Happy is he who is able to escape from self, and feel the gentle breeze of frienship.
His heart is so full of the beloved, that there is no longer room for anyone else.
It is the beloved flowing through his every vein and nerve like his very life:
there is not an atom of his body that is not filled with the friend.
The true lover can no longer perceive either the scent or the color of his own self:
he has no interest, either friendly or hostile, in anyone other than the beloved.
His heart is attached neither to thorne nor crown;
His heart is so full of the beloved, that there is no longer room for anyone else.
It is the beloved flowing through his every vein and nerve like his very life:
there is not an atom of his body that is not filled with the friend.
The true lover can no longer perceive either the scent or the color of his own self:
he has no interest, either friendly or hostile, in anyone other than the beloved.
His heart is attached neither to thorne nor crown;
all greed and lust have packed their bags and left his street.
If he speaks, it is to the friend; if he seeks, it is from the friend.
He no longer takes himself into account, and lives only for love.
He leaves the raw and turns to the ripe, abandoning completely the abode of the self.
If he speaks, it is to the friend; if he seeks, it is from the friend.
He no longer takes himself into account, and lives only for love.
He leaves the raw and turns to the ripe, abandoning completely the abode of the self.
Abd ar-Rahmān Jāmī (1414- 1492)
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