(18) On another occasion Bayazid said, "Were God to offer thee the intimacy with Himself of Abraham, the power in prayer of Moses, the spirituality of Jesus, yet keep thy face directed to Him only, for He has treasures surpassing even these." One day a friend said to him, "For thirty years I have fasted by day and prayed by night and have found none of that spiritual joy of which thou speakest." Bayazid answered, "If you fasted and prayed for three hundred years, you would never find it." "How is that?" asked the other. "Because," said Bayazid, "your selfishness is acting as a veil between you and God." "Tell me, then, the cure." "It is a cure which you cannot carry out." However, as his friend pressed him to reveal it, Bayazid said, "Go to the nearest barber and have your beard shaved; strip yourself of your clothes, with the exception of a girdle round your loins. Take a horse's nosebag full of walnuts, hang it round your neck, go into the bazaar and cry out, 'Any boy who gives me a slap on the nape of my neck shall have a walnut.' Then, in this manner, go where the Qadi and the doctors of the law are sitting." "Bless my soul!" said his friend, "I really can't do that, do suggest some other remedy." "This is the indispensable preliminary to a cure,' answered Bayazid, "but, as I told you, you are incurable."

(5) In the time of the famine, the ten brothers of Joseph made the long journey to Egypt. Joseph received them, his face covered with a veil, and they recounted their hardships and asked for help against the terrors of famine.

In front of Joseph was a cup, which he struck with his hand, and it gave out a mournful sound. The brothers were in a state of consternation: they loosened their tongues and said to him: 'O Aziz! Do you, or does anyone, know what this sound signifies?' 'I know very well,' said Joseph, 'but you will not be able to bear the telling of it; for the cup says that you had a brother, who was remarkable for his beauty, and whose name was Joseph.'

Then Joseph struck the cup a second time and said: 'The cup tells me that you threw him into a well and that you killed an innocent wolf and stained Joseph's coat with the blood.'

Joseph struck the cup a third time, and again it gave out a mournful sound. He added: 'The cup says that Joseph's brothers plunged their father into the depths of grief and that they have sold Joseph.

'Now what have these unbelievers done with their brother? Fear God, at least, you who stand before me.'

This put them into such a state that they sweated with fear, they, who had come to ask for bread. In selling Joseph

they had sold themselves; when they put him in the well they themselves were cast into a pit of affliction.

He who reads this story without profit is blind. Do not listen with indifference, for this is none other than your own story. You continue to commit sins and faults because you have not been lighted with the light of understanding. If someone strikes the cup of your life, then unveil to yourself your guilty deeds. When the cup of your life is struck and you wake from sleep; when your injustices and sins are exposed one by one, I doubt if you will keep your peace or your reason. You are like a lame ant in a bowl. How often have you turned your head from the cup of heaven? Spread your wings and fly upward, you, who have a knowledge of the truth. If not, you will always be ashamed when you hear the sound of the cup.

(3) This sorrow, if it be truly conceived, is full of holy desire: and else might never man in this life abide it nor bear it. For were it not that a soul were somewhat fed with a manner of comfort of his right working, else should he not be able to bear the pain that he hath of the witting and feeling of his being. For as oft as he would have a true witting and a feeling of his God in purity of spirit, as it may be here, and sithen feeleth that he may not—for he findeth evermore his witting and his feeling as it were occupied and filled with a foul stinking lump of himself, the which behoveth always be hated and be despised and forsaken, if he shall be God’s perfect disciple learned of Himself in the mount of perfection—so oft, he goeth nigh mad for sorrow. Insomuch, that he weepeth and waileth, striveth, curseth, and banneth; and shortly to say, him thinketh that he beareth so heavy a burthen of himself that he careth never what betides him, so that God were pleased. And yet in all this sorrow he desireth not to unbe: for that were devil’s madness and despite unto God. But him listeth right well to be; and he intendeth full heartily thanking to God, for the worthiness and the gift of his being, for all that he desire unceasingly for to lack the witting and the feeling of his being.

(4) A Sufi was sauntering leisurely along when he was struck from behind. He turned round and said to the rogue who had hit him: ' He whom you struck has been dead more than thirty years.' The rogue replied: 'How can a dead man speak? Be ashamed, you are not united to God. If you are separated from him even by one hair it is as if you were a hundred worlds away.'

i 26)

When you are reduced to ashes, including your baggage, you will have not the least feeling of existence; but if there remains to you, as to Jesus, only a simple needle, a hundred thieves will lie in wait for you on the road. Although Jesus had thrown down his baggage, the needle was still able to scratch his face.

When existence disappears, neither riches nor empire, honours nor dignity, have any meaning.

(6) My Leader, who could see me bear myself Like to a man that rouses him from sleep, Exclaimed: "What ails thee, that thou canst not stand? But hast been coming more than half a league Veiling thine eyes, and with thy legs entangled, In guise of one whom wine or sleep subdues?" "O my sweet Father, if thou listen to me, I'll tell thee," said I, "what appeared to me, When thus from me my legs were ta'en away." And he: "If thou shouldst have a hundred masks Upon thy face, from me would not be shut Thy cogitations, howsoever small. What thou hast seen was that thou mayst not fail To ope thy heart unto the waters of peace, Which from the eternal fountain are diffused.

(3) And when we were a little farther onward, I heard a cry of, "Mary, pray for us!" A cry of, "Michael, Peter, and all Saints!" I do not think there walketh still on earth A man so hard, that he would not be pierced With pity at what afterward I saw. For when I had approached so near to them That manifest to me their acts became, Drained was I at the eyes by heavy grief. Covered with sackcloth vile they seemed to me, And one sustained the other with his shoulder, And all of them were by the bank sustained. Thus do the blind, in want of livelihood, Stand at the doors of churches asking alms, And one upon another leans his head, So that in others pity soon may rise, Not only at the accent of their words, But at their aspect, which no less implores. And as unto the blind the sun comes not, So to the shades, of whom just now I spake, Heaven's light will not be bounteous of itself; For all their lids an iron wire transpierces, And sews them up, as to a sparhawk wild Is done, because it will not quiet stay.

(14) We have seen above that one kind of spiritual hell is the forcible separation from worldly things to which the heart cleaves too fondly. Many carry about within them the germs of such a hell without being aware of it; hereafter they will feel like some king who, after living in luxury, has been dethroned and made a laughing stock. The second kind of spiritual hell is that of shame, when a man wakes up to see the nature of the actions he committed in their naked reality. Thus he who slandered will see himself in the guise of a cannibal eating his dead brother's flesh, and he who envied as one who cast stones against a wall, which stones, rebounding, put out the eyes of his own children.

(5) While I delighted me in contemplating The images of such humility, And dear to look on for their Maker's sake, "Behold, upon this side, but rare they make Their steps," the Poet murmured, "many people; These will direct us to the lofty stairs." Mine eyes, that in beholding were intent To see new things, of which they curious are, In turning round towards him were not slow. But still I wish not, Reader, thou shouldst swerve From thy good purposes, because thou hearest How God ordaineth that the debt be paid; Attend not to the fashion of the torment, Think of what follows; think that at the worst It cannot reach beyond the mighty sentence. "Master," began I, "that which I behold Moving towards us seems to me not persons, And what I know not, so in sight I waver." And he to me: "The grievous quality Of this their torment bows them so to earth, That my own eyes at first contended with it; But look there fixedly, and disentangle By sight what cometh underneath those stones; Already canst thou see how each is stricken."

(4) A poor dendsh once fell in love with Ayaz, and the news soon spread. When Ayaz rode through the street, perfumed with musk, this spiritual wanton would wait and run out to see him, and would stare at him as a polo player fixes his eye on the ball. At last they told Mahmud about this beggar being in love with Ayaz. One day, when Ayaz was riding with the sultan, the latter stopped and looked at this dervish and he saw that the soul of Ayaz was as a grain of barley and the face of the man as a ball of dough which encloses it.

He saw that the back of the beggar was curved like a mallet, and his head was turning every way at once like the ball in polo. Mahmud said: 'Miserable beggar, do you expect to drink from the same cup as the Sultan?' 'Although you call me a beggar,' replied the dervish, 'I am not inferior to you in the play of love. Love and poverty go together. You are the sovereign, and your heart is luminous; but for love, a burning heart like mine is necessary. Your love is commonplace. I suffer from the pain of absence. You are with the beloved; but in love one must know how to endure the pain of absence.' The sultan said: 'O you who have withdrawn from ordinary existence, love to you is as a game of polo?' 'It is,' replied the beggar, 'because the ball is always in movement, as I am, and I as the ball. The ball and I have heads that turn, though we have neither hands nor feet. We can speak together about the suffering that the mallet causes us; but the ball is happier than I, for the pony touches it from time to time with its feet. The ball receives the blows of the mallet on his body, but I feel them in my heart.'

'Poor Dervish!' said the sultan, 'you boast of your poverty, but where is your evidence?'

'If I sacrifice everything for love,' replied the derdsh, 'that is a token of my spiritual poverty. And if you, O Mahmud, ever have the experience of real love, sacrifice your life for it; if not you have no right to speak of love.'

So saying, he died, and the world became dark for Mahmud.

(1) Oppressed with stupor, I unto my guide Turned like a little child who always runs For refuge there where he confideth most; And she, even as a mother who straightway Gives comfort to her pale and breathless boy With voice whose wont it is to reassure him, Said to me: "Knowest thou not thou art in heaven, And knowest thou not that heaven is holy all And what is done here cometh from good zeal? After what wise the singing would have changed thee And I by smiling, thou canst now imagine, Since that the cry has startled thee so much, In which if thou hadst understood its prayers Already would be known to thee the vengeance Which thou shalt look upon before thou diest. The sword above here smiteth not in haste Nor tardily, howe'er it seem to him Who fearing or desiring waits for it. But turn thee round towards the others now, For very illustrious spirits shalt thou see, If thou thy sight directest as I say." As it seemed good to her mine eyes I turned, And saw a hundred spherules that together With mutual rays each other more embellished.

(604) thing is of serious importance, and grief stands in the way of that which at the moment is most required. What is most required? he asked. That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when the dice have been thrown order our affairs in the way which reason deems best; not, like children who have had a fall, keeping hold of the part struck and wasting time in setting up a howl, but always accustoming the soul forthwith to apply a remedy, raising up that which is sickly and fallen, banishing the cry of sorrow by the healing art. Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks of fortune. Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this suggestion of reason? Clearly. And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection of our troubles and to lamentation, and can never have enough of them, we may call irrational, useless, and cowardly? Indeed, we may. And does not the latter—I mean the rebellious principle—furnish a great variety of materials for imitation? Whereas the wise and calm temperament, being always nearly equable, is not easy to imitate or to appreciate when imitated, especially at a public festival when a promiscuous crowd is assembled in a theatre. For the feeling represented is one to which they are strangers.

(4) And while we were advancing tow'rds the middle, Where everything of weight unites together, And I was shivering in the eternal shade, Whether 'twere will, or destiny, or chance, I know not; but in walking 'mong the heads I struck my foot hard in the face of one. Weeping he growled: "Why dost thou trample me? Unless thou comest to increase the vengeance of Montaperti, why dost thou molest me?" And I: "My Master, now wait here for me, That I through him may issue from a doubt; Then thou mayst hurry me, as thou shalt wish." The Leader stopped; and to that one I said Who was blaspheming vehemently still: "Who art thou, that thus reprehendest others?" "Now who art thou, that goest through Antenora Smiting," replied he, "other people's cheeks, So that, if thou wert living, 'twere too much?" "Living I am, and dear to thee it may be," Was my response, "if thou demandest fame, That 'mid the other notes thy name I place." And he to me: "For the reverse I long; Take thyself hence, and give me no more trouble; For ill thou knowest to flatter in this hollow."

(4) In the time of Moses there was a dervish who spent days and nights in a state of adoration, yet experienced no feeling for spiritual things. He had a beautiful long beard, and often while praying would stop to comb it. One day, seeing Moses, he went to him and said: 'O Pasha of Mount Sinai,

ask God, I pray you, to tell me why I experience neither spiritual satisfaction nor ecstasy.'

The next time Moses went up on Sinai he spoke to God about the dervish, and God said, in a tone of displeasure: 'Although this dervish has sought union with me, nevertheless he is constantly thinking about his long beard.' When Moses came down he told the Sufi what God had said. The Sufi thereupon began tearing out his beard, weeping bitterly. Gabriel then came along to Moses and said: ' Even now your Sufi is thinking about his beard. He thought of nothing else while praying, and is even more attached to it while he is tearing it out!'

O you who think you have ceased to be pre-occupied with your beard, you are plunged in an ocean of affliction. When you can regard it with detachment you will have a right to sail across this ocean. But if you plunge in with your beard you will have difficulty in getting out.

(6) "Real mourning grieves in silence. Real anger awes without expression. Real friendship is unison without the aid of smiles. Our emotions are dependent upon the original purity within; and accordingly we hold the latter in esteem. "If applied to human affairs, then in serving our parents we are filial, in serving our prince we are loyal, in the banquet hour we are merry, in the hour of mourning we are sad. "The object of loyalty is successful service; of a banquet, mirth; of mourning, grief; of serving parents, gratifying their wishes. If the service is accomplished, it matters not that no trace remain. If parents be gratified, it matters not how. If a banquet results in mirth, the accessories are of no importance. If there be real grief in mourning, it matters not what ceremonies may be employed. "Ceremonial is the invention of man. Our original purity is given to us from God. It is as it is, and cannot be changed. Wherefore the true Sage models himself upon God, and holds his original purity in esteem. He is independent of human exigencies. Fools, however, reverse this. They cannot model themselves upon God, and have to fall back on man. They do not hold original purity in esteem. Consequently they are ever suffering the vicissitudes of mortality, and never reaching the goal. Alas! you, Sir, were early steeped in deceit, and are late in hearing the great doctrine." Confucius, having again prostrated himself twice, arose and said, "It has been a godsend to meet you, Sir, to-day. Pray allow me to follow you as your servant, that I may benefit by your teaching. I venture to ask where you live that I may enter upon my duties and learn the great doctrine."

(5) A certain sheikh once had a disciple whom he favoured above his other disciples, thus exciting their envy. One day the sheikh gave each of them a fowl and told each to go and kill it in a place where no one could see him. Accordingly each killed his fowl in some retired spot and brought it back, with the exception of the sheikh's favourite disciple, who brought his back alive, saying, "I have found no such place, for God sees everywhere." The sheikh said to the others, "You see now this youth's real rank; he has attained to the constant remembrance of God."

(4) Therefore now, if we will speak of this most serious Article, we must go from Jerusalem to Jericho, and see how we lie among Murderers, who have so wounded us, and beaten us, that we are half dead, and we must look about us for the Samaritan with his Beast, that he may dress our Wounds, and bring us into his Inn. O how lamentable and miserable it is, that we are so beaten by the Murderer (the Devil) that we are half dead, and yet feel our Smart no more! O if the Physician would come, and dress our Wounds, that our Soul might revive and live, how should we rejoice! Thus speaks the Desire, and has such longing hearty Wishes; and although the Physician is present, yet the Mind can no where apprehend him, because it is so very much wounded, and lies half dead.

(2) The shaikh went out one day from his monastery in the company of his disciples, riding on his donkey while his companions followed walking. All at once the donkey broke wind with a loud noise, whereupon the shaikh gave a cry and tore his khirka. His disciples looked at him in surprise, and one of them asked him why he acted like this. He said: ' When I looked round and saw the number of my followers I thought to myself, ''Now am I really equal to Bayazid. Today, I am accompanied by many earnest disciples; so, tomorrow, I shall without doubt ride with glor)" and honour over the plain of the resurrection."' He added, Ht was then, when I presumed this to be my destiny, that my donkey made that seemingly incongruous noise you heard. By this he wished to say, "Here is the reply that an ass makes to him who has such pretensions, and thoughts so vain! " That is why the fire of repentance fell so suddenly on my soul.

and why my attitude has changed, and my imaginary position has fallen to pieces.'

O you who change with every moment, you are as Pharaoh to the roots of your hair. But if you destroy in yourself the ego for a single day, your darkness will be lighted up. Never say the word 'I'. You, because of your 'I's', are fallen into a hundred evils, and you will always be tempted of the devil.

(25) "These experiences, when they have come to one, have left him in a new state of mind, and he has never been the same man afterward. Although the keenness of the recollection has worn off, there remains a certain memory which long afterward proves a source of comfort and strength to him, especially when he feels faint of faith and is shaken like a reed by the winds of conflicting opinions and speculations. The memory of such an experience is a source of renewed strength—a haven of refuge to which the weary soul flies for shelter from the outside world which understands it not. From the writings of the ancient philosophers of all races, from the songs of the great poets of all peoples, from the preachings of the prophets of all religions and times we can gather traces of this illumination which has come to them—this unfoldment of spiritual consciousness. One tells the story in one way, the other in other terms, but all tell practically the same essential story. All who have recognized this illumination, even in a faint degree, recognize the like experience in the tale, song, or preaching of another, though centuries may roll between them. It is the song of the Soul, which when once heard is never forgotten. Though it be sounded by the crude instruments of the semi-barbarous races, or the finished instruments of the talented musician of today, its strains are plainly recognized. From Old Egypt comes the song—from India of all ages—from Ancient Greece and Rome—from the early Christian saint—from the Quaker Friend—from the Catholic monasteries —from the Mohammedan Mosque—from the Chinese Philosopher—from the legends of the American Indian hero-prophet—it is always the same strain, and it is swelling louder and louder, as many more are taking it up and adding their voices or the sounds of their instruments to the grand chorus." The student must remember that in the experiences noted above, the individual simply has flashes, or period of dawning consciousness on this Sixth Plane of Consciousness, and is not to be regarded as having entered fully and completely into its manifestations, much less as having evolved into a state in which he functions normally and habitually on this high plane. There are beings—once men—who have evolved into the higher state in which they function normally and habitually on this plane of conscious being; but these individuals are no more than mere men, and have earned the right to be called "Demi-Gods." But, even as they once were men, so all men become as they now are by the unfoldment of this higher region of Self. These flashes of consciousness from this high plane are prophetic signs and messages indicating the awakening of the higher faculties, and giving assurance of further growth and unfoldment.

(2) A man came to Shabli one day, weeping. The Sufi asked him why he wept. 'O Shaikh,' he said, 'I had a friend whose

beauty made my soul as verdant as branches in spring. Yesterday, he died, and I too shall die of sorrow.' Shabli said: ' Why do you grieve? For a long time you have had his friendship. Go now and choose another friend, one who will not die, then you will not lay up for yourself a cause for grief. Attachment to a mortal can only bring sorrow.'

(7) Nor prayer for inspiration me availed, By means of which in dreams and otherwise I called him back, so little did he heed them. So low he fell, that all appliances For his salvation were already short, Save showing him the people of perdition. For this I visited the gates of death, And unto him, who so far up has led him, My intercessions were with weeping borne. God's lofty fiat would be violated, If Lethe should be passed, and if such viands Should tasted be, withouten any scot Of penitence, that gushes forth in tears."