The

CONFERENCE
of the BIRDS

ATTAR
TRANSLATED BY SHOLEH WOLPÉ
Attar traveled through all the seven cities of love
While I am only at the bend of the first alley.
—RUMI

Sufi mystic poet Rumi considered Attar his master, calling him “the spirit”
and himself “its shadow.” To this day, the beauty and wisdom of Attar’s The
Conference of the Birds remains unsurpassed. Here, Attar offers us pearls
nestled inside beguiling parables.
Reader, give up reason, open your heart; see for yourself.

These lofty words are an antidote

for anyone sickened by extremism’s poison.
—ATTAR
 CONTENTS

Foreword
Introduction
The Birds of the World Gather
The Birds Confer and Make Excuses
The Birds Prepare for the Journey
The Birds Begin the Journey
The Birds Complain and Boast
The Birds Voice Their Fears
The Birds Ask About the Beloved
The Seven Valleys
The Journey of the Birds
Epilogue

Appendix: Correspondences Between This Translation and the Lines of the

Persian Original

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

Adjusting type size may change line breaks. Landscape mode may help to
preserve line breaks.
 FOREWORD

The Conference of the Birds is a journey that I invite you to take

in earnest—read it from start to finish. This voyage with the birds may
change your life. It did mine. The change may not be immediate or drastic,
but trust me, when a seed is planted it grows.
The parables in this book trigger memories deep within us all. The
stories inhabit the imagination, and slowly over time, their wisdom trickles
down into the heart. The process of absorption is unique to every
individual, as is each person’s journey. We are the birds in the story. All of
us have our own ideas and ideals, our own fears and anxieties, as we hold
on to our own version of the truth. Like the birds of this story, we may take
flight together, but the journey itself will be different for each of us. Attar
tells us that truth is not static, and that we each tread a path according to our
own capacity. It evolves as we evolve. Those who are trapped within their
own dogma, clinging to hardened beliefs or faith, are deprived of the
journey toward the unfathomable Divine, which Attar calls the Great
Ocean.
Before you begin, it is important to understand that the parables in this
book are allegories. Do not approach them literally. In these stories the
Divine may make an appearance as itself, or appear in the guise of a
beloved, a benevolent king, or a cruel sultan. All beheadings, hangings,
blood-tears, sighs, and punishments take place in the arena of the inner self.
The shedding of blood represents the emptying of the vessel of conscious
egoistic desires, the carnal self, the animal self, and all that prevents a soul
from being found and plucked to safety by the Divine. Attar believes that
suffering destroys the ego. And since suffering is born out of love, love is
also the destroyer of ego. When the ego is annihilated, the inner eye blinks
open.
I share this moving work with you not only as a poet and lover of
poetry, but also as a soul who repeatedly attempts to walk the path toward
the Beloved. I am always on the move, and it is this movement that Attar
encourages. He warns us not to dry up in our own puddle, but instead to
persevere in our journey toward the Divine. That Great Ocean is eternal. It
is patient. It waits for us all. May we all arrive at its shores as drops of pure
water. That’s when we can join it, become it, and finally comprehend it.

—SHOLEH WOLPÉ
 INTRODUCTION

Attar
Attar, Sheikh Farīd-Ud-Dīn, (1145–1220 CE), was born in
Nishapur (Nīšāpūr), a city in the northeast region of Iran. Information about
Attar’s life is scarce and has been mythologized over the centuries.
However, what we do know for certain is that Attar practiced the profession
of pharmacist and personally attended to a very large number of customers.
Indeed, the name “Attar” means herbalist and perfume maker, which
certified him as an interpreter of illnesses and dispenser of remedies. Attar
began two of his books—the Mosībat-nāma and the Elāhī-nāma—while
earning a living as a healer. He never sought a position as a court
panegyrist, whose type of flattering poetizing he despised. In the epilogue
of The Conference of the Birds he writes:

I thank the Almighty I’m not a courtier,

free from such a degrading profession.

and

Not a morsel have I tasted from a tyrant’s table,

nor do I have a patron for my books.

The extent of Attar’s initiation into Sufi practices and mysticism is the
subject of many speculative, sometimes fabricated tales. Some believe that
he was reared in Sufism. Others speculate he was so moved by the troubling
stories his patients shared with him that he abandoned his pharmacy and
traveled through India, Turkistan, Mecca, Kufa, and Damascus to seek
wisdom from Sufi saints. Still others tell of his conversion to Sufism. One
such story tells of a wandering dervish who came into Attar’s shop and
asked if Attar could die as a dervish could. Attar replied, Of course I can.
The dervish then invoked the Divine, put his head down, and died right
there and then. Attar was so moved by this act of power and devotion that
he immediately closed his shop and began his travels searching for Sufi
masters.
To become a Sufi, one must be initiated and instructed extensively by a
sheikh, who serves as a teacher and guide. Yet there is no record of Attar
belonging to any Sufi order, nor any mention of who his sheikh might have
been. Rumi* claimed that Attar had received his instructions in a dream.
However, some scholars suggest Attar was not a Sufi at all, but rather one
who simply was well read and sympathetic to the Sufi way. He drew upon a
rich array of literature, from the works of Persian masters such as poet
Khaqani, mystic and theologian Al-Ghazali, and polymath Ibn Sina, to the
Indian Panchatantra, in which animals talk and act as humans.
Legend has it that Attar met Rumi when that future great mystic poet
was a child. Rumi’s family was traveling west to stay ahead of the Mongols.
It is said that Attar held Rumi in his arms, bounced him on his lap, and
predicted his greatness. Rumi went on to become a beloved poet with
devoted fans and followers. He repeatedly acknowledged Attar as his
master, and the influence of Attar’s wisdom and style of writing is evident
in Rumi’s work.
Attar’s death, as with his life, is subject to speculation. He is known to
have lived and died a violent death in the massacre inflicted by Genghis
Khan and the Mongol army on the city of Nishapur in 1221 CE, when he
was seventy years old. However, there are stories about the circumstances
of his death that are perhaps more lore than fact. In one such story, when the
Mongols invaded Nishapur, they took Attar prisoner. Someone came along
and offered to buy Attar’s release, but Attar advised the Mongol soldier
against selling him for silver. The Mongol, perhaps hoping for gold, refused
the sale. Soon, another buyer offered gold. Again, Attar advised his captor
not to sell. The soldier, driven by greed, refused that sale as well. Finally,
along came a man with a donkey who, seeing Attar in chains, offered the
soldier a sack of straw in exchange for the elderly poet’s life. Attar then
urged the soldier to accept the offer, saying: “Now you have been offered
what I am truly worth.” Upon hearing this, the angry soldier picked up his
sword and beheaded Attar in one swoosh.
In another story, the Mongol invaders are outside the city gate. Attar
took up his sword and rode out into battle. His head was cut off, but he
picked up his sword again and continued fighting.
Attar did not acquire fame outside of Iran as a poet in his own lifetime.
Not until the fifteenth century, nearly three hundred years after his death,
was his greatness as a Sufi poet recognized and appreciated. Of the forty
works bearing Attar’s name, approximately seven are verifiably his,
including The Conference of the Birds, which he completed around 1187
CE when he was about forty years old. Today, his mausoleum stands in
Shadiakh, one of the main palaces of old Nishapur in Iran.

About The Conference of the Birds

The Conference of the Birds (Manteq al-Tayr) is an allegorical poem about
our human struggle, both physical and spiritual. However, to better
understand this magnificent and powerful work, it is important to
understand the forces and philosophies that shaped it. Muslims invaded Iran
in 637 CE. The Islamic conquest ended the Sassanid Empire and led to the
eventual decline of the Zoroastrian religion in Iran. Even though the
majority of Iranians eventually converted to Islam, many aspects of their
ancient civilization became integrated into the newly formed Islamic
society.
Through the following centuries, the fluctuating relationship between
free thinkers and those who followed strict religious dogma profoundly
affected the development of poetry in Iran. Whenever the kings or
governors were influenced by religious leaders, philosophy and poetry
became stunted and the realm of ideas darkened. However, when the
sovereigns established a closer relationship with philosophers and poets,
inevitably enlightenment followed.
The central idea in the Sufi movement is that the soul, in the prison of
the body, awaits release. Once freed, it returns to the source which is the
Creator. This reunion can be experienced while we are still bound by the
body through looking inward and through purification.
Attar’s philosophy and poems were greatly impacted by many great
thinkers and Sufis, but perhaps most significantly by: Bayazid Bastami,
Mansur al-Hallaj, Ain-al Quzat Hamedani, and Shahāb ad-Dīn Sohrevardi.
Bastami (804–875 CE) was considered an “intoxicated Sufi,” meaning
he expressed his feelings openly and without regard to social and personal
consequences. He led an ascetic life and renounced all worldly pleasures,
which ultimately led to a state of symbolic self-annihilation, which
according to Sufi philosophy is the state one attains in union with the
Divine. He introduced the concept of the “unity of existence” (vahdat-i
vojood), in which the duality of the Divine and the devil must vanish.
Hallaj (858–922 CE) was the first Sufi to speak about Iblis, the devil or
Satan, not as an evil entity but as an angel who loved God more than others.
According to Christian and Muslim scriptures, when God asked his angels
to bow before Adam, all obeyed except Iblis. Hallaj argued that there was a
big difference between God’s command to the angels to bow before Adam
and His desire that they must bow before no one but God. Iblis understood
this duality and wishing to obey God’s desire, he disobeyed God’s
command. Therefore, Hallaj argued that Iblis was the angel who loved God
the most. Hallaj also believed that God lives within every soul, and that it is
foolish to go out looking for the Divine when the Divine resides within us.
He built a replica of the Kaaba † in his own backyard and invited people to
come there and worship. He asked: “Why go all the way to Mecca on
pilgrimage when the Kaaba is right here in your own backyard?” The
ecclesiastics did not approve of Hallaj’s teachings, not only for religious but
also for commercial reasons. The business of pilgrimage and pilgrims was a
profitable one, both for the mullahs and for the governors. Hallaj’s
revolutionary teaching was not only perceived as blasphemous but was also
bad for business. In the end, what led to Hallaj’s execution was his most
famous and controversial declaration about the Divine within us, which he
had taken from the oral teachings of Bastami and others before him; Hallaj
took from the Quran the phrase God is the Truth (Hov-al-Haq) and
announced to the world: I am the Truth (An-al-Haq). As punishment, Hallaj
was tied up and stoned; his limbs were then cut off and burned. His
execution gave rise to a myth: It is said that when Hallaj’s limbs were
burned, the river Tigris became violent and threatened to swallow the land.
It was calmed only when Hallaj’s ashes were given to its waters.
Hamedani (1098–1131 CE) was a student of and influenced by Ahmad
Ghazali, a Persian mystic famous for his writings on love and that all
created beauty was an exhalation of the Divine beauty. Hamedani was a
young philosopher who believed that religious texts should be read
according to the interpretation of the reader. He stated that the reader is like
a mirror who reflects the text as a critic during whatever particular point in
time he or she exists.
Sohrevardi (1155–1191 CE) used pre-Islamic characters and discourse
from the Zoroastrian era, as well as those from Greece and elsewhere, to
interpret the Quran and hence bring the unification of philosophies and
thoughts to the Sufi movement.
In The Conference of the Birds, Attar completes this unification, gives it
a system, and brings it all together into a coherent whole. The story goes as
follows: The birds of the world, representing the mystics, gather and
acknowledge the Great Simorgh as their King. Simorgh is a mysterious bird
who dwells in Mount Qaf, a mythical mountain that wraps around the
world. The great and perilous journey is led by the Hoopoe, a bird
mentioned in the Quran as Solomon’s ‡ trusted messenger. It is said that
King Solomon kept account of all the birds of the world, and when he found
the Hoopoe missing, he was greatly angered. When the Hoopoe finally
presented itself, it gave the excuse that it had stumbled upon the Land of
Saba,§ where Queen Sheba, misled by the devil, worshipped the sun. To test
the veracity of the Hoopoe’s claim, King Solomon sent a sealed letter
addressed to the queen and commanded the bird to deliver it. Later, when
the queen presented herself to King Solomon’s court, she was awed by the
king’s power and words and accepted God as the sole creator of the world.
Hoopoe was rewarded with a colorful, impressive crest on its head.
At the start, each bird presents an elaborate excuse for not being able to
make the journey, but the wise Hoopoe addresses each of their many
hesitations, complaints, fears, vanities, and questions. He then outlines the
perils of the journey, describing the seven valleys they must cross in order
to reach the abode of Simorgh. These valleys are as follows:
1. Valley of the Quest, where the Wayfarer begins by casting aside all
dogma, belief, and unbelief.
 2. Valley of Love, where reason is abandoned for the sake of love.
3. Valley of Knowledge, where worldly knowledge becomes utterly
useless.
4. Valley of Detachment, where all desires and attachments to the
world are given up. Here, what is assumed to be “reality” vanishes.
5. Valley of Unity, where the Wayfarer realizes that everything is
connected and that the Beloved is beyond everything, including
harmony, multiplicity, and eternity.
6. Valley of Wonderment, where, entranced by the beauty of the
Beloved, the Wayfarer becomes perplexed and, steeped in awe,
finds that he or she has never known or understood anything.
7. Valley of Poverty and Annihilation, where the self disappears into
the universe and the Wayfarer becomes timeless, existing in both
the past and the future.

When the birds hear the description of these valleys, they bow their
heads in distress; some even die of fright right then and there. But despite
their trepidations, they begin the great journey. On the way, many perish of
thirst, heat, or illness, while others fall prey to wild beasts, panic, and
violence. Finally, only thirty birds make it to the abode of Simorgh.
In the end, the birds learn that they themselves are the Simorgh; the
name “Simorgh” in Persian means thirty (si) birds (morgh). They eventually
come to understand that the majesty of that Beloved is like the sun that can
be seen reflected in a mirror. Yet, whoever looks into that mirror will also
behold his or her own image.
This epic poem is peppered with beguiling parables. Indeed, this
method of storytelling through poetry was later adopted by future master
poets, namely Hafiz and Rumi. Attar’s use of everyday details, stories, and
historical chronicles is a masterful technique he invented to animate the
deeper meanings of what we consider “reality.” In The Conference of the
Birds, Attar used material from Sufi and other ancient stories and anecdotes
to elucidate mysteries not easily grasped by “preaching.”
It is imperative to understand that the Hoopoe in this story serves as
guide, equivalent to a Sufi sheikh, a spiritual leader, who helps lead the
Wayfarer in the Path toward the Beloved. The Hoopoe counsels, then
illustrates its advice through the parables that follow. Therefore, if you find
the Hoopoe’s advice difficult to interpret or foreign to the mind, read the
parables that follow carefully, because they illustrate and explain the
guide’s counsel in various ways and from different angles. Mine the
parables for meaning as you would a mountain for diamonds; the jewels are
not scattered on the surface.
My favorite image from the book emerges when we learn how the
Beloved is like a great ocean that does not turn away any soul. Some arrive
at it as pure drops of water, enter, are absorbed, and become one with the
Ocean; others arrive trapped inside themselves, egos intact, and enter the
welcoming Ocean as well. However, they sink to its depths and remain
there, knowing only themselves, never the Ocean.
The epilogue in poetic works of the time was normally written in praise
of the king or the patron who paid the poet’s bills. Attar was very proud of
not living in the pocket of any patron or king, and hence the epilogue is a
revealing portrait of an artist, at the height of his powers as poet. Here, the
poet praises himself and his poetry, which may seem like a rather odd
ending to a book that is about the shedding of one’s ego. But it is an
animated display of Attar as a psychologically complex human being. There
is self-praise, and there is self-denigration. Reading it closely reveals that
what appears as arrogance is in fact an intense sense of inadequacy when he
compares himself with Sufi masters. I believe the epilogue is a gorgeous
end to a profound story; it is a beautiful display of our humanity, and how
far all of us, including the poet himself, must go in order to step into the
Path, let alone walk it.

About This Translation

Translation is a scalpel. It cuts to reveal and to heal. It is exciting and
painful. It bridges; it connects. It is violent but loving. It is death that leads
to rebirth, and this new life rouses the appetite. It multiplies perspectives
and widens the world. Translation is magic.
 Translating the sacred literature of any culture is a serious act because it
entrusts the translator with the role of guiding readers through the poem or
story, across time and geography, into another spiritual perspective, all the
while addressing linguistic, cultural, and historical nuances of a foreign
language. As translator, in the spirit of re-creating Attar’s ageless
masterpiece into the readable and entertaining work it was in its own time, I
have shunned all academic austerity in favor of poetry.
In the realm of literature, poetry is a god; the epic poem in particular
contains the storytelling facets of the other genres as well as qualities
unique to poetry, such as beat, tone, measure, and rhythm of song. The
poem is everything, and everything is held condensed within the poem.
Hence, poetry is the most difficult form to guide through the process of
translation intact. Like any god, poetry’s power lies in its appeal to the
heart. The words swirl in the consciousness like atoms; they merge and
make the matter of the heart possible. To facilitate this transference of
power from one form, language, and time into another, a translator must
understand that heartfelt power. She must own the magic of the poet on the
other side of time and earthly boundaries. She must give to the poem her
own poetic voice.
Translation makes cross-culturalism possible when the “otherness” of a
work is preserved. As a bilingual and bicultural poet, I believe that the
freshness of a text is best communicated when the translator does not
attempt to “translate” the untranslatable. A new image, new idea, new way
of looking at something, even if it is a word, not only enriches the
destination language, but also brings attention to the richness of other
diverse cultures and thoughts. As Attar repeatedly points out, the
destination is the same for all souls, but not all paths are of equal measure.
Similarly, we do not, nor indeed can we, make the journey of the birds in
the exact way the readers of the poem did centuries ago. Therefore, I have
elected to re-create this text in contemporary verse while remaining faithful
to the original, and sensitive to its “otherness” and its roots, in order to
make a new journey possible for readers.
Some language shift and line movement were necessary in order to
achieve an accessible translation, which makes adherence to a strict line-by-
line translation impossible. The parables, smoothly connected, orbit around
a central theme. Therefore, I have re-created the parables as poetic prose,
and the speech of the birds and of Attar as contemporary verse. In this way,
the work is rendered readable not only as a deeply spiritual work, but also
as a form of entertainment, as Attar intended it to be. (For those who can
read Persian, I have included an appendix at the end of the book containing
section line ranges that correspond to the original Persian text.)
This epic poem is a masnavi, a poetic form invented by the Persians. It
adheres to a meter of ten or eleven syllables per line, in rhyming couplets.
The Conference of the Birds consists of a total of 4,724 couplets, including
the prologue and the epilogue.
I don’t believe it is possible to transfer thousands of rhyming couplets in
twelfth-century Persian into formal rhyming verse in English without
sacrificing a great deal of what makes the original work beautiful, moving,
comprehensible, funny, and wise. Therefore, I have dispensed with rhyme.
This is not a translation of form, nor is it a scholar’s translation. This is a re-
creation, and I have sought to make it as accurate as possible. Let me clarify
what I mean. There are several versions of the original text. I have used the
most recent and complete version, edited by Mohamad Reza Shafii
Kandaki. Additionally, there are volumes and volumes of interpretation and
analysis of the poem in Persian, presented from variety of perspectives from
the extreme religious to modern and philosophical perspectives. Sometimes
a single line is interpreted very differently by scholars and academicians.
Sometimes difficult lines are ignored completely.
Then there is the text itself: an accent mark on a single word can change
everything. For example, in line 2,318, the difference between the words
karam or Kerem and garam or garm is a single slash , yet
the first means “beneficence” or “cream,” depending on how you
pronounce it, while the latter can mean “if” or “warm.” In this case, because
of the rhyming scheme, it becomes clear that “if” and “beneficence” are the
correct meanings.
In another edition I found the first word, karam , misprinted as
kalam , the letter l replacing the letter r, which changes the meaning
from “beneficence” to “cabbage.” It’s a funny word in this poem, but oddly
enough, since the parable is about a pot in which things are added to it,
including a head (remember this is a metaphor!), a cabbage head sounds
perfectly plausible, even if inaccurate.
Such misprintings have inevitably perpetuated errors over the past
centuries. Furthermore, some words and phrases are interpreted differently
depending on which book is used as scholarly reference. Sometimes I was
faced with vastly different interpretations of a single couplet. I either had to
make a choice, combine the viewpoints into a new one, or find a new way
of accurately rendering a complex passage. I have pored over these
interpretations for the past several years. Ultimately, as the
poet/translator/re-creator of this work, I have exercised the authority to
make such choices as responsibly as I can. Three particular choices demand
elucidation; they pertain to the self, the Divine, and gender.
First, what or who is the inner self in this work? Attar uses several
words for “I,” meaning what is not of the soul. These words refer to the
conceitete. Some of these words are: taab , meaning disposition, humor,
and nature; kheesh , meaning oneself; khod , representing the
self or the ego; and nafs , meaning the essence of self. If these words
were seeds, they would sprout as different flowers depending on the soil
they were planted in. However, for the sake of clarity and consistency, I
have chosen one word in English to signify what Attar meant by the sum of
these terms. I chose “ego” because it felt like a word closest in meaning to
the inner conceited self, the non-soul. Do not read it as the psychoanalytical
ego, minted by the nineteenth-century neurologist and father of
psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud. Here, ego does not equal identity. The
term used in this book comes from the Latin root, ē'gō, meaning “I,” “the
self that feels, acts, or thinks.” It is our lower self, the upholder of self-
righteousness and self-proclaimed truths.
Here, annihilation of the ego leads to reclamation of one’s true identity.
In Sufi tradition, ego stands between our true self and the Beloved. Once it
is destroyed, we unite with the Divine and hence recover our true self. In
this light, to die means to let go of our lower self, and when that happens,
church, temple, pagoda, mosque, or synagogue, religion or faithlessness,
virtue or vice, all disappear and become irrelevant. Although all paths
eventually lead to the Beloved, the annihilation of the ego shortens the path
to the Source.
Regarding the Divine, the Source can arguably stand for God, Allah,
Jehovah, Dios, Jah, or any other Supreme Being by any other name
worshipped by various faiths of the world. All these words point to a single
Supreme Being and are proxies for an entity or an idea that runs deeper than
language. Therefore, to liberate it from the prison of individual
perspectives, I have chosen to use attributes of the Creator in this
translation: the Beloved, the Unknowable, the Great One, the Almighty, the
All-Knowing, the Sustainer, the Sovereign, and the Blessed Beauty, among
others.
Finally, I have followed the absence of gender in Persian nouns and
pronouns. The Divine, Ssimorgh, the Hoopoe, the Wayfarers, and all the
birds are not necessarily male or female. The human soul is genderless, and
I have respected that in my translation.
The Parable of Sheikh San’an in Love is one of the most well-known,
analyzed, and significant parables in this book. Here, Attar refers to the girl
as dokhtareh tarsa, which literally translates as “the Christian girl,” but he
also speaks of her as an idol worshipper who asks him to bow before idols.
It is imperative to note that the perception of Christianity during Attar’s
time is not the same as what we know today as Christianity. Indeed “the
Christian girl” possibly represents the Sufi vision of esoteric Christianity.
According to scholar Leonard Lewisohn, the girl lives in the world of
spiritual beings and represents “the higher iconic reality that sustains the
idol’s appearance.” Lewisohn suggests, “The child is here, in fact, the elder,
the master (pir) . . . an incarnation of the higher consciousness of the
mystic.Ӧ
The Conference of the Birds is delightfully packed with lively banter,
pathos, clever hyperbole, cheeky humor, poetic imagination, and surprises
—a technique of storytelling later adopted by Rumi, Hafiz, and other
masters of Persian poetry. It is told with warmth in an accessible style, yet
the metaphors are colorful and multidimensional. The story is replete with
diverse characters masterfully drawn with abundant detail. These parables
are not meant to simply instruct; they are also meant to be enjoyed. This is
an important aspect of the work that must be reflected in the way it is re-
created as English. The element of entertainment must be maintained, and
that requires accessibility and readability, as well as poetic beauty.
Twelfth-century Persian and contemporary English are as different as
sky and sea. The best I can do as a poet is to reflect one into the another.
The sea can reflect the sky with its moving stars, shifting clouds, gestations
of the moon, and migrating birds—but ultimately the sea is not the sky. By
nature, it is liquid. It ripples. There are waves. If you are a fish living in the
sea, you can only understand the sky if its reflection becomes part of the
water. Therefore, this translation of The Conference of the Birds, while
faithful to the original text, aims at its re-creation into a still living and
breathing work of literature.
 In the words of Attar:

This book is an ornament for the ages.

It offers something for both the high and low.
If you came sad and frozen to this book,
its hidden fire will blaze and melt your ice.
Yes, these verses are magic:
they grow more potent with each reading.
They are like beauty under a veil
that reveals its loveliness slowly.

____________________
* Rumi: Also known as Mevlevi or Mawlawi (1207–1273 CE), Rumi was a Persian Sufi mystic
poet and scholar who lived most of his life in Konya, present-day Turkey. His poems have been
widely translated into many of the world’s languages.
† Kaaba: A cuboid building at the center of Islam’s most sacred mosque, Al-Masjid al-Haram, in
Mecca, Saudi Arabia. It is considered the House of God.
‡ Solomon: Wealthy and wise king of Israel who is credited as the builder of the First Temple in
Jerusalem. He is considered a major prophet in both Islamic and Judaic traditions.
§ Land of Saba: Also Sheba. A kingdom located in present Ethiopia.
¶ Leonard Lewisohn, “Sufi Symbolism in the Persian Hermeneutic Tradition: Reconstructing the
Pagoda of Attar’s Esoteric Poetics,” in Attar and the Persian Sufi Tradition: The Art of Spiritual
Flight, edited by Leonard Lewisohn and Christopher Shackle (London: I. B. Tauris Publishers, 2006),
p. 259.
 THE
BIRDS
OF THE
WORLD
GATHER
The Hoopoe
The Ringdove
The Parrot
The Partridge
The Falcon
The Francolin
The Nightingale
The Peacock
The Pheasant
The Pigeon
The Turtledove
The Hawk
The Goldfinch
The Hoopoe
Greetings, Hoopoe, messenger and guide,
every valley’s honest courier;
King Solomon,1 who spoke the language of the birds,
adorned your head with a crown of honor,
made you his secret-bearing messenger
to carry letters to the Queen of Sheba.

Now, to remain King Solomon’s intimate

and accompany the king on his flying carpet,
you must control your ego monster,
fetter it with shackles and chains.

The Ringdove
Welcome, Ringdove, of Moses-like virtues,
intimate of soul’s music, worshipper
of creation’s symphonic notes.
Rise up and coo your inborn wisdom.

Perched on Mount Sinai, you witnessed,

like Moses, the fire from afar.

Therefore do as he did, stay away

from that brutish pharaoh—your ego—
and come to this place of congregation
to become the Bird of Mount Sinai.

Comprehend without your head

and without your ears, listen
to noiseless, unmouthed words.

The Parrot
 Welcome, Parrot who nests in the Tree of Heaven,
who wears a celestial robe and bears a flaming necklace.

The fire licking your throat is from Hell

and your robe is a gift from Heaven.
Like Abraham, if you defy Nimrod,2
the fire you dwell in will blossom into a garden.
Nip Nimrod’s head like the tip of a quill pen
and, like Abraham, stride into the fire.

Once cleansed of Nimrod’s pollution,

you can wear your heavenly robe
and not dread your necklace of fire.

The Partridge
Welcome, Partridge who struts with such
leisurely grace from the mountain of knowledge!
Trill your kuta kut kut song in the key of that Path,
then lift the ring to knock on the Beloved’s door.

Destroy the mountain abode of your ego

so that, as in the miracle for the Samood tribe,
a pregnant camel can leap out of hard rock.3

When you arrive at this stage of faith,

milk and honey will river beneath your feet.
Ride that camel, and at the Journey’s end
the Beloved will step out to embrace you in open arms.

The Falcon
Welcome, rapacious sharp-eyed Falcon.
How long this unrelenting fury?
 Tie a timeless love letter to your feet
and don’t unfold it for eternity.
Trade in your rational mind for heart’s knowledge
and see how the beginning is the end.

Bravely smash your natural instincts

and make the Cave of Oneness your home.
Once you are settled in that cave,
the Beloved of the World will visit you there.

The Francolin
Greetings, Francolin, bird of Heaven’s Sky,
who saw the Prophet’s head crowned with eternity.

Your soul has heard the music of primal love,

so don’t yield to the ego, that cyclone
of calamities. What good is it?

Burn your ego the way they burned

the donkey of Jesus after he gave up his body;
become, like him, a resplendent spirit.

When you have cremated your ego,

your bird spirit will take flight
and the Holy Spirit itself will rush out,
arms wide in welcome.

The Nightingale
Welcome, Nightingale of Love’s Garden,
who softly weeps from love’s pain.
 Go on, sweetly sigh as did King David in love’s Path
until a hundred souls willingly expire with each breath.
Like David, unvalve your throat and sing spiritual insights,
charm humanity with the soulful melody of creation.

How long will you weave chain armor around your ego?
Melt the iron like David, in whose hands metal was wax,
and become a master of ardent love.

The Peacock
Greetings, Peacock of Paradise’s eight-doored garden,4
you who were struck by the seven-headed snake.5

The whisperings of that snake exiled you from Eden

and sank you into grief, took you away
from the Lote Tree and the Tree of Life,6
and darkened your heart with nature’s veil.

Until you crush that snake you will not deserve

to know the mysteries of the Path.
Free yourself from that ugly serpent
and Adam will welcome you back into Eden once more.

The Pheasant
Keen-eyed Pheasant, welcome!
Look up and behold how the overflowing spring
of the heart is immersed in ocean light.

You crouch in the dry well of darkness,

stricken in misery’s dungeon;
wing out of this dark oppressive deep
and soar toward the sky of the Beloved.
 Like Joseph,7 leave behind the well and the prison
to become a king in the Egypt of Eminence.
When you arrive at such a grand place,
honest Joseph will be your companion.

The Pigeon
Genial Pigeon, hello!
You fly with a light heart
but return weighed down with grief
for, like Jonah, you’ve fallen into the whale’s belly,
devoured by this sea monster of the ego.

How long will you bear its malice?

Go chop off the head of that greedy fish
and fly up to stroke the moon’s forehead.
If you abandon this ego creature,
Jonah himself will sail the eternal ocean with you.

The Turtledove
Welcome, Turtledove, loose the stop from your throat,8
and the Seven Heavens will rainstorm jewels on you.
You wear the collar of fidelity about your neck;
therefore, beware, infidelity unbecomes you.
If you let a single feather from your existence remain,
I’d call all of you unfaithful
from the tip of your beak to the end of your claw.

Enter, then exit your self,

and intellect will guide you to insight.
When from insight you have found wisdom,
the immortal prophet Khidr9 will offer you
the water of everlasting life.
The Hawk
Greetings, flying Hawk, you who soar and swoop;
do not rebel or you will fall.

Drop your ego, for soaring high

leaves you no place to go but down.
You love to eat the world’s carrion
and it has blinded you to inner vision.

Spread your wings and outsoar this world and the next.
Tear the hood off your head and see!
Detach yourself from both worlds
and the wrist of the Beloved will become your perch.

The Goldfinch
Welcome, Goldfinch. Engage. Enter like fire.
Burn whatever comes your way
and close your eyes to everything in creation.

When you scorch everything in your path,

each moment opens a new gift from the Beloved.
Once your heart has learned the Creator’s mysteries,
dedicate yourself to that Great One’s bidding.

Become a flawless bird in the Beloved’s path,

so that what remains of you will not be just you,
but will be the Beloved too.

____________________
1 Credited as the builder of the First Temple in Jerusalem, he is considered a major prophet in both
Islamic and Judaic traditions.
2 Nimrod: According to Hebrew and Christian tradition, Nimrod built the Tower of Babel. When he
appeared at the head of an enormous army challenging Abraham in battle, God sent an army of gnats
to defeat him. In one story, a gnat enters Nimrod’s brain and buzzes until he goes mad.
3 In a traditional tale, when members of the tribe told Prophet Mohammad, “We will believe in you
if you make appear from among the rocks a furry camel, ten months pregnant,” the Prophet then
performed the miracle.
4 The Quran mentions eight distinct Heavens.
5 The seven-headed snake here means the ego, but it also refers to the Adam and Eve story.
6 Lote Tree: A tree in the seventh Heaven of the Quran, so large that if you ride beneath it for years,
you’ll still not reach the edge of its shadow. Its fruit are bigger than large water pots, and its leaves
wider than elephant ears. The souls of the faithful hover above it and sit on its body as golden
butterflies. Tree of Life: A heavenly tree so large it would take a hundred years to travel around it; it
is said God planted this tree and breathed life into it.
7 The Book of Genesis tells the story of Joseph, the youngest of the twelve sons of Jacob and
Rachel, who was thrown into a well and then sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. He became the
most powerful man in Egypt, next to Pharaoh.
8 I have borrowed from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” section 5, to give poetic expression to
the untranslatable here.
9 Considered the immortal guardian of the water of Life. In Sufi tradition, those who enter the
mystic path must be initiated by a living master, or by following the guiding light of the earlier
masters; they may also be initiated by the Prophet Khidr.
 THE
BIRDS
CONFER
AND
MAKE
EXCUSES
THE GREAT SIMORGH
The Birds Seek a Sovereign
The Hoopoe Speaks
Simorgh’s Story
The Birds React

DELUSIVE LOVE
The Nightingale’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Nightingale
Parable of the Princess and the Beggar

FALSE IMMORTALITY
The Parrot’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Parrot
Parable of Khidr and an Ardent Lover

FALSE PARADISE
The Peacock’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Peacock
Parable of Paradise’s Chains

FRIVOLOUS ATTACHMENTS
The Duck’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Duck
Parable of the World as a Drop of Water

AVARICE
The Partridge’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Partridge
King Solomon’s Ring

PRIDE
The Osprey’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Osprey
Parable of Sultan Mahmud in His Eternity

AMBITION
The Falcon’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Falcon
Parable of a King in Love

MISGUIDED LONGING
The Heron’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Heron
Parable of the Parched Sea

LOVE OF TREASURE
The Owl’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Owl
Parable of the Miser

FALSE HUMILITY
The Goldfinch’s Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Finch
Parable of Jacob’s Despair

OTHER EXCUSES
Other Birds Make Excuses
The Birds Question the Hoopoe
The Hoopoe Answers the Birds
Parable of the King’s Mirror
Parable of Alexander the Great in Disguise
Parable of the Secret Path Between Lovers
THE GREAT SIMORGH

The Birds Seek a Sovereign

The birds of the world gathered from near and far.
They said: No nation is without a leader;
why is it that we don’t have one?
A body without a head is without direction.
Let’s seek a sovereign, without delay.
And so they converged to seek a leader
worthy of their nation of birds.

The Hoopoe Speaks

The Hoopoe stepped forward, hopeful and restless.
A Wayfarer’s cape hung from its shoulders,
and the Crown of Truth graced its head.
Schooled in the ways of the Path,
the bird’s perception was swift,
its spirit attuned to right and wrong.

Assembly of birds, the Hoopoe spoke,

I am the Messenger Bird
for the Visible and the Invisible.
I come to you in tune with the Great Almighty,
schooled in the ways of great mysteries.

A bird who carries Bismillah10 on its beak

(for all King Solomon’s letters began that way)
is never far from the wellspring of mysteries.
I pass my days minding my own business.
No one bothers me.
I have freed myself from all creatures;
therefore, they too leave me in peace.
I occupy myself only with the needs
of the king and don’t bother with anything else.
I can find water with my divining power
and know many such secrets and mysteries.

I have spoken with King Solomon,

to whom I’m dearer than his own army.
When someone goes missing from his kingdom,
he never inquires after them,
yet when I disappeared from his realm
he searched the world over for me.
Why? Because he could not do without me.
No, not for a moment. His Hoopoe is all he needed.

I carried many letters back and forth

between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.
I became his secret-bearer, his trusted one.
Which bird can boast of such praise
by the Divine for its good deeds?
Which bird wears a crown bestowed and
blessed by the One on High?11

For years I wandered through land and sea,

threaded the Wayfarer’s Path, searched
high and low through deserts, valleys, and mountains.
I weathered many storms and traveled the world
over and again with King Solomon.

Hear me, I know who is our great leader.

I wish to go searching for that Beloved
but cannot do it alone.
If you come with me on this voyage,
at the journey’s end you will become graced
confidants in the court of that Great One.
Cast off the shame of narcissism.
How long will you keep this faithlessness, this disgrace?
Stake your life for the Beloved and you will be
liberated from everything, even good and evil.
Surrender your ego and step into the Path,
cross that threshhold dancing.

There is a leader for us, I tell you,

who lives over there, in Mount Qaf.12
Simorgh is that Beloved’s name, the leader of all birds,
who is closer to us than our own blood veins;
yet we stay far from that Great One, so very far!

Simorgh nests in a blessed sanctuary,

its name too sacred for just any tongue.
A hundred thousand veils of darkness and light
hang between that Beloved and us.

No one in either world dares

to seek that Absolute Sovereign.
The Simorgh does not reveal its home;
how then can science or wisdom even seek
or ever hope to find its nest?

There are no roads to its court,

nor any signposts to point us there.
A hundred thousand creatures have tried
to find it and lost their minds.
No one can describe Simorgh, not even pure spirits.
No mind can fathom that Great One
who leaves awestruck and dumb both Reason and Soul.

No wise ancient has comprehended its perfection;

no seer has envisioned its majestic beauty.
Creation gains no access to its ocean of knowledge;
neither science nor perception can guide us there.
 If we gather all that we know of its beauty and wisdom,
we’ll still end up embracing illusions.
How can one even begin a journey to such a Great Majesty?
It’s like urging a moonfish to swim to the moon.

At the Beloved’s court, a hundred thousand heads

roll like polo balls; the game is played noisily
with feverish hoo hoos and haa haas.

Don’t presume the road is short!

Many oceans and deserts lie between the Beloved and us.
Only the brave can be Wayfarers in the Path,
for the journey is long and the waters deep.

It’s best to go on this journey weeping and laughing

and riddled with amazement.
If we discover even a trace of the Beloved,
that will be something!
If we don’t, then life will be a drab and useless thing.
What use is existence without the Beloved?
A true Wayfarer would toss out such a life.

This journey requires a titan of valor

ready to lay sweet life down in the Path.
Wash this worldly existence off your hands
or you are the wrong traveler for this road.

Since life without the Beloved isn’t worth a dime

go ahead, be brave, discard your precious life.
If you are willing to give away your worldly existence,
the Beloved will reward you with eternal existence.

Simorgh’s Story
 The tale of Simorgh begins one night
when that Great Beauty soared in full glory over China.
A feather from its plumage swung to the ground
and triggered a titanic tumult in every land.

Some folks made a drawing of the feather,

and those who saw the image
were astonished and overcome.

That feather is now in China’s art gallery13

and that’s why the holy scriptures say,
“Seek knowledge, even if it takes you all the way to China.”14
Had the image of that feather not been recorded,
all of the world’s agitation would not have occurred.

All of science and art is but the impression

of that single feather. Yet,
since we can’t make heads or tails of its attributes,
there is no reason to speak of it more than this.
Now, whichever of you is willing to come on this journey,
step forward and let’s go.

The Birds React

The birds fidgeted anxiously now, impatient
to gain admittance to the court of Simorgh.
Such yearning overcame their spirits that each one
stepped forward, urgently in love with the Beloved,
and therefore an enemy of its own self.

And yet each bird also feared embarking

on such a long and distant voyage.
Therefore, despite their eagerness,
each came up with an excuse to stay.
DELUSIVE LOVE

The Nightingale’s Excuse

The lovesick Nightingale stumbled forward,
drunk with passion and so beside itself,
it knew neither here nor there.

The nightingale was a bird whose thousand songs

contained a thousand spiritual mysteries.
It began to speak, and all the birds fell silent:

The mysteries of love begin and end with me.

I repeat love’s teachings each night.
There is no one who’s suffered like King David
for whom I can chant with passion the holy book of love.15

The reed wails because of what I reveal,

the lute’s melancholic notes arise from my chants;
gardens are in a riot because of me,
lovers’ hearts burn and burst when they hear my songs.

I reveal a new mystery every moment.

I create a new song every hour.
When love invades my soul,
I surge and crash like the ocean.
Those who witness my agitation, swoon.
Those who arrive sober, leave intoxicated.

And when I have no one to tell my secrets,

I keep them to myself all the year long.
But when each spring my lover unfolds
and scatters her fragrance across the world,
I spill my heart’s desires to that beauty
and bandage my pain by gazing at her face.
 Then, as my adored one disappears again,
this melancholic nightingale falls silent once more,
for no one can fathom my secret—no,
no one but a rose is privy to such things.

So deeply intoxicated am I with the rose

that my own existence is nothing to me.
It’s demanding to be filled with such love;
my desire for the slender rose is sufficient.

A nightingale has no stamina for one like the Great Simorgh.

For this bird, the love of a rose is quite enough.
My beloved’s many folded petals calm my heart.
How can I bereave myself of such joy?

The rose stuns my heart when

she flowers in joyful laughter,
for in unveiling her smile she reveals herself.
How can a nightingale survive even a day
empty of such a love’s happy song?

The Hoopoe Answers the Nightingale

You who love only the face and form,
don’t be so coy in love’s grace.

Your love for the rose leaves you

torn and frayed by its thorns.
You are debased by it
as much as you are obsessed by it.
Yes, for now the face of a rose is beautiful,
but give it a week and look again.

Loving a thing of such fleeting loveliness

brings nothing to the wise but heartache.
Yes, the rose’s enchanting smile excites you,
but it also sinks you into depression night and day.
 Give it up, Nightingale, for every spring the rose
laughs at you, not with you. Have some shame!

Parable of the Princess and the Beggar

There was once a king who had a daughter as bewitching as the moon. A
world of admirers infatuated with her sultry eyes knew no sleep, night nor
day.

Face white as camphor, hair black as musk, lips to shame the most crimson
ruby, a glimpse of her face snatched reason from the sane. Her mouth was
sweeter than sugar. The Water of Life thirsted for her mouth.

A dervish happened to be passing by and his eyes fell on that brilliant

moon. The destitute fellow was so struck by the princess’s beauty that he
dropped the loaf of stale bread the baker had given him that day as alms.
The girl swept past him like a flame and laughed at the fellow.
All the beggar saw was her smile. He fell to the dust in a flood of tears. He
had possessed half a loaf of bread and half a soul, and now in one swoop
he’d lost them both.

After that, the poor dervish knew neither day nor night. He couldn’t utter
even a single word for he was always weeping with longing. Every time he
recalled the princess’s laughter, his tears poured as if from a cloud. For
seven years he spent his life like this. He became deranged and slept with
the dogs of the royal neighborhood. Finally, the princess’s servants took
notice of the strange man and in cruelty decided to snip his head off like the
wick of a candle.

The princess summoned the beggar in secret and asked: “What does a
beggar like you want with a princess like me? The royal servants want to
kill you. Flee! Stop sitting at my door and leave.”
But the dervish replied: “The day my soul became drunk on you, I washed
my hands of my own life. May a hundred thousand wretched lives like mine
be sacrificed every hour for your face.”
He then added: “Princess, since they are going to unjustly end my life, be
kind and answer one question. If you are going to let them cut my head off
without showing any pity, why then did you smile at me when I first saw
you pass by?”

The princess replied: “Artless man, when I first saw you I was laughing at
you, fool. Yet, while it may be fine to laugh at you, it was unjust to laugh in
your face.”
After she spoke, she disappeared like smoke—as if she was never there.

FALSE IMMORTALITY

The Parrot’s Excuse

The parrot stepped forth, its speech like syrup,
garbed in pistachio green, neck wrapped in gold.
All the world’s green is from that parrot’s plumage,
and a hawk is but a gnat in the light of its splendor.
When the Parrot trills, honey drips from its beak.
When that bird wakes at dawn, it eats sugar.

The Parrot said: Every iron-heart and every nobody

builds cages for birds such as me.
I’m left pining in an iron coop
for the prophet Khidr’s water of eternal life.

I am the Khidr of the birds, that’s why

I dress in green, for a chance to drink his water.
I can’t muster the strength to seek the Simorgh.
A quick sip from Khidr’s cup would do me.

I can’t vagabond down a road with no end.

Better to sit tight in a corner of my cage
until the day I find the water of eternal life
and become the servant who is crowned king.
The Hoopoe Answers the Parrot
You, unfortunate bird, are nothing
if you don’t know how to sacrifice.
Life serves you best when
you become worthy of the Beloved.

So you seek eternal life?

You want to prolong your body’s existence?
Well, go on, and do it, if you’re just a shell with no kernel.
What do you want with worldly life?
Offer it to the Beloved.
Be brave, surrender your ego
and walk the Path to the Great One.

Parable of Khidr and an Ardent Lover

The prophet Khidr asked a Wayfaring lover: “Faultless man, will you
become my companion?”
The lover replied: “You are of no use to me, Khidr, because you’ve drunk
from the water of eternal life and your body will remain here for eternity. I,
on the other hand, want to leave this body. I can’t last much longer without
my Beloved. While you have preserved your life, I am poised to sacrifice
mine anew each day. It’s best we stay away from one another like birds
avoiding a snare. And so, farewell.”

FALSE PARADISE

The Peacock’s Excuse

Then the golden-laced Peacock stepped forward,
ocelli festooned with a thousand eyes.
Its plumage radiated light like a bride decked out for show.
 The Peacock said: The moment the Invisible drew my design,
the fingers of the Chinese became brushes.
Even though I am the Gabriel of birds,16
I was wronged by fate. An ugly serpent
befriended me and hid in my plumage to enter Heaven.
Once my role as a trusted one was smashed,
I plunged from Heaven, humiliated
and branded with these ugly platformed feet.

I want to flee this black place and

I am seeking a leader to guide me out, but
I don’t have the nerve to reach that High Court.

It would be a miracle if I made it to the gate,

and even then, how would I entice the Simorgh to let me in?
Beautiful Heaven is quite sufficient for me.
I don’t want anything from the world
except a home back in my Paradise.

The Hoopoe Answers the Peacock

You who have lost your way from your self,
everyone asks the Exalted One for a home.
The best home is closest to the Beloved;
it’s best to live near that Great Source.
Fanciful desires live in the house of the ego,
but the only home for sincerity is the heart.

The Beloved is a grand ocean in which

the Garden of Paradise is but a tiny ball of dew.
If you have the Ocean, you have the drop.
Don’t settle for less, don’t seek anything but the Ocean.
 If you can find your way to vast waters,
why rush toward a drop of dew?
If you can speak heart-to-heart with the sun,
why have a conversation with a dust mote?

If you can contain the whole,

why trouble yourself with the parts?
If you can be a soul, why bother with limbs?
If you want to be complete, then look for the whole.

Desire all, be all, become all.

Choose everything.
Choose everything.

Parable of Paradise’s Chains

A student asked his master: “Why was Adam cast out of Heaven?”

The master replied that when Adam, that most precious of Heaven’s jewels,
bowed his head before Paradise, a voice from the Unseen loudly
proclaimed, “Paradise has trapped you with a hundred kinds of chains. If
you bow your head in either world to anyone but me, or any inferior to me,
I will undo all existence and all that you possess, for it’s impossible to reach
out to anyone but the Friend.”

If you seek a home, seek it near the Beloved.

What use is a home without the Beloved close by?
If you live by anything other than the Almighty,
you will be cast out, even if you are Adam.

Those who go to Paradise expecting the promised ambrosia,

well, that’s all they will get, because that’s all they know and believe.

FRIVOLOUS ATTACHMENTS
The Duck’s Excuse
The Duck emerged from the water, clean and fresh,
and waddled into the assembly in its immaculate garb.

It said: There is no bird purer or cleaner than me.

I perform ablutions steadfastly and open
my prayer mat on the water.
There is no doubt about my greatness,
for who can stand on water like me?

I am of pure intent, an ascetic among the birds;

my clothes and habitat are stainless.
I find no meaning in a waterless world;
after all, I was born and live in water.

When the world weighs heavy on my heart,

what do I do? I wash it clean. Yes,
water is my gracious companion;
it brings me unending luck.
There is no such fortune on dry land.

Everything is alive because of water;

how can I wash my hands of it?
Water is my life. How can I step away from it
and find my way through deserts and valleys?

No, I’d never make it to the Great Simorgh.

What could the Simorgh offer one like me,
who prizes a jug of water as perfection?

The Hoopoe Answers the Duck

You have found joy in a puddle,
and the water around you has transformed
into a circle of fire.
 You’ve fallen into a deep wet slumber
and a single drop has washed away your honor.

Water is for grimy faces;

if you’re one of them, then go seek it.
How long do you wish to endure,
as water does, so many dirty faces?

Parable of the World as a Drop of Water

A man asked a Wayfarer: “Everyone has his own fantasies of the two
worlds. What are they really?”

The Wayfarer replied: “Both worlds, the upper and the lower, are but a drop
of water, neither here nor there. When that droplet first appears, it is replete
with reflections. But even if all those reflections were of iron, the hardest of
metals, you could still shatter them back into water drops. Whatever has its
foundation in water, be it fire, is nothing but illusion. When water itself is
not stable, how can you use it as a firm foundation?”

AVARICE

The Partridge’s Excuse

Then the Partridge gingerly stepped forth,
swaying drunkenly and full of glee,
red-beaked and dressed in wild colors.
Blood simmered in its eyes.

The Partridge was the sort of bird who

sometimes swooped into valleys,
avoiding the peaks,
and at others hunted on the high crests.
It said: I always raid the quarries
in my tireless search for gems.
I roam the great peaks and curvatures of mountains
to become the master of all jewels.
Love of gems is a flame in my heart;
it flares with each elegant find.
When this fire rages and leaps,
the pebbles I’ve eaten melt and turn into blood.

Have you ever seen fire that makes blood?

I live suspended between fire and stone,
forever fretful, always waiting.
In my anxious waking hours, I eat pebbles,
then, with belly full of fire,
I lay down my head on a stony pillow.

Open your eyes, dear companions.

Do you see how I eat and sleep?
Can anyone object to a bird
who eats pebbles and sleeps on rocks?
My heart is stung by the hardship it bears;
the love of jewels binds me to these mountains.
Anyone who loves gems as much as I
finds everything else worthless.

The dominion of precious stones never ends;

it is bound to the mountains.
I am a mountain vagabond, a seeker of jewels.
I can’t live a moment without these peaks and ravines,
for precious gems abound in such places
and I must hunt them everywhere,
for I’ve found nothing worthier than gems.
 The path to Simorgh is arduous and I
am weighed down with precious stones.
How can I ever reach that brave-hearted Bird?
I glow like fire from all my jewels.
I must scratch for gems or else I’ll die.
I am still in search of that ultimate stone.
What good is a bird without jewels?

The Hoopoe Answers the Partridge

Partridge, you glitter like a gem all right, but with deceit.
How long will you limp and offer lame excuses?
Your feet and beak are red with blood
because you’re enamored of worthless stone,
oblivious to the true treasure.

What is a gem? Just a glittering, colored rock.

Has your heart become stone
simply for the love of rocks?
If a gem didn’t glimmer with rainbows,
would it not be just a rock?
You’re a fool to be bewitched by shiny colors.
If you grasp this, you won’t chase
such shallow meaningless rubbish.
If you’re worth anything,
you’ll stop chasing a piece of rock.

King Solomon’s Ring

No gem ever wielded greater power than the one in King Solomon’s ring.
Despite its half-carat size, it was a jewel of great fame. When Solomon
made that gem his seal, his dominion grew from horizon to horizon.

Solomon had a flying carpet too that measured four miles wide and lifted
with the wind at his bidding. This vast magic flying carpet was also under
the command of his half-carat gem. One day the king lamented: “This realm
with all its pomp and majesty depends on this small stone. I don’t wish such
power on anyone, for it is not might, rather a hindrance.

“Great Almighty, my experienced eyes have plainly seen this land in ruins.
Such power must only come at the break of doomsday. Do not give such
might to anyone again—no, never. I have no business with armies and
invasions. I choose to become a weaver of baskets.”

Even though Solomon had become a powerful king because of that ring, it
was that same ring that became an obstacle in his Wayfaring journey. It took
him five hundred years to become acquainted with Heaven.

If a gem can do that to Solomon,

how could it empower the likes of you?

A gem is but a stone, so abandon the quarries.

Mine your own soul for a glimpse of the Beloved’s face.
Gem-seeker, turn your heart away from jewels.
Go seek the Great Jeweler instead.

PRIDE

The Osprey’s Excuse

The Osprey, whose exalted shadow
heralds good fortune for kings,
stepped forth as a prosperous bird,
superior in ambition and wealth.
 It said: Birds of land and birds of sea,
I’m not like others, for I am
reclusive with towering aspirations.
I hold in contempt that dog, the carnal self.
My shadow has blessed kings with luck and fortune.
Great kings like Fereydun and Jamshid17
gained their glory because of me.

Beggarly nature is not for me.

I throw a bone to the dog of base desires
and turn it away from my soul.
Since I keep that wretched hound at bay,
my soul has risen to an exalted station.

How can a king who finds his royal crown

in my shadow ignore my regal aura?
It is he who must sit in my shade
to gain a portion of the fortune I bestow.
Giving kings their glory is enough for me;
the willful Simorgh can never be my companion.

The Hoopoe Answers the Osprey

Osprey, you are trapped in your pride.
Off with you and your shadow; don’t be so haughty.

There’s no room here for kingmakers.

Here, you are the dog with a bone in its mouth.
I wish you hadn’t put those kings on their thrones!
Free yourself from scraps and bones fit for dogs.
 Let’s say all the kings of the world indeed did spring
from under your shadow—then consider this:
within their long lives they rose to power but
in the end they all sank back down.
If your shadow hadn’t touched those poor men,
they wouldn’t have suffered on Judgment Day.

Parable of Sultan Mahmud in His Eternity

One night a pure Wayfarer dreamed of Sultan Mahmud and asked: “Pious
good Sultan, how do you fare in that eternal place?”

The Sultan replied: “Have pity and don’t ask; don’t renew my sorrow. What
a place for a sultan! My kingship was a fantasy; it was false, for how can
one claim dominion over a handful of dust? The only true sultan is the
World-Keeping Sovereign. Such a lofty station befits only the Creator. I
clapped eyes on and owned my lowliness and unworthiness; I am ashamed
of having called myself Sultan.

“If you wish to address me, call me Disturbed, call me Distracted. But,
please, do not call me Sultan. That title is only befitting of the Beloved. I
would have been better off had I been a beggar in the world. If only there
had been a hundred hollow pits instead of a royal throne as my destiny. If
only I’d been a street sweeper and not a sultan! I cannot escape what I did,
I’m accountable for my offense. I curse the wings and claws of the osprey
who took me under its wing to bless me.”

AMBITION

The Falcon’s Excuse

 The Falcon stepped forth, its head erect,
and boasted of its eminence, bragged of its hood;
how it had commanded an army.

I have shut my eyes to the world, the Falcon said,

longing only for my monarch’s perch.
I have let my eyes be covered with a hood
so that my claws may grip a king’s wrist.
I’ve practiced etiquette with ascetic discipline
so that when I’m taken to the king, I’ll know
how to serve his eminence exactly.

Why would I even dream of the Simorgh?

Why would I rush to it in vain?
A morsel fed to me by my king’s hand is the greatest honor.
Such rank in this world is plenty for me.

Your Road is not for me; I take pride in sitting on the king’s forearm.
Whoever becomes worthy of a sultan
earns his ear, and that’s my ambition.
Why must I meet my end on your endless Road?
I’m all set to spend my life joyful in the presence of the king,
to wait on him and hunt for his royal pleasure.

The Hoopoe Answers the Falcon

Falcon, with your head concealed,
you have fallen far from virtue
and have become infatuated with outer form.

If a king is rivaled in greatness in his kingdom,

how then can he call himself king?
Simorgh is the only true Sovereign;
no one can match the Simorgh in majesty.
 A king isn’t a king just because
he brainlessly calls himself king.
A king is a king when he is unique and without a rival.
A king is a king when he is faithful and compassionate.

A worldly king may show constancy,

but he is shifty too.
If you stay close to him, you will be subject to his whims.
With him, your life is in perpetual danger;
you must watch your every move.

The worldly king is like fire; shun it and stay secure.

The cry of “Make way!” always precedes earthly kings.
Don’t get too close. Stay away!

Parable of a King in Love

A noble king fell in love with his silver-bodied servant. So enamored was
he that unless that idol was in his presence, all rest and comfort eluded his
majesty. He favored that youth above all his servants and kept a jealous eye
on him.

On the days the king practiced archery, the poor youth trembled in fear
because the monarch always put an apple on the crown of the poor servant’s
head, aimed his arrow and split the apple in two. Each time, the poor youth
turned as yellow as gold.

A foolish person asked the youth: “Why does your rosy color turn turmeric
when you are blessed with the king’s attention?”

The youth replied: “The king puts an apple on my head and if his arrow
injures or kills me, I’ll no longer be of any use to him and he’ll declare, ‘I
guess this is no servant of mine, for there is no one so fidgety in my army.’
However, if his arrow hits the target true, then all will applaud the royal
skill and luck. In the meantime, I writhe, my life always in danger for
nothing at all.”
MISGUIDED LONGING

The Heron’s Excuse

Then the Heron hasted forth. The anxious bird
declared: Hear me, friends, for I am a bird of sorrow!

The best place for me is on the water’s edge

where no one hears my desolate cries.
I’m harmless, have never injured anyone.
I stand at the edge of the sea, sighs in my beak,
always melancholy, always mournful,
always pining for water.

What else can I do but pity myself?

I’m not a creature of the deep,
and even as I perch on water’s lip, I will die of thirst.
The sea roars and surges but I won’t drink a drop,
for if one drop is lost from the sea,
my heart will roast from jealousy.

The love of the sea is enough for a bird like me.

This grief and sad passion is enough for me.
I want nothing but my own sorrow by the sea.

Take pity, I have no strength for the Great Simorgh.

When a single drop of water means the world to me,
how could I bear such an arduous journey without the sea?

The Hoopoe Answers the Heron

Heron, you know nothing of the sea.
It is full of crocodiles and fierce creatures in its deep.
 Sometimes the water is bitter; other times, salty.
Sometimes it is calm; other times, tumultuous.
Sometimes it is stormy and unstable too.
Sometimes it ebbs; at other times, it surges.

It has smashed many a great ship.

Many have swirled into its cyclone and died.
Divers who plunge into it hold their breath
for fear of releasing their lives.
Take a single breath in its deep
and you will surface as a flotsam corpse.

Who can hope for comfort from such a faithless entity?

If you don’t step away from the sea,
it will draw you in and drown you.
The sea itself roars in its passion for the Beloved,
sometimes in waves, sometimes crashing the shore.

When even the sea cannot drink its own fill,

how can you ever hope to come away from it satiated?
The sea is but a slight spill from the Beloved’s Ocean.
Why content yourself with anything but the Source?

Parable of the Parched Sea

A sage plunged into the sea and asked: “O sea, why are you so blue? Why
do you wear a mourner’s garb? There is no fire, so why do you surge as if
boiling?”

The sea replied: “I am agitated because of my separation from the Friend.

But I am a coward, not worthy of the Beloved. Therefore, I have donned
this garment because of my sorrow. I am parched and dizzy. My waters boil
because of the heat of my love. If I find a single drop from the Beloved’s
Ocean, I will be eternally renewed. Otherwise, like a hundred thousand dry-
lipped Wayfarers, I will die again and again as I journey toward that Great
Source.”
LOVE OF TREASURE

The Owl’s Excuse

The Owl stepped forward, a bit crazed,
and said: Abandoned sites are my lair.
I was born in and am a child of ruins,
so don’t think I go to such places to secretly drink.

Yes, there are many other dwellings,

but I find them revolting and full of strife.
If you long for tranquillity, go
stumble into a ruin like a drunk.
My love of riches leads me to such sites;
there is no better place to make a nest,
for these are the places where treasures lie.

I’ve removed myself from the world to hunt gold

without the aid of amulets or spells.
When I stumble onto hidden treasure,
this obstinate heart becomes unhooked.

Love for Simorgh is nothing but a myth;

to love such a being is not for everyone.
Seeking Simorgh is not for the likes of me;
what thrills me are ruins and buried gold.

The Hoopoe Answers the Owl

You who are drunk on love of treasures,
suppose you come across one.
You will guard it until you are dead,
and while your life slips away, you gain nothing.
 Love of treasure is for the foolish.
Worshipping gold is for pagans.
Make idols of gold and you are
no different from Abraham’s father.18
Or are you from the tribe who made the Golden Calf?19

If your heart is flawed by love of gold,

you will enter eternity with a face ugly with greed.

Parable of the Miser

A man who hoarded and jealously guarded a chest full of gold, died and left
it all behind. A year passed, and his son dreamed his father was running
around and around on a patch of dirt, his face transformed into a rat’s and
his eyes moist with tears.

His son asked: “Father, what are you doing?”

The man replied: “I hid my gold here and I don’t know if anyone has found
it.”
His son asked: “Why do you wear the face of a rat?”
He replied: “In the afterlife, anyone whose heart is in love with gold will
have the face of an agitated, regretful rat. Take a good look, my son, and
learn. Discard your gold.”

FALSE HUMILITY

The Goldfinch’s Excuse

The Goldfinch hopped forward,
feeble in body, hesitant in heart,
fidgety as fire from crown to claw.
 It said: I’ve come bewildered and brittle,
skittish, scrawny, and slight.
I’m not like Moses, blessed and mighty.
Even an ant has more muscle than me.
With no feathers, talons, or anything like that,
how can I hope to make it even near Simorgh?

How can a mere finch, helpless bird that I am,

survive such an adventure?
Surely Simorgh has many suitors, so how can I,
such as I am, find a place among them?
No, I can never shelter such hope,
so why even begin this impossible trip?

Suppose I set out toward that Great One’s court,

I know I will surely die, or burn on the way.
Since this venture is not for me,
let me seek a Joseph20 of my own in water holes.
I once had such a Joseph and lost him in a well.
I will find him again, and when I do,
I will at last fly with him from the sea’s moonfish to the moon.

The Hoopoe Answers the Finch

You twitter on and on, put on airs and graces.
Such charm and false humility!
Do you expect me to buy such pretense?
Your hypocrisy offends me, Finch.

Begin this Journey. Say no more. Seal your beak.

Everyone suffers. Why shouldn’t you?

You speak of yourself as if you were a Jacob.21

Give up these delusions. No Joseph will be yours.
The fire of divine jealousy is always ablaze
and the love of Joseph is forbidden to the mortal world.
Parable of Jacob’s Despair
When Joseph was taken from Jacob, his bereft father went blind from grief.
An ocean of blood billowed in his eyes and Joseph’s name never left his
lips.

The angel Gabriel came to him and said, “If you utter Joseph’s name one
more time, we will erase your name from the list of prophets and apostles.”

Even though Joseph was like a seed planted in Jacob’s soul, the Holy
Commandment banished Joseph’s name from his father’s tongue.

One night Jacob saw his son in a dream and was about to call him to his
side when he remembered the divine command and held his tongue. Yet
from weakness, the wretched father, that pure soul, breathed out a heavy
sigh.

When Jacob woke up from his sweet dream, Gabriel returned with this
message from the Almighty: “You may not have uttered Joseph’s name out
loud, but by heaving a sigh you disobeyed my command in your soul.”

This is how the Almighty plays with our minds.

This is how that eternal Beloved makes love to us mortals.

OTHER EXCUSES

Other Birds Make Excuses

Then bird after bird each made a lame excuse,
foolish excuses from both the lofty and the meek.
Forgive me if I don’t recount each of their pretexts,
but in brief, suffice it to say that every bird
had a cheap, pathetic plea.
How could such birds even find the Great Simorgh?
 The Hoopoe then counseled the flock:
A true seeker must boldly let go of mortal life.
If you don’t have your rightful share, be it thirty grains,
then don’t be stupid, go seek your share from the Simorgh.
But if you don’t have the grit to seek a single grain,
how can you be admitted to Simorgh’s company?

If you are exhausted by a single sip,

how can you drain a chalice with that Champion?
If you can’t manage a speck of dust,
how can you hunt the treasures of the sun?
If you drown in a tiny drop of water,
how can you dive into the ocean’s deep?
This is the essence, not just the scent of it.
This Road is not for the lazy or the idle.

The Birds Question the Hoopoe

When the birds heard the Hoopoe’s answers and admonitions,
they collectively cried: You are indeed a mighty leader!
You are rounded with greatness and endowed with goodness,
but we are a flimsy, impotent bunch—
weak, wingless, and without plumes.

How are we to reach the sublime Simorgh?

What great wonder if indeed we could do it.
Tell us, Hoopoe, where do we stand with this Beloved?
It’s best not to seek mysteries with blind eyes.
Tell us what have we to do with the Simorgh;
infuse us with longing for that Great One.

The Beloved is a Solomon, and we, beggar ants—

so great is the distance that lies between us!
How can a ditch-bound ant catch up with a Great Bird?
What has a royal to do with beggars?
Would the Simorgh even bother with weaklings like us?
The Hoopoe Answers the Birds
Useless bunch, how does love bloom in such yellow hearts?
Beggars, how long will you fret like this?
Being a lover and being fearful don’t mix.
Open your eyes to love, and stamp your feet in dance.
Offer up your mortal selves!

When Simorgh unveiled itself, that sun-like face cast

a hundred thousand shadows on earth.
Then with a single glance, in each shadow
the Great Simorgh birthed birds of diverse shapes.

Ignorant birds,
you are those motley forms in Simorgh’s shadows.
If you comprehend what I just said,
you would know your connection to that Great Bird.
And if you do fathom this mystery, do not speak of it
because to arrive is to plunge into the ocean
and to speak of it means you have not entered its depths.

When you become one with the Beloved,

you will not become the Beloved, rather
you will be drowned in the Beloved.
There is a difference between
being absorbed and becoming possessed.
This is not idle talk.
This is profound if you embrace it.
Once you comprehend whose shadow you are,
you will be liberated, in death and in life.

If Simorgh had not unveiled itself,

no shadow would have been cast,
and if Simorgh decides to hide itself,
no shadow will remain.
 Therefore, if a shadow becomes visible,
it means something has been unveiled.
If you don’t have the eyes to see Simorgh,
it means your heart’s mirror is not clean.

Since no one has the capacity to see the Beloved’s face,

that Gracious One has given us a mirror to gaze
at the reflection of that resplendent Face.
That mirror is the heart. Look for the Beloved there.

Parable of the King’s Mirror

There was a king who was matchless in beauty and goodness. If the world
were a sacred book, looking at him was like reading a verse in that text. No
one dared to stare at his beauty. The world was in uproar over its love for
him.

Sometimes he rode out under the cover of night, a rose-colored veil hanging
over his face. If anyone so much as glanced at that veil, off would go that
unfortunate’s head, innocent or not. If anyone spoke the king’s name, that
tongue would be nipped. Even thinking of uniting with him would mean
throwing all reason and soul to the wind and going mad.

Thousands would give up anything for him, even their lives—such was the
people’s ardor and love. If you saw his unveiled face, you’d lament and
relinquish your soul. To die for the love of that sweet beauty was preferable
to a hundred long lives. No one could bear a moment of delay in attaining
his presence. Yet, no one could manage a moment of life in his presence
either.

People died in longing for him; they could not live with him or without him.
If there was someone who could have borne looking at the king’s unveiled
face, that royal would have obliged, but since no one had such strength, all
sufficed themselves with merely listening to his voice.

One day, the king erected a new palace and decked it out with mirrors, so
all who came to see him would be able to safely gaze at his visage reflected
in the mirrors. Finally, his face was unveiled in reflections.

If you seek the Beauty of the Friend,

look into your heart where that mirror hangs.
Turn to your heart and see the Beloved’s face.
Polish your soul to reflect the Beloved’s grandeur.

Your Sovereign resides in that glorious palace

lit by the rays radiating from its ravishing face.
Behold your Sovereign in your heart,
that Beauty is inside even the smallest thing.

Whatsoever wears the shape of anything in existence

has come from the shadow of the beautiful Simorgh.

If Simorgh unveils its face to you, you will find

that all the birds, be they thirty or forty or more,
are but the shadows cast by that unveiling.
What shadow is ever separated from its maker?
Do you see?
The shadow and its maker are one and the same,
so get over surfaces and delve into mysteries.

You may ask, if I lose myself in Simorgh’s shadow,

then how can I attain its presence?
This is how:

When a door is cracked open,

sunlight pours in. Shadows suddenly vanish.
What remains will be the Sun and you.

Parable of Alexander the Great in Disguise

They say that when Alexander the Great wished to send out an envoy, that
king of the world would disguise himself as a messenger and deliver his
own messages in a page’s costume. He would always end his messages
with: “Thus commanded Alexander the Great.”
No one in the world ever knew that the messenger was Alexander himself.
No one had ever seen his face, so that even if he were to reveal himself as
Alexander, no one would believe him.

The Beloved has access to all hearts,

but a wayward heart is not aware of that Presence.
If the Beloved is a stranger on the outside,
don’t worry, on the inside, the Messenger is the Friend.

Parable of the Secret Path Between Lovers

Ayaz22 was Sultan Mahmud’s favorite Turkish servant. One day when Ayaz
fell ill under the spell of the evil eye, happiness departed the sultan’s eyes.
Troubled, sorrowful, and sick with worry, the king took to his bed.

When a message arrived from Ayaz, who was sequestered far away, the
faithful king summoned his page and said: “Go to Ayaz and tell him, You
who have fallen distant from your king, I may be far from you, but when I
think of how you suffer, your grief becomes mine. I cannot tell your pain
from mine. Though my body is away from you, my loving soul nestles close
to you. I yearn for you and not a moment passes that you don’t move my
mind. The evil eye was strong to bring such illness to one so loved.”

The king said this and commanded his page: “Go quickly now, fast as fire
and smoke. Do not stop anywhere. Dash like lightning, rush like water freed
from a dam. If you delay a moment on the way, I will make both worlds too
small for you.”

The page took off like a whirlwind. When he arrived at Ayaz’s bedside, to
his astonishment he found the king by the servant’s side. The page’s limbs
began to quiver from fear. Bewildered, he could not understand what had
happened, and his body was seized by a terrible trembling. He thought to
himself, How can I argue with a king? Surely he will spill my blood.

The poor page said to the king: “I swear, I didn’t tarry or delay. I didn’t sit
to rest, not even for a moment. I don’t know how your excellency could
have arrived here before me. Your majesty, call me an infidel if I am telling
a lie.”

The king replied: “It’s not your fault, page. You will not be able to
understand. I have a secret path to this man, for I cannot suffer a moment
without his face. I come to him secretly each day, in such a way that no one
is aware. This mysterious connection between him and me is sufficient. The
secrets we share in our souls are enough. Even though I inquire after him on
the outside, I am mindful and awake to his state on the inside. I keep this
secret from others on the outside, and my soul communes with him on the
inside.”

____________________
10 “In the name of God” in Arabic.
11 It is said that King Solomon kept an account of the birds of the world, and was greatly angered
when he found the Hoopoe missing. When the Hoopoe finally presented itself, it gave the excuse that
it had stumbled upon the Land of Saba, where Queen Sheba, misled by Satan, worshipped the sun. To
test the veracity of the Hoopoe’s claim, King Solomon sent a sealed letter addressed to the queen and
charged the bird to deliver it. Later, when the queen presented herself to King Solomon’s court, awed
by the king’s power and words and accepting the one true God, the Hoopoe was rewarded with the
colorful, impressive crest on its head.
12 Qaf: A mythical mountain made of green emerald that wraps around the world, Qaf is
considered to be the place from which the sun rises and into which the sun sets.
13 China’s art gallery: In Persian culture of the time, the Chinese were known for their paintings
and portraits.
14 In a story attributed to Prophet Mohammad, he says, “Learn science from the Chinese.”
15 Part of the Torah, which, according to lore, contains songs written by King David.
16 As the intermediary between God and the Prophet Mohammad, the archangel Gabriel is
considered the most important angel in Islam.
17 Fereydun: Iranian mythical king known in Persian literature for his justice and victory over the
dragon Zahhak. Jamshid: The legendary king of the Pishdadian Dynasty, alluded to in Zoroastrian
scripture.
18 Abraham’s father: Azar, in the original text.
19 In the original, the Summeri tribe is mentioned by name. It is said that Summeri was Moses’
maternal cousin and follower, and the one who, when Moses went to the mountain, built a golden
calf to be worshipped as a god.
20 Joseph: See note on p. 34.
21 Jacob: Regarded as the patriarch of the Israelites. His twelve sons, including his favorite, Joseph,
became the progenitors of the Tribes of Israel.
22 Ayaz: Malik Ayaz was a Georgian slave. King Mahmud of Ghazna awarded him the throne of
Lahore in 1021 CE. Attar uses his relationship with King Mahmud as a metaphor for the mystic
relationship between a lover and the Divine.
 THE
BIRDS
PREPARE
FOR THE
JOURNEY
The Birds Become Eager to Begin
The Hoopoe Advises the Birds
Parable of Sheikh San’an in Love
The Sheikh Has a Dream
The Sheikh Falls in Love
The Sheikh’s Disciples Plead with Him
The Sheikh Gives Up His Faith
The Sheikh’s Followers Leave
The Girl Has a Dream
The Sheikh Is Informed of the Girl’s State
The Sheikh Teaches the Girl the Ways of the Path
The Birds Become Eager to Begin
When the birds heard this story,
at last they understood their connection
to the Great Simorgh
and comprehended its ancient mysteries.
Now they were eager to commence the journey.

They gathered on the great Path as one voice,

comrades in longing, and said: Hoopoe,
bird of experience, how are we to manage this flight?
Never have so many weaklings gathered
to embark on such an exalted voyage.

The Hoopoe Advises the Birds

Whether you’re an ascetic or a libertine,
when you fall in love
your heart becomes the enemy of your self
and you’ll no longer care about yourself.

Therefore, let go of your ego;

it’s the road’s end anyway.
Ego is a dam that keeps you from the Path.

Give up your eyes so that you may see.

If you are told to abandon your faith
or commanded to give up your self,
who are you to refuse?
Renounce them both.

Naysayers say this is blasphemy.

Tell them: Love is above heresy and faith.

What does love have to do with belief or unbelief?

What do lovers have to do with life’s trappings?
A true lover strikes a match to the whole harvest.
If a hatchet is lifted over a lover’s head,
a lover of the Path will say: Do it.

Love insists on the heart’s bleeding pain.

Love demands a gnarled and arduous tale.

Wine-bearer, come pour heart-blood into the cup!

If you don’t have any, borrow some from love.
True love comes with passion that burns away veils.
Sometimes it ravages the veil; at other times it mends it.

An iota of love is better than all the worlds.

A morsel of lovers’ pain is better than the lovers themselves.

Love is the magnetic core that draws everything together,

but beware: There is no perfect love without pain.

Angels hold love but not the pain;

only mortals merit the pain of love.
If you become sure-footed in love, you’ll transcend
everything, even blasphemy and belief.

Love opens the door to poverty;

poverty will steer you to breach faith and belief.
When you liberate yourself from all you believe
and don’t believe,
that’s when your ego disappears.
Only then will you deserve this journey,
only then will you deserve its mysteries.

Staunch your fear and step forward.

Leave faith and blasphemy behind. Don’t worry.
Don’t be childish. Don’t hesitate.
Go on, be bold. Take the first step.
If a hundred tests rain down on you,
don’t panic; expect them on this hard journey.
Parable of Sheikh San’an in Love
The Sheikh Has a Dream
Sheikh San’an was a revered elder of his era whose wisdom and virtue
surpassed all description. For fifty years he had resided in the holy city of
Mecca, and had four hundred diligent disciples who studied with him day
and night. The sheikh held learning and wisdom inseparable from actions,
and he was privy to ancient knowledge as well as to new discoveries and
mysteries. He had made fifty pilgrimages on appointed holy days, but since
he was also a resident of Mecca, he was always on pilgrimage anyway.

In strict observance of his Faith’s laws and decrees, he prayed and fasted
frequently. Many a great sheikh visited him and when they were in his
presence they would lose all sense of themselves. Why? Because Sheikh
San’an, that spiritual man, would elucidate for them in great depth the
divine miracles in the Holy Book. His utterance would restore anyone
whose soul was ill, to his rightful self. In short, he was a leader and a pillar
for his people, both in joy and sorrow.

The sheikh was aware that he served as an exemplar to his followers and
was therefore greatly alarmed when he found himself dreaming the same
disturbing dream night after night. In this dream, he prostrated himself over
and over, before an idol, inside a temple. Finally, one night that Awake One
woke up and cried out, “Horror! Pity! The graceful Joseph has fallen into
the well; I have come upon a difficult passage in the Path. I do not know if I
can survive this pain, for I would rather die than give up my faith.”

No soul on earth walks the Path without coming to such a strait. If the
Wayfarer cuts through the strait right away, the passage will light up all the
way to the throne of the Almighty. But if he or she falls behind, the road
will stretch out even longer than before.

At last that wise ancient confided to his followers: “Something terrible has
befallen me. I must go to Rûm23 to see what can be done about it.”

The Sheikh Falls in Love

All of his four hundred worthy disciples set out and accompanied their
master on the journey. They headed out from the Holy City toward Rûm,
and when they reached their destination, they walked its every nook and
cranny. Then, by fate, the sheikh’s eyes fell upon a Christian girl,24 pious
and spiritual in nature, sitting on a beautiful balcony. She was filled with the
spirit of devotion to her Lord.

There she was, a never-setting orb in virtue’s sky, where, in envy of her
face, the sun waxed yellower than the girl’s lovesick admirers. Whoever
gave that imprisoner of hearts his heart, put on a Zon’nar25 for her sake.
Whoever fixed his soul on her ruby lips, took one step and gave up his life
with the next.

When the morning breeze, imbued with the musky fragrance of her hair,
wafted through the city, Rûm furrowed its face to breathe it in. Her eyes
were agents of calamitous love; her eyebrows, twin arches of temptation. A
single glance at her beauty stripped her lovers of reason.

Her brows were like halos around the two moons of her eyes whose pupils
hunted hundreds of souls. Her face, beneath her curling locks, was a
mischievous flaring fire, and her moist ruby lips kept a whole world
parched. Her drunken-dreamy eyes bore a thousand daggers; if you came
thirsty to her well, her every blink plunged a blade into your belly. Her
mouth was as small as the eye of a needle, and her chin dimpled with a
silver pool.

Since the girl spoke to no one, anyone who claimed to have spoken to her
was a foolish liar. She wore a Zon’nar braided like her own hair. Her spirit
was as quickening as Christ’s words, and a hundred thousand blood-
drenched hearts fell Joseph-like into her well.

She wore a jewel like a bright sun in her hair, the strands of which cascaded
in a black veil over her face. When she pushed that veil aside, the sheikh
burned from limb to limb, and even though he quickly averted his eyes, the
love of that idol’s face had cast its spell. The poor sheikh lost all his senses
and fell. All that he once was, all he had possessed, vanished and was
uprooted. Love’s fire smoldered his heart into smoke, his passion for the
girl plundered his soul and his belief was sullied by the beauty of her hair.
In this way, the old man exchanged his faith for a Christian girl; he sold his
soul’s welfare and purchased his own shame. Passion so invaded the sheikh
that his heart disenchanted him and he felt queasy in his soul. He said to
himself, With faith gone, what use is the heart? Loving a Christian girl is
arduous.

When his disciples found him so afflicted, they realized that the terrible test
their master had foretold had indeed come to pass. They were amazed,
astonished, and confounded. No matter how much they counseled the
sheikh, he paid no heed because to him there was no remedy for his pain.
What distraught lover ever listens and obeys? What pain that burns its own
remedy ever finds a cure?

And so the sheikh spent a long day sitting until nightfall with his mouth
hanging open and his eyes glued to the girl’s balcony. Night fanned out its
dark hair and cloaked everything, the way sin cloaks faithlessness. Every
star that lit the sky was fueled by the old sheikh’s agonized heart. His love
multiplied that night a hundredfold and he lost the entirety of who he used
to be. He closed his heart to himself and to the world, and began to moan,
rubbing his head in the road’s dust. Cheated of sleep and tranquillity, he
trembled with love and wailed in agony.

He cried: “Dear God, has this night no day? I have spent so many nights
denying my ego, but not one of those nights tortured me like this. I am a
wick—I have no rest because I burn. Nothing is left in me except my heart’s
blood. I am a candle that burns and melts through the night, only to be
snuffed out at daybreak. I drown in my heart’s blood and suffer night
assaults. I don’t know what the day will bring. Whoever spends a single
such night will know unrelenting agony.

“All the days and nights I spent in feverish torment were to prepare me for a
night such as this. Destiny molded me to endure this night. Dear Almighty,
will this night have no day? Will the candle of the sky never arrive and
burn? Is this a sign that the Day of Judgment is about to arrive? Or have I
blown out Heaven’s candle with my sighs? Maybe the sun has veiled itself
in envy of that stealer of hearts. If the night wasn’t as long and black as her
hair, I’d die from lacking a piece of her. Tonight I burn in longing; I’ve no
stamina for love’s mayhem.
“Where is there enough time to count my grief and lament until my heart is
satisfied? Where is patience to help me regain myself or bravely drain the
poison wine? Where is good fortune to smile on me or aid me in my love?
Where is reason to comfort me and lead me toward my goal? Where are the
palms to scoop up dust and pour it on my head? Where are the hands to lift
my head from under the dirt and blood? Where are the feet to walk me
toward my love? Where are the eyes to gaze again on her face? Where is
the Friend to ease me in my grief? Where is the comrade to give me a hand?
Where is the strength to lament and cry? Where is the sense to feign
sobriety? Gone is reason, gone patience, gone the Friend. What kind of love
is this, what sort of pain? What any of this?”

The Sheikh’s Disciples Plead with Him

The sheikh’s disciples gathered around him in sympathy and communed
with him on that night of his misery.

One of them pleaded: “Rise up, great sheikh! Perform ablutions against this
satanic temptation.”
But the sheikh replied: “You fool, tonight I have performed a hundred
ablutions with my heart’s blood.”

Another reprimanded: “Where are your prayer beads, sheikh? How can you
find yourself again without them?”
He replied: “I threw them away to free my hands to wrap infidelity’s belt
about my waist.”

Another cried: “Oh ancient one, if you have committed a sin, repent.”
The sheikh replied: “I have renounced modesty and all states of Sufi trance.
I have repented being a sheikh, repented waiting for soul-ecstasy.”

Another said: “Wise one, get up and reconcile by reciting prayers.”

He replied: “Where is the face of that idol so that I can turn in her direction
and pray?”

Another pleaded: “How much more of this talk? Get up and prostrate
yourself before the Almighty.”
He replied: “I will prostrate, but only before that idol’s face.”
Another asked: “Have you no regrets? No longing for the faith you have
abandoned?”
He replied: “My greatest remorse is that I haven’t been in love before.”

Another said: “The devil has waylaid you, Sheikh. Your heart has been
struck with the arrow of disgrace.”
He replied: “If it’s the devil that lies in ambush, tell him to strike, and strike
swiftly and gracefully.”

Another said: “Whoever hears of this will say, how that ancient lost his
way.”
He replied: “I don’t care about fame or notoriety. I will smash the glass of
hypocrisy with a rock.”

Another lamented: “You have distressed your old friends and broken their
hearts.”
He replied: “If that Christian child is happy in her heart, my heart is
unconcerned with your distress or anyone else’s.”

Another pleaded: “Come, Sheikh, make up with your friends, let’s head
back tonight toward Mecca.”
He replied: “There is no such Holy City for me anymore; now there is only
the monastery. I am sober in Mecca, but drunk in the temple.”

Another pleaded: “Come and take to the road at once, let’s go to the mosque
where you can seek forgiveness.”
He replied: “I will ask forgiveness only at the threshold of that sweet one.
Leave me alone!”

Another warned: “This leads to Hell. A vigilant man does not go to Hell.”
He replied: “If I am to reside in Hell, all the Seven Hells will crisp black
from just one of my sighs.”

Another pleaded: “Come repent this ugliness, and you can still hope for
Heaven.”
He replied: “Since my darling’s face is heavenly, if it is Paradise I must
have then it’s right here on this street.”
Another said: “Have shame before the Almighty. Be reverent toward the
Exalted One.”
He replied: “It is the Great Almighty who has cast this fire into my soul. I
cannot uncast it of my own volition.”

Another counseled: “Go be at rest. Find your faith.”

He replied: “Do not seek anything but unbelief from this bewildered one.
Don’t ask faith from one who has lost it.”

Since their words had no effect on the sheikh, his disciples fell into reverent
silence for that sorrowful one. Their hearts billowed with grief and they
wondered what was to become of their master. At last, night was beheaded
by the golden sword of day and the glorious world flooded with the sun’s
sea of light. The sheikh prepared a corner for himself in the street of his
loved one, fending off the neighborhood dogs.

For a long time, he sat like a hermit on the dirt, and as he waited and longed
for the sun of his beloved’s face, he grew thin as a strand of hair. Eventually
he fell sick for lack of seeing her, yet still he refused to turn his gaze away
from the threshold of her door. The dust of that idol’s street became his bed
and her doorstep his pillow.

The Sheikh Gives Up His Faith

The girl finally became aware of the sheikh’s love and, pretending
incomprehension of his state, came to him and asked: Sheikh, what ails
you? How can a Muslim ascetic sit at the threshold of a Christian? Are you
drunk with the wine of a god other than your own? If you fixate on my
locks, your every breath invites madness.

The sheikh replied: “You can clearly see from the wretched state I am in
that you have cunningly stolen my heart. Either give it back or put up with
me. You see how I long for you. Don’t flirt; leave your coquettish ways and
give up your pride. Look at this old man, in love, a stranger in this land.

“Beauty, my love for you is not a passing thing. Either cut off my head or
surrender. I will give up my life at your command, and if you wish it, you
can restore it back to me with your lips. Your mouth and hair are my loss
and gain. Your face and street are my destination. Don’t torture me with the
toss of those locks. Don’t make me swoon with those intoxicating eyes.

“My heart is on fire for you, my eyes are clouds full of rain. I’m friendless,
alone and agitated, all for you. I’ve sold my soul and my world for you,
sold it all for just a sackful of love for you. My eyes rain when they don’t
see yours. Looking at your face throws my heart into agitation. No one has
suffered what I’ve endured because of your eyes. No one has endured what
I’ve suffered. Nothing remains of my heart but the blood of grief. How long
must I drink that blood, when no heart is left?

“Don’t kick this poor wretch’s soul anymore, don’t trample him like a
conqueror. My life has become this waiting and expecting, perchance to
unite with you one day. Every night I ambush my own soul and brave my
life in your street. I lay my life at your doorstep and will give it up cheap as
mud. How long must I lament at your door? Open it. Lend me your
company, if just for a moment.

“You are the sun, how can I stay away? I am a shadow, how can I exist
without you? Yet, even as your shadow, I would leap in anguish to the
windowsill of your sun. If you nod your head yes to this lost one, I’ll draw
the Seven Heavens beneath my wings, I’ll lie beneath the earth, soul
aflame, and set fire to the entire world with my blazing heart. My hand is on
my heart, my feet are stuck in clay. My life is a receding tide; how long will
you hide from me?”

The girl replied: “Senile man, you have lost touch with the world. Your
breath is almost cold and yet you seek intimacy? Shame on you! Go think
about your camphor and burial cloth! You’re an old man and you want to
play lover? Better to concern yourself with choosing your shroud than
obsessing over me. You seek kingship when you can’t even find a loaf of
bread to fill your stomach.”

The sheikh said: “Say what you will, say it a hundred thousand times, but I
have no other preoccupation than love’s sorrow. What does it matter if one
is old or young? Love strikes all hearts with equal weight.”
The girl replied: “If you mean what you profess, there are four tasks you
must perform: bow before an idol saint, burn your Holy Book, drink wine,
and finally, deny your faith.”
The sheikh said: “I will lift up a cup of wine and drink to you, but I will not
do the other three.”
The girl replied: “If you want this affair, you must wash faith from your
hands. If you don’t bow to your beloved and take on her shade, your love is
nothing but smoke and scent.”

The sheikh acquiesced and said: “Then I will do whatever you ask. I will
obey your command with my life and soul. My sweet silver-bodied love, for
you I will wear a slave’s ring in my ear and bow my neck for a collar made
from a strand of your hair.”

She replied: “Then rise, come with me and drink. Wine will boil and excite
your blood.” She then took the sheikh to the temple. His disciples followed
clamorously, all wailing. There the sheik, that spiritual man, saw a new kind
of gathering. The temple’s host was infinitely beautiful and gracious. The
fire of love melted away his faith’s armor, and the locks of the Christian girl
became his ruin. Not an iota of sense or reason remained in him, and so,
silently he took a breath and drank a goblet of wine from his beloved’s
hand.

He drank and severed his heart from the past. Wine and love mingled in his
body and soul, multiplied his passion a hundred-thousand-fold. When her
ruby lips parted in laughter and he saw the luster of her teeth, a flame of
longing blazed in his body and a raw torrent rushed his eyes.

He asked for more wine, drank and asked for more. He took a strand of her
hair, made a ring from it, and like a slave wore it on his ear. When the wine
reached his navel, the man who knew hundreds of religious texts by heart,
the sage who could recite the Holy Book from memory, threw everything he
knew and claimed to be out the window. No more boasting. Whatever he
knew, he forgot. The wine erased his memory and whatever had once been
his was washed from the tablet of his mind. Everything was cleared away
except his love, which now grew even fiercer. The drunk sheikh’s passion
flared higher and his soul became rowdy as the sea. Drunk and befuddled,
he utterly lost control and reached out to caress the girl’s neck.
The girl drew back and said: “You are not man enough for any of this yet.
You pretend love but do not know its inner meaning. If your love is solid
and true, if you believe in my curly locks, you must convert to my faith.
Love’s labor is not superficial work. Safety is not compatible with love.
Sacrifice and sacrilege proves the strength of love. If you convert to my
religion, then you may touch my neck. If you don’t want to convert, then
get up and go. Here is your cane and there’s your cape.”

The lovesick sheikh had let his wayward heart lead him where it may.
When his head had been unclouded by wine, he’d had no desire to live, but
now that the lovelorn old man was drunk, he stumbled and all was lost. He
didn’t come back to himself and unabashedly bowed before idols, bringing
shame upon himself. The wine was aged enough to do its magic. It made
the sheikh dizzy as a twirling compass.

An old man, vintage wine, and vernal love—add a beloved to the mix and
out goes self-restraint.

When that ancient was fully ruined (and for a lovesick drunk, all is lost
anyway), he said: “I cannot bear this anymore. Tell me, my moon-face,
what else do you require from this heart-consumed man? In sobriety I did
not become a worshipper of idols, but now in my drunken state I will burn
even my holy texts.”

The girl replied: “Now you are my man. Now you are deserving of me.
Before this, you were raw in your love, but now you are as good as well
done.”

When the news reached other Christians that a prominent sheikh had
embraced their faith, they took him, still drunk, to the monastery and
instructed him in the wearing of their belt. The sheikh put his body into the
ring of that belt and threw his dervish cloak into fire. Thus, he joined their
ranks and untethered his heart from his faith, the memory of Mecca, and his
status as a sheikh. After many years of righteous faith, this is how he was
washed clean of it all.

He cried: “Grace has finally abandoned this dervish. Love of a Christian

girl has done its work. From here on, I will do whatever she commands.
What else can I possibly do that would be worse than what I have just
done? When sober, I did not bow before an idol; now that I am completely
drunk, I have become an idolater. Many have abandoned their faith because
of wine. No doubt alcohol must be the mother of all evil to have such
power.”

He then turned to the girl and asked: “Heart-stealer, what else? I did as you
asked, what else is left to do? I drank wine and bowed before an idol. May
no one suffer the pain I have for love, or lose himself in such disgrace! For
fifty years I have walked the Path, the sea of my heart surging with
mysteries. Then a spark of love ambushed me and whirled me back to page
one. Love has done this to others and will always do so. It transfigures the
faithful into the faithless, and will forever play this trick. Love ushers an
alphabet-learner’s hand on the slate of faith, and turns the knower of the
Invisible into a vagabond lover. What is gone is lost, but tell me, when will
you join with me? My union with you depended on all that you asked, and I
did it all so that I could unite with you. How long must I burn in the fire of
my separation from you?”

The girl said: “Captive old man, my bride price is high, and you are poor. I
require gold and silver, witless man. Do you presume you would succeed in
uniting with me without wealth? Since you don’t have a single coin to your
name, either take these alms from me and go, or like the leisurely self-
sufficient sun, become independent. Have patience and behave like a man.”

The sheikh replied: “My silver-breasted tall cypress, is this how you keep
your promises? I no longer have anyone in this world but you, my beautiful
idol. At least refrain from this bantering. You throw a new demand at me
every chance you get. You flirt with me, then flout me. I tasted blood in my
pining for you, trusted in your words and did whatever you asked of me.

“Everything is now gone for the sake of your love—faith and unbelief, loss
and gain, all of it. How long will you keep me waiting and anxious? Didn’t
you make a deal with me? All my followers are about to return to Mecca.
They turned their backs on this lost soul and are my enemies now. So much
for them, and now you too? What is this betrayal? What should I do? When
heart and soul are gone, where can I turn? Sublime woman, I’d rather be
with you in Hell than without you in Paradise.”
That moon-face felt the old man’s pain in her heart and decided to accept
him as her man. She said: “Imperfect man, for my bride price, you must
herd my pigs for a year. When the year is up, we will marry, for better or
worse.”

The sheikh did not flinch at this command, for he well knew he who rebels
against his beloved will not prevail. So, that ancient of Mecca, that
dignified elder, picked up a cane and made swineherding his profession for
the coming year.26

A hundred swine linger in human nature;

burn them, or else don the belt of faithlessness.
Don’t imagine such a treacherous fate
has befallen only that sheikh.
The beast skulks inside us all
and rears up its head when you start the Journey.

If you don’t know the swine inside,

go elsewhere; this Journey is not for you.
But if you step into the Path, you will meet
a hundred idols and swine on your way.
In love’s wilderness, slaughter the swine,
burn the idol or else become
like the luckless sheikh, disgraced in love.

The sheikh’s conversion created much talk in Rûm. His followers

despaired, helpless. When they saw how captive and entangled their master
had become, they broke from him. At last, they decided to return to Mecca,
but just as they were about to leave, a bold one among them went back to
the sheikh and said: “You have been afflicted by weakness. We are leaving
for Mecca today. Tell us what to do. Should we abandon our faith and take
on the shame that you have? We worry about your aloneness. We will don
the Zon’nar for your sake. But if you can’t see us doing so, then we must
flee without you, return to the Holy City in prayer and cut ourselves off
from you.”

The sheikh replied: “My soul brims over with pain. Go where you want but
do it quickly. So long as there is life in me, this place is good enough for
me, for this girl keeps my soul alive. As empathetic as you may be, you
can’t understand what hasn’t happened to you. If for a single moment you
felt what I feel, you would all become my companions again. Return home,
dear friend, for I still don’t know what else is in store for me.

“If they ask about me in Mecca, tell them honestly what happened to this
vile soul. Tell them his eyes are bloodshot and his mouth full of poison. Tell
them he has fallen into the jaws of fate’s dragon. Not even an unbeliever in
this world has made the transgressions fate has forced me to commit. Tell
them the moment the sheikh saw the Christian girl’s hair, reason, faith, and
wisdom abandoned that ancient man. He wrapped a lock of her hair around
his neck, wore it like a captive slave, and gave himself up to gossip. Tell
them everything, and if anyone tries to blame me, say that many others have
fallen away as I have from the Path. In a journey that has no head or tail, no
one is immune to such snares and hazards.”

The sheikh said this and turned away from his friends, a swineherder
tending his pigs. His disciples were ripped by grief, but in the end walked
away from him. Souls scorched and bodies in anguish, they headed back
toward Mecca and left their master alone in Rûm, bereft of his faith because
of a Christian girl.

The Sheikh’s Followers Leave

Back in Mecca, cracked by shame, his followers hid in their own little
corners. But the sheikh had one faithful friend in Mecca who had not
accompanied them to Rûm. He was a wise man of great eminence, and the
sincerest of them all. When he saw his friends return without the sheikh, he
asked what had become of their master. They recounted all that had come to
pass, how fate had piled misfortune on the ancient man, and what the
Divine had decreed for the sheikh.

They said: “A Christian girl’s hair ensnared him and blocked the path of his
faith. He now makes love to her locks and beauty spot, his dervish robe
burned into ash. He is a changed man. He has withdrawn from all our
faith’s commandments and is now herding swine. That grieving holy one
has wrapped the belt of idolatry tightly around his waist four times. It’s true
that our sheikh was the wisest of all in matters of faith, but now he is no
different from a pagan.”

The sheikh’s wise friend listened to this account in astonishment. His face
turned yellow and he began to weep. He then said: “You lewd scoundrels,
when it comes to loyalty, you are neither men nor women. This is the time
when a soul needs a hundred thousand friends. If you were indeed true
friends to our sheikh, why did you not behave like friends? Shame on you.
You call yourselves his disciples? Is this how you pay your dues and show
loyalty?

“When our sheikh donned the Zon’nar, you should all have done the same.
You should not have deserted him. Christianity ought to have been for you
all. There was no camaraderie or consistency in your action. You’re all
hypocrites. When you offer your friendship, you must offer it with sincerity,
even at the cost of giving up what’s dear to you. When you prosper, your
friends number a hundred thousand, but when you are weak and in need,
that’s when true friends distinguish themselves. When the sheikh fell into
the jaws of a crocodile, you all quickly ran for fear of infamy. But love’s
foundation is infamy. Whoever shies away from it is unschooled, green and
crass in heart and head.”

They replied: “Everything you now say to us, we repeatedly said to the
sheikh. We even resolved to share his sorrows and joy, to sell our piety and
buy disgrace, to jettison our religion and bow before idols. But the sheikh
thought it best that we swiftly depart. He saw no use in our camaraderie and
turned us back toward home. We came back by his command. Truly, we
have told the whole story and held nothing back.”

The faithful friend spoke again: “Were you true Wayfarers of the Path, you
would have stationed yourselves at the door of the Almighty and kept vigil
and competed with one another in begging that Great One to show grace to
your sheikh and return him to you. When you abandoned your sheikh, why
did you come to Mecca instead of going straight to the Almighty’s door?”
When the disciples heard this, they hung their heads in shame.

The wise friend then said: “What use is this disgrace? What has happened
has happened. Let’s rise up and hurry to our master’s aid. Let us put on our
plaintiff’s garments and go to the court of the Beloved, rub our heads in
dust and ask for justice.”

With this said, they all set out toward Rûm, absorbed in prayers. They
prayed all day and all night, and each one, in his own way, knocked a
hundred thousand times on the Almighty’s door, begging for intervention
and tearfully asking for help. They spent forty days and nights in prayer and
did not eat nor sleep, denying themselves bread and water.

The supplications of this pure tribe caused a frightful uproar in Heaven, and
green-clad angels from high and low donned garments of mourning. At last
the prayers of the disciple who was the purest of them all hit the target in
the eye. At dawn a musk-laden breeze wafted and unveiled a mysterious
world to his heart. He saw the Prophet walking toward him like the moon, a
braided black lock hanging over each shoulder. The Almighty’s shadow was
a sun on the Prophet’s face—may a hundred worlds of souls fall prostrate to
a single strand of his hair. He walked leisurely toward the disciple, and a
smile graced his face. If you gazed at him, you’d lose yourself and
disappear.

The disciple jumped from his seat, took the Prophet’s hand, and beseeched
him for help, pleading: “You are our leader, the world’s lodestar from the
Celestial Court. Help us. Our sheikh has gone astray from the Path. I beg
you, please lend him your hand!”

The Prophet replied: “Noble soul, go. I have released your sheikh from
bondage. Your devotion and beseeching did its work. You did not falter
until your sheikh was saved. For a long time, a dark haze lay between the
sheikh and the truth. I have lifted that dusty haze from the Path and have
raised him from darkness. I have drawn dews from the healing ocean and
sprinkled it upon him. The mist has burned off; repentance has descended
and sin has perished. Know that a hundred sins dissipate with a single
repentance uttered by the mouth. When the ocean of benevolence surges, it
washes away the misdeeds of every man and woman.”

The disciple lost consciousness, and when he came to, he shouted with such
vigorous joy that it shook the rafters of Heaven. He gave the disciples the
good news and they hurried toward Rûm, crying and running until they
reached their swineherding sheikh. They saw him ablaze like fire. Having
regained his old vigor, he had shed his Zon’nar and cast off the obligatory
bells for swineherding.

When the sheikh saw his old disciples approaching from afar, he thought of
himself shockingly stripped of light. From shame, he rent his own clothes to
shreds and fell to the ground, shedding a storm of bitter tears and tearing at
his flesh. His sighs singed the curtains of Heaven. His blood burned from
grief. Faith’s wisdom and knowledge that had been washed away from his
consciousness now suddenly flooded back.

He fell prostrate on the ground, sweat and blood-tears of shame steeped him
red as a rose.
When his disciples saw him in such a state, they were stunned with grief
and bliss. They greeted him amazed and thankful. They said: “Fathomer of
mysteries, clouds have lifted from the sun; infidelity has absconded, faith
has come home. The idolater of Rûm is once again a worshipper of one
Creator. Sheikh, the Almighty’s ocean of acceptance has surged and washed
away your indiscretions. Now is the time for thankfulness, not for such
wailing grief. Be obliged to your Beloved who opened a glistening path
across black tar. The Beloved knows night from light and listens to remorse
for such sins. When the fire of contrition is kindled, all that must burn will
ignite.”

To make the story brief, they readied themselves for the journey back to
Mecca. The sheikh performed his ablutions and once again put on a dervish
cloak. Then they started back toward the Holy City.

The Girl Has a Dream

Now the girl had a dream. She saw the sun fall into her arms, and the
glowing orb began to speak. It said: “Go after the sheikh, take on his faith
and be as dust at his feet. You who sullied his faith, now be his pure one. He
unwittingly adopted your way; now in all fairness you must take on his.
You waylaid him from his Path; now walk the Path with him. You were his
highway robber; now be his highway companion. How long will you stay
oblivious? Wise up!”
When the girl woke up from this dream, light emanated from her like the
sun. The pain of longing for the sheikh took hold of her inner being and
unsettled her. A flame ignited in her soul and she reached for her heart, but
her heart had taken flight.

She did not know what kind of seed had borne fruit in her impatient soul.
Something had happened to her and she had no one in whom to confide.
She suddenly found herself in a mysterious world, a world with no
signposts, a world that left her mute because the tongue had no function
there. Her arrogance and gaiety drained away from her like rain from a
cloud.

She screamed and ran out tearing at her own garment, penitent and crying
tears of despair. Heart overflowing with grief, she ran after the sheikh, ran
like a blood-filled cloud, hand over foot. But she did not know which way
he had gone or where to seek him. She ran through fields and deserts.

Lost and feeble, she wailed long and loud, rubbed her face on the soil in
despair, crying: “Skilled master, I don’t know what to do. I waylaid a
Wayfarer of your Path; forgive me, for I did not know what I was doing.
Calm the sea of your anger. I did what I did out of sheer ignorance. I erred,
forgive me. Do not punish me for my deeds. I accept your Path, grant me
your aid. I am dying and there is no one to help me, and my share of honor
is nothing but abasement.”

The Sheikh Is Informed of the Girl’s State

The sheikh was informed by a voice from within: “The girl has become
acquainted with our faith and adopted our Way. Return and reunite with
your idol. Become her companion.”
Upon hearing this, the sheikh turned around like the wind. Again, an
agitation fell amongst his disciples. They said: “Sheikh, are you returning
again? What was all that talk of regret? If you once again become her lover,
your repentance will be nulled.”

But the sheikh described the girl’s condition. They listened and felt their
hearts melt. So once again the sheikh and his disciples took off toward that
heart-thief’s home.
They found her, yellow as gold, hair covered with dust, barefoot and with
her dress torn. She was laid out on the ground like a body empty of life.
When that moon-face saw her sheikh, she fainted. The sheikh sprinkled her
face with his tears and when she opened her eyes and saw his face, she
cried like spring clouds as she looked at his spiritual face. She threw herself
at his feet and said: “My soul burns from shame and I cannot bear to live
inside my blindness a single moment longer. I want to cast aside the veil of
ignorance; please teach me all about the Path, so that I can start my
journey.”

The Sheikh Teaches the Girl the Ways of the Path

The sheikh’s disciples looked on full of excitement as he taught the girl the
ways of the Path. When that idol-face joined the rank of the elect, tears of
the disciples surged like a sea. When she saw the Way and tasted the
sweetness of seeing the Path in her now wide-awake heart, she became
impatient with excitement and was seized by the kind of yearning that has
no remedy.
She said: “Sheikh, my endurance has run out and I cannot bear separation
from what I now know. I am leaving this troubled world of dust. I will no
longer be able to speak, so please forgive me and do not be angry. By your
leave, sheikh of the world. Farewell.”

Then that moon-face surrendered her last breath and offered up the half-life
she still held, to the Beloved. The sun disappeared behind a cloud as her
sweet life left her. She had been a drop of water in this sea of fantasy, but
now she found her way to the True Ocean.

We all leave this world like a breeze,

depart it just as she did.
Many have suffered like this in the path of love.
If you grasp love, you will grasp what I just said.

Whatever you can imagine is possible in the Wayfarer’s Path.

It is all compassion and despair, faith and faithlessness.
The ego has no ear to hear such mysteries.
Comprehension is based on capacity.
 If it has not been ordained, you cannot grab your share.
Truth must be listened to by the heart and the soul,
not by what is fabricated from water and clay.
The battle between the ego and the heart flares hotter by the hour.
Wail, mourn, and lament the sorrow it brings.

____________________
23 Rûm: Refers to a location in the eastern Roman Empire or to the Seljuk Sultanate of Rûm in
medieval Turkey.
24 Christian girl: To better understand this parable, and the meaning of Christianity, refer to the
introduction.
25 Zon’nar : Rope or fabric worn around the waist or neck by Christians to distinguish
themselves from the Muslims. They often hung a cross from it.
26 In Islam, pigs are considered scavengers, and therefore unclean. The eating of pork is forbidden.
 THE
BIRDS
BEGIN
THE
JOURNEY
The Birds Elect a Leader
The Birds Begin the Journey
Parable of Bayazid
The Birds Become Afraid
The Hoopoe Prepares to Speak
A Bird Asks About Grace
The Hoopoe Answers the Questioning Bird
Parable of a Fisher Boy
Parable of a Murderer Graced by a Glance
Parable of the Brushwood Seller and King Mahmud
The Birds Elect a Leader
When the birds heard this story, they were moved and ready to offer up
their life and soul. Love of the Great Simorgh multiplied in their hearts by a
hundred thousand and stripped them of patience. And so the birds prepared
themselves for the journey.

They said: “We cannot manage this journey on our own. We need a guide to
lead us through thick and thin; tell us what to do. Such a voyage demands a
great governor, someone who can keep us from sinking into the bottomless
ocean. We will obey this commander and do whatever is asked of us, be it
good or bad. This way we may have a chance to strike our polo ball from
this arena of pretense all the way to Mount Qaf, and as it passes that Great
Sun, the shadow of Simorgh may perchance fall upon us. But since there is
no such leader among us, let us vote. Whoever is elected, that bird will be
our guide and will occupy a superior station.”

And so the birds fell silent, calmed their fluttering, and cast their vote. The
love-struck Hoopoe was elected and hailed as their leader. All agreed to
obey the Hoopoe at any cost, even their lives. And thus the wise bird was
put in charge and became their journey’s pilot and guide. The birds agreed
to hold back nothing in their devotion—body and soul. All decisions were
now the Hoopoe’s, all orders too.

The Birds Begin the Journey

A crown was put upon the Hoopoe’s crest,
and thus the great voyage began.
The shadow of a hundred thousand birds
fell on the fish of the sea and across the moon.
 When the opening to the abyss of the Path came into view,
a shrill cry from the birds swelled in the world.
Awe struck them, fire engulfed their souls,
and they crowded together, a mass of wings,
feathers, talons, and heads.
Their burden was great and the journey was long;
they rinsed their hands clean of life.

But, wonder of wonders, the road was featureless.

Wonder of wonders, not a speck of evil or good was in view.
All looked serene and still, lacking nothing,
burdened by nothing.

A bird asked:
Why is this road devoid of everything?
The Hoopoe replied:
It’s because of the glory of the Beloved.

Parable of Bayazid
One night Bayazid27 walked out of the city and found the landscape empty
of people. Moonlight lit up the world and transformed night into day. The
sky was sequined with stars, busy in their own sphere. Bayazid wandered
through the desert and the fields. Nothing stirred. Horror engulfed his heart
and he cried out: “Almighty, I am unsettled by this. Here, at your highness’s
lofty court, why are there no eager lovers?”

A voice replied: “Wanderer of the Road, the Great One does not grant
access to everyone. The honor of the Path is bestowed in such a way that
not all beggars may enter the Great Door. Our Glory’s sanctuary emanates
such light that it keeps away the sleeping ones. Souls wait a long time
before one in a hundred thousand is granted admittance.”

The Birds Become Afraid

Terror filled the birds as they lifted toward the moon
and saw the road stretching out endlessly,
promising pain without remedy.
The Almighty’s wind blew with such might
that it bent and broke the sky’s back.

How was a bird to endure such bleak deserts

where even angel Gabriel carried no weight?
The road terrified the flock, and so they gathered
around the Hoopoe once more and sought insight.

They asked: Wise One of the Way,

how can we attain the Almighty’s presence
when we know nothing of the High Court’s customs?
You spent time with the great Solomon, lived
in his realm and learned the ways of servitude.
You know the difference between danger and safety.
You know the switchbacks of this journey
and have traveled around the world many times.

You are our guide, so sit on your pulpit,

give your tribe knowledge of the road,
and teach us the customs of the High Court.
How can we go there ignorant of such things?
Troubled as we are, it’s best not to begin the journey
before lightening our hearts.

Relieve us, dear Hoopoe, of our hearts’ cargoes

so that we can launch into this voyage.
We will tell you our quandaries and our qualms;
you, in turn, purge us from our wavering and misgivings.

On such a journey, doubts will filter out the light.

When our anxious hearts are released,
our bodies will give themselves to the Road.
Freed, we will readily lay our heads down
at the threshold of the court of the Beloved.
The Hoopoe Prepares to Speak
When that crown-wearing bird
approached its throne,
any bird who gazed at its countenance
was indeed fortunate.
A hundred thousand or more birds
lined up like an army to listen.

The nightingale and the dove stepped forth

chanting their music as a prelude.
Their trills and warbles were so melodious
they bubbled throughout the world.

Whoever heard those enchanting notes

was stirred and fainted, ecstatic.
Each bird dissolved into its own state
as if neither present nor absent from itself.
Then, the Hoopoe began a sermon
that unveiled and clarified mysteries.

A Bird Asks About Grace

O most excellent Hoopoe,
how have you come to learn the Truth
better than us?
You are a seeker just like us;
tell us, what separates you from us?
What sin have our bodies and souls committed
that your share in life is the clear part of the wine
and ours is the dregs?

The Hoopoe Answers the Questioning Bird

 Questioner, it is because Solomon’s gaze
fell on me but for a moment.
That bounty did not give me silver or gold,
but in that one glance I found grace.

When did anyone gain such grace by mere worship?

Didn’t Satan pray day and night?
Still, let damnation rain on the bird
that says worship is for nothing.

Do not give up praying, not for one instant,

yet, when you do pray, don’t put value in it.
Spend your life in prayer so that the great Solomon
may grace you with a glance.
Once you have Solomon’s gracious approval,
you will become more than what I can ever describe.

Parable of a Fisher Boy

One day by chance King Mahmud became separated from his army. Riding
his mare swift as the wind, he came upon a child fishing by the sea. The
king dismounted, greeted the boy, and sat beside him. The child was
melancholy and weary in both heart and soul.

The king asked: “Child, why such sadness? I’ve never seen a boy so
grieved.”

The child replied: “Virtuous King, we are seven children without a father.
Our mother is stuck at home and is very poor and alone. Each day I come
here to fish. I cast my net into the sea until sundown. With a hundred tricks
I catch but a few fish, and my meager catch has to sustain us until the next
night.”

The king said: “Poor child, do you want me to fish for you?”

The child happily consented, and the king cast the child’s net into the sea.
The net, having acquired a regal luck, caught a hundred fish that day. The
child said: “Such luck! Such marvelous fortune. So many fish fell into my
net!”

The king responded: “You don’t understand, child. If you had any sense,
you’d know your luck is on account of my regal station. Today your net
became that of a king.”

The king then leaped back on his mare to leave, but the boy called to him
and said: “Take your share of the fish.”

The king replied: “I will forgo my share today, but what is netted tomorrow
will be mine. My catch tomorrow will be you. Nothing less will do, and that
I will not share.”

The next day the king sent his officer to fetch the child. When the child was
brought to the palace, the king sat him on the throne next to himself. When
someone protested, “But he is a beggar boy!” the king replied, “Whatever
he may be, he is my partner. And since I have accepted him, he will not be
rejected.” And so the king made the boy a sultan like himself.

Someone asked the child: “How did you achieve such a station?”
He replied: “Joy arrived and sorrows were banished because a lord of
blessed fortune passed my way.”

Parable of a Murderer Graced by a Glance

A Sufi saw in his dream a murderer who was executed by a king. The dead
fellow was cruising Paradise in great joy, strutting proudly and laughing.

The Sufi asked him: “You were a murderer and always on the run, how
have you come to be here and achieve such a high station?”

The man replied: “When my blood was flowing onto the ground, Habib
Ajmi, that pure soul, happened to be passing by. That wise Wayfarer
secretly cast a glance in my direction. All this honor, and a hundred-fold
more, was bestowed on me in that single glance.”
 If the royal glance falls upon you, in that moment
a hundred secrets will be unveiled to your soul.
But if such a glance does not grace you
you may never know yourself or gain awareness.

If all your life you seek solitude,

how can you then move forward
without a guide in the Path?
You must walk with a wise one.
Do not walk the Path alone.
Do not plunge into the sea like one blind.

A knower of the Way has come to be your guide

to shelter you through hardship and adversity.
You who cannot see the pitfalls in the road,
how will you manage walking it without a cane?

The road is long and your eyes look but do not see.
Only a sage can guide you in this Path.
You will know no shame if you walk this Road
in the shadow of an enlightened sage.

If you are graced by such fortune,

even the thornbush in your hand
will burst into flowers.

Parable of the Brushwood Seller and King

Mahmud
On an impulse, King Mahmud decided to go hunting. During the hunt he
was separated from his army and saw from afar an old man whose cargo of
brushwood had fallen off his mule. The man rubbed his head in distress,
terribly irked. The king rode up to him and asked: “Distressed man, do you
need a helping hand?”
The man replied: “Yes, horseman. If you assist me, it will be a great favor
to me and nothing will be lost to you. I see good fortune in your noble face
and grace is no stranger to men with a countenance such as yours.”

The king dismounted without hesitation and out of kindness picked up the
thorny load with his soft rose-like hands and secured them on the mule’s
back. The royal then remounted his horse and rode off. When he finally
found his entourage, he told them: “An old brushwood seller is heading this
way with a loaded mule; make sure he will be forced to come this way and
meet me face to face.”

His men positioned themselves in such a way that no route was left to the
old man but the one leading straight to the king. The old man mumbled to
himself: “What cruel cavalry! I am being forced to take this longer path
with this feeble, half-starved mule.”

He was at first afraid, but then he spotted the king’s parasol, and realized
that the road led to that sovereign. When he drew closer and saw the king’s
face, the old man recognized him and was overtaken with great
embarrassment and anxiety.

He said to himself: Dear Almighty, what have I done? I made a laborer of

King Mahmud.
The king asked: “My poor man, tell me, what is your business?”

“You know my business,” the man replied. “Play it straight. Don’t pretend
you don’t know. I am an old man, a destitute porter who hauls brushwood
day and night. I sell it to buy my bread. If you wish, you can give me a
loaf.”

The king replied: “Gloomy old man, I can do better. Give me a price so that
I can give you gold. How much do you want for this load of brushwood?”

“O King,” the old man replied, “I will not sell this load cheap. I won’t let it
go for less than ten bags of gold.”

The king’s attendants cried out: “Silence, foolish man! This load isn’t worth
more than two barleycorns. Sell it for what it’s worth.”
But the old man replied: “It used to be worth two barleycorns, but when a
king placed his hands on my brushwood, it transformed into a hundred
roses. Whoever wants to buy such a load must pay with gold for each
thorny stem. How often have I been pricked by the thorns of
disappointment until a king put his hands on my load! Yes, this load of
brushwood was worth very little, but when it was touched by royal hands,
its value increased by a hundred lives.”

____________________
27 Bayazid: Bayazid Bastami (804–877 CE) was a famous Sufi who referred to himself as an
“intoxicated Sufi,” meaning drunk with divine love. He renounced all worldly pleasure in order to
become one with the Creator. He played a significant role in leading Sufism away from mere piety
and blind obedience toward the concept of Divine love and unification with the Creator.
 THE
BIRDS
COMPLAIN
AND
BOAST
WEAKNESS
A Bird Complains of Weakness
The Hoopoe Answers the Weak Bird
Parable of the Ungrateful Sheikh
Parable of Quilted Rags
Parable of the Faithful Rabi’a
Parable of Man Without Any Peace

SINFULNESS
A Bird Confesses
The Hoopoe Answers the Sinful Bird
Parable of the Sinful Man
Parable of the Buyer of Nothing
Parable of Jars of Honey
Parable of the Almighty Reprimanding Moses
Parable of a Sinner in Paradise
Parable of the Child and the Lamp
Parable of the Day of Reckoning

AMBIVALENCE
An Indecisive Bird Complains
The Hoopoe Answers the Indecisive Bird
Parable of Shimbli in the House of Transvestite Prostitutes
Parable of the Contentious Sufis
Parable of a Pauper in Love with a King

WANTON EGO
A Bird Complains of Its Wanton Ego
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Wanton Ego
Parable of a Gravedigger
Parable of the Wild Dog
Parable of a Sufi and a King
Parable of Two Foxes
PRIDE
A Bird Complains of Pride
The Hoopoe Answers the Prideful Bird
Parable of the Devil Complaining
Parable of the Faithful Calligrapher Who Obeys the Devil
Parable of a Wealthy Man Praying
Parable of the Foolishness of the Last Rite

GREED
A Bird Speaks of Its Love of Gold
The Hoopoe Answers the Gold-Loving Bird
Parable of the Greedy Student
Parable of Two Coins in One Hand
Parable of the Hermit Who Sold His Beloved for a Song

GRANDIOSITY
An Ostentatious Bird Speaks
The Hoopoe Answers the Ostentatious Bird
Parable of the Crack in the Palace Wall
Parable of the Ostentatious Merchant
Parable of a Spider
Parable of the Dervish in a Desert
Parable of a Mourner
Parable of Burning Aloeswood
WEAKNESS

A Bird Complains of Weakness

O backbone of this army, I am a fragile bird,
how can I go on such a perilous voyage?
I am decrepit and weak; this journey is not for me.
The valleys are far, the going is hard,
and fiery mountains lie ahead.

This isn’t a voyage for just any bird.

I will surely die on the first stretch.
A hundred thousand heads have been lost on the Path,
endless blood has been shed on such quests,
a hundred thousand minds have self-surrendered,
and those who didn’t, lost themselves.

When righteous Wayfarers of the Path

raise their cloaks to hide their faces in shame,
how can wretched me raise anything but dust?
If I were to set out, I know I’d meet a rotten death.

The Hoopoe Answers the Weak Bird

Timorous bird, how much more of this?
How much longer will you keep your heart in a snare?
I see you have little invested in this journey,
so for you, going or not going is the same.

The world is like a tract of manure;

creatures die in it left and right, miserably, dreadfully,
like a hundred thousand tapeworms.
If we are going to die in disgrace in the end,
better not to do it wallowing in smut.
If this quest is wrong and in vain,
and if we die of distress from it right now,
then so what?
Mistakes abound in this world—
add this one to the list.

Better to be infamous in love

than famous for bloodletting and picking pockets.
So many on this earth are charlatans and impostors,
solely in pursuit of the world and its carrion.

As for this business of love—let’s say you are right

and what you gain is less than what you can steal.
That is not what’s important!
Face the Great Ocean, let your heart be that ocean,
then look again; you will see it is all gain.

If you say: Isn’t such a desire arrogance,

this assumption that you can find your way
to that Ocean when no one else ever has?
I’d say: If I lose my life in the path of this proud desire,
it’s still better than occupying my heart
with keeping house or managing shop.

You see all this, hear it all,

yet fail to turn away from your ego.
Your journey has become long and grueling;
how long will you listen to ignoramuses?
Not until you die to your ego and to the world
will your soul break free from your throat.

If you don’t turn away from the world,

that’s when you are truly dead,
that’s when you miss the mysteries behind the veil.
Only aware souls glean these secrets.
 Those who are allegedly “alive” in this world
are not ready for this journey.
Step forward if you are stout.
Break away from your fears.

This quest, whether blasphemous or not,

will be arduous and not for everyone.
The fruit of the Tree of Life is its leafless poverty.
If any burden can bend you down,
then this journey is not for you.

When love finally takes root in your heart,

it will not let go—no, not for a moment.
It will kill you, fling you out in humiliation,
then ask for blood money, too.

If love offers you a sip of water,

it won’t be without giving you the runs.
If it gives you bread,
the dough will be mushy and soaked in blood.
If you grow weaker than an ant,
love will still have no pity on you;
it will torture you even more.

When you fall into this dangerous Ocean,

don’t expect to swallow a thing without choking pain.

Parable of the Ungrateful Sheikh

Sheikh Noghani28 set out for the city of Nishapur, but he suffered many
troubles on the road. After weeks of living in rags, sick and hungry, he cried
out: “Kind Almighty, send me a loaf of bread.”

A voice replied: “Go this very moment to the square at the center of the city
and sweep it from one end to the other. There, you will find a nugget of
gold. With that, go buy yourself a loaf of bread.”
The sheikh replied: “If I had anything, even a sifter and a broom, why
would I be begging for a piece of bread? I am utterly destitute. Don’t
torment me, dear Almighty, just give me a piece of bread.”

The voice answered: “It won’t be difficult. Go sweep and earn your bread.”

The old man went about town pleading and begging until someone gave
him a broom and a sifter. He then went to the city center, swept and
searched the square from one end to the other. Finally, in the very last
corner he found the morsel of gold. Overjoyed with the little treasure, he
rushed to the baker and bought a loaf of bread. Just as the baker handed him
the loaf, the sheikh suddenly remembered his broom and sifter, which
seemed to have vanished.

The fire of despair consumed his soul and he cried out: “Again I’m nothing
but a homeless drifter. I’ve spent my gold, lost my broom and sifter, and
tomorrow I’ll not be able to buy another loaf.”

He then wandered the streets like a madman and, coming upon a ruined hut,
entered and flung himself down. When he raised his head, he saw the
broom and sifter in a corner. He became overjoyed, but then complained:
“Blessed One, why did you darken the world for me like that? You turned
this bread into poison. I don’t want it anymore. Let me just die and be done
with it.”

The voice replied: “Bad-tempered man, no bread is tasty without a sauce to

dip it in. It wasn’t right to let you eat bread alone, so I added the sauce of
suffering. Be grateful.”

Parable of Quilted Rags

There once was a lover of the Path who was walking half-naked among a
well-heeled crowd. He lamented: “Merciful One, give me fine garments to
wear like others. Grant me the happiness you’ve given to these people.”

A voice replied: “I have provided you with warm sunshine; dwell in it.”
The man said: “Generous One, how long will you torment me? Do you
have no better garment to give me than sunshine?”
The voice answered: “Be on your way. In ten days I will send you a fine
garment.”

Ten days passed. Then a rag merchant brought the man a cloak made of
quilted rags. He was a very poor man and had pieced together more than a
hundred thousand pieces of cloth to make the cloak.

That lover of the Path cried out: “Wise Beloved, have you been sewing rags
together from the beginning of time? Have all the garments in your
possession burned so that from its remnants you have sewn together this
garment? You must have quilted a hundred thousand rags together; where
did you learn to stitch so fine?”

To get to the Beloved’s court is no easy affair.

You must humble yourself, become dust in the Path.
Myriad great ones journey far and wide toward that court
charred black or blazing with fire and light.
After a lifetime they arrive at the door of their desire
only to become the essence of despair,
for the Great Destination is still nowhere in sight.

Parable of the Faithful Rabi’a

Despite delicate health, Rabi’a29 traveled seven years toward Mecca. When
she approached the Holy City, she said: “At last, I have accomplished the
perfect pilgrimage.” But on the day all pilgrims walk in a procession toward
the Kaaba, she was barred from entering the holy arena on the account of
her monthly cycle.

She turned back and said: “Glorious One, I have traveled this road in
hardship for seven years, and when I finally arrived on the appointed day,
you inflict me with a thorn in my side. Either accept me in Your Home in
peace, or give me peace in mine.”
 Were it not for lovers like Rabi’a,
how could one know the power of the Master Doer?

When you enter the ocean of wisdom

and are tossed about, a wave may swell
and push you back, another may embrace you
and fling you forward.

Sometimes you’re chased away from the Kaaba;30

at other times mysteries are revealed to you
in a heathen’s temple.

Lift your head out of this hurricane

to find solace and tranquillity.
If you stay caught in the storm,
your head will whirl as fast as a millstone
and you will know so little peace
that even a single fly can buzz away your peace.

Parable of Man Without Any Peace

There once lived a poor Wayfarer in a squalid place. A noble soul came to
him in a dream and said: “I see you are peaceful within yourself and in that
you’ve secured for yourself tranquillity in the world to come.”

“Tranquillity?” the man cried out. “What tranquillity when I don’t have
respite from fleas and flies? All day, flies torment me, and all night fleas
deny me sleep. When a tiny gnat entered Nimrod’s ear, his brain lost itself
in a fog. Dear one, am I today’s Nimrod that I must suffer all these fleas,
flies and gnats?”

SINFULNESS

A Bird Confesses
 I have sinned all my life.
How can a wicked bird such as I
find its way to the Great Beloved?

I am as squalid as a common fly;

how can I reach the Simorgh on Mount Qaf?
To be wicked means you have left the Road;
how can such a wretch ever regain the Path?

The Hoopoe Answers the Sinful Bird

You speak from ignorance. Do not despair!
Throw aside your shield and welcome the wound.
Seek grace and benevolence from that court.

Would there be anything called mercy

if the Almighty did not accept repentance?

If you have done wrong,

the door of penitence is open wide,
so go on and repent. This door never closes.
Step into the Path with sincerity
and a hundred such doors will swing open for you.

Parable of the Sinful Man

Tormented by shame, a man repented his many sins and returned to the
Path, yet when his flesh regained its vigor, he gave in to lust once more and
broke his promises. He stayed away from the Path for a long time and
committed all kinds of wickedness. After a while the pain of shame took
hold of his heart once more and soured his life. He wanted to repent again,
for sin had brought him nothing but misery; yet he did not have the courage
to do it. Night and day his heart sizzled like a kernel of corn on a frying
pan. The dust at his feet turned to mud on account of his tears.
Finally, a voice sang to him one dawn, lent him a hand and sorted out his
problems. It told him: “The Supreme Being of the world says: ‘The first
time you repented, I accepted your repentance and forgave you. I did not
tax you, even though it was within my power. When you broke your
penitence, I did not unleash my anger on you. Instead, I granted you
reprieve. Once again, ignorant one, you wish to come back to the Path?
Well then, come. I have opened the door for you to make amends. I am
waiting.’ ”

Parable of the Buyer of Nothing

One night as Gabriel rested in Paradise, he heard the Blessed Beauty
respond “Here Am I” to a supplicating, prayerful voice. The angel thought,
I don’t know who this servant may be, but he must be a pure man, dead to
his ego and alive in his soul.

Curious, the angel searched the Seven Heavens for the name of this man,
but could not find it. He then searched the earth and the oceans, the
mountains and the fields, and still failed to find the supplicating soul.
Gabriel then hastened back to the Almighty, and again heard that Blessed
Beauty’s “Here I am.” The angel’s head spun from envy and he went off
again searching the earth once more, but to no avail. Finally, the angel
pleaded: “Great One, guide me to this supplicating servant. Who is he?”

The One on High replied: “Go to Rûm, and seek him in a temple of
idolaters.”

The angel hastened back to Earth and found a man crying and praying
before an idol. Gabriel was moved by what he saw and returned to the
Almighty, sobbing and begging: “Self-Sufficient One, unveil this mystery
to me. He is praying to an idol, but it is you who in your grace answers
him.”

The Blessed Beauty replied: “This man’s heart is darkened by ignorance.

He does not know he has been misled. He has committed this error
unknowingly, but I do not commit errors. I will now guide him to the Path.
My benevolence will lead him to repentance.”

The Almighty then opened the Path to the man’s soul and liberated his
tongue so that he could speak the Beloved’s name.

Know that this is the way of the Almighty.

That Great One needs no reason for what it does.
If you have nothing to offer the Great Court,
don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.
Over there the market isn’t keen on only pious deeds.
At the Great Court, nothing is also accepted and bought.

Parable of Jars of Honey

A Sufi was on his way to Baghdad when he heard someone call: “I have
jars of honey. I’m selling them cheap. Where is everyone?”

The Sufi asked: “Good man, will you give me some for nothing?”
The man replied: “Away with you, are you mad? Are you the father of
greed? Who sells anything for nothing?”

A voice from On High called and said: “Sufi, come away, there is a better
seller than this. Come to a place where for nothing you will be given
everything, and more.”

Compassion is a sun that shines

on all the atoms that float in its rays.
The Almighty rebukes even a prophet
for the sake of a wayward soul.

Parable of the Almighty Reprimanding Moses

The Almighty said to Moses: “The wealthy Qaroon31 called out to you
seventy times, but you never answered him. If he had supplicated me in his
distress, I would have uprooted idolatry from his soul and replaced it with
the certitude of faith. Moses, you sent him to his grave in agony, left him
humiliated and consigned to dirt. Had you been his creator, you would not
have been so harsh.”

If you have mercy on the merciless,

the Beloved will bless you, the merciful.
Grudge has no place in the Beloved’s benevolent Ocean;
there, all sins dissolve like clouds into tears.

How could one with such compassion

ignite with fury over an offense?
Point a finger at a so-called sinner
and you become an avenging tyrant.

Parable of a Sinner in Paradise

A young man who had led a life full of misdeeds died. As people carried his
casket in the funeral procession, praying, a devout believer happened to
pass by and objected: “Why pray for a wrongdoer?”

That night that pious man had a dream in which he saw that same dead
sinner bathed in light in Paradise. He said in wonder: “Lad, you were mired
in sin, you were rolling in it from head to toe. Tell me, how did you find
such an exalted station?”
The lad replied: “It was your lack of compassion that brought me the
Almighty’s forgiveness.”

Observe the Beloved’s loveplay,

the Almighty’s mercy at work.

Parable of the Child and the Lamp

On a night as dark as a crow’s feather, a child was sent out with a lamp. A
wind was then dispatched and commanded to pass the child quickly and kill
the light. Afterwards, the Beloved took the child by the hand and asked:
“Why did you not guard the light, you fool?”

This was to bring the child to account, to offer him a hundred chidings, and
a hundred indulgent mercies. If everyone were pure and prayerful, how
could the Almighty play such love games?

That Great One’s compassion becomes apparent only when there’s

something to forgive. It will always be so, for in the Almighty’s path there
are a hundred thousand wisdoms. A single drop of water is only a tiny share
of the Almighty’s ocean of mercy.

The Seven Heavens revolve for you, day and night.

The angels pray for your sake.
Heaven and Hell are of your own making.
It is to you that the celestial angels bow.
Everything, large and small, honors your existence,
don’t look at yourself with contempt.
There is nothing greater than you.

Your body is part; your soul is the whole.

Do not demean and debase body or soul.
First, your soul was created, then your body.
When your soul received breath,
your limbs became manifest.

Body is not separate from the soul; it’s a part of it.

Soul is not separate from the universe; it’s a part of it.
Since numbers and fractions have no meaning in the eternal
Road,
how can there be any talk of a whole or parts?

A hundred thousand clouds rain mercy to multiply your delight.

When the time comes to elevate the whole,
all robes of honor will be for you.
 In the end, all the work of angels has been for your sake.
The Creator will forever bless you
with all the deference and prayer of angels.

Parable of the Day of Reckoning

That wise soul Abbaseh32 once said: “On the day of reckoning terror will
drive humankind to flee, and the faces of sinners and unmindful ones will
suddenly drain of light. The world will be stripped of its goods and left
baffled. The One on High who rules the Seven Heavens will then scatter the
prayers of a hundred thousand angels on these fistfuls of dust.

The angels will rise up and complain: ‘Almighty, why must we be robbed
like this by these earthly creatures?’ But the Almighty will reply: ‘Holy
ones, humankind has reached the limits of its life, and since this act of
mercy neither hurts nor benefits you, then the hungry must always be fed.’ ”

AMBIVALENCE

An Indecisive Bird Complains

I am indecisive.
I flutter from branch to branch,
sometimes a libertine, sometimes pious,
at other times drunk.

I sometimes say Yes to the Universe

and sometimes I say No.
I’m tempted into taverns at times,
at others my soul falls into prayer.
 Sometimes the devil takes me with a single glance,
and other times angels win me back in a wink.
Being always of two hearts
is like being stuck in a prison or lost in a deep well.
Hoopoe, what must I do?

The Hoopoe Answers the Indecisive Bird

Such indecisiveness is everyone’s fate;
who among us is always of one heart?
If we were all born uncomplicated and pure,
what need would we have for sages and prophets?

Purify yourself in your devotion

and you will arrive at your destination—albeit slowly.
Only when the stubborn colt is broken
will it calm and settle.

You who have made a baker’s oven of your home,

satisfied with mere loaves of bread, beware:
satiation rusts the heart; tears lubricate it.
Your ego is like a wild dog.
Feed it and you’re a wavering fool.

Parable of Shibli in the House

of Transvestite Prostitutes
One day Shibli33 disappeared from Baghdad and no one knew his
whereabouts. They searched for him high and low until finally someone
found him in the house of transvestite prostitutes. There he sat among men
dressed as women, his eyes wet, and his lips dry.

Someone asked: “Searcher of Mysteries, what kind of a place is this for

you? Speak.”
Shibli replied: “The people of this house are neither men nor women in
whatever sins they commit in this world. I am just like them, but in the
matters of faith. I am lost in my ambivalence and ashamed of wavering
about who I really am.”

Make your soul truly aware

and you’ll find that whether you wear
a manly beard or silky womanly locks,
both are useless except as napkins
to wipe your mouth.

Go ahead, bravely blaze your own path

and make the masters proud.
If you regard yourself for a moment longer
than the breadth of a hair,
you will soon become your own idol.

If praise or blame matters to you,

then you are a builder of idols.
If you are indeed a Wayfarer in the Path,
why erect such false gods?
If you are a lover of the Beloved,
don’t behave like the idol carver Azar.34

There is no rank higher than private or public servitude.

Don’t be pretentious, claiming this or that;
just serve, dedicate yourself to the Path,
and not to Uzza, that head idol god.

How can you pretend to be a Sufi

when you hide a hundred false gods under your cape?
Don’t flitter-flutter, changing your mind, and if you do,
don’t put on the cloak of an unwavering Wayfarer.

Parable of the Contentious Sufis

Two men dressed in the worn and patched garments of Sufis, brought a
hostile disagreement to court. The judge pulled them aside and said: “You
are Sufis, and it isn’t becoming of you to be fighting like this. Here you are,
wearing the garb of resignation, and yet you behave this way?

“If you are men of war and hate, then give up your dervish robes now. But
if you are deserving of these garments, then this enmity certainly comes
from folly. I am only a judge, not a Wayfarer of the Path, but I am ashamed
to see you wearing Sufi garments and behaving this way.

“It would be better if you wrapped your sacred capes around your heads to
hide your faces than to wear them as you do.”

If you are hesitant in the act of love,

how can you ever bare its mysteries?
If you desire to touch love’s secrets,
then strip off your armor and embrace afflictions.

If you enter love’s arena false and belligerent,

you’ll lose both your head and soul.
Don’t hold yourself up so pompously
or else you’ll fall away from the Path in disgrace.

Parable of a Pauper in Love with a King

A pauper fell in love with a famous Egyptian king. When news of it reached
the royal ear, the king summoned the deluded lover.

“Since you have fallen in love with a king,” the royal said, “you have but
two choices. Either leave this town and country, or give up your head for
my love. Which do you choose: exile or decapitation?”

The pauper in love was not a resolute man, so he chose banishment. When
that indignant penniless man left the royal presence, the king immediately
commanded: “Cut off his head.”
A courtier said: “But your highness, the man is innocent; why do you order
his death?”
The king replied: “Because he loved me with insincerity. If he were a man
truly in love, he would have chosen to stay and lose his head. If you value
your head more than your love, then for you the practice of love is a crime.

“If the beggar had chosen execution, I would have bestowed upon him
honors and would have myself put on the garb of servitude for him. In the
face of such devotion even the world’s monarch must become a slave to
such a lover. However, since the beggar wavered in his love, his claim to
love was false. He was double-dealing in love; beheading is what he
deserves. If you say ‘I love’ and then follow it with, ‘but I want to keep my
head too,’ you are a liar and pretender. Let my subjects beware, so that no
one dares to boast falsely of true love for me.”

WANTON EGO

A Bird Complains of Its Wanton Ego

My wanton ego is my enemy.
How can I tread the Path with that ambusher lying in wait?
I can’t control that carnal dog. Tell me
how to rescue my soul from its jaws!

The wolf in the plains is more submissive

than this sleek disobedient hound.
I am helpless in the face of this unfaithful beast,
I cannot bring it under control.

The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Wanton Ego

 Yes, your wanton ego is a wild dog,
lazy, unfaithful, cross-eyed and blind,
and you are in its gunnysack,
crushed expertly under its paws.

When someone praises you falsely,

your ego brightens with that lie.
There is no hope for this dog, your ego.
Flattery feeds and fattens it.

In the beginning it’s all futility,

childhood’s ignorance and lack of poise.
In the middle, it’s alienation,
where youth is a kind of madness in itself.
In the end when old age sets in,
the soul is senile and musty, the body thin and weak.

With a life decorated with such idiocies,

how is one to tame this wild dog?
From beginning to end recklessness is all,
till harvest ends up being no harvest at all.

Such dogs have many slaves in the world,

but tell me, is it right to be a slave to a dog?
To live with your ego is foul;
it’s a hell spilling over with flame.

Sometimes it roasts you with lust’s consuming blaze;

at other times conceit burns you with its ice.
Yes, the power of Hell is fueled with such fire and ice.
While a hundred thousand hearts die of grief,
this heathen wild dog stays robust, doesn’t even flinch.

Parable of a Gravedigger
A man asked a gravedigger: “Old man, you’ve shoveled earth all your life;
tell me, what is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?”
The gravedigger replied: “All things considered, the most curious of all has
been the dog of my ego who’s watched me for seventy years digging other
men’s graves and yet has never died a single hour nor obeyed a single
command.”

Parable of the Wild Dog

One night the learned Abbaseh told his congregation: “It is easier for the
world to fill with infidels, and for all people to find mercy and faith in a
criminal Turkmen leader,35 than it is to overcome the ego. A hundred and
twenty thousand prophets have come to help us kill or at least tame the ego,
and yet none of them have been able to do it. Do you know why?

“We are all under the command of our wayward ego. We nourish it; we
encourage it. That rebel is out of control and can’t be easily pushed out.
That wild dog will not starve or perish, no sir, for it is fortified by the
stomach and by lust.

“While the heart rules in its realm, that beast waits on it day and night, and
when the heart rides out toward the Beloved, that dog accompanies it on the
hunt. Whatever gift the Beloved bestows on the heart, the beast snatches
away. Restrain that dog, your ego, in chains, and you will have restrained a
lion for eternity. Bind this dog, humble it, and you will speed far on the
Road. Secure it in heavy links, and your boot’s dust will be worth more than
anyone’s blood.”

Parable of a Sufi and a King

A Sufi pilgrim dressed in his usual rags happened to walk by a king. The
royal snickered at the Sufi’s tattered clothes and said: “Ragged fellow,
which one of us is worthier, you or I?”

The Sufi replied: “To claim superiority is not our way—he who praises
himself is an ignorant man—but since you ask, I am clearly worth a
thousand of you. Your soul does not know the Path, therefore your ego has
made a mule of you. This mule has made of you a beast of burden and
freely rides upon your soul. It has pulled a bridle over your head, and now
leads you hither and thither, day and night. Whatever it commands, you,
who really are a nobody, obey.

“I, however, who have learned the ways of the Path have transformed my
own dog-ego into a mule that I ride. My ego is my beast of burden and it is I
who rides on its back. You, on the other hand, are your ego’s mule, and that
beast rides freely on your back. Therefore, O King, I am worth a thousand
of you.”

You who pander to that wild dog, your ego,

and leap into lechery’s flames—
the fire of lust has charred your honor,
weakened your body, clouded your heart,
blinded you, deafened and aged you,
impaired your reason and smashed your senses.

This blindness, dumbness, and dimness of heart

all form part of the army that serves Death.
Night and day this army expands
and rides behind its Dark King.
When these soldiers come at you,
they arrive from all directions
to annihilate both you and your ego.

In the meantime, you have made friends

with that wild dog, the ego, and begun
to play with it and enjoy its company.
You’ve become a prisoner to the pleasures
it offers and fallen under its powerful glamour.

But when the Dark King and his retinue surround you,
you will become separated from that dog,
and the dog from you.
Once separated, you will become
afflicted with longing for it.
 But don’t worry; if you can’t reunite here,
you will surely rejoin each other in hell.

Parable of Two Foxes

Two foxes became constant companions and mates in pleasure. When a
king rode into the field with his greyhounds and falcon to hunt foxes, the
mates became separated. As they ran, the female called out to the male:
“Clever one, tell me now, where shall we meet again?”

The male replied: “If we are lucky, at the furrier shop downtown.”

PRIDE

A Bird Complains of Pride

When I seek the presence of the Beloved,
my pride, that arch-devil, stands in my way.
I am not strong enough to push it aside
and I worry that I might fall prey to its seductive lies.
What can I do to escape this devil
and drink my share of wisdom’s wine?

The Hoopoe Answers the Prideful Bird

So long as you keep company with the wild dog of self,
there’s no chance in hell the devil will leave you be.
The devil’s charm is your own.
Yes, you are your own devil inside yourself.
 Each time you slake a worldly desire,
you give birth to a hundred devils.
This furnace of a world is your prison,
and the devil reigns freely here.
Don’t reach out to the devil for favors,
and your ego will shrink. That’s all.

Parable of the Devil Complaining

A witless fellow complained to a faithful saint: “The devious devil has
ambushed me like a highway robber and stripped me of my faith.”

The saint replied: “My good fellow, the devil itself was just here, offended
and lamenting about you. It was rubbing dirt on its own head because of
your unfairness, complaining, ‘The world is my domain, and anyone who is
the enemy of my world is no friend of mine. Tell this fellow to be on his
way and stop holding on to my world. The reason I took away his faith is
because he simply wouldn’t let go. Everyone knows that if you loosen your
grip on the devil’s world, the devil will loosen its hold on you, too.’”

Parable of the Faithful Calligrapher

Who Obeys the Devil
Someone asked the Holy Book calligrapher Malik Dinar: “I don’t know
about my own state of being, how about you?”

Malik Dinar replied: “At the Almighty’s table I eat the blessed bread, then I
step out and obey the devil’s every command.”

The devil diverts you and you are powerless.

You claim you have faith, but that’s just lip service.
You’ve become entangled in the misery of the world;
therefore, pour dirt on your head,
for you are no better than a corpse.
If I once told you to give up the world,
now I say, hold on tight
because you have given the world
all your power. Now
by what power can you let go?

You’re drowning in a sea of greed from heedlessness

and yet you ask: Why am I held back?
Both worlds mourn and cry like rain
yet you’re still mulishly rebellious.
Love of the world has filched your faith.
Desires and lechery have captured your soul.

What is the world but a nest of wanton greed,

a leftover from pharaohs and Nimrod,
something the greedy Qaroon vomited
or that scoundrel Shaddad36 hoarded?
That Most High has called the world “nothing”
and here you are hanging your soul on the world’s hook.

How long do you want to suffer

in such a debased place;
how long do you want to be a dead ass
in this ephemeral world?
Day and night you wander like one lost
just to gain a morsel from this chasm of nothing.
If you lose yourself for a crumb to this void,
how can you hope to find meaning
anywhere or in anything?
If you pine for such nothingness all life long,
then you yourself must be worth
a hundred times less than nothing.
 What is the world’s occupation? Idleness.
What is idleness? Captivity.
The world is a wildfire that consumes all creatures.
When this fire rages,
be lion-hearted to escape it.
Become a fearless tiger, reject this fire
or else burn in it like a moth.

If you become a fire-worshipping moth,

you deserve to burn in your delusion.
Surrounded by fire,
it’s impossible not to burn;
therefore, seek an asylum,
shelter your soul from the flames.

Parable of a Wealthy Man Praying

A wealthy man prayed: “Almighty, lend me your grace and aid my affairs to
prosper.”
A dervish heard his plea and said: “You expect grace from the Beloved yet
you strut about haughty, unable to contain your own ego in the world. You
have built yourself a grand home with walls of gold, attended by ten servant
boys and ten maids. How can such as you ask for mercy and think it will be
granted? Look at yourself and all your worldly trappings. You’ve left no
room for grace. Have shame! Rid yourself of everything you own and, like
me, make a loaf of bread your sole possession, then you will have made
room for the grace you so fervently pray for.”

Look away from lust for possessions

or no Divine breath will grace you.
Look away now! Be brave and you’ll be free.

Parable of the Foolishness of the Last Rite

A faithful person said: “People foolishly turn the faces of the dead toward
the Holy City when in fact they should turn their own faces toward the holy
site while they’re still alive. What’s the point of planting a tree that has
already lost its leaves? What’s the point in turning your face toward the
Beloved when you are already dead? Turn toward the light at the last
second, and you may still die in darkness. Don’t expect sudden purity.”

GREED

A Bird Speaks of Its Love of Gold

I love gold. It’s like the kernel of the nut.
If I don’t have that yellow nugget at the core, as flowers do,
then how can I laugh, blissful as a bloom?
I love the world and its gold too.
Sadly, this love has made me pretentious and sly.

The Hoopoe Answers the Gold-Loving Bird

You are stuck on the face of the world like an ant,
distracted by outer forms,
blind as a bat both night and day;
inner meanings are lost to your heart.

Seek the essence;

don’t be bamboozled by externals.
What’s essence? The core of everything.
What are outer forms? Nothing.

Gold is merely metal with a nice hue—

you’re seduced by its color like a child.
If gold diverts you from your Beloved,
then it is an idol; throw it aside and be on guard.
Gold is of course fitting in some places,
like the birth control rings for mules,
which are always made with gold.

No one benefits from your gold,

least of all yourself.
If you give a kernel of gold to a poor man,
you’ll first make him feel in your debt,
then regret having given it away.

You’re so greedy that offering money

to any poor fellow will not gratify you,
so you give it to a famous cause
to bring notoriety to yourself.

Your friendships are based on gold;

your so-called security comes from gold.

Each first of the month you count your profit,

but what is “profit” when you pay for everything
with your soul?

You spend your dear sweet life

to make a nickel from your shop.
You give everything for nothing
and put your heart into it too.
Your neck’s in a noose, and one day fate
will pull the stool out from under you.

Know that in this world each adornment you hang

on yourself, will one day burst into ash.
When you drown in the material world,
your faith won’t be able to rescue you,
for it drowns too.
 You seek comfort in your work,
and when you don’t find it,
restlessness overwhelms your soul.
Spill your wealth in all four directions
for the Holy Book says: You are not righteous until
you give away everything you hold dear.37

You cannot even keep your own life,

what makes you think you can hold on
to money, property, this or that?
Abandon everything, even your life if you must.

If your bed is nothing but a ragged rug,

even that lies between you and the Path.
Burn that mat if you wish to walk the Road.

How much longer will you be a hypocrite?

Do you think you can fool the Almighty?
If you can’t surrender this coarse rug
for fear of having nothing,
how will you fare with fine carpets?

Don’t fall prey to the sound of your own sigh,

for it has the sound of “I” in the middle.
Rid your ego of the “I,” for it lives twice in narcissism.38

Parable of the Greedy Student

A student hid a bit of gold from his master. The master knew but said
nothing and let his student keep it. Then, one day the master and the student
went on a journey. They came upon a dark valley where the road split in
two. The student began to worry about his gold and wanted to take the
safest road. Sooner or later gold always speaks for you, and so the student
asked: “Master, which of the two roads in this dark valley is the right one to
take?”
His master replied: “Get rid of the wrong you are hiding, and either of these
two roads will be the right path.”

Make gold your mate,

and you’ll scare even the devil away,
because for a mere morsel,
you’ll split hairs like a sly cheat.

Your arms will be weighed down

yet you’ll be a person of no weight.
When it comes to faith and belief,
you’ll limp like a lame ass.

You’ll become a sultan of cheating,

an ignoramus in faith.
Waylaid and robbed by gold,
you’ll fall trapped in its well.

Joseph, stay away from such deep wells.

Don’t draw a breath; its foul air will choke you.

Parable of Two Coins in One Hand

Sheikh Basra asked the devout Rabi’a: “When it comes to love, you possess
great wisdom, and yet you have never learned it from another, nor have you
read or seen it anywhere—it all comes from within you. Tell me how can
this be? I’m so eager to know that I’d give up my life for the answer.”

She replied: “Sheikh of the age, I spun a few strands of thread, sold them
and happily received two silver coins. I did not put the coins together in one
hand. I put one coin in one hand, and the other in my other hand, because I
was afraid if I held them together they might mate and waylay me from the
Path.”
 If you are worldly, your heart and blood are in danger.
You will spend your life laying a hundred thousand snares
to gain a morsel of damned gold,
and then when you have it, it will be time to die.
The end.

Then your heirs will get the gold

and all the misery that comes with it.

You who sell out the Beloved for gold

and light up your heart with the love of it,
do you imagine that you can take any of it
with you when there is no room
in the Path for such possessions?

You who are worthless as an ant,

if you step into the Path owning
even a single strand of hair,
you’ll be plucked out by that same strand.

Possessions are not tolerated in the Path,

that is why it takes courage to step into it.

Parable of the Hermit Who Sold His Beloved

for a Song
There was a devout old hermit who removed himself from the world, and
spent a blessed four hundred years in prayer and secret conversation with
the Beloved. His every word was for the Almighty alone, and if he and his
breath were to be no more, the Almighty would still be companion enough
for him.

The old man had a tree in whose branches nested a bird with a voice so
mellifluous that every note it sang contained within it a hundred mysteries.
The hermit grew very fond of this songbird and its lovely chants.
The Almighty revealed to the prophet of the age: “See that hermit, that so-
called man of the Path? Tell him for me: ‘You were obedient to me for
many days and nights, consumed with longing, yet in the end sold me for a
song. You were an accomplished clever bird who fell into the snare of a
chirping bird. I bought you and tamed you, but you foolishly turned around
and bartered me away. I was your purchaser, but you became my seller.
Such fidelity you teach! Don’t sell what is priceless so cheaply, for I am
your true friend. Don’t make yourself friendless.’ ”

GRANDIOSITY

An Ostentatious Bird Speaks

My heart is ablaze, for I was born
and still live in a golden palace so lovely
the sight of it enraptures anyone who sees it.
It brings me a world of joy, this palace;
how can I peel my heart from it?

Here, I am the king of birds.

How can I leave it for such an arduous journey?
If I give up my royal status, where will I perch?
What bird in its right mind would give up
such earthly paradise for a hell of trials and pain?

The Hoopoe Answers the Ostentatious Bird

Bird foul in mind and aspiration,
are you a dog that you need a kennel?
 The entire wretched world is a kennel of sorts
and your palace too is a part of it.
Even if your home were an Elysian garden,
death would still turn it into a gloomy prison.

Perching in a palace would be peachy

if death’s hand didn’t turn the world’s affairs.

Parable of the Crack in the Palace Wall

A prince built himself a golden palace, spending money on it in a hundred
ways. When the magnificent palace was finally finished, he decorated it
with fine carpets and other luxuries. Many came from far and wide to see
the splendid abode. Servants bearing trays of food greeted the guests.

The prince then summoned his sages and close friends, seated them around
himself and asked: “Is there any beauty or luxury missing from this palace
of mine? Is it not absolutely perfect?”
They all agreed they had not seen such a place on earth. But a pious fellow
amongst them sprang up and said: “Fortunate one, there is a crack in one of
the walls, and that makes the palace imperfect. Indeed, if it weren’t for this
fatal flaw, this heavenly residence would be like a gift from the Invisible.”

The king replied: “Ignorant man, what a seditious remark! I have not seen a
crack anywhere.”

The man replied: “Proud King, there is indeed a crack, and it opens to
Azrael, the Archangel of Death. If only you could mend that crack!
Otherwise, what good is this palace, crown, or throne? This palace may be
as delightful as a paradise now, but soon enough death will make it foul in
your eyes. Nothing is immortal. You have a life here now, but beware, it’s
ephemeral. Don’t take such pride in your home or mansion; don’t ride so
haughtily on the steed of arrogance. I pity you, King, when a man like me
has to explain to a man like you this fatal flaw.”
Parable of the Ostentatious Merchant
Out of vanity, a merchant built a golden mansion. He then invited everyone
he knew to his new home with great affectation and pride, so that they
could see it and be amazed. On the day of the big reception, the merchant
was running around making arrangements when he came upon a Wayfarer.

That lover of the Path said to the merchant: “Crude fellow, I would love to
come this very moment to your mansion and take a shit, but I have to run;
please accept my apologies.”

And with this, he took his leave.

Parable of a Spider
Have you ever observed how a restless spider spends its life weaving and
scheming? It busies itself with shrewd delusions and spins its home in a
corner. It wondrously weaves a web perchance to ensnare a common fly.
And when it succeeds, the spider sucks the blood from that lost creature’s
veins. It wraps up the fly right there in hopes of a fine nourishment for days
to come.

Then suddenly, there’s the real master of the house, standing on tiptoe, stick
in hand. In one breath, gone is the spider and its hard-won fly.

That’s the world for you. Wealth is that fly in a spider’s web.

The world may seem securely yours,

but it will vanish in a wink of an eye.
If you are proud of your titles and possessions,
you are a child indulging in shadow play.

Don’t go after dominion

unless you have a donkey brain.
Real estate is for grazing cows, idiot.
 If you love the spectacle of drums and flags,
you’re not a Wayfarer but a dead thing.
The hollow sound you hear is just the wind
that flaps the flag and beats the drum;
the clamor is worth less than the half-note of a single beat.

Don’t gallop ahead for that, absurd fool;

ride a little less friskily in your prideful conceit.
The leopard gets skinned in the end;
when it’s your time, they’ll flay you just as fast.

Since this swagger and strut are absurd,

either get lost, or arrive in humility.
Don’t hold your head so high—
how long do you intend to play this game?
Bow your head in humility, stop playing the leader;
don’t put so much value on goods and chattel.

Your garden and mansion are your prison,

they are the blight of your soul.
Get out of this dustbin; don’t brim with smug vanity.
How long will you make this world your stomping ground?

Open your aspirational eye and see the Path,

then step forth and behold the Great Court.
When you reach that lofty place, its glory
will undo the world and its grasp on you.

Parable of the Dervish in a Desert

A man hurrying through a desert came across a poor dervish. He stopped
and asked: “How do you fare, dervish?”

The dervish replied: “Have shame, can’t you see? I am stuck in the narrow
strait of this world, and I find it to be excruciatingly tight.”
The man asked: “How can this be? What narrow strait is there in such a
wide desert?”
The dervish replied: “If the world is not a narrow strait, how do you think
you ended up right here in my path?”

Whoever gives you a hundred sweet promises,

he or she is pointing you toward fire.
What is your fire? The world.
Give it up.

Like a lion, warily avoid the flame.

Surrender the world so that your heart can reach
serenity and arrive at the house of contentment.

There is an inferno ahead, the road is far and treacherous,

the body is weak, the heart captive, and the soul timid.
Only the free and purged can begin the Journey.

This world will give you no name, no home.

Give it up when you’ve seen enough of it.
Look closer and you will see it is a void.
What more can I say? Stop dodging the issue.

Parable of a Mourner
A mourner followed a coffin, dolefully crying out: “You didn’t even see the
world, didn’t experience life! How could you leave?”

A wise passerby who overheard this said: “Suppose he had seen a hundred
parts of the world, a hundred times over. What does it matter? He still
would not have been able to take any of it with him.”

By the time you fill your eyes with the world,

your life has come and gone
and still you have done nothing.
While you pander to your ego
your precious soul is dragged through feces and filth.
Parable of Burning Aloeswood
A fellow sighed in contentment while his aloeswood incense burned and
released its aroma.

Someone said: “While you sigh from pleasure, this wood draws its breath in
burning misery.”

____________________
28 Noghani: The identity of Noghani is not clear. It is thought he was either from somewhere near
Nishapur or from the vicinity of Mashhad, located in the northeastern Iran.
29 Rabi’a: Refers to Rabi’a al-‘Adawiyya al-Qaysiyya (714–801 CE), also known as Hazrat Bibi.
She was a female Muslim saint and Sufi mystic. Stories about her life can be viewed as
countercultural to the perceived role of women in the society of the time.
30 Kaaba: Refers to Islam’s most sacred mosque, Al-Masjid al-Haram, in Mecca, Saudi Arabia.
31 Qaroon: A contemporary of Moses who amassed a fortune so great he was led away from God.
It is said that his treasure began to sink into the earth and is still sinking to this day.
32 Abbaseh: Refers to Abbaseh Tutti, an eminent early sixth-century scholar and preacher.
33 Shibli: Refers to Abu Bakr Shibli, a Sufi saint born in Baghdad, though his family was originally
from Khorasan, Iran. He was a disciple of Junayd Baghdadi and associated with Hallaj (see
introduction).
34 Azar: Abraham’s father, who made his living by carving idols.
35 criminal Turkmen leader: During the time of eminent early sixth-century scholar and preacher
Abbaseh, the Turkmen, ethnic Turks who lived in the region of Khorasan, northeast of Iran, and in
particular in Nishapur, committed merciless bloodshed and torture.
36 Shaddad: It is said Shaddad claimed godhood and lived nine hundred years. The prophets and
sages told him to give up such claims and follow the one true God, so that he could go to Heaven. He
asked them, “What is Heaven?” They replied, “A beautiful green garden where there is no grief.” He
said, “I will build my own.” He ordered a garden made of gold and silver, with running streams of
wine and milk. When it was finished, he went to see it, but night had come and all was dark. His
party camped to wait for sunlight, but Gabriel descended and took all their lives.
37 You are not righteous until you give away everything you hold dear: Quote from Quran, third
surah, verse 92.
38 Here Attar plays with words and letters in a manner that cannot be translated exactly, though the
intention along with the wordplay can be re-created, as I have done here. In the original text, Attar
says: “Don’t say Vay [sigh] because it has the letters v and a in it.” The a is in khak (dirt, earth) and
the v is in khoon (blood). In Persian, the sound “oo” is spelled with the letter v. Therefore, a sigh is
somewhere between sacred blood and sullied earth.
 THE
BIRDS
VOICE
THEIR
FEARS
LOVESICKNESS
A Lovesick Bird Voices Its Fear of Separation
The Hoopoe Answers the Lovesick Bird
Parable of a Despairing Man in Love
Parable of a Merchant and His Maidservant
Parable of a King and His Greyhound
Parable of Hallaj at the Gallows
Parable of Junayd

DEATH
A Bird Voices Its Fear of Death
The Hoopoe Answers the Fearful Bird
Parable of the Phoenix
Parable of a Son Mourning His Father
Parable of a Governor Near Death
Parable of Jesus and a Jar of Water
Parable of Socrates in the Throes of Death

BAD LUCK
A Bird Laments Its Rotten Luck
The Hoopoe Answers the Luckless Bird
Parable of a Sheikh Who Refused Sweet Sherbet
Parable of the Grateful Servant
Parable of the World as an Oven
Parable of an Old Woman Seeking Happiness
Junayd Speaks About Finding Contentment
Parable of a Bat Seeking the Sun
LOVESICKNESS

A Lovesick Bird Voices Its Fear of Separation

Noble Hoopoe, love has enslaved me.
When that winner of hearts came my way,
reason departed; I was done for.
The sight of that face robbed me blind
and set fire to my life’s harvest.
A single breath away from my love is excruciating.
This love eats up all my patience.

How can I, distracted lover that I am, take up this journey?

My heart will boil with worry in its own pool of blood.
A hundred trials lie in the valleys ahead,
how can I tackle the road without
my love’s moon-like face?
I’m beyond all remedy or healing,
beyond all infidelity and faith.

Both my belief and unbelief come from love.

The fire that burns my soul is fed by love.
It’s true I’m alone in this misery,
but in love the pain is companion enough.

This love has cast me into dust and blood,

my lover’s hair has hurled me out of decency’s bounds.
I have lost all my endurance in my loving.
I can’t draw a single breath without my beloved.
I am the road’s dust drenched in blood. What can I do?
This is my sorry state. What should I do?

The Hoopoe Answers the Lovesick Bird

 You are a slave to outward appearances,
mired from head to toe in mud.

Love of insight and divine knowledge

is not love of form and face—
that is nothing but feral lust-play.
All beauty perishes, eventually.
This sort of love is humanity’s undoing.

There exists an imperishable and eternal Beauty;

it’s heresy not to go after it.
You take a face made up of bile, phlegm, and blood
and compare it to the full moon?

Take away the blood and the rest,

and you won’t find anything uglier in the world.
Skin-deep glamour will cease and pass;
if you hunt the form, you chase imperfection.

Seek what’s behind the veil;

there you will find true beauty.
When the veil falls from the face of mysteries,
the world and its inhabitants will vanish.

All faces, forms, and horizons will evaporate.

Pomp and power will transmute into degradation.
Befriending trivial forms brings enmity among all.

Be friends with the Invisible.

That is perfect friendship.
Any love or friendship other than this
will bring nothing but agony, nothing but regret.

Parable of a Despairing Man in Love

A grief-stricken man was crying before the wise sheikh Shibli. The sheikh
asked: “Why do you cry?”
The man replied: “O Sheikh, a friend whose countenance refreshed my soul
died yesterday, and now I am dying of grief. My friend’s departure has
darkened the world for me.”

The sheikh said: “You must not allow such despondence in your heart. You
deserve much more than this. Go find yourself a friend who does not die.
Then you will not have to die of grief.”

A friend who brings you a sense of loss

gives you nothing but despair.
If you fall in love with what only the outer eye sees,
you fling yourself into myriad heartbreaks,
for ephemeral form slips away
and leaves you confounded, sitting in sorrow’s blood.

Parable of a Merchant and His Maidservant

There was a wealthy merchant who had a maidservant with lips sweet as
sugar. On an impulse he sold the dear maid to another home, but before
long he regretted his action. Overtaken with grief, the merchant hurried to
the house to which he had sold her and offered to buy her back for a
thousand times more, but the new owner refused to sell her back.

The merchant’s liver burned with regret as he paced, throwing dirt on his
head and wailing: “Enough of this torture, yet how well I deserve this for
closing my reason’s eyes and selling the one I love for a penny.” In a
buyer’s market, he had sold and lost.

Every breath in this life is a jewel.

Every atom in your being guides you toward the Beloved.
From head to toe all that you are comes from that Giver.

Allow yourself the favors of the Friend,

so that you may understand
from whom you have banished yourself.
 How indifferently you bear this separation.
The Almighty has pampered you with a hundred honors
and yet from ignorance you make love to another.

Parable of a King and His Greyhound

A king hunting in the fields ordered his huntsman to bring along his
greyhound. The hound was well trained, and its fur sleek as satin. A
jeweled collar graced his neck, and gold rings decorated his paws and
ankles. The king took his woven silk leash in hand and counted on the
hound to lead the hunt. The dog ran ahead with the king on its heels.

Suddenly the hound stopped. The king looked for what had sidetracked the
hound: a piece of bone. In royal indignation, he cried in anger at the dog
who had misled him in the hunt: “What is this? You are waiting on a king,
and you have become distracted by something other than me?”
He then cut the hound’s leash and commanded: “Let loose this impudent
brute!”
Had that dog swallowed a hundred needles it would have been better than
having his leash cut loose like that.

The king’s huntsman said: “But your highness, this hound is decked out in
precious gems. He deserves to be let loose in this desolate desert, but does
he also deserve to take all this wealth with him?”

The king replied: “Let him loose and leave him be as he is. Don’t bother
with the gold and silver. Let him keep it so that when he comes to his
senses, he’ll remember how he once had a king as a master, but no longer.”

You who found true friendship

and lost it because of neglect,
fling yourself fully into true love.

Go on and bravely face the dragon, your ego,

for this world is its stomping ground,
and the price of true love is the slaying of that beast.
 That which infuses the human soul with love
also transforms dragons into ants.
True lovers, one or a hundred,
thirst for their own blood in the Beloved’s Path.

Parable of Hallaj at the Gallows

When Hallaj reached the gallows where he was to be hung, nothing but “I
am God” was on his tongue. The people could not understand the truth of
his words, so they chopped off his hands and legs. As blood drained from
him, he turned yellow—for who can remain rosy in such a situation?

That luminous sun of the Path rubbed the bloodied stumps of his cut-off
hands on his face and said: “Blood is the rouge of the brave. I have now put
back the rosiness on my face, lest I appear pale or yellow in anyone’s eyes.
If you find me drained of color, you may imagine it is from fear, and since I
do not feel even a hairbreadth of fear, it is best to have rosy cheeks. When a
lover condemned to death arrives at the gallows, that’s when his courage
becomes apparent. Since the world is just the ring of the “o” in “nothing,”
why would I have any fear in such a place? When one lives, sleeps, and eats
with the seven-headed dragon,39 many evils befall that lover, the least of
which are these gallows.”

Parable of Junayd
One day Junayd,40 that captain of the deep ocean of faith, gave such a
profound sermon in Baghdad that Heaven itself came down to listen,
thirsting for his lofty words. On the day he delivered this address, his
enemies cruelly decapitated his only son, who was fair as the sun, and vilely
threw his head into the congregation that circled Junayd. That saint of a
man saw the bloodied head of his own son and fell silent, while everyone
else began to wail and mourn.

Junayd then said: “Tonight I have placed a large pot before you and filled it
with words elucidating ancient mysteries. To such a vessel, my son’s head is
a worthy addition, and must not be held back.”

DEATH

A Bird Voices Its Fear of Death

The journey is long
and the thought of death frightens me.
I am neither brawny nor brave.
My heart is so terrified of death
that I may not even last
through the first leg of this quest.

Should the angel of death come to claim me,

I shall go with him, but sobbing,
for if you pick up a blade against death,
it will split both sword and hand in two.
In a world full of hands that clutch swords,
there is nothing within reach but regret.

The Hoopoe Answers the Fearful Bird

Feeble, powerless bird,
what do you imagine remains of you
but a handful of bones and rotten marrow?
Don’t you know life only lasts the wink of an eye,
that you’re born to die and ride the wind as dust?

Each twilight the sun travels, sword in hand,

chopping off heads and filling the sky’s
inverted bowl with blood.
Whether you are a sinner or a saint,
you’re just a drop of water mixed with dust.
 Have you ever seen a drop of water battle the sea?
When the end comes, even if
you were the monarch of the world,
nothing you could say or do
would save you from rejoining the earth.

Parable of the Phoenix

The phoenix, that heart-capturing, peerless bird from India, has an
incomparably strong beak of astonishing length endowed with flute-like
holes. Matchless music exhales from these holes, each equivalent to a
hundred flutes, and each tune is imbued with fresh mysteries. When the
phoenix releases its melancholic song, all birds and fish fall into a
commotion, then into silence, then into ecstasy. Indeed, the science of
music was learned from this very bird and recorded by a sage.

The phoenix lives for a thousand years and knows the exact hour of its own
death. When the hour of departure arrives, that great bird divorces its heart
from this world, gathers bundles of brushwood, piles them about itself and
lights them up. In the midst of the flames it releases a hundred songs, which
in fact are the mournful dirges of its own funeral. From each stop of that
great bird’s beak, a distinct song is liberated. Each soulful melody is its own
requiem, and each in a different key.

While mourning its own death, the phoenix trembles like a leaf. Its musical
call attracts the birds, its roar brings the beasts; they all come to see and
when they do, they detach their hearts from the world. Many of them expire
from grief, others fall into confusion, or lament and die from lack of
strength.

Such a day is a day of wonders, for blood drips from each sigh of the
phoenix. As that magnificent bird draws its final breath, it flaps its great
wings back and forth, fanning each feather into a leaping flame. The
kindling flares the wood alive and fire engulfs the bird.
When the fire and the bird are nothing but embers and soot, then from
amongst the ashes a young phoenix rises. This giving birth to oneself after
death happens to no one in this world but the phoenix.

Understand that even if you were given many lives like the phoenix, you
would still die and suffer through each life. The phoenix in its life of one
thousand years laments the loneliness of its unique existence, its mate-less
and childless life in youth and old age. In the end, death comes even to the
phoenix and scatters its ashes to the wind.

Don’t you know that no one survives battling death? Have you ever known
anyone who is deathless? Then how can you imagine that you can hold on
to anything in this journey? Death may be brutal and tyrannical, but we
must offer our necks to it meekly. We will find many tests on the Path, but
dying itself will be the hardest of them all.

Parable of a Son Mourning His Father

A man walked behind his father’s coffin, wailing: “Father, grief shreds my
soul. I’ve never suffered as I do today.”

A Sufi called out to him: “Your father too has never suffered a day like this.
What you are going through is a trifle compared with the ordeal of your
father.”

You are thrown into this world helpless and confused,

then move swiftly through life, rash and shortsighted.
Go ahead, try to hold on to your wealth and throne,
watch how you’re blown away as fast as you were thrown in.

Parable of a Governor Near Death

As death hovered over a monarch, he was asked: “You are close to that
unseen mystery, how do you fare?”

He replied: “What can I say? I rushed through life, and now I dash toward
dust. Nothing more.”
 There is no remedy for death except the death of desire.
Shed your worldly trimmings like autumn leaves.

We were all born to eventually die.

The heart is pledged to it; the soul won’t tarry.

Even Solomon who ruled the world with his ring’s seal
is now corroded powder beneath the earth.
Those who let blood spill in tyranny
soon became nothing but dust in tombs,
all laid to rest beneath the earth,
but not in rest, rather unrest.

Study death to grasp the hardship of the journey;

the grave is just the first stop.
If you knew the bitterness of true death,
your sweet soul would unhinge in chaos.

Parable of Jesus and a Jar of Water

Jesus drank from a stream purer and sweeter than rose water. Then someone
filled an earthen jar with that same water. Jesus took a sip from that jar as
well but his mouth filled with bitterness.

Surprised, Jesus turned to his Lord and said: “The water from the jar is from
the same sweet stream, then why is it bitter? Lord, solve this mystery for
me.”

The jar came alive and spoke: “O Jesus, I am an ancient man and have been
on the potter’s wheel a thousand times—now a pitcher, now a bowl, now a
jar. If they re-form and bake me a thousand more times, I will still remain
forever bitter in death. That is why sweet water poured into me always turns
bitter.”

Fool, learn wisdom from that ancient man,

don’t let ignorance make a clay jar of you.
 Have you lost your way, seeker of secrets?
Go search for your soul’s mysteries before your life expires.
If you fail to find yourself while you’re alive,
how can you know your soul after death?
While alive you’re clueless about your essence,
and when dead, nothing remains of you.
While alive, you’re at a loss.
When dead, you melt away.

You were born human, yet fail to become human.

A hundred thousand veils block the Wayfarer’s path;
rediscovering one’s essence is not easy.

Parable of Socrates in the Throes of Death

When Socrates was in the throes of death, one of his students asked:
“Master, after we have washed your body and wrapped it in a shroud, where
should we bury you?”
He replied, “If you can find me, my boy, bury me wherever you like. I’ve
lived long and while alive I was not able to find myself; how then can you
find me in death? As I exit this world, not even a strand of my hair truly
knows itself.”

BAD LUCK

A Bird Laments Its Rotten Luck

Faithful Hoopoe, I’m an unfortunate bird.
Afflicted by the world, I spend my life
lamenting my rotten luck.
My blood-soaked heart is so glum
that its every molecule wears black.
 I’m always helpless, always confused.
Call me a heathen if I ever pretended joy.
I am a wretch wedged in my own sorrow;
how can I manage such a journey?
If I were not so blue, I’d be happy to go,
but this heart is steeped in misery.
What can I do?

The Hoopoe Answers the Luckless Bird

Mad, conceited bird, what you’re soaked in
from head to toe are just cravings.

All distress and yearning in this world

passes and vanishes in a flash.
Life doesn’t pause for
what comes and goes in a breath.

Life passes by, so go ahead,

you pass it by too.
Abandon it, don’t look back.
Nothing is permanent.
Attach your heart to even one thing
and you’ve stripped it of sweet life.

Parable of a Sheikh Who Refused Sweet Sherbet

There was once a dignified, eloquent sheikh who wouldn’t accept even a
drink of sherbet from anyone. Someone asked him: “Most noble one, how
is it you never crave the sweetness of sherbet?”

He replied: “If I take a drink, I see death standing over me ready to snatch it
away. With such a creature hovering above my head, even a sip of sherbet
turns to poison. Who can enjoy a drink with such a sentry standing guard?
Instead of sweet rose water, that sherbet would taste like fire.”
 Whatever you imagine you must have
lasts but for a moment.
A hundred such worlds and kingdoms,
are worth less than a half a barleycorn.
Yet, for the sake of a single ephemeral hour of delight
you build your foundation on such unstable reality.

If you’re thrilled at a desire fulfilled,

don’t boast; it’s just a flash of joy.
If your mood darkens when things go wrong for you,
don’t cry; this too is fleeting.
If you are sent a torment or trouble,
know that it has been sent for your own good, not ill.

Look at the calamities that have befallen the holy ones,

even worse than the tragedy of Karbala.41
That which seems like an affliction
is a treasure to eyes that penetrate beyond the surface.

The Beloved has gifted you a world,

showered you with a hundred favors!
It seems you have forgotten this generosity,
unwilling to trouble yourself even a bit.
What kind of a friendship is this?
Dimwit, you are nothing head-to-toe but skin.

Parable of the Grateful Servant

One day a kind-hearted king offered a servant a fruit. The servant took a
bite and chewed with such gusto it was as if he were eating the sweetest
fruit he had ever tasted. This aroused the king’s appetite. He said, “Servant,
give me a half of that fruit. You are eating it with such relish that now I
crave it too.”

The servant gave the king half of the fruit. The king took a bite, drew his
eyebrows together, and said: “This is so bitter and yet you eat it as if it’s
sugar. Why?”

The servant replied: “My King, I have received many rare, wonderful gifts
from your hands. So now when you gave me a bitter fruit, how can I return
it to you in dissatisfaction? When those hands have given me so much
treasure, how can I complain when they offer me a bitter gift? Since I dwell
under the shower of your bounty, nothing that comes from you can be bitter
to me.”

If you suffer downfalls in the Path,

know that each fall is a windfall, nothing less.
The Path to the Beloved has its ups and downs;
what can you do? That’s the way it is.

When the wise of the Way begin their journey,

every crumb they eat is flavored with toil and worry.
Until they arrive to feast with the Beloved,
they eat dry bread in fear and uncertainty.

Parable of the World as an Oven

An honored man once asked a Sufi: “Brother, how do you fare?”

The Sufi replied: “I’m trapped in this tight oven we call the world. I’m
parch-lipped and burdened with transgressions, and I must break my back
for every loaf of bread I score.”

If you’re looking for a moment of mirth,

you’re either dreaming or distracted.

If you’re seeking good times, take care

to arrive on the other side of life intact.
This thing you call happiness in this world
is nothing like true joy.
 Here, where the ego blazes like fire,
show me a heart that is truly content.
If you swivel like a compass around the world,
you’ll find not a single satisfied heart.

Parable of an Old Woman Seeking Happiness

An old woman asked Sheikh Mehna:42 “Teach me how to pray for
happiness. I have suffered a great deal, and I can’t bear it anymore. Show
me how to pray for joy and I will do it every day.”

The sheikh replied: “For many years I’ve pulled my knees up to my chest,
as is the Sufi way, and fenced myself behind them. The joy you are seeking
I too have prayed for a very long time, but alas I have neither found nor
seen it.”

Not until a remedy surfaces for love’s pain

can joy find passage to a heart.

Junayd Speaks About Finding Contentment

Junayd was asked: “Tell it to us straight, when does a heart find true
contentment?”
That wise Sufi of Baghdad replied: “The moment the Beloved steps into it.”

As long as union with the Beloved is delayed,

disappointments lump and crater the Path.

A mote is fated to bewilderment

for it can never grasp the sun.
Even if it’s dipped a hundred times
in heartache and blood,
it will never cease drifting,
it will always be lost.
 So long as a mote remains a mote,
it will always be a mote.
Deny this and you’re a misguided fool.
Turn a mote over a hundred ways
and it’s still a mote, never the great radiant source.

If you arise from a mote, that is your origin;

if you lose yourself in the sun,
you’re still a mote but forever inside the sun.
Good mote or bad mote,
you dart about all your life,
but in the end you’re still yourself, a mote.

You weave and wander like an intoxicated fool

and believe, like Jacob, that you can wrestle the sun.
I sit on the sidelines, watching patiently.
When will you grasp how powerless you are?

Parable of a Bat Seeking the Sun

One evening a bat said: “I can’t look into the sun, so I’ve spent a wretched
lifetime of months and years seeking it with my eyes tightly shut. I long to
reach that bright court and become lost in its effulgence.”

A seer replied: “Bat, you are drunk with pride. You are a thousand years
away from that orb. The chance of you reaching the sun is that of an ant
stuck in a well climbing up to the moon.”
The bat replied: “I have no fear; I will keep on flying and see what
happens.”

For years the bat flew, drunk and unenlightened, until it was left with no
strength and no hair. Its soul was in agony and its body had melted thin; it
wandered, wingless and without direction. Still, no sign of that great orb!
Finally, the bat cried out: “Could it be that I have already passed the sun?”

A wise one said to the bat: “You are fast asleep. You can’t even see the way;
you haven’t advanced more than a single step and yet you say, ‘I have
passed the sun and that’s why I’ve lost my wings and hair.’”

These words plunged the bat, or rather what was left of it, into a crestfallen
melancholy. Feeble and helpless, it turned toward the sun and said: “Have
you not found a bird with better vision than me? Go on and keep moving
farther and farther away.”

____________________
39 seven-headed dragon: The devil.
40 Junayd: Abu Al-Qasim Al-Junayd ibn Muhammad ibn al-Junayd (830–910 CE), one of Iran’s
greatest Sufi masters and the most important expounder of the school of “sober” Sufism.
41 tragedy of Karbala: The Battle of Karbala (October 10, 680 CE) took place between a small
group of supporters of Prophet Mohammad’s grandson, Imam Husayn (also spelled Hussein), and the
military forces of the Umayyad caliph, Yazid I. The battle took place in Karbala, in present-day Iraq.
Husayn’s group were defeated and he was murdered. This led to the sharp split between Shi’a and
Sunni sects. The dead are regarded as martyrs by both sides. The battle is commemorated each year
by Shi’a Muslims during an annual ten-day period of mourning known as the Day of Ashura, marked
by public processions, self-flagellation, and religious gatherings.
42 Sheikh Mehna: Abusai’d Abolkhayr, or Abu-Sa’id, a renowned Persian Sufi and poet who spent
most of his life in Nishapur, Iran, but whose fame reached beyond the Islamic world, as far as Spain.
He is most famous for his mystic love poems.
 THE
BIRDS
ASK
ABOUT
THE
BELOVED
OBEDIENCE AND STEADFASTNESS
A Bird Asks About Obedience
The Hoopoe Speaks About Obedience
Parable of a King at a Prison’s Gates
Parable of a Sufi Who Dreamed of Leading Masters
Sheikh Kharaghan Speaks of Steadfastness
Parable of the Servant Who Sullied the King’s Robes

SACRIFICE
A Bird Asks How to Risk It All
The Hoopoe Replies to the Bird Who Risks It All
The Ancient Man of Turkistan Speaks of Sacrifice
Parable of a Sheikh Who Loved Eggplants
Parable of Dead Dervishes in the Desert
The Pharaoh’s Sorcerers

ZEAL AND PERSEVERANCE

A Bird Asks About Zeal
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About Zeal
Parable of the Old Woman Who Bid for Joseph
Parable of a Dervish Bemoaning His Poverty
Parable of the Gang Under a Bridge
Parable of the World as an Inverted Bowl

JUSTICE AND FIDELITY

A Bird Asks About Justice and Loyalty
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Sense of Justice
Parable of a Wise, Just Man
Parable of an Old Indian King
Parable of a Dishonorable Warrior
Parable of Joseph’s Brothers

AUDACITY
A Bird Asks About Audacity
The Hoopoe Speaks About Audacity
Parable of the Governor’s Servants
Parable of a Naked Madman Who Sought Shelter
Parable of the Hungry Wolf
Parable of an Impudent Wayfarer
Parable of a Dervish in the Dark
Parable of Vaseti and the Jewish Cemetery

MERIT
A Bird Boasts of Its Love
The Hoopoe Answers the Boastful Bird
Parable of Bayazid After Death
Parable of a Dervish in Love
Parable of King Mahmud at the Public Baths
Parable of the Water Carrier

EGOTISM
A Bird Claims Satisfaction as an Excuse
The Hoopoe Answers the Self-Satisfied Bird
Parable of a Donkey Who Farted
The Devil Teaches Moses a Lesson
A Saint Speaks of How to Keep a Novice on the Path
Parable of a Sheikh and a Filthy Dog
Parable of a Man and His Beard
Parable of a Drowning Fool
Parable of a Sufi Washing His Clothes

TRUE HAPPINESS
A Bird Asks How to Gladden Its Heart
The Hoopoe Tells the Bird How to Gladden Its Heart
Parable of a Dervish in Ecstasy
Parable of a Crying Lover

FAULTFINDERS
Commentary on Faultfinders
Parable of a Drunk Picking on Another Drunk
Parable of the Blemish in a Beloved’s Eye
Parable of a Constable and a Drunk

AUTHENTIC AND CONSTANT LOVE

A Bird Asks What to Request
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About What to Request
Bu Ali of Rudbar Speaks to the Beloved
The Almighty Speaks Through David the Pure
Parable of Ayaz the Servant
The Prayer of Rabi’a
The Almighty Counsels the Prophet David
Parable of the Idol Lat
Parable of King Mahmud in India
A Bird Inquires What Gift to Bear

DEVOTION
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird Inquiring About Gifts
Parable of Joseph and Zulaikha
Parable of a Vigilant Servant
Parable of the Denizens of Heaven and Hell
Parable of a Man Praying for a Prayer Mat
OBEDIENCE AND STEADFASTNESS

A Bird Asks About Obedience

Our Guide, what will happen if I obey the Beloved?
Acceptance and refusal mean nothing in absolute obedience.
I await that Great One’s command and will obey
with all my soul, for I know disobedience has a cost.
But what is obedience’s reward?

The Hoopoe Speaks About Obedience

My bird, you have posed a good question.
There is no greater excellence than obedience
to the Beloved, for in that you will find
relief from struggle and grief,
and the Almighty’s constant presence.

One instant of obedience to the Beloved’s will

is better than a lifetime of superfluous devotion.

Without direction, you suffer great hardship

like a stray dog wandering the streets.
Such a dog endures many hardships, yet for what?

Deviation or disobedience accrues loss.

In obedience you may suffer a bit of adversity,
but in the end you’ll see the wisdom of it and reap rewards.
Your duty is obedience; take refuge in that.
You’re the created one, don’t rebel in defiance.
Parable of a King at a Prison’s Gates
When a king returned from a trip back to his capital, his subjects decorated
the town, each according to his or her own taste and wealth. However, the
prisoners in the city jail had nothing in their possession except their own
chains and fetters, and perhaps a few severed heads, some body organs and
dismembered limbs. So they decorated the prison with what they had. When
the king strutted into town, he saw the city all decked out. He continued on
his way, but when he reached the prison gates, he immediately dismounted,
gave the prisoners audience, promised them freedom and rewarded them
with silver and gold.

One of the king’s companions was a curious fellow, and so he asked: “King,
please solve this mystery for me. You passed all those magnificent
decorations and tributes, all those places decked out in jewels and gold, and
didn’t give them a second glance. Your people even perfumed the air for
you and yet you were not impressed. How is it that you stopped at a prison
gate so macabrely decorated with cut-off heads? Such a grisly sight!
There’s nothing pleasant there, just criminals and thieves whose hands have
been cut off. Why did you bother with them?”

The king replied: “All those decorations back in the city are like toys in the
hands of players. Those people presented their personal wealth in a way that
pleased themselves. They paraded before me what was in their power to
parade. However, these prisoners made a show of what was under my
power. If it weren’t for obedience to my commands, you wouldn’t see heads
severed from bodies, bodies from heads. I saw how my power was at work
here; consequently, it was here that I pulled on my horse’s reins.

“Those people in the city are lost in their own flashy displays, drowning in
their own pride. These prisoners are reduced to dire conditions, their fates
determined by my rule. Some have lost their hands, others their heads; they
have tasted fortune’s good and bad. They wait in the pits, knowing they’ll
soon go to the gallows. This jail seems like a garden to me and its prisoners
flowers because I am as much theirs as they are mine. Just as the task of a
discerning Wayfarer is to obey, the duty of a king is to visit the prison.”
Parable of a Sufi Who Dreamed of Leading
Masters
A master from the lineage of masters, pure in his attributes and an axis of
virtue, once said, “Last night masters Bayazid and Tarmazy43 appeared to
me in a dream. They bid me to walk ahead and made me their guide. Later I
struggled to understand this dream. Why did these two lofty sheikhs accord
me the honor of leading them?

“This is how I eventually came to understand the meaning of this dream:

One early morning an involuntary sigh tore out from the depth of my being
and traveled until a path was revealed; I followed and knocked until a door
opened. I was addressed by the Almighty in these wordless words: ‘All the
ancients and masters have always wanted something from Me except
Bayazid. He alone wanted Me, and nothing from Me.’

“When I heard this I cried out, ‘Almighty, what sort of a pious man am I?
How could I want You, but not the pain of longing for You? How could I
demand anything of You and yet not make You my guide? Your command
is my wish. Obedience is my business. Who am I to make demands when I
cannot even distinguish between the true Path and its impostors? Whatever
You command is good enough for me; to obey is sufficient for this servant.’

“It is because of what I said, these two lofty masters asked me to walk
ahead.”

Walk the path of obedience.

Walk it communing with the Beloved.
Stop exaggerating your importance,
boasting of what a good servant you are.
Your authenticity comes clear when tested.
Take the test—find out.

Sheikh Kharaghan Humbly Speaks of

Steadfastness
Sheikh Kharaghan44 on his deathbed, life barely lingering on his lips, said:
“If you could cut to the core of my being, you’d find a broiled heart. I wish
I could show my heart to the world so that people could see its pain and
learn from this wizened old man to forsake worshipping idols and keep true
to the Path.”

This is servitude; all else is lust.

You keep claiming creatorship, not servitude.
How is modesty possible in this equation?
Servitude is humility, you nobody!
Prostrate yourself; become a true servant.
Accept you were created; admit it with bowed head.

This is how you find your way to eternal life.

And when you become a true servant,
do it with deference and don’t waver,
for true riches come only to a pure soul.
A king quickly expels a cocky, flippant person from his court.
The great Sanctuary is forbidden to that sort.

Parable of the Servant Who Sullied the King’s

Robe
A king honored his servant with a splendid robe. The servant put it on and
went out. When the street dust dirtied his face, he wiped it off with the
sleeves of this magnificent robe.

A busybody saw this and reported the servant’s behavior to the King:
“Great One, that servant of yours used the robe you bestowed on him to
wipe the dust of the street from his brow.”

The king was displeased with this disrespect and had the scatterbrained
servant hanged to make clear that irreverent servants have no worth in a
king’s court.
SACRIFICE

A Bird Asks How to Risk It All

Hoopoe, pure in judgment as you are, tell me
how to risk it all for the Beloved’s love?

I forbid my heart fixations,

persist in giving away all I own,
because whatever I hold on to
stings me like a scorpion.

I don’t keep myself in thrall to anything;

there’s no limit to what I’ll toss out.
I’ll risk anything in the Path to the Beloved
for the sake of seeing that pure face.

The Hoopoe Replies to the Bird Who Risks It All

This Path is not for everyone.
Detachment is enough provision for this journey.

If you give away all that you possess,

you proceed clean, steeped in purity.
Rend what’s sewn, don’t darn the torn;
burn everything, down to the tips of your hair.

When you’ve burned it all with your blazing sighs,

then gather and sit in the seething ashes.
This is how to free yourself completely—
or else remain bound and drink grief’s blood.
 You can’t set foot on the Path
without cutting loose what leashes you to the world.

Don’t sit in this jail.

Rise up! Leave your junk behind!
When death comes, tell me, how much
of your property can you carry on your wings?

First you must let go of yourself,

only then can you begin the voyage.
Not until you forsake all you possess
can you start this journey.

The Ancient Man of Turkistan Speaks of Sacrifice

The wise ancient of Turkistan,45 once said: “Two things I love above all
else—my fast, dappled horse and my son. If I heard my son were dead, I
would sacrifice my horse in gratitude for receiving this news because I’d
understand how both are nothing but idols to my precious soul.”

If you’re not guttering out like a candle,

don’t go around bragging about your sacrifices.

The moment you boast of risking everything for the Path,

you’ve contradicted yourself in that same light.

Wayfarer, if you swallow a bread crumb in greed,

in that instant you’ve smacked yourself in the neck.

Parable of a Sheikh Who Loved Eggplants

Sheikh Kharaghan was a lofty, spiritual man who loved eggplants. One day
his mother brought him some and made such a fuss he finally agreed to
indulge. The moment he bit into that eggplant, somewhere out there his son
was killed, decapitated, and his head left on the poor sheikh’s doorstep at
dusk.

That night the sheikh cried out: “Haven’t I, agitated man that I am, told you
a thousand times that if this beggar enjoys himself in the least, as I did with
that bit of eggplant, he’d instantly suffer grief? While my soul burns like
this, the Path to the Beloved becomes even more arduous.”

When the Almighty pulls you into an affair,

you can’t make love to any other.
Yes, this is a difficult love affair,
even more difficult than enduring war
or negotiating peace.

Here you are, an ignoramus

in an affair with the All-Knowing One.
Every instant brings a new guest;
every moment, a new caravan of tests.
Even if a soul suffers a hundred griefs,
hardships will keep on coming without pause.
 The moment the Almighty unveils from the unseen,
love for that Beloved is tested drop by blood drop.
A hundred thousand ardent lovers offer heads and hearts
for each sweep of the Almighty’s sword of tests.
What use is a life if not as an offering
for love of the Beloved?

Parable of Dead Dervishes in the Desert

Zulnun46 recounts: “I was walking in the desert with no provisions and no
walking stick, trusting in the Almighty, when I came upon forty dervishes,
all of them dead in one place. I lost all sense of myself, and a fire blazed in
my chest. I cried out, ‘Dear Almighty, what is this way of yours that puts
such lofty souls to death?’ ”

The answer came: “We are aware of what we do. We kill, but we also pay
up and make amends.”
I asked: “But how long will you keep this up?”

The voice replied: “For as long as my treasury holds. As long as I can pay
up, I will kill you, drag you through your blood and around the world,
upside down. When every bit of you has disappeared, when not a trace of
you remains, I will show you the countenance of the Sun and weave you a
robe of honor in the image of my own beauty.

“Out of your blood I will make rouge for your cheeks and give you a place
in my domain. I will make a shadow of you and then cast my light upon it.
When the Sun of my countenance shines, what shadow can remain intact?
When a shadow is obliterated with light, nothing remains but the utterance,
‘What the Almighty has wrought is for my own good.’ ”

Disappear inside the Divine—

there you will find freedom.
There is nothing outside that unity.
 Stop boasting. Shut up and lose yourself;
There is no greater honor
than losing the ego for love.

The Pharaoh’s Sorcerers

I know no one in either world more fortunate than the pharaoh’s sorcerers in
the moment they found faith in Moses. The pharaoh took their lives right
there and then—no one has ever been so lucky. They took one step into the
Path of true faith and the next step out of the mortal world. Is there any
coming or going better than that? No branch has borne better fruit.

ZEAL AND PERSEVERANCE

A Bird Asks About Zeal

Hoopoe, possessor of vision,
would pious zeal count in this venture?
Even though I appear very weak,
I possess honorable zeal.
Even though I don’t pray very much,
would my lofty aspiration count?

The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About Zeal

To lovers of that first covenant
—Am I not your Creator!—
lofty aspiration is a magnet.
It will attract everything in existence.
 If your motivation is noble,
whatever you look for will present itself.
Even a tiny bit of such ardor
can enslave the sun inside a mote.

Noble aspiration is the seminal point

in the embryo of both worlds.
Such drive and zeal
add feathers and wings to the soul.

Parable of the Old Woman Who Bid for Joseph

When they put Joseph up for sale in Egypt, many buyers came, radiating
excitement. Seeing how many had come to bid, the seller asked for five
times Joseph’s weight in musk. An old lovesick woman stepped forward
from amongst the crowd, holding up a few threads she had spun herself.

She said: “Seller of this Canaanite, I am crazy with yearning for this boy.
Here, I have spun together ten threads for him. Take them in payment.
Come. Shake hands and do not haggle.”
The auctioneer laughed and said: “Old simpleton, you’re not worthy of this
perfect pearl. This crowd is bidding a hundred treasures for him, and you
offer me a few pieces of spun thread?”
The old woman replied: “I knew you would not sell me this lad—no, not for
my meager offering, but it’s enough for me that I came and bid for Joseph.”

A heart without aspiration and drive

will never find the eternal Realm.

It was from such lofty zeal that a noble king47

set fire to his own sovereignty and in that loss
found a hundred thousand greater kingships.
His aspiration was pure and true,
and he was filled with disgust for his polluted kingship.
 When the eye focuses on the sun,
the mote shimmers, blurs, and disappears.

Parable of a Dervish Bemoaning His Poverty

There was a dervish who sighed and moaned incessantly about his poverty.
Abraham of Edham48 asked him: “Lad, what’s the matter? Are you sighing
and moaning so much because you bought your poverty too cheaply?”

The dervish replied: “What are you talking about? Who buys his own
poverty? Shame on you for speaking such nonsense.”

Abraham answered: “Yes, I chose my soul above everything else and paid
for my poverty with my sovereignty over the world. Even now, if I had a
hundred worlds, I’d give them all up to buy one more moment of poverty
because I value it more than anything. It was for this reason that I bade
farewell to kingship, fully and forever. This is why I appreciate poverty’s
value, not you. I am able to give thanks, as you are not.”

The zealous stake both heart and soul,

endure years of burning in longing.
The bird of their aspiration flies
past the world, past faith, past religions too,
and draws near to the great Beloved.

Get out of here if you don’t possess such zest;

you’re not worthy of the Almighty’s favors.

Parable of the Gang Under a Bridge

Sheikh Ghuri, that man of the Way, took refuge under a bridge with a band
of lovers of the Path. By chance, King Sanjar49 happened to ride past them
in great spectacle and glory. He stopped and asked: “Who is this gang under
the bridge?”
The Sheikh stepped forward and replied: “We are dervishes, poor from head
to toe. If you wish to join us and become our eternal friend, we can relieve
you of the burden of the world; however, if you bear us enmity we will just
as quickly rid you of your faith. That’s the long and the short of it. Whether
you see us in amity or enmity, step in and see yourself humbled. Come, step
under this bridge for a moment and be relieved of your pride and pomp.”

The king replied: “I am not your man. I am neither your friend nor your
enemy, and loving or loathing me is not worthy of you. Off I go at once, for
I don’t wish what I have harvested in this world to be set on fire! I’m
neither proud of you nor ashamed of you, nor do I bother with what you see
as good or evil.”

Aspiration flies like a swift-winged bird,

speeding toward its goal.
It flies and sees with inner eyes.
It flies above the world, not within it.
It flies over the horizons of existence,
above all drunkenness and sobriety.

Parable of the World as an Inverted Bowl

One midnight a lover of the Way wept, saying: “Shall I tell you what this
world is about? The world is an inverted bowl under which we are trapped,
boiling in the broth of our own ignorance. When death lifts up the rim,
whoever has wings flies toward eternity, but those who are wingless stay
trapped, unhappy beneath the bowl.”

Bestow wings on aspiration’s bird.

Give heart to your head,
empathy to your soul.

Become the bird of the Path—

grow feathers and wings.
 Better yet, burn them both
and while you’re at it, set fire to your ego.
That’s how you transcend.

JUSTICE AND FIDELITY

A Bird Asks About Justice and Loyalty

I have always been just,
never betrayed a soul.
How do these virtues fare
or rank me at the Beloved’s court?

The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Sense of

Justice
Justice is the sultan of salvation.
It frees you from trivialities.
Cultivate a sense of justice;
it’s better than a lifetime of throwing
yourself to the ground in prayer.
Grant it covertly; it is worthier than magnanimity,
for to make a public show of justice is hypocrisy.

Remember this.
The brave Wayfarers of the Path
don’t seek or receive justice, though
they themselves offer it often.

Parable of a Wise, Just Man

Ahmad Hanbal50 was a sage whose depth and range of wisdom is
impossible to describe. Whenever he fell short in knowledge or
understanding, he sought to consult with Beshr Hafi.51
But when others saw him in Beshr’s company, they reproached the sage and
said: “Hanbal, you are a great man of knowledge, and there is no one wiser
than you. You do not heed any other opinion or thought, and yet whenever
you have a question you quickly run to this barefoot nobody.”

To such people Ahmad Hanbal replied: “It’s true that I score well in my
knowledge of religious ethics and the holy tradition, and I have indeed a
good grasp of the sciences, but this man is far better acquainted with the
Beloved than I.”

You who are unaware

of your own lack of justice,
observe, even for a moment,
the justice of the sojourners of the Path.

Parable of an Old Indian King

There was an old Indian king who was captured by King Mahmud’s army
and was taught the ways of the Path. Once he found the way to the Beloved
and his heart was awakened to the Divine, he retreated from the world, sat
alone in his tent and wept. Each day his despair was worse than the night
before, and each night worse than the previous day.

The news of his wailing reached King Mahmud. He summoned the old
Indian king to his court and said: “Do not weep any more over what you
have lost. I will give you a hundred more kingdoms than what you used to
rule. You will be a king once more.”

But the old man replied: “O King, I do not weep over lost kingship and
dominion, I weep because at the hour of my death the Glorious One might
say, ‘Disloyal, faithless man, how you ignored my grace and ruled your
kingdom in tyranny. Not until Mahmud’s noble army attacked you did you
learn to remember me. How is that? You crossed outside the bounds of
faithfulness. You were so devoted to another that it took an army to bring
you around. Before that, it didn’t even occur to you to remember me. Am I
to call you friend or enemy? How long will this go on—this fidelity from
me and faithlessness from you? This is not the way of loyalty.’

“So tell me,” the old man asked King Mahmud, “if I am reprimanded like
that by the Almighty, how am I to answer for my lapse of loyalty? What am
I to do with my shame and degradation? This is why, my young King, this
old man weeps.”
 Learn from acts of justice and fidelity.
Nothing that strays is allowed.
If you are loyal, step into the Path;
otherwise, stay put, forget it.
Anything that strays from fidelity
is not allowed in the Wayfarer’s Path.

Parable of a Dishonorable Warrior

A warrior for the Almighty, fighting against a proud idolater, asked for
respite in order to pray. The idol worshipper granted it. The warrior prayed,
then resumed his fight.

When the time for the idolater’s prayer came, he too asked for a respite. The
holy warrior granted it and the idol worshipper found a clean corner and put
his forehead on the dust before his idols.

The holy warrior saw his enemy in a vulnerable state, and said to himself:
“Now victory is mine.” But just as he lifted his sword to strike, a voice from
On High called out: “Well done! Such fidelity! Such honor! If you lift your
sword against this man, it is out of sheer ignorance. Have you not read the
Almighty’s command, ‘Keep your covenant’? Is that why you are about to
behave so faithlessly? The idol worshipper acted honorably and did not
strike, and yet here you are about to commit an act of dishonor. He did
good, but now you are about to do evil. Do unto others as you would have
done unto yourself. That so-called infidel has shown fidelity and loyalty;
where is yours? You call yourself a man of your word? You call yourself a
man of faith? You have fallen far shorter in honor than this idolater.”

The reprimand froze the holy warrior in his place. Sweat beaded on his
body. The idolater saw him standing, sword in hand, weeping, and so he
asked: “Why are you crying?”

The warrior told it straight: “Just this moment I have been brought to
account for almost breaking the covenant I made with you. Such weeping is
on account of your justified wrath.”
When the man heard the story, he let out a cry and wept too.

He said: “How could I show disloyalty to such a Great One who rebukes a
loyal warrior on account of an enemy? Tell me the message of this Great
Almighty so that I can understand and reconsider my idols. I regret that my
heart never knew this honorable Almighty until now.”
 Insolent fool! How unfaithful
you’ve been to the one you seek.
To the end of time, with endless patience,
I shall recount your infidelities one by one.

Parable of Joseph’s Brothers

Ten brothers, starved by famine, came a long distance and stood before
Joseph. They spoke of their misery and begged him for relief. Joseph, who
hid his face behind a veil, picked up a bowl and struck it with his hand. It
vibrated with a doleful moan.

“Do you know what this bowl says?” asked wise Joseph.

The brothers admitted they did not understand. “Dear judicious man,” they
said, “who can tell what a bowl says?”

“I can,” Joseph replied. “I understand it perfectly well. It is speaking to you.

It says you once had a brother of great virtue. His name was Joseph, and
even though he was one of you, he was superior in goodness to you all.”

Joseph then struck the bowl again and continued, “The bowl bemoans with
its vibrating song that you threw the good Joseph into a well, smeared an
innocent wolf’s blood on his clothes, and took the garments to his father
Jacob, striking that old man’s heart with grief.”

Joseph hit the bowl again. It vibrated. He continued, “It says you bereaved
the father and sold the moon-faced Joseph. Who treats his own brother in
such manner, you ingrates? Shame on you all!”

The brothers were astonished. They had come for bread, but now they
melted into the ground from shame. When they had sold Joseph they had
also sold themselves. When they cast him into the well, they had cast
themselves too into a well of misery.
 You’re blind if you hear this story
and don’t learn your share.
Don’t look too hard at this tale, fool!
It’s your own story, your own history!

All of your life’s faithless acts

were committed in the guise of friendship.
If I were to strike the talking bowl for a lifetime,
the accounts of your corrupt acts would never end.

Just wait till you’re awakened from your slumber,

seized by your own conscience.
Just wait till tomorrow when your barbarism,
unkind acts, and betrayals are paraded publicly one by one.
When the bowl’s song rises and is heard,
you’ll lose your senses, lose your mind.

You’re like a lame ant caught in the base of a bowl.

How long will you go round and round that inverted hollow?
Climb out; it’s full of blood.
Each moment inside vibrates a new rueful song.
Grow wings, take flight,
or else stay and suffer
the bowl’s shaming ballad.

AUDACITY

A Bird Asks About Audacity

 Our Guide, tell us, is audacity allowed
in the presence of the Beloved?
If I show great boldness,
should I fear what will follow?
How would an audacious bird fare in that High Court?
Scatter before us your pearls of truth.

The Hoopoe Speaks About Audacity

If you’re a confidant, privy to the mysteries
of the Hidden, then yes, audacity is allowed.

A worthy seer of secrets

is never audacious from rudeness.
To the one who holds civility on his left
and respect on her right,
a moment of audacity is permissible.

A common camel herder, deprived of both,

can never be a keeper of a king’s mysteries.
If he behaves impertinently, he will lose,
or stay ignorant, of both faith and soul.
Would a clever fellow in an army
show an iota of impudence toward his king?

If you are a stammering, baffled soul

who’s just stepped into the Path,
your boldness may come from your drunken joy.
You see everything mixed up with the Great One,
you can’t distinguish between the Divine and a divan.52

So if you act out of turn, it’s from pure enthusiasm.

You’re so giddy with love, you can walk on water.
Good fortune to you. May you prosper
in your boldness, for you’re like a lunatic on fire.
 How can one expect safety in fire?
How can a crazed lover be blamed?
When love-madness takes over,
you’re not responsible for anything you say.

Parable of the Governor’s Servants

Once upon a time, the city of Khorasan flourished under the rule of a great
governor. He had a hundred servants, all of them moon-faced Turks with
bodies like cypresses, silver-limbed, and scented with musk. Each wore in
his ear a pearl so bright its effulgence turned night into day. Their hats were
woven with silver and their collars with gold. Dressed in pearly robes and
jewel-studded belts, they held golden shields and rode on white steeds.

Anyone who happened to see a single member of this troop swooned with
delight.
By chance a hungry mad dervish, clad in rags, barefoot and bare-headed,
saw from afar this troop of servants and said: “Who is this host of angels?”

The townsfolk replied: “They are our governor’s servants.”

When the mad fellow heard this, he leaped up in a crazed pang of anguish
and cried out: “Almighty, you who are the governor of On High, learn from
this governor of down below how to keep one’s servants!” If you are mad
on account of the Beloved, be bold.

If you are a leaf, belong to the branch.

But if you don’t have the capacity
to belong to the Lofty Branch,
then impertinence is not allowed;
don’t make a fool of yourself.

Happy are the audacious love-crazed;

they always burn themselves up like moths.
Don’t judge the Wayfarers of this journey.
Good and evil are judged only at the journey’s end.
Parable of a Naked Madman Who Sought Shelter
A mad Wayfarer, hungry and naked, was caught in a terrible cold snap. The
homeless distracted lover wandered about shivering in the falling snow. He
came upon a ruin and entered the abandoned hut. The minute he stepped
foot in that dilapidated place, a tile detached from the roof and struck him in
the head.

Blood gushing, the poor fellow turned his face toward Heaven and said:
“You who beat the drum of your own Royalty, can’t you do your beating
with anything better than a tile?”

Parable of the Hungry Wolf

There was a poor man who lived in a drainage ditch. One day he borrowed
his neighbor’s mule and took it to the mill. There he fell asleep, and while
he dozed off, the mule wandered off, and was attacked and devoured by a
wolf.

The next day his neighbor asked for compensation, and the two parties took
their dispute to the boss. They told him the story and asked: “Who is
liable?”

The boss replied: “Without a doubt, whoever let a hungry wolf loose in the
open fields must compensate you both!”

There is no compensation
for what the Almighty does.

A great agitation fell on Egypt’s women

when they saw Joseph’s radiant face.
Then is it any wonder that a mad Wayfarer
swoons in the glow from the Beloved?
 In such a state you lose yourself,
don’t know your right from left,
up from down, in from out.

All you speak about is the Beloved.

All you utter is to the Beloved.
Everything you want,
you seek from the Beloved.
Everything you seek,
you find through the Beloved.

Parable of an Impudent Wayfarer

When famine consumed Egypt, people perished from want of bread.
Everyone was dying, and the ones still alive ate the flesh of the dead.

By chance a Wayfarer came upon this scene. Seeing how people were dying
left and right while the Almighty provided them with no bread, that crazy
lover cried out: “Keeper of the world and faith, if you can’t provide daily
bread, then at least create fewer people.”

If you show impudence in the Great Court,

ask forgiveness when you are enlightened.
If you slight the Beloved,
beg for mercy, but sweetly.

Parable of a Dervish in the Dark

A dervish, bloodied and bruised by the stones children threw at him,
retreated into a hole in a corner of a public bath. Suddenly a window blew
open and a storm pelted him in his corner with hailstones. He mistook the
volley for stones thrown by the children and let loose his tongue, profanely
cursing the Beloved. Why, he moaned, was he pelted and tormented with
rocks and tiles?
The shelter was dark and the torment continued and soon he wondered if
the rocks were indeed thrown by children. At that point the wind pushed
open a door and light penetrated through the gap. The fellow saw that what
he imagined to be stones were hail. His heart sank in shame for having
uttered such vile curses.

He said: “Lord, this hole was dark, and I made a grievous error; whatever I
called You, I myself am.”

When a mad fellow blunders like this,

don’t slight the poor soul for his error.
For in love he is brainless drunk,
alone, anxious, and afraid.
He spends life frustrated;
each moment he deals with a new labor.

Refrain from speaking ill of him,

forgive and excuse the mad lover.
If you truly understood those deprived of light,
you’d be sure to forgive them all.

Parable of Vaseti and the Jewish Cemetery

Vaseti53 was a wise man who in his love for the Beloved forsook country
and home. One day he happened to walk into a Jewish cemetery. He took in
the whole garden with his eyes, then said: “These people are now in the
bosom of the grace of the Beloved, yet this truth can never be spoken here
out loud.”

Nonetheless, a judgmental fellow heard him and angrily dragged him to a

judge. The judge was displeased and found Vaseti guilty of having uttered a
blasphemy.

Vaseti told the judge: “This ill-fated tribe may not be safe from your
judgment, but they are just fine in the eyes of the Almighty. They are now
beyond your reach and subject to the Beloved’s grace and power.”
MERIT

A Bird Boasts of Its Love

As long as I live, loving my Beloved
keeps me deserving and decent.
I’ve withdrawn from everyone and everything,
I chat and brag of my love without pause.

I’ve seen all there is to see;

why would I attach myself to anything?
The business of loving the Beloved
is more than enough for me;
not everyone’s cut out for such devoted work.

Yet despite all my love’s labor,

I’ve yet to reach my Beloved’s door.
The time has come for me to let my ego go,
drain the cup of obedience, throw
my arms around the Friend’s neck
and brighten my eyes and soul
with the fullness of that beautiful face.

The Hoopoe Answers the Boastful Bird

Such boasting will not earn you an audience
with the Great Simorgh on Mount Qaf.
Don’t brag of your love with every breath,
for such ardent love is not possible just for anyone.

If fortune blows your way,

grace will strip you of your drivel
and sweetly carry you toward the Beloved’s court.
 When you are granted private audience,
that’s when your claim to love
cracks open like a nut to reveal its kernel.
Your so-called love is just a bother;
what counts is the Beloved’s love for you.

Parable of Bayazid After Death

After Bayazid had taken leave of this world, one of his disciples saw him in
a dream and asked him: “Worthy ancient man, how did you fare with
Monker and Nakir, those two angels of death?”

Bayazid replied: “When those two famous interrogators asked this wretched
servant about the Creator, I replied, ‘Your question has no answer. If I say
the Almighty is my Beloved, that phrase alone would imply desire on my
part. Go directly to the Great Court and ask about me; if that Holder of
Glory calls me a servant, then that would mean something! Why? Because
that would imply I have been distinguished as the Beloved’s servant.

“ ‘However, if the Almighty does not count me as a servant, then my desire

to be a servant is just that—a desire. Connection with the Source isn’t easy.
What’s the use of merely saying “I am connected!” They are just words.

“ ‘If I’m not counted as a servant at the Beloved’s court, then how can I
deceitfully boast of it? If I do, I’m a liar. Yes, I bow my head to that
Sovereign, but it is up to the Sovereign to call me a servant.’ ”

If love comes from the direction of the Beloved,

then you are worthy of it,
but if love leaves from your direction,
it may be either refused or accepted.
 If the Beloved embraces you,
you’ll catch fire with joy.
This is how it works,
not in the topsy-turvy way you imagine.
Brainless egotists don’t get this.

Parable of a Dervish in Love

There was a dervish who was so consumed with love, his passion was
fidgety as fire. Its heat scorched his soul, and in turn his burning spirit set
his tongue and heart aflame, causing him abundant grief. As he traveled the
Road he was greatly agitated, weeping and calling out: “My heart and soul
burn with yearning. How long must I cry when every tear scalds my face?”

Someone said: “Don’t boast so much of your love. How long will you keep
up this idle talk of throwing yourself at the Beloved?”

The dervish replied: “When did I throw myself at the Almighty? It is the
Almighty who has engaged with me. How could anyone such as I have the
guts to make love to that Great One? Whatever is done, it is the Almighty’s
work. When my heart bleeds, it’s the Beloved who endures the pain.”

When the Almighty engages you

and grants you an audience,
don’t become boastful and proud.
Who are you to step even an inch
beyond the line in this engagement?

If the Beloved wants to make love to you,

that Great One artfully plays love’s game.
You’re nothing and you’re good for nothing,
so stay a nonentity and leave it all
to that great Master Artist.
 In this game, if an iota of your ego remains,
you have abandoned both your soul and faith.

Parable of King Mahmud at the Public Baths

One evening King Mahmud was feeling restless so he went in disguise to
the stokehole of a public bath. There, the coal shuffler invited the king to sit
down on the cinders and then returned to shoveling coal into the boiler. A
little later, he offered the king a piece of dry bread. The king took it and ate
it with appetite, thinking, Once this fellow finds out who I am, he will be
begging to keep his head.

When the king got up to leave and told him who he was, the coal stoker
said: “You’ve seen this place. I eat and sleep here. You came of your own
accord and were an unexpected guest. If the mood strikes you again, please
hurry back. But if you don’t fancy being here, don’t worry, I’ll keep on
shoveling coal as always. I don’t consider myself your inferior or your
superior, because who am I to even measure myself against one such as
you?”

The king liked what this man said and came to see him seven more times.
On the last day the king said, “What do you desire from this king of the
world?”

He replied: “Were this beggar to wish for something, would this king make
it come true?”
The king replied: “Tell me your wish—ask anything, even if you want to be
a governor, just say it and leave this stokehole.”

The man replied: “My ardent wish is that my king deigns to come and see
me from time to time. His countenance is governorship enough for me, and
the dust from his shoes is crown enough for my head. There are many
governors appointed by you; what would a coal stoker like me want to do
with any of that?

“A stoker who sits in an ash pit with you is luckier than any governor
without you. Since this stokehole brought me the good fortune of your
visits, I would be crazy to leave it. I would not exchange my union with you
in this place for any dominion in either world. It’s enough for me that this
stokehole is illuminated with your presence.

“What more could I want? What is better than this? May death snatch this
earnest heart if it prefers anything to you. No, I don’t want luxury, nor
governorship. What I want from you is only you. It is enough that you are
my king; I don’t want rank. What I want is that you be my guest and come
to see me from time to time.”

Gain the Beloved’s love—that is your burden and duty.

If you indeed love, then ask for the Almighty’s love too;
don’t let go of that desire.
No doubt the Beloved will claim your heart:
that Ocean Possessor only asks of you a single drop.

Parable of the Water Carrier

A man filled his jugs with water but then went to another water carrier and
asked for some of hers. She said: “Unreasonable man, my water is the same
as yours. Drink and be content.”

The man replied: “You who have some sense, do give me a drink, because
I’m tired of mine and want yours.”

Boredom with what he had

emboldened Adam to taste a grain of wheat.54
He sold and set fire to all he possessed
for the sake of something new, a single grain.
He was stripped naked, then engulfed in pain.

That’s when love arrived, knocking on his door.

He lost his ego, bathed in love’s light,
and everything old and new left him too.
 When he was left with nothing
and nothing was left to him,
he became a nobody with nothing left to lose.
To detach the heart from the self and let it die
is not so easy—not for me, not for you, nor any of us.

EGOTISM

A Bird Claims Satisfaction as an Excuse

I’ve harvested what I may
from my pristine devotion;
I’ve attained perfection and rigor in austerity.

Here, I’ve reaped my achievements,

so to leave this place on such a journey is unwise.
Who in his or her right mind gives up treasure
to run to deserts and fields in search of hardship?

The Hoopoe Answers the Self-Satisfied

Bird
Devilish proud bird!
Lost in your ego, you’re naïve
and far off from what I wish for you.

In your conceit you’ve become arrogant,

distant from wisdom’s arena.
Your ego has overtaken you,
and the devil now nests in your head.
Entangled in illusions,
you’re mired in mere imaginings.
If you see light in your path,
it’s from your own infernal fire.
If you have zeal,
it’s fueled by your delusions.
What you claim to have achieved is impossible.
Your so-called rapture and asceticism are illusions.

Don’t be deluded by the phantasmal light

of your ego. Stay vigilant.
How could one keep safe and stay secure
with such an enemy, and no ready sword in hand?
If you see your ego brightening the way,
it’s like eating celery after a scorpion’s sting–
certain death.55

Do not be deceived by that false light.

You are not the sun. Behave as what you are—
an atom. Don’t assume you are more.

Don’t be disappointed if the Path is dark,

and never compare yourself to the sun.
As long as you’re steeped in your own illusions,
your cries and prayers are worthless, my dear.

Release the fantasy of existence,

and true existence will wrap around you.
But if you stick to the illusions of this life,
from that nothing, your share will be nothing too.

If you have any appetite for this ephemeral life,

you’ll end up an idol worshipper.
 If you give in to the ego, even for an instant,
arrows will shower you from all directions.

While you live, endure and give in to

the soul’s suffering, withstand
a hundred blows, if you must.

While you have a body, expect fate

to smack you in the neck a hundred times.

Parable of a Donkey Who Farted

Sheikh Abu Bakr of the city of Nishapur set out for the house of dervishes,
followed by his disciples. As he rode on his donkey, the animal suddenly
released a fart. The donkey’s fart changed the sheikh’s mood and he began
to cry and tear at his garment. His disciples, and indeed anyone who saw
this, found the sheikh’s behavior unbecoming of his lofty station.

Someone said: “Come on, Sheikh, after all it wasn’t you who farted. What’s
wrong?”

He replied: “I was looking up and down enjoying the sight of my disciples,

for they numbered as far as the eye could see. At that point I said to myself:
‘By God, I am no less than the great, wise Bayazid! I have such devoted
followers that surely on the Day of Judgment I’ll be able to enter that lofty
arena with my head held high.’

“Just as I said this to myself, my donkey released a fart. In other words, to

he who boasts in such a manner, the donkey gives his proper answer. That is
why the fire of shame overtook my soul, my delusions collapsed and my
state was altered.”

If you stay steeped

in self-conceit and self-delusion
you’ll fall far from the truth.
 Destroy your self-deceit; burn your pride.
If you live in your ego,
set fire to your inner being.

You who changes color every second,

you who hosts a pharaoh at the root of each hair,
so long as a single particle of your ego survives,
you’re a hypocrite one hundred times over.

If you trust your ego,

you’re an enemy of both worlds.
Annihilate it,
and even if you are the night passing through night,
you’ll still transform to light.

Don’t ever utter “I,”

for in that word calamities lie.
Don’t ever say “I,”
or you may transform into a devil.

The Devil Teaches Moses a Lesson

The Almighty secretly instructed Moses to go to the devil and learn an
important mystery from that fallen angel. When Moses saw the devil on the
road, he recounted what the Almighty had bidden him to do.

The devil said: “Know and remember only this: To avoid becoming me,
never say ‘I.’”

As long as you’re attached to life

by even a single strand of hair,
or let a shred of your ego live,
you’re a wayward idol worshipper,
not a servant to the Great Creator.
 A Wayfarer’s work has its defeats;
it has its disappointments.
The fame of the courageous comes from infamy.
If you wish to truly walk the Path,
kill and jettison your ego at once.

A Saint Speaks of How to Keep a Novice on the

Path
A saint once advised, “It is better to keep new Wayfarers in the dark. Let
them become lost, immersed in the ocean of the Beloved’s generosity until
nothing remains of their existence—because if they are graced with
anything, they will become proud and will be seduced and waylaid from the
Path.”

What is in you arises from greed;

it comes from anger and rage.
Others see it, but you don’t.

Inside of you lies an ash pit full of dragons

that you’ve carelessly let loose.
You tend them day and night,
let them happily sleep and feed.

You are made of earth and blood;

is it any wonder these elements
are impure, given they are worthless?

Blood, which is closer to you than all,

is considered unclean because
what is far from the spirit and the soul
is close to the physical senses and therefore vile.
 If you see such pollution inside yourself,
how can you stay calm and unconcerned?

Parable of a Sheikh and a Filthy Dog

A filthy stray dog lay on a sheikh’s chest. The sheikh made no attempt to
push it off. A passerby said: “Great righteous man, why don’t you shoo the
dirty beast away?”

The sheikh replied: “The uncleanness of this dog on the outside matches
what’s in my inside. What is apparent on this dog, this sheikh keeps
concealed within himself. Therefore, since my inside is as unclean as this
dog’s outside, how can I avoid his company?”

If your inner being is sullied, even a bit,

it’s no different from being foul through and through.
When something blocks your Way,
who cares if it’s a straw or a mountain.

Parable of a Man and His Beard

In Moses’ time, there was a devout fellow who spent his days and nights in
prayer. Yet despite his devotion he found no pleasure or improvement in his
being, and neither did the Great Sun rise in his heart. His only possession in
this world was a long, fine beard, which he often combed with great care.

One day he spotted Moses from afar, ran to him and said: “Sinai’s supreme
commander, for pity’s sake ask the Almighty why despite all my devotion I
have found no spiritual ecstasy.”

When Moses went up Mount Sinai, he asked about the devout man and the
Great One replied: “Tell the fellow the reason he has not been able to attain
my presence is that he is more preoccupied with his own beard than with
his Beloved.”
Moses came back down and related the Almighty’s message to the poor
devout. Upon hearing this, the man began to wail and yank at his beard.

The angel Gabriel came down and told Moses: “Look at him, he’s still busy
with his beard. Whether he’s trimming it or yanking it out, it’s all the same.
It’s all about his beard.”

Whether you’re righteous or a crook,

if you take a single breath unmindful
of the Beloved, you have stumbled.

You who are preoccupied,

either loving or fretting about your beard,
first, free yourself from that burden,
then enter the Great Ocean,
for if you fall into its waters with your beard intact,
it will drag you down and you’ll drown.

Parable of a Drowning Fool

A fool who had an enormous beard fell into the sea and was drowning. A
man on the shore saw him and yelled: “Get rid of that feedbag around your
neck!”

The fool replied: “It’s not a feedbag, it’s my beard that’s weighing heavy.”

The man replied: “Splendid! Then here’s to your beard and to where it’s
taking you. Go ahead and drown.”

Like a goat, you aren’t ashamed of your beard;

captivated by it, you have no sense of shame.
 So long as you’re possessed by your ego,
the pharaoh and his ministers will live on in you.
So take hold of the pharaoh’s beard
as Moses did and pull on it hard.
Step onto the Path and give up your damn beard,
how long do you plan to keep it?

Come, begin the journey.

Your beard is nothing but trouble,
how come you don’t fear it?
If you walk the Path to the Beloved,
walk without a comb.
Beware of your beard; use it as a napkin.

Seek no liquid unless it’s tears,

no heart unless it’s sizzling with longing.
If you are a launderer, don’t go seeking the sun.
If you are a farmer, don’t expect rain clouds.

Parable of a Sufi Washing His Clothes

There was a Sufi who washed his garment from time to time, but each time
he did so, clouds rushed in and darkened the world. One day when his
garment was soiled and needed cleaning, he quietly went out to buy some
soap. As soon as he did, dark clouds rushed into the sky.

He looked up and said: “Why have you come? I’m not here for soap. I am
secretly buying raisins. I’ve wasted soap enough times because of you, so
I’ve washed my hands of both you and soap.”

TRUE HAPPINESS
A Bird Asks How to Gladden Its Heart
Celebrated Hoopoe,
what should I look forward to on such journey?
Tell me how to gladden my heart.

If I knew how, I wouldn’t be in two minds.

I’d be able to proceed, and know what to expect.
A bird needs incentive for this expedition
in order not to fear the Path and the going.
Since I don’t have the guidance
and acceptance of the Invisible,
I don’t accept what people say,
for they are flawed.

The Hoopoe Tells the Bird How to Gladden Its

Heart
So long as you live,
gladden your heart with the Beloved.
Free yourself of all preachers.
When your heart is cheered by that Presence,
your sorrowful soul will soon find its way to joy.

Every pleasure in both worlds is because of the Beloved;

life revolves around and because of the Beloved.
Live in celebration of that great Force;
revolve around it like a planet in longing.
No one and nothing can bring joy
to your every breath better than the Beloved.

Parable of a Dervish in Ecstasy

There was a strange madman who lived in the mountains and spent his
nights and days with lions. From time to time he entered a state of ecstasy
in which he completely lost himself. It was something to see, for he’d stay
in this state for twenty days at a time. From morning till night he’d dance
and sing: “We are together, you and I alone. There’s no one else but us; zero
sorrow, pure joy.”

What heart can die if given to the Beloved?

Give yours. That Friend loves your heart.
Death can’t darken what’s been lit up
with the pleasure of the Beloved.

Parable of a Crying Lover

There once was a lover of the Path who wept bitterly at the hour of his own
death. Someone asked, “Why such tears?”

He replied: “I weep like spring rain because if my heart were with the
Beloved, how is it that I could die?”

Another said: “When your heart is with the Almighty, if you die, it will be a
good death.”

He replied: “But if your heart is with the Beloved, death never comes.
Therefore, if my heart were indeed united with the Almighty, my death
would have been impossible.”

If you are elated by the Divine

even for a moment, the world grows
too small to contain you.

A heart made glad by the Almighty

vanishes from the world, freed.
 Celebrate that eternal Friend;
don’t stay in your skin like an ephemeral flower.
Go on, break out of your mortality.

FAULTFINDERS

Commentary on Faultfinders
Zulnun Messri, that dear one, once said: “I celebrate seventy years of living
in pure gladness, for I have kept company with my beautiful Beloved and
am bound to that bountiful Master.”

If you busy yourself with finding faults,

when will you find the time to rejoice
in the Beauty of the Unseen?

Scrutinizers!
If you keep looking for flaws,
how will you be able to spot the Unseen?
Free yourself from the defects of this world,
rejoice in the love of the Absolute Invisible.

You split hairs over the shortcomings of others,

but when it comes to yourself, you’re blind.
But if you turn your probing eye inward,
the Beloved will still receive you, despite your faults.

Parable of a Drunk Picking on Another Drunk

A stupid, nasty drunk, whose extreme drinking had stripped him of all
respect and trust, once again drank too much one night. He had imbibed so
much good and bad wine that his head and legs hung listlessly.
A sober fellow took pity and shoved him in a gunnysack, and threw the
sack on his shoulder to take him home. On his way, he passed another
drunk who, upon seeing the other fellow unconscious in the gunnysack,
yelled: “Hey, you wretch, you should drink a little less so you can walk on
your own two feet.”

He saw the other fellow and not himself.

Such is the condition of us all.

If you see the faults of others,

you’re not a true lover, not fit to be a Wayfarer.

If you are at all swayed by love,

virtues blossom where you had once seen only vices.

Parable of the Blemish in a Beloved’s Eye

There once was a lion heart, a vanquisher of enemies, who loved a woman
for five years. This lovely woman had a blemish as small as the tip of a
fingernail in one of her eyes. The man never saw this white blemish, even
though he gazed into her eyes all the time. How can a man so deeply in love
notice a fault in the eye of his beloved?

After a while, however, love cooled in the man’s heart like a sickness
calmed by medicine. His love for the woman waned and he no longer felt
the pain of love. That’s when he noticed the deformity in her eye and asked:
“When did that blemish appear in your eye?”

She replied: “The moment your love for me began to die. When your love
faded, so did the perfection of my eyes.”
 Conniving, suspicious, unkind heart,
look at your own faults, don’t be blind.
How long must you go on pointing out flaws in others?
It’s high time to catalog your own vices.
Start keeping tab on your own shortcomings
and you won’t have time to find fault in others.

Parable of a Constable and a Drunk

A constable was beating up a drunk. The drunk cried out: “Constable, stop
this cruelty. In the name of the prohibition of alcohol, it is now you who are
behaving out of line. It is as if you are the drunk, more inebriated than I,
and yet you don’t see your own drunkenness. Don’t bully me so viciously.
Beat some justice into your own self.”

AUTHENTIC AND CONSTANT LOVE

A Bird Asks What to Request

Captain of the Road, what should I ask for
when we reach that Lofty Court?
When the Beloved’s face illuminates my world,
I will be at a loss to ask for anything.
Tell me what to request when I arrive.

The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About

What to Request
Poor fool, what else would you want
from the Beloved than the Beloved itself?
If you were truly aware, you’d know
nothing is better than nearness to that Great One.
 If you enter the Great Innermost Chamber,
you’ll come to know bit by bit your Beloved.
If you catch even the dust-scent of that Lofty Court
nothing in the world can lure you away from it.

Bu Ali of Rudbar Speaks to the Beloved

On his deathbed, Bu Ali56 of Rudbar said: “I’ve waited all my life to unite
with my Beloved. Now they have opened Heaven’s gates and set up a
throne for me there. Angels are singing as sweetly as nightingales, ‘Lover,
enter. Come in, give thanks, joyfully advance, no one has known such
honor as you do now.’

“These favors are sent from On High, but my soul does not believe it. It
says, ‘What has all this to do with me? I’ve been kept waiting all my life
and I’m not going to be fooled by such bribes.’

“Beloved, your love is kneaded with my love, and I know neither Hell nor
Heaven. Were you to throw me into fire, no one would find anything in my
ashes but you. It is you I bow to, not religion nor what is not religion. I
want you, acknowledge you, only you. You are my soul, and my soul is for
you. You are all I need in the world. You are my world here and my world
hereafter.

“My heart’s desire, show me yourself even for a little while. Engage with
me in the prayer ritual of zekr,57 even if it’s for a moment. If my soul
disobeys you, even by a hair-tip, then go on and take my soul. Come, I will
begin the zekr with a Ha, you answer me with a Hoo.”

The Almighty Speaks through David the Pure

The Almighty commanded David the Pure to tell the created ones: “Fistfuls
of dust, were I to take away Heaven and Hell, would you still go on serving
me lovingly? If I took away the fire of punishment and the light of reward,
would you still have anything to do with me? If you were not motivated by
hope and fear, would you even think of me?

“I do not want to be served out of fear or hopelessness. Love me from the

depth of your souls because I am your Creator. Detach your hearts from all
else but me; worship me because it is my due. Gather everything that is not
me, then smash and burn it all.

“When everything has smoldered to ashes, collect and throw them to the
wind; watch them disappear. That’s when what you seek will rise out of the
cinders. If you busy yourself with fanciful promises of paradise and
fantasies of celestial nymphs, know that you have strayed far from your
Creator.”

Parable of Ayaz the Servant

King Mahmud summoned his favorite servant, Ayaz, and seated him next to
himself beside the throne. He placed a crown on his servant’s head and said:
“I am granting you sovereignty and a great army. Go on and exercise your
power, for this realm is at your command. I ask only one thing of you. You
must act like a king and make everything and everyone from the moon to
the moonfish in the sea your subjects.”

When the troops and squadrons heard this, their eyes clouded over with
jealousy. They cried out: “No king has ever bestowed such honor on a
servant boy.”

The sensible Ayaz began to weep inconsolably because of what the king
had done. They rebuked him: “Are you a fool? Are you mad? Don’t you
possess any sense? You have ascended from the lowly station of a servant
boy to that of a king. What are these tears for? Settle down and rejoice!”

Ayaz replied: “You are way off the mark. Don’t you see? The king has cast
me away from himself. He is trying to busy me with an army, far from his
own self. Even if he were to put me in charge of the entire world, I would
not absent myself from him—no, not for a moment. Whatever he
commands, I shall do, but no more than that. I won’t seek to be distant from
him, not even for the length of a breath. What do I want with kingship and
its functions? My kingship is looking at his face, that is all.”

If you are a seeker, then learn

the ways of servitude and love from this Ayaz.

You who wait around idly, day and night,

stuck in your first step in the Path,
know that each night angels descend
from the Almighty’s highest peak
for your sake, yet you don’t even stir
in your bed of heedlessness.

A welcoming cohort comes for you

from the Pinnacle of Glory
but you make yourself scarce.
Pity you don’t get it, this honor offered you.
Who can I tell of your blind folly?

As long as you cling to the idea of Heaven and Hell

your soul will not know the divine mysteries.
Free yourself from both these notions,
and dawn will break your night.

The veiled seat of sages and prophets

is not for the seekers of truth.
Be brave, leave this to that, and that to this.
Don’t give your heart to any of it.

When you have surpassed everything by giving it all up,

even if you seem weak-hearted, you are truly brave.

The Prayer of Rabi’a

“Knower of Mysteries, assist my enemies in their worldly business and
grant my friends a happy hereafter; as for me, I’m free of such desires. If
you take away from me both this world and the next, I won’t mind so long
as I am near you. Such deprivation will not be poverty, because I am rich
with proximity to you. I’d be worse than a heathen if I even glanced in the
direction of this world or the next, or if I desired anything or anyone but
you.”

If you have the Beloved, you have all that you need.
The Seven Seas will be but a bridge beneath your feet.
Everything that has been, is, or will ever be, has an equal
except for the great Almighty.
Whatever is not the Beloved, has an equal.
Only that Great One is peerless, ever-present.

The Almighty Counsels the Prophet David

From behind the veil of mystery, the Creator of the cosmos spoke to the
prophet David and said: “All existence, good and bad, visible and invisible,
has a double or an equal. It is only I who am peerless and without
substitute. Therefore, since there is none equal to me, do not choose to live
without me for I am sufficient unto your soul. Do not torture your soul by
looking elsewhere. I am indispensable. Hold on to this ring I offer you and
do not neglect this cardinal connection. Do not desire everlasting life
without me—no, not for even one moment. Reject everything that comes to
you. Everything except me.”

You who lust after material things,

and obsess over the world’s games,
the Beloved is your destination in both worlds.

If the Beloved tests you

by selling you to this twisted existence,
don’t turn around and sell the Beloved for the world.
 Anything you pick over the Beloved
is nothing but an idol;
if you pick your own life, you’re a pagan.

Parable of the Idol Lat

When King Mahmud’s army attacked the city of Somnath, they captured
the idol Lat.58 The idol worshippers wanted it back and offered the king ten
times the idol’s weight in gold, but King Mahmud refused to sell. Instead he
ordered his army to build a pyre to burn the idol.

A bold cavalier asked the king: “Isn’t gold better than an idol? Why do you
want to burn Lat instead of selling it?”

The king replied: “Because I fear that on the Day of Judgment, the Great
Creator will turn to the assembled court and say, ‘Have you heard of Azar
and King Mahmud? The first carved idols, the other sold them.’”

The king then put a torch to the pyre and threw in the idol. Lat caught fire
and cracked. From inside it, pounds and pounds of jewels burst out, more
valuable than what had been offered by the idolaters to the king. The king
then declared: “Lat got what it deserved, and my deed was rewarded.”

Smash the idols you keep, spare none

so that you yourself don’t crumble like one.
Set fire to your idol-like ego;
do it for love of the Friend,
do it and jewels will burst out
from under the ego’s skin.

When you hear with your soul: Am I not?

don’t hesitate to reply: Yes!
Your soul and the Almighty
made that covenant long ago;
don’t forget that so quickly.
 How can you deny now
what you bowed down to long ago?
You made a covenant; don’t disinherit yourself.
You can’t evade your Creator,
so make your peace, be faithful,
don’t drift astray.

Parable of King Mahmud in India

When Mahmud, that king of kings, left Ghazni59 to fight against his
enemies, he found them well armed with a multitude of troops. Greatly
perturbed, he vowed that if his army was victorious, he would give all the
spoils to the dervishes.

Upon victory, the spoils of war were so great that to compute even a portion
was no easy task. When all the treasures were finally gathered and the
defeated army sent on its way, the king instructed: “Give these treasures to
the dervishes, for I made a vow that I must now keep.”
His men cried out: “So much wealth and so much gold! How can you give
it all to a group of fools? Distribute them amongst your army who has
valiantly fought for you! Or at least store them in the royal treasury.”

The king considered what they said and became of two minds. He did not
know what to do. A learned man by the name of Bul-Hosseini happened to
be passing by. He was a Wayfarer resigned in his heart from the world to
the degree of holy madness. When the king saw him, he said to himself, “I
will ask this holy man what to do. He is free of king and army, and will
speak the truth.” The king then summoned the holy madman and told him
his dilemma.

The man said: “King, you have two choices. If you think you will no longer
have any business with the Almighty, then keep the spoils and don’t give
the matter further thought. Do with the spoils as you will. But if you think
you will ever encounter that Great One again, I suggest you show some
shame and don’t shortchange the Almighty—no, not even by two kernels of
corn. The Almighty has kept its end of the bargain and made you victorious.
The question now is, will you keep your end of the bargain?”

The king dispersed the riches among the dervishes and with that earned the
meaning of his name, Mahmud, “the praiseworthy.”

A Bird Inquires What Gift to Bear

Dear Hoopoe, our Guide,
what gift is of value in the Court on High?
Give us your advice, tell us what to take.
To go empty-handed is parsimonious.

DEVOTION

The Hoopoe Answers the Bird Inquiring About

Gifts
Questioner, do as I say and take with you
what cannot be found in that Highest Court.
Whatever you can think of is already there—
wisdom, learning, mysteries, even
the ample worship of angels—
why bother taking such things?

What no one possesses there

is a burning soul, a heart’s fevered pain.
A single sigh rising from your innermost being
will carry the aroma of your yearning to that court.
 Your special abode is the kernel, your soul,
encased in the shell of your rebel ego.
If your sigh rises from the special home of your soul,
the shell will break, the kernel freed.

Parable of Joseph and Zulaikha

Zulaikha, Potiphar’s wife,60 held great power and authority. She threw
Joseph into prison and instructed one of her servants to go to him, hold him
down, and give him fifty lashes without mercy. “Beat Joseph so hard,” she
said, “that his cries reach all the way to my chambers.”

But when the servant’s eyes fell on Joseph’s face, his heart trembled and he
was unable to carry out his mistress’s command. The good man then fell
upon a coat of animal hide and began beating it hard. Each time he
delivered a blow, Joseph feigned a bitter cry.

Zulaikha heard this from afar and cried out: “Beat him harder, show no
restraint.”

The man whispered to Joseph: “You whose face is like the aura of the sun,
if my mistress finds you bear no bruises or wounds, she’ll kill me for sure.
Bare your back, and take heart. Take a firm stand for a mighty whack. This
will hurt you, but then you’ll have a mark to show.”

Joseph bared his back and a tumult stirred in all the Seven Heavens. The
man lifted his arm, and delivered such a hard blow that it knocked Joseph to
the ground.

This time when Zulaikha heard his cry, she said: “Enough! That was a sigh
from that special place inside him. Before that, his moans and sighs were
nothing. But this one counts, because it reared from the right place.”

At a wake there may be a hundred hired mourners,

but it’s only the sight of the truly bereaved
that stirs the heart.
 A mourners’ ring may include a hundred false grievers,
but its gem is the one who is genuine.

You must first suffer pain

to join the ranks of the brave and true.
If you truly bear the burn and misery of love,
you’ll have no peace at night, nor for a single day.

Parable of a Vigilant Servant

A man had a nimble servant from Zanzibar who had washed his hands of all
that was worldly and spent every night in prayer until dawn. One day, his
master said: “Dutiful lad, when you rise at night, wake me too so I can
perform ablutions and pray with you.”

The boy boldly replied: “Would a woman about to give birth need to be
awakened from sleep? No, the pain wakes her. If you possessed the pain of
longing for the Beloved, you’d have no respite and would wake up on your
own. If I have to wake you up, I might as well say your prayers for you.”

If you don’t feel the ache of yearning,

pour the road’s dirt upon your head,
for you are not a true Wayfarer.

When the heart’s pain for the Friend engulfs you,

all thoughts of Heaven and of Hell evaporate.

Parable of the Denizens of Heaven and Hell

Bu Ali Tusa,61 that peerless wise one of his age, recounted this story: “A
day will come when those in Hell will tearfully ask those in Heaven:
‘Please tell us about the joys of Paradise and of your union with the
Beloved.’
“And the denizens of Heaven will collectively reply, ‘Paradise has vanished
because here the Beloved’s face shines like the sun, and when it nears us,
the Seven Heavens darken from shame. In the brilliance of that ardent
Beauty, Heaven has no name or address.’

“Hearing this, the people of Hell will reply: ‘You who shine from Heaven’s
light, what you say is exactly so. We are residents of this terrible place, and
consumed in fire from head to toe, but when the Beloved showed us its
Beauty and we saw the disappointment on that true Friend’s face, we
realized we were a fallen group. Our remoteness from the glory of that
Countenance made the fire of regret blaze in our hearts, and we forgot all
about the fires of Hell.’ ”

Hell’s fire is just a bonfire when compared

to the fire of separation from the Beloved.

If you pine for that Great One,

then jealously keep vigilant.
In the arena of love, pangs and groans
and wounds are a must; find joy
and refuge in these lesions of the heart.

If you arrive wounded at the Great Abode,

you’ll be admitted to the soul’s private sanctuary.
Therefore, do not complain of your pain,
don’t seek a worldly cure,
instead brand your wound with a hot iron
and don’t make a peep.

Parable of a Man Praying for a Prayer Mat

A needy fellow turned his face to the Heavens and asked for a prayer mat to
lay his head on and pray. A wise man happened to hear this and said: “No
need for a prayer rug. The sand is very hot right now; go ahead and lay your
forehead on the hot earth because a wounded Wayfarer must wear such a
brand on his face. If you bear the wound of longing in your soul, such a
brand on the outside will also be appropriate.”

If you don’t arrive with a wounded heart,

the Beloved’s glance will pass over you.

Step into the Path, bring your branded heart,

for true lovers know each other by their scars.

____________________
43 Tarmazy: Mohammad ibn-Ali Hakim Tarmazy, a highly respected Islamic scholar in Iran. He
was from Tarmaz, presently located in Uzbekistan.
44 Kharaghan: Sheikh Abu al-Hassan al-Kharaqani (936–1033 CE), a prominent Sufi master to
whom Attar devoted a large part of his book Tadhkiratul-Awliya (Biography of the Saints).
45 wise ancient of Turkistan: There is no reliable reference to accurately identify this person.
46 Zulnun: Abulfayz Suban ibn-Ibrahim Messri from Egypt, famous for his piety and erudition in
religious jurisprudence.
47 a noble king: Abraham of Edham in the next parable.
48 Abraham of Edham: A celebrated man who lived in Balkh, Iran, in the second century.
According to stories told about him, he was of noble birth and lived in luxury. One day he had a soul-
changing revelation. He left behind his country and wealth, went to Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia,
and worked as a laborer. The story of his life bears some resemblance to that of the Buddha.
49 King Sanjar: Sultan of the Seljuq Empire from 1118 to 1153 CE.
50 Ahmad Hanbal: Born in Baghdad (780–855 CE), he was a prominent Muslim scholar and
theologian.
51 Beshr Hafi: A famous ascetic holy man who lived at the end of the second century. He never
wore shoes, saying that the earth was the property of God and therefore it was disrespectful to walk
on it with shoes. He is called Hafi, which means “barefoot” in Arabic.
52 the Divine and a divan: Here Attar is playing with the words rab and rob, both spelled exactly
the same ( ): one meaning the Divine; the other, tomato paste.
53 Vaseti: Abubakr Mohammed ibn-moussavi Farghani, born around the end of the third century.
He was one of the most learned mystics of Khorasan, Iran.
54 grain of wheat: In Islamic tradition, this is the equivalent of the apple in the Garden of Eden.
55 certain death: Medieval Persians believed that eating celery would move the poison faster
through the blood.
56 Bu Ali: Abu-Ali Fazl Ibn-Mohammad Farmadi also known as Bu Ali Tusa, one of the great
elders of fifth-century Iran, known for his eloquence.
57 Zekr, the ritual prayer of the dervishes, repeats the utterance of Hoo, which in Arabic references
the absent third-person singular, referring to the Divine.
58 Lat: Lat and Manat were both famous idols worshipped in the temple of Somnath in Gujarat,
India. The word somnath means “moon god.”
59 Ghazni: A town in present-day Afghanistan.
60 Zulaikha: In Christianity and other religious texts, Zulaikha is regarded as a sinner. However,
Sufi mystics interpret Zulaikha’s obsession with Joseph as a symptom and manifestation of the soul’s
deep longing for the Divine. Potiphar: When Joseph was sold into slavery, Potiphar, the captain of
the Pharaoh’s guards, bought him and made him head of his household. Potiphar’s wife, Zulaikha,
fell in love with Joseph; when he resisted her attempts to seduce him, she falsely accused him of
attempted rape. Potiphar threw Joseph in prison, but soon Joseph came to the attention of the Pharaoh
through his ability to interpret other prisoners’ dreams, and so he was released and eventually rose to
great power.
61 Bu Ali Tusa: Refers to Abu-Ali Fazl Ibn-Mohammad Farmadi. He was one of the great elders of
fifth-century Iran, known for his eloquence.
 THE
SEVEN
VALLEYS
THE JOURNEY
A Bird Asks About the Journey’s Length
The Hoopoe Speaks of the Seven Valleys

VALLEY OF THE QUEST

Valley of the Quest
Parable of Iblis Refusing to Bow
Parable of Shibli on His Deathbed
Parable of Majnun Searching for Layli
Parable of the Patience of a Babe in the Womb
Parable of an Impatient Seeker
Parable of a Dust Sifter
Parable of a Lost One Wailing

VALLEY OF LOVE
Valley of Love
Parable of a Wealthy Man and a Rice Wine Seller
Parable of a Lover in Sheepskin
Parable of a Pauper in Love
Parable of an Arab and Wandering Dervishes
Parable of a Lover Who Slayed His Beloved
Parable of Abraham and the Angel of Death

VALLEY OF KNOWLEDGE
Valley of Knowledge
Parable of a Man Turned to Stone
Parable of a Lover Who Fell Asleep
Parable of a Watchman in Love
Counsel of the Learned Abbaseh
Parable of King Mahmud and the Ascetic

VALLEY OF DETACHMENT
Valley of Detachment
Parable of the Young Man Who Fell into a Well
Counsel of a Learned of the Way
Parable of the World as a Tray of Sand
Parable of a Man to Whom Mysteries Were Unveiled
Parable of a Fly in a Honeycomb
Parable of a Dervish Who Became a Dog Keeper
Parable of a Sheikh and His Pupils

VALLEY OF UNITY
Valley of Unity
Parable of the World as a Tree Made of Wax
Parable of a Woman and Her Gold Leaf
Parable of an Old Dervish Seeking Freedom
Parable of a Lover Diving After the Beloved
Parable of King Mahmud and Ayaz

VALLEY OF WONDERMENT
Valley of Wonderment
Parable of a Princess and a Beautiful Servant
Parable of a Mother Weeping for Her Daughter
Parable of the Locked Door
Parable of the Sheikh of Nasrabad and the Fire
Parable of a Bewildered Novice

VALLEY OF POVERTY AND ANNIHILATION

Valley of Poverty and Annihilation
A Lover Gives Advice
Parable of a Lover Bemoaning the Day of Separation
Parable of the Moths
Parable of a Dervish of Words and No Action
Parable of a Dervish in Love with a Prince

ABOUT TRUE SEEKERS

Attar Speaks
Parable of the Fish That Inhales the World
THE JOURNEY

A Bird Asks About the Journey’s Length

Guardian of the Way, we’re dizzy
under the weight of this journey.
The road ahead looks arduous.
How far is the destination, friend?

The Hoopoe Speaks of the Seven Valleys

My impatient bird, no one knows how far
one must travel to the portal to that Great Court.
No one has ever made this journey and returned,
for upon arrival, the Wayfarer becomes
lost and absorbed.

There are seven valleys we must traverse

to reach the Beloved’s door.
First is the Valley of the Quest,
followed by the Valley of Love.

Third comes the Valley of Knowledge,

fourth, the Valley of Detachment,
followed by the Valley of Unity.

Sixth is the Valley of Wonderment.

When you reach the seventh,
the Valley of Poverty and Annihilation,
you can go no further. You will lose
all your volition and succumb to being pulled in.
If you arrive as a drop, you will join and become the Ocean.
VALLEY OF THE QUEST

Valley of the Quest

When you descend into the Valley of the Quest,
expect trials and tribulations.
They will plague you at every turn.

Here, with each breath

you inhale a hundred calamities.

Here, the wandering parrot changes

into a common fly.

Here, years of toil and of sweat are needed

to stir and transform your senses.

There is no room here for pride,

or self-importance,
or the things you value and hoard.

Here, one must journey through

one’s own blood.
Here one must wholly give up
all things linked to existence.

Stand empty-handed,
and the cleansing of your heart begins.

Purge your heart of its own traits,

and the virtues of the Divine will reflect in it.
When light brightens your soul,
a single desire of the heart
multiplies into a thousand.

If fire flares and blazes the path

to the Beloved
and a hundred arduous valleys
suddenly unfurl,
the heart of a true lover flings itself
headlong into the flames,
like a moth feverish with desire.

That’s when mystery shape-shifts

into longing,
and the lover begs
for a sip of wine from the lip
of the Beloved’s cup.

With a single taste of that elixir,

the heart forgets everything
in this world and the world to come,
and drowns—

yet with lips still cracked and parched,

the seeker begs the Beloved to unravel
the mysteries of itself.

In this valley the lover casts aside

all fears, even that of savage dragons,
in order to fathom the divine Beloved.
 If denial and damnation arrive holding hands,
the lover will welcome them both,
for they may open a door to the Beloved,
and when that door finally opens,
there will be neither denial
nor damnation on the other side.

Parable of Iblis62 Refusing to Bow

When the Almighty decided to breathe pure spirit into Adam’s body of
water and earth, that Divine did not wish the mystery of Adam revealed.
Therefore, that Blessed Beauty commanded: “Hallowed ones of Heaven,
bow before Adam!”

All the angels prostrated, putting their foreheads to the ground, and did not
witness the mystery. But Iblis quietly said: “I won’t bow, even if it means I
will lose my head. I know Adam is not made of earth alone and I must
witness this mystery.”

And so Iblis did not bow, but instead looked on and beheld the mystery of
Adam’s creation.
The Almighty reprimanded Iblis: “You spy! You did not obey and
witnessed the mystery, therefore to keep you from divulging it to the others,
I shall end your existence. When a sovereign hides a treasure, that king
draws an X on whoever witnesses the hiding place and ends that life. You,
Iblis, wanted to find the treasure and lurked in a corner and in so doing you
chose to lose your life. If I don’t do it now, you will surely divulge my
secret.”

But Iblis pleaded: “Beloved, have mercy on this slave. Let there be a
remedy for my betrayal.”

The Almighty replied: “Mercy on you rests with me alone. I lock the collar
of damnation around your neck, brand your name as a deceiver, and you
shall stay accursed until the end of time.”
Iblis replied: “Since I know about that pure treasure, how can I then fear a
curse? The curse is yours, forgiveness is also yours; all of creation belongs
to you and destiny is under your command. If damnation is my lot, I have
no fear. Not everything must be a remedy; poison is necessary too. When I
saw the whole of creation begging for your mercy, I insolently reached for
your damnation. The recipient of your mercy is no better than the one who
receives your curse, for both come from you.”

If you are a seeker, behave like one,

don’t pretend you’re a conqueror.

If you can’t find the Beloved,

that Beauty is not lost,
it’s you who don’t know where to seek.

Parable of Shibli on His Deathbed

That great soul, Shibli, was restless at the hour of his death. His heart was
impatient. Having closed his eyes to everything in the world, he sat waiting
amidst ashes, a heathen’s belt wrapped about his waist. Sometimes his tears
mingled with the ashes; at other times he smeared the ashes in his hair.

Someone asked him: “Why have you donned a heathen’s belt at such a
time?”

He replied: “I burn; what else can I do? I’m consumed with jealousy; what
else can I do? When I closed my eyes to both worlds, I caught the fire of
envy for Satan because that angel alone was awarded a curse. So here I am,
melting, my heart thirsty, all because the Beloved gave something extra to
someone else.”

If you discriminate between a gem and a pebble

given you by the Beloved,
this journey is not for your soul.
 If you feel endeared because a gift is a gemstone
or demeaned because it’s a common rock,
that Royal will not want you.

What does it matter, gem or rock;

look at the hands that gave it to you.
If your lover drunkenly throws a stone at you,
it’s better than any gem offered by another.

Wayfarer, keep on your toes in your search,

be ready to relinquish everything in this Path.
Don’t stop seeking, not for a moment.
Do not rest, not for a second.
If you falter in this quest, you fool,
you’ll be known as a quitter.

Parable of Majnun Searching for Layli

Majnun,63 that famous lover, flung himself onto the road’s dust and was
searching through the dirt with great care and despair. A passerby asked:
“What are you looking for, Majnun?”
He replied: “I am seeking my beloved Layli.”64

The man cried out: “Layli is like fresh water’s pure pearl! Why are you
looking for her in dust and dirt?”

Majnun replied: “I seek Layli everywhere on the chance that I might find
her somewhere.”

Parable of the Patience of a Babe in the Womb

Yusuf-i-Hamadan, that wise seer, once said: “All parts of existence, above
and below, are Jacob-particles looking for their lost Joseph. Pain and hope
are inevitable in the Beloved’s Path, and if your eyes can’t find their goal,
don’t give up—persist. Even though lovers have no patience, search with
patience until you find your Beloved.

“Like a babe in the womb, curl up and stay put. Do not come out of
yourself, not for a second. You may crave bread, but suffice yourself with
blood. A babe draws strength only from blood. Trouble always comes from
the outside. So like a babe, drink only blood and bravely sit tight. Be patient
and you will attain your heart’s desire.”

Parable of an Impatient Seeker

One day, Sheikh Mehna left for the fields in great despair, his eyes red and
his heart broken in two. In this state, he came upon an old peasant tethering
an ox with such joy it seemed as if light cascaded from the old fellow. So
the sheikh greeted the peasant and told him about his troubles.

The old man listened, then said: “My dear man, if from the carpet of this
earth to the glorious Throne above, they fill the world with seeds, not once
but a hundred times, and if every thousand years a bird took a single grain
and flew with it around the world a thousand times, it will still be too soon
to catch a whiff of fragrance from the Beloved’s door.”

You need patience in this quest.

Not everyone is a patient seeker.
Not until the quest appears inside you
will you know the scent of longing in your blood.

But if your quest moves to the outside of you,

even if it is toward the Divine,
it will remain immature and unripe.

If you’re not a seeker,

you might as well be a corpse,
a lifeless shadow on a wall,
a soulless puppet or a beast.
 If you happen to find a treasure, then you must
persist even more in your quest;
stay on the Path.
But if you are cheered by that treasure
it will become an obstacle and ruin your progress.

Whatever keeps you from the Path is an idol

and will convert you into an idol worshipper.

If your head is light and your heart is hot,

if you are drunk and senseless with the wine
of longing, how can you ever be satisfied
with just one sip of anything?
Go find the source where wine flows
and never runs out.

Parable of a Dust Sifter

One night, King Mahmud was wandering about without his escorts when he
came upon a dust sifter, head bent low as he sieved through the dirt and dust
he had swept into a pile. When the king saw this, he threw his jeweled
armband into the pile of dust and took off as fast as the wind on his royal
horse.

The next evening when the king passed the same sifter, he saw the fellow
was still busy sieving for treasure.

He said: “Surely the jewels you found last night would buy you comfort in
the world ten times over, so why are you still sifting through dust? Now that
you are not in need, why don’t you act like a wealthy man?”

The man replied: “Yes, I found a hidden treasure last night because of my
hard work, and that is good enough reason to never stop the search.”
 If you’re a true seeker, be wary.
Don’t be distracted by what is not the Beloved.

The only closed doors are your own eyes.

Keep searching, for the Creator’s door is always open.

Parable of a Lost One Wailing

Someone was praying and wailing: “Dear Almighty, please open a door!”

The wise Rabi’a who sat nearby turned her head and said: “Oblivious man,
when was the door ever shut?”
VALLEY OF LOVE

Valley of Love
Next comes the Valley of Love.

Walk here and drown in fire,

for in this valley only fire lives.

If you are not a lover of fire,

then leave,
because a true lover is one with fire;
a true lover ignites, burns, and flares like fire.

There’s no providence in the Valley of Love,

not a single grain of thought
about infidels or the faithful,
about doubts or convictions.

Here, a lover joyfully gathers and throws

a hundred worlds into the fire.

Here, right and wrong are mates,

because in love two becomes one.

You who stand aloof, this valley is not for you.

You deniers, this place will not appeal to you.

Lovers worthy of being in this valley

give away everything and boast
of their approaching union with the Beloved.
Others may search for their desires
in plans and tomorrows,
but true lovers know that everything they desire
is right here in the Valley of Love.

If you cannot throw your heart into the fire,

then how can you be free from your despair?

If silk does not burn to its innermost core,

how can it brighten its own heart with joy?

If a fish flops onto shore from the sea,

it flaps and struggles until it slips back.

In this valley, love is fire, mind is smoke.

When love arrives, reason flees.

The mind is not a master in the art of love;

love cannot labor in the brain.

When sight is gifted to you by the Invisible,

you will finally see the heart of love.

Every leaf exists because of love,

bent with the drunkenness of love.

Open those eyes given to you

and fuse with the universe.
If you open only the mind’s eyes,
you will never see love in full.

Love is the business of the experienced.

Love is the business of the free.
 You who are neither experienced nor in love
are lifeless and don’t deserve love.

On this thousand-branched road,

the joyful in heart must offer up
a hundred lives with every breath.

Parable of a Wealthy Man and a Rice Wine Seller

A wealthy man fell in love with a young seller of rice wine. Crazed with
love, this rich man left his home and family in disgrace and sold every stick
of furniture and property he owned to keep buying wine from his beloved.
When he had sold everything and was reduced to abject poverty, his love
increased a hundred-fold. He begged for his bread and was often hungry,
but his soul was satiated.

Every time someone gave him a piece of bread, he’d use it to buy rice wine
because he’d rather starve but have a moment of serenity in the presence of
his beloved.

Someone asked him: “Distraught fellow, what is this love?”

The man replied: “Love is selling your worldly goods to buy a drop of
wine.”

If you don’t grasp this story,

you’ll never know love.

Parable of a Lover in Sheepskin

Majnun was ardently in love with Layli, but her kin had forbidden him to
see her, nor was he permitted to be anywhere near her tribe.

So the love-drunk Majnun went to a shepherd and asked him for a

sheepskin. He then put it on, dropped to his hands and knees, and told the
shepherd, “For pity’s sake, herd us toward Layli’s tribe so that I, disguised
as a sheep, may catch Layli’s scent and experience a moment of joy.”

If you suffer love’s torment,

you’re brave to the roots of your hair.
But if you’re a stranger to love’s sting,
leave, for this arena is only for the bold.

Disguised as a sheep, Majnun soon caught sight of his beloved. A feverish

tide overcame him and before long, too much ardor drove him out of his
mind. The shepherd caught him, carried him back to the field, and splashed
water on his face until the fire in Majnun’s soul was somewhat calmed.

Later, the love-intoxicated Majnun pitched his tent with another tribe. A
fellow from that tribe asked him: “Why are you naked, friend? Tell me
whatever garment you desire and I’ll provide it immediately.”

Majnun replied: “Not every garment is worthy of my beloved. Nothing suits

me better than sheepskin. The skin of a sheep is silk and satin to this crazed
lover. Anyone who loves Layli must ask for no other garment. Inside such a
coat I caught the fragrance of my beloved, so now how can I ask for
anything else? My heart learned news of her through this disguise. And
since I can’t pluck the kernel, I must suffice myself with the shell.”

Love must first drag you

beyond wisdom and common sense
before it flips you inside out,
turns you upside down.

The first step in erasing who you are

is to make a gift of your life
and to give up trivialities.
Step into the Path if you are bold;
such self-sacrifice is no game.
Parable of a Pauper in Love
A pauper fell in love with King Mahmud’s favorite servant, Ayaz. The poor
fellow made quite a spectacle of himself and became the talk of town. If the
musky-haired Ayaz rode his horse, that pious destitute man would run after
him; if he entered the square, the fellow would be there too, eyes glued to
his beloved.

The news of the beggar’s love for Ayaz reached the king, and the following
day when Ayaz rode into the polo field, the king watched the beggar run
after Ayaz with utmost love, eyes fixed on his beloved, as if he himself
were the polo ball struck by Ayaz’s stick. Thin as a barley straw, face
yellow as hay, back bent like a polo stick, that beggar ran like a struck stray
ball all over the field.

King Mahmud summoned the man and said: “Beggar, do you intend to
drink from the same cup as your king?”

“I may be a beggar,” said the man, “but in love I’m no less than a king.
Indeed, destitution and love go hand in hand, and in love lack of capital is
my gain. Love draws its flavor from poverty; it’s the pauper who deserves
love.

“You rule the world and your heart is alight with joy. But love requires a
charred heart such as mine. You possess the joy of possession, nothing
more; wait a while, experience the pain of separation. Union with one’s
beloved is possible only if you’re truly in love, show patience, and
experience separation’s pain. If you’re a true lover, give up possession; try
separation.”

The king said: “Clueless man, why do you see everything as if you were a
polo ball?”

The man replied: “It is because I spin like a ball, and a ball spins like me—
we are one and the same. I know the ball’s worth and it knows mine, both
of us in the crook of our beloved’s polo stick, whirling as we hold tight to
our souls, without our bodies, without our heads. The ball and I exchange
fistfuls of yearnings and are both pitiable wretches, but the ball is luckier
than me, for it kisses the hooves of his horse from time to time. And while
the ball receives the blows on its body, this beggar takes them on his soul
because Ayaz only chases the ball. Yes, the ball attains his presence from
time to time and the anticipating closeness brings it joy, but this beggar is
left to endure separation from him.”

The king replied: “Dervish, you stand before me claiming absolute poverty.
Show me you are not lying; I want proof.”

The beggar replied: “How can I claim absolute poverty when I still hold on
to my life? I have claimed destitution, what I have not yet attained. But if I
lay down my life for love, then my poverty will be complete. But where is
the truth of love in you, O king? Give up your life, or don’t boast of it!”

Then the beggar gave up his soul, surrendering his life for the face of his
beloved.

When he laid his life down on the dust of the road, King Mahmud’s world
turned black with grief.

If gambling with your life seems slight,

come and see how the wager is won.
If you hear the call, “Enter,”
you’ll lose yourself and all that you possess.

Parable of an Arab and Wandering Dervishes

An Arab traveling through Persia was astounded by its ways and customs.
One day, as he walked around looking goggle-eyed at everything, he came
upon a group of wandering Qalandar dervishes65 who had given up all ties
with the world, including their families. They were a bunch of shameless
rascals, utterly uninhibited, who had gambled away both worlds without
any hesitation. Outwardly they were filthy and seemed like dice-fixers and
thieves, but inwardly they were purer that most men. They carried bowls of
drink in hand, but it wasn’t wine they were drunk with.
When the Arab saw them, he lost all sense of himself and his reason too,
and went to them. When the dervishes saw the Arab so bereft of mind and
sense, they said: “Enter, you nobody.”

He went in and that was all. A drunk gave him drink from his bowl and
made him drunk too. He lost control of himself. In a single wager he lost
the fortune of gold and silver he was carrying. Another drunk gave him
more wine, and before long the Arab was left by the road, robbed of his
clothes too.

He wandered until he finally reached home, half-naked, penniless, and

parched. His kin cried out: “Why are you in such a state? Where is your
gold and silver? Where did you sleep? Your wealth is gone and confusion
has overtaken you. Going to Persia was not a lucky move for you. Did
robbers waylay you? Where is all your property? Tell us, what happened to
you?”

The fellow replied: “I was happily on my way when I came upon a group of
wandering dervishes. After that, I don’t know what happened. My silver
and gold left me and I became nothing.”

They said: “Describe these dervishes to us.”

He said: “All I can recall is, ‘Enter!’”

This Arab man was left like one annihilated. The only thing he owned now
was that single word.

Step out, or be on your own way.

Keep your life, or yield it to the Beloved.

If you welcome love’s mysteries with your soul,

you’ll happily give up everything for its sake.

Abandon all, stay naked.

Then what will remain is the call, “Enter!”
That’s when you’ll step inside.
Parable of a Lover Who Slayed His Beloved
A righteous, learned man fell fiercely in love with a stunning woman. But
as fate would have it, she fell ill and grew thin and yellow. The news of her
illness transformed day into night in that lover’s heart, and when he was
told that soon death would come calling on that great beauty, he brandished
a knife and ran out, howling: “I will slay my beloved with my own hands so
that she is not taken by mere death.”

People cried out: “Have you lost your mind? What wisdom do you see in
such action? Stop this nonsense and don’t go shedding her blood. Sadly,
before long she herself will die. To kill one who is dead is useless. Only a
fool cuts off the head of a corpse.”

The man replied: “If I kill my beloved with my own hands, I will be
punished most cruelly in retaliation. Then at the time of resurrection, before
all eyes, I will be burned like a candle. Today I will die from desire;
tomorrow I will burn for her in longing. Isn’t that enough? I will find
gratification both here and in the hereafter. I will become known as the man
who died and burned for his love.”

Lovers who walk the Way,

prepare to gamble away your lives.
Detach from both worlds.
Banish life’s strenuous ways.
Unfasten your hearts from material being.

When your soul rises from itself

without itself,
it will finally be alone with the Beloved.

Parable of Abraham and the Angel of Death

When Abraham, that friend of the Almighty, was on his deathbed, he
refused to yield to Azrael, the angel of death. He said to that angel: “Go tell
the Almighty not to demand from a friend his soul.”

The Almighty sent the reply: “If you were indeed a friend, you would
readily yield to the Friend. What friend holds back his soul from his true
friend? Must it be taken from you by force?”

Someone at Abraham’s side asked him: “Candle of the world, why don’t
you submit to Azrael? Lovers risk their lives in the path of the Friend. Why
do you hold yours back?”

Abraham replied: “I will not relinquish my soul because Azrael stands

between the Friend and me. When I was to be thrown into Nimrod’s fire,
Gabriel came to me and said, ‘Ask what you will!’ but I did not even glance
in that angel’s direction lest that glance stand between the Beloved and me.
I averted my eyes from the angel Gabriel back then; why would I now give
a glance to the angel of death?

“This is why I won’t yield, no, not until I hear ‘Enter!’ from the Beloved.
Once that command reaches me, I will yield, for I do not value my soul at
even half a barleycorn. But I will wait until it is demanded of me by my
Beloved. Until then, I will not yield it to either world.”
VALLEY OF KNOWLEDGE

Valley of Knowledge
Next, enter the Valley of Knowledge,
with its boundless myriad roads
unfurling in every direction.

Here, no path resembles the next.

Here, the traveler of the body is different
from the traveler of the soul.

Here, both body and soul

progress, regress,
decline and rise,
each according to its own worth.

In this Abrahamic place,

how can a sickly spider
keep up with an elephant’s pace?
Your journey is greased by
your own measure and maturity.

A fly can flap its wings all it wants,

but how can it keep up with the wind?
We each travel our own path;
no two birds journey the same.

Here, knowledge splits

into unnumbered insights.
One person finds it in a church or a mosque,
another finds it in a shrine for idols.
When the sun of knowledge shimmers
in the Beloved’s exalted sky,
each traveler is given sight
according to his own measure and share;
each traveler regains her true rank.

The secret of every atom will be unveiled,

and this ash-pit world will sprout into a rose garden.
Then you will see past the shell
into the kernel of everything.
You will see yourself as nothing,
become blind to everything
except the Friend.

A hundred thousand mysteries

will be unmasked, and for every hundred
thousand who lose their way, only one will arrive.
It takes a stout soul of the Way
to dive headlong into that bottomless sea.

If mysteries excite you,

then each moment will bloom
a new yearning in your soul.
Here, unending thirst prevails.
Here, a hundred thousand sacrifices are necessary.

If you reach that Great Throne,

don’t boast,
rather ask: Is there more?
Drown yourself in that ocean of knowledge,
or else rub the road’s dust on your head.

If you do not come here a worshipper,

go away and weep, sleepy one.
If you are not joyful in your union with your Beloved,
keep on mourning your separation.
 If you do not see the Beloved’s face,
get up! What are you waiting for?
Go look for it!
Shame on you,
if you don’t know the taste of desire.
Don’t drift like an idle, aimless ass.

Parable of a Man Turned to Stone

There was once a man who solidified into a rock in the mountains of China.
He shed mournful tears that fell as pebbles. If clouds were to rain such
tears, the world would always be miserable.

Knowledge is like that man, truthful and pure. Go seek that knowledge,
even if it takes you as far as China, for knowledge has petrified in grief for
want of a seeker’s zeal, the absence of those who value and seek it.

In the house of affliction, where darkness rules, knowledge is a shining rare

jewel. Let your soul be guided by its effulgence, for it is the light of science,
the kind that expands the realm of the soul. In this limitless dark, you are
like the guideless Alexander who was told if he took even a tiny piece of
the night-illuminating jewel66 he’d regret it, and if he didn’t take any, he’d
be even sorrier.

Both this world and the next

are adrift within the soul.
The body hidden in the soul,
the soul secreted in the body
—each is lost inside the other.

Emerge from your confusion,

find the inner seat of your humanity.
There, a single breath will fill you
with the answer to a hundred mysteries.
 But if you waver in the Path,
lamentation will swallow you from head to toe.
Keep vigil at night and fast during the day,
until yearning for knowledge
surfaces within you.

Yearn and seek until everything,

even the yearning itself, evaporates.

Parable of a Lover Who Fell Asleep

A lover fell asleep on a heap of earth, exhausted by his longing and tears.
His beloved came by and found him lost in sleep. She wrote a note and
pinned it to his sleeve. When the man woke up and read the note, he fell
into an even greater agitation.

The note read: “Sleeping man, if you are a merchant, then get up and go
after your silver; if you are an ascetic, keep awake at night and pray until
dawn, and serve. But if you are a lover, then shame on you! What does
sleep have to do with the eyes of a lover? A lover wanders about aimlessly
by day, and walks sleepless under the shimmer of the moon. Lost,
unenlightened man, if you are neither this nor that, don’t lie by boasting of
love. If you sleep anywhere but inside your own shroud, you may call
yourself a lover but you are in love only with yourself. Your love has
sprung from ignorance; therefore, sleep well, you do not belong to the city
of lovers.”

Parable of a Watchman in Love

A watchman fell so deeply in love that he no longer had any peace, nor
could he sleep. A friend told him: “Sleepless one, catch a little snooze at
night.”

He replied: “Being in love and a watchman are now my twin occupations.

The two have become intertwined. How can a watchman sleep a wink,
especially when he is in love? Where can I snatch a bit of sleep? It is not
something I can borrow. Love tests me every night and watches the
watchman.”

Sometimes the watchman went on his rounds sounding the rattle of “All is
well.” At other times out of longing he beat his own face and chest. That
sleepless, fasting man knew if he closed his eyes his lover might come and
think him dead.

His cries of anguish kept everyone awake at night. Finally, a friend went to
him and said: “Tormented man, come on, won’t you have a moment’s sleep
tonight?”

He replied: “A watchman’s job is wakefulness, and a lover’s work is

keeping his face wet with tears. How can my tears flow if I fall asleep? In
me, the lover and the watchman have joined forces, and sleep has been
carried from my eyes off to the ocean. Indeed, love assists the watchman by
robbing his eyes of sleep.”

If sleeplessness suits you,

why bother with slumber?
Shun it if you are a seeker.
But if your love is just talk,
then sleep on, sleep tight.

Be a watchman in the alleys of the heart

where thieves lie in ambush;
keep that jewel, the essence of the heart,
safe from their gaze.
 When you become such a watchman,
love will appear
with knowledge and awareness.
In this sea of blood, vigilance
will make a seer of you.
So, for the sake of your heart, sleep less.
Keep vigil, stay awake, and you’ll arrive
at the Great Court with an awakened heart.

How much more can I say when you are drowning?

Shouts and calls won’t fish out a sinking soul.

Lovers travel ahead till they eclipse us all;

if they pass out, it’s from their intoxication with love.
Follow the lead of those brave souls;
drink as they have drunk.
Let love engulf you and you’ll quickly find
the key that unlocks both worlds.
If you are weak, you’ll become strong;
if you are strong, you’ll become a bottomless ocean.

Counsel of the Learned Abbaseh

“Lovers, should a single ray of love’s pain shine on you, if you’re a man
you will give birth to a woman, and if you’re a woman, you’ll give birth to
a man. Was not Eve born of Adam, and Jesus from Mary? Until this light
dawns on you fully, you will know nothing, attain nothing. But when it
shines with all its power, you will arrive at the kingdom of knowledge, and
reach your heart’s desire. This is true wealth. A single atom of that light is
worth more than a world of religions and faith.”

If you stay content with this world,

you’ll remain forever lost.
Knowledge is the everlasting realm;
seek it, achieve it.
 Drunk with soul-knowledge
you’ll soar above everyone;
the earthly dominions will seem
small as a single seed.
The nine skies will be a skiff on your sea.

If the world’s sovereigns could taste

a sip from that boundless ocean,
they’d keen in grief and avoid
each other’s eyes from stinging pain.

Parable of King Mahmud and the Ascetic

One day quite by chance King Mahmud came upon a ruin in which a mad
ascetic sat with head bowed in grief, back bent as if burdened under a
mountain of sorrows.

When the man saw the king, he cried out: “Keep away, or else I’ll strike
you a hundred times. Be gone! You are no king! You’re just a heathen lout
who doesn’t give thanks to his Beloved.”
The king replied: “I am King Mahmud, don’t call me a heathen. I will give
you a chance to justify yourself with a word and no more.”

The man said: “Oblivious man, if you only knew from whom your kingship
is keeping you, you would not only pour ashes and dust on your head but
also set it on fire.”
VALLEY OF DETACHMENT

Valley of Detachment
Next, you come to the Valley of Detachment.
Here, entitlements and meanings
are irrelevant.
From this valley’s air of self-sufficiency
surges a storm that ravages
whole countries in one blow.

Here, the seven seas are but a puddle,

the seven planets are just a spark.
The eight pleasures of paradise
are as fun as a corpse,
and the seven hells are frozen ice.

Here, for no reason an ant

has an elephant’s superstrength.
Here, by the time a greedy crow
fills its stomach with seeds,
a hundred caravans perish.

Here, a hundred thousand green-clad angels

burned in grief until Adam’s heart was illuminated.
A hundred thousand bodies were emptied of souls
until Noah became a sailor.

A hundred thousand gnats formed an army

until Abraham found victory.
A hundred thousand babes lost their heads
until Moses became the possessor of Sight.
 A hundred thousand held fast to old dogmas
until Jesus found the divine mysteries.
A hundred thousand endured wretchedness
until Mohammad miraculously ascended to Heaven.

Here, neither new nor ancient has any value.

Here it’s all the same if you act or if you’re idle.
If you have suffered a world of hardship,
here, it’s all a dream.
If a thousand lives perish in the sea,
here, a mere dewdrop has slipped into that vastness.

If a hundred thousand heads lie down to sleep,

here, it’s as if an atom has cast a shadow.
If the sky crashes down and the stars fall like rain,
here, nothing more than a single leaf has floated from a tree.

If everything is erased, from the moonfish to the moon,

here, it’s as if an ant has injured its leg in a well.
If both worlds perish in a flash,
it’s as if a grain of sand has gone missing.

If no trace of the devil or humankind remain,

give it less thought than you would a drop of rain.
If all bodies hit the ground and all animals vanish,
so what?

Here, if everything great and small suddenly departs,

it’s as if a single straw has been drawn and tossed.
If all nine spheres of existence vanish in a flash,
it’s as if a single drop has faded into the seven seas.

Parable of the Young Man Who Fell into a Well

In a village lived a beautiful young man. One day, that Joseph-like moon
fell into a well. A heap of earth dislodged and trapped him under it. When
he was finally rescued, he was near death. That virtuous youth’s name was
Mohammad, and he was one step away from the next world.

When his father saw him in that state, he said: “Son, light of your father’s
eyes, Mohammad, my soul, be kind to your father and say something.”

His son replied: “What is there left to say? Where is Mohammad? Where is
your son? Where is anyone?” Then he surrendered his soul. And that was
that.

Look, Wayfarer, possessor of sight.

Where is Mohammad?
Where are Adam and his descendants?
Where is all we’ve named great and small?
Where is sky? Where are the mountains?
Where is earth? Where are the angels?
Where is Satan and where are the people and kingdoms?
Where are the countless bodies made of dust?
Where are all the pure souls now?
At the hour of your death, tell me,
where is the body, where is the soul?
Where is anything, where is anyone?
 If you sift through what is
in both worlds and a hundred more,
in death’s kingdom you’ll find
nothing remains in your sieve.

Counsel of a Learned of the Way

Yusef of Hamadam, a learned seer of the Way, vigilant-hearted and wise,
once said: “Whether you spend a lifetime upon a throne or down below on a
carpet of dust, you’ll find that whatever was, is, and will be—down to the
tiniest atom, good and bad—all are but a single drop in one ocean. Then
what difference does it make what came from what or from whom?”

The Valley of Detachment isn’t easy nor smooth.

If you fancy it’s a breeze,
that’s because you’re ignorant.

If your heart’s blood floods the road

and forms a sea, still
you will not have advanced
more than a single step.
If you walk myriad roads without stopping,
it’s as if you’ve taken just one step.

No Wayfarer can see the Road’s end.

No one has found the cure
for what must be endured.

If you halt, you turn to a rock,

despondent, immobile as a corpse.
If you hurry and run,
you never hear the call, “Enter.”
It won’t do to stand still or to hurry,
to die or to be born.
It’s a difficult business;
what’s the use?
It’s a tough job without a teacher,
so what’s the use?

Expect and don’t expect, silent seeker;

abandon greed for work, yet keep on task.
Don’t pay so much attention to how
you’re doing; instead, expand the work.
Don’t value what you do,
yet increase the doing of it.

That way, if at the journey’s end

your labor has been useful,
you’ll have accrued a good deal,
and if it was all for nothing,
so what? Now you will have eternity
to make up for lost time.

Abandon work, yet work with abandon;

work little but work hard at working, too.
How can you know what needs to be done or not?
If only you could, and could manage it too!

Become independent and detached,

whether you’re a musician
or a professional mourner.
Here, the lightning flash of detachment
thunders from a single spark
that catches a hundred worlds on fire.
Here, a hundred worlds crumble to dust,
and if no worlds remain,
it won’t matter a bit, not in this valley.
Parable of the World as a Tray of Sand
You have perhaps seen how a foolish sage spreads sand on his tray and
draws images and patterns on it, tracing fixed and moving stars. He creates
an earth and sky, and makes prognostications about this and that. He calls
forth the stars and the houses of the zodiac, and reveals their risings and
settings. He portends omens and auspicious events, draws houses of birth
and death. And when he has calculated and foretold to his heart’s content,
he grabs a corner of the tray and shakes it all clean. When you look at the
tray again, it’s as if nothing had been drawn on it and all those signs and
images never existed.

The outward existence of this complex kaleidoscopic world is just like the
forms and images on that tray: nothing.

If you cannot stomach this world, don’t loiter about this board. Go sit in a
corner.
This is where the brave become insignificant and live untroubled by either
world. If you lack the courage to tread this Path, even if you are a mountain,
you weigh less than a blade of straw.

Parable of a Man to Whom Mysteries Were

Unveiled
After the world’s mysteries were unveiled to a wise man, a voice called to
him and said: “Ancient one, you may take whatever you wish.”

The old man replied: “Look how every prophet throughout the ages has
been plagued with calamities. See how wherever there was suffering, there
were prophets too. If such grief is the share of prophets, they who are such
lofty souls, then how can this obscure old man find any comfort in anything
that can be taken from here? I don’t want respect, nor do I seek humiliation,
so leave me alone in my own feebleness. When the best of them get pain
and suffering, how can a lesser one such as I get pleasure? The prophets had
the capacity for such work, but I have no such strength, so let me be.”
 What use is all this I tell you?
No use at all,
unless you experience it yourself.

You have fallen in this perilous ocean,

like a wingless partridge,
but if you were told of the whale waiting in the deep,
you wouldn’t want to continue the Journey.
Your imagination would send you into a fitful fright,
but since you have already fallen, how then
will you drag your soul back to the shore?

Parable of a Fly in a Honeycomb

As a fly was searching for food, he spied a comb of honey in a corner.
Overcome with longing, he began to buzz loudly: “Where is the noble
fellow who will guide me into this honeycomb in exchange for a grain of
barley? I wish to enter this hive because the bees seem so happy inside.”

Someone took the fly’s grain of barley and let the insect into the hive. When
the fly got busy with the honey, his feet became stuck. He floundered about
until his joints grew weak. The more he struggled, the more stuck he
became. “Help!” he cried out. “This honey kills worse than poison. I gave a
grain of barley to enter this hive, but now I would give two to get out.”

In the Valley of Detachment you cannot take

thoughtless liberty, no, not even for a moment.
Here, the true Wayfarer must be mature.

Distracted heart, you’ve spent your time

in absentmindedness for an age,
following fruitless pursuits.
Where will you find another lifetime
to correct this?
 Rise up and cut your way
through this difficult valley;
spread your wings, detach yourself
from both heart and soul,
for as long as you hold on to them
you are a worshipper of idols—
no, even more lost than that.

Yield your soul,

surrender your heart,
or else they will divert you,
waylay you far from the Valley of Detachment.

Parable of a Dervish Who Became a Dog Keeper

A famous sheikh clad in a dervish’s cape fell in love with the daughter of a
dog trader. His love for the humble maiden grew so intense that his blood
billowed in the sea of his heart. Soon he took to sleeping with the dogs on
her street on the chance he might catch a glimpse of her face.

When the girl’s mother found out, she said: “Sheikh, your heart has lost its
way. Our profession is the keeping and selling of dogs, that is all. If you are
serious about our daughter, then you must become a dog trader like us. You
can then marry her in a year’s time.”

The sheikh’s love was unwavering and so he threw off his dervish cape and
quickly went to work. He took a dog to the market and from then on
practiced that lowly trade for nearly a year.

A fellow Sufi saw him and said: “You nobody! For thirty years you were a
brave exemplar to us all. What are you doing caring for filthy dogs? Why
are you engaged in work considered unclean by our faith?”

The sheikh replied: “You oblivious fool, don’t pontificate at such length.
Were you to only look behind the veil of this story! The Almighty has
mysterious ways, and you may end up doing this same work one day. On
seeing your haughty contempt, the Great One might transfer this dog from
my hands to yours.”

What more can I say?

I speak of the Journey’s pain,
and not a single brave Wayfarer steps forth.
My words have been of no use,
for not one of you has become a seeker of mysteries.
Learn the mysteries of the Way,
and you’ll grasp what I’m saying.
What’s the use of saying another word?
What good am I as your leader when you’re all asleep?

Parable of a Sheikh and His Pupils

A novice said to a sheikh: “Give us some good advice.”

The sheikh replied: “Get out of here! If you go and wash your faces, then I
might tell you a few things. What use is musk-scent inside filth? What use
is preaching to drunks?”
VALLEY OF UNITY

Valley of Unity
Arrive in the Valley of Unity
and give up everything except the absolute.

All who traverse this valley

will leave sharing a single collar.
Here, the many and the few
will merge and meld into one.

When many are united in the One forever,

then all inside the One is a perfection.

This is not a place for uniformity;

here you find unity in diversity.

Everything here is outside of time,

outside of measurements,
so forget about the Beginning,
forget about the End.

The Beginning is lost;

the End stretches into eternity.
Don’t bother with them, they’re irrelevant.
And since all is really nothing,
then nothing is truly everything.

Parable of the World as a Tree Made of Wax

Someone asked an enraptured dervish: “Explain to me, what is the world?
What substance are things made of?”

The dervish replied: “This world, so full of fame and shame, is like a palm
tree made from multicolored wax. If you rub your hand on this tree, its bark
will dissolve on your palm, because it is made of nothing but wax—
colorful, yes, but nothing more.”

Since all is one, there is no two.

There is no me apart from you.

Parable of a Woman and Her Gold Leaf

An old woman went to Bu Ali and offered him a gold leaf. “This is my gift
to you,” she said.
Bu Ali replied: “I have made a covenant to not accept anything from
anyone except from the hand of the Beloved.”

The woman replied: “Bu Ali, where did you get your double vision? In this
Path you have no power, nor any authority. Unless you suffer from double
vision, how can you distinguish between anything and the Beloved?”

A Wayfarer sees the Beloved in everything,

looks at a pagan temple
and sees only the Beloved’s home,
hears and listens to the Almighty’s words
and finds strength only through that Great One.

If you see the Beloved in everything,

you’ll know nothing but the Beloved.
You are in the Beloved,
from the Beloved,
with the Beloved,
of the Beloved,
and outside the Beloved, too.
If you don’t lose yourself
in the ocean of unity,
even if you are a descendant of Adam,
you are not truly human.

There is an invisible sun

hidden inside us all.
The day will come when the veil falls away
and that sun is revealed and shines,
and in its resplendent light
all virtues and corruption vanish.

So long as you exist,

there will be good and evil,
but when you lose yourself,
they will vanish too.

If you choose to dwell in your own self,

the good and evil will remain with you too,
and the road will stretch out even farther.

The moment you emerged from nothingness

you became ensnared in your ego.
Go on, return to nothingness;
free yourself from your self.
Purge the evil from yourself,
empty everything out and return to dust,
for how do you know what corruption
you carry and what muck lingers inside?

Beneath the curtain of your ego

lie snakes and scorpions, still asleep.
Touch them lightly and they’ll wake,
rise like a hundred dragons.
We all carry an inferno of such creatures.
If you occupy yourself with your ego,
your life will be lived in their hellish company.
But if you rid yourself of the snakes
and scorpions one by one,
you’ll sleep sweetly inside the earth.
Don’t carry those creatures with you.
They will sting and bite to the end of time.

Attar, how much more of this metaphorical language?

Return, already, to the mysteries of oneness.

Wayfarer, when you reach the Valley of Unity,

you will disappear from yourself.
You’ll become lost because
the Beloved will appear;
you’ll become mute because
the Beloved will speak.

You will see yourself as a part,

but also as the whole,
yet you’ll be neither the part
nor the whole.

You will be the essence of the Divine

yet you will not be the Divine.
The four elements of being will rise
from themselves, transcend,
and multiply by a hundred thousand,
then by a hundred thousand more.

In the school of such wondrous mysteries

you will find countless intellects,
all of them parch-lipped.
Reason here is like a desperate deaf child
abandoned by its mother.
 If an iota of this mystery shines on you,
you’ll close your eyes to both worlds.
And since you’ll be a nothing,
like a strand of hair, why not swing, curl,
and turn away from the world like hair?
You’ll be nobody yet still somebody;
whether you are or are not the whole,
you will still be an entity.

Parable of an Old Dervish Seeking Freedom

A great intellect, Loghman of Sarkhas pleaded: “Great Almighty, I am old,
distracted, and have lost my way. Make an old servant happy; give him his
freedom papers and let him loose. In my service to you my hair has turned
from black to a blizzard of white. Enough servitude. I am old. Make me
happy and give me my walking papers.”

A voice replied: “Intimate of the private Sanctuary! One who requests

release from servitude must give up all duties and reason. Leave them both
behind and step onto the Path.”

He replied: “My Beloved, it is only you I desire. Reason and duty mean
nothing to me. I’m on my way.”

And so he released himself from both, clapping his hands and stamping his
feet in ecstasy, singing: “Now I do not know who I am. If I am not a
servant, then what am I? Servitude has vanished, freedom has vanished. Not
an iota of sadness or joy remains in my heart. I have become without
attributes, and I still possess attributes. I have attained knowledge, and yet I
know nothing. I do not know if you are me or I am you, for I have become
lost in you, and you in me.”

Parable of a Lover Diving After the Beloved

A beloved fell into rushing water, and her lover quickly jumped in after her.
When they reached one another, the beloved asked: “You fool, when I fell
into this dangerous water, why did you jump in too?”

The lover replied: “I threw myself in because I do not distinguish you from
my own self. Your you-ness and my me-ness have been united as one for
some time. You are me, and I am you—there is no two of us. I am with you,
or I am you, or you are you. Therefore, since you are me and I am you, we
are both one body. That is all.”

If there is an “I,” there is no unity.

Get rid of it and unity becomes possible.
Lose yourself in the Beloved—that is unity.
Lose even the losing—that is oneness.

Parable of King Mahmud and Ayaz

On a splendid and auspicious day, King Mahmud’s army paraded before its
master. As innumerable elephants and troops marched on, the king
ascended onto a platform to view them. With him were his minister, Vazir
Hasan, and his favorite servant, Ayaz.

So many were on parade it looked as if ants and locusts had taken over the
kingdom. The world had seen no mightier army. The powerful king turned
to his favorite, Ayaz, and said: “Son, all these troops and elephants that
belong to me, belong to you. You are my sultan.”

Despite the celebrated king’s words, Ayaz remained noticeably unmoved

and calm. He neither bowed before the king, nor asked himself, “Was it me
the king just addressed?”

The minister was shocked by Ayaz’s nonchalance and told the boy:
“Servant, your king has shown you great deference, and yet you hold
yourself in such a disrespectful pose. Why do you neither bow nor prostrate
yourself before him?”
To this reproach, Ayaz replied: “I have two answers for you. The first is
this: If this lost, amazed, and agitated servant were to kneel before the king,
or grovel humbly at his feet, or speak to him through tears, or present
himself in any manner or form, it would be as if he considers himself
worthy of the king’s favors. Who am I to behave that way? This servant is
his. His beneficence is his. The right to command is his. Who am I? All that
the great king has achieved, and his grace toward this servant today, cannot
be praised enough, not even if both worlds were to do so for an eternity. So
where is my place here? How can I dare to step forth and make myself
noticed? Therefore, I have neither retreated nor come forward, for who am I
to make a show of attracting attention?”

When the minister heard Ayaz’s account, he said: “Well done, grateful
Ayaz. Indeed I bear witness that you are worthy of every favor the king
grants you. But now tell me your second answer, too.”

Ayaz replied: “I cannot reveal that to you. I would speak it only if the king
and I were alone, for it can be revealed only in confidence. “

The king promptly dismissed the minister and bade him join the troops. He
then turned to Ayaz and said: “We are alone now, tell me your second
reason.”

Ayaz replied: “Each time the king graces this wretched servant with a
glance, I completely disappear in the effulgence of that attention. I become
shamed in the sun-like aura of the king and I lift myself clear out of the
way. Since I have been obliterated, how can I then prostrate myself before
you? Were you to look, it wouldn’t be me you would see. It would be
yourself, the king of the world. If you grace this servant with one gift or a
hundred, they are in fact to yourself because you have the power. How can
a shadow lost in sunlight offer anything when it disappears? Your Ayaz is a
shadow obliterated in the effulgence of your face. Since your servant has
vanished from his own self, do whatever you will, for you know he is no
more.”
VALLEY OF WONDERMENT

Valley of Wonderment
Next comes the Valley of Wonderment.
Here you will meet pain and unending remorse.
Here, every sigh is as sharp as a sword.
Here, every breath brims with sighs.

Though there is no night here, nor day,

you ache night and day, yearn and burn.
Though you suffer no cuts, blood still drips
from the roots of your hair and writes: Alas.

Here, there is fire, but it is frozen;

there is ice, but it sizzles from pain.
When you arrive here in wonderment,
you arrive already lost and will be yet more lost.
And if you stamp the seal of oneness on your soul,
you’ll drift even further in your lostness.

If they ask you: Are you drunk or no?

Do you exist or no?
Are you within or without?
Are you hidden or manifest?
 You will respond: I know nothing,
not even the breadth of my own ignorance.
I am in love but don’t know with whom.
I am neither devout nor faithless.
I don’t know what I am.
Of my own love I am ignorant too.
My heart is both full and empty of love.

Parable of a Princess and a Beautiful Servant

A king who ruled a vast realm had a daughter beautiful as the moon. In
loveliness she was the envy of fairies. In her beauty one saw Joseph, and in
her dimpled chin, Joseph’s well. Her curls had wounded a hundred hearts;
the tip of each hair placed a blade at their throats.

Her face was like a moon in the heavens, and her eyebrows, arches that shot
arrows of love. The pointed lashes of her drunken eyes toppled many a
sober man. Her sun-like beauty was like that of the Virgin Mary; her
loveliness checkmated the moon. The angel Gabriel was in awe of her soul-
sustaining ruby lips, and the water of life itself sought life from her smile. If
you fell prey to her celestial face, or stole a glance at her dimpled chin,
you’d fall headfirst into a deep well with no rope to catch or hold on to.

One day a beautiful servant was brought in to serve the king. And oh, what
a boy! He was so beautiful one might say both the sun and the moon rose
and set because of his face. His matchless beauty soon became the talk of
the town. Each time that sun-like dazzler went outside, multitudes in the
streets and markets stared in awe.

One day, quite by chance, the princess saw this servant boy and lost her
senses. Reason fled, love overcame her, and her sweet life flailed in turmoil.
For a while the princess kept these thoughts to herself and under control,
but eventually she gave herself over to love’s agitation. She melted with
desire and burned in her separation from this boy, and in that melting and
craving her heart filled with anxious zeal.
The princess had ten maiden musicians who were incomparable singers.
Hearing their music and nightingale voices was as soul-expanding as
listening to David singing psalms. To these maidens the princess finally
revealed her secret condition, casting fame, shame, and soul aside. When
love of a beloved takes charge, the soul’s accountable for nothing.

She said: “If I declare my love to the servant boy, it may do him harm, for
he may not know what to do with it. My own status too will fall, for a
princess is not permitted to unite with a servant. But if I don’t declare my
love, I will die behind a veil in frustration. I have recited a hundred prayers
for patience, but it’s no use. I have none, and I am exhausted. What I desire
is to take my share from that erect cypress, but without his knowledge. If I
could do that, both my heart and soul would be satisfied.”

When the sweet-voiced maidens heard this, they said: “Don’t worry your
heart, princess. We will bring him to you tonight and he will have no
inkling of who you are.”

One of the maidens went to the servant boy and asked him to fetch wine
and a goblet. When he brought them to her, she secretly slipped a potion
into his wine. Once the boy drank, the maiden’s job was easy, for from
night until daybreak that beautiful boy would be drugged and unaware of
both worlds.

That night the maidens came to him in secret and carried him off from his
bed to the princess. They sat him on a throne and decked him out with
jewels. When at midnight the half-drunk servant boy opened his narcissus
eyes, he saw he was in a paradisiacal palace, with golden sofas that
stretched from one end to the other. Ten amber candles were lit, and incense
burned in the fire. The maidens sang in harmonies that stripped reason from
the soul. Wine was passed from hand to hand, and the candles burned like a
line of suns.

In this enchanting company, his gaze fell on the princess. He stared at her,
dazed and stripped of reason and soul. In truth it was as if he was neither in
this world nor in the next. His heart filled with love, his tongue became
mute, and his soul ecstatic. He kept his eyes on the face of that heart-holder
and his ears open to the songs of the maidens. His nostrils filled with the
scent of amber, his mouth brimmed with liquid fire.

The princess at once gave him a bowl of wine, and after each taste followed
it with a kiss. His eyes remained on the face of this girl he did not know. He
gazed in wonderment. Since his tongue was of no use, his tears began to fall
and he tore at his own hair. All the while the beautiful girl sprinkled on his
face a hundred thousand tears. At times she put kisses like sugar on his lips;
at other times she salted them with her own tears. Sometimes she ran her
fingers through his wavy hair; at other times he lost himself in her eyes.

That drunken youth remained conscious and unconscious with eyes open
wide in the company of his beloved. This continued until dawn began to
spread from the east. When the morning breezes started to blow, the youth
passed out from drunkenness, and when he was completely out, the maidens
carried him back to his bed.

When the boy finally woke up, he was agitated and did not know where he
had been. But what use was all his grief? The dream had come and passed.
That was his fate and he was trapped. He did not understand any of it, but
his tears kept coming. He tore at his garments and hair, and fell to the
ground.

Other servants asked the beautiful lad: “What is going on?”

He replied: “I cannot explain. What I saw in my drunken sleep, no one has

ever seen in a dream. I don’t know anyone who has experienced what
happened to this dazed servant. It is a strange and bewildering mystery,
beyond description.”

Someone said: “Come to your senses and try; relate a bit of it.”

The youth replied: “It was as if I were someone else. Was it I who saw it all,
or was it another? I heard nothing and yet I heard it all. I saw nothing and
yet I saw everything.”

Another said: “Was it a dream that left you so unhinged?”

The boy replied: “I don’t know if it was a dream or if I was awake. I don’t
know if I saw it in my drunkenness or heard it in sobriety. There is no
stranger state in this world than being in a place that is both hidden and
manifest. I could not speak, nor could I be quiet. I was neither conscious
nor unconscious. I cannot erase that face from my soul, yet I can’t find a
trace of her in the world. I saw a possessor of perfect beauty. Before her
face the sun is but a floating mote. I don’t know what more to say except
that I have beheld her face. Whether any of it actually happened or not, it
has whirled my soul and heart into a frenzy.”

Parable of a Mother Weeping for Her Daughter

A Sufi saw a mother bent over her daughter’s grave, weeping. He said to
himself: “This woman is luckier than I because she knows who she is
weeping for and who she has been separated from. She understands her own
condition and for whom she sheds her tears.

“But the story of this grief-stricken one is different. I mourn day and night,
but for whom? Such is the state of my affliction. I don’t know the cause of
my bewilderment. This woman is more blessed than a thousand like me, for
at least she has caught the scent of what she has lost. I have not caught that
scent and sadly, confusion slices my veins, and sorrow spills my blood.”

Where the heart disappears,

the place disappears too;
the end of reason’s thread is lost,
the door to perception’s house is lost.
If you reach this stage, you lose your head,
you lose the entrance to your body’s four elements.
 If you one day find yourself in such a place,
the mysteries of the world
will unravel in a single breath.

Parable of the Locked Door

A Sufi heard a man cry out: “I’ve lost my key. Has anyone found a key?
The door is locked and I am left outside, distressed. What should I do if it
stays closed? What can I do if I can’t get inside?”

The Sufi told the fellow: “Why do you make such a fuss? You know where
the door is. So what it is closed? Sit by the door and someone will
eventually open it. Your situation is easy compared to mine. My soul burns
in yearning. My trouble has no head or tail; there is neither a key nor a door.
If only this wretched Sufi could find the door, it wouldn’t matter a bit if it
were shut, locked, or wide open.”

Those occupied with illusions

don’t understand the true state of affairs.
If anyone asks: What should I do?
Reply: Stop doing whatever you’ve been doing!

Once in the Valley of Wonderment,

every moment is rife with restless discontent.
You’ll cry: How long must I suffer this confusion?
You’ll weep: When can I find my way out?
You’ll ask: How can I gain knowledge
where others have failed?

I know nothing. I wish I did.

If I knew, I’d be bewildered.
In the Valley of Wonderment,
complaints reshape into thanks,
infidelity shifts into faith,
faith morphs into infidelity.
Parable of the Sheikh of Nasrabad and the Fire
Seized by the pain of ardor, the Sheikh of Nasrabad67 made forty
pilgrimages to the Holy City. On each trip he took no aid or provisions,
putting all his trust in the Almighty. What a man!

Later, a fellow saw the sheikh on the road, gray, emaciated, half-naked,
heart aflame and soul ablaze. He wore an infidel’s belt and with his hand
outstretched, he circumambulated the pagan fire. This he did with no
pretension or deception.

The man said to the sheikh: “Great one of the age, what’s all this? Shame
on you. After all your pilgrimages and attaining great eminence, now
you’ve become a pagan? Such conduct comes from vanity and stupidity.
You give the people of the Path a bad name. What kind of a sheikh behaves
this way? Don’t you know whose path you are now on and whose fire you
are circling?”

The sheikh replied: “I fell on hard times. A fire consumed my house and
blew my harvest to the wind. With it all went my name and my honor too. I
have become bewildered and don’t know what else to do. When such fire
consumes the soul, why would it not also consume name and honor? As
soon as this flame engulfed me, I became disgusted with the Kaaba and all
temples. If you experience even a sliver of this wonderment, great regret
and discontent will overtake you as well.”

Parable of a Bewildered Novice

A pure-hearted novice saw his master in a dream. He asked his reverence:
“My heart sits in a pool of blood because of my bewilderment. Tell me,
what’s it like where you reside? I lit the candle of my heart in my separation
from you. As soon as you departed, I burned in confusion. Through this
wonderment, I have become a seeker of mysteries. Please tell me, how are
you doing where you are?”
His master replied: “I am in such a state of wonderment that I constantly
bite the back of my own hand. Here, I am even more bewildered than you,
as if I’m at the bottom of a well or deep in prison. A speck of my
bewilderment in this place weighs more than a hundred mountains on
earth.”
VALLEY OF POVERTY AND ANNIHILATION

Valley of Poverty and Annihilation

The final valley is of Poverty
and Annihilation, the ultimate release.
Words fail to reveal its mystery.

The essence of this valley is oblivion—

dumb, deaf, unconscious.
Here, in the effulgence of the sun,
a hundred thousand shadows vanish.

When the ocean tosses and breaks,

how can patterns that shimmer
on the surface endure?
Both worlds are reflected in
those patterns dancing on the sea.
Deny it and you’re a misguided dreamer.

Lose yourself in this ocean.

Find solace in your lost state,
and a calming oblivion will embrace your heart.

When your soul is absorbed into the Ocean,

it is saved from its own oblivion.
That’s when creativity abounds
and the mysteries of life begin to unveil.
You, mature Wayfarer, the brave one,
if you’ve taken the first step
into this arena of pain,
there is no second, for in that first stride
you are lost, transformed.

When a lute and common kindling

meet in fire, they both burn
for they are made of the same wood.
But their attributes are not the same.

When you are a polluted soul,

the Ocean will not refuse you;
you will merely sink to its floor
and remain yourself.

But if you come to it as a pure drop,

you will lose yourself in the Ocean,
becoming one with its vast water.
The Ocean’s currents
will become yours, too—
its shining beauty, yours.
You will be and not be.
 How can that be?
It’s beyond mind’s comprehension.

A Lover Gives Advice

A lover of the city of Tus,68 that ocean of mysteries, gave advice to a
follower. If you’re a true and observant Wayfarer, you’ll see the hair-fine
subtlety of what he said: “Stay in a state of melting so that when in love,
you’ll taper thin as a strand of hair. Only then will you have a home in the
tresses of the Beloved. If a bit of your ego remains, even as minute as a tip
of a single hair, the Seven Hells will seem like fun compared to the hell of
your still-remaining self.”

Parable of a Lover Bemoaning the Day of

Separation
A lover was crying so hard it was as if he were weeping blood. Someone
asked him: “Why these tears?”

He replied: “It is said that when the appointed time arrives and the Beloved
unveils, that Great One will bestow forty thousand years of blessed
presence on the people of faith. But after that, they will be returned to
themselves. I weep because one day I too will be returned to myself and to
my own eyes. When I become one with myself again, how will I manage
my grief? Death would be better than that. When you see me as I am, you
find me in misery. But when you see me with the Beloved, you see me free
of self. Liberated, I step outside of myself and become one with the
Divine.”

Leaving your self is annihilation.

When awareness of this annihilation
is annihilated, you’ll find eternal life.
If your heart is anxious and panics
when it must cross the bridge over raging fire,
don’t worry because that fire
is only a lamp’s flame,
smoking soot, shadowy as a crow’s feather.

When the oil burns, it loses itself,

and so emerges from its own self.
Yes, it burns, but it also yields charcoal
for ink to write the words of the Beloved.

If you wish to arrive in this valley,

come alone and bring no other.
First rid yourself of your self,
then gallop toward nonexistence.

Don the garment of nonbeing.

Drain the cup of self-annihilation.
Thrust your head into your chest in humility;
wear the headdress of wisdom and faith.

Put your feet in the stirrups of nonbeing,

then gallop that steed toward the void.
Around your nonexistent waist
wrap the belt of nothingness.

Erase your eyes, then open them.

Line them with the charcoal of nullity.
Lose yourself,
then lose losing yourself,
then still lose yourself some more.
Do it calmly again and again until
you reach complete annihilation.
 If you bring even a trace of your own self
to such a world, you’ll never arrive
nor know that world, not even a speck.

Parable of the Moths

The moths of the world gathered one night, seeking to know the candle.
They said: “Let’s send one of us to bring back news of it.”

A moth was elected and it traveled far to a distant palace, lit by candlelight.
When the moth returned, it opened its notebook and began to describe all it
had observed and understood about the candle and its light.

One of the moths among them, an eminent critic, said: “This moth fellow
has no idea what a candle is!”

Another moth was dispatched. It found a candle and flung itself toward the
flame. Its wings fluttered against the heat. The candle conquered and the
moth retreated. Barely alive, it returned to reveal a handful of mysteries,
relating its near unification with the light of the candle.

Once again the critic said: “Dear one, what use is this information? Like the
other moth, how can you really know the candle?”

Another moth volunteered for the task. It found a candle, then drunkenly
danced toward it and perched itself on the tip of its glowing tongue. As both
feet touched the flame, fire flared and took the moth from feet to head. Its
limbs glowed red as the flame.

When the critic saw this from afar, saw how the moth took the candle to
itself and became one with its light, it said: “This moth alone knows the
candle. Who else can understand it? No one except the moth who becomes
one with it.”
 If you are lost,
if no trace of you remains,
then you’ll find your way to the Beloved.

If you are not oblivious to your own body and soul,

how do you imagine you can find
a trace of that Great One?

Should even a strand of your hair remain,

its existence will drag you back into despair.
There is no room here for your ego,
no room for any kind of self at all.

Parable of a Dervish of Words and No Action

A Sufi was walking about town when someone struck him in the head from
behind. The Sufi cried out with a heavy heart: “The man you have just
struck has been dead almost thirty years; he is finished with the world and
has disappeared.”

The assailant replied: “Man of words and no action, have some shame!
How can a corpse speak?”

As long as you utter a single word,

you’re not of the wordless tribe.
As long as a single hair on your head remains,
you’re far from the Beloved.

If you want to attain that Great Presence,

know that if you hang on to even an eyelash,
the road will stretch ahead, impossibly long.
 Set fire to all your things,
burn every last thread, even your underpants.
When nothing remains,
don’t even think of a shroud,
cast yourself naked into the fire.
When both you and your possessions are ash,
your thoughts and thinking will subside.

If, like Jesus, you possess even a single needle,69

a hundred thieves will block your way.
Here, existence itself becomes a veil;
land, possessions, honor, and rank aren’t for this place.

Release everything you own, bit by bit,

then steal yourself to a quiet retreat.
When your inner self dissolves into selflessness,
you’ll transcend both good and evil.
When no good or bad remains in you,
you’ll become a true lover, deserving
of annihilation by love.

Parable of a Dervish in Love with a Prince

There once was a king with the countenance of the moon and the aura of the
sun. He had a son of matchless dignity and splendor, and beauty that rivaled
Joseph’s. All in his service loved him; lords and masters alike were slaves
to his countenance. If he showed himself at night, it was as if a new sun had
risen in the fields. How can I describe a face that eclipsed the moon in
beauty?

Were you to braid a rope from his hair, a hundred thousand hearts would
jump into wells. That rare candle conquered the world by setting fire to it.
Were you to recount for fifty years or more the ensnaring beauty of his
Joseph-like hair, you still couldn’t depict it with justice.
A blink of his narcissus eyes sent the entire world into a frenzy. His
laughter sprinkled like sugar, and his joy blossomed into a hundred
thousand spring flowers. To speak of his mouth, I have no words; how can I
describe those slender lines? Whenever he stepped out from behind
curtains, hearts melted into blood at the sight of even a tip of his hair.

In short, the prince was a temptation to both the spirit and the body. When
he rode his horse into the arena, guards unsheathed their swords before and
behind him. Whoever cast a glance in his direction was at once removed
from his path.

A poor dervish fell head over heels in love with this prince. His love
brought him nothing but despair and helplessness. His life ebbed away
because of it, but he didn’t have the courage to speak of his passion. Agony
was his constant companion, and the pain of love in his heart and soul was
killing him.

He had no one to confide in, so he became lost in his own yearning. He shut
his eyes to the world and kept vigil in the street where the prince lived. Day
and night, he sat waiting, heart snapped in two, tears rolling like balls of
silver over his sallow face. The impatient beggar lived for a distant glimpse
of his beloved passing by.

Whenever the prince appeared, markets fell into clamor. Crowds rushed to
see him, pushing and shoving; you’d think it was the Resurrection Day!
Heralds trying to clear the prince’s path spilled blood. The call “Out of the
way!” could be heard all the way to the moon, as guards lined up as far as a
mile.

Whenever the dervish heard the shouts of the king’s escorts, his head
whirled and he collapsed on the ground. He swooned and crawled toward
his beloved in longing, completely beside himself. He needed a hundred
thousand eyes to weep his heart’s agony. Sometimes that poor fellow’s tears
flowed like the river Nile; at other times his own blood puddled under his
feet. Sometimes his sighs froze his tears; at other times his jealousy boiled
them in scalding heat.
Part dead, part alive, he was destitute without a half-loaf of bread to his
name. How could such a man hope to gain the favor of a lofty prince? The
witless dervish was like a particle inside a shadow trying to contain the sun
in his heart.

One day the prince, flanked by his troops, crossed this poor fellow’s path.
The beggar collapsed and cried from the depth of his being: “My soul
seethes and my reason flees. How much longer can I burn this way? I
cannot bear this anymore.”

As he uttered these words, he beat his own head in grief with rocks. Blood
flowed from his ears and eyes, and his senses began to fail him.

While the prince was too far away to see the poor man, his escort witnessed
it all and one of the guards maliciously reported it to the king. “Dear King,
a vagrant madman has fallen in love with your son.”

Incensed by jealousy, the heat of his heart boiling in his brain, the king
commanded: “Tie that fellow’s feet together in chains and hang him upside
down.”

The king’s guards went to the man at once and formed a ring around him.
Then they dragged the beggar toward the gallows, all the while a crowd
gathered and watched. No one was aware of the poor fellow’s grief, nor did
anyone intercede on his behalf. When he stood at the foot of the gallows, he
cried out: “For Heaven’s sake, give me a moment to prostrate myself under
the hangman’s rope!”

The executioner granted him this respite, and the beggar laid his forehead
on the dust. While prostrating, he said: “Dear Almighty, since the king is
about to kill me, innocent as I am, before I give up my humble life, please
grant me one last look at the prince’s countenance so that I may see his face
as I relinquish my life for him. If I possessed a hundred thousand lives, I’d
give them all up for him gladly. O Glorious One, your servant begs only
this. I am a lover devoted to your Path. My soul is at your service as
always; this love has not turned me away from you. You have granted a
hundred thousand wishes; now fulfill my single wish, too.”
The beggar’s prayer hit the mark. The executioner heard the poor man’s
secret pleas and his heart was moved by the man’s pain. Tears streaming
from his eyes, he went to the king and reported the man’s sorrow in love.
He recounted what the beggar had prayed for while prostrate in the dust.
The king felt the pain of the man’s love in his heart, was pleased and
pardoned the man.

He then told his son, the prince: “Do not spurn this fallen fellow. Get up at
once and go to the gallows to that suffering dervish and speak to him. He
has lost his heart to you. Return it to him. Be kind to him, for his suffering
is because of you. Share a cup with him for he has tasted your venom. Lift
him up from the dust and take him to the garden of roses. Then, bring him
to me.”

That Joseph-faced prince went to sit with the beggar. That effulgent sun
went to commune with a mere atom. That pearl-pregnant sea reached out to
a drop of water. Now is the time in this story to slap your forehead in joy, to
stamp your feet and clap your hands.

When that prince arrived at the gallows, a tumult arose as if it were

Resurrection Day. He saw the beggar in the throes of death, bowed,
forehead on the dust. His bloody tears had mingled with the earth and made
mud. His sighs filled the world. When the prince saw him in such a state,
tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to weep in front of his troops for
the heir to a king must not openly cry, but nevertheless his tears fell like
rain, and a hundred worlds of sorrows bloomed from each drop.

If your love is really true,

your beloved will at last
become your true lover too.

Finally, that sun-like son of kings gently called to the beggar. The poor
fellow who had only seen but never heard the prince, lifted his head from
the earth and saw his beloved standing before him.
 When fire meets the ocean,
it won’t cease burning,
but neither will it live long.

That heart-lost dervish was aflame in pure joy as he approached that sea. As
he was about to expire, he said: “O Prince, I am so weak you can kill me
right here. There is no need for all the troops.”
He uttered this and with a sigh yielded his soul to death. Like a candle he
blazed, laughing one last time before he expired. Once he merged with the
face of his beloved, he was snuffed out.
ABOUT TRUE SEEKERS

Attar Speaks
Wayfarer, know that in the battlefield of pain,
love may come with annihilation.
You whose existence is mingled
with nonexistence,
you whose joys are mingled with grief,
if you don’t experience some ups and downs,
how will you ever know relief?

You bravely strike like lightning,

then cover yourself with rubbish
to protect against the shock.
What are you doing?
Rise up like a true seeker.
Set fire to reason
and flare into a mad lover.

If you hesitate over this alchemy,

at least come and take a quick look.
How long will you stay in your head?
Become like me, leave your self.
For once, show foresight
so that in the end you too can become
a dervish and joyfully arrive
at annihilation of the self.
 I who am neither myself nor other than myself
have traveled beyond reason, good or evil thoughts.
I’ve lost my self within myself.
The only cure is to be incurable.

When the sun of poverty landed on me,

both worlds twirled together into a single shaft of light.
And when I saw that column of light
I passed on into no self, became
a drop of water and joined the stream.

All that I had won and lost,

I threw away into black waters.
I disappeared, became lost, void.
I became a shadow without a single atom,
a drop of water that had joined the ocean.
Good luck finding that droplet.
Such loss of self is not for all,
but I joined the eternal union
and there are many like me.
Who in the world, from a dust mote to the moon,
wouldn’t want to be lost this way?

Parable of the Fish That Inhales the World

A pure-hearted man asked Nouri, that wise man of the third century: “How
far are we from our union with the Beloved?”

Nouri replied: “You must go a long way and pass seven seas of fire and
light. Once you’ve crossed those seven seas, a fish will suddenly draw you
into itself. When this kind of fish takes a breath, everything from the first to
the last is inhaled into it. This fish is so large you can’t see its head or tail. It
lives in the middle of the ocean of detachment. Like a crocodile, it snaps up
both worlds and all of creation disappears inside of it.”

____________________
62 Iblis: Fallen angel; devil.
63 Majnun: The love story of Layli and Majnun can be traced back to ninth-century Iran. However,
it was popularized in the twelfth century by the Persian poet Nizami. In the story, the lovers, children
of enemy tribes (like Romeo and Juliet), are forbidden to be together. Majnun goes mad, and both
lovers eventually die of grief.
64 Layli: Also referred to as Layla. But in this work, and in Nizami’s epic poem, Layli O Majnun,
the name is written and pronounced as Layli.
65 Qalandar dervishes: Wandering Sufi dervishes who shaved their face and head in defiance of
social conventions and sometimes flaunted antinomian behavior. The title of Qalandar comes from
qal (say) and andar (come inside).
66 night-illuminating jewel: A rare, perhaps mythical jewel that gives off light. It is said that
Alexander the Great used it to find his way as he advanced in the Cave of Darkness in search of the
Water of Life. Here, it refers to knowledge.
67 Sheikh of Nasrabad: Sheikh Abul-qasim Nasrabadi, an eminent man who was one of Shibli’s
companions.
68 lover of the city of Tus: Mohamad Mashugh Tusi, an eminent sheikh from Khorasan, Iran, who
lived sometime in the fourth century.
69 a single needle: In Islamic tradition it is said that when Jesus ascended to the fourth Heaven, he
was searched and a single needle was found on him. Therefore, he had to stop there and the fourth
Heaven became his home. The needle represents the slightest, smallest attachment to the world.
 THE
JOURNEY
OF THE
BIRDS
The Journey Begins
The Birds Arrive at Simorgh’s Door
Parable of Majnun’s Love
The Herald Speaks, the Birds Reply
The Birds Recount the Story of a Moth
The Birds Are Admitted Inside
Parable of Joseph’s Purchase Papers
The Thirty Birds Read the Parchment
The Birds Encounter the Great Simorgh
Parable of Hallaj’s Ashes
The Birds Return from Annihilation
Parable of a King Who Loved His Minister’s Son
The Journey Begins
Upon hearing all this, the birds hung
their heads in despair and understood how
such a mighty bow was not for weak arms.
The Hoopoe’s words had so unsettled them
that even before the journey began,
many birds expired then and there.
The rest braced themselves for hardship
and embarked on the journey.

They traveled for years,

crossed deserts and mountains.
They spent their whole lives traveling
toward the Great Simorgh.
How can I recount what befell that bunch?
One day if you take up this same journey,
you’ll know their tribulations for yourself.
You will experience what befell these birds
and learn of what they suffered.

In the end, only a few survived.

Some drowned in the sea;
others simply vanished.
Some succumbed to thirst
on lofty mountaintops,
others to injuries and heat.
Some burned their wings in the sun
or the heat baked their hearts.
 Some were devoured by tigers and lions
in a most shocking and foul way.
Some disappeared in the claws
of ravenous, greedy beasts.
Some died of thirst in deserts,
or expired from exhaustion and heat.

Some lost their minds longing for a grain of wheat

or killed themselves from hunger.
Some became weak, fell behind, and vanished.
Some were charmed by marvels and became distracted.
Others yielded to the sirens’ songs and stayed behind.

Of the one hundred thousand birds,

only a handful survived, and from them,
only thirty arrived at the door of the Great Abode.

The Birds Arrive at Simorgh’s Door

Thirty bodies without wings or feathers
arrived feeble and sore,
hearts shattered,
souls surrendered,
bodies broken.

Before them was an indescribable Majesty,

beyond all reason, past comprehension.
It thundered and flashed in self-sufficiency
and with each dispatch burned
a hundred thousand worlds.
That Majesty was like myriad suns,
multiple moons, and more.
As the birds looked on in awe, they saw how
they all were atoms dancing in that whirlwind.
“Wonder of wonders!” they exclaimed.
“We are invisible motes in sunlight.
How are we to make our presence known?
We have removed ourselves from our hearts,
suffered so much on this journey, now what do we do?
This is not the kind of arrival we expected.”

And so the thirty birds became despondent

as fowl with necks on the chopping block.
They were lost and extinguished, yet
they waited to see what fortune might bring.

At last, from the Exalted Portal,

a herald of Glory emerged and saw
thirty weak-minded birds at the door,
wingless, featherless, bodies melting,
clearly at the end of their tether.
They were all bewildered, from claw to tail.
They were neither empty nor replete.

The herald said: “Greetings, birds.

Where do you come from?
Why have you come here?
What are your names, you good-for-nothing bunch?
Where do you call home? Who speaks for you?
Weaklings, what do you want here?”

The birds replied in unison: “We have come here

to make the Great Simorgh our sovereign.
We are all lovers of that Beloved
and have surrendered our hearts and all repose in the Path.
We have been journeying here a long while.
 We were thousands, but now
only thirty of us have survived.
We have come a long way, hoping to attain
the presence of the sublime Simorgh.
Will that Great One accept and pity our suffering?
Will that Beloved grant us an audience out of kindness?”

The herald replied, “Bewildered birds, the Beloved

is the Eternal Ruler, whether you exist in the world or not.
A hundred thousand worlds brimming with troops
are but a single line of ants at the Almighty’s door.
What can you offer but blood and pus?
Weaklings, return to wherever you came from.”

Upon hearing this, the birds lost hope and became like the dead.
They all cried out: “Would the Great Ruler of the World
throw us out with such contempt?
It is impossible to suffer degradation from that Great One,
for even the Beloved’s scorn is a gift and, therefore, elevation.”

Parable of Majnun’s Love

The lover Majnun once said: “Were all who live on earth to give me praise
for an eternity, I would not want it. My beloved Layli’s curses are enough
praise for me. A single curse from her lips is better than a hundred
compliments from others. Her name alone is more precious than both
worlds.”

I have told you my religion, dear one.

If it brings degradation, what of it?

The Herald Speaks, the Birds Reply

 The herald said: “The lightning of Glory will flash
and uproot the veins from your bodies.
When the soul burns, what use are lamentations,
what use is honor or degradation?”

That love-scorched group cried out:

“Here are our souls and here is a blazing flame!
A moth never flees the flame, because
it is in the fire that a moth finds its Beloved.
Even though union with the Beloved
may not be our fortune,
at least the burning is ours.

The Great Simorgh may not lend us a hand,

but fire will. So be it.
There is no other way to join that Great One
but to completely give ourselves up to vanishing.”

The Birds Recount the Story of a Moth

A moth was told, “Weakling, how long will you risk your precious soul?
The candle may not unite you with the Beloved. Don’t make a mistake and
surrender your life. How much longer will you pursue the unattainable?”

The moth went crazy like a drunk and at once answered the simpletons: “It
is enough that I am enamored, and even though I may not reach the
Beloved, at least I may lose myself and disintegrate in the Beloved.”

The Birds Are Admitted Inside

 The birds had arrived firmly in love,
head to claws consumed in the pain of love.
Although the Almighty’s independence is unending
and its detachment immense,
that Great One’s grace is also immeasurable.
And so, it was the Almighty’s grace that bade
the herald open the door and part
a hundred curtains with each breath.

A world was uncloaked and became manifest;

the birds were bathed in the eternal Light of Lights.
They were seated with honor and respect
on the throne of proximity to the Beloved.

The herald then placed a scroll in front of each

and commanded: Read this from beginning to the end.

Parable of Joseph’s Purchase Papers

When Joseph—for whom the stars burned wild rue to keep away the evil
eye—was sold to Malik ibn-Zur by his own brothers, the price was so cheap
that Malik asked for a purchase receipt. He obtained this receipt, a signed
testimony from each of the ten brothers. Later when the pharaoh bought
Joseph, that treacherous testimony was transferred with the purchase.

When Joseph became king, his ten brothers came before him. Not
recognizing their brother, they swallowed their pride and threw themselves
at his feet begging for bread.

The truthful Joseph told them: “O men, I have a document in the Hebrew
tongue. No one here can read it. If you read it to me, I will give you plenty
of bread.”

Since all of them were fluent in Hebrew they happily accepted and said: “O
King, bring the paper.”
(May your heart be struck with blindness if your pride keeps you from
hearing this story as your own.)

Joseph handed them the receipt. They took it and fell to their knees,
trembling. Not a single line of it did they dare read out loud, nor did they
have the courage to say what it contained. All suffered distress and grief,
afflicted by what they had done to Joseph. Their tongues went limp, and
they became dispirited by the seriousness of the business at hand.

Joseph then said: “It is as if you have lost consciousness. Why have you
fallen silent?”

They replied: “Keeping silent is better than reading this paper out loud and
risking our necks.”

The Thirty Birds Read the Parchment

When the thirty bedraggled birds read
what was written on the revered parchment
that the herald bade them read,
they understood that everything they had committed
in their lives was recorded there.

Still more devastating, when those captives

looked closer, they realized how
each had followed its own devices,
throwing its own figure of Joseph in a well,
and how each had shamelessly abused many a Joseph,
selling him at every opportunity.
 Don’t you know, you nobody beggar,
that you sell a Joseph at every breath?
Joseph in the end will be your king,
the jewel of the High Court, and
you will go to him as a naked, hungry tramp.
If money was what you wanted,
why did you sell him so cheap?

The Birds Encounter the Great Simorgh

Shamed and mortified,
the souls of the birds
turned repentant and became ash.
Thus, purified of themselves
and what they had been,
the spirit of the Almighty shined
and bestowed upon them new spirits.

They found in themselves new lives,

and once again became amazed.
What they had and had not committed in the past
was wiped away, erased from their breasts.
The Sun of Proximity poured its rays
on them and endowed them with new life.

They saw the face of Simorgh,

but in a reflection.
And when they looked closer,
they saw the reflection was their own:
Simorgh . . . si morgh . . .
which means: thirty birds.
They were startled.
They were amazed
and still more astonished
as they advanced.
They saw how they themselves
were the Great Simorgh.
All along, Simorgh was in fact
si, thirty, morgh, birds.

When they looked at Simorgh,

Simorgh was where they themselves stood.
And when they looked at themselves,
they saw Simorgh standing there too.
And when they looked at both,
both were one and the same in every way.

Simorgh was them, and they were Simorgh.

Have you ever heard such a thing?

Bewildered, bereft of reason, and steeped in thought,

they could fathom nothing, because
they stood in a state of absolute nothingness.
Wordlessly they asked the Beloved to unveil
the mighty secret, relieve them
of the confusion of identities—
this You and Us, Us and You.
Wordlessly the answer came:
“A mirror is the Beloved’s sun-like face.
Look into it and see both body and soul,
yourself, soul and body, you.
You have arrived as thirty birds,
and in the mirror you see thirty birds.
Had you come as forty or fifty,
you’d see in the mirror forty or fifty.
Though you’ve come in great number,
you still see yourself . . .
you will always see yourself.

How can anyone’s gaze reach Us?

Can the gaze of a flea reach the Pleiades?
Have you ever seen a gnat lift an anvil,
or an ant take an elephant in its mouth?

All that you have known, all that you have seen,
were illusions, all of it.
Nothing you have said or heard
was actually so.
The valleys you traversed
were in Me,
the bravery you displayed
was Mine.

You were asleep in the valleys of my attributes.

You have come and remain thirty astonished birds
without hearts, souls, or patience,
but I am infinitely better than any thirty birds.
I am the Faultless, the Absolute Thirty Birds.
Come and obliterate yourselves in Me,
become Me to find yourselves once more.”
Like a shadow that vanishes in sunlight,
the birds surrendered themselves to the Great One
and became utterly nothing.
Silence fell as both the pilgrims and their leader
became one with the Way.
Parable of Hallaj’s Ashes
When Hallaj’s body had completely burned into ash, a lover came and sat
by what remained, rummaging through the great man’s ashes, wailing: “Tell
me the truth, where is the man who cried out, ‘I am God’?”

All that you have uttered,

all that you have heard,
all that you knew,
and all that you have seen,
all of it from the very start
is just the beginning of the fairy tale.

Disappear. This ruin is not your abode.

What matters is the essence of truth,
independent and pure.
What does it matter if truth branches or not?
When the True Sun shines eternal,
does it matter if here is an atom
or here, its shadow?

The Birds Return from Annihilation

When more than a hundred centuries had passed,
timeless centuries, without past or future,
the vanished birds, by an act of grace,
were returned from annihilation to themselves.

They who were now free of their egos

were restored to their selves;
they traveled from fana to baqa,70
from annihilation to eternal existence.
No one, ancient or young,
can explain these two states.
Just as something far from the eye
is hard to perceive, so are the states
of fana and baqa too distant
from human comprehension.
Yet disciples and followers seek to understand
these states through parables.

How can I even begin to explain this?

A new book must be started.
Only those fit to know such mysteries
can see what’s behind the veil.
As long as you live in existence,
how can you enter nonexistence?

Fool, nothing in this world lasts;

wake up, rush toward nonexistence.
Don’t get caught up in what was in the beginning
or in the end, for it’s useless in the end.

The Almighty tends you like a babe in the womb,

heaps favors on you tenderly,
gives you knowledge of its own mysteries,
gifts you awareness of its own might
until you grow active and smart.
Then that All-Knowing obliterates you
into utter effacement,
casts you from glory to abasement,
returns you to the dust of the Path
and annihilates you several times over.
But in the midst of this annihilation
the Beloved unveils a hundred mysteries,
then grants you absolute and complete
eternal life and glory, just as you were given humiliation.
 What do you know of what lies ahead?
Come to yourself. Reflect deeply on this.
Not until your life is rejected by the Divine
can you find acceptance in the Almighty’s court.
Not until you learn humility in your annihilation
can you attain baqa, everlasting life.

First the Glorious One throws you

out onto the road in abasement,
then suddenly snatches you back in glory.

Become nothing to become

absorbed in the Beloved’s presence.
If you remain full of your self,
how can there be room for the Beloved?

Not until you vanish in annihilation’s humility

will you be accepted in the court of the Eternal.

Parable of a King Who Loved His Minister’s Son

There was a king who had seven countries under his rule. Like Alexander,
he commanded troops from pole to pole. His sovereignty eclipsed that of
the moon, and the moon humbly bowed before his might.

This king had a farsighted, wise minister who had a clever son, endowed
with all good things of the world. There was none more handsome than he,
nor any with greater dignity. Because of his beauty, this minister’s son
could not leave the palace except under the cover of night, for if that moon-
face showed himself in daylight, it caused a huge tumult in town. Indeed,
no one was more beloved to the people than he.

This son’s face was the sun, and his fragrant curls were pure musk. His
black head of hair shaded his fine features. The Water of Life itself thirsted
for his lips. His mouth was like a mote yet hidden within it were thirty stars.
His hair fell in unruly locks down his shoulders, cascading proudly down
his back. Every curl of that silver-bodied boy broke a hundred worlds apart.

The hair on his face had many attributes; the tip of each strand held a
hundred marvels. Each eyebrow was curved like a bow. What arm could
ever draw back those arches? His enchanting narcissus eyes performed
sorcery with each blink of his lashes. His ruby lips were a font of the Water
of Life, sweet as sugar, fresh as grass. His newly sprouting beard and his
rosy cheeks were the dappled parrot of perfection.

To speak of his teeth is futile, for those jewels were veiled in their own
glory. His mole was like the o in glow, for which past and future joined the
present to enjoy. Were I to describe this boy’s beauty more than this, I’d
have to spend a lifetime doing it.

In brief, the king was drunkenly in love with his minister’s son and in the
calamity of his passion was beside himself. The king was indeed grand and
mighty, but in his longing, that full-moon sovereign had been reduced to a
crescent. Indeed, so immersed was he in love of the boy that no trace of his
own existence remained. If the boy left his presence even for a moment, his
heart, which was no longer his, rained tears of blood. He did not have a
moment of rest away from him, and ardent desire had robbed him of all
patience.

In short, the king would not consent to be without the boy, day or night, and
made him his constant companion. All day he would seat the boy beside
himself and commune with him. Each night, the king had no sleep or
repose. When the boy fell asleep in his presence, the king would stare at his
face in the candlelight. He would have no rest or peace and shed a hundred
hues of blood-tears. Sometimes he scattered flowers on the boy; at other
times he arranged them in his hair. Sometimes from love’s pain he cried like
a cloud over the boy’s face. Sometimes he’d give a feast in honor of that
moon-face; at other times he would drink to his beauty. He did not let him
out of his presence, not for moment. As long as the boy lived, the king
considered him a necessity.

How could a boy remain such a constant companion? But he was tied by
fear to the king. If he were to leave the royal entourage even for a moment,
the king would behead him out of jealousy. The boy’s father and mother
longed to see their own son, but they lacked the courage to speak of it to the
king.

There was a beautiful girl who also lived in the king’s court. The boy
caught a glimpse of her and fell in love. He became ardent as fire. One
night when the king was very drunk, the boy managed to meet her in secret.

But at midnight the king, half-drunk, came to himself, leaped up from his
bed and, dagger in hand, went looking for the boy. He couldn’t find a sign
of him. He searched again, and this time he found the boy in the girl’s
embrace. Jealousy blazed in that celebrated king’s heart. Drunk, in love, and
a king, he could not understand how his beloved would want to be with
another. He roared: “How could you prefer another to a king? Such folly.
What I have lavished on you, no one has ever seen. And now this is my
reward? Indeed! You held the key to all treasuries and a station above
everyone else. You were my constant companion and confidant, consoler
and intimate. And now you consort with this beggar in secret? I will rid the
world of you this very moment.”

He then commanded his men to manacle the lad in heavy chains. His pure
silvery body was bruised blue as they dragged him away. The king then
ordered scaffolds raised in his court’s veranda and commanded: “First,
impale the impudent boy, then flay him and hang him upside down so that
from now on anyone who is the king’s companion will not even glance at
another.”

Soldiers seized the boy in order to carry out the command. The minister,
informed of his son’s adversity, beat his head and cried out: “Son, your
father’s soul, how did you come to be abandoned by grace? What happened
that made you a foe of the king?”

Ten servants were preparing to put an end to the boy’s life when the
minister rushed in and, with a heart full of anguish and grief, offered them
each a night-illuminating pearl. He then pleaded: “The king is drunk
tonight. This boy has not committed so great a sin. When the illustrious
king sobers up, he will be both remorseful and angry and will not spare
anyone who has harmed this boy.”
The servants unanimously agreed but said: “Yet, if the king comes and finds
no victim, he will quickly make a stream of pure blood from us, and then
string us upside down.”

The minister fetched a murderer condemned to death from the court prison
and bade them to peel the skin off him like a clove of garlic. They then
dangled him upside down. His blood mingled with earth and formed a rose-
colored clay. They then hid the boy away against what was to come.

The next day the king woke up sober, but his wrath still burned in his heart.
He summoned his servants and asked: “What did you do to that dog?”

They all replied: “We hung him up and skinned him from head to toe. He
now hangs upside down from the scaffolds.”

When the king heard this, he was pleased and gave them each robes of
honor, office, and promotion. He then ordered: “Leave him thus degraded
for a long time and let him rot so that my subjects are warned and learn
from the mistake of this vile wretch.”

When people of the city heard this tale, their hearts were seized with grief
for the boy. Many came to look but none were able to recognize him, for
now the corpse was a lump of meat, skinned and covered in blood.
Whoever saw the body in that state wept for the boy in secret. Mourning for
that moon-face continued all day and night until the city was filled with
sorrow and sighs.

After some days without his beloved, the king regretted what he had done.
His anger subsided, and his love once again blazed and made an ant out of
the lion-hearted king. The king who had always been joyful with his
Joseph-like companion and intoxicated with his company, now had no rest.

Finally, he could no longer bear the pain and succumbed to ceaseless

crying. His soul burned from pining for the boy and, steeped in remorse, his
eyes brimmed with blood, and his unkempt hair filled with dust. He put on
a blue mourning garb and sat in ashes of grief. He took no food or wine;
sleep eluded his blood-raining eyes.
When night fell, the king came out and ordered his veranda emptied of
everyone. Then he sat alone under the hanging corpse and thought about
what he had done. He reviewed all that had come to pass, event by event,
and then a cry arose from the root of every hair. His heart’s grief increased,
and his mourning renewed. He began to wail pitifully, rubbing the boy’s
blood on his face. He threw himself on the ground and dug his fingernails
into his own hands. If one could have measured his tears, they would have
equaled a hundred rains. All night until daybreak he spent alone, burning
and weeping like a waning candle.

When the morning breeze blew, the king got up and went back to his
quarters, and to his constant companion, which was misery. After forty days
and forty nights that high-stationed king became thin as a wisp of hair. In
those forty days no one dared utter a word to the king. After forty days of
no bread or water, the sovereign saw the boy in a dream. That moon-face
was drenched in tears, and blood covered him from head to toe.

The king cried: “O delicate life-giver, why are you drenched in blood?”

The boy replied: “I am covered in blood because of my acquaintance with

you, and because of your lack of constancy to me. You peeled the skin off
my innocent body. Was this fidelity, O king? Is this how a friend treats
another friend? Call me names if I am wrong, even an infidel. What terrible
offense did I commit that you had me flayed and strung upside down? I turn
my face away from you until the Day of Reckoning when justice will be
served. When the Great Court on High appears, the Almighty will hold you
accountable and serve you justice on my behalf.”

When the king heard this from that beautiful boy, his heart awoke with a
start. Agitation overtook his soul. The gate of insanity flung open and he
began to wail: “My heart and my soul, I am nothing without you; you who
loved me and was murdered by me. Who has ever brought defeat on
himself as I have? Who has ever done to himself what I have done? I am
the one who deserves to be steeped in blood, for I have killed my own
beloved. Where are you, child? Don’t cross me out as a friend, child. Don’t
commit wrong against me as I did to you.
“I have committed that evil unto myself. I am beside myself in grief over
you; I pour the dust of the road over my head on account of you. Where can
I seek and find you, love of my soul? Have pity on my baffled heart. You’ve
suffered from my infidelity, but come be the faithful one; do not commit the
same cruelty toward me. I shed your blood from ignorance. How long must
you shed my life’s blood, O child? I was drunk when I committed this sin.

“What has fate brought me? Since you have left my side, I can no longer
hold on to life. Without you I have not been myself, no, not even for an
instant. Not much living remains to me. This king will pay your blood-
money with his own blood. I have no fear of my own death, but I do fear
my own cruelty. If I spent an eternity begging for pardon, I would find no
forgiveness for this crime. I wish you would cut my throat and release my
heart from this pain and remorse. O Creator! My soul burns in confusion.
Head to toe I’m scalded by regret. I do not have the strength nor the
endurance for this separation. How long must my soul burn in longing?
Take my soul in your mercy, O Judge, for I can no longer bear this.”

He uttered all this until he fell silent and lost consciousness. When the
king’s pain had exceeded all bounds, the messenger of favor arrived,
granting grace to his mournful appeals. The minister, who heard the king’s
pleas, decked out the boy who until now had remained in hiding, and sent
him to the king. The boy stepped out from behind the curtain like a moon
emerging from behind a cloud and went to his king carrying a shroud and a
sword as a sign of his submission to his king. He fell to his knees before the
king, tears streaming like rain.

Words fail this storyteller adequately to describe the king’s state when his
gaze fell upon that moon. What would anyone know of such marvels? It is
best left unsaid, for when a pearl lies in the deep it cannot be fetched.

Once released from the pain of separation, the king and the boy withdrew,
united as one. What came after, no one knows, for not everyone is privy to
such mysteries. Who am I to recount any of it? And if I were to do so I
would have to forfeit my life, for how can I describe something you are not
ready for? If it was permitted to reveal such mysteries, those who came
before me would have already done so. However, since it is not allowed,
not by a hair-tip, I must remain silent.
 Nothing tempers the tongue’s blade
better than silence.
A ten-tongued lily blossoms,
enraptured by its own stillness.

I have said all I needed to say.

Now is the time for action.

___________________________
70 fana to baqa: Fana is the state of nonbeing. Baqa is the state of eternal subsistence. While in
fana, the self or the ego is eradicated; in baqa, the soul is once again restored to itself, shifting into
what it did not know it was before. The identity of the soul is never lost or eradicated. Rather, its true
identity is revealed and restored through fana and baqa.
EPILOGUE
Attar, Concerning His Own Condition
Words of a Philosopher on His Deathbed
Commentary on True Knowledge and Blind Belief
Attar’s Lament
Parable of Provisions for the Road
The Poet Laments
The Poet Caught in the Crack of the Door
Parable of a Soul’s Tears and Sighs
Parable of a Drunk
Parable of a Lover Asking Forgiveness
Parable of the Last Hour
Parable of Solomon and an Ant
Parable of the Goodness in the World
Attar, Concerning His Own Condition
Attar, you’ve scattered with each breath
musk-scented mysteries on Earth.
You’ve sprinkled your perfume from horizon to horizon.
You’ve thrilled and excited lovers.
You’ve strummed your music in the key of love.

Your poetry gives lovers a source

that eternally feeds their passion.
Like sunlight, this poem has ended;
the gathering of the birds, their talk,
and the valleys they traversed are now done.

Step into the arena expecting pain;

resign your soul, then enter.
Here, where the soul vanishes,
expect the arena to vanish too.

If you don’t come here in earnest longing,

you won’t find this place, no,
not even a speck of its dust.
Once you overcome pain’s hesitation,
take that first step,
but do it with the right intention.

Let defeats and disappointments fuel your power;

that’s when your confused heart comes to life.
Reap suffering.
It is pain that is your cure,
the balm of your soul in both worlds.
Wayfarer, do not come
to this book for fancy poetic tales;
see it through the eyes of suffering
to understand an iota of my longing.
Do that and you’ve scored the goal.

Leave asceticism, forget piety!

It’s pain you must seek,
longing and experience.
For your longing, seek no remedy;
if you do, may your soul fade away.
You must keep thirsty, stay vigilant,
don’t think of your next drink or meal.
If you have not suffered longing,
you’ve not been touched even by the dust
of the lovers’ Path.

If you read and understand, take action.

You’ll find joy in such understanding.
Those who belong to the world of forms
become engrossed in my words;
those who belong to the inner world
become absorbed in my mysteries.

This book is an ornament for the ages.

It offers something for both the high and low.
If you come sad and frozen to this book,
its hidden fire will blaze and melt your ice.
Yes, these verses are magic:
they grow more potent with each reading.
They are like beauty under a veil
that reveals its loveliness slowly.
Until eternity there will be no ecstatic like me,
who puts pen to paper and scatters pearls
pulled from the ocean of truth.
I have said it all; this book is the seal.

If I praise my handiwork too much

(and indeed who approves of such self-praise?),
still, if you are just, you will acknowledge my worth,
for I do not hide the light of my full moon.

I have spoken of my state in a veiled way,

those versed in discourse will surely concede.
I may not remain here forever, yet
what I have scattered will continue
to waft eternally upon the world.
Until the Day of Reckoning I will
remain on people’s tongues.
For me, that is memorial enough.
Were the nine spheres to fall apart,
not a single dot of this book would be lost.
I’ve gifted you roses from the Great Garden.

If these pages point you to the Path,

lift the veil from your eyes, or give you solace,
then remember this poet fondly in your thoughts.
Every person in this world makes a mark
in his or her special way, then quickly passes on.
And so, I too have done the same.
I’ve shown the sleepers the bird of the soul.
If through my words a sleeper’s heart
awakens to mysteries even for one moment,
then my intentions are realized and I rest in peace.
 I have burned like a lamp and have lit the world.
Now I am sooty from the smoke.
How much longer must I endure it?
I cannot eat or sleep.
My heart is fire-consumed.
I say: “Heart, you great talker,
how much more will you blab?
Shut up and go in search of mysteries.”
My heart replies: “Don’t blame me
for I’m alight with fire. If I didn’t speak,
I would burn away. How can I be silent
even for a moment when my soul’s ocean
surges with a hundred brands of waves?
I do not hold myself above anyone,
I am simply keeping busy.”

Though my heart is not without pain,

how much longer must I speak?
I cannot continue.
All these parables I have told are about futilities—
the real task is ridding yourself of your ego.
When the heart busies itself with trivial nothings,
nothing will come but boredom and redundancy.
Abandon your ego, cast off your vanity.
How long do you think your life’s ocean will surge?
Give in, relinquish your soul;
then hush, be at peace.

Words of a Philosopher on His Deathbed

When a learned philosopher was in the throes of death, he said: “Had I
known how listening is superior to speaking, I would not have wasted my
life preaching. Eloquent speech is perhaps as fine as gold but unspoken
words are even more precious.”
 A true Wayfarer’s way is to act,
but instead we keep giving sermons,
that’s the trouble.
If you are awake to faith in the Divine,
you’ll understand what I’m saying.

Befriending the ego turns a heart into a stranger,

transforms all I have said into bedtime stories.
Sleep then, without any care or bother,
while I spin you a good juicy tale,
for if Attar sweetly murmurs his tales,
sleep will come easier—so, slumber well.

How much oil have we poured on the sand!

How many pearls have we hung from the throat of a pig!
How many times have we set up a feast and left hungry!
How often did we instruct the ego and it did not obey!
How many times did we give it medicine and it did not heal!

Since I was not able to do what I set out to do,

I wash my hands of it all, and step aside.
Love of the Beloved must be sought from the Beloved;
it’s not something I can hand out.
And since your ego grows fatter every moment,
your condition will not improve.
My words are wasted, and until the day I die,
your ego will never learn, Heaven help us.

Commentary on True Knowledge and Blind Belief

When Alexander the Great71 died in the path of faith, Aristotle said: “King
of Certitude, while you lived, you lavished council unceasingly. What you
teach today with your death completes all that advice.”
Learn, O heart, life is a dusty maelstrom of calamity,
but cheer up, death prowls behind your neck.
I’ve told you the story of the birds.
Comprehend it, grasp it, you fool.

Among lovers, only those with wings

flee this worldly cage before death comes.
The condition of these lovers is hard to recount,
for such souls speak a different tongue.
The one who learns and speaks their language
will hold the elixir of happiness at Simorgh’s court.
How can you learn this soul-language
among the philosophizing Greeks?

Disengage from the mind to learn

the wisdom of spiritual faith,
for if you learn love in the realm of philosophy,
you’ll never know love in the dominion of the soul.

In truth, I prefer the B of blasphemy

to the B of blind belief, and the P of pantheism
to the P of philosophy, for when infidelity
and ignorance are exposed, you can walk around them,
giving them wide berth;
but when slippery belief waylays you
and philosophy ensnares you in its whats and whys,
it plunders your intuitive knowledge, even if you are wise.

If you light up your heart with Greek philosophy,

how can you rid yourself of it?
The Candle of Faith72 set fire to the Greek libraries, but
the wisdom of the Greeks would have endured
if it indeed could light the candle of the heart.
Suffice yourself with spiritual faith in the heart;
let go of the philosophizing mind.
 How long will you keep on speaking, Attar?
You are not the man for this colossal task.
Emerge from your self, step out of existence,
become nothing. Throw dust on this dust.
So long as you exist, any low fellow can trample you;
but when you leave existence,
you become the crown of the people.
Be annihilated so that the Birds of the Way
may grant you access to the eternal Court.

Dear reader, my book is a good enough guide for you,

a wise teacher of the Way for all.
Though I am a nobody to the Birds of the Way,
I have memorialized them. Isn’t that plenty?
In the end, the dust of their journey touches me,
and I grieve their departure.

Attar’s Lament
An old wise Sufi was once asked: “How long will you keep on speaking of
Wayfarers?”
He replied: “Women love Wayfaring stories.”

Though I am not a Wayfarer myself,

to speak of them gives me pleasure.
My only share of them is this sweetness on my tongue,
better than sucking on poison.

This book is all madness.

Reason is alien to these pages.
Not until the soul breathes in
the fragrance of its own lunacy
can it stop being a stranger to itself.
Wonder of wonders!
What can I say? How long must I look
for something that has not been lost?
Like a lunatic I have abandoned leisure
to recount the lessons of a rash, lax bunch.
If they were to say to me, “Attar, you are lost,
go seek forgiveness,” I would not know how
to ask pardon for the hundred lives I have lived.

If I walked the Path, even for a moment,

would I be a poet writing poetry?
If I were anybody in the Path to the Beloved,
the P of poetry would always be the P in perverse.
The job of a poet is useless.
It is showing off the ego, so foolish.

I have found no kindred soul in this world,

so I’ve spoken through my poetry.
If you are a seeker of mysteries, go on seeking.
Throw away your life and blood.
Keep on seeking the mysteries.
My heart has shed blood-tears to write these cutting words.
If you smell the deep ocean of my words,
you will hear the blood in my verses.

These lofty words are an antidote

for anyone sickened by extremism’s poison.
Although I am Attar, the druggist, the dispenser of opium,
yet because of the ignorant, thankless folk
my heart burns crisp black as my remedies.
I set my table with tear-moistened bread
and my own roasted heart, then invite
the angel Gabriel to share my food.
When that archangel partakes from my bowl,
how can I deign to break bread with just anyone?
 I do not want to eat from the feast of a fool.
Poetry is enough bread for me, especially
when I share it with such good company.
My heart’s detachment has enlarged my spirit;
true reality has become my indestructible treasure.
Why would anyone with such a prize
oblige himself to worthless fools?

I thank the Almighty I’m not a courtier,

Free from such a degrading profession.
How could I impose such bondage on my heart,
aggrandize the name of riffraffs in my book?

Not a morsel have I tasted from a tyrant’s table,

nor do I have a patron for my books.
It is enough that my high aspiration is praise of the Beloved;
that alone strengthens my body and my soul.
My precursors, those ancients, welcome me,
so why need I bother with egoistic twits?

When I am free of human affairs,

I am joyous even in the midst of grief.
I am exquisitely free of the spiteful crowd.
Let them praise or slander me, I don’t care.
I am so immersed inside my own suffering
that I have detached myself from the world.
If you only knew my pain and grief,
you would become more astonished than me.
Body and soul are gone, and the only shares
left to me are suffering and remorse.

Parable of Provisions for the Road

A knower of the Way in the throes of death said: “I have no means or
provisions for the Road. I have a brick made from earth mixed with the
sweat of my shame, a glass full of tears, and a few rags for a shroud. First
wash my body with the tears, then place the brick under my head. I have
written Alas all over my tear-soaked shroud. Wrap me in it and quickly
surrender me to the earth. When all this is done, until the day of reckoning
the clouds will rain nothing but remorse on my grave.”

Do you know what this remorse is for?

A gnat cannot live in the wind.
The shadow seeks union with the sun
but cannot achieve it.
It is clearly impossible,
yet the shadow thinks of nothing else.
This folly is the absurdity of love.
If you contemplate this,
you have not wasted your time.

Every moment my conundrum increases.

How can I relieve my heart of it?
Who is as solitary and companionless as I,
drowned in the depth of an ocean, yet parched?

I have neither confidant nor soul-mate,

neither fellow sufferer nor an intimate.
I have zeal for the Beloved, but I don’t rush in its direction;
I walk against darkness but can’t see my soul.
I neither think of things good or bad,
nor do I long for anyone’s heart, not even my own.

I don’t crave a bite from the sultan’s table,

nor do I suffer his gatekeeper’s punches.
I am not patient in my solitude,
nor do I wish to be removed from people.
Like that old wise man in the throes of death,
my whole being is in great turmoil.
The Poet Laments
A pure soul once said: “For thirty years I have lived outside of my self,
much like Ishmael, who at the moment his father was about to cut off his
head, disappeared from his own self and submitted to his father’s will.”

Who can know how I spend my life,

day and night in this toilsome prison?
Sometimes I burn like a candle as I wait;
sometimes I cry like spring clouds.
You happily see the candle’s guiding light
but do not know the flame that burns its head.
If you look at the body from the outside,
how can you ever know its inner heart?

Like a ball in the crook of a hockey stick,

I can’t tell my feet from head, head from feet.
I have not made an income for myself,
for all that I said or committed is nothing.
I have no companions, and my life
has been lost in futilities.
 When I was able, I was ignorant;
when I was wise, I was unable.
So what’s the use?
Today, I am left with nothing
except helplessness and impotence.

The Poet Caught in the Crack of the Door

When Shibli left this desolate world, a man pure of heart saw him in a
dream and asked: “How does the Almighty treat you, fortunate Shibli?”

Shibli replied: “When at my reckoning the Almighty scrutinized my life,

that Great One saw how I had been the enemy of my own self, and noted
my weaknesses, hopelessness, and despair. Therefore, that Grace took pity
on me and forgave me all I had committed and all that I had not.”

Creator, I am a helpless weakling in your Path.

I’m like a lame ant in the deep of your well.
I do not know where I come from,
where I stand, what or who I am.
Bodiless, luckless, useless,
destitute, distracted, and a coward,
I have spent a lifetime boiling in the blood of anguish.

Life has not paid out any profit to me.

For all I’ve committed, a penalty has been exacted.
Death is on my lips. My life has wound down.
My heart has eluded me. My faith is lost.
My form is disappearing. All meaning evaporates.
 I am neither faithless nor a man of faith;
I stand bewildered between the two.
I am neither a Muslim nor a pagan.
What can I do?
I am muddled and helpless.
What is there to do?
I am caught in the crack of the door,
while my face is still turned to the wall of fantasy.

Open the door wider for helpless me;

show the Way to this lost one.
True that this servant has no provisions for the Road,
but look, he never shies from tears or sighs.
Burn away his sins with his sighs.
Wash his black book clean with his tears.

The Beloved says, “Enter, you are worthy of the Way,”

to one who has harvested oceans from tears,
and, “Leave, you have no business here,” to eyes
that do not know blood-tears.

Parable of a Soul’s Tears and Sighs

While an ancient Wayfarer traveled on his way, he met by chance a party of
angels. They had a pile of silver and gold coins, which they kept snatching
away from one another. The ancient one asked: “What is this cash? Tell me
quickly and now.”

One of the perfect beings said: “Ancient of the Way, an afflicted soul passed
this way and heaved a sigh from the bottom of her pure heart, poured her
tears onto the dust, then went her way. This gold and silver you see here are
her warm tears and chilling sighs.”
 Great One, I may be abject and poor,
but I have plenty of tears and lots of sighs.
If these are legal tender in your court,
then this servant is rich in merchandise.
Let my sighs blow clean my soul.
Let my tears wash the book of my life.

I walk the wrong way, having lost the Way,

my heart dark as the list of my deeds.
Guide me, wash my life’s record clean.
Wipe clean in both worlds the chalkboard of my life.

I writhe in my yearning for you.

If I have a soul, it’s ashamed to stand before you.
Would that I might live a hundred lives
to suffer in each, a new longing for you.

Left on my own, I struggle and am a wreck.

Take my hand, O Helping Hand, take it.

Parable of a Drunk
One day when Sheikh Abu-Sa’id73 was spending time with his fellow
Wayfarers at the house of dervishes, an intoxicated fellow stumbled in,
crying and moaning like a demented man, piteously staggering here and
there. Moved by compassion, the sheikh went to him and said: “Drunk man,
what’s all this shouting? Why such grief? Here’s my hand. Take it and get
up.”

The drunk replied: “Sheikh, may the Beloved be your friend, but the
business of giving a hand is not for you. Follow your own path and go
bravely. Leave me to the Almighty with my head hanging low. If just
anyone had the power to lend a hand, the ant would be sitting on a princely
throne. Go your way; giving a hand is not for you. Be on your way; I mean
nothing in your own final reckoning.”
Hearing the drunk’s anguished words, the sheikh threw himself on the
ground, and his golden face reddened with tears.

All-Encompassing! You are my necessity.

I have fallen. Be the one who takes my hand.
I am fettered and bound in this prison pit.
Who else but you can reach into such a deep well?

My body is soiled filthy from prison.

My stricken heart is tired and weak.
Forgive me if I have approached your door grimy
and soiled; I have come from the pit of captivity.

Parable of a Lover Asking Forgiveness

A loved one once said: “If tomorrow I find myself on the Plain of
Resurrection, and the Almighty asks, What have you to show, you who
always lag behind? I shall reply, Beloved, what can one bring from prison?”

I come from prison, drowned in misery.

I come in wonderment, head as lost as my feet.
I come empty-handed, a slave,
dust, a zero at your feet.

By your Grace, do not sell this slave.

Clothe this wretch with garments of honor.
Purify and cleanse my stains.
Bury me in the ground as a faithful man.

When my body is hidden under dirt and mud,

overlook all that I have committed, good or ugly.
You created me freely, as was just,
so forgive me freely, for that is justice too.
Parable of the Last Hour
When Nizam al-Mulk74 was in the throes of death, he cried out: “Almighty,
I leave this life with nothing but the wind in my hands. Beloved Creator,
whatever soul spoke of you, I took in, befriended, and helped in any way I
could. In this way I paid for you many a time, and not once did I sell you to
anyone. Now at the edge of eternity, please buy me. Give me your helping
hand, O Friend to the Friendless.”

Great One, be my friend

in the hour of my last breath,
for when life expires, there is no one but you.
When my good friends surrender my body to the earth,
extend your hand to me so that I
may grasp the sleeve of your grace.

Parable of Solomon and an Ant

The glorious Solomon once asked a lame ant about helplessness: “You who
know the earth better than any, tell me, what clay is most deeply mixed with
grief?”
The ant replied: “The final shovelful of dirt on a grave.”

When that last shovelful of dirt hits the grave,

all is done and there is nothing more to expect.

O Pure Essence, when I am beneath the earth,

and all hopes of exit are dashed,
when that last shovelful of dirt hits my face,
do not turn your face away from me.
 When I am beneath earth,
do not throw my sins at my face.
You are the Absolute Compassionate, the Creator!
Forgive everything, and forget.

Parable of the Goodness in the World

Once a foolish fellow attended Sheik Abu Sa’id in the public baths. As he
scrubbed the grime off the sheikh’s body, he gathered it in the palm of his
hand and showed it off to the sheikh before discarding it. He then asked the
wise sheikh: “Tell me, pure one, what is goodness in this world?”
The sheikh replied: “It is hiding the dirt and not displaying it before the
world.”
The man understood the answer and fell at the sheikh’s feet, confessing his
ignorance and begging his pardon.

O Creator, Almighty, Grantor of Grace,

Beloved, Accomplisher, the Generous,
you are the sum of all goodness
and we are mere dewdrops in your ocean.
You are the absolute Self-Sufficient, but only in essence
for the world of appearance cannot contain you.
Overlook and forgive our shame and grime;
hide our filthy deeds from our eyes.

______________________________
71 Alexander the Great: In many Islamic religious stories, Alexander the Great (356–323 BCE) has
an elevated station, close to that of a prophet. It is said he always traveled with a retinue of Greek,
Persian, and Indian philosophers.
72 The Candle of Faith: Refers to Umar ibn Al-Khattab (583–644 CE), one of the most influential
Muslim caliphs in history, known for his piety and justice.
73 Sheikh Abu-Sa’id: Also known as Sheikh Mehna, a renowned Persian Sufi and poet who spent
most of his life in Nishapur, Iran, and whose fame reached beyond the Islamic world, as far as Spain.
He is most famous for his mystic love poems.
74 Nizam al-Mulk (1018–1092 CE) was a prominent scholar and political adviser of the Seljuq
Empire. It is believed that he was killed by a member of the Assassins (hashashin), a militaristic
secret Islamic order formed in the late eleventh century.
 APPENDIX

Correspondences Between This Translation and the

Lines of the Persian Original

THE BIRDS OF THE WORLD GATHER

The Hoopoe (617–621), here
The Ringdove (622–526), here
The Parrot (627–631), here
The Partridge (632–636), here
The Falcon (637–641), here
The Francolin (642–646), here
The Nightingale (647–651), here
The Peacock (652–656), here
The Pheasant (657–661), here
The Pigeon (662–666), here
The Turtledove (667–671), here
The Hawk (672–676), here
The Goldfinch (677–681), here

THE BIRDS CONFER AND MAKE EXCUSES

The Great Simorgh

The Birds Seek a Sovereign (682–687), here
The Hoopoe Speaks (688–736), here
Simorgh’s Story (737–744), here
The Birds React (745–749), here
Delusive Love
The Nightingale’s Excuse (750–771), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Nightingale (772–777), here
Parable of the Princess and the Beggar (778–802), here

False Immortality
The Parrot’s Excuse (803–811), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Parrot (812–815), here
Parable of Khidr and an Ardent Lover (816–821), here

False Paradise
The Peacock’s Excuse (822–831), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Peacock (832–840), here
Parable of Paradise’s Chains (841–849), here

Frivolous Attachments
The Duck’s Excuse (850–861), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Duck (862–865), here
Parable of the World as a Drop of Water (866–872), here

Avarice
The Partridge’s Excuse (873–894), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Partridge (895–899), here
King Solomon’s Ring (900–915), here

Pride
The Osprey’s Excuse (916–926), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Osprey (927–932), here
Parable of Sultan Mahmud in His Eternity (933–943), here

Ambition
The Falcon’s Excuse (944–956), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Falcon (957–966), here
 Parable of a King in Love (967–978), here

Misguided Longing
The Heron’s Excuse (979–989), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Heron (990–1000), here
Parable of the Parched Sea (1001–1007), here

Love of Treasure
The Owl’s Excuse (1008–1017), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Owl (1018–1022), here
Parable of the Miser (1023–1030), here

False Humility
The Goldfinch’s Excuse (1031–1041), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Finch (1042–1046), here
Parable of Jacob’s Despair (1047–1059), here

Other Excuses
Other Birds Make Excuses (1060–1070), here
The Birds Question the Hoopoe (1071–1079), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Birds (1080–1099), here
Parable of the King’s Mirror (1100–1131), here
Parable of Alexander the Great in Disguise (1132–1138), here
Parable of the Secret Path Between Lovers (1139–1163), here

THE BIRDS PREPARE FOR THE JOURNEY

The Birds Become Eager to Begin (1164–1168), here
The Hoopoe Advises the Birds (1169–1190), here
Parable of Sheikh San’an in Love (1191–1601), here

THE BIRDS BEGIN THE JOURNEY

The Birds Elect a Leader (1602–1618), here
 The Birds Begin the Journey (1619–1627), here
Parable of Bayazid (1628–1637), here
The Birds Become Afraid (1638–1656), here
The Hoopoe Prepares to Speak (1657–1664), here
A Bird Asks About Grace (1665–1667), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Questioning Bird (1668–1674), here
Parable of a Fisher Boy (1675–1699), here
Parable of a Murderer Graced by a Glance (1700–1715), here
Parable of the Brushwood Seller and King Mahmud (1716–1743), here

THE BIRDS COMPLAIN AND BOAST

Weakness
A Bird Complains of Weakness (1744–1751), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Weak Bird (1752–1778), here
Parable of the Ungrateful Sheikh (1779–1798), here
Parable of Quilted Rags (1799–1811), here
Parable of the Faithful Rabi’a (1812–1823), here
Parable of Man Without Any Peace (1824–1829), here

Sinfulness
A Bird Confesses (1830–1832), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Sinful Bird (1833–1837), here
Parable of the Sinful Man (1838–1850), here
Parable of the Buyer of Nothing (1851–1870), here
Parable of Jars of Honey (1871–1878), here
Parable of the Almighty Reprimanding Moses (1879–1887), here
Parable of a Sinner in Paradise (1888–1894), here
Parable of the Child and the Lamp (1895–1913), here
Parable of the Day of Reckoning (1914–1921), here

Ambivalence
 An Indecisive Bird Complains (1922–1926), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Indecisive Bird (1927–1933), here
Parable of Shibli in the House of Transvestite Prostitutes (1934–1949),
here
Parable of the Contentious Sufis (1950–1960), here
Parable of a Pauper in Love with a King (1961–1976), here

Wanton Ego
A Bird Complains of Its Wanton Ego (1977–1980), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Wanton Ego (1981–1994), here
Parable of a Gravedigger (1995–1998), here
Parable of the Wild Dog (1999–2012), here
Parable of a Sufi and a King (2013–2034), here
Parable of Two Foxes (2035–2038), here

Pride
A Bird Complains of Pride (2039–2041), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Prideful Bird (2042–2046), here
Parable of the Devil Complaining (2047–2054), here
Parable of the Faithful Calligrapher Who Obeys the Devil (2055–
2077), here
Parable of a Wealthy Man Praying (2078–2086), here
Parable of the Foolishness of the Last Rite (2087–2090), here

Greed
A Bird Speaks of Its Love of Gold (2091–2093), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Gold-Loving Bird (2094–2119), here
Parable of the Greedy Student (2120–2132), here
Parable of Two Coins in One Hand (2133–2146), here
Parable of the Hermit Who Sold His Beloved for a Song (2147–2159),
here

Grandiosity
 An Ostentatious Bird Speaks (2160–2165), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Ostentatious Bird (2166–2169), here
Parable of the Crack in the Palace Wall (2170–2184), here
Parable of the Ostentatious Merchant (2185–2190), here
Parable of a Spider (2191–2212), here
Parable of the Dervish in a Desert (2213–2224), here
Parable of a Mourner (2225–2230), here
Parable of Burning Aloeswood (2231–2232), here

THE BIRDS VOICE THEIR FEARS

Lovesickness
A Lovesick Bird Voices Its Fear of Separation (2233–2245), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Lovesick Bird (2246–2258), here
Parable of a Despairing Man in Love (2259–2266), here
Parable of a Merchant and His Maidservant (2267–2278), here
Parable of a King and His Greyhound (2279–2299), here
Parable of Hallaj at the Gallows (2300–2311), here
Parable of Junayd (2312–2318), here

Death
A Bird Voices Its Fear of Death (2319–2323), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Fearful Bird (2324–2333), here
Parable of the Phoenix (2334–2367), here
Parable of a Son Mourning His Father (2368–2373), here
Parable of a Governor Near Death (2374–2383), here
Parable of Jesus and a Jar of Water (2384–2398), here
Parable of Socrates in the Throes of Death (2399–2403), here

Bad Luck
A Bird Laments Its Rotten Luck (2404–2410), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Luckless Bird (2411–2415), here
 Parable of a Sheikh Who Refused Sweet Sherbet (2416–2430), here
Parable of the Grateful Servant (2431–2444), here
Parable of the World as an Oven (2445–2452), here
Parable of an Old Woman Seeking Happiness (2453–2458), here
Junayd Speaks About Finding Contentment (2459–2470), here
Parable of a Bat Seeking the Sun (2471–2484), here

THE BIRDS ASK ABOUT THE BELOVED

Obedience and Steadfastness

A Bird Asks About Obedience (2485–2486), here
The Hoopoe Speaks About Obedience (2487–2494), here
Parable of a King at a Prison’s Gates (2495–2520), here
Parable of a Sufi Who Dreamed of Leading Masters (2521–2538), here
Sheikh Kharaghan Humbly Speaks of Steadfastness (2539–2548), here
Parable of the Servant Who Sullied the King’s Robe (2549–2553), here

Sacrifice
A Bird Asks How to Risk It All (2554–2558), here
The Hoopoe Replies to the Bird Who Risks It All (2559–2568), here
The Ancient Man of Turkistan Speaks of Sacrifice (2569–2575), here
Parable of a Sheikh Who Loved Eggplants (2576–2590), here
Parable of Dead Dervishes in the Desert (2591–2607), here
The Pharaoh’s Sorcerers (2608–2612), here

Zeal and Perseverance

A Bird Asks About Zeal (2613–2615), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About Zeal (2616–2619), here
Parable of the Old Woman Who Bid for Joseph (2620–2634), here
Parable of a Dervish Bemoaning His Poverty (2635–2644), here
Parable of the Gang Under a Bridge (2645–2657), here
Parable of the World as an Inverted Bowl (2658–2664), here
Justice and Fidelity
A Bird Asks About Justice and Loyalty (2665–2667), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird with a Sense of Justice (2668–2672),
here
Parable of a Wise, Just Man (2673–2680), here
Parable of an Old Indian King (2681–2701), here
Parable of a Dishonorable Warrior (2702–2725), here
Parable of Joseph’s Brothers (2726–2756), here

Audacity
A Bird Asks About Audacity (2757–2759), here
The Hoopoe Speaks About Audacity (2760–2772), here
Parable of the Governor’s Servants (2773–2787), here
Parable of a Naked Madman Who Sought Shelter (2788–2793), here
Parable of the Hungry Wolf (2794–2805), here
Parable of an Impudent Wayfarer (2806–2811), here
Parable of a Dervish in the Dark (2812–2825), here
Parable of Vaseti and the Jewish Cemetery (2826–2832), here

Merit
A Bird Boasts of Its Love (2833–2839), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Boastful Bird (2840–2845), here
Parable of Bayazid After Death (2846–2860), here
Parable of a Dervish in Love (2861–2874), here
Parable of King Mahmud at the Public Baths (2875–2900), here
Parable of the Water Carrier (2901–2910), here

Egotism
A Bird Claims Satisfaction as an Excuse (2911–2914), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Self-Satisfied Bird (2915–2932), here
Parable of a Donkey Who Farted (2933–2951), here
The Devil Teaches Moses a Lesson (2952–2957), here
 A Saint Speaks of How to Keep a Novice on the Path (2958–2967),
here
Parable of a Sheikh and a Filthy Dog (2968–2974), here
Parable of a Man and His Beard (2975–2988), here
Parable of a Drowning Fool (2989–3002), here
Parable of a Sufi Washing His Clothes (3003–3008), here

True Happiness
A Bird Asks How to Gladden Its Heart (3009–3012), here
The Hoopoe Tells the Bird How to Gladden Its Heart (3013–3017),
here
Parable of a Dervish in Ecstasy (3018–3024), here
Parable of a Crying Lover (3025–3033), here

Faultfinders
Commentary on Faultfinders (3034–3040), here
Parable of a Drunk Picking on Another Drunk (3041–3050), here
Parable of the Blemish in a Beloved’s Eye (3051–3062), here
Parable of a Constable and a Drunk (3063–3066), here

Authentic and Constant Love

A Bird Asks What to Request (3067–3069), here
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird About What to Request (3070–3074),
here
Bu Ali of Rudbar Speaks to the Beloved (3075–3088), here
The Almighty Speaks Through David the Pure (3089–3100), here
Parable of Ayaz the Servant (3101–3125), here
The Prayer of Rabi’a (3126–3133), here
The Almighty Counsels the Prophet David (3134–3143), here
Parable of the Idol Lat (3144–3160), here
Parable of King Mahmud in India (3161–3182), here
A Bird Inquires What Gift to Bear (3183–3185), here
Devotion
The Hoopoe Answers the Bird Inquiring About Gifts (3186–3192),
here
Parable of Joseph and Zulaikha (3193–3211), here
Parable of a Vigilant Servant (3212–3220), here
Parable of the Denizens of Heaven and Hell (3221–3239), here
Parable of a Man Praying for a Prayer Mat (3240–3245), here

THE SEVEN VALLEYS

The Journey
A Bird Asks About the Journey’s Length (3246–3247), here
The Hoopoe Speaks of the Seven Valleys (3248–3256), here

Valley of the Quest

Valley of the Quest (3257–3272), here
Parable of Iblis Refusing to Bow (3273–3297), here
Parable of Shibli on His Deathbed (3298–3312), here
Parable of Majnun Searching for Layli (3313–3316), here
Parable of the Patience of a Babe in the Womb (3317–3327), here
Parable of an Impatient Seeker (3328–3345), here
Parable of a Dust Sifter (3346–3355), here
Parable of a Lost One Wailing (3356–3357), here

Valley of Love
Valley of Love (3358–3379), here
Parable of a Wealthy Man and a Rice Wine Seller (3380–3389), here
Parable of a Lover in Sheepskin (3390–3412), here
Parable of a Pauper in Love (3413–3451), here
Parable of an Arab and Wandering Dervishes (3452–3473), here
Parable of a Lover Who Slayed His Beloved (3474–3488), here
Parable of Abraham and the Angel of Death (3489–3501), here
Valley of Knowledge
Valley of Knowledge (3502–3527), here
Parable of a Man Turned to Stone (3528–3544), here
Parable of a Lover Who Fell Asleep (3545–3555), here
Parable of a Watchman in Love (3556–3584), here
Counsel of the Learned Abbaseh (3585–3596), here
Parable of King Mahmud and the Ascetic (3597–3603), here

Valley of Detachment
Valley of Detachment (3604–3626), here
Parable of the Young Man Who Fell into a Well (3627–3640), here
Counsel of a Learned of the Way (3641–3661), here
Parable of the World as a Tray of Sand (3662–3672), here
Parable of a Man to Whom Mysteries Were Unveiled (3673–3684),
here
Parable of a Fly in a Honeycomb (3685–3699), here
Parable of a Dervish Who Became a Dog Keeper (3700–3716), here
Parable of a Sheikh and His Pupils (3717–3719), here

Valley of Unity
Valley of Unity (3720–3727), here
Parable of the World as a Tree Made of Wax (3728–3732), here
Parable of a Woman and Her Gold Leaf (3733–3766), here
Parable of an Old Dervish Seeking Freedom (3767–3778), here
Parable of a Lover Diving After the Beloved (3779–3787), here
Parable of King Mahmud and Ayaz (3788–3826), here

Valley of Wonderment
Valley of Wonderment (3827–3839), here
Parable of a Princess and a Beautiful Servant (3840–3919), here
Parable of a Mother Weeping for Her Daughter (3920–3932), here
Parable of the Locked Door (3933–3946), here
Parable of the Sheikh of Nasrabad and the Fire (3947–3960), here
 Parable of a Bewildered Novice (3961–3967), here

Valley of Poverty and Annihilation

Valley of Poverty and Annihilation (3967–3984), here
A Lover Gives Advice (3985–3990), here
Parable of a Lover Bemoaning the Day of Separation (3991–4013),
here
Parable of the Moths (4014–4031), here
Parable of a Dervish of Words and No Action (4032–4047), here
Parable of a Dervish in Love with a Prince (4048–4135), here

About True Seekers

Attar Speaks (4136–4152), here
Parable of the Fish That Inhales the World (4153–4158) here

THE JOURNEY OF THE BIRDS

The Journey Begins (4159–4179), here
The Birds Arrive at Simorgh’s Door (4180–4208), here
Parable of Majnun’s Love (4209–4213), here
The Herald Speaks, the Birds Reply (4214–4218), here
The Birds Recount the Story of a Moth (4219–4223), here
The Birds Are Admitted Inside (4224–4230), here
Parable of Joseph’s Purchase Papers (4231–4247), here
The Thirty Birds Read the Parchment (4248–4256), here
The Birds Encounter the Great Simorgh (4257–4288), here
Parable of Hallaj’s Ashes (4289–4296), here
The Birds Return from Annihilation (4297–4319), here
Parable of a King Who Loved His Minister’s Son (4320–4482), here

EPILOGUE
Attar, Concerning His Own Condition (4483–4535), here
Words of a Philosopher on His Deathbed (4536–4551), here
Commentary on True Knowledge and Blind Belief (4552–4574), here
Attar’s Lament (4575–4610), here
Parable of Provisions for the Road (4611–4629), here
The Poet Laments (4630–4641), here
The Poet Caught in the Crack of the Door (4642–4659), here
Parable of a Soul’s Tears and Sighs (4660–4674), here
Parable of a Drunk (4675–4688), here
Parable of a Lover Asking Forgiveness (4689–4696), here
Parable of the Last Hour (4697–4705), here
Parable of Solomon and an Ant (4706–4714), here
Parable of the Goodness in the World (4715–4724), here
 BIBLIOGRAPHY

SOURCE
This translation is based on the edition edited by Mohammad-Reza Sha’fi
Kadkani, Sokhan Press, Tehran, tenth printing, 1388 (2009 Gregorian
calendar). Most of the footnotes are also sourced from this edition.

REFERENCES
Attar and the Persian Sufi Tradition: The Art of Spiritual Flight, edited by
Leonard Lewisohn and Christopher Shackle (London: I. B. Tauris
Publishers, 2006).
The Crucible of Light, by Javad Nurbakhsh (New York: Khaniqahi
Nimatullahi Publications, 2009).
Koliyyateh Mantequ-tayr beh nasr, by Rahimeh Gorgian (Poyan Press,
Tehran, 1389 Solar Hijri/2010).
Mantiq al-tayr, translated by Peter Avery as The Speech of the Birds
(Cambridge, UK: Islamic Texts Society, 1998).
Mantiq al-tayr beh nasr, by Mahbubeh Zamani, (Tehran: Eqbal Press, 1387
Solar Hijri/2008).
Sharheh Razeh Mantiq al-tayr Attar, by Behruz Servatian (Tehran: Amir
Kabir Press, 1392 Solar Hijri/2013).

ABOUT THE PROLOGUE

The prologue in this work is not part of the story nor does it participate in
the formation of the book in a structural manner. Therefore, I have chosen
to exclude it from this edition. Such prologues—lengthy poetic praise for
the founding figures of Islam—were customary at the time, and I imagine
helped keep the heads of some poets secure on their shoulders.
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, my eternal gratitude to dear friends Tony

Barnstone and Sharon May, whose insightful and brilliant suggestions

helped me to further situate myself in my own poetic voice in English and
gave me the courage to push the re-creation of this masterpiece even further
than I ever imagined I could. A huge thank you to my soul-brother Mohsen
Emadi, who was always there to answer questions about the text, or simply
talk poetry, sometimes for hours, over Skype. Thank you, Fred D’Aguiar,
for reading every page of this book with your sharp poet-eyes.
I am grateful to Le Château de Lavigny International Writers’
Residency in Switzerland where I finished the first draft of this book. Thank
you, Sophie Kandaouroff, and my fellow residents Hajar Bali, Philippe
Rahmy, Piotr Sommer, and Katrina Tuvera, who patiently listened to my
incessant, enthusiastic talk about Attar. I love you all. A great thank you to
Hedgebrook, a magical writers-in-residence program for women on
Whidbey Island, where I was able to read Attar’s words and hear its music
in the peaceful quiet of my cabin in the woods.
A deep bow to PEN America, and to the 2014 PEN/Heim judges, Esther
Allen, Barbara Epler, Sara Khalili, Michael F. Moore, Lorin Stein, and
Lauren Wein, who awarded me the grant that allowed me to continue my
work on this book and, most importantly, helped bring it to the attention of
editors and publishers.
A huge thank you to my agent, Lindsay Edgecombe at Levine
Greenberg Rostan, and to my editor at Norton, Alane Mason, both of whom
understood the importance of bringing to the public a modern and fresh
translation of Attar’s masterpiece.
 I have been blessed with many talented friends. My soul-sisters Suzanne
Roberts, Persis Karim, Elena Karina Byrne, Yatrika Shah Rais, Firouzeh
Afsharnia, Mamak Khadem, Tina Crawford-Ejtemai, Sahba Motallebi,
Amaia Gabantxo, Nathalie Handal, and Mihaela Muscaliuc, thank you for
your friendship and for always standing by me.
Mom and Dad, you are the best. Alan, I am, as always, grateful. My
children, Camille and Alex, thank you for ever-deepening my
understanding of selfless love in my soul. Ken, thank you for your keen
insights, understanding, and unwavering love and devotion. I am ecstatic
that you exist.
Skyler, Melody, Darya, Brianna, Blake, Liam, Kian, Fabian, Shirin, and
Meena, may you grow up to read this book and understand its message.
Never stay still, for as Attar warns, you may dry up in your own puddle.
Step into the Path. Begin your journey. Never stop; never give up the
search.
 ALSO BY SHOLEH WOLPÉ

POETRY
Cómo Escribir una Canción de Amor
Keeping Time with Blue Hyacinths
Rooftops of Tehran
The Scar Saloon

TRANSLATIONS
Blue Swedish for Nowruz: Short Stories from Sweden
(Song of Myself by Walt Whitman)
Sin: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad

ANTHOLOGIES
Breaking the Jaws of Silence: Sixty American Poets Speak to the World
The Forbidden: Poems from Iran and Its Exiles
 Copyright © 2017 by Sholeh Wolpé

All rights reserved

First Edition

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,

write to Permissions, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.,
500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact
W. W. Norton Special Sales at specialsales@wwnorton.com or 800-233-4830

Book design by JAM Design

Production manager: Julia Druskin

JACKET DESIGN BY JAYA MICELI

JACKET ART: PERGAMONMUSEUM, NATIONAL MUSEUMS IN BERLIN / GOOGLE ART
PROJECT

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Names: Attar, Farīd al-Dīn, -approximately 1230 author. | Wolpé, Sholeh translator.
Title: The conference of the birds / Attar ; translated by Sholeh Wolpé.
Other titles: Mantiq al-tayr. English
Description: First edition. | New York : W. W. Norton & Company, 2017. |
Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016045898 | ISBN 9780393292183 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Sufi poetry, Persian—Translations into English.
Classification: LCC PK6451.F4 M2813 2017 | DDC 891/.5511—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016045898

ISBN 978-0-393-29219-0 (e-book)

W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

500 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10110
www.wwnorton.com

W. W. Norton & Company Ltd.

15 Carlisle Street, London W1D 3BS