and became a disciple of Shaykh Shihāb al-Dīn al-Suhrawardī (1). He followed an excellent spiritual way, possessed a gift for Qur’anic commentary according to the Sufi method (2), and displayed a gentle refinement. Among his words when preaching were these:
“The whole universe is but a speck in the expanse of His majesty, while that speck is like a universe in the script of His wisdom. Roots turn into branches when the beauty of His primordial being is disclosed, and branches become roots when, with the sunset of intermediaries, the sun of His finality rises. The curtains of night are drawn, the candles of the stars are lit, the eyes of the watchers are distracted from the yearning ones, and the veil of veils is [banished], set aside, from the doors of union (3). Why this lingering when the Beloved has opened the door? Why this pause when the Master has dismissed (4) the doorkeeper of doorkeepers?
[Long metre]
My lingering on the outskirts of al-‘Aqīq is sheer impiety
if I do not approach while tears there turn to rubies.
If I do not die of longing (5) for the dweller of that sanctuary,
then truthful I am not in the claim I profess.
O abode of Laylā, the lovers are not alike in passion (6),
nor is every drink pure nectar.
Not everyone you meet (7) meets you with his heart,
nor is everyone who shows you kindness truly yearning.
The claims to love have multiplied until slave and free
now seem alike in the fetters of desire.
O you who feel secure, is there among you one who will ascend to heaven? O you imprisoned in the dungeons of your own labels, is there among you anyone sound of understanding who can read the symbols of beasts (8) and birds? Is there among you a Moses of yearning who will cry with the tongue of his longing, ‘My Lord, show me that I may behold You,’ for the waiting has grown long?
When the people once performed the prayer for rain, he said afterwards:
“When the soul of the yearning one rose up to Allah—exalted is He—the horizons wept, the wet-nurse of the clouds poured down pearls, and the nursling of the soil drank the milk of mercy (9). From the teats of the clouds trickled drops of clear water; the barren earth quivered with life, the eyes of the stream were cooled (10), and the meadows arrayed themselves in green brocade. Thus the dye of freshness adorned their raiment with the finest embroidery, and with the fingertip of the morning breeze the buds (11) burst open …”