Teachings and Discourse of Rumi (Part 4.)

Hamid was sitting with his friend in his little shop on a busy street in Damascus. The young boy, the son of the tea seller on the street, appeared with his steaming metal tea-pot, filled two cups, and was gone.
Hamid poured a little tea from his cup onto the saucer and took a sip.

“I just want to die,” he said to his friend and sighed. His friend turned an amber bead from his rosary over his finger and slowly nodded his head.
“There is dieing,” he paused, “and there is dieing,’ he said softly. “He returns through the door from where he entered first, while on his journey he ventured from door to door. May you achieve that real dieing, the death of all illusions — and pass through that door from which you first came out and the final fana. Inshalla!”
“Inshalla!” repeated Hamid and continued to sip and sigh.

“I am not worthy,” he said after many minutes.
“None are worthy except for Him,” replied his friend.
“I am not good,” continued Hamid.
“Good is not God,” countered his friend. “God loves both the scorpion and the saint. You are not your nature,” he said and told Hamid the following story:
A saint had finished bathing in the stream and was getting up to attend to his prayers when he spied a scorpion that had fallen into the stream and was drowning. Bending over, the saint slid his hand under the water and lifted up the scorpion. Feeling the saint’s hand, the scorpion stung, the pain from which caused the saint’s hand to shake, and he dropped the scorpion back into the stream.
Undaunted, the saint tried again and again was stung by the scorpion and again was dropped back into the stream. This back and forth continued for sometime and did not escape the watchful eye of the saint’s disciple.
“Just leave the damn scorpion,” he finally shouted at the saint. You are being stung again and again.
“It is the nature of the scorpion to sting,” the saint replied to his disciple. “He stings even though it may cause him to die.”
“Then let him die,” argued the disciple.
“I cannot abandon him,” replied the saint. “It is his nature to sting and it is my nature to help. If this creature will not abandon his nature — even at the cost of his own life — then how can I abandon my nature for the mere pain of his bite?”
“I must pray more,” Hamid said after some time. His friend smiled and said,

‘No need to turn to the Ka'ba when one is in it,
And divers have no need of shoes.’(— The Masnavi, trans. Whinfield)


There is prayer and there is prayer my friend; God once told Moses,
“A burning heart is what I want; consort with burning!
Kindle in thy heart the flame of love,
And burn up utterly thoughts and fine expressions.
O Moses! the lovers of fair rites are one class,
They whose hearts and souls burn with love are another.
Lovers must burn every moment.”(— The Masnavi, trans. Whinfield)

A man approached the Prophet and said, “We must go to the Ka’ba.” The Prophet arched his right eyebrow and agreed to go. They departed immediately for Mecca and arrived late in the night. “We must stop and rest and enter tomorrow morning for prayers,” said the man. Again the Prophet arched his right eyebrow but offered no argument to the man. Instead, he unrolled a small rug and lay down.

“You cannot lay that way,” said the man.
“Why not?” asked the Prophet. The man pointed to the Prophet’s feet which were pointed in the direction of the Ka’ba. The Prophet looked at the Ka’ba framed by his own naked feet. Immediately the Prophet changed his position, placing his head where his feet had been and laid down. But to the man’s amazement, the Ka’ba had moved and was still at the feet of the Prophet.

“What is it now?” asked the Prophet as the man pointed to his feet — and again the Prophet changed his position and again the Ka’ba moved. At the request of the man the Prophet changed his position two more times that night, so that his feet had pointed in each of the four directions, but each time the Ka’ba would follow him, always to remain bowed to his feet.” (My loving thanks to dear old Baba Singh who told me this story and the story of the scorpion and the saint many years ago when I stopped by his shop to buy spices and rice.)

(To be continued.)