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THE SPHERE
OF THE MOON
| This earth and heaven are the Kingdom of God, | |
| this moon and Pleiades are our patrimony; | |
| whatever thing meets your gaze upon this road, | |
| regard it with the eye of intimacy. | 470 |
| Go not about your own dwelling like a stranger— | |
| you who are lost to yourself, be a little fearless! | |
| This and that impose your command on their hearts; | |
| if you say ‘Don’t do this, do that,’ they obey. | |
| The world is nothing but idols of eye and ear; | 475 |
| its every morrow will die like yesterday. | |
| Plunge like a madman into the desert of the Quest, | |
| that is to say, be the Abraham of this idol-house! | |
| When you have travelled all through earth and heaven, | |
| when you have traversed this world and the other, | 480 |
| seek from God another seven heavens, | |
| seek a hundred other times and spaces. | |
| Self-lost to sink on the bank of the river of Paradise, | |
| quit of the battle and buffetting of good and evil— | |
| if our salvation be the cessation of searching, | 485 |
| better the grave than a heaven of colours and scents. | |
| Traveller! the soul dies of dwelling at rest, | |
| it becomes more alive by perpetual soaring. | |
| Delightful it is to travel along with the stars, | |
| delightful not to rest one moment on the journey. | 490 |
| When I had tramped through the vastness of space | |
| that which was once above now appeared below me, | |
| a dark earth loftier than the lamp of night, | |
| my shadow (O marvel! ) flung above my head; | |
| all the while nearer and nearer still | 495 |
| until the mountains of the Moon became visible. | |
| Rumi said, ‘Cleanse yourself of all doubts, | |
| grow used to the manners and ways of the spheres. | |
| The moon is far from us, yet it is our familiar; | |
| this is the first stage upon our road; | 500 |
| seen must be the late and soon of its time, | |
| seen must be the caverns of its mountains.’ | |
| That silence, that fearful mountain-range, | |
| inwardly full of fire, outwardly riven and ravined! | |
| A hundred peaks, such as Khaftin and Yildirim, | 505 |
| smoke in their mouths and fire in their bellies; | |
| out of its bosom not a blade of grass sprang, | |
| no bird fluttered in its empty spaces; | |
| clouds without moisture, winds swift and sword-sharp | |
| ever doing battle with a dead earth. | 510 |
| A worn-out world without colour and sound, | |
| no sign of life therein, neither of death, | |
| no root of the palm tree of life in its navel, | |
| no events hidden in the thighs of its time; | |
| though it is a member of the family of the sun | 515 |
| its dawn and evening beget no revolution. | |
| Rumi said, ‘Rise, and take a step forward, | |
| do not let slip this wakeful fortune. | |
| Its interior is fairer than its exterior, | |
| another world lurks hidden in its hollows. | 520 |
| Whatever presents itself to you, man of sense, | |
| seize it in the rings of the eye and the ear. | |
| If the eye has vision, everything is worth seeing, | |
| worthy to be weighed in the glance’s balance. | |
| Wheresoever Rumi leads, there go; | 525 |
| be estranged a moment or two from all but he.’ | |
| Gently he drew my hand towards him, | |
| then swiftly he sped to the mouth of a crater. |
