Seeker After Truth

Mullah Nasruddin and his son were riding the donkey to the town market. A group of people passed. Mulla heard them whisper: “What times are these? Look at those two, have they no mercy on the poor animal?”

Nasrudin, hearing this, tells his son to get off and continue the journey on foot. Another group of people passing by and seeing this comment: “What times are these? Look at this man. His poor son with his frail body has to walk while he at his best age is riding the donkey!”

Hearing this, Nasruddin tells his son to ride the donkey and he himself gets off to walk the rest of the way. A third group of people seeing this remark: “What times are these? This young man is riding the donkey while his sickly old father has to walk!”

Hearing this, Nasruddin tells his son to get off the animal and they both walk with the donkey trailing behind. Another group passing by point to them, laughing: “Look at these idiots. They have a donkey and they are walking all the way to the market!”

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A chickpea in a pot leaps from the flame,
out from the boiling water,
Crying, “Why do you set fire to me?
You chose me, bought me, brought me home for this?“
The cook hits it with her spoon into the pot.
“No! Boil nicely, don’t jump away from the one who makes the fire.
I don’t boil you out of hatred.
Through boiling you may grow flavorful, nourishing,
and united with vital human spirit.
I don’t inflict this suffering out of spite.
Once green and fresh, you drank rain in the garden;
you drank for the sake of this fire.  

God’s mercy precedes His wrath;
by God’s mercy the sick ones suffer.
It has always been so; this is how God creates all that exists.
Without pleasure, no creatures would come into being.
Without creatures,
what could the burning love of the Friend consume?
Such sorrow may come that you might wish
to be free of this life.
yet the Grace of God will overtake His wrath,
once you are washed clean in the river of suffering.

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There was once a man named Mojud. He lived in a town where he had obtained a post as a small official, and it seemed likely that he would end his days as inspector of weights and measures.

One day when he was walking through the gardens of an ancient building near his home, Khidr, the mysterious guide of the Sufis, appeared to him, dressed in shimmering green. Khidr said, “Man of bright prospects! Leave your work and meet me at the riverside in three days’ time. ” Then he disappeared. Mojud went to his superior in trepidation and said that he had to leave. Everyone in the town soon heard of this and they said, “Poor Mojud! He has gone mad.” But, as there were many candidates for his job, they soon forgot him.

On the appointed day, Mojud met Khidr, who said to him, “Tear your clothes and throw yourself into the stream. Perhaps someone will save you.” Mojud did so, even though he wondered if he were mad. Since he could swim, he did not drown, but drifted a long way before a fisherman hauled him into his boat, saying, “Foolish man! The current is strong. What are you trying to do?” Mojud said, “I don’t really know.” “You are mad,” said the fisherman, “But I will take you into my reed-hut by the river yonder, and we shall see what can be done for you.”  Read more... (746 words, 1 image, estimated 2:59 mins reading time)

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There was once a woman who had heard of the Fruit of Heaven. She coveted it.

She asked a certain dervish, whom we shall call Sabar:

‘How can I find this fruit, so that I may attain to immediate knowledge?’

‘You would best be advised to study with me’, said the dervish. ‘But if you will not do so, you will have to travel resolutely and at times restlessly throughout the world.’

She left him and sought another, Arif the Wise One, and then found Hakim, the Sage, then Majzup the Mad, then Alim the Scientist, and many more…… 

She passed thirty years in her search. Finally she came to a garden. There stood the Tree of Heaven, and from its branches hung the bright Fruit of Heaven.

Standing beside the Tree was Sabar, the First Dervish. 

‘Why did you no tell me when we first met that you were the Custodian of the Fruit of Heaven?’ she asked him.

‘Because you would not then have believed me. Besides, the Tree produces fruit only once in thirty years and thirty days’.

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From: Thinkers of the East, by Idries Shah.

A Sufi of the Order of the Naqshbandis was asked:

‘Your Order’s name means, literally, “The Designers”. What do you design, and what use is it?’

He said:

‘We do a great deal of designing, and it is most useful. Here is a parable of one such form.

‘Unjustly imprisoned, a tinsmith was allowed to recive a rug woven by his wife. He prostrated himself upon the rug day after day to say his prayers, and after some time he said to his jailers:

‘ “I am poor and without hope, and you are wretchedly paid. But I am a tinsmith. Bring me tin and tools and I shall make small artefacts which you can sell in the market, and we shall both benefit.”

‘The guards agreed to this, and presently the tinsmith and they were both making a profit, from which they bough food and comforts for themselves.

‘Then, one day, when the guards went to the cell, the door was open, and he was gone.

‘Many years later, when this man’s innocence had been established, the man who had imprisoned him asked him how he had escaped, what magic he had used. He said:  Read more... (317 words, 1 image, estimated 1:16 mins reading time)

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Imagine two men, one who is wise and reasonable and one who is a foolish idiot. Both of them enter the public bathhouse. In the midst of their bathing, the water suddenly stops flowing from the spigot. The wiser man knows that there is a channel behind the wall that brings the water from its source to the spigot, as well as a caretaker who oversees its flow. He walks out of the bath to check out what might be obstructing the flow of water in the channel beyond the wall, and to tell the caretaker to look after the problem.

Meanwhile, the idiot kneels down in the bathhouse and yells at the spigot, “Woe O’Spigot! Pour out some water for us! What’s wrong with you that you’ve cut off your water?”

Would not the wiser one say to him, “You are an absolute idiot! Can the spigot hear a word you say? Can the spigot do anything to help you?” 

The spigot, the wiser one would tell him, is only a particular thing with a specific function that lets flow from it what flows through it. The spigot is neither the actual source nor originator of anything.  Read more... (212 words, 2 images, estimated 51 secs reading time)

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