Copyright 2009 Da'ud ibn Tamam ibn Ibrahim al-Shawni
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The Garden Enclosed, the Fountain Sealed
The religion of God-the journey of Rama, the revelation of Krishna, the way of the Buddha-is a garden enclosed. In that garden is a sealed fountain above a well of fathomless waters. Why sound the depths of that abyss when the fountain pours forth without end? Let them be ashamed who say that fountain has run dry! If you drink from your hands or the bottle, from the cup or a jar of clay, it still quenches thirst. If you bow to Rama, or Krishna, or the Buddha, you bow before the One. If you call Him Vishnu, or Shiva or Brahma, you call upon the One.
This work is not a history, but is in the likeness of a history, or the recollection of a likeness. This work is the dream of a memory, not the dream made real. It is not the work of a scholar or even one well educated. This work is a niche in which I have placed a key carved of rosewood. This key is to a single door to a single chamber of the King's treasury. I offer it to share with you a glimpse of what I have seen and this is the likeness. Let your heart, not your intellect, judge the value of this key and of the treasures in His keep. Judge its worth and assay its truth.
This is what I offer you. But what will we offer Him? What gift is best when He wants for nothing, and the worlds are but dust to Him? Would you carry water to the sea or bring light to the sun? Rumi says, "Bring Him a mirror." But even this is not fitting except that you become the mirror. Surrender to Him what He gave you: your life, your will, all that you are or ever will be. The one who offers this becomes the gift and one with the Giver.
God has been kind to me, though I have deserved terrible punishment. Behind my every austerity are a dozen of His laws that I have transgressed. God has permitted this hand to write these words. This, however, is not a sign of His blessing, but of His mercy. While I am entirely in His power, He permits all men to err or to do right, according to their characters and capacities. Therefore, allow me to speak to your heart while blood still flows through these veins. Be kind and forgive me when I speak too boldly or when I am in manifest error. And if at any moment my words contradict the words of the Most Pure, follow God and obey Him, knowing that His way is better for you.
If She pleases, the Handmaid of God will correct me where I have gone astray, but I will not be alive to accept this correction. O daughter of Ahmad, sister of Moses, mother of Jesus, let me be the first to adore You, though I am the least of believers. Let me be among the first to love You. In that forest clearing, along the lantern-lit path, I imagined I saw Your home, its graceful gable crowning walls painted red and green. You held a lantern in Your hand. Did I glimpse You in misty dawn or in hazy twilight? O houri, O Jan?b-i-T?hira, O Mona, O Kuan Yin, I saw Your pale face and Your sparkling eyes framed by black tresses. While the light of the world was failing, You shone like the moon. When You have arisen, I will be long dead. Let me be the dust at Your feet. Let me be the dirt upon the path You will tread, upon that path I have dreamed.
She cherished the scarf with which they choked her. She blessed the waters in which they cast her down. She kissed the noose with which they hanged her. O you who read these words, forgive me and seek God's pardon on my behalf. I am entirely in His power.