In
the Name of God, The Most Pure, The Most Pure.
I
have drawn out my heart. In a golden basin filled with ice water I have washed
three chambers pure. I have concealed the fourth chamber. It is the cause of my
shame and I have hidden it from all except God, from Whom nothing is hidden.
From
three temples I have driven out the demons of fanaticism, ignorance and
depravity. In the fourth they have taken
refuge together. I lack strength enough to exorcise them, except that God may
aid me. These are my three
daughters, as beautiful as stars in
the Pleides. The fourth I have veiled in her shroud, fit for the tomb.
Life
will end, yet these three may live a little more yet. They are safe from the
ravages of age. They are untouched by the sorrows and afflictions of this
world. If any one is fair to you, renounce me, for you love the daughter, not
the father who raised her.
If
you find fault with any one, renounce me, for her faults are the failings of
the father who raised her. If you remember the one who raised them, remember
him with a prayer. His three daughters cannot pray for him. They are friends to
the afflicted, consorts to the grieving; they are my beloved children.
If
the moon has not risen in your heart’s firmament, these are three lanterns along this dark
road. When the sun rises for you, put them aside. If you cling to my
words when that sun blazes before you,
then you have made a grave mistake and
committed a grievous transgression.
If
you have spoken with Balaam, you will bless Moses. If you have heard John, you
will turn to Jesus. Do not exchange the Joseph of your search
for a few dirham. Or are you the seeker who follows the star, yet
speaks shamefully to Mary? You have surely committed a monstrous thing!
Among those
authors who have
knowledge and seek God’s pleasure, by comparison this
author is ignorant and caught up too
much in what pleases himself. He possesses neither esoteric knowledge nor an
exalted place with Him. He is debased and cast down. For his ugliness, he
disowns beauty. He is ashamed and would not defile these books by placing his
hand upon them or associating his name with them.
For ten years I have cultivated a garden, But a few
roses are all I have to offer.
Still,
I have wanted my name to be remembered and am proud that I have been
the father of these three. But Khidr, whose name I have invoked, has
rebuked me for this, saying, “I look upon
the devices and inventions of man, the monuments built by men to glorify themselves, the
achievements of men greater, more virtuous, and more powerful than you.
All
of this has been effaced before, and again before that, and will be yet again
when you and your children are dead and your names, like scratches in sand,
wiped away clean. I marvel at your
pride in earthly accomplishment, as
though you might carry pride, or wealth, or joy with you to Sheol.”
I
was asked once by a well-intentioned friend, “Why do you write about God? If
you want wealth or a position of importance or public recognition, you are wasting
your time. Instead, you stalk Him and hunt
after His signs. Why are your thoughts so taken with Him?”
I
answered, “I am ashamed of every thought
devoted to any other, yet you would have me put Him out of my mind. What
else is
there to write about? When my thoughts stray from Him, this pen runs dry. While I
may reach the sea by any number of rivers, why would I seek a river when the
sea is in sight?”
Many
mariners and boatmen have charted this course; I do well to follow them, though
I follow far behind and with less skill. Here I have told their stories and
mine. I have mingled my prayers with their own and hope that I have added what
pleases God and have not offended my betters and forebears.
I
spoke once with Rumi who was feasting with friends in the shade of a rose
bower. I was permitted to approach him and for a moment allowed to speak. I
said, “I am a mimic of you. I am a pale copy and a counterfeit, though I never
intended to steal stories from your mouth.”
Rumi
laughed and was in good spirits. He said, “Those stories are no more my
property than the clothes of my youth or the tables at which I ate. We kept
company together awhile. When I died, God scattered those words like diamonds
over the earth. Pick them up and set them in brilliant settings and you will
have eulogized me and my teachers and will have given three fine gifts to the
Lord of Glory, though no gift can ever befit Him.”
He
said, “Remember the words I borrowed from my friend Attar; and those
words he and I both borrowed
from Sanai. Those stories that
belonged to us we also borrowed. All things are originally from His Hand. If
you give more than you have taken, God will forgive you. But do not make the
mistake Hallaj once made.”
Hallaj’s
son made report of his father and spoke freely of his father’s execution. God
had revealed an attribute of Himself to Hallaj, but Hallaj made it a boast. The
Woolcarder had loosened the bonds of attachment to all things but himself. For
this reason, God tested Hallaj with ridicule and torture and the certainty of
death.
Even
the friends of Hallaj and his disciples turned
their backs on him. Did their betrayal torment him more even than the
instruments his enemies used to mutilate him? In a vision, the
Woolcarder shone like a sun before me. He said, “You wonder at me. Why?”
I
said, “Did you deserve the punishment
you received? Were you angry that the order came from those who were
once your friends?”
He
said, “My execution was well-deserved. I was not angry with my friends; not
with Jonaid who affirmed the order, not Shebli who threw mud at me as they led
me to the gibbet. They were my friends; they are my friends still. I embrace
them.
When
they cut off my hands, I performed my ablutions with my own blood. When they
hacked off my feet, I crawled before His throne. When they put out my eyes, I
saw only His Face. When they cut out my tongue, His name was still upon my
lips.
When
they cut off my head and burned me to ashes and scattered me to the winds, I
loved God still. For this, He answered all my prayers. He loved me and I loved
Him. He removed the veil of the world from my mutilated eyes.
He
fulfilled the promise I made when I cried out ‘I am the Truth’ by utterly
destroying me. I prophesied my union with Him and the people arose to punish my
blasphemy; yet through their punishment, my prophecy and His promise came to
pass.”
These
are the words Hallaj spoke to me. God forgive me for loving him. Hallaj
lives and I am dead. But God stands astride the world of the living and the
dead and He may yet breathe life into my corpse. Everywhere He stands among us,
though He comes too subtly for dull senses to detect.
He
will turn me in my path and will set the world aright and will stand before my
eyes, or be cradled in my arms, and yet I have said, “Nowhere that I looked did
I find Him.” Judge between Him and me. The madness is in me—it was never in
Him!
Here
we come to the end of reason. Put these devices of mind and perception aside.
With these, you will not grasp Him, you will not see Him. This world is a house
of deceit, supported by two columns:
fanaticism and depravity. These seeming opposites are friends to ignorance and
companions together in the destruction of human life and in the ruin of men’s
souls.
A
man of few means and disagreeable disposition was in love with a well-liked and
attractive woman. One day a friend asked him if he was planning to attend a
gathering she had arranged for the evening. She had invited her many friends
and acquaintances. He responded with surprise, and said, “No, she said nothing
to me.”
His
friend said, “I’m sure you would be welcome.” He said, “I don’t go where I’m
not invited.”
His friend
berated him, “How
can you expect
that she would invite
you? At every previous opportunity,
with each prior invitation, you
have refused. If you have rejected enough invitations, they cease finally to
invite you.”
He
said, “This is true, but my heart burns nevertheless to be excluded.”
From
His invitation, do not risk exclusion, but do not imagine that His invitations to
you will ever cease or ever be with drawn.
He
has hung Iblis on the cross of disappointment. Iblis cried out, “For whom have I been
sacrificed? He grants free will and demands, ‘You must have no will that is not
Mine.’ He speaks in parables and requires ‘You will not question Me.’ He has
fed His lovers to ravenous wolves.
No
wolf devoured Joseph, but every day those transfixed by Joseph’s beauty are
devoured. He made Joseph the form of Zuleika’s single desire. How terrible a
punishment this is for one who had not offended before.”
“What
prisoner does not protest the rule of such laws by which he is condemned? I am
a prisoner; I ask for clemency. Will He not grant it? I ask for lenience and
forgiveness. Will He not permit it? I am aware of my transgressions and am
utterly lost. Will He not accept
me?”
While
he struggled, he asked me to give him a little water to drink. He said, “I
cannot kiss Him with the taste of these words in my mouth.”
I
granted his wish and he wept and said, “Love is madness. It requires of us no
reason and offers none. It is the poison; it is the antidote. It is the
martyrdom; it is the full reward. It kills and, by killing, restores to life.
It gives fragrance to the blossom, sweetness to sugar, flavor to wine. Without
it, the sun goes dark, flesh turns to dust, Joseph has no beauty and Solomon no
wisdom.
“Here
I come to the end of reason. I cannot apply my knowledge to understand it. It
mocks and defies my understanding. There is no parable for this. Reason
crumbles when love enters the heart.” Before my eyes, the gibbet became a tree
of white blossoms, and Iblis shone like the morning star, his beauty restored.
If there is hope
for him, there is hope enough for you and me.
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