Dawn of Lights

In the name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful. Praise be to God, who has shone the lights of His knowledge upon the hearts of those who know Him, who has lit their inner sight with sparks of His guidance, and brightened their secret depths with the radiance of His outpouring. Praise be to God, who has drawn the hearts of His lovers with the magnet of His attraction, set their hearts ablaze with the flames of His love, and quenched their thirst from the pools of His grace; who has made the people of intimacy intimate with Him alone, and revealed Himself to His beloved ones in the light of His holiness. Praise be to God, who has kindled the hearts of those who come to Him with the embers of both His union and His withdrawal: now drawing them in from the bounds of witnessing, now opening them out again through the abundance of His generosity. He does what He wills and decrees what He wishes. He is the beloved of lovers, who love none but Him; the sought of the knowers, who seek none but Him; the ultimate desire of the longing, who desire none but Him; the final hope of those who reach Him, who never part from Him; the support of those who trust, who lean on none but Him; and the goal of the contented, who never object to Him. In Him is my trust, and He is enough for me. To Him be praise, the One, the Unique, the Single, the Eternal. And blessings and peace upon the Light of all lights, the Secret of all secrets, the form of all matter and the cause of all creation, the supported servant and the rightly guided messenger, the seal of the prophets, Muhammad, and upon his blessed family, the shining stars, the masters of mankind and the twelve Imams, as long as the sun rises and the moon gives light. And then: here for you is the dawning place of the lights of holiness, the speech of the secrets of intimacy, the companion of the stranger and the comfort of the grieving; an introduction that stirs love and affection and inflames the fire of longing in the heart; the cure for the sickness of separation and the healing of the breasts of lovers; the guide that leads the seeker to the sought and brings the lover to the beloved. Toward it the hearts of lovers incline, and from it the hearts of the yearning burn. So listen to what is recited to you, follow what is cast before you, and be among the thankful. Praise be to God, first and last, and may God bless Muhammad and his family. The bird of my nature has a longing in its head; it wants to fly straight toward the beloved. It wants once more the polo field of words, so my pen can snatch up the ball of meaning. This head of mine, full of passion, is in turmoil, though I myself don't know whose passion it is. A fire has been lit inside my soul, and it has burned away the harvest of my patience and peace. Each moment it melts me, strand by strand, dragging me by the hair from side to side. A burning is clear, but no one doing the burning; a turning is clear, but no one doing the turning. Sometimes it pulls me with fire, sometimes with gentleness; sometimes it kills me by force, sometimes with grace. Sometimes it takes me to the threshold of pleading, sometimes to the private chamber of coquetry. Now it makes me a parrot, now a crow; now it makes me joyful, now scarred with grief. Sometimes it drags me by the hair into speech, sometimes it says: hush, don't make a sound. Sometimes it soothes me, sometimes it burns me; sometimes it stirs me up, sometimes it settles me down. Sometimes it caresses me, sometimes it melts me; sometimes it lifts me up, sometimes it casts me down. Who is this tailor who now tears, now sews? Who is this fire master who now breathes life, now burns? Sometimes it absorbs me into the wonder of His signs; sometimes it shows its glory and leaves me checkmated. When I want to explain this passion, I disgrace my far seeing reason. That cautious, calculating mind says: don't speak, don't break up the gathering of the free. Draw a veil over the secrets of this work, so no stranger can find the beloved's secret. Reason seals my mouth, telling me to be silent, yet the turmoil of love keeps boiling over in me. Love pays no heed to such talk; it keeps kindling fire in my soul. Its fire grows greater every moment; its burning changes shape with every breath. So love and reason fell to war, and the glass of my good name was dashed against the stone.

An explanation of love's ascents, and the hiding of the veiled secret: reason is like a lamp in the darkness of the self, while love is the sun. It has been said that when the truths appear, the laws fall away, though this does not mean what is imagined. So reflect and understand. Reason tells love: you are insane. Love tells reason: you are a stranger to all this. Reason says: go and join the people of discernment. Love says: flee from your own discernment. Love says: flee from your own discernment. Love says: come and lose your mind. Reason says: do not disgrace yourself; do not turn into a madman driven by passion. Love says: I am happy in my passion, free of the worries that knowledge brings. Reason says: guard yourself against troubles. Love says: be a shield for the arrows of sorrow. Reason says: it is wrong to find pleasure in this grief. Love says: being denied is the very pleasure we seek. Reason says: your heart will turn to blood. Love says: this is exactly our way. Reason says: do not wander into disgrace. Love says: a good name is a real man's shame. Reason says: there is nothing but honor and reputation. Love says: what are honor and reputation, anyway? Reason says: run from the blame of others. Love says: spur your horse straight toward that blame. Reason says: do not be so reckless; do not act with such quickness and daring. Love says: go and be fearless; be swift and ready in the face of blame. Reason says: be patient, do not rush. Love says: listen to the call, 'Hasten.' Reason says: hold yourself together. Love says: go and weep your heart out. Reason says: I am the guide toward the Truth. Love says: I am beyond all directions. Reason says: listen for the day faces turn radiant. Love says: walk into the blackening of the face. Reason speaks of the highest paradise. Love says: do not look at loss at all. Reason says: go, do not stop here. Love says: such things do not concern us. Reason says: the hidden secrets should not be spoken before every unworthy person. Love says: go, we have no fear; we do not worry about being pure or impure. Reason says: the way of servitude. Love says: kingship and blessedness. Reason talks of unbelief and faith. Love tears out the roots of both unbelief and faith. Love's frenzy has stolen my rest and calm; when would the manners of reason ever serve me? The fever of mad passion fills my head; when does the counsel of reason fit me now? Under the splendor of love's royal command, what room is there for reason at love's court? When love enters through the door of the heart, reason gathers its belongings and leaves. Though reason was present at the dawn of creation, it was love that showed it the way there. Though at first the Truth had chosen reason, this robe of honor was hidden from it. Go and recite 'I was a hidden treasure,' so this meaning may be unveiled to you. For out of the perfection of His love for the beauty of His own essence, He shone forth in His names and attributes. This manifestation was the ray of 'I loved'; its final purpose was the knowledge of existence. Without love, how could creation exist? How would beauty, or anything that is, ever have come to be? It has come down: 'The first of creation was love'; so it is fitting, if it springs from the world of command. Reason is like a candle, and love is the sun; in the presence of the sun, how can a candle give light? A candle lights up the night's gathering with its glow, but when the sun rises, it wipes the night away. Do not display the feeble candle of reason before love's sun that lights the world and kindles the soul. Do not flee from one error straight into another; do not throw away your dignity any further than this. Holding up a candle against the sun, what could it bring but boundless shame?

Don't say this is no time for such a debate. What is this clamor between reason and love? Each of them was there at the first act of creation; each has given man dignity and honor. If these two are one, then what is all this fuss? What is the point of this whole book and letter? And if one comes from creation and the other from divine command, then what passion drives each of them on? Since this question has crossed your mind and this longing, this fancy, has settled in your head, open the ear of your soul and grasp these words, so you may learn the ancient secrets. Be careful: don't lose your way here. If you hear that secret, don't be dumbfounded. Many clever minds have stumbled here; they never truly heard its secret laid bare. And what they did hear from the masters of vision was nothing but hints and veiled suggestions. Through that misleading, unbalanced speech they toppled headlong into the pit of error. However much the mystics try to conceal, in the end they tear away the veil of secrets. Since the ignorant have no path to that place, they cannot tell rank from ruin, dignity from a ditch. They grow bewildered by the mystics' words and fall in step with the band of the lost. But we will speak, come what may. Even if the desired goal is never reached, lovers have no aim but the beloved; getting what they want or not is no concern of theirs.

Tender, compassionate Lord, I ask for your help in this work. Whatever I say, to credit it to me is wrong; 'You did not throw when you threw' bears witness here. All that exists comes from you; nothing is ours. Our reason has no power to tell things apart. If we speak well, it reaches us from you; if we err, the error is ours to own. Forgive the mistakes in what we say; erase the unworthy lines from our record. Grant the seekers the light of the soul, so they will not grow suspicious of my words. Now the moment for speech has come; the eloquent parrot has begun to rain down sugar. It is behind a veil, and is itself the veil; from behind the mirror it nourishes the soul. Yet it still speaks in riddles, keeping a lid on the ancient secret, so the unworthy will not find the Beloved's secret. For now, listen to what it says. Perfect reason is the very essence of perfect love; the lover, in truth, is the truly wise one. Reason and love, in truth, are not two; only the perceptive grasp these words. Reason guides love, and love guides reason, yet each has its own station. They both point the way to the Beloved; they are guides to the seeker on a single road. In the highest station they are one, yet they are two for the sake of the seeker's task. This partnership does not arise from any real duality; even their quarrel is a staged quarrel, like goldsmiths' bargaining. Since on this road there is great danger, there is both the hope of the crown and the fear of losing one's head. Self-admiring reason is the path of its fear; reckless love is the path of its surrender. Reason keeps warning of the road's terrors; love keeps seeking surrender and acceptance. Your reason makes you aware of love's nature; it shows you the customs and the way to love's quarter. It speaks its own secret, not another's, yet it does so with thoughts of evil and good. Since the station of love has no calculating thought, weighing good and evil is not its trade. Reason makes you aware of this kind of thinking; that is why it beats the drum of duality. Since love has no goal but the Beloved, it has no concern with right or wrong. It is rebellious, lovesick, and mad, a stranger to all reckoning thoughts. It is a burning, blazing fire that consumes everything it sees except the Beloved. Reason tells you of its own terrors and warns you in order to guide you right. At love's beginning, reason is the guide; it warns you of its own rebellious nature, so that perhaps your heart will bleed at this defiance, and if you are no true man, you will leave its door. Love, at first, is rebellious and bloodthirsty, so that everyone who is an outsider will flee. Once your footing grows strong through the Friend's grace, you set foot on the path of union with the Friend. Right there, with his help, you cast the harvest of your own existence to the wind for him. You grew drunk on the wine of his grace and annihilated your own being in union with him. In the end your reason becomes love made young; at the moment of union, separation vanishes. Here reason joins hands with love, and this duality fades away.

Reason and love both work to complete our being: one is the arc of descent, the other the arc of ascent. Reason is bound to the rule of outward things; love is colorless and utterly free. Your reason shows you the manners of the path and tells you the qualities of those who walk it. Your love carries you toward the goal with this permit, even if your love is only the borrowed, earthly kind. Through it you become wholly real, for the metaphor is a bridge to truth. Whether love springs from this world or the next, in the end it guides us to that King.

If you call reason the religious law, no harm in that; and truth itself is nothing but pure love. On the spiritual path both hold full authority: one guards the road, the other guards the station. When they reach the goal of this way, they step beyond duality and become one. They break free of every bond and become absolute, rejoining their own origin. Now they are worthy of the placeless state, freed from detachment and from all attachments. Here the light of reason and the light of love become one; even Gabriel is left behind at this point, unable to keep pace. He says: this is not my limit; if I drew one fingertip closer, my wings would burn. Here the follower and the followed become one; reason and love, lover and beloved, all one. And that light was the light of Ahmad, the Prophet, if only you grasped the secret of these words. Just then a wild fervor rushed into my head, and another vision came to my mind. I wanted to explain the meaning of love's name, to speak of love's beginning that has no end. To lift a veil from the hidden secret, to set the souls of lovers ablaze. But love's awe told me: be silent. Do not seethe any longer in the fire of bewilderment. The great wing, with all Gabriel's glory of intellect, burns the instant it sets foot in this valley. It is simply not permitted to breathe a word here, to disturb the gathering of the free. A single ray from love's radiant sun strikes the weak of foundation blind and sightless. Whoever was taught the secrets of God was sealed up, his mouth stitched shut. This message set seals upon my lips: let me stop here, and so, farewell. If there is even one true seeker in the house of the free-spirited, let me stop; a single word is enough for the wise. If you have found any light from that sun, find it within your own self. Do not stir up uproar and clamor over these things; do not drive me further out of myself and into disgrace. Ask me no more to explain this passion; if you are not a man of love, do not walk this road. Your reason will be stunned by this tale, left dazed, frantic, and lost. You have no capacity to bear it, no patience; when did water ever settle in a sieve? Do not press deeper into the sea of bewilderment; hear a tale that is nearer to us. Listen to this, if you took in my words, so that perhaps you may find the ancient secrets through it. There lies the treasure house of love's secrets; and what is its keeper? All the ways and moods of love. The tale of lovers turns the heart to blood, and most of all it drives the lover mad. It holds such ecstasies that the impassioned themselves are stirred by it, not by speech or explanation. The mad rapture that belongs to lovers, when did it ever fit into book or notebook or page? What are these pages but a cover over the matter, a veil of mere fancy thrown over the Beloved's secrets? From behind the veil the lover knows; the hand of the stranger falls short of reaching there. Now listen, for the explanation has come: set aside the body's ear and open the ear of the soul.

This metaphor became the bridge to truth, and in the end, by the promise of the verse, 'Those who strive for Us' 'We shall surely guide them on Our paths,' he reached his true goal. There was a dervish, poor and without a coin, dressed in rags, owning nothing of this world. He had nothing but an axe and a begging bowl; he had reaped no harvest from this world at all. One day, wandering about in search of bread, he suddenly heard the clamor of a crowd. 'Stand back, left and right!' they cried, 'For the daughter of the Khan of China is coming.' When that helpless beggar looked up, he saw a sun moving across the sky. Upon a golden saddle, a face like the moon, no, not the moon, a radiant sun itself. The poor man lost his heart and fell senseless, the veil that hid his secret slipped away. The bird of his soul became the prey of that Simorgh, bound fast in the snare of that great bird. For a while he lay stunned upon the ground, gladly caught in the swift trap of love. When the poor beggar came to himself, he found himself drowning in annihilation. The wretched man looked in every direction, but saw no trace of that lovely idol. The reins of self-control slipped from his hands; the poor man wept bitterly, again and again. The flood of his longing tears blocked his way; his troubled mind kept breaking his heart. His eyes turned into springs of blood; grieving for his own Layla, he became a Majnun. The restless agitation of that dervish, his mournful cries, tore at every heart. He moaned and wept gently to himself; no one knew what could remedy his state. Paired with his pain, he spoke his secrets, lifting the veil from hidden mysteries. If I told his whole story from start to end, the very telling would wound the heart. Ask about the lover's condition from love itself; if you want the scent of a rose, go and smell the rose. The rose tells its tale through its own fragrance; everyone knows their own nature best. Listen too to the wordless speech of love; openly it speaks the ancient secrets. With a hundred tongues, from the mark of its own name, it tells its endless beginning. Its words are the secret of the lover's work, the story of the lover's wretched state. But the ears of common folk have no such light; for any but the lover there is no decree. Within its words there lies a glad tiding, and that tiding suits only lovers. Each of its letters, from ayn and shin and qaf, tells its own way and custom without dispute. Not everyone is aware of that secret; none but the lover has a path to its quarter. At every moment it calls out to lovers, offering these captives the cup of affliction. In its tavern there are ruins upon ruins; its wine brings a hundred ecstasies and raptures. Its turning chain has chains within chains, and this is our straight path. Its stirring of the chain is our gardens of paradise, and those palaces and houris are our cloistered maidens. Show a pure eye and heart, my father, and gaze upon our garden of refuge. For that bliss of paradise is the nature of our Beloved; the secret of 'beneath which rivers flow' is ours. Each of its rivers is the sign of a virtue; if you cannot find it, surely it is from some flaw. And what they say of that place as paradise is the truth, may God keep our feet from slipping. Otherwise, what are these verses and these reports? What proof have the Sufis for denial? Go and see its signs, my companion; do not let your feet slip from the straight path. Grasp that secret and hold your breath about it, or they will count you among the crowd of unbelievers. Do not interpret those verses away yourself; go and close this door of interpretations. Opening this door, on the path of guidance, is the beginning of heresy and going astray, O pillar of faith. If you say this too is a secret of the matter, then do not reveal its secret either. If it were permitted to reveal it, the prophets would have been the first, O wise one. Because, for the common people, the word of the Messenger is close to acceptance before reason. And if you say they have kept the outer form, they too have nurtured this very meaning of ours. In truth there is nothing else at all but the qualities that arise from good and evil. When the prophets pierced that pearl, they hid it within the nature of the mystics. Since these people had no limit of insight, the prophets informed them of the outer. That sharp, unerring eye can see, the one from which God has lifted the veil. So make the outer ruling your authority, lest everyone cast stones at your feet. Leave a veil over the matter, my companion; beware, do not stick your foot outside the blanket. And if you say the veil-keepers are others, the mystics tear these veils apart. They are selfless, lost and stunned in the Essence of the Truth; wholly negated, they affirm the Truth. Their speech is from His speaking breath; their utterance too comes from His breaths. Like a parrot behind a mirror, they say only what they hear. The manifestation belongs to that side; what shines here, to ascribe this breath to them comes from seeing double. Through double-seeing, people grew bewildered, and became suspicious of what they said. Like that feeble ant upon the writing, it sees the shapes coming only from the tip of the pen. Between prophets and saints there are many differences; the prophet is bound to revelation, the saint is free. Veil-keeping suits the prophets; the saints have another practice and law. The prophets stitch the veils, and the saints tear them; the saints are intoxicated, the prophets clear-minded. The prophets give knowledge through revelation; the saints know without the medium of revelation. The prophets' breath is nothing but command; for the saints no secret is hidden. The prophets speak from outer revelation; the saints are the very meaning of revelation, unbound. From prophethood to sainthood there are paths, from the lowest of earth to the height of heaven. Without sainthood, a prophet is nothing; for this reason the saint is the nobler and higher. He is nobler than a saint like himself, not than a saint who has stepped ahead. Like the pure, indescribable essence of Ali, who is nobler than every prophet and every saint. He has carried off the field of nobility in the race; his light is poured forth from the light of the Truth. He is nobler than all save Mustafa, for he has outrun the rest to the field of being chosen. Only one still possessed of self can guard the self; how can one who is selfless keep secrets concealed? I say, by God, by God, wash away this book, though I know that stream will turn to blood. Though this breath has several breaths within it, our time still remains, so turn the steed around. Rein in this swift, racing steed; the fellow travelers have grown weary of the road. The jealous fire of love has been kindled; it has burned the wings of Gabriel of intellect. Here it has cast off the horseshoes of the Buraq of fancy and thought, and is left behind in the race. Pass on from here, for the lover is worn out, bound fast in the chains of suffering.

In short, that ragged, destitute man wept and cried out for a long while. People gathered all around him, crowding in like moths around that candle. Among them stood a man of pure heart and bright soul, who through insight grasped that poor man's state. From the outside he read the man's inner condition; he knew the wound and recognized its cure. When the knower of God becomes aware of the Truth, he inevitably sees by the light of God. Freed from the stain of 'me and you,' he is light within light within light. His sight is nothing but the light of God; indeed, he is not even aware of any sight of his own. He has shattered his jar and merged into the sea; he is done with negation and dwells in affirmation. His being has become wholly the light of God; he is the exempted part, saved from annihilation. He knows neither sickness, nor recovery, nor remedy; these belong to the body, and he has reduced the body to nothing. Since he escaped himself and was freed from self, God said: 'I fell ill and you did not visit Me.' He is the light of God and the absolute friend; the pole of the age and a traveler on the path of Truth. Free of every bond, he has become absolute, wholly the simple, undivided light of God. If he breathes out 'I am the Truth,' he is moving upon the rays of the absolute light. Pure as this pearl is, it too was pierced by the Sufi; so do not say that Hairi has lost his mind. Hairi is not bewildered by such talk, yet an ancient secret is better kept hidden from you. Beware, my friend, on the path of right guidance: do not be troubled by talk of indwelling and union. Do not slip into the idea of indwelling here, if you are a traveler; instead enter divine manifestation, so you may go forward aware. What is truth? It is to be delivered from perishing, to receive everlasting life from God. He is truly with God who attains permanence through God; this saying is true when it is spoken. This is not the speech of disbelief and error; do not think ill of the righteous. Pass beyond multiplicity and behold unity; leave separation behind and behold the gathering together. The man who battles a lifeless enemy with his sword is only cutting his own body to pieces. With the pickaxe of denial and wrong words, he destroys the foundation of meaning. If you would find the secret, listen to the rule of Truth: the light of God is not put out by a puff of breath. If a dog barks along a road, when would a traveler abandon that road for it? Take your own path and go on; pay little heed to every stranger's empty chatter. Those masters who have completed the path, when did they ever lend an ear to the barking of dogs? Call the impure Sufi a man gone astray; know him as a ravenous wolf in sheep's clothing. To catch his prey he has lit his trap, set up a shop for the ignorant. For the sake of bread he does these shameless things, and ruins the honor of true Sufis. Likewise there are wolves in every kind of clothing; it is not only the Sufis who suffer this slander. Open your eyes and learn to know well: tell the wolf from the sheep by its nature, not its dress. Not everyone has the chance to rise to the throne of glory, steadfastness, and saintly nearness. He who steps onto the road of truth and purity reaches, on the path of God, the rank of the chosen. He shut his eyes to all beauty but His; in seeking His good pleasure, he burned away his own will. He cut his heart from all else and befriended Him; so he became free to choose Him over everything. He found his way to the Beloved's house; in the Beloved's presence he found high standing. Through His bounty he became master of a hundred treasures, freed from the filth of the shopkeeper's trade. He has seen the spread of His giving, and so he has shut down this soup-kitchen of a shop. He has put his trust in 'the Best of Guardians,' freed from the filth of all this idle talk. He has made 'whoever trusts in God' his habit; his reward has come: 'then He is enough for him.' He has lost himself in the selfhood of the Majestic One, and so found a hundred everlasting selves. He has cast the gaming-piece of his heart into the Beloved's lap, gambling away his own existence in His game. Whether the chance shows him a height or a fall, or comes at him sideways like a maddened elephant, Happy is the resolve that has driven away both right and left; he has been checkmated and has lost himself. It is sweet even if it seems he wins, for the secret of lovers is a reversed horseshoe. Any winning is His winning, not ours; our winning is nothing but defeat and entreaty. How long will you boast of yourself, you self-worshiper? Catch hold of even one of His breaths. These acts of worship done out of fear and hope are the craving of the self, not for the sake of God. The obedience you offer for paradise's sake, even while you intend nearness to God through it, If you want God, then what is this wanting for? And if not, then look: who is the one you truly worship? Be fair with yourself, you man of judgment: can the love of two beloveds fit in one heart? I am not saying do not ask Him for paradise; I say, seek it for the sake of nearness to God. This longing too is a way of servanthood, yet He knows better who is the stranger to Him. This longing is not fitting for everyone; this special worship belongs to the free. The Lion of God said, in his hour of intimate prayer, to his own God out of pure need: 'My servanthood is not out of fear of hell, nor for the sake of gaining the gardens of bliss.' 'You are worthy that I sacrifice my life; whatever You command, that I will do.' Such words befit the Lion of God; how could they be allowed to just anyone? Such devotion is fitting for his followers; but tell me, where now is such a follower? His true followers are those who manifest him; these and a hundred such gifts are fit only for them. Whatever the heart seeks other than God, layer upon layer, even if it seems nearness to Him, it is hidden idolatry, my friend. The hidden idolatry that lies in hearts is subtler than the creeping of an ant. Cleanse your heart, dear soul, of the rust of idolatry; make yourself nimble for His service. Read in the Quran the call of the sincere; one is commanded to nothing better than this. When service comes purified of self-interest, nothing is its reward but the Master Himself. The Truth said, 'Fasting is for Me,' you ruined heart; 'and I Myself am its reward, the best of recompenses.' How long this crooked path? For here I have read His word: 'I am as My servant thinks of Me.' Beware, do not walk in evil suspicion; keep your foot firm on the path of love. Why have you made your heart bitter, you frustrated one? You have driven yourself away from this faith. Why have you made yourself so bewildered? Cast away this far-fetched brooding. Why have you become lost over others, wandering at every hour into temple and monastery? Why so distraught, searching for a nest, when you are neither among the birds of the sky nor have a home of your own? By God, by God, take heart, my companion; do not let your foot slip from the straight path. Behold: 'whoever draws near to Me a hand's span,' He has pledged, 'I draw near to him an arm's length.' Oh, what a benefactor, righteous and tender! Oh, what a generous One, unique and merciful! Out of grace He has nurtured a handful of dust, and shown the pure soul to be His own. And that house the Friend has called His own home, and through His care it became the dawning-place of lights. The Truth said: I am beyond being and space; I am free of their how-much and how-so. My pure Essence is free of limit and number, not in the way that being-unbound is itself a kind of bond. Though I am beyond every tale and telling, still My home is in the heart of the believer. Go and make this house flourish, so you may find the soul's own Beloved. Cleanse this dawning-place of lights, so that in it you may see the beauty of the Friend. Purify the heart, the dawning-place of lights; lend your soul's ear to the song of 'but for you.' The seclusion of the heart is the display-place of our Friend; it is a polished mirror of holiness that reflects the Truth. There is no permission to explain this further, though it is not hidden from the people of the heart. Far-seeing reason said: do not linger here; hold this breath in, for you have no leave to speak it. Strike up another tune here; begin the tale of that lion. Though this lion's tale springs from that secret, in its outward form it still bears a trace of the hidden. What grief is it to us if this verse stays obscure? This very breath is our dawning-place of lights. This book of ours, the Dawning-Place of Lights, will in the end reveal our secrets. I too will pass beyond this verse here, and move on to other breaths and verses. It is sweeter that the secret of lovers be told within the story of others.

An interpretation of the blessed verse: 'We have honored the children of Adam, carried them over land and sea, given them good things to eat, and favored them above much of creation, a clear preference.' Now the hour before dawn draws near, the time for the soothing call of the kettle drum has come. That sweet-voiced messenger arrives, crying out; how welcome his melody falls upon the ear. The soul-reviving herald of the Beloved has come, the good news of the Beloved reaches the soul's own ear. He said: at the door of the gentle Beloved, night is the hour of longing for those who love. For now, stop your idle storytelling; the time for secrets has come, so close the door of this house. The lover seeks union with the Beloved by night; this is the time, my heart, so go and seek Him. Prepare your gift for that King's doorstep: humility, poverty, want, lowliness, and need. Cry out sweetly from your weakness, and before Him stretch out your empty hands in helpless pleading. A weeping eye suits a true lover, and bears witness to the sincere lover's heart. Tears are the magnet that draws His grace, and the sign that this rival has been checkmated by Him. The defeat is ours, but the checkmating is His; the gift of grace, too, comes from His kindness. Even weeping is the fruit of His help; the state of striving and seeking is His gift as well. Whatever exists comes from His boundless grace; both the asking and the answering belong to Him. 'The prayer is from You, the answer from You; the safety from You, the awe from You as well.' O generous Lord, owner of all blessings, bringer of all things forth from the hidden void of nothing. From Your being comes all our appearing; our whole existence stands upright through You. From You the honor of 'We have honored you' arrived, the noble robe of 'We have favored you' was given. The rank of grace, also from that Bestower, is the meaning of 'He taught man what he did not know.' This being honored springs from knowledge and reason; the soul of the unbeliever has no such distinction. Flesh and blood take their nobility from the spirit; the unbeliever holds no such pearl within his shell. He has a spirit, but it is a worthless bead; he has no share of the spirit's true pearl. Though from His generosity even unbelievers have been given a share of judgment, creation, and speech, His table of bounty and blessing is spread wide; each one has taken a share fit for himself. He too has drawn from the food of the earthly body, but he knows nothing of the food of the soul. The good things of nourishment are knowledge and learning; through these the soul sits on the throne of being honored. All things but man are bent face downward; for this reason man has been granted his distinction. Man's form was made upright, my friend, upright both in body and in inner meaning. Of all forms before the Lord, my trusted one, the human form is the most honored. Unbelievers too possess this outer form, but their inner meaning is not worthy of it. Let this moment pass, for night is ending; turn toward the threshold of Truth in seeking. Walk the path of His servitude; cry sweetly, and in your prayer to Him say: O God, my life has ended in disobedience; alas if You make my home in hell. O God, even if I could endure the fire, and patiently bear its burning heat, how could I shut my eyes to Your ancient kindness and grace, O generous Lord? Even if I bore Your punishment with patience, how could I surrender my heart to the pain of being far from You? If You drive me from Your door, then woe to me; and if I am cast far from You, then woe to me. Woe to me if my place is the blaze of hell, woe if my drink is boiling water. Though my whole life is wasted in disobedience, and my record is filled with the writing of sin, still I hope for forgiveness from You, that You will pardon my faults and stumbling. I held a good opinion of Your grace; I trusted in Your pardon and forgiveness. So many kindnesses You showed from the start; You brought me from nothing into being. Out of generosity You let a handful of dark dust drink a sip from the cup of eternity. You led me from the mineral state into growth, and guided me onward to the animal stage. Then You let me pass beyond the animal stage, and dressed me in the robe of being human. Out of generosity You set a helpless drop, with neither hands nor feet, free in the courtyard of existence. From Your kindness You placed love in our mothers, so that through their love You granted our desires. You showed such kindness to my soul, O Loving One; Your kindness became the very weave of my being. Now that twenty years of my life have passed, I have seen so much grace and bounty from Your favor. I have seen a hundred thousand blessings from You; when have I ever turned my eyes from Your grace? Today, again, do not drive me from Your door; in Your generosity, call me into Your presence. Take my soul by the hand, for this is the last stage; lifting my load from this stage is hard. The road is long, the load is heavy, the body frail; how can this weak one reach his destination? Lord, hold me firm upon the upright way, and guide me toward the straight path. Make this bewildered one wholly lost and absorbed in You; increase his self-loss and wonder still more. This heart, stained with the pride of 'me' and 'mine,' finds no safety until its self is gone. Take away my selfhood and leave me free of self; release me from desire and let my heart be wounded with longing. On the field of desire, O Victorious One, I have become a captive to my own self, so give me victory. Dawn has risen; cut your words short, and begin the story of that lion.

There was a king who had a servant lovely as the moon; the king's very soul became his slave through devotion. At every turn, with the mallet of his purity, that loving boy carried off the prize on the field of good fortune. Before that king of noble repute, out of grace a hundred Ayazes had become his slaves. The king's heart was set on playing backgammon with him; in that contest he gambled away the piece of his heart. On the chessboard of that fortunate one, he fled before love and was checkmated by a single move. Though the polish of love kept growing at every moment, it wiped the rust of flaw from the heart. But against the decree of fate no scheme avails; God's command admits no change. Even with a hundred firm arrangements, when fate arrives it turns the page. Though nearness to the king holds many dangers, I do not know, perhaps this is fate's command upon the king. Yet do not boil over in your longing to be near kings; heed the secret of the verse 'do not cast yourselves to ruin.' The pen of God's destiny has written the dangers into the carpet of nearness to the king. Whatever had to be, its pen inscribed it; there is no changing a command once decreed. Pass beyond nearness to the false kings; for one moment take the path of nearness to God. The drunkenness of kingdom and rank in a wine sodden king, what does it bring but arrogance, pride, and conceit? A self serving, self worshiping monarch, drunk on the wine of lust and dominion. For this reason there is no reckoning in his conduct; one of his mouths is fire, the other water. At the height of nearness lies the danger of losing your head; beware of closeness to the sultan, beware. A borrowed kingship keeps no faith; it is a bathhouse towel, in the end stripped away. Indeed it is no more than a merely nominal thing, nothing but the fancies of an impossible dreamer. Why have you fixed your heart on this borrowed thing, settling firmly on matters that are only conventions? From an imaginary wine you have your drunkenness and hangover; you have bound your heart to the fancy of mere prestige. For one sip of its honey there are many stings; in the hangover of its wine lie countless anxieties. The thrill of its cup is gloom; the yield of its tavern is withering. Why are you joyful in this gloom? Why do you find delight in this withering? For God's sake, for God's sake, let go of these absurdities; your pomp and pageantry have no permanence. Your desire for this title of king is improper; this robe is far too grand for your frame. The One who has the power of creation and sustenance, to Him alone the majesty of sovereignty befits. This kingship belongs also to the saint within himself, for he is the manifestation of God's attributes. He is the master of the age, the imam and guide, the pole of existence and the sultan of mankind. Through his being a whole world stands; the world is but a dewdrop from the sea of his bounty. His life giving grace is the adornment of the world; the existence of all things stands upon him. Should he withdraw his gaze for a single instant, the world of possibility would be turned upside down. He is the final cause of all things; matter and form stand upright through him. Existence itself flows from that king's bounty; his grace embraces all that is other than God. A contingent being, wholly deficiency and flaw, finds no path to the unseen without such a link. Like a poor thirsty ant before the sea, how can it drink the water without the mediation of a drop? This is not delegation gone false, dear father; do not hold this ill thought against me. Cleanse the eye of your understanding; perceive the true form of what is meant. If God delegated the affair entirely, His essence would be rendered idle, my trusted one. To the wise this notion is not reasonable; God forbid, the hand of God is not chained. Rather, His two hands are open with giving; He spends however He wills, at every moment. The philosopher said: from a single Absolute nothing can issue but a single thing, without flaw. If he says this as a matter of wisdom, it is acceptable; but if it denies God's power, it is improper. Would a cause compel the essence of God? God forbid, the face of such a notion is black. The first emanation's existence is a link; not by independence but by mediation. I do not say creatorship belongs to that one; but I do say grace flows from him to all else. Why would I become a believer in delegation, O divided heart? Delegation, by the Almighty, is unbelief. The mystics who know the secret of creation, when do they ever ascribe such a thing to him? Whatever exists is from the Creator; he is the mediator, the link between servant and God. He is also the mirror of God's signs; without His decree no blade of grass springs up. Who is that guiding saint today? The promised Mahdi, the awaited imam. The absolute pole, the manifestation of God, the king of faith; the goal of belief and the destination of religion. The cause of bringing into being and the effect of existence; the living, the self subsisting, master of the unseen and the seen. That vicegerent of God who is the proof set over us; his very being is pure grace and mercy. The radiant pearl of the sea of glory, of the line of al Askari, the ocean of perfection. Of the imams he is the twelfth; for now he is a pearl hidden behind the veil of the unseen. In person he is today existing and alive; the banner of his triumph and victory will follow. His longing fills the heads of the love stricken; the clamor of him fills the hearts of the distraught. This royal sovereignty and splendor befit him, who from the perfection of his radiance has become hidden. He is absent, yet his radiance is fully manifest; he is far from us, yet his grace endures. Though today he is like the sun beneath a cloud, matters will be set right, but with patience. The inner graces come from him; the outer grace belongs to his deputy. His deputy is the manifestation of his signs; the showing forth of holy lights is his essence. Whoever has sought help from him has sought guidance on the path of God. Whoever has made obedience to him his way has obeyed the command of that king. That is, whoever turned his face from his command has blindly rushed toward hell. His command, beyond doubt, is the very command of God; to reject him verges on associating partners with the Almighty. Who is his deputy? The one who is freed from his own self, who shattered his own jug in that sea. When before his Origin he became selfless, his form departed and he became the manifestation of meaning. Not just anyone who, through trickery, deceit, and fraud, has spread his nets to hunt the people. Ceaselessly, with hypocrisy and soft speech, that shameless one leads the common folk astray. He comes forth through the gate of asceticism and pretense, so that this fable may put on a show. He renounces the world for the world's sake; he sets up nets of deceit. He makes a display with smooth and cunning words, so that by this trickery he may secure a buttered loaf. That base man is the ghoul of the road and the thief of religion, set on misleading people like Satan. He sets foot on the path of leading men astray, introducing forbidden things and false innovations. Hoping his shop will prosper by them, he becomes the companion of a handful of fools. For God's sake, for God's sake, beware of this lordship and leadership; alas for this raw lust to be the chief. Through this lordship many hands have been lost to the wind; rarely has anyone won free from its bond. Just now a tale has come to my mind; it would not be fair of me to pass it by. If you listen to this story with the ear of your soul, you will give up this raw craving to be the head. You will come from the body toward the city of the soul, and from the faith of the heart you will find love of your true homeland. So now make yourself ready for that tale; turn, full of sorrow, toward the care of the heart.

The tale of that wise and aware king who decreed that whoever took up his ministry would, after one year, be dismissed: one of his hands would be cut off and thrown away, and whoever caught the severed hand would receive the office of minister. I have heard that in ancient times there was a king, both learned and wise. A seeker of justice, a spreader of fairness, a man of reason who cared for his people. He was so skilled in ordering the kingdom that his judgment steered the ship of state through the storms of sorrow. His sound management gave this command: he laid down a law in the foundation of his realm. That whoever took up the ministry would, after one year, be removed from his post. When he reached the end of his first year, the king's order came to sever his hand. Do not say this is an ugly thing. What did he steal, that they should cut off his hand? Surely some wisdom lay hidden in this; the deeds of kings are never without the rule of reason. Though this is beyond the grasp of ordinary minds, the book of secrets is not a beginner's copybook. Yet I will let you taste a hint, and unfold for you a subtle meaning fit for you. Since this king cares so deeply for his people, only a minister like himself is worthy of him. He keeps seeking order for the kingdom; he keeps walking the path of justice and fairness. He does not want a self-serving minister, one drunk on the wine of power. So when, by hypocrisy, some stranger to trust finds his way for a moment into the sanctuary of the realm, how could a just king be careless of him? God forbid he make a thief a governor. Yet for one year he grants him a reprieve; for the sake of a test, he gives him a seat of honor. When that demon sees that he has gained rank, that he has found a path to the throne of power, a thief who has become a watchman, a reckless wolf who has become a shepherd, then, after the reprieve of the testing year, that king says: 'Strike off all his fingers.' He is a highwayman and a thief; make him handless. Make him a lesson for the drunken thieves. What is theft? To carry off the people's goods, or to deck yourself with false glory through deceit? Glory befits the people of truth; it is not for the self-loving fool. Honor belongs to God: look in the Quran. It belongs also to the Prophet and the faithful. That thief is no less than a thief of wealth; whoever claims false honor is a robber, a highwayman. This ministry, for him, is only for rank and riches, only to satisfy his anger and lust. How does this honor suit the unworthy? No one but God's friend deserves leadership. Since he claimed it falsely for himself, he is a thieving robber, and his sentence is to have his hand cut from his body. On the road of love of power, this cheat has cut off his spiritual hand from any true deed. He has a hand, but it has fallen idle; it moves, but for the stranger, not for the friend. He has eyes, but they do not see; he has ears, but he hears nothing. And likewise all the limbs of his body have risen up to serve the stranger. Who is this stranger? It is the highwayman self; union with it means cutting yourself off from God. Since he set himself apart from God, his spiritual hand was severed from God. And just as his spiritual hand is severed, it is fitting that his physical hand be cut from his body. For God's sake, for God's sake, do not ruin yourself; do not make the face of your heart ugly and barren. How long will you keep saying, 'Look, I am the minister! Look, I am the deputy of that pole and elder!' The just king sits in ambush; he has girded on the sword of justice. When the span of your life comes to its end, the order to cut off your hand will be issued. What is the cutting of the hand? It is the secret of subduing desire; his blade is the sword that cuts pleasures and cravings. You cut yourself off from him: woe to your state! The sparks of separation will burn your wings. Enough of this breath, for the hour of dawn has come; the time of secrets has arrived, so pass beyond this moment. Though this is only a little from our harvest, and barely one in a hundred of the king's hidden meanings, we are not permitted more than this, though nothing is hidden from the people of the heart. So I will lay a few veils over his face, and turn my swift horse back toward the story, so that, behind the veil, the king's secret stays protected, and the hand of the unworthy is kept short of it. For now, listen to the song of the night bird, who has come into melody and rapture.

Again that sweet-voiced bird of dawn, right now its passionate frenzy has taken hold of me. Its melody left a lovely mark on my heart; its tune burned away all I had in one stroke. What a heart-stealing, sweet song it played, calling out to summon the lovers. Come, you drunken lover, come! Come, this is the hour of union, come! Love has arrived; what use is a love letter now? The beloved is home, so for whom is the letter? To call for reading the book of secrets in the beloved's presence is a breach of manners. So this ledger slipped from my hand, and another frenzy seized my drunken head. The hangover of love struck me just then; I fear I will tear open the veil over the secrets. Cupbearer, to cure this hangover, bring another cup this very moment. From that wine of the tavern of the unburdened, the one that is medicine for the heart and a cure for the soul. Be generous with a cup there is no escaping, so I may be freed from the headache of grief. Otherwise I will rip the veil of illusion, and lay bare the secret of the beloved's affairs. If you pour just a cup or two of that wine now, you will set this distraught one's matter right. I will place several lids over this secret, and turn my steed back from this valley. I will finish the tale of that king, and hold my breath right here; and so, farewell.

The full account of the king, the danger of craving rank and power, and the bad luck brought by misguided followers. In short, as the year drew to its end, the king's order came: strip off the saddle. Donkey, this saddle of yours was only borrowed. How long will you flaunt it over other donkeys? In brief, as he tumbled down from his ministry, the fortune of that crooked man sank low. The king's order came: cut off his hand and throw it into the crowd of that city. Whoever from that crowd snatched the hand, the king, by his cunning, would make him minister. A strange affair: the people of that land took no lesson from it at all. Instead, those donkeys raced each other to grab the hand from the hands of the rest. Yes, this is what love of the world does; this is how it blinds the eye of the heart. Your love of a thing blinds you, my son; love of the world has stolen the light from your sight. Stranger still was that self-worshipping minister, drunk on the wine of love for office. When they threw down his hand, and that sightless crowd rushed forward, that stubborn minister with the severed hand sprang up himself and snatched it back. So that he could become chief and leader again. Alas, this love of power, alas, alas! You who are captive to lust for rank and wealth, take a lesson from this parable. My aim in this tale was no idle fable; this secret is about you, no stranger. You yourself know the world is a calamity; yet love of it still holds firm in your nature. So many hands and heads were lost in craving it. Still you rush toward it, you blind one? This authority is the cause of your disgrace, the ruin of your faith and the death of your soul. Beware, do not become the head; seek to be the tail. The head perishes while the tail survives. If two wolves attack a flock with no shepherd and no fear to guard it, the harm they bring is nowhere near as great as the harm authority brings to your faith. By God, by God, keep clear of it. It is a wooden pot; do not look for stew in it. I see nothing more harmful to men, when they disagree with the crowd, than the clatter of sandals. Nothing is plainer poison to hearts than the click-clack of a disciple's shoes. Beware of these disciples, beware! Take care, master, of this herd of donkeys. They are nothing but braying asses; they are followers of every loud caller. Every corruption that appeared in the world rose from the ill conduct of disciples. Whenever a leader did something wrong, the donkey-disciple only piled on praise, saying, Truly this deserves applause; whatever the king does is sweet. And those ignorant, self-worshipping leaders, love of the world kept them drunk. They leaned on the disciples' trust, and so corruption spread through the world. The source of every revolt that has come to light is love of the world, O wounded heart. The chief of all the prophets said: love of this world is the root of every sin. The tale of Ad and Shaddad and Thamud, the story of Nimrod and stubborn Pharaoh, the heartrending tragedy of the plain of Karbala, the wrong done by the rebels to the Prophet's household, and likewise every wrong that befell the world through injustice, tyranny, and corruption, all of it sprang from this, you blind one. And still you desire it? Dust on your head! Giving your heart to it is not wisdom; falling in love with it is madness. Whoever made room in his heart for its love fell into ruin forever. He became lost in this wilderness of error forever, and God knows best how it ends. Whoever is seduced by love of the world, yes, it makes him this crazed. This talk has no end, my son. Ask God to grant you clear sight.

Night returns, the key that unlocks the secret; the singing rooster bursts into song. It said: throw away these pages, what business have you with the book of lovers? Again the gathering of oneness stirred my passion; from my mind the very notion of separation vanished. How happy I am in this solitude; in this moment I don't even know where my heart is. Where are you, my heart, so defenseless? For the sake of our old companionship, carry me with you. You left and abandoned me empty-handed; how neatly you packed up reason and carried it off with you. My solitude is sweet, a solitude with no pretender; here there is no stranger and no kin. No reason here to grant permission, no heart of mine to recount its suffering. No thought finds a way to any place; in fact, the self itself knows nothing of itself. In this madness I keep saying gladly, at every moment: if only my people knew. These are the gardens of Eden, so enter; these are their delights, so hurry. These are the meadows of holiness, so seek them; these are the cups of intimacy, so drink. Hasten, my people, for the field has grown narrow; rush toward your desire before it fades. You will not grasp my state, my son; how well they put it: I am mute and you are deaf. This talk needs a veil, and that is all; let me return to the tale of that boy.

Return to the story of that servant who came to a good end, and the misery and bad fate of the envious whose ends were wretched. When that beauty, the envy of the moon, won the field with the polo stick of loyalty and reached the ground of the king's nearness, his rank and standing before the king kept rising, and a fire fell into the soul of the envious one. God help us from the envious of evil nature, whose foul presence has made an entire world ugly. It is out of envy that Satan stands against Adam, plotting at every moment to lead his offspring astray. He said: I will surely lead them all astray from the path of truth, except the sincere ones. Just as I would not prostrate myself, how could I let a human being prostrate? Through this envy he leads many off the road; he makes arrogance their trap. Do not say that no one is too proud to bow; no one is ever arrogant toward the truth itself. What is arrogance? It is abandoning God's command, mocking and slandering His friend. Prostration to God means following the saints, for the light of God shines from their faces. When you step outside their command, it is out of folly that you act with scorn and pride. If you want the straight road without suffering, take hold of the hem of their robe. The people of truth are the road of truth, O traveler; through this path, my heart, head toward your goal. Enter the houses through their doors, and seek things through their proper means. Go and make your heart aware through the Quran; solve your difficulty through that Book of God. The path full of dread comes in three kinds: the straying, those who earned wrath, and the straight road. The straying are the Christians, those under wrath the Jews; the religion is the straight road, O loving one. Find for yourself who the Christians and Jews are, through your own pure intellect, not from this book. Beware, beware, do not become suspicious here; read the verse: surely some suspicion is a sin. My intent was the worthless envious one; what business have we with other devils? This envy is a very harsh and bitter disease; indeed, it is unbelief itself, if you look well. Since the blind, envious one, with this blameworthy trait, has fallen into enmity with the just and wise God, he wishes the loss of a blessing that God in His wisdom has granted to a servant. If he believes the envied one is worthy of it, then to wish its loss is to find fault with God. And if not, then that fool is claiming he knows better than God knows about that servant's case. Both of these are unbelief; and even if you set them aside, where has any envious person ever gained from envy? Rather, that deceiver is forever in torment, since he never reaches his aim and desire. Nothing comes to him from it but disgrace, for they have said: the envious never prospers. All he gets is his grief and sorrow, the burning of his heart, his heaped up anguish. Indeed, of all people that wretch has the least joy; beware of this disease that has no cure. Whatever I say, it is still more than that envy can hold; when have you ever seen an envious one who truly worshipped God?

In short, those crooked, envious men began to stir up trouble before the king. They said: this ill-natured, suspect slave, why has the king let him into the royal harem? We are your slaves, loyal to your reign, devoted servants who know our duty and wish you well. We must protect your honor, and turn the fire of our zeal against any stranger who comes too close. What kind of gratitude is it to your majesty if a stranger's hand should reach your family? It was for us to speak, the command is yours; this was the limit of our duty, the decision rests with you. Though the king had tested him many times, had tried him more than two hundred over, his pure character was flawless, free of any fault, and his eye toward the king's honor held no doubt. That pure soul, who played fair and saw with clean eyes, was so innocent that no such slander could fit him. Yet the king's heart soured by the decree of fate, for when destiny arrives it blinds the eye. Fate's pen, with its many hidden wisdoms, paints the tablets of destiny with shapes. Its figure changes form at every moment: now it becomes Majnun, now it becomes Layla. Sometimes it takes the shape of Pharaoh, sometimes it becomes Moses; how excellent is the Almighty. Sometimes Adam, sometimes Satan; sometimes it is unbelief, sometimes faith. To throw the common people off the trail, it leaves footprints set backward. People are veiled from this breath as it passes by, though it came upon them by the decree of fate. The king's heart turned cold; his anger rose against him, and he handed that good man over to the jailer. The king kept an arena of beasts, where every predator was gathered together. Whenever he grew enraged with anyone, this was his law of torment: they would throw the victim into that arena of wild beasts to be made their prey. So the king told the jailer: tomorrow, open the gate of the arena, and cast this insolent slave inside; shatter the very frame of his being. Is this the reward for all our kindness, that he should be ungrateful for all our gifts? Go and wipe his life from the face of the earth, so it becomes a lesson for the rest. Bind him tight in his prison chains, and let the guards stand watch over him for twenty days. Out of respect he laid his face on the dust of obedience, said 'we obey,' and was led off to prison. But fate poured out another color here, and freed him from the prison of sorrow. It began yet another scheme, and loosened the chains of grief from his feet. When the dark night spread its black shade, that slave escaped from the jailer's bonds. He set off toward mountain, plain, and desert, placing his trust in the one true God. Night after night he crossed the distance; by day he rested. His food in that desert was grass, and day and night he gave thanks to God. One day, while searching for something to eat, he suddenly saw a lion appear. The poor man gave up all hope of life; he could not move, and his legs went weak. Again and again the lion scraped its paws, let out a roar, and swished its tail. Not the roar of a wild rage, but the roar of pain and sickness. It moaned in a wounded way, from the burning fire of a soul-melting wound. At last it came up to the young man, this wild-natured lion, gentle now as a tame gazelle. It rubbed its head against him and sniffed him, as if to say: you are free, O free man. I will not tear you apart, be at ease; I am in pain, not hunting for a meal. Then the lion gestured with its paw toward its lip: a thorn has gone into this lip of mine. Pull this thorn out now, and I will be your friend in every situation. When the young man saw the thorn in its lip, he understood its wish, and his heart grew calm. So he was gentle and comforted it, faithfully stroking his hand across its face. Saying: do not grieve, for I am your comforter; I am also the cure for the pain of this thorn. He wiped the rust of grief from its mind, and carefully drew the thorn out of its lip. Once it benefited from that kind nature, the lion became his loyal friend. For some time, while he stayed there, he made his home beside that male lion. The lion hunted to feed him and showed affection to that good-natured man. For a while his life went on like this, and he fared well from the lion's bounty. One day he remembered his child and wife, and the longing for home fell upon him. When his family came to his mind, that thought left his heart in turmoil. He yearned for his own homeland; yes, love of one's country springs from faith. Though this homeland is just another city, this secret too points toward that other home. He came back to the city, but with fear and dread that the king might learn of him. The poor man hid himself inside a house, and for years his life passed in this way. By chance someone became aware of him and went to the king to inform on him. Saying: your slave is inside such-and-such a house; that proud man is hiding there. If the king sends a few officers, they will take him captive in the net of bondage. The king sent for him and seized that servant, and put that blessed man in chains. The king ordered him thrown into the arena of wild beasts, so they might give him what he deserved. Then the king took his seat in the viewing gallery, watching alongside all his attendants. The crowd gathered all around the arena, drawn there in eager wonder for the spectacle. The keepers of the beasts turned him over and cast him into that arena of savage animals. As fate would have it, that loyal, fierce lion happened to be there among the wild beasts. He saw his friend and gladly recognized him, came up close and caressed him with affection. He drove the other predators far away and gave him shelter under his own protection. He lavished on him such fondness and tenderness as befits those who share a secret bond. The crowd was astonished at this strange sight, struck dumb and bewildered with amazement. How odd, this matter, this baffling thing: what kinship could there be between a lion and a man? How can a man strike up such a bond of love with a raging, drunken lion? A lion's friendship means devouring a man, not caressing him and caring for his sorrows. This too is one of fate's clever tricks, so that what God has destined comes to pass. When the king saw such purity from that pure-hearted creature, his heart turned clean again toward his servant. So he commanded that the servant be brought, that he might learn that blessed man's story. When the king came back to his promise, his heart filled with love for that good-natured man. He showered him with kindness and called him near, seating him on the honored throne of his own closeness. He said, tell me this hidden secret: what truly was this bond of yours with the male lion? Reveal this secret quickly, for it has robbed my heart of all peace and rest. He said: when I fled from your court, I crossed into the wilderness and met that lion there. A thorn had lodged in the lion's lip, and because of it his state was deeply distressed. I drew the thorn out from his lip and found a remedy for his suffering. When the lion gained relief from me, out of loyalty he befriended this sorrow-stricken man. For the whole time I sheltered there, that loving beast would hunt and bring me food. The king came to his senses when he heard these words, of the lion's loyalty and the servant's plight. He said to himself: by God, by God, the human being, why should he fall short of a lion? If a lion's faithfulness and loyalty could be like this, then why should a man be without faith and love? This kind-natured, loyal servant, how much pain and cruelty he endured from my tyranny. I, who had already tested and trusted him, why did I listen to the words of his enemies? I brought my own servant to misery and despair, all for the talk of a wicked, jealous slanderer. Now I will take revenge on them, to comfort the heart of this servant. I will make them notorious across the city and the land, so the envious learn their lesson. Then he called the good-natured servant forward, and seated him once more in the place of honor near him. The just king kept raising his rank and his closeness, every moment, to spite the eyes of the envious. Withered heart, did you hear this tale? You learned the story of that lion and the servant. How that fierce lion showed his loyalty, coming to aid the man of good ways. In the wilderness it hunted prey for him, and wiped the color of sorrow from his mind. It also rescued him from those wild lions, there in that arena full of fury and fire. It brought him to the king's place of sacrifice, and increased his honor, his standing, and his rank. All of this came through the light of that lion; otherwise the king had set his mind on the man's destruction. Though all these things flow from the decrees of fate, it is wrong to credit them to a lion. But you will grasp my point from this telling: this world is the realm of secondary causes. Because that lion, when the man took a single step, drew the thorn of grief out of its paw. The lion repaid him with such kindness and generosity; for one step taken, it returned a hundred. If this was the rule of a lion in loyalty, then how must the loyalty of the Creator be? Now, you who are proud and drunk on desire, what do you imagine of God's threshold? If you take a single step toward Him in sincerity, if you come for one breath to His lane in truth, do you suppose He pushes you away, and makes you fodder for your vicious self? Far from it, such a thought does not befit Him; in dealing with the King there is no loss for us. Fruitless heart, if in His lane you are checkmated by the face of the One who wins all hearts, and you lose this selfhood for His sake, and break your own jug in His ocean, you will see yourself as nothing, and only His essence as real; you will negate yourself in affirming Him. In this defeat you will find your winnings; from this passing away and nothingness you will find lasting life. The winnings lie in being checkmated, good soul; if you want to win, go and be defeated by Him. This is the chessboard of love, my friend; its game is the reverse of all other games. Whoever is checkmated by the King of Majesty has himself won a hundred eternal victories. I wanted to turn the Nile here into blood, to reveal plainly the meaning of the parable. I would speak a point so that from this scant water both the Israelite and the Egyptian might drink their fill. But reason came back to me here, and arrived just in time; I am grateful to it. It spoke, and spoke well, saying this is no moment for it: describing light to a poor blind man is useless. A blind heart falls into suspicion, and from that bad guess comes only harm. Draw a veil over the matter and move on; don't be so bold and reckless. Since Niku counseled me so kindly, I held my tongue out of several wisdoms. The old master of love told me: at times the rules of reason must be observed. The rest of what I would say I am not permitted to tell, for the common ear holds no light for it. If your heart is bright from within, you grasp the rest without my saying it. Though I have said all that can be said, what remains is no place for words. This is the time of love's colorlessness and madness; this moment has no room for how and why. Love is plain and free of these stains; let me go to the lover who has fallen low. Once more let me go into that sea of blood, toward the old master and the wretched lover. Perhaps there I may gladden a heart, and make this ruined tavern of the heart flourish again. So that through the resolve of that generous old master I may find the road to my goal and desire. Just as that distraught lover came to a happy end through his help. Now open the ear of your soul, and ready yourself for that secret.

A return to the story of that dervish in love, and how the wise old master showed him kindness; and one grasps the truths of its glad tidings by pondering the subtleties of its hints. God is the giver of success. When that wise old master, awake in heart and knowing, came out of compassion to the side of the poor man, he saw him sweetly snared in the trap of love, and gently drew him close, lifting him from the threshold. He said: Welcome, new guest, you who have come this moment from a far country. Welcome, newly arrived visitor, you who have come from the body into the city of the soul. Welcome, greetings and ease to the lover; welcome, you have renewed the ancient covenant. Welcome, you whose feet are bound in the snare of love; welcome, you whose eyes are drunk on the cup of love. Welcome, casket of love's secrets; welcome, bird who feeds on the sugar of love. Welcome, shining pearl of love; welcome, gem from the ocean of love. Welcome, fruit of love's pages; welcome, eloquent parrot of love. Welcome, candle that lights love's assembly; welcome, soul-burning flame of love. Welcome, you have come in a fine hour; welcome, step gladly into my sight. The curl in the hair of the Chinese emperor's daughter has drawn you sweetly to the city of China. You have entered the soul, leaving the ruined body behind; the soul's air has happily freed you from the flesh. If, by this curling, winding lock of hair, your feet are now caught in the ring of the trap of sorrows, do not see it as evil, for this is the circle of God's friends; whoever is truly afflicted is free of his own self. The one who worships its grief grew glad; the one bound by its chain was set free. So seize the chance, for this city of China gives life to the soul; it is the dwelling of our Chinese king of kings. It is the circle of the pure, free spirits of meaning; it is the band of the men of Chinese soil. This land of China is the true homeland, and love for that certainty springs from faith itself. What is China but the kingdom of meaning, the city of the soul, the world of divine names, a station given freely? The man of China is the noble master, awake in heart, aware of the road, the goal, and the desire. Whoever holds the longing for China in his head, know for certain that he is a man of faith. If you carry the fervor of this passion in your head, learn the language and ways of the people of China. They hold this belief in deepest earnest: that their king has fathered no child at all. Just as the master of meaning has said, this tale within the book of the Masnavi: 'In China they all say in earnest of their own king that He begets not:' 'Our king has fathered no child at all; indeed He never let a woman near Himself.' 'Whoever among the kings did not speak of Him in this way found his neck wedded to the sharp sword.' The people of China had their own ways of speaking, and held certain beliefs concerning the king. If you long to reach the land of China, you need a guide who knows that country. Go and earnestly find that man of China, if you are set on traveling to the city of China. Beware, do not set foot there without a guide; the king has those without a guide put to death. The city of China is full of turmoil and hatred; this city tears out the very roots of faith and unbelief alike. This city of China has seen many a heedless soul left hand and head, undone, in its streets. It has seen many a heart drowning in its own blood; its moat is filled with severed heads. Whoever has no help from his master has not the courage to enter the city of China. If he goes without that noble master's support, that city scatters his foundation to the wind. Without the grace of God and God's chosen ones, even if you were an angel, your page would be black. Beware, do not go there without a guide, lest you be ignorant of the customs of the road. Do not go there without the guidance of a master; whatever he says, listen with heart and soul. Until your master grants you leave, say nothing; even your good, without his leave, turns to bad. Hold your breath from unworthy words, lest you speak falsely before that king. Make no false claim in his presence; speak no idle, fruitless chatter. Do not, before the king of China, speak of child or wife; without proof, breathe no word of his sacred ground. Once you have said this, bring your evidence, or surrender your life to his sharp sword. The king will say: since you have made this claim, prove at once that I have a household. If you can prove that I have a daughter, you will be safe from my sharp sword. But if not, without doubt I will cut your throat and strip the cloak of life from your Sufi body. Look, you who speak falsely out of ignorance: here is a moat full of severed heads. A moat, from its depths up to the throat, filled with heads cut off for their excess. So speak of the moon behind its cloud, lest you become acquainted with his sword. And if you speak, you must prove your claim; better that you become checkmated before him. Whoever was checkmated by our king has won; and whoever made a claim and showed himself off has lost. If you want the kingdom and the daughter, checkmate yourself; otherwise, quickly prove that a daughter exists. If the passion for China fills your head, the love of the king of China's daughter is your goal. Negate yourself and affirm only him; be checkmated by him, be checkmated, be checkmated by him. The custom of China is checkmate, the path of that purity, but it comes through the gates of the masters of faithfulness. Who are the masters of faithfulness? The lights of God, the wearers of the crown of kingship, foremost of all. The prophets and their chosen successors have been the guides and the road itself in every age. For now there is no one but Mahdi; today he alone wears this crown. He is the path and the knowing guide; whoever takes any other road is lost. Since he is now hidden behind the veil of the unseen, his deputy is the one who leads and guides. For now his deputy is the God-fearing scholar of law, the perfect knower, not the wretched pretender to mysticism. I am not saying every Sufi is wretched; rather I say that every false one is wretched. Who is false? The one chained to his desires, a slave to his own ego and heedless of God. Whoever turns false, this is the ruling for him, whether you call him a Sufi or a jurist. In short, do not set out for China without a guide, but do not become snared in just any guide's trap either. How many a devil there is in human form; so you must not place your hand in just any hand. Here I wanted to explain the way, to make the travelers aware of the path. I wanted to say a little of the customs of the King of China, and to describe the journey along China's road. I wanted to tell the manners and customs of the people of China, and reveal the secrets of unbelief and faith. Suddenly a message reached me from the King of China: turn your reins back from this station. Fall silent on this matter for a while; keep the secret of our China's road hidden. If you would speak of the radiance of China's road, then speak to people according to the measure of their minds. Do you know what this radiance of the road is? It is the veil of illusion drawn over the hidden secret. From now on speak of Machin, not of China; say no more about the state of that poor wretch. What is this 'ma' (we/not)? It is the veil over the secret of the work, and it also points to the negation of all but the Creator. Common folk imagine Machin is a dwelling place; the knowers understand it is nothing but the negation of all otherness. Though the 'ma' utterly negates that otherness, 'chin' (China) affirms the essence of the Truth. Whoever knows there is nothing other than the pure China, has nothing to fear if he wanders toward Machin. 'There is no god' (la ilah) is unbelief, and 'except' (illa) is faith; what is the 'la' but 'ma', and 'illa' but China. If, for the sake of faith, you pass through the unbelief of the 'la', you will enter the fortress of the China of 'illa'. And in that Machin you will see nothing but the One; without doubt you will find unity within multiplicity. When the King of China's message reached me, my pen broke and my paper tore. Inevitably I held back from this telling; with that, my resolve was undone and my purpose broken. God knows it was He who stopped my breath, who undid my resolve and broke my purpose. My resolve was undone by the King's message; my purpose was broken from that threshold. Though we have no resolve in any matter, our only purpose is the wish of the Beloved. Where do the knowers have a resolve or a purpose of their own? The resolve and purpose of the knowers, all in one, is God. But that grief was only the veil of the knower; inside the veil, he was fully aware of himself. The radiance of our true meaning was in the highest heaven; its reflection lent splendor to the sun itself. When it saw you wrapped in the veil of the body, it slipped from its high station into a small corner. Through these attachments it descended to the sphere of the sun; how strange, our ascent ran in reverse. The veils of the body became a lid over the soul, giving a place within space to what belongs beyond space. Yes, the contingent needs a fitting place; but the realm of nearness to God is a different station. It is the seat of truth, and a door to the soul, so it may go and dwell near the Mighty King. Since this kingdom lies behind concealment and veil, the Prophet said: the believer is a stranger. You are a stranger to this dwelling, an exile, yet bound close to it through the veil of form and body. When it fell down from the summit of the heaven, it took its place in the sphere of the visible sun. What is this sun, these outward displays that this eye of ours can grasp? Yet you cannot stare straight into that light; whoever stares at it is left dazzled and blind. Set aside the dazzling and walk the path of humility; seek the sign of the inward through the outward. It has come down in tradition that the sun's light draws its brightness from the light of God. It is one share out of a hundred thousand and more, though God's light has no measure or number. A single atom of God's light shone upon the sun, and from that light it gained this worth and splendor. If you look well at the outward sun, from it you will find your way to the inward sun. The outward sun, this heavenly orb, nurtures and sustains the earthly world. From it both the bitter gourd and the wild pear grow; but consider how far apart these two truly are. When it shines on a rose garden, it deepens the perfume; from that same light a dunghill gives off only foulness. It brings out the inner nature of everything, whatever it is, whether good or bad. Like rain that falls upon a meadow, from which tulips and jasmine rise. But when it falls on barren, salty ground, the rain of mercy yields no harvest at all. This comes from the difference in the ground, not from any failing in the rain's work. The bounty of this sun, too, is fitting; in giving it is neither stingy nor lacking. If such is the way of the sun of the sky, the inward sun follows the same law. Since the sign of the inward lies in the outward, everyone with certainty knows this meaning. As this sun gives its bounty according to capacity, the inward sun, too, gives by measure of readiness. So make yourself a vessel ready for the bounty, that it may show its splendor in earnest. As far as you can, strive for purity of heart, so the sea of grace may surge toward you. Don't go looking for water; build up a thirst instead, and then the water will gush up to you from above and below. Seek a resolve charged with the light of this sun, and seek it through the language of your inner state, not the words on your lips.