O Attar (perfumer)! Thou hast continually poured forth in the world the contents of the musk-pod of mysteries. The horizons of the world are filled with thy perfumes (’atr), and the lovers who dwell in the world are full of turmoil because of thee. At times Thou makest the sighs of pure love arise; at times Thou causest lamentations to be heard before the veil, besieged by true lovers. Thy verses offer them a capital; may they adorn themselves with it as with a jewel! This is thy seal, as light is the seal of the sun: namely, “The Language of the Birds (Manac uttair)” and “The Assemblies of the Birds (Macdmdt uttiyür?)”. These are the assemblies (or stations) of the path of bewilderment—or, perhaps better, the diwän (collection of poems) of rapture.
Enter this diwân with love, yield up thy soul with self-abandonment, and enter this palace. In such a hippodrome, where the soul has never shown itself, in this hippodrome which was never even seen, unless thou enter with affection, thou shalt not behold so much as its dust. When the Duldul of thy love comes galloping, if thou desire anything, act in accordance with thy desire. So long as loathing (of worldly things) is not thy food, how can thy bewildered heart live? Awaken within thee the feeling of love, for it is the remedy for thy ills, it is the remedy for the soul in both worlds. O thou who art journeying on the spiritual path! read not my book as a work of poetry or magic, but read it as concerning spiritual love, and judge, by a single feeling of thy love, what my hundred amorous sorrows may be. He shall drive the ball of felicity to its goal who reads (my book) animated by this love. Leave aside abstinence and vulgarity; here naught is needed but love—yes, love and renunciation. Whosoever possesses this love, let him have no other remedy than to renounce his soul. The man (of the spiritual path) must be thirsty, hungry, and sleepless, and so thirsty that he may never, throughout eternity, succeed in quenching his thirst.
He who has not tasted the fragrance of my discourse has gained not the slightest entrance into the path of lovers. He, on the contrary, who shall have read it attentively will become a man of action, and he who shall have understood it well will be worthy to enter the way I proclaim. Those who look only at the outward sense are as if drowned by the effect of my discourse, but those who grasp its spiritual meaning possess the secrets it contains. My book is the ornament of the age; it is a gift alike to the distinguished and to the common folk. If a man cold as ice were to see this book, he would spring forth swiftly like fire from behind the veil that conceals the mystery from him. My verses have a remarkable quality: the more they are read, the more benefit they yield. If thou hast the opportunity to
Read them often, and they will assuredly please you more each time. The veil of this bride of the harem shall be lifted only gradually in the place of honour of grace. Such an ecstatic state as mine shall never be traced by the reed-pen upon paper until the resurrection. I have scattered the pearls of the ocean of contemplation; I have acquitted myself perfectly, and my book is the proof of it; but if I praised myself too highly, would anyone approve the praise I bestowed upon myself? He who is impartial toward me will acknowledge my merit, for the light of my full moon is not hidden. I had to indicate my station in some detail; and he who esteems eloquence will doubtless treat me justly. I shall remain, if not through myself, then through the poetic pearls I have scattered upon the heads of men, until the resurrection. I have left a remembrance upon the tongues of mortals until the Day of Reckoning, and my book shall be that remembrance. Were the domes of heaven to dissolve, not a single point of this memorable poem would be lost. He to whom this book can show the way will cast far from himself the veil that hides the truth from him. If he finds comfort in the attentive reading of this poem, he must remember the writer in his prayers. Here and there I have strewn the roses of this spiritual garden. Remember me kindly, O my friends! Every spiritualist has expressed his thoughts in his own particular manner, and soon thereafter has vanished. I too, like those who came before me, have shown the bird of my soul to those who are asleep. If the sleep that filled your long life has deprived you of this discourse, yet your soul shall be awakened for a moment by the secret it reveals. I know, without a doubt, that my desire shall be fulfilled, and that my grief and anxiety shall cease. I have burned like the wick, so as to illuminate, as it does, a world of people. My brain has smoked like the niche in which the lamp is placed; the torch of eternity shines before me. How long shall the material lamp continue to burn? By day I am not hungry; by night I do not sleep; no water remains in my heart, because of the fire that consumes my soul. I said to myself: “O you who speak so much! instead of speaking so much, beat your body and seek the secrets.” My heart replies: “I am plunged in fire; do not blame me; I burn if I do not speak. The ocean of my soul stirs its waves in a thousand ways; how can I remain silent for even a single moment? I do not pride myself on this above anyone, but these thoughts possess me entirely. Although this love does not leave my heart, what can I say, since I am not initiated into the matter? But what are all these vain tales, and what do these men stained with egotism claim? What shall come forth from a heart occupied with such vanities, if my discourse is forgotten? One must resolve a hundred times to renounce life and ask forgiveness for all these vanities. If you would have the ocean of the soul remain in wholesome agitation, you must know how to renounce life and keep silent.”
The Theologian in His Death Agony
A learned theologian, being in his death agony, said: “Ah! had I known sooner how much higher a degree of honour there is in listening than in speaking, would I have wasted my life in discourse? Were discourse as excellent as gold, it would still be better left unsaid.”
Action is the province of men worthy of their calling. Instead of speaking, is it not better to give oneself up to divine love? If, like spiritual men, you had a tender love for religion, you would find my words true. Since your heart is a stranger to love, all that I say seems fabulous to you. Sleep in abandonment, like a man who casts aside the outward observances of religion, and I shall tell you my pleasant tales. If Attar has told you any that have charmed you, sleep will come pleasantly to you. Sleep, then, at your ease: I have poured enough oil upon sand; I have hung enough pearls around the necks of swine. Often enough have I prepared this table, and yet risen from it hungry. Often enough have I admonished my soul, and it has not obeyed; I gave it medicines, and they had no effect. Since nothing has succeeded with me, I have washed my hands of myself and remained apart. It was necessary that the divine attraction should seize me…
A learned theologian, being in his death agony, said: “Ah! had I known sooner how much higher a degree of honour there is in listening than in speaking, would I have wasted my life in discourse? Were discourse as excellent as gold, it would still be better left unsaid.”
Action is the province of men worthy of their calling. Instead of speaking, is it not better to give oneself up to divine love? If, like spiritual men, you had a tender love for religion, you would find my words true. Since your heart is a stranger to love, all that I say seems fabulous to you. Sleep in abandonment, like a man who casts aside the outward observances of religion, and I shall tell you my pleasant tales. If Attar has told you any that have charmed you, sleep will come pleasantly to you. Sleep, then, at your ease: I have poured enough oil upon sand; I have hung enough pearls around the necks of swine. Often enough have I prepared this table, and yet risen from it hungry. Often enough have I admonished my soul, and it has not obeyed; I gave it medicines, and they had no effect. Since nothing has succeeded with me, I have washed my hands of myself and remained apart. It was necessary that the divine attraction should seize me…
O my heart! Take heed of this warning amid this whirlwind of misfortune. Remain attentive and watchful, for death is on thy heels. I have made thee hear the language of the birds and all their discourse. It is for thee to understand, O ignorant one! The birds are among the lovers when they fly forth from their cage before death. Each has explained and expressed itself differently, for each has its own particular way of speaking. He who has understood the language of all these birds has found the philosopher’s stone before the Simurgh.
How wilt thou know the bliss of the spiritual ones amid the wisdom of the Greeks? So long as thou dost not part from this pretended wisdom, how wilt thou attain the wisdom of faith? Whoever speaks of this wisdom in the path of love of which I speak knows not this love celebrated in the divan of faith. Here I prefer the kaf of “impiety” (kufr), in relation to contemplation, to the fa of “philosophy” (falsafa); for if the veil that covers impiety were drawn aside, it would be easy for thee to guard thyself against it, whereas, if one argues according to the science of dialectic, one can scarcely address anyone but the learned.
How wilt thou know the bliss of the spiritual ones amid the wisdom of the Greeks? So long as thou dost not part from this pretended wisdom, how wilt thou attain the wisdom of faith? Whoever speaks of this wisdom in the path of love of which I speak knows not this love celebrated in the divan of faith. Here I prefer the kaf of “impiety” (kufr), in relation to contemplation, to the fa of “philosophy” (falsafa); for if the veil that covers impiety were drawn aside, it would be easy for thee to guard thyself against it, whereas, if one argues according to the science of dialectic, one can scarcely address anyone but the learned.
If thou wouldst enlighten thy heart with this wisdom, why burn everything as Omar did? Since the torch of faith has burned the wisdom of the Greeks, thou must not sell the torch of thy spirit for this science. Spiritual wisdom suffices the man of faith: cast dust, then, upon the Greeks in thy ardent love for faith.
How long wilt thou continue thy discourse, O Attar? Thou art not the man for this admirable thing. Strive to emerge unsoiled from thine own existence; become dust through thy annihilation upon the face of the earth. Until thou art trampled underfoot by the vilest people, thou shalt not be the crown upon the head of all the world. Annihilate thyself, so that all the birds of the spiritual path may lead thee in their train to the noble goal of their journey. The discourse thou holdest must serve thee as a guide upon the way; for this discourse is not within everyone’s reach. Although I am nothing in comparison with the birds of the path, I speak of them, and that is all. In the end, the dust of this caravan will reach me, and from those beings who have departed, love will come to me.
How long wilt thou continue thy discourse, O Attar? Thou art not the man for this admirable thing. Strive to emerge unsoiled from thine own existence; become dust through thy annihilation upon the face of the earth. Until thou art trampled underfoot by the vilest people, thou shalt not be the crown upon the head of all the world. Annihilate thyself, so that all the birds of the spiritual path may lead thee in their train to the noble goal of their journey. The discourse thou holdest must serve thee as a guide upon the way; for this discourse is not within everyone’s reach. Although I am nothing in comparison with the birds of the path, I speak of them, and that is all. In the end, the dust of this caravan will reach me, and from those beings who have departed, love will come to me.
An aged religious man once said to a Sufi: “Why do you so often relate the discourses of the men of God?” He replied: “What men engaged in the spiritual path say will always be pleasing to my lips. Though I am not one of their number, I repeat what I have heard them say, and I am content to act thus.”
Though I have sugar in name alone, it is still better than having poison in my throat. My whole divan is madness (diménagui); reason has nothing to do with my discourses. I know not what I ought to say; strange indeed, I seek for things that are not lost. In my madness I have forsaken fortune, and have recited the lesson of the heedless idlers. If they say to me: “O thou who hast strayed from the path! seek pardon for thine own faults,” I know not how such a thing can be done fittingly, nor whether I can make amends for a hundred ill-spent lives. Were it granted me to walk steadfastly in the spiritual path, the shin of my verses would henceforth become for me the sin of the mystery. Had I once entered upon this path,
Though I have sugar in name alone, it is still better than having poison in my throat. My whole divan is madness (diménagui); reason has nothing to do with my discourses. I know not what I ought to say; strange indeed, I seek for things that are not lost. In my madness I have forsaken fortune, and have recited the lesson of the heedless idlers. If they say to me: “O thou who hast strayed from the path! seek pardon for thine own faults,” I know not how such a thing can be done fittingly, nor whether I can make amends for a hundred ill-spent lives. Were it granted me to walk steadfastly in the spiritual path, the shin of my verses would henceforth become for me the sin of the mystery. Had I once entered upon this path,
How should I have been so absorbed in my verses? Occupying myself with making verses was a vain pretext for not resolutely entering upon this path, just as it is folly to contemplate oneself. Having found no mahram in the world, I recited my verses in a low voice. If thou believest thyself to possess the secret, seek it yet again; devote thy existence to it, shed thy blood, and seek it ceaselessly. I shed tears of blood only so that I might smile with love. If thou hast an instinctive sense of the difficult magic of my verses, accept the penetrating fragrance of my language. He who is charmed by everything remarkable will regard this lofty language as theriac. Though I am a perfumer (’attar) and a seller of theriac, I burn my heart and offer its blood as wine; but the people with whom I have to do are devoid of knowledge and taste, and for this reason I am forced to gnaw my liver in solitude. When I take dry bread from my tablecloth, I use the tears of my eyes for broth, and serve my roasted heart with it, so that for a moment I may have Gabriel as my guest. Now, since Gabriel is my table companion, how could I break bread with the wicked? I will have no bread from any wicked man; this is my bread and what accompanies it. The riches of my heart increase my life; truth is my imperishable treasure. How shall he who can possess this treasure go and implore a low and vile man? Thanks be to God, I am no courtier; I have bound myself to no unworthy person. Shall I perfidiously put chains upon my heart and give the name of “Lord” to every duality? I have eaten no food belonging to any unjust man, nor have I attached my name to any book whatsoever. My lofty aim is to praise the eternal Being; the strength of my soul suffices for the nourishment of my body. My spiritual chiefs have summoned me before them. How long will they make much of me? To be free of worldly things, I have remained joyful amid a hundred trials. I pay no heed to the circle of those ill-disposed towards me, whether they praise or blame me. I am so absorbed in my spiritual love that I shake hands with every horizon. If thou shouldst hear the tale of my regrets and sorrows, thou wouldst be more astonished than I myself. My soul and body have departed—or, rather, sorrow and regret are all that remain to them.
“Angel! I have neither the heart of a friend nor my own heart; I am inclined neither to good nor to evil; I have no desire to taste the king’s dishes and thus expose myself to the porter’s blows. I cannot bring myself to remain alone for a single instant, or to remain apart in heart from the people of the world for a single moment. My position is topsy-turvy, as the pîr says of himself (whose story follows):”
WORDS OF A PÎR. V. 4570.
WORDS OF A PÎR. V. 4570.
A man deeply devoted to religion once said: “For thirty whole years I have constantly lived outside myself, abandoned to a hidden grief, like Ishmael (Isaac), when his father wished to cut off his head. What will become of the man who has spent his whole life as though in the painful instant Ishmael had to endure? Does anyone know how one may pass one’s life, night and day, amid this prison and this sorrow? Now I burn in expectation like the candle; now I weep like the rain at the beginning of spring. When you see the candle’s brightness, you are pleased, and do not perceive that it is nothing but fire. Whoever is content to look at me from without, how can he ever enter into the depths of my heart? Tossed about like the ball of the polo game beneath the curve of the mallet, I cannot distinguish the end from the beginning, nor the beginning from the end. I see no use in my existence, for what I have done and what I have said are nothing. Alas! I have help from no one; my life has been lost in inaction. When I might have acted, I knew not how, and of what use was my knowledge to me, since when I knew how to act, I could not. Now weakness and despair alone are my lot; I know not at all how to set about escaping this state.”
ANOTHER ANECDOTE CONCERNING… V. …
When Schabli was dead, a good man saw him in a dream and said to him: “O fortunate one! how has God dealt with Thee?” — He replied: “Although there were grievous things in my account, since God saw that I was my own enemy, He took account of my dejection, my weakness, and my despair. He therefore had pity on me, and in His generosity entirely forgave me.”
When Schabli was dead, a good man saw him in a dream and said to him: “O fortunate one! how has God dealt with Thee?” — He replied: “Although there were grievous things in my account, since God saw that I was my own enemy, He took account of my dejection, my weakness, and my despair. He therefore had pity on me, and in His generosity entirely forgave me.”
O my Creator! I am in Thy regard an unhappy traveller, and towards Thee like a lame ant that has fallen into a well. I know not whether I am among Thy elect; I know not where I am, who I am, or what I am. I am weak, unhappy, and destitute. I am a needy man without repose, and at the same time without energy. I have passed my life plunged in the blood of my heart, and have profited nothing by the life allotted to me. I have received the recompense for all that I have done; my life has reached its end, and my soul is upon my lips. I have lost both spiritual and temporal things. I have possessed neither the outward form nor the true meaning of things. I have remained neither an infidel nor a Muslim. I have stood bewildered between faith and infidelity. What then must I do, being neither Muslim nor infidel? What then must I do? for my head reels and I am troubled. I have been unable to pass through the narrow door of mystery, and have pressed my face against the wall of reflection. Oh! open this door to me, who am in despair; show a path to me, who am lost.
The servant of God who has no provision for the (spiritual) path must not cease to weep and lament. Thou canst destroy thy sins with the fire of thy sighs, and wash thy black divan with thy tears. Tell him to come who can pour forth rivers of tears, for he is worthy of this high station; but tell him whose eyes cannot shed tears of blood that he has nothing to do with me.
ALLEGORICAL ANECDOTE.
A pîr who was journeying chanced upon some spiritualists along his way, among whom there was talk of ready money, which they seemed to be snatching from one another. The pîr immediately asked these people to tell him what this money was. One of them answered him: “O travelling pîr! know that a wretched man passed this way. He uttered a chaste sigh from his heart and died; he shed hot tears upon the earth and died. At present, along the path of sorrow, we are snatching from one another these hot tears and cold sighs.”
ALLEGORICAL ANECDOTE.
A pîr who was journeying chanced upon some spiritualists along his way, among whom there was talk of ready money, which they seemed to be snatching from one another. The pîr immediately asked these people to tell him what this money was. One of them answered him: “O travelling pîr! know that a wretched man passed this way. He uttered a chaste sigh from his heart and died; he shed hot tears upon the earth and died. At present, along the path of sorrow, we are snatching from one another these hot tears and cold sighs.”
O God! I shed many tears, I heave many sighs, and this thing comes to my aid, since I possess nothing. If tears and sighs have currency there (where Thou art), Thy servant has this merchandise. Purify, then, the dwelling of my soul with my sighs, and cleanse my diwan by means of my tears. I have remained with my foot bound in the well and in the prison (of the world); who will draw me out of it, if not Thou? My imprisoned body has been defiled; my heart, tormented by grief, has withered. If I have come into Thy path so dejected, forgive me, for I come from the well and the prison.
A sage said: “If God, the Glorious, questions me on the plain of resurrection in these words: ‘O thou who seemest worn out with fatigue! what hast thou brought from the road thou hast travelled?’—I shall answer: ‘O God! what can one bring from a prison? I have arrived here from the prison (of the world), where I was plunged in misfortune; I have arrived bewildered, utterly lost from head to foot. I have nothing but wind in my hand, and I am the dust of the threshold of Thy door; I am the slave and prisoner of Thy path. I hope Thou wilt not sell me, and wilt clothe me in the mantle of Thy favour.’”
A sage said: “If God, the Glorious, questions me on the plain of resurrection in these words: ‘O thou who seemest worn out with fatigue! what hast thou brought from the road thou hast travelled?’—I shall answer: ‘O God! what can one bring from a prison? I have arrived here from the prison (of the world), where I was plunged in misfortune; I have arrived bewildered, utterly lost from head to foot. I have nothing but wind in my hand, and I am the dust of the threshold of Thy door; I am the slave and prisoner of Thy path. I hope Thou wilt not sell me, and wilt clothe me in the mantle of Thy favour.’”
Purify me of all defilement, and join my ashes to Islam. When my body is hidden beneath dust and brick, deign to take no account of the good or evil I may have done. Since Thou hast created me freely, Thou must forgive me freely.
When Nizâm ul-Mulk was at the point of death, he said: “O my God! I am departing into the hands of the wind.”
O my Creator and my Lord! I beseech Thee by the merits of him whom I know to have spoken Thy words (Mahomet), of him whose law I have accepted, whom I have upheld and loved. I have applied myself to winning Thy favour, and have never sold Thee for anyone; I have eagerly sought to win Thy favour, and have not sold Thee, as so many others have. Ah! in turn, redeem me at the last moment. Thou art the Friend of those who have no friends; succour me. O my God! at this final instant, grant me Thy help, for then there will be no one but Thee for me. My virtuous friends will have their eyes full of bloody tears when they have withdrawn their hands from my dust. At that moment, stretch out to me a generous hand, so that I may swiftly seize the hem of the robe of Thy goodness.
When Nizâm ul-Mulk was at the point of death, he said: “O my God! I am departing into the hands of the wind.”
O my Creator and my Lord! I beseech Thee by the merits of him whom I know to have spoken Thy words (Mahomet), of him whose law I have accepted, whom I have upheld and loved. I have applied myself to winning Thy favour, and have never sold Thee for anyone; I have eagerly sought to win Thy favour, and have not sold Thee, as so many others have. Ah! in turn, redeem me at the last moment. Thou art the Friend of those who have no friends; succour me. O my God! at this final instant, grant me Thy help, for then there will be no one but Thee for me. My virtuous friends will have their eyes full of bloody tears when they have withdrawn their hands from my dust. At that moment, stretch out to me a generous hand, so that I may swiftly seize the hem of the robe of Thy goodness.
Solomon, despite his perfect wisdom, humbly made this request one day of a lame ant: “Speak,” he said to her, “you who are more imbued than I with spiritual doctrines; what clay is most mingled with grief?” The lame ant at once gave this answer: “It is,” she said to him, “the last brick of the narrow tomb; for, indeed, the last brick placed in the earth for burial will bring an end to every hope, even the most innocent.”
O pure essence! when, beneath the earth, I shall expect nothing more from created beings and the brick shall cover my face, oh! then turn not Thy gracious countenance away from me. When I, forlorn, lay my face in the earth, lay absolutely nothing against me there. Oh! yes, I hope, O my God! that Thou wilt bring nothing grievous upon my face, despite the great sins I have committed. Thou, O my Creator! art the most generous of all; forgive what has passed, oh! forgive it!
O pure essence! when, beneath the earth, I shall expect nothing more from created beings and the brick shall cover my face, oh! then turn not Thy gracious countenance away from me. When I, forlorn, lay my face in the earth, lay absolutely nothing against me there. Oh! yes, I hope, O my God! that Thou wilt bring nothing grievous upon my face, despite the great sins I have committed. Thou, O my Creator! art the most generous of all; forgive what has passed, oh! forgive it!
At Mahnah, while one day in the bath, he perceived that his bath-attendant was a man unacquainted with spiritual things. The man cleansed the schaïkh as best he could, gathered together all that he had removed, and showed it to the devotee. “O schaikh,” said he, “pure soul, what is there in the world comparable to generosity?” — “It is,” replied the schaikh, “to conceal the filth and not to place it before people’s eyes.” This answer was beyond the bath-attendant’s understanding; nevertheless, he fell at the saint’s feet and confessed his ignorance. Then the schaikh served him in his turn and asked his pardon.
O Creator! Preserver! Dispenser! King who fulfillest my desires and art generous! Since Thy liberality toward the creatures of the world is but a dew-drop from the ocean of Thy goodness, Thou art the absolute Helper by Thine own essence, and Thy generosity is such that it cannot be described. Forgive my levity and my boldness, and do not set my impurity before my eyes again.
O Creator! Preserver! Dispenser! King who fulfillest my desires and art generous! Since Thy liberality toward the creatures of the world is but a dew-drop from the ocean of Thy goodness, Thou art the absolute Helper by Thine own essence, and Thy generosity is such that it cannot be described. Forgive my levity and my boldness, and do not set my impurity before my eyes again.