“People everywhere are struggling on their own for fulfillment, but without any guidance as to
how
to achieve it,” murmured Shams with a shake of his head. “Your words help them. And I’ll
do everything in my power to help you. I am your servant.”
“Don’t say that,” I protested. “You are my friend.”
Oblivious to my objection, Shams continued. “My only concern is the shell you have been living
in. As a famous preacher, you have been surrounded by fawning admirers. But how well do you
know common people? Drunks, beggars, thieves, prostitutes, gamblers—the most inconsolable
and the most downtrodden. Can we love all of God’s creatures? It is a difficult test, and one that
only a few can pass.”
As he kept speaking, I saw gentleness
and concern in his face, and something else that looked
almost like maternal compassion.
“You are right,” I conceded. “I have always lived a protected life. I don’t even know how
ordinary people live.”
Shams picked up a lump of soil, and as he crumbled it between his fingers, he added softly, “If
we can embrace the universe as a whole, with all its differences and contradictions, everything
will melt into One.”
With this, Shams picked up a dead branch and drew a large circle around the oak tree. When he
was done, he raised
his arms toward the sky, as if wishing to be pulled up by an invisible rope,
and uttered the ninety-nine names of God. At the same time, he began to whirl inside the circle,
first slowly and tenderly but then accelerating steadily, like a late-afternoon breeze. Soon he was
whirling with the speed and might of gusty winds. So captivating was his frenzy that I couldn’t
help but feel as if the whole universe—the earth, the stars, and the moon—spun with him. I
watched this most unusual dance, letting the energy it radiated envelop my soul and body.
Finally Shams slowed down to a halt, his chest rising and falling with
every ragged breath, his
face white, his voice suddenly deep, as if coming from a distant place. “The universe is one
being. Everything and everyone is interconnected through an invisible web of stories. Whether
we are aware of it or not, we are all in a silent conversation. Do no harm. Practice compassion.
And do not gossip behind anyone’s back—not even a seemingly innocent remark! The words
that come out of our mouths do not vanish but are perpetually stored in infinite space, and they
will come back to us in due time. One man’s pain will hurt us all. One man’s joy will make
everyone smile,” he murmured. “This is what one of the forty rules reminds us.”
Then he turned his inquisitive gaze to me. There was a shadow of despair in the bottomless
depths of his eyes, a wave of sorrow that I had never seen in him before.
“One day you will be known
as the Voice of Love,” Shams remarked. “East and West, people
who have never seen your face will be inspired by your voice.”
“How is that going to happen?” I asked incredulously.
“Through your words,” Shams answered. “But I am not talking about lectures or sermons. I am
talking about poetry.”
“Poetry?” My voice cracked. “I don’t write poetry. I am a scholar.”
This elicited a subtle smile from Shams. “You, my friend, are one of the finest poets the world
will ever come to know.”
I was about to protest, but the determined look in Shams’s eyes stopped me. Besides, I didn’t feel
like arguing. “Even so, whatever needs to be done, we will do it together. We will walk on this
path together.”
Shams nodded absently and lapsed into an eerie silence, gazing at
the fading colors in the
horizon. When he finally spoke, he uttered those ominous words that have never left me, scarring
my soul permanently: “As much as I would love to join you, I’m afraid you will have to do it
alone.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” I asked.
With a wistful pucker of the lips, Shams lowered his gaze. “It is not in my hands.”
A sudden wind blew in our direction, and the weather turned chilly, as
if warning us that the fall
would soon be over. It began to rain out of the clear blue sky, in light, warm drops, as faint and
delicate as the touch of butterflies. And that was the first time the thought of Shams’s leaving me
hit me like a sharp pain in the chest.
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