blank blank fullness

The Gift is a book of poems by The Great Sufi Master, Hafiz, that made its way into my hands last night. I woke up this morning (iTunes happens to be on B.B. King singing Woke Up This Mornin' right now hah) and the first thing I did was reach for the book. Great words to wake up to... All this after having met a Persian who recounted a story by Rumi the night prior to last.

Life reveals its mystery and secret

Everyday.

A little bit more

Than the first.

(^Hafiz' influence upon me already apparent.)

"Hafiz, whose given name was Shams-ud-din Muhammad is the most beloved poet of Persia. (c. 1320-1389). Born in Shiraz, he lived at about the same time as Chaucer in England and about one hundred years after Rumi. When he died he was thought to have written an estimated 5,000 poems, for which 500 to 700 have survived. His Divan is a classic in the literature of Sufism. The work of Hafiz became known to the West largely through the efforts of Goethe, whose enthusiasm rubbed off on Ralph Waldo Emerson, who translated Hafiz in the 19th century...In 1923, Hazrat Inayat Khan, the Indian teacher often credited with bringing Sufism to the West, proclaimed that "the words of Hafiz have won every heart that listens."

The Sun Never Says

Even
After
All this time
The sun never says to the earth,

"You owe
Me."

Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the
Whole
Sky.

When I Want To Kiss God

When
No one is looking

I swallow deserts and clouds
And chew on mountains knowing
They are sweet
Bones!

When no one is looking and I want
To kiss
God

I just lift my own hand
To

My

Mouth.

Why Abstain?

Why
Abstain from love
When like the beautiful snow goose
Someday your soul
Will leave this summer
Camp?

Why
Abstain from happiness
When like a skilled lion
Your heart is
Nearing

And
Will someday see
The divine prey is
Always
Near!

Like A Life-Giving Sun

You could become a great horseman

And help to free yourself and this world

Though only if you and prayer become sweet
Lovers.

It is a naive man who thinks we are not
Engaged in a fierce battle,

For I see and hear brave foot soldiers
All around me going mad,

Falling on the ground in excruciating pain.

You could become a victorious horseman

And carry your heart through this world
Like a life-giving sun

Though only if you and God become sweet
Lovers!

Effacement

Effacement
Is a golden gun.
It was not easy to hold it against my head
And fire!

I needed great faith in my master
To suffocate myself
With his holy bag
Full of truth.

I needed great courage
To go out into the dark
Tracking God into the unknown

And not panic or get lost
In all the startling new scents, sounds,
Sights,

Or lose my temper
Tripping on those scheming
Night and day around me.

Hafiz,
Effacement is the emerald dagger
You need to plunge

Deep into yourself upon
This path to divine
Recovery--

Upon this path
To God.

The Vintage Man

The
Difference
Between a good artist
And a great one

Is:

The novice
Will often lay down his tool
Or brush

Then pick up an invisible club
On the mind's table

And helplessly smash the easels and
Jade.

Whereas the vintage man
No longer hurts himself or anyone

And keeps on
Sculpting

Light.


Imagination Does Not Exist

You should come close to me tonight wayfarer
For I will be celebrating you.

Your beauty still causes me madness,
Keeps the neighbors complaining
When I start shouting in the middle of the night
Because I can't bear all this joy.

I will be giving birth to suns.
I will be holding forests upside down
Gently shaking soft animals from trees and burrows
Into my lap.

What you conceive as imagination
Does not exist for me.

Whatever you can do in a dream
Or on your mind-canvas

My hands can pull-alive-from my coat pocket.

But let's not talk about my divine world.

For what I most want to know
Tonight is:

All about
You.

The Thousand-Stringed Instrument

The heart is
The thousand-stringed instrument.

Our sadness and fear come from being
Out of tune with love.

All day long God coaxes my lips
To speak,

So that your tears will not stain
His green dress.

It is not that the Friend is vain,
It is just your life we care about.

Sometimes the Beloved
Takes my pen in hand,
For Hafiz is just a simple man.

The other day the Old One
Wrote on the Tavern wall:

“The heart is
The thousand-stringed instrument

That can only be tuned with
Love."

Stop Calling Me A Pregnant Woman

My Master once entered a phase
That whenever I would see him
He would say,

"Hafiz,
how did you ever become a pregnant woman?"

And I would reply,

"Dear Attar,
You must be speaking truth,
But all of what you say is a mystery to me."

Many months passed by in his blessed company,
But one day I lost my patience
Upon hearing that odd refrain
And blurted out,

"Stop calling me a pregnant woman!"

And Attar replied,
"Someday, my sweet Hafiz,
All the nonsense in your brain will dry up
Like a stagnant pool of water
Beneath the sun,

Though if you want to know the Truth
I can so clearly see that God has made love with you
And the whole universe is germinating
Inside your belly

And wonderful words,
Such enlightening words
Will take birth from you

And be cradled against thousands
Of hearts."



HAFIZ!!!!!!!!!!