You fear losing a certain
eminent position. You hope to gain something
from that, but it comes from elsewhere. Existence does this
switching trick, giving you hope from one source,
then satisfaction from another.
It keeps you bewildered
and wondering, and lets your trust
in the unseen grow.
you are ladybirds and the smell of a garden
You should expect grace,
that which makes life more than
manageable, but you look elsewhere,
wanting some delight other
than that.
Your conscious being,
with what you’ve been given,
should be like a beautifully laid-out park
with wildflowers and cultivated wonders,
a swift stream with places to sit
and rest beside it.
When a grieving person
sees you, he or see should recognize a
refuge, refreshment, a generous house where
one need not bring bread and cheese.
There will be plenty.
Love is the
last thirty-pound bale.*
When you load it on, the
boat tips over.
You disciples and apostles,
you all do the same work, yet you try
to determine who’s above and who’s below.
Each of you thinks you’re special, and in that
vanity you irritate each other mightily.
You think there will not be enough,
so you fight for your portion
like dogs in the street.
Being in harmony
is the true way, not this itch
of greed, this constricted stall where
you and other donkeys get beaten with a stick.
Move instead to the praise-place, inside the
mystery, where prayer is unlimited,
and you feel the delight of
giving homage.
Soul guides and
prophets have an innate innocence,
but they are subject to the same consequences
as everyone. If a donkey veers off course, he will be hit
with a stick. If you do wrong, you will be punished. Abu Bakr
said that steadiness is the central virtue. From the
mind’s steadiness comes a right action
which in turn balances the
intelligence.
They asked me
why prophets were given hardships.
I said it helps to have clear indications. And I added
silently to myself, Be more humble like someone
held captive. Bow to the one who
can free you.