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Book of Mirdad

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THE BOOK OF MIRDAD
By MIKHAIL NAIMY.

Chapter Eleven

Excerpt

Love is the Law of God
Mirdad divines Estrangement
Between Two Companions, calls for Harp
and Sings Hymn of the New Ark

MIRDAD: Love is the Law of God.
     You live that you may learn to love. You love that you may learn to live. No other lesson is required of Man.
     And what is it to love but for the lover to absorb forever the beloved so that the twain be one?
     And whom, or what, is one to love? Is one to choose a certain leaf upon the Tree of Life and pour upon it all one's heart? What of the branch that bears the leaf? What of the stem that holds the branch? What of the bark that shields the stem? What of the roots that feed the bark, the stem, the branches and the leaves? What of the soil embosoming the roots? What of the sun, and sea, and air that fertilize the soil?
     If one small leaf upon a tree be worthy of your love how much more so the tree in its entirety? The love that singles out a fraction of the whole foredooms itself to grief.
     You say, 'But there be leaves and leaves upon a single tree. Some are healthy, some are sick; some are beautiful, some, ugly; some are giants, some are dwarfs. How can we help but pick and choose?'
     I say to you, Out of the paleness of the sick proceeds the freshness of the healthy. I further say to you that ugliness is Beauty's palette, paint and brush; and that the dwarf would not have been a dwarf had he not given of his stature to the giant.
     You are the tree of Life. Beware of fractioning yourselves. Set not a fruit against a fruit, a leaf against a leaf, a bough against a bough; nor set the stem against the roots; nor set the tree against the mother-soil. That is precisely what you do when you live one part more than the rest, or to the exclusion of the rest.
     You are the Tree of Life. Your roots are everywhere. Your boughs and leaves are everywhere. Your fruits are in every mouth. Whatever be the fruits upon that tree; whatever be its boughs and leaves; whatever be its roots, they are your fruits; they are your leaves and boughs; they are your roots. If you would have the tree bear sweet and fragrant fruit, if you would have it ever strong and green, see to the sap wherewith you feed the roots.
     Love is the sap of Life. While Hatred is the pus of Death. But Love, like blood, must circulate unhindered in the veins. Repress the blood, and it becomes a menace and a plague. And what is Hate but Love repressed, or Love withheld, therefore becoming such a deadly poison both to the feeder and the fed; both to the hater and to that he hates?
     A yellow leaf upon your tree of life is but a Love-weaned leaf. Blame not the yellow leaf.
     A withered bough is but a Love-starved bough. Blame not the withered bough.
     A putrid fruit is but a Hatred-suckled fruit. Blame not the putrid fruit. But rather blame your blind and stingy heart that would dole out the sap of life to few and would deny it to many, thereby denying it to itself.
     No love is possible except the love of self. No self is real save the All-embracing Self. Therefore is God all Love, because He loves Himself.
     So long as you are pained by Love, you have not found your real self, nor have you found the golden key of Love. Because you love an ephemeral self, your love is ephemeral.
     The love of man for woman is not love. It is thereof a very distant token. The love of parent for the child is but the threshold to Love's holy temple. Till every man be every woman's lover, and the reverse; till every child be every parent's child, and the reverse, let men and women brag of flesh and bone clinging to flesh and bone, but never speak the sacred name of Love. For that is blasphemy.
     You have no friends so long as you can count a single man as foe.
     The heart that harbours enmity how can it be a safe abode for friendship?
     You do not know the joy of Love so long as there is hatred in your hearts. Were you to feed all things the sap of Life except a certain tiny worm, that certain tiny worm alone would embitter your life. For in loving anything, or anyone, you love in truth but yourselves. Likewise in hating anything, or anyone, you hate in truth but yourselves. For that which you hate is bound up inseparably with that which you love, like the face and the reverse of the same coin, If you would be honest with yourselves, then must you love what you hate and what hates you before you love what you love and what loves you.
     Love is not a virtue. Love is a necessity; more so than bread and water; more so than light and air.
     Let no one pride himself on loving. But rather breathe in Love and breathe it out just as unconsciously and freely as you breathe in the air and breathe in out.
     For Love needs no one to exalt it. Love will exalt the heart that it finds worthy of itself.
     Seek no rewards for Love. Love is reward sufficient unto Love, as Hate is punishment sufficient unto Hate.
     Nor keep any accounts with Love. For Love accounts to no one but itself.
     Love neither lends nor borrows; Love neither buys nor sells; but when it gives, it gives its all; and when it takes, it takes its all. Its very taking is a giving. Its very giving is a taking. Therefore is it the same to-day, to-morrow and forevermore.
     Just as a mighty river emptying itself in the sea is e'er replenished by the sea, so must you empty yourselves in Love that you may be ever filled with Love. The pool that would withhold the sea-gift from the sea becomes a stagnant pool.
     There is nor 'more' not 'less' in Love. The moment you attempt to grade and measure Love it slips away leaving behind it bitter memories.
     Nor is there 'now' and 'then', nor 'here' and 'there' in Love. All seasons are Love seasons. All spots are fit abodes for Love.
     Love knows no boundaries or bars. A love whose course is checked by any obstacle whatever is not yet worthy of the name of Love.
     I often hear you say that Love is blind, meaning that it can see no fault in the beloved. That kind of blindness is the height of seeing.
     Would you were always so blind as to behold no fault in anything.
     Nay, clear and penetrating is the eye of Love. Therefore it sees no fault. When Love has purged your sight, then would you see nothing at all unworthy of your love. Only a love-shorn, faulty eye is ever busy finding faults. Whatever faults it finds are only its own faults.
     Love integrates. Hatred disintegrates. This huge and ponderous mass of earth and rock which you call Altar Peak would quickly fly asunder were it not held together by the hand of Love. Even your bodies, perishable as they seem, could certainly resist disintegration did you but live each cell of them with equal zeal.
     Love is peace athrob with melodies of Life. Hatred is war agog with fiendish blasts of Death. Which would you: Love and be at everlasting peace? Or hate and be at everlasting war?
     The whole earth is alive in you. The heavens and their hosts are alive in you. So love the Earth and all her sucklings if you would love yourselves. And love the Heavens and all their tenants if you would love yourselves.
     Why do you hate Naronda, Abimar?
Naronda: All were taken aback by so sudden a shift in the Master's voice and course of thought; while Abimar and I were dumbstruck by so pointed a question about an estrangement between us which we carefully hid from all and had reasons to believe it was not detected by any. All looked upon the two of us in utter wonder and waited on the lips of Abimar.
Abimar: (Eying me in reproach) Did you, Naronda, tell the Master?
Naronda: When Abimar has said 'The Master', my heart melted in joy within me. For it was round that word that we had disagreed long before Mirdad revealed himself; I holding that he was a teacher come to enlightenment; and Abimar insisting, he was but a common man.
MIRDAD: Look not askance upon Naronda, Abimar; for he is blameless of your blame.
Abimar: Who told you, then? Can you read men's minds too?
MIRDAD: Mirdad needs nor spies nor interpreters. Did you but love Mirdad as he loves you, you could with ease read in his mind and see into his hart as well.
Abimar: Forgive a blind and a deaf man, Master. Open my eye and ear, for I am eager to see and to hear.
MIRDAD: Love is the only wonder-worker. If you would see let Love be in the pupil of the eye. If you would hear, let Love be in the drum of the ear.
Abimar: But I hate no man, not even Naronda.
MIRDAD: Not-hating is not loving, Abimar. For Love is an active force; and save it guide your every move and step, you cannot find your way; and save it fill your every wish and thought, your wishes shall be nettles in your dreams; your thoughts shall be as dirges for your days.
     Now is my heart a harp, and I am moved to song. Where is your harp, good Zamora?
Zamora: Shall I go and fetch it, Master?
MIRDAD: Go, Zamora.
Naronda: Zamora instantly arose and went for the harp. The rest looked at each other in utter bewilderment and held their peace.
     When Zamora returned with the harp the Master gently took it from his hand, and bending over it in tenderness, carefully adjusted every string and then began to play and sing.
MIRDAD:

God is your captain, sail, my Ark! Though Hell unleash her furies red Upon the living and the dead, And turn the earth to molten lead, And sweep the skies of every mark, God is your captain, sail, my Ark! Love is your compass, ply, my Ark! Go north and south, go east and west And share with all your treasure chest. The storm shall bear you on its crest A light for sailors in the dark. Love is your compass, ply, my Ark! Faith is your anchor, ride, my Ark! Should thunder roar, and lightning dart, And mountains shake and fall apart, And men become so faint of heart As to forget the holy spark, Faith is your anchor, ride, my Ark!

Naronda: The Master ceased and bent over the harp as bends a mother, love-entranced, over an infant at her breast. And though its strings no longer quivered, the harp continued to ring on, 'God is your captain, sail, my Ark!' And though the Master's lips were shut, his voice reverberated for a space throughout the Aerie and floated out in waves unto the rugged peaks about; unto the hills and vales below; unto the restless sea in the distance; unto the vaulted blue overhead.
     There were star showers and rainbows in that voice. There were quakes and gales along with soughing winds and song-intoxicated nightingales. There were heaving seas empalled with soft, dew laden mist. And it seemed as if the whole of creation were listening thereto in thankful gladness.
     And it further seemed as if the Milky mountains range, with Altar Peak in the centre, had suddenly become detached from the Earth and were afloat in space, majestic, powerful and certain of its course.
     For three days thereafter the Master spoke no word to any man.  

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The Book of Mirdad: The Strange Story of a Monastery Which Was Once Called the Ark

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