That all that you do is sacred.
Now, why not consider
A lasting truce with yourself and God.
Now is the time to understand
That all your ideas of right and wrong
Were just a child's training wheels
To be laid aside
When you can finally live
With veracity
And love.
Hafiz is a divine envoy
Whom the Beloved
Has written a holy message upon.
My dear, please tell me,
Why do you still
Throw sticks at your heart
And God?
What is it in that sweet voice inside
That incites you to fear?
Now is the time for the world to know
That every thought and action is sacred.
This is the time
For you to deeply compute the impossibility
That there is anything
But Grace.
Now is the season to know
That everything you do
Is sacred.
(Poem by Hafiz, Trans. by Daniel Ladinsky, The Gift)
This remarkable poem by the Persian poet Hafiz arrests us on many levels. Had we time here in this blog, we might spend the night musing together about the meaning of each verse. But, for the moment, I am thinking about the sixth verse that slips in unexpectedly with a startling question:
What is it in that sweet voice inside
That incites you to fear?
With this one sentence, Hafiz turns the table on us, prompting us back to the preceding verse for a slower rereading:
My dear, please tell me,
Why do you still
Throw sticks at your heart
and God?
Now we realize Hafiz has gotten very personal! I did not realize I was throwing sticks at my own heart, much less throwing sticks at God! And, while we're at this unveiling of "secrets," what makes you, Hafiz, think I have been covering over a voice that "incites" me to fear?
Here I was looking forward to enjoying a comforting, "spiritual" poem by this fourteenth century poet, and suddenly the cat is out of the bag, to insert yet another metaphor. And, as happens with our dear cat Sheba, there is no rest until her meowings and nudgings are investigated!
So here we are with Hafiz who, not unlike an insightful psychotherapist, slips in a question that moves us into the subterranean depths of our psyches, leading us down through the cobwebs of long unattended memories, the shadows of play between light and dark, and the creepy descent through realms we may not even knew existed.
Hafiz is extending an invitation to put aside his book of poems for the moment and reflect back through the long, dimly-lit corridors of our lives to the basic fear that has incited our histories of fears. For fear is not just a primal emotion, it may be the primal emotion. We come into the world afraid of life, and we leave the world afraid of death. And each step along the way has been preceded by the fear that we do not know what lies ahead, we may not like what we find, we may not be up to what the new thing demands of us, or we might not do it as well as whomever it is we are falsely setting up as the measuring rod for our life, or we may fear that we will have to give up whatever we find -- the treasure, the lover, the distraction that covers up our fundamental fear!
Our fundamental fear: What is it? We probably first think of fear as an emotion arising from a sense of danger, a threat of some kind -- physical, emotional, mental. But there is another way that we use the word to describe something of another nature. This connotation of fear might be most closely associated with the experience of awe or reverence. We fear the most basic objects that we believe might threaten us in some way; but we also "fear" those objects, places, and/or experiences that connect us with the deepest and highest aspirations of life. This is most fundamental because it is archetypal, "hard-wired" within the neural networks of our psyche.
Looked at this way, we may understand "fear" as the primary emotion that anchors our humanity. Without fear, we would be vulnerable at the point of not recognizing the dangers that can kill us. But, also, without fear we would miss that magnificent dimension of life in which our humanity flowers. For example, think of how we welcome home those persons who have faced danger in whatever arena, prevailed, and returned to remind us that the highest point of human achievement is the "baptism by fire" in which we face the "dragon of death" and overcome. Daily, often without fanfare or recognition, persons around the world encounter their deepest fears, and in their acts of courage find their lives to be ennobled. Without these heroic acts, we would be enshrouded in cowardice and unconsciousness.
Which brings us back to the question Hafiz raises, "What is it in that sweet voice inside that incites you to fear? Why does he call it a "sweet" voice?
I think the voice is "sweet" because it prompts us to face not just the surface level of our fears but the archetypal level of fear, which we know as awe, reverence, the dimension of depth. On our long journey through space and time, it is the nature of our species to recognize danger, feel fear, and make adjustments. But is is also our nature not to fear fear!
To be conscious of this is to escape the paralyzing fears of childhood in which we feared the "bogeyman" in our closets and underneath our beds. To be conscious of this is to escape the suffocating imprisonment of relationships in which "love" is lived out as control and the need to carry the others' feelings. To be conscious of this is to recognize the dehumanizing policies of dictatorial regimes and would-be dictators who exploit others in the service of their own narcissisms.
To be conscious of this is to experience the grace of being fully human.