With such mercy that the king possesses, when he says "breathe," it is without necessity.
The mouse exaggerated in pleading and lamenting, seeking union with the water owl.
He said, "O dear friend of kindness, I cannot be at ease for a moment without you.
You are my light and livelihood during the day, my peace and comfort at night.
It would be generous of you to make me happy, to remember me kindly at all times.
In the day and night, you made the morning meeting a duty, O benevolent one.
I have five hundred thirsts in my liver, each thirst accompanied by the hunger of a cow.
O prince, free from my sorrow, give alms from your glory and look upon the poor.
This impolite, unworthy pauper, yet your universal kindness is above that.
Your universal kindness does not seek a certificate, it shines like the sun on impurities.
Its light does not harm it, and that impurity becomes dry wood.
When the impurity enters a furnace, it gains light, shining on the walls of a bathhouse.
It was defilement, now it is adornment, as the sun reads that spell upon it.
The sun warmed the earth's stomach so that the earth consumed the remaining impurities.
It became part of the soil, and plants grew from it; thus God erases sins.
With the worst impurity, He does this, turning it into plants, narcissus, and lilies.
Until the lily fulfills its rituals in loyalty, what will God grant in reward and gift?
Who are we? Come, my friend, brighten my day with good character.
Do not look at our ugliness and unpleasantness, for we are like mountain snakes full of venom.
O you who see me ugly and my traits all ugly, how can I become a flower when he killed me with thorns?
The new spring gives flowers to the thorn, adorns the peacock, and gives this snake.
In the height of my ugliness, I am at the end; your kindness is at the end in virtue and art.
The need of this end from that end, fulfill it, O longing for the tall cypress.
When I die, your grace will weep, though you are free from need.
You will sit by my grave for a long time, tears will flow from your gentle eyes.
You will lament my deprivation, close your eyes to my oppression.
Do a little of those kindnesses now, put a ring in my ear from that speech.
What you will say to my dust, sprinkle it on my sorrowful understanding.
The mouse pleaded with the owl, saying, "Do not think of excuses and do not delay the fulfillment of this need of mine, for in delay there are calamities, and the Sufi is the son of the moment, and the son does not let go of the father's hem, and the compassionate father is a Sufi who is timely, he does not look to tomorrow, he does not make him needy, he keeps him absorbed in his swift accounting garden, unlike the common people who await the future, he is a river, not a time, where there is no morning with God and no evening, past and future and eternity and forever are not there, Adam is not prior and the Antichrist is not subsequent, for these customs are in the realm of reason other than Him, and the animal soul in the world of no place and no time does not have these customs, so he is the son of a time that only negates division except for time, just as from the One God, the negation of duality is understood, not the reality of unity."
A Sufi was told by the silver-scattering master, "O your steps, my soul is your carpet.
Do you want a dirham today, O king, or tomorrow morning three dirhams?"
He said, "Yesterday, I am more content with half a dirham, for today this and tomorrow a hundred dirhams.
A slap in cash is better than a gift in credit, look, I have turned my cheek to you, give cash.
Especially that slap from your hand, for the cheek and its slap are intoxicated by you.
Come, O soul of the soul and a hundred worlds, cherish the cash of this moment.
Do not steal that moon face from the night travelers, do not pull away from this stream, O flowing water.
Until the bank of the stream laughs from the clear water, the jasmine raises its head from the bank.
When you see the grass drunk on the bank of the stream, then know from afar that there is water there.
He said, "Their faces are the signs of the Creator, which are the indicators of the rain in the meadow.
If it rains at night, no one sees it, for every soul is asleep.
The freshness of every beautiful garden is a hidden sign of the rain.
O brother, I am earthy, you are watery, but you are the king of mercy and the bestower.
Do so with gifts and division that I may come to serve you at all times.
On the bank of the stream, I call you with my soul, I do not see mercy from the response.
Coming into the water is closed to me, for my composition is from earthy origin.
O messenger, or give a sign, help, so that it may inform you of my call.
Those two friends discussed this matter, finally, the discussion concluded.
That they should bring a long thread, so that by pulling the thread, the secret may be revealed.
One end should be tied to the foot of this bent servant, the other to your foot.
So that we may come together from this art, we two may mingle like soul with body.
The body is like a rope tied to the soul's foot, pulling it from the sky to the ground.
The owl's soul in the water sleeps in unconsciousness, freed from the mouse's body, it finds joy.
The mouse's body pulls it back with that rope, how much bitterness the soul tastes from this pull.
If it weren't for the mouse's big-brained pull, the owl would have enjoyed itself in the water.
The rest, when you rise from sleep, you will hear from the sun's light-giver.
Tie one end of the thread to my foot, from the other end, you put your foot on the knot.
So that I can pull you in this dryness, look, the end of the thread has appeared.
This story was bitter to the owl's heart, that this wicked one would bring me into a knot.
Every dislike in a good man's heart, when it enters from an art, is not empty.
Know that insight as the description of the truth, not imagination, the light of the heart has understood from the tablet of the whole.
The elephant's refusal to go to the house, with the elephant driver's effort and the shout of "Hut."
The elephant's foot did not go towards the Kaaba, with all the blows, neither many nor few.
You would say his feet dried up, or that soul-enhancing life died.
When they turned his head towards Yemen, the male elephant of a hundred armies became a stepper.
The elephant's sense was aware of the unseen wound, how is the sense of a saint with arrival?
Wasn't the prophet Jacob, that pure-hearted one, for Joseph with all his brothers?
They all said to him, "Do not worry about harm, give him a respite of a day or two, O father.
Why do you not trust us with Joseph, to take him on a journey and a caravan?
So that we may play together in the meadows, we are trustworthy and good in this invitation."
He said, "I know that his departure from me ignites pain and sickness in my heart.
My heart never lies, for it has the light of the Throne illuminating it.
That was a decisive proof of corruption, and fate did not consider it.
He overlooked such a sign, as fate was in philosophy at that time.
It is not surprising that the blind falls into a pit, but it is astonishing for the seer of the path to fall.
This fate has various transformations, its blindfold is 'God does what He wills.'
The heart knows and does not know its art, it becomes wax for that iron seal.
You would say the heart says that its inclination, when it is in this, let whatever happens, happen.
It makes itself oblivious to this, in its fetters, the rational soul makes it rational.
If that Bualala becomes checkmated in this, it is not checkmate, it is a trial.
One calamity from a hundred of its calamities is removed, one descent takes it to ascensions.
The raw fool who is constantly saved, from the hangover of a hundred thousand ugly raw ones.
In the end, he became cooked and a master, escaped from the world's bondage and became free.
He became intoxicated with the eternal wine, distinguished from the creatures, and was saved.
From their weak beliefs full of imitation, and from the imagination of their sightless eyes.
O wonder, what art does their perception play, before the ebb and flow of the signless sea?
From that desert, these buildings arrived, kingdom and kingship and ministries arrived.
From that desert of non-existence, longing for longing, they arrive in testimony in droves.
Caravan upon caravan from this wilderness, arrives at every evening and morning.
It comes and takes our pledge, saying, "I have arrived, our turn has come, you go."
When the son opened the eyes of wisdom, soon the father set his luggage on the sky.
The king's road is that way, travelers and arrivals from that way.
Look well, we are sitting and moving, do you not see the messenger of the new place?
For every state, you do not take the principal, but for purposes in the property.
So the traveler is this, O path-worshiper, whose path and method are in the future.
Just as from the curtain of the heart without fatigue, moment by moment, the caravan of imagination arrives.
If the images are not from one source, how do they arrive in succession to the heart?
Troop upon troop, the army of our images, hastening to the heart's spring from thirst.
They fill their jars and go, always appearing and disappearing.
Consider thoughts as the stars of the sky, revolving in another sky's orbit.
If you see a fortunate one, give thanks and be generous, if you see an unfortunate one, give alms and seek forgiveness.
Who are we? Come, O my king, make my fortune prosperous and take a turn.