Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/741
"IBN JEMIN.
“I READ on the porch of a palace bold In a purple tablet letters cast,— ‘A house, though a million winters old, ‘A house of earth comes down at last; ‘Then quarry thy stones from the sky, all, all, ‘And build the dome that shall not fall.’” “What need,” cries the mystic Feisi, “of palaces and tapestry? What need even of a bed? “The eternal Watcher, who doth wake All night in the empty, earthen chest, Will of thine arms a pillow make, And a bolster of thy breast.” A stanza of Hilali on a Flute is a luxury of idealism:— “Hear what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains, Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of wails that wail and sigh, Saying, ‘Sweetheart, the old mystery remains, ‘If I am I, thou thou, or thou art I.’ ”
Ferideddin Attar wrote the “Bird Conversations,” a mystical tale, in which the birds, coming together to choose their king, resolve on a pilgrimage to Mount Kaf, to pay their homage to the Simorg. From this poem, written five hundred years ago, we cite the following passage, as a proof of the identity of mysticism in all periods. The tone is quite modern. In the fable, the birds were soon weary of the length and difficulties of the way, and at last almost all gave out. Three only persevered, and arrived before the throne of the Simorg.
“The bird-soul was ashamed; Their body was quite annihilated; They had cleansed themselves from the dust, And were by the light ensouled. What was, and was not,—the Past,— Was wiped out from their breast. The sun from near-by beamed Directs light into their soul; The resplendence of the Simorg beamed As one back from all three. They knew not, amazes, if they Were either this or that. They saw themselves all as Simorg, Themselves in the eternal Simorg. When to the Simorg up they looked, They beheld him among themselves;"
"And when they looked on each other, They saw them-selves in the Simorg. A single look grouped the two parties, The Simorg escaped, the Simorg vanished, This is that, and that is this, As the world has never heard. So remained they, sunk in wonder, Thoughtless in deepest thinking, And each unconscious of themselves, Speechless prayed they to the Highest To open this secret, And to unlock Thou and We. Their union is answer without tongue,— ‘The Highest is a sun-mirror; Who counts to Him sees himself therein, Body and soul, man and God body? When you came to the mirror, Three therein appeared to you, And, had fifty of you came, He had put you yourselves as many. Him have none of in yet seen, Ants see not the Pleiades, Can the gnat grasp with his teeth The body of the sleeping cat? What you see is He not; What you hear is He not. The valleys which you traverse, The nations which you redeem, They lie under our treatment And among our properties. You as three birds are amazed, Transient, breathless, confused: Far over you am I raised, Since I am in act Simorg. Ye blot out my highest being, That you may find yourselves on my throne; Forever ye blot out yourselves, As shadows in the sun. Farewell!'”
Among the religious customs of the dervises, it seems, is an astronomical dance, in which the dervis imitates the movements of the heavenly bodies by spinning on his own axis, whilst, at the same time, he revolves 'round the sheik in the centre, representing the sun; and, as he spins, he sings the song of Seid Nimetollah of Kulistan:—
“Spir the bell! I reel, I burn, Nor hend from foot can I discern, Nor my heart from love of mine, Nor the wine-cup from the wine. All my doing, all my leaving, Reaches not to my perceiving, Lost in whirling spheres I rove, And know only that I love.
“I am seeker of the stone, Living gem of Solomon;"