Month: November 2018
The fly in the beehive
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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.
The valley of detachment
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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
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,
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.
Music masters
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You that love lovers,
this is your home.
Welcome!
In the midst of making form,
love made this form that melts form,
with love for the door, soul the vestibule.
Watch the dust grains moving
in the light near the window.
Their dance is our dance.
We rarely hear the inward music,
but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless,
directed by the one who teaches us,
the pure joy of the sun,
our music master.
When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity.
We are pain and what cures pain, both.
We are the sweet cold water
and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute,
so we can cry out with loving.
You would rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror, and here are the stones.
A babbling child
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If my words are not saying what you would say,
slap my face.
Discipline me as a loving mother does a babbling child
caught up in nonsense.
A thirsty man runs into the sea,
and the sea holds a sword to his throat.
A lily looks at a bank of roses and wilts and says nothing.
I am a tambourine.
Don’t put me aside till the fast dancing starts.
Play me some all along.
Help me with these little sounds.
Joseph is most beautiful when he’s completely naked,
but his shirt gives you an idea,
as the body lets you glimpse the glitter on the water of the soul.
Even if the corpse washer binds my jaw shut,
you’ll still hear this song coming out of my dead-silence.
Who sees inside from outside?
Who finds hundreds of mysteries
even where minds are deranged?
See through his eyes what he sees.
Who then is looking out from his eyes?
Hafiz tavern
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She fed me spoons of poetry
tastes of Rumi and Attar
we imagined being drunk in Hafiz tavern
while we were sitting in a bar
We felt a thousand forms of Love, that night
but to become God’s Lover,
takes so much more
than a nibble and a bite
to become that
formless form, of Love
to receive a kiss
from that beautiful,
faceless face
that kiss
from beyond form
can be given only
by grace
An eagle finding truth
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The eagle circled high above
the desolate land
The damage done
Was more than planned
Tears swelled behind his crystal eyes
His kingdom ruined
All based on lies
Still he felt, somehow, unchained
All he ever thought he was,
had left him
As quiet grace
he still remained
The lover who slept
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A lover, tired out by the tears he wept,
Lay in exhaustion on the earth and slept;
When his beloved came and saw him there,
Sunk fast in sleep, at peace, without a care,
She took a pen and in an instant wrote,
Then fastened to his sleeve, a little note.
When he awoke and read her words his pain
(Increased a thousandfold) returned again
“If you sell silver in the town,” he read,
“The market’s opened, rouse your sleepy head;
If faith is your concern, pray through the night –
Prostrate yourself until the dawning light;
But if you are a lover, blush with shame;
Sleep is unworthy of the lover’s name!
He watches with the wind throughout the day;
He sees the moon rise up and fade away –
But you do neither, though you weep and sigh;
Your love for me looks like an empty lie.
A man who sleeps before death’s sleep I call
A lover of him self, and that is all!
You’ve no idea of love, and may your sleep
Be like your ignorance–prolonged and deep!”
The stone man
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A man in China has become a stone;
He sits and mourns, and at each muffled groan
Weeps melancholy tears, which then are found
Congealed as pebbles scattered on the ground
(What misery the world would know, what pain, If
clouds should shed such adamantine rain!).
This man is Knowledge (sensible, devout;
If you should go to China seek him out),
But he has turned to stone from secret grief,
From lack of zeal, indifference, unbelief.
The world is dark, and Knowledge is a light,
A sparkling jewel to lead you through the night –
Without it you would wander mystified,
Like Alexander lost without a guide;
But if you trust its light too much, despair
Will be the sequel of pedantic care,
And if you underestimate this jewel
Despair will mark you as a righteous fool
(Ignore or overvalue this bright stone,
And wretchedness will claim you for her own).
If you can step outside the stage we know,
The dark confusions of our life below,
And reach man’s proper state, you will possess
Wisdom at which the world can never guess.
The path brings sorrow and bewildered fear,
But venture on until the Way is clear,
And neither sleep by night nor drink by day,
But give your life – completely – to the Way.
The valley of insight into mystery
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