Sheikh Kharrawani and His Wretched Wife

Don’t look at me.
Fall into the safety of God.
I’m already drowned.
Do I have a beard?
I can’t remember.

Rescue this man from his mustache,
curling so proudly, while inside he tears
his hair. Married to God, married
to God, but pretending not!

We see distinctly what this imposture
becomes in a hundred years. A sheikh
looks into a chunk of iron like it’s a mirror.
What this bushy-bearded man does not discover in his house
a boy could find so easily.

Dive into the ocean.
You’re caught in your own pretentious beard
like something you didn’t eat.
You’re not garbage! Pearls want to be
like you. You should be with them
where waves and fish and pearls and seaweed and wind
are all one. No linking, no hierarchy,
no distinctions, no perplexed wondering, no speech.
Beyond describing.

Either stay here and talk or go there and be silent.
Or do both, by turns.
With those who see double, talk double-talk.
Make noise, beat a drum, think of metaphors!
With friends, say only mystery.
Near roses, sing.

With deceptive people, cover the jar, and shield it.
But be calm with those in duality.
Speak sweetly and reasonably.
Patience polishes and purifies.

Here’s the story of a man looking for Sheikh Kharraqani.

A certain dervish goes out from Talaqan, over the mountains
and through a long valley. The injuries and troubles he suffered
deserve mention, but I’ll make it short. The young man
arrives at the sheikh’s house and knocks.
The sheikh’s wife sticks her head out, “What do you want?”

“I come with the intention of seeing the sheikh.”

"Oho," laughs the wife, "lock at His Reverence! 
Was there nothing to do where you live that you came on such an idle 
sight-seeing expedition? Do you hate your hometown? Or maybe 
Satan led you here by the nose?” I won't tell you
all she said.
                  “Still, I would like to see the sheikh.”

"Better you should turn around and go home. 
Hundreds of your kind have come like Israelites 
to rub their hands on this arrogant gold calf, 
parasite, licker-of-platters-on-the-floor, 
heavy-slumbering good-for-nothing.
                                                     They say, O,
this is ecstasy, O. They forget any real religious ceremony
and ritual prayers."
                             The young man could stand it no more. 
"What is this? I've been ambushed by a night patrol
in full daylight! Your blitherings try to keep me 
from the presence of a holy man,
but I know what light led me here, the same
that turned the golden calf into words in a sacred story.
A saint is a theater where the qualities of God can be seen.

Don't try to keep me out. Puff on this candle,
and your face will get burned! Rather try blowing out
the sun, or fitting a muzzle on the sea!
Old bats like you dream that their cave-dark
is everywhere, but it's not.

My determination to be in that presence is quick and constant. You won't stop or slow me.
A revealer of mystery and that which is revealed
are the same. Seed, sowing, growing, harvest, one presence. 
The husk, old hag of a nagging world,
should bow to that.
                            Hallaj said, I am God, and lived it out.
What happens when the I disappears?
What's left after not?

Whoever scoffs at these questions and the experiences 
they point to, his arrogant spit comes back in his face. 
There is no spitting on the way we're on.
Rain itself turns to spit on those who mock 
and casually show disrespect to saints."

With that he left the doorway and walked about 
asking in the town. Finally someone said, “The qutb 
is in the forest collecting wood." The young dervish 
ran toward the forest but with a doubt,

"Why should such a sheikh have such a woman 
for a wife, such an opposite, such a neanderthal! 
God forgive my impugning. Who am I
to judge?" But the question remained,
How could a teacher lie with that woman! 
Can a guide agree with a thief?

Suddenly Sheikh Kharraqani appears, riding a lion, 
firewood stacked behind him. His whip,
a live serpent. Every sheikh rides a fierce lion, 
whether you see it or not. Know this
with your other eyes: There are thousands of lions 
under your teacher's thighs and all of them
stacked with wood!

Kharraqani knew the problem and immediately began to answer, 
“Well, it's not out of desire that I put up with her! 
Don't think that. It's not her perfume
or her bright-colored clothes. Enduring her 
public disdain has made me strong and patient. 
She is my practice. Nothing can be clear 
without a polar opposite present. Two banners, 
one black, one white, and between them 
something gets settled. Between Pharaoh 
and Moses, the Red Sea.

You consider issues, but not deeply enough. 
Your spring is frozen. Faith is a flowing.
Don't try to forge cold iron.
Study David, the ironsmith, and dancer, and musician. 
Move into the sun. You're wrapped in fantasy 
and inner mumbling. When spirit enters,
a man begins to wander freely,
escaped and overrunning through the garden plants, 
spontaneous and soaking in.”

Now a miracle story...