The Old Man on the Water

As fate would have it, an old man and I, both from Faryab, reached the sea on the western shore. I had a single coin; they took it, loaded the boat, and left the poor man behind. The black boatmen drove the vessel off like smoke, for the captain was godless and afraid. I began to weep out of grief for my lost companion; at my crying he laughed out loud and said: Do not grieve for me, you thoughtful one; the same One who took the ship will bring me across. He spread his prayer rug on the surface of the water. Was it a vision, I wondered, or a dream? That night my eyes would not close from astonishment; at dawn he looked at me and said: You are lame and came leaning on a stick; I came on my own feet. A ship carried you, but God carried me. Why do people of true understanding not believe that the saints walk through water and fire? Doesn't a loving mother guard even a child who knows nothing of the danger of fire? So those who are utterly immersed in ecstasy stay night and day within God's protection. He guards Abraham from the blaze of the fire, as He guarded Moses' cradle from drowning in the Nile. Like a child held safe in a swimmer's hands, he feels no fear even where the Tigris runs wide. How could you set foot upon the sea like those true men, when even on dry land your skirt is soaked?