The Sufi advised the servant to care for the animal, and the servant said "There is no power but in God."
A Sufi was wandering around the horizon until one night he found shelter in a monastery.
He tied up an animal he had at the end and sat with his companions at the head of the platform.
Then he became attentive with his companions; a book is present when the beloved is more present.
The Sufi's book is not the blackness of letters; it is nothing but a heart as white as snow.
The scholar's provision is the traces of the pen; what is the Sufi's provision? The traces of the foot.
Like a hunter, he went towards the prey; he saw the deer's steps and followed the traces.
For a while, the deer's steps are suitable; after that, the deer's musk itself is the guide.
When he thanked the step and cut the path, inevitably, from that step, he reached success.
Traveling one station by the scent of musk is better than a hundred stations of steps and circumambulation.
A heart that is the rising place of moons is the opening of doors for the mystic.
With you, it is a wall, and with them, it is a door; with you, it is a stone, and with the dear ones, it is a jewel.
What you see clearly in the mirror, the elder sees more than that in the brick.
They are the elders who existed before this world; their souls were in the sea of generosity.
Before this body, they spent ages; before the harvest, they reaped.
Before the form, they accepted the soul; before the sea, they crafted pearls.
Consultation was happening in the creation of beings; their souls were in the sea of power up to the throat.
When the angels were preventing it, they secretly mocked the angels.
They became aware of the form of everyone who exists before this universal soul was bound.
They saw Saturn before the heavens; they saw bread before the seeds.
They were without brains and full of thought; without an army, they struck victory.
That which is apparent to them is thought; otherwise, it is the vision of the ages.
Thought is from the past and future; when freed from these two, the problem is solved.
The spirit has seen the wine from the grape; the spirit has seen the thing from the nonexistent.
It has seen every quality-less with quality; it has seen the true and false before the mine.
Before the creation of grapes, they drank wines and displayed ecstasies.
In the hot July, they see winter; in the sun's rays, they see the shade.
In the heart of the grape, they have seen the wine; in pure annihilation, they have seen the thing.
The sky drinks a sip in their circle; the sun is clothed in gold from their generosity.
When you see two friends gathered from them, they are both one and six hundred thousand.
Like the waves, their numbers are brought into number by their wind.
The sun of souls separated within the windows of our bodies.
When you look at the disc, it is one itself, and the one veiled by bodies is in doubt.
Separation is in the animal soul; the single soul is the human spirit.
When the truth spread its light upon them, its light never becomes separated.
Leave aside, O companion, the weariness for a moment so I may describe the beauty free from that beauty.
His state of beauty cannot be expressed; what are both worlds but the reflection of his mole?
When I speak of his beautiful mole, speech wants to tear my body apart.