WALLED GARDEN TRANSLATIONS

We tried reasoning our way to Him: it did not work... Reason took us as far as the door; but it was his presence that let us in. -  Sanai, tr. David Pendlebury Reason started writing. Self became the paper. Matter took form and Form took shape. Love, be encouraged; Trembling, be reserved. Reason, be instructed, Self, become aware: As long as you are here Your portion is your tomb, Your home is distraction And you live in deceit, But set your eyes on the willow, Let your soul see paradise; Let your lips pronounce the letters And perceive their deeper meaning With your soul. While your pleasure is desire And desire is your treasure You remain a little child: Carry on, play away, But you return with nothing From the ocean but foam And empty possessions Scattered all around you Like oyster shells Marking your obsession But missing

(A Restatement from David Pendlebury’s Garden) The non-existent have come to serve at the door of true existence, nor is it just today that this is so but since time began dervishes have come bereft of wealth and power, swarming like ants at the door of love. ...No one knows how far it is from nothingness to God, but the self will wander right and left day and night for years and years turning around itself like an ox in the mill; break free from yourself, free yourself from yourself and in little time the wandering will cease and the door will open to you.

When love sets fire to your soul and lifts it from its place its foot no longer touches ground; love whispers, the ground moves and stagnant reasons disappear; you are no longer there; Your feet begin to move, just as a river finds the ocean with no more talk of searching; you are nothing but the river and there is nothing in the end but the ocean of God.

God knows what depths and shallows each soul can navigate, the draught of every creature. God creates... – Sanai, tr. Coleman Barks ...and through this sacred rhythm I come to appreciate that everything is sacred. God creates and bestows each godly wisdom within. There is no mind. Another knowing lives outside of time, beyond the basic neurons that spark our mortal fire, above the carnal pulse of our desire; nor can I have desire of such capacity to wish for all that God has given me. Before this altar silence becomes my eloquence and emptiness my path to sustenance, and I will find tomorrow connected to today, and I will learn to celebrate the way that God has set before me, this day, my daily earth, the life I live, the wisdom I am worth.

(A Restatement of Coleman Barks’ Wild Rose of Praise) Those unable to grieve are a vacant wind; Those unable to speak their love are as cold as hammered steel; Those who are ungrateful are frightened of themselves; and those who cannot remember God have grown older than the hills. Say the name, O wild rose, speak the unpronounceable; Moisten your lips, move your tongue and praise the indescribable; Utter the words of every spring waking the divine; Open your mouth, O wild rose, and reveal your hidden gold.

I have no argument for you, my friend; no matter how the fires of conviction burn within, I shall remain conspicuously calm, let others recommend the course of conversation, let them render judgment on us all: no less convicted, they of the open air, until the flicker of their flame surrenders to the wind. For you, my friend, I have no argument but the wind itself: may it ever fuel your dance and feed your soul and start your turbines turning; and that inner fire, may it be your self content: even as the wind begins to rage against you, may you ever keep your spirits trimmed and burning.