I am sixty-seven years old. I have always felt that mine has been a rather difficult life--I will spare you the details--but I am beginning to feel otherwise, and will try to tell you why. (It is good to depict overcome sorrow.)
If I had some finite difficulties, I made them almost infinitely worse by my desire to spectacularly triumph over them. I expected the world to say, Ah! Despite enormous dead weights on his chest, he has flicked them away as if they were peanuts; this guy's a winner--he's truly amazing! That didn't happen. Unhailed, unheld, unheard, I came to a great river instead. It is very deep. It is very wide. It is quite impassable. I'm getting over it, nevertheless.
What's getting into me? I don't know. I feel as if some sage is taking over, replacing me with Me.
2.
Our health club recently closed; my wife and I soon found another one. At this facility, we have attended several classes, including yoga classes. The instructor was young, perky and very flexible. After attending a few sessions, I was disappointed to hear that she was leaving. She passed out her business cards to us, in case we'd like to contact her. I noticed above her name another name in capital letters: SHAMS. What good would it do to tell you that this resulted in a great shock, as if a wave of electricity passed through my being?
I knew that Shams had been the teacher of Rumi. All the wisdom that Rumi acquired--which was considerable--he attributed to Shams. The silent imam who, after imparting this wisdom, mysteriously disappeared.
Yes, something inside me said, he is the one taking over. What nonsense, Doubting Thomas replied. Then how do you account for these changes? What changes? Tomorrow you'll be back to your old ways, and no one will ever notice anything. Don't be so sure, don't be so sure.
All right, Doubting Thomas said. Let's test this guy out. If Shams is really visiting you after being God-Knows-Where for almost a thousand years, ask him to tell you something in Arabic or Persian in a dream. You, as we well know, I told myself, don't know Arabic or Persian. If you tell me something he says, and I look it up and finds out it means something, I just might begin to believe you.
That night I did see Shams in a dream. He kept repeating "Fana, Fana, Fana." I had no idea what that meant. Until Doubting Thomas looked it up.
Fana is the Sufi term for dying to the self, thus giving birth to the Self. If you think that the business card caused a shock, you can well imagine the shock this caused.
I am not letting you claim this as a miracle, Doubting Thomas told Me.
3.
I am sitting on a bench. I am aware of an inner light. It passes outside my body, while, paradoxically, still remaining within. It is now a sun, which has risen above a beautiful river. I am on a hill which descends to the bank of the river. I must go down to it now.
My hands rise. I realize that I'm sitting on no ordinary bench; it is my piano bench. My hands begin to play something I've never played before: the spiritual, Down by The Riverside. I play it calmly and slowly at first, then pick up volume and speed. My hands--as if they were Shams's--begin to play all sorts of variations, including some which contain harmonies I hadn't ever heard. I am in ecstasy, tears of joy running down my face.
Ain't gonna study war no more, ain't going to study war no more. This time I mean it!
Still playing, I looked up and saw a face. If this were fiction, I would tell you that it was Shams's face. But it wasn't. It was the face of the great Indian sage, Ramana Maharshi, the avatar of advaita, non-duality, the teaching that everything is One.
Ain't gonna study war no more--Ramana Maharshi, this time I mean it!
I finished playing the spiritual. The sage was smiling. He didn't move his lips, but my inner being clearly heard him say, "It's about time!"
If I had some finite difficulties, I made them almost infinitely worse by my desire to spectacularly triumph over them. I expected the world to say, Ah! Despite enormous dead weights on his chest, he has flicked them away as if they were peanuts; this guy's a winner--he's truly amazing! That didn't happen. Unhailed, unheld, unheard, I came to a great river instead. It is very deep. It is very wide. It is quite impassable. I'm getting over it, nevertheless.
What's getting into me? I don't know. I feel as if some sage is taking over, replacing me with Me.
2.
Our health club recently closed; my wife and I soon found another one. At this facility, we have attended several classes, including yoga classes. The instructor was young, perky and very flexible. After attending a few sessions, I was disappointed to hear that she was leaving. She passed out her business cards to us, in case we'd like to contact her. I noticed above her name another name in capital letters: SHAMS. What good would it do to tell you that this resulted in a great shock, as if a wave of electricity passed through my being?
I knew that Shams had been the teacher of Rumi. All the wisdom that Rumi acquired--which was considerable--he attributed to Shams. The silent imam who, after imparting this wisdom, mysteriously disappeared.
Yes, something inside me said, he is the one taking over. What nonsense, Doubting Thomas replied. Then how do you account for these changes? What changes? Tomorrow you'll be back to your old ways, and no one will ever notice anything. Don't be so sure, don't be so sure.
All right, Doubting Thomas said. Let's test this guy out. If Shams is really visiting you after being God-Knows-Where for almost a thousand years, ask him to tell you something in Arabic or Persian in a dream. You, as we well know, I told myself, don't know Arabic or Persian. If you tell me something he says, and I look it up and finds out it means something, I just might begin to believe you.
That night I did see Shams in a dream. He kept repeating "Fana, Fana, Fana." I had no idea what that meant. Until Doubting Thomas looked it up.
Fana is the Sufi term for dying to the self, thus giving birth to the Self. If you think that the business card caused a shock, you can well imagine the shock this caused.
I am not letting you claim this as a miracle, Doubting Thomas told Me.
3.
I am sitting on a bench. I am aware of an inner light. It passes outside my body, while, paradoxically, still remaining within. It is now a sun, which has risen above a beautiful river. I am on a hill which descends to the bank of the river. I must go down to it now.
My hands rise. I realize that I'm sitting on no ordinary bench; it is my piano bench. My hands begin to play something I've never played before: the spiritual, Down by The Riverside. I play it calmly and slowly at first, then pick up volume and speed. My hands--as if they were Shams's--begin to play all sorts of variations, including some which contain harmonies I hadn't ever heard. I am in ecstasy, tears of joy running down my face.
Ain't gonna study war no more, ain't going to study war no more. This time I mean it!
Still playing, I looked up and saw a face. If this were fiction, I would tell you that it was Shams's face. But it wasn't. It was the face of the great Indian sage, Ramana Maharshi, the avatar of advaita, non-duality, the teaching that everything is One.
Ain't gonna study war no more--Ramana Maharshi, this time I mean it!
I finished playing the spiritual. The sage was smiling. He didn't move his lips, but my inner being clearly heard him say, "It's about time!"
