their wretched fate
Before Mohammad rose to heaven’s gate.
Here neither old nor new attempts prevail,
And resolution is of no avail.
If you should see the world consumed in flame,
It is a dream compared to this, a game;
If thousands were to die here, they would be
One drop of dew absorbed within the sea;
A hundred thousand fools would be as one
Brief atom’s shadow in the blazing sun;
If all the stars and heavens came to grief,
They’d be the shedding of one withered leaf;
If all the worlds were swept away to hell,
They’d be a crawling ant trapped down a well;
If earth and heaven were to pass away,
One grain of gravel would have gone astray;
If men and fiends were never seen again,
They’d vanish like a tiny splash of rain;
And should they perish, broken by despair,
Think that some beast has lost a single hair;
If part and whole are wrecked and seen no more,
lines 3600–3618
Think that the earth has lost a single straw;
And if the nine revolving heavens stop,
Think that the sea has lost a single drop.
A youth who tumbled into a well
A fine youth living in our village fell
Into a deep and dangerous, dark well –
His fall dislodged the dust; a long time passed
Before they got the young man out at last,
But he had suffered underneath the grime –
It seemed his rescuers were just in time
(Mohammad was the poor boy’s name); his breath
Was laboured and he lingered dose to death.
His father whimpered: “O my pride and joy,
Mohammad, speak to me, my precious boy.”
“Where is Mohammad now?” the youth replied,
“Where is your son? Or anyone?” and died.
Good pilgrim, ask: Where is Mohammad, where?
And where is Adam and his every heir?
Where are the earth, the mountains and the sea?
Where are the angels and humanity?
Where are the bodies buried underground,
Where are their minds so subtle and profound?
Where is the pain of death? Where is the soul?
Where are the sundered parts? Where is the whole?
Sift through the universe, and it will seem
An airy maze, an insubstantial dream.
Yusef of Hamadan, that learǹd seer,
Whose heart and knowledge were uniquely clear,
Said: “Travel to the throne of Majesty,
Then to the ends of all the earth, and see
That all that is, will be, has ever been,
Is but one atom when correctly seen.”
The world is but a drop – what will be missed
If one son prospers or does not exist?
lines 3619–36
This valley is not easy, child – your mind
Knows nothing of the dangers you will find,
And when the Way flows blood your pilgrimage
Has only journeyed through a single stage.
Traverse the world from place to distant place;
What have you managed but a single pace?
No pilgrim sees his journey’s end; no cure
Has yet been found for all he must endure.
If you stand petrified with grief and dread,
You are no better than the senseless dead;
And if you hasten on you cannot hear
The bell that summons you sound loud and clear.
Hope lies neither in motion nor in rest;
Neither to live nor yet to die is best.
What profit have your labours brought? what gain
The teachers you pursued with so much pain ?
What difference have these constant efforts
made?
Be silent now and seek another trade.
Strive not to strive; withdraw and concentrate
On that small region you can cultivate.
The remedy is labour – this is true,
But not that labour which is known to you –
Renounce the work you know, the tasks you’ve done,
And learn which tasks to work at, which to shun.
What words can guide you where you ought to turn?
It may be you will have the wit to learn;
But whether you lament or idly sing,
Act with detachment now in everything.
Detachment is a flame, a livid flash,
That will reduce a hundred worlds to ash;
Its valley makes creation disappear,
And if the world has gone, then where is fear?
A horoscope drawn on sand
Astrologers can help you understand
With fine configurations traced in sand –
lines 3637–56
You’ve seen one draw the heaven’s calendar
And indicate each fixed and moving star,
Set out the zodiac sign by mighty sign,
The zenith of the sun and its decline –
The complex forms that influence the earth,
The house of mournful death, the house of birth,
Which will enable him to calculate
Your happiness, your grief, your final fate…
Then brush the sand – and all that you have seen
Has gone, as though the marks had never been.
Such is the solid world we live in here,
A subtle surface which will disappear.
You cannot bear this truth, that all must die –
Seek out some corner; watch the world pass by!
When men and women enter here they own
No trace of either world, they are alone.
When mountains weigh as little as a straw
You have the strength required, but not before.
Once someone said: “The veil was drawn aside;
I saw the secret world its shadows hide –
In bliss I heard a voice that seemed to say:
‘Name what you wish and it is yours today.’
But then I saw that from eternity
God’s prophets have endured adversity,
That, everywhere disaster takes its course,
They are the first to feel its crushing force –
And how can I expect contentment when
Such miseries beset the best of men?
Their glory and their grief could not be mine!
Since pain is theirs who set forth God’s design,
How can a wretch desire beatitude?
O, leave me to my helpless solitude!
The prophets led the world, but I am weak –
O, let me mourn alone, I cannot speak!”
My words must come from my experience,
And till you share it they will make no sense.
lines 3657–74
You know the dangers that this ocean brings,
But flounder like a partridge without wings –
The whirlpool waits, the monstrous whale, the shark,
And are you still determined to embark?
Imagination makes you waver – think,
How will you save yourself if you should sink?
The fly in the beehive
A hungry fly once saw a hive of bees;
Transported by delicious fantasies,
He buzzed: “What noble friend will be my guide?
I’d give a barley grain to get inside –
How marvellous if I could just contrive
To find myself in this delightful hive.”
A passer-by took pity on his pain,
Lifted him in and took the barley grain.
But when he reached the honey-store at last,
He found his wings and hairy joints stuck fast –
His sticky, struggling legs began to tire,
Encumbered by the honey’s clammy mire.
He cried: “When free I didn’t know my luck;
This honey’s worse than poison. Help! I’m stuck!
To get into this mess I gave a grain;
I’d offer double to get out again!”
Within this valley no man can be free –
Your life has passed in thoughtless liberty;
But only adults can traverse this waste:
Let childhood go; a new life must be faced!
The valley waits; prepare now to depart;
Relinquish your beloved, selfish heart –
That pagan idol, that deceptive guide
Which turns detachment harmlessly aside.
A sheikh in love
A dervish sheikh became enamoured of
A girl whose father traded dogs. His love
lines 3675–91
Was like a surging sea that has no shore –
He slept among the dogs outside their door.
Her mother saw him lying there and said:
“Good sheikh, it seems my daughter’s turned your head!
Well, if you want her you will have to be
A man who markets dogs, who lives like me.
Take up the dog trade; do it for a year
And then we’ll have the wedding, never fear.”
This love-lorn sheikh was not a man to shirk –
He tore his dervish cloak and set to work,
Leading the dogs to market every day
Until the promised year had passed away.
He saw a sufi there who said: “Dear friend,
Whatever led you to this wretched end?
For thirty years you were a man – what fate
Has brought you to this ludicrous, sad state?”
The sheikh replied: “Idiot, no sermons, please –
If you could see into these mysteries,
If God should show these secret truths to you,
You’d do exactly as you see me do.
When God unveils your shame, you’ll understand
What kind of dog-leash dangles from your hand!”
How much must I describe this journey’s pain?
Who heeds my talk? How long must I explain?
What is the point of all these words I say?
Not one of you has set out on the Way,
And till you set out you cannot perceive
The truth of all I urge you to believe –
Who shares the patient vigil that I keep?
What good’s a leader? – You are all asleep!
The pupil who asked for advice
There was a pupil once who begged his sheikh:
“Give me some good advice, for pity’s sake!”
The sheikh cried: “Leave me – go on, get away,
lines 3692–3707
And if you itch for what I’ve got to say,
First wash your face – musk can’t drive out a stink;
Words are no good to someone sick with drink!”
The Valley of Unity
Next comes the Valley of pure Unity,
place of lonely, long austerity,
And all who enter on this waste have found
Their various necks by one tight collar bound –
If you see many here or but a few,
They’re one, however they appear to you.
The many here are merged in one; one form
Involves the multifarious, thick swarm
(This is the oneness of diversity,
Not oneness locked in singularity);
Unit and number here have passed away;
Forget for-ever and Creation’s day –
That day is gone; eternity is gone;
Let them depart into oblivion.
The world compared to a wax toy
Once someone asked a dervish to portray
The nature of this world in which we stray.
He said: “This various world is like a toy –
A coloured palm-tree given to a boy,
But made of wax – now knead it in your fist,
And there’s the wax of which its shapes consist;
The lovely forms and colours are undone,
And what seemed many things is only one.
All things are one – there isn’t any two;
It isn’t me who speaks; it isn’t you.”
Bou Ali and the old woman
An ancient crone once went to Bou Ali
And said: “This gold-leaf is a gift from me.”
lines 3708–28
I’ve taken gifts from no one except God.”
The woman laughed: “Well said, and no mistake
How many can you see, 0 reverend sheikh?
The man who treads the Way sees one alone
And counts a temple as the Ka’abah’s stone.”
Listen! Attend to all He has to say,
For His existence cannot pass away;
The pilgrim sees no form but His and knows
That He subsists beneath all passing shows –
The pilgrim comes from Him whom he can see,
Lives in Him, with Him, and beyond all three.
Be lost in Unity’s inclusive span,
Or you are human but not yet a man.
Whoever lives, the wicked and the blessed,
Contains a hidden sun within his breast –
Its light must dawn though dogged by long delay;
The clouds that veil it must be torn away –
Whoever reaches to his hidden sun
Surpasses good and bad and knows the One.
This good and bad are here while you are here;
Surpass yourself and they will disappear.
You come from nothing but he caught within
The cumbersome entanglements of sin –
Would that your first blank state were with you yet,
Before existence trapped you inks net.
First free yourself from sin’s adhesive loam,
Then be dispersed in dust and wind-swept foam.
How could you guess what ills within you lurk,
The foulness of their haunts, the dripping murk,
Where snake and scorpion slither through the deep,
Then undiscovered lose themselves in sleep?
Wake them, encourage them, and they will swell
Into a hundred monsters loosed from hell.
All men contain this evil in their hearts,
The Conference of the Birds (Penguin) Page 19
