The source of my grief and loneliness is deep in my breast.
This is a disease no doctor can cure.
Only union with the Friend can cure it.
- Râbi’a (1)

THE PAIN OF LOVE

Everything in the universe has a dual nature: positive and negative, masculine and feminine. The masculine side of love is “I love you.” Love’s feminine quality is “I am waiting for you; I am longing for you.” For the Sufi it is the feminine side of love—the longing, the cup waiting to be filled—that takes the seeker home into the arms of the Beloved. The lover knows that longing is the most precious poison, as is expressed in a Sufi’s prayer:

Give me the pain of Love, the Pain of Love for Thee!
Not the joy of Love, just the Pain of Love,
And I will pay the price, any price you ask!
All myself I offer for it, and the price you will ask on top of it!
Keep the joy for others, give me the Pain,
And gladly I will pay for the Pain of Love!(2)

This longing, this pain in the heart, is planted like a seed by the One who knocks on the door of our heart and calls us to Him. Before we look for Him, He must first look upon us. Then, when He wants us for Himself, He poisons us with longing. This poison brings about a painful death, as we die to the world of the ego. Sometimes it begins with a sense of discontent, what Saint Thomas Aquinas called “the divine discontent.” Nothing in life seems quite right; something is missing but one does not know what. There is a dull ache in the unconscious that begins to force itself upon our attention. Slowly the outer world loses its attraction, and it begins to dawn upon our consciousness that we want something else, something that does not belong to this world. Then the spiritual search begins. We meditate, aspire, look for a teacher, and as we do, so the ache in the heart begins to burn, the longing to grow. The more we aspire, the more we blow upon the flames in the heart. The tears that we cry are the homesickness of the soul and these tears point out the path. The pain of love has only one cure: “Only union with the Friend can cure it.” Not only is it our pain, but because He is not other than us, it is also the pain of His love for us. It takes us along the burning road that leads to the death of the ego. He will not allow any other comfort than His touch, any other healing than His embrace. A story from the life of the ninth-century Sufi, Dhû-l-Nûn, the Egyptian, illustrates this:

I was wandering in the mountains when I observed a party of afflicted folk gathered together.
“What befell you?” I asked.
“There is a devotee living in a cell here,” they answered. “Once every year he comes out and breathes on these people and they are all healed. Then he returns to his cell, and does not emerge again until the following year.”
I waited patiently until he came out. I beheld a man pale of cheek, wasted and with sunken eyes.
The awe of him caused me to tremble. He looked on the multitude with compassion. Then he raised his eyes to heaven, and breathed several times over the afflicted ones. All were healed.
As he was about to retire to his cell, I seized his skirt. “For the love of God,” I cried. “You have healed the outward sickness; pray heal the inward sickness.”
“Dhû-l-Nûn,” he said, gazing at me, “take your hand from me. The Friend is watching from the zenith of might and majesty. If He sees you clutching at another than He, He will abandon you to that person, and that person to you, and you will perish each at the other’s hand.”
So saying, he withdrew into his cell.(3)

Sometimes we try to run away from this pain, hide ourselves in other corners of our life. In the complexities of the mind and its barrage of doubts we can try to deny this call:

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years:
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.(4)

But once the Great Lover has looked into our heart and planted His longing there, however far we flee from Him we carry within us our own deepest secret: that He wants us for Himself. Still we try to hide from Him because we know in our heart what it means, we know the price we must pay; we know the loneliness and the pain. Longing brings into our minds every doubt and every fear. Are we prepared to give up everything, even ourselves, for something of which the mind knows nothing? Do we want the beyond of the beyond? A woman had the following dream soon after she first came to our group:

The teacher stood in front of me and said, “You should wear your hair back like this and have a white cashmere sweater.” But I replied, “No. I want the beyond of the beyond.” Then the teacher grew in size and became enormous, vast and threatening, and said, “Is this what you really want?” And I said, “Yes.” Then the teacher became smaller and said, “Actually it won’t be too difficult.”

This dreamer had suffered much in her life and her inner discontent had isolated her for many years before she came to our group. She had been pushed to the point where she knew what she wanted and was prepared to pay the price, which was to face her deepest fears and her own inner pain. If we surrender to the process and accept the suffering which His imprint will bring, then we allow Him to carry us home. If we resist, He will take us to Him anyway, for as much as we may fight, He is stronger. But the quickest road is to let go. In the following dream another friend “missed an opportunity” because he did not let go and allow himself to be killed:

A carousel is going round and round and I am holding on. The centrifugal force is such that it can easily break my neck but I tense my neck muscles. I am told that I have missed an opportunity.

This dreamer was not yet ready to pay the ultimate price, himself. Other opportunities would follow, but he would have to learn how to give himself away, how to allow himself to be taken.

SURRENDERING TO THE PATH

On the Sufi path the greatest importance is given to surrender. We have to learn to surrender to the inner alchemy that will transform us. The seeker does nothing; he simply allows this process to take place. It is a process that takes us far beyond the ego. It can never be grasped by the mind, for it belongs to the mystery of the heart. The veils of separation cannot be removed by the wayfarer, only by the Beloved:

Know that you are your own veil which conceals yourself from you. Know also that you cannot reach God through yourself, but that you reach Him through Him. The reason is that when He vouchsafes the vision of reaching Him, He calls upon you to seek after Him and you do so.(5)

He calls us and we follow the call, allowing ourselves to be led, blindfold, back into the core of our being. This is a circular journey in which we are spun so fast we lose all sense of direction. In the following dream it begins with the dreamer’s longing:

I am in a community and people are going about their business, but I feel a longing inside me and go out onto an open plain. I feel this longing and pray for a sign. Then on the horizon I see a little white cloud. It starts to grow very rapidly and becomes gold-vermilion. It comes above me and golden light starts to fall. I am sucked into this cloud and spun around very fast. It is a tremendous experience, after which I feel very thin and weak, but my husband comes and holds me in his arms. Then a young girl comes and asks me to help her have this experience, but I just point at her heart and say, “It’s all in there. I can’t do anything; you have to do it yourself.”

This dream starts with the dreamer in the ordinary, everyday world, with people “going about their business.” But the dreamer feels a longing inside her and so she leaves the community and goes “out onto an open plain.” At the beginning of the path our inner longing turns us away from the everyday world and the hustle and bustle of life. Later, this same path will lead the wayfarer back into the marketplace to take part in the everyday affairs of life, with the difference that she will be in the world but not of the world. This is the Sufi practice of “solitude in the crowd”: whatever one’s outward activity, the inner attention remains in the heart; in each moment of the day there is continual remembrance, as expressed by Abû Sa‘îd ibn Abî-l-Khayr:
The perfect mystic is not an ecstatic devotee lost in contemplation of Oneness, nor a saintly recluse shunning all commerce with mankind, but “the true saint” goes in and out amongst the people and eats and sleeps with them and buys and sells in the market and marries and takes part in social intercourse, and never forgets God for a single moment.(6)

THE PROCESS OF INTROVERSION

In order to reach this state of inner detachment there needs to be a period of withdrawal, a process of turning one’s attention away from the outer world and reconnecting with the inner core of one’s being. This process of withdrawal does not mean that the wayfarer physically retires into seclusion, but rather that there is a period of introversion, a descent into the depths of the unconscious in order to find one’s true foundation, the rock of the Self. This period of introversion is often lonely and involves breaking the old patterns in which external life was lived from the perspective of the ego and patterns of conditioning. The alchemists called this stage the putrefactio. Putrefaction is the rotting that breaks down dead bodies. The old structures of consciousness have to be broken down before the new can be born.

This stage of introspection also has the quality of “brooding,” as the energy of consciousness withdraws into the unconscious. To quote Carl Jung:

The attention given to the unconscious has the effect of incubation, a brooding over the slow fire needed in the initial stages of the work.... It is really as if attention warmed the unconscious and activated it, thereby breaking down the barriers that separated it from consciousness.(7)

The energy which is withdrawn into the unconscious is needed to hatch the egg, the symbol of potential wholeness and new birth. This wholeness will be the Self, the union of consciousness and the unconscious, which is also a preexistent center of consciousness. As an egg it has always existed in the depths of the psyche, but it needs this inner concentration of energy in order to be hatched and become conscious. After a period of depression another friend had the following dream, which points to the coming into consciousness of an aspect of her real nature. The dream made her feel happy for days:

There was a white flower made up of tiny white flowers, and in these flowers there were eggs. One eggshell broke and inside there was a boy clothed in white. There was the most beautiful feeling about this, and a voice said, “This time the birth will not be difficult.”

The awakening of the Self is the most natural process; it is the natural flowering of the soul. But like all natural processes it needs to be tended with care and attention. One must learn to listen within and pay attention to the needs of the psyche, and not judge by outer values. A seeming depression may be an important period of “brooding.”

This stage of the inner work usually requires much of the wayfarer’s attention and psychic energy. Therefore during this period there is very little excess energy that can be put into one’s external life, which may appear to be undergoing a time of stagnation. Similarly the wayfarer is often advised not to attempt any new or demanding life project, but to live as simple and undemanding a life as possible. The whole structure of the psyche is being altered and maximum inner attention must be given to this work. One friend who had deep counseling and healing skills spent this time doing the most mundane job as receptionist in a garage. Each time she tried to change this job for something more interesting, she was given a hint to remain.

It is very important that this process of inner readjustment be completed before the outer world begins to make extra demands. Otherwise when external pressure is applied the individual will revert to previous patterns and conditioned responses, and the work that has been done in centering on the Self is rendered useless. One needs to develop the quality of patience that allows the inner processes to mature in their own time, and to hold the space in the psyche so that the desires of the ego or the attitudes of a masculine, goal-oriented culture do not interfere. Moreover, because such “feminine” soul-work is alien to our culture, it often requires great strength and courage not to interfere with it. In the words of Lao Tsu:

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?(8)

This “work without doing” is our natural way of being, but like many aspects of the feminine, it has been repressed and forgotten. The Sufi path teaches us to trust and surrender to something deeper than the ego, to develop the feminine qualities of waiting and patience. Thus we are able to remember the wisdom of our own natural unfolding and the natural harmony in which the inner and outer work together. When the inner processes are complete, the outer situation will often change of its own accord. When it was time for this friend’s inner potential as a therapist and healer to be fully used in service to others, the job as a garage receptionist ended by itself.

The fact that we live in a culture that does not value inner work has created a negative collective conditioning that is encountered by anyone who turns away from the outer world to look within. This collective pressure makes us doubt the importance of what we are doing. Old friends will question us, may even attack our need to look within. In abandoning the ego-goals of the external world, we are confronting a powerful collective force, a conditioning that is itself threatened by anyone who sincerely seeks to find something deeper. Furthermore, because the urge to turn away from the world does not come from the ego, but from deep within the unconscious, the conscious mind does not understand what is happening and is therefore easily influenced by collective pressure. This is why a spiritual group is so important. A group of sincere seekers provides a sacred space which values the inner processes and to some degree protects the aspirant from the collective forces that try to undermine inner work. This is one of the reasons that the Sufis give so much significance to just being together. Meditating, sharing dreams, or just talking about everyday things, wayfarers support each other, create a home away from home in which spiritual aspirations are not attacked but accepted and understood.

The Sufi group provides great support, but on the path there is always the danger that any support can become a limitation, an obstacle to the wayfarer’s standing on her own feet, making her own individual journey. There is always the danger that introversion can become stagnation, that withdrawal can become escapism. If there is the danger of this happening, the teacher will follow the ancient tradition of throwing the seeker out of the group. Irina Tweedie spent a year and a half with her Sufi teacher, Bhai Sahib, before he sent her back to England, sending her off with anger, in order to force her to experience a complete outer break with him: “Go!... I don’t want to see your ugly face again! Go away!” Thrown out, one is thrown upon oneself, for although the Sufi group is a refuge when it is needed, it is never allowed to limit the development of the seeker. It is a place for reative work, not for escape.

THE PARADOX OF THE EFFORTLESS PATH

In the dream in which the dreamer’s longing took her away from people, out onto the open plain, the process of introversion and turning away from the world was just beginning. But the dream outlined the course of her inner journey, helped her to understand what would happen. Dreams are signposts, and at important moments in our life they often point out the path we are to follow, so that we can consciously cooperate with the changes that are happening in both our inner and outer lives. On the open plain the dreamer prays for a sign, for an answer to her longing. When the longing starts to burn within the heart we cry from the very depths, and such a cry is always answered, though sometimes it is answered in a way that we cannot see or understand. For this dreamer the answer is a little white cloud appearing on the horizon. A cloud symbolizes a message from God, which here appears on the horizon of her consciousness and then comes towards her, growing and becoming gold-vermilion. The dreamer had recently come to our Sufi group, which belongs to the Naqshbandi tradition. Naqshbandis are known as the “Silent Sufis” because they practice the silent dhikr, the silent repetition of the name of God; they are also known as the “Golden Sufis,” because the color of the energy of this path is golden yellow. The energy of this path had come into her life, was now being lived with the bright red vermilion of life. This energy was an answer to the prayer she had cried in her desolation and aloneness. In the dream it comes above her as a cloud and “golden light” falls like rain. The grace of God falls like rain and is His gift to those who have turned their faces away from the world to seek Him.

The dreamer is then “sucked into this cloud and spun around very fast.” She is taken into the energy of the path which will transform her totally. In this Naqshbandi Sufi system we are spun so fast we lose all sense of direction and in the end we lose everything; everything is thrown off by the spinning. The energy of the path activates the heart chakra, spinning it faster and faster. This increases the energy of love which is the driving force of spiritual transformation. It is an effortless path because everything is given. The disciple does nothing but allow this energy to transform her, to allow everything to be taken away. In a dream mentioned earlier, the dreamer resisted this energy, tensed his neck and did not let it be broken, and so was told that he had “missed an opportunity.” Here the dreamer lets herself be sucked in and spun around. It is “a tremendous experience.”
After this tremendous experience the dreamer feels thin and weak. This echoes a dream Irina Tweedie had in which she was looking at herself in a mirror and saw that she was very thin and pale. Her teacher, Bhai Sahib, gave her this interpretation: “It is a very good dream. Thin and thinner, until nothing will remain.”(9) Everything must go—all attachments, all desires. In order to realize the Eternal Nothingness, the Reality of Realities, the ego must die; we must become nothing.

The dreamer’s being “thin and weak” also reflects the fact that the spiritual energies that produce this transformation are very powerful. Their intensity is often bewildering, and the process of inner change can be very exhausting, both physically and psychologically. In particular, these energies work on the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems. These are the autonomic nervous systems that function below the threshold of consciousness. According to Jung, “the unconscious is largely identical with the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems, which are the physiological counterparts of the polarity of unconscious contents.”(10) The spiritual energies, working on these nervous systems, activate the contents of the unconscious. Therefore, on the physical level it is important to take care of the physical body by exercising and eating well, and also to be prepared for emotional stress, as all the repressed feelings and past pain come to the surface and are cleared out. Although it is an effortless path because everything is given, great effort is required to hold on in spite of everything, to allow this painful and totally demanding inner process to take place.

When the dreamer feels thin and weak, her husband “comes and holds me in his arms.” He represents her animus, the masculine aspect of a woman’s psyche, which provides her with the inner strength necessary to contain the processes of transformation. The animus is the figure which mediates between the inner world of the feminine and the external world; thus his positive support will enable her to integrate her inner experiences into the fabric of everyday life.

In the final image of the dream a young girl comes and asks the dreamer to help her have this experience. But the dreamer just points at her heart and says “It’s all in there. I can’t do anything; you have to do it yourself.” This response points to the paradox of the effortless path: although everything is given, you have to do it all yourself. A man once came to our group and asked someone about what the teacher did. “Does she teach you?” “No,” was the reply. “Does she give practices?” Again the answer was “No.” “What does she do then?” “Nothing; you have to do it all yourself.” The man left and never returned.

The Naqshbandi Sufi path, as I have experienced it, has little outward form or structure. At our meetings we meditate, drink tea, and discuss dreams. Within the dynamic of the group the individual is given the opportunity to work upon himself, to meditate, aspire, to go deep within the unconscious and accept both the light and the darkness that are found there. The path to the beyond is unique for each seeker. There are as many ways to God as there are human beings, and this journey demands that we each make the ultimate effort. To follow the thread that is hidden in the heart is the most demanding task life can offer. And the teacher can only point out the way; even the great teachers like Christ, Muhammad, and Buddha could do no more than this. Buddha’s last words to Ananda speak this spiritual truth:

Therefore, O Ananda, take thyself for a light, take thyself for a refuge. Do not seek for a refuge in anything else. Work on thy salvation diligently.

Every effort is required to walk along a path that is as narrow as the edge of a sword. Two cannot walk together, for it is the journey of the soul back to the Source, an offering of our own unique self back to the Creator. Within the group the seeker is given immense support, but there comes the time when any external support becomes a limitation, and one must continue alone. Even in the midst of family life and surrounded by loving friends, one finds oneself so deeply alone that it is like being in an empty desert with only the sound of the wind howling. Such inner states totally overshadow external circumstances. This stage on the effortless path was beautifully imaged in a dream in which people were sliding down a golden slide, but there came a point where the slide narrowed and everyone had to go through alone. It is only when we are totally alone that we find Him in our hearts. It is such an intimate relationship that there is no space for anything else.

From a spiritual perspective we are never alone; we are looked after more than we could ever know. The moment we turn towards Him, He takes us in His arms and provides us with everything we need. The spiritual journey requires every effort, and yet is effortless. We slide home to the Beloved but we pay with the blood of the heart. “How can there be effort with Divine things? They are given.”(11) But to receive them, to make our cup empty and offer it into His Emptiness, takes every effort. Abû Sa‘îd al-Kharrâz summed up this paradox:

Whoever believes he can reach God by his own efforts toils in vain; whoever believes he can reach God without effort is merely a traveller on the road of intent.(12)

A NATURAL STATE OF BEING

There are two ways to attract God’s love: either we become perfect, and He has to love us; or we offer our whole self to Him in utter humility, and He cannot help but love us. The Sufi chooses the latter path, that of the lover who waits for the Beloved. The following two dreams point to differences between the masculine and the feminine attitudes to spiritual life. They were dreamt by a man. The first dream he had before he came to our group, the second dream after he had spent an afternoon sitting with us.

FIRST DREAM: I am driving very fast up a road which goes into the sky. I am driving into the sun and cannot see. The road curves to the right but I go straight on.

SECOND DREAM: Beside me sits an American Indian in dhyana meditation. The sun in the sky is coming towards us.

The first dream images a masculine, goal-oriented approach to spiritual life. The dreamer is driving as fast as he can into the sun. The spiritual quest is always a journey into the unknown, and the dreamer cannot see where he is going; but, even when the road curves to the right, he goes “straight on.” The attitude in the second dream is very different; it is imaged by an American Indian sitting in dhyana. Dhyana is the meditation of the heart practiced on this Sufi path. The wayfarer fills the heart with love, and as thoughts come into the mind, they are drowned in the heart. Technically it is not meditation, but a form of yogic relaxation, in which, as the heart chakra is activated, the individual mind is thrown into the universal mind. Through surrendering the mind to the heart, the seeker surrenders the ego to the energies of love that will transform the psyche and give birth to the Self. Rather than the dreamer’s driving into the sun, which is a symbol of the Self, “the sun in the sky is coming towards us."

The figure of the American Indian points towards the feminine nature of this path, which works in harmony with the deepest forces of nature. Traditionally, the American Indians lived in harmony with nature and saw everything as part of one sacred whole. They understood the natural rhythms of life and their spiritual purposes. Just as the Indians saw the outer workings of nature as symbolic and sacred, so can we see her inner workings as holy, and learn to live in harmony with our inner nature and the instinctual energy that flows deep within the psyche. The forces of the unconscious transform us and make us whole, for the Golden Flower of the Self is “an image born of nature’s own working, a natural symbol far removed from all conscious intention.”(13)

On the pathless path there is nowhere to go. Everything must be given up; even the idea of a goal is a limitation. A friend had the following dream just before he died:

I’m with some people thinking of “the goal” and I get the idea that I have no goal and I give it up and let go of it. There follows a peacefulness, joy, and truthfulness not to be put into words. The teacher comes and hugs me around my belly. I carry this wonderful state wherever I go. I know it is a natural state not to have a goal.

The Self is a state of being. It is our natural state, and yet we can never reach it on our own. We can never find it unless we are shown. We must make every effort and yet it is given as a gift. To quote Abû’l-Hasan Kharaqânî:

Whoever states that he has attained God, has not, whereas whoever states that he has been taken to God, has indeed attained union with God.

To know oneself is to know God. To be totally oneself is to be totally God. There is no difference, there is no duality. This is the experience of merging, when He merges into His lover. This state can never be described, but it can be hinted at. The man who had the previous dream about letting go of the goal also had the following dream which was an experience of realizing the Self:

I dreamed I was totally me. God dwells in me as me. I dreamed that I got up and wrote it all down. It was so beautiful, so precise, wonderful. I don’t have time to think about the future! God in me makes me perfect. I need nothing. I had thought I wrote it all down and finally realized I hadn’t. Can I recapture it? Of course! It’s me—it’s God—so terribly, shamelessly me. Beyond sexual intimacy—supreme. Just lowly me, and lowly me is all-powerful, but can’t be bothered with power. Power over what? There’s nothing to have power over. It’s not ecstasy in the old sense. I mean there’s no object-subject—just perfect me, God as little me, inviolable, inexpressible. I seemed (in the dream) to have all the words, but I hadn’t written it down. No matter! I affirm it anyway.

Listen, there’s no Teacher or any other form in this. I’m all alone. There’s no group—there doesn’t have to be. Anybody in the group who experiences this knows he needs nobody else. I am all of them when I am absolutely, lovingly myself.

All along I’ve been this—just didn’t let it happen. Just as Bhai Sahib said, “The Beloved merges with me, not the other way around.” What a difference that makes!

© 1998 The Golden Sufi Center

FOOTNOTES

Chapter 2: The Feminine Side of Love
1. “The source of my grief and loneliness is deep in my breast,” trans. Charles Upton, Doorkeeper of the Heart, p. 34.
2. Tweedie, p. 135.
3. Farîd ud-Dîn ‘Attâr, Muslim Saints and Mystics, trans. A. J. Arberry, pp. 93-94.
4. Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven.”
5. Al-Junayd, quoted by R. S. Bhatnagar, Dimensions of Classical Sufi Thought, pp. 171-172.
6. Quoted by R. A. Nicholson, Studies in Islamic Mysticism, p. 55.
7. Jung, Collected Works, vol. 14, para. 180.
8. Tao Te Ching, trans. Stephen Mitchell, ch. 15.
9. Tweedie, p. 157.
10. C. G. Jung, Collected Letters, vol. 1, p. 278.
11. Tweedie, p. 404.
12. The Abode of Spring, in Four Sufi Classics, p. 191.
13. Jung, Collected Works, vol. 16, para. 475.