Caravan of Dreams by Idries Shah

Author:Idries Shah [Shah, Idries]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ISF Publishing
Published: 2015-07-14T04:00:00+00:00

Encounter at a Hermitage

This story is said to have been told one day by Emir Hamza (died 1710) in answer to the question: “In what manner could you relate to us an equivalence of your power to live in a world other than ours?”

It is related that he could “slip into invisibility just by taking a sideways step, when his feet were at right angles to one another.” About this, as about other wonders, he said: “I forbid you to relate any wonder of mine without adding that the performance of wonders is for a purpose of self-improvement or passing power, not amazement or faith, to others.”

Another remark made by Hamza is: “We go to another land, in form and fancy, sometimes really remaining here; but sometimes literally.

“From this world we bring back what you need; food that has never been tasted, drink that has never been swallowed.”

Shah Firoz died in 1660, and in popular repute is still alive, in a new form, as one of the Hidden Guides of the Sufis.

I had walked to a hermitage in the Hindu Kush to visit its Sheikh, and also to see if I could find some way of stilling my doubts about some way of proving the real existence of the Hidden Path. It was only after many adventures that I at last came across the friendly sight of smoke rising through the chimney-hole of that simple building.

A man, plainly dressed, an honest expression on his face, was sitting quietly at the door of the hermitage.

He said, “Welcome, brother.” Far from feeling glad, I was disturbed to find so little respect for me in this man, who was surely the watchman.

“Are you the watchman?” I asked.

“I am called that,” he said.

“I am looking for the Ancient, the Guide,” I told him.

“I am called that,” he answered.

And then I was glad that the great teacher had called me brother. As we went into the house a small dog ran to the Sheikh’s side, delighted that he had come back.

“Welcome, brother,” said the Sheikh to the animal, and I was again downcast to think that by this greeting I had been put on a level with the dog, that I had not been honored at all. But out of politeness I said nothing, for I was the guest.

Soon we were seated before a bowl of yogurt; when the Guide spoke, it was to recite a poem.

“A puff of smoke against a mountain – the heart grows glad.

“A kind word to a little dog – the heart grows sad.”

I was amazed that he could understand my secret thoughts in this way, and uneasy, and rather ashamed.

“Teach me,” I said.

He answered, “What do I sing, and what does my lute sing? You and I are not in harmony, although I understand your thoughts. What have you already taught yourself? What have others taught you? You are uneasy because you have come so far and at the end of your journey have found someone who can read your thoughts.

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