A Song About a Donkey

The following is about the dangers
of imitating others in your spiritual life.

Meet the Friend on your own.
Try to dissolve out of selfishness
into a voice beyond those limits.

A wandering sufi came with his donkey
to a community of sufis who were very poor.
He fed the donkey and gave it water,
left it with his servant, and went inside.

Immediately, a group of the resident sufis
sold the donkey and bought food and candles
for a feast.
                There was jubilation in the monastery!
No more patience and three-day fasting!

If you are rich and full-fed, don't laugh
at the impulsiveness of the poor.
They were not acting from their souls,
but they were acting out of some necessity.

The traveler joined in the festivities.
They paid constant attention to him,
caressing him, honoring him.
                                          The sema began.
There was smoke from the kitchen,
dust from the feet hitting the floor,
and ecstasy from the longing of the dancers.
Their hands were waving.
Their foreheads swept low across the dais.
It had been a long wait for such an occasion.

Sufis always have to wait a long time
for their desire. That's why they're such
great eaters!
                   The sufi who feeds on light, though,
is different, but there's only one of those

in a thousand. The rest live under
that one's protection.
                                The sema ran its course
and ended. The poet began to sing a deep grief song,
"The donkey is gone, my son. Your donkey is gone."
Everyone joined in, clapping their hands and singing
over and over, "The donkey is gone, my son.
Your donkey is gone."
                                And the visiting sufi
sang more passionately than all the rest. Finally,
it was dawn, and they parted with many good-byes.
The banquet room was empty. The man brought out
his baggage and called to his servant,
"Where's my donkey?"
                                  "Look at you!"
                                                        "What do you mean?"
"They sold your donkey! That's how we had
such a celebration!"
                             "Why didn't you come and tell me?"
"Several times I came near, but you were always
singing so loudly, 'The donkey's gone,
the donkey's gone,' that I thought you knew.
I thought you had a secret insight."
                                                    "Yes.
It was my imitation of their joy that caused this."
Even the good delight of friends is at first
a reflection in you. Stay with them
until it becomes a realization.
                                           The imitation here
came from the man's desire to be honored.
It deafened him to what was being
so constantly said.

Remember there's only one reason
to do anything: a meeting with the Friend
is the only real payment.