The Cool Blue Blog

This, Too, Will Pass

A powerful king, ruler of many domains, was in a position of such magnificence that wise men were his mere employees. And yet one day he felt himself confused and called the sages to him.

He said:

'I do not know the cause, but something impels me to seek a certain ring, one that will enable me to stabilize my state.

'I must have such a ring. And this ring must be one which, when I am unhappy, will make me joyful. At the same time, if I am happy and look upon it, I must be made sad.'

The wise men consulted one another, and threw themselves into deep contemplation, and finally they came to a decision as to the character of this ring which would suit their king. The ring which they devised was one upon which was inscribed the legend:

THIS, TOO, WILL PASS

The Man Who Only Saw the Obvious

A seeker after Truth, after many vicissitudes, at last found an enlightened man, endowed with perception of things not available to all

The Seeker said to him: “Allow me to follow you, so that I may learn by observing what you have acquired.”

The Wise One answered: “You will not be able to endure it, for you will not have the patience to stay in contact, diligently, with the pattern of events. You will try to act in obvious ways instead of learning.”

The Seeker promised that he would try to exercise patience, and learn from what happened, without acting in accordance with existing prejudice.

“Then I make one condition,” said the Wise One, “and that is that you must ask nothing about any event, until such time as I give you an answer.”

The Seeker promised eagerly enough, and they set off on a journey.

When Death is Not Death

A certain man was believed to have died, and was being prepared for burial, when he revived.

He sat up, but he was so shocked at the scene surrounding him that he fainted.

He was put in a coffin, and the funeral park set off for the cemetery.

Just as they arrived at the grave, he regained consciousness, lifted the coffin lid, and cried out for help.

'It is not possible that he has revived,' said the mourners, 'because he has been certified dead by competent experts.'

'But I am alive!' shouted the man.

He appealed to a well-known and impartial scientist and jurisprudent who was present.

'Just a moment,' said the expert.

He then turned to the mourners, counting them. 'Now, we have heard what the alleged deceased has had to say. You fifty witnesses tell me what you regard as the truth.'

'He is dead,' said the witnesses.

'Bury him!' said the expert.

And so he was buried.

Abu-Ishak Shami Chishti

The Garden

Once upon a time, when the science and art of gardening was not yet well established among men, there was a master gardener.

In addition to knowing all the qualities of plants, their nutritious, medicinal and aesthetic values, he had been granted a knowledge of the Herb of Longevity, and he lived for many hundreds of years.

In successive generations, he visited gardens and cultivated places throughout the world. In one place he planted a wonderful garden, and instructed the people in its upkeep and even in the theory of gardening. But, becoming accustomed to seeing some of the plants come up and flower every year, they soon forgot that others had to have their seeds collected, that some were propagated from cuttings, that some needed extra watering, and so on. The result was that the garden eventually became wild, and people started to regard this as the best garden that there could be.

City of Storms

"Once upon a time there was a city. It was very much like any other city, except it was almost permanently enveloped in storms.

The people who lived in it loved their city. They had, of course, adjusted to its climate. Living amid storms meant that they did not notice thunder, lightning and rain most of the time.

If anyone pointed out the climate they thought he was being rude or boring. After all, having storms was what life was like, wasn't it? Life went on like this for many centuries.

This would have been all very well, but for one thing: The people had not made a complete adaptation to a storm-climate. The result was that they were afraid, unsettled and frequently agitated

Since they had never seen any other kind of place in living memory, cities or countries without some storms belonged to folklore and the babbling of lunatics.

There were two tried recipes which caused them to forget, for a time, their tensions: to make changes and to obsess themselves with what they had. At any given moment in their history, some sections of the population would have their attention fixed on change, and others on possessions of some kind. The unhappy ones would only then be those who were doing neither.

Rain poured down, but nobody did anything about it because it was not a recognized problem. Wetness was a problem, but nobody connected it with rain. Lightning started fires, which were a problem, but these were regarded as individual events without a consistent cause.

You may think it remarkable that so many people knew so little for so long.

But then we tend to forget that, compared to present-day information, most people in history have known almost nothing about anything and even contemporary knowledge is daily being modified — and even proved wrong"

Idries Shah

To Make the People Stop Talking

One day, Molla and his son went on a journey. Molla preferred to let his son ride the donkey while he walked. Along the way, they passed some travelers.

"Look at that healthy young boy on the donkey! That's today's youth for you! They have no respect for their elders! He rides while his poor father walks!"

The words made the lad feel very ashamed, and he insisted that his father ride while he walked. So Molla climbed on the donkey and the boy walked by his side. Soon they met another group.

"Well, look at that! Poor little boy has to walk while his father rides the donkey," they exclaimed.

This time, Molla climbed onto the donkey behind his son.

Soon they met another group, who said, "Look at that poor donkey! He has to carry the weight of two people."

Molla then told his son, "The best thing is for both of us to walk. Then no one can complain."

So they continued their journey on foot. Again they met some travelers.

"Just look at those fools. Both of them are walking under this hot sun and neither of them is riding the donkey!"

In exasperation, Molla lifted the donkey onto his shoulders and said, "Come on, if we don't do this, it will be impossible to make people stop talking."

The Tale of Mushkil Gusha

Retold by Eric Twose

Once upon a time not so long ago, there lived a woodcutter whose name was Ahmed. The old man was a widower and he lived with his daughter, Samira, in a small hut in the forest.

He used to go every day to chop branches from the trees, cut the branches up, gather the sticks together and take them back home. Then, in the afternoon, he'd have a bite to eat and take the sticks to the nearby market town, where he'd sell them for firewood and buy some food for himself and for his daughter.

One evening, they'd just settled down to eat their meal when Samira said: 'Father, I sometimes wish that we could have different kinds of food to eat .'

The old man thought about this and so the following morning he got up much earlier than he usually would and he went deeper into the mountains where there were more trees.

Ahmed worked long and hard sawing wood and bundling it up, and he collected far more than he usually would. And when he'd done, the old man carried the heavy bundle back home on his shoulders and left it round the back of the hut, ready to take to market.

When he tried the door of their little hut, he found it locked and he knocked and knocked, calling 'Samira, Samira, please let me in, for I am tired and hungry and I must have something to eat and have a nap before taking the wood to market.'

But while he'd been away, having forgotten all about their conversation the night before, Samira had got up, made herself some breakfast, tidied the hut and gone out for a walk by the stream.

So the old man thought about this and decided that he might as well go back into the mountains and collect some more wood, so that the next day they'd have a double load of wood to take to market. And he worked for longer than he he usually would, sawing wood and bundling it up.

When he'd done, the old woodcutter carried the heavy bundle back home on his shoulders and left it round the back of the hut, ready to take the double bundle of wood to market first thing the next day.

When he returned, however, he was already much later than he would usually be, and Ahmed again found the door locked, and he knocked and knocked, calling 'Samira, Samira, please let me in, for I am tired and hungry and I must have something to eat and sleep if I am to be up early tomorrow morning for market.'

But while he'd been away, his daughter had returned, made herself something to eat and gone to bed, thinking that her father must have gone to market and arranged to stay the night there.

So, tired and hungry, the old woodcutter went to sleep by the piles of wood round he back of the hut. But he was so tired and hungry that he could not stay asleep.

Then Ahmed thought he heard a voice saying: 'Old man, what are you doing there?'

'I am telling myself my own story,' he replied and went on to tell everything that had happened to him since his daughter had first mentioned wanting different kinds of food to eat.

Then the voice told him to leave his wood. If you want little enough and need enough,' the voice said, 'you shall have delicious food.'

So the old man got up and followed the voice, but eventually as the light faded, he became hopelessly lost. And again, even more tired and hungry by now, he sat down and fell asleep. But he was so tired and hungry that he could not stay asleep.

Then he thought he heard a voice, just like the first, telling him to follow him. The voice told him to stand up, close his eyes and to raise his right leg, as if mounting a stair.

'But I do not se a stair,' he said.

'Nevertheless,' the voice insisted: 'If you wish me to help you, do as I say. Stand up, close your eyes and raise your right leg, as if mounting a stair.'

The old man did as he was told and as soon as he thought of it, he found himself standing up. He lifted his right leg and, sure enough, when he put his foot down, he could feel a step beneath him.

'Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them,' the voice commanded.

And not the old woodcutter could feel that the staircase was moving quickly and he could feel himself being lifted up with it.

Finally he reached the top of the staircase and the voice told him that it was alright to open his eyes now.

So the old man opened his eyes and when he did so, he was astonished to find himself in a place that looked like a desert, except that instead of sand, the place seemed to be made out of gleaming stones in all colours: red, green and blue.