The Conference of the Birds

المقالة الثانیة سخن هدهد با مرغان در طلب سیمرغ

The birds of the world held an assembly, all of them, those that are seen and those that are hidden.

They all said: "In this age of the world no city is without a king.

How can it be that our realm has no king? To go on without a king is no longer the way.

It is right that we help one another and set out in search of a king.

For when a land is left without a king, no order or rank remains among its troops."

So they all came together in one place, every one of them seeking a king.

The hoopoe, roused, his heart full of expectation, came into the midst of the gathering, restless.

On his breast he wore a robe of the Path; on his head, a crown of the Truth.

Quick of understanding, he had come along the way and knew both bad and good.

He said: "Birds, I am, beyond all doubt, a disciple of the Presence and a courier of the Unseen.

I have come with tidings from the Presence, and by my nature I hold its secrets.

One who found 'In the name of God' in his beak — no wonder if he found many secrets.

I pass my days in my own longing; no one has any business with me.

Since I am taken up with the pain of the King, I never feel any pain from the army.

By my own sense I can show where water lies; I know many secrets beyond this.

I went before Solomon in speech, and so I stood above his host.

Whoever was missing from his kingdom, strange to say, he neither asked after him nor sought him.

But when I was gone from him a single moment, he sent searchers out in every direction.

Since he could not do without me a single breath, that is enough for a hoopoe till the end of time.

I carried his letter and came back; behind the curtain I came to him as his confidant.

One whom the Prophet seeks may well wear a crown upon his head.

One whom God has mentioned for good — how could any bird come near the dust of his course?

For years I have roamed over sea and land; I have walked the way on my head, not my feet.

I have crossed valleys, mountains and deserts; I traversed a world in the days of the Flood.

I have been with Solomon on his journeys; I have measured the breadth of the world many times.

I know my King, but how can I go alone? I have not been able to.

If you will be my companions on the way, you will become intimates of that King and that court.

Free yourselves from the shame of seeing only yourselves — how long the disgrace of being without faith?

Whoever stakes his life on Him is freed from himself; on the Beloved's road he is freed from good and bad.

Scatter your lives and set foot on the road; dancing, lay your heads at that door.

We have a King beyond dispute, behind a mountain, and that mountain is Qāf.

His name is Sīmurgh, the sultan of the birds; He is near to us and we are far, far from Him.

His resting place is on a very high tree; no tongue is equal to His name.

He has a hundred thousand veils and more, of light and of darkness, before Him.

In both worlds no one has the courage to hope for any share of Him.

He is forever the absolute King, drowned in the perfection of His own glory.

Where He is, He does not come to an end of Himself; how could knowledge or reason reach where He is?

There is no way to Him and no patience without Him; a hundred thousand creatures are mad for Him.

To describe Him is not the work of even the pure soul; reason has no capital to grasp Him.

So reason and soul alike are dazzled and stand with dim eyes before His attributes.

No sage has seen His perfection; no seer has seen His beauty.

Creation found no way into His perfection; knowledge followed and insight found no way.

The share creatures have of that perfection and that beauty, if you heap it all together, is a handful of fancy.

How can one travel this road on a fancy? How can you measure the moon with a fish?

A hundred thousand heads roll here like balls; here is crying and lament and the cry of 'Hū'.

So much dry land and so much sea lie on the way — do not think the road is short.

This road needs a rare lion of a man, for the road is long and the sea deep, deep.

It is fitting that we go bewildered, laughing and weeping along His way.

If I find a trace of Him, that will be something; if not, to live without Him is a disgrace.

What use is a soul without the Beloved? If you are a man, do not keep a soul without the Beloved.

This road needs a whole man; this court needs one who will lay down his soul. (the Persian reading is uncertain on the page image)

You must wash your hands of your life like a man, so that it may be said you are a man for the work.

A soul without the Beloved is worth nothing; like true men, scatter your dear soul.

If you scatter your soul like a man, the Beloved will many times scatter souls upon you."

حکایت

The Sīmurgh's work began, strange to say, when He passed over China one midnight, showing Himself.

In the middle of China a feather of His fell, and every land was thrown into tumult.

Each one took a pattern from that feather; whoever saw the pattern took up some work.

That feather is still in the picture-gallery of China: 'Seek knowledge, even in China' comes from this.

Had the pattern of His feather not been revealed, there would not be all this clamour in the world.

All these works of craft come from His splendour; all souls come from the pattern of His feather.

Since His description has neither head nor foot, it is not fitting to say more of it.

Whoever among you is a man of the road, now turn your heads to the way and set your feet upon it."

All the birds there grew restless at the glory of this King.

Longing for Him worked in their souls, and each grew very impatient.

They resolved on the road and came forward; they became His lovers and their own enemies.

But since the road was long and far, each was troubled at the thought of going.

Though each was fit for the road, each one came back with a different excuse.

Another said to him: "You who know the way, the eye grows dark in this valley.

This path looks full of dread. How many leagues is this road, friend?"

He said: "We have seven valleys on the road; when you have passed the seven valleys, there is the Court.

No one in the world has come back from this road; no one knows how many leagues it is.

Since no one has come back from this far road, how can they give you news, impatient one?

Since they were lost there, all of them, how could they bring you back word, you who know nothing?

The valley of Quest is the beginning of the work; after it, the valley of Love, without shore.

The third is the valley of Knowledge; the fourth, the valley of Self-sufficiency.

The fifth is the valley of pure Unity; the sixth, the hard valley of Bewilderment.

The seventh is the valley of Poverty and Annihilation; after this there is no going on for you.

You fall into being drawn; your going is lost. If you were a drop, you become an ocean.

When you come down into the valley of Quest, a hundred hardships meet you at every moment.

Here a hundred trials come at every breath; here the parrot of heaven is a fly.

Here you must strive and struggle for years, for here all states are turned about.

Here you must throw away your wealth; here you must gamble away your kingdom.

You must come into the midst of blood, and come out of everything.

When nothing you know is left in your hands, you must make your heart clean of all that is.

When your heart is clean of what destroys, the pure light begins to shine from the Presence.

When that light is revealed in the heart, the one quest in your heart becomes a thousand.

If fire appears on His road, if a hundred harsh valleys appear,

he throws himself from longing for Him, like a madman, into the fire, like a moth.

He becomes all quest from his own yearning and begs a draught from his cupbearer.

When he drinks a draught of that wine, both worlds are wholly forgotten.

Drowned in the sea, he stays dry-lipped; he asks the Beloved's secret of his own soul.

In his desire to know the secret, he does not fear the life-taking dragon.

If unbelief and faith come before him together, he accepts them both, so that a door may open.

When the door is opened, what is unbelief, what is faith? For beyond that door there is neither this nor that.

المقالة التاسعة والثلاثون در وصف وادی عشق

After this the valley of Love appears; whoever reaches it is drowned in fire.

Let no one be in this valley who is not fire; whoever is not fire, may his life be joyless.

The lover is one who is like fire: hot-paced, burning, unruly.

He does not think of the end for a moment; gladly he throws a hundred worlds into the fire.

For a moment he knows neither unbelief nor faith; not a grain of doubt or certainty.

Good and bad are one on his road; when love has come, there is neither this nor that.

You who hold all things permitted, this word is not for you; you are an apostate; this is not for your teeth.

All he has, he stakes outright; for union with the Friend he stakes his head outright.

For others the promise is for tomorrow; for him the cash is there and then.

Until he burns himself up at once, how can he be free of grieving?

Until the jewel within his being is burned, how can he sell his heart for the cordial?

He writhes forever in burning and melting, until suddenly he comes back to his own place.

When a fish falls from the sea onto the plain, it writhes in the hope of falling back into the sea.

Here love is fire and reason is smoke; when love comes, reason quickly flees.

Reason is no master in the madness of love; love is not the work of reason born of a mother.

If they give you a true eye from the Unseen, you will see where love's root lies here.

Every single leaf, from the being of love, has fallen headlong in its drunkenness.

If that unseen eye is opened in you, the atoms of the world become your confidants.

If you open your sight with the eye of reason, you will never see love's foot or head.

Love needs a man in difficulty; love needs a free man.

You are neither in difficulty nor a lover; you are dead — how are you fit for love?

A hundred thousand living hearts are needed on this road, to scatter a hundred souls at every breath.

المقالة الاربعون در وصف وادی معرفت

After that there appears before your eyes the valley of Knowledge, without foot or head.

There is no one here who does not go a different way, the ways are so many.

No road in it is like another; the traveller of the body is other than the traveller of the soul.

Again, soul and body, by lack and perfection, are always rising and declining.

So many roads have appeared; each appeared according to its own measure.

How could an afflicted spider travel this road as Abraham did, keep pace with an elephant?

Each one's travel goes as far as his perfection; each one's nearness is according to his state.

However high a gnat may fly, how can it gain the strength of the gale?

So, since the travel differs, no bird ever goes the same way.

Here knowledge has found its differences: one has found a prayer-niche, another an idol.

When the sun of knowledge shines from the heaven of this lofty road,

each one sees according to his measure and finds his own seat in the truth.

When the secret of His essence becomes clear to him, the furnace of this world becomes a rose garden.

He sees the kernel within the husk; he sees no atom but the Friend.

Whatever he sees, he always sees His face; atom by atom, he always sees His street.

A hundred thousand secrets from beneath the veil show him their face like the sun.

A hundred thousand men are always lost, until one becomes a seer of secrets entire.

This rare road needs a perfect man, to dive in this deep sea.

If a taste of its secrets appears, a new longing appears at every moment.

Here there is thirst at the height of perfection; here a hundred thousand bloods are lawful.

If you reach out your hand to the glorious Throne, do not stop saying for one hour: "Is there more?"

Drown yourself in the sea of knowledge, or else at least put the dust of the road on your head.

If you, asleep, are not one to be congratulated, why do you not hold mourning for yourself?

If you have no joy from union with the Friend, at least rise and mourn the separation.

If you do not see the Friend's beauty, rise, do not sit, keep seeking the secrets.

If you do not know, seek, and be ashamed: how long will you go like an ass without a halter?

المقالة الحادیة والاربعون در صفت وادی استغنا

After this comes the valley of Self-sufficiency; here there is neither claim nor meaning.

A wind leaps up from His need of nothing and lays waste a kingdom in a single breath.

Here the seven seas are one pool; here the seven stars are one spark.

Here the seven heavens are a dead thing; the seven hells are frozen like ice.

Here, wonder of wonders, an ant has the strength of a hundred elephants, without a cause.

So that one crow may have its fill, no one is left alive in a hundred caravans.

A hundred thousand clad in green burned with grief so that a lamp might be lit for Adam.

A hundred thousand bodies were emptied of their souls so that Noah might become a carpenter at this court.

A hundred thousand gnats fell on the army so that Abraham might rise above them all.

A hundred thousand children had their heads cut off so that the one who spoke with God might see.

A hundred thousand people put on the girdle of unbelief so that Jesus might become the keeper of secrets.

A hundred thousand souls and hearts were plundered so that Muḥammad might ascend one night.

Here neither new nor old has any worth: do something here or do nothing.

If you have seen a world of hearts roasted, I count it as though you had seen a dream.

If a thousand souls fell into this sea, a dewdrop fell into a shoreless ocean.

If a hundred thousand heads sank into sleep, an atom went into the shade, out of the sun.

If the heavens and stars fell to pieces, count it as one leaf falling from a tree.

If everything from the fish to the moon went into nothing, an ant's foot went lame at the bottom of a well.

If both worlds were wiped out at once, think of it as a grain of sand gone from the earth.

If no trace were left of demons or men, pass on as if from a single raindrop.

If all these bodies poured away into dust, what does it matter if one animal's hair is gone?

If part and whole were here wholly destroyed, one blade of straw is gone from the face of the earth.

If these nine bowls were lost at a stroke, one drop was lost in the seven seas.

المقالة الثانیة والاربعون در صفت وادی توحید

After this the valley of Unity comes to you, the station of stripping bare and of being single.

When they turn their faces to this desert, all lift their heads from one collar.

If you see much number, or little, it is one in this road, within the one.

Since the many is ever one within one, that one is one, complete, within the one.

It is not the one that comes to you as the Unique, from that one which comes to you in number.

Since He is beyond limit and beyond number, take your eyes off eternity before and after.

When the eternity before is lost, and the eternity after as well, nothing at all need stay between them.

Since all this is nothing, nothing at all, what could all this be at root but a coil?

المقالة الثالثة والاربعون در صفت وادی حیرت

After this the valley of Bewilderment comes to you: your work is always pain and longing.

Here every breath is like a sword to you; every moment here is a grief to you.

There is sighing, there is pain, there is burning; it is day and night, and neither night nor day.

From the root of every hair of this one, without a sword, blood drips and writes: "Alas!"

The man here is a fire gone cold, a chill burned through by this pain. (the Persian reading is uncertain on the page image)

When the bewildered man reaches this place, he stays in astonishment and loses the way.

Whoever had Unity written upon his soul loses everything, and himself too.

If they say to him: "Are you, or are you not? Say: do you exist or not?

Are you in the middle or outside it? At the edge, hidden, or seen?

Are you passing away or abiding, or both? Or neither? Are you you, or not you?"

He says: "I know nothing at all, and that I do not know, I do not know either.

I am a lover, but I do not know of whom; I am not a Muslim, not an unbeliever: then what am I?

But I have no knowledge of my love: I have a heart both full of love and empty."

المقالة الرابعة والاربعون در صفت وادی فقر و فنا

After this is the valley of Poverty and Annihilation; how could speech be fitting here?

The very essence of this valley is forgetting: dumbness, deafness, losing one's senses.

You will see a hundred thousand of your lasting shadows lost in a single sun.

When the universal sea resolves to move, how could the patterns on the sea stay in place?

Both worlds are only a pattern on that sea; whoever says they are not is only dreaming.

Whoever is lost in the sea of the heart has been lost forever, and is at peace.

The heart, in this sea of peace, finds nothing but being lost.

If they give him back from this being lost, he becomes a seer of the work and they give him many secrets.

Ripe travellers and men of men, when they went down into the midst of pain, (the Persian reading is uncertain on the page image)

were lost at the first step: what use, then? So no one took a second step.

Since all were lost at the first pace, count them as stones, even if they were men.

When aloes-wood and firewood go into the fire, both become ash in one place.

In form both are alike to you; in quality there is a great difference.

If something unclean is lost in the universal sea, it remains in its own qualities, in baseness.

But if something pure goes into this sea, it goes out of its own being and is not seen.

Its movement is the movement of the sea; when it is no longer there, it is beautiful.

It is not, and yet it is: how can this be? This is beyond the imagining of reason.

المقالة الخامسة والاربعون والاخری

At these words the birds of the valley, all of them, hung their heads in the blood of their hearts.

They all knew that this bow was not for the arm of a feeble handful.

At these words their souls grew restless, and many died miserably at that very stage.

The other birds, all of them, set their heads to the road there, in bewilderment.

For years they travelled, uphill and down; a long life was spent on their way.

What showed itself to them on this road — how could I give an account of it?

If you too one day come down to the road and see that road's passes one by one,

then you will know what they did, and it will be clear to you how much blood they drank.

In the end, of all that army, very few found the way to that threshold.

Of all those birds, none came into sight: of thousands, one reached there.

Some were drowned in the sea; some were effaced and vanished.

Some, on the tops of high mountains, gave up their souls in thirst, in heat and harm.