Bibi Hayati - How can I see the splendor of the moon
Ivan M. Granger October 5th, 2009
How can I see the splendor of the moon
by Bibi Hayati
English version by Aliki Barnstone
How can I see the splendor of the moon
If his face shines over my heart,
Flaming like the sun?
The Turks in his eyes charge through my soul,
While untrue curling hair
Defeats faith.
Yet if he lifted the veil from his face,
The world would be undone,
The universe astounded.
He walks through the garden
With grace, erect,
His exquisite posture mocking even the straight cypresses.
He charges, riding his gnostic horse
Into the holy space of divinity,
The sacred sphere.
Tonight the Saki with its red-stained ruby lips
Pours wine for the luxury of every drunk,
And sates every reveler’s taste.
As Hayati has drunk his ecstasy,
Her soul now satisfied by the wine of his pure heart,
How can she drink any other nectar?
— from The Shambhala Anthology of Women’s Spiritual Poetry, Edited by Aliki Barnstone
/ Photo by jenny downing /
Have you stepped outside in the last few evenings to notice the full moon? Because she changes, the moon draws our attention. But how difficult is it to pause and truly recognize the radiant beauty of the steady sun? Our certainty of the sun, the all-permeating nature of its light too often means we don’t see it at all…
In this poem, the “splendor of the moon” can be understood to represent creation. The moon, in its waxing and waning cycles, its changeability, expresses the most glorious or most brilliant aspects of the manifest world. And, in its femininity, the moon also represents the poet herself, her soul.
Unlike the fluctuating light of the moon, the sun’s light is steady, constant, overpowering of all other light; in fact, it is the source of all other light, including the moon’s. The masculine sun represents the Beloved to the feminine soul. In this poem, the sun is God.
When the sun of God’s face shines over her heart, all of creation and all of herself is consumed in its flaming light. She sees nothing but the light of God, feeling that presence upon her heart.
And, as with so many sacred poems, especially within the Sufi tradition, wine here is the mystical drink. Bibi Hayati refers to the wine as having come from “his” (the Beloved’s, God’s) pure heart.
It is the true nectar. It flows in abundance. What else can satisfy?
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Bibi Hayati
Iran/Per (19th Century) Timeline |
Bibi Hayati was born into a Sufi family in the early 1800’s in Persia (Iran). She was raised by her brother, who guided her in the early stages of her spiritual life. She was later formally initiated into the Sufi path, studying the great Sufi saints and philosophers of the past, including Rumi and al-Arabi.
Hayati married the Sufi master Nur ‘ali Shah and, at his request, she composed her divan (collection) of poetry.
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Yes, I flew up to Seattle this past weekend, spent all
of Sat. and Sunday up there with Judi Coates, who just
happens to be a colossally gifted Channeler for Jeshua.
Before I left for Washington, I had read a message
from Djwal Kuhl , an Ascended Master, also known as
The Tibetan. A.M. Kuhl said this : “on this Saturday
evening before you go to sleep - under the full moon,
fill a glass with pure water and place it outside under
the sweet rays of our magnificent moon. So, naturally
I did just that. Judi always puts me up, and I slept on a
comfy couch that sits under a tall window that allowed
me to see the glory of this month’s full moon. It truly
seemed in its glory to be radiating its loving light down
upon me. And of course - the water in the glass was
being nourished by the wondrously luminous rays all night long. At 8:00 on Sun. a.m. I went outside
Judy’s front door and picked up the blessed water and
I drank all of it before all of us shared a truly fabulous
breakfast. I don’t know when cool water tasted so
healing and delicious! That evening before, Jeshua had also told me, after I told Him how much
I appreciated his communicating with us in this
extraordinary way, He said, “Maryann, I am so
very glad that you came all the way up here to be
with me!” WHAT A BLESSED WEEKEND IT WAS!
Maryann
I love this but it makes me think about the Buddha who is represented by the moon. In Sri Lanka, full moon days (poya days) are public holidays, no moon days deeply inauspicious. Does this make the Buddha feminine? I wonder if the refracted light of sun in the moon here is more about things are not what they seem which would be in keeping with the Dharma! If you have some thoughts on this please let us know.
All blessings to your mother and her passing, and to you and your family, Ivan.
In the last month, I went through the passing of my “mother” - a great elder who was like a mother to me, since my mother died 25 years ago. It was a wondrous experience, so full of grace and tender honesty. We washed her body, dressed her, prayed and annointed her with spikenard and lavender oils. We did everything intuitively, and I felt that we reclaimed death in order to make it holy once again…because the dawn has truly come.
My prayers are with you.
love,
Ana
blessings on your courage–and your mother’s journey. thank you for your gift and for sharing what you’re going through.
Peace to you my Brother and :hugs:
-T.Byron K.
Ivan
I am sorry to listen about your mother. May God bless her and confer you divine strength.
This is one of my favorite quotes. My thoughts and prayers will be with you and your mother. Blessings.
dear Ivan
i am sorry for your mother situation.
i will pray for her peace , as well as you.
it is the only that i can do from a far distance .
i am thankful and appreciate her , because she
raised a good soul ,like you.
warm regards
shahrzad
from Iran
hello ivan i andarstands that what is youer candition that whan youer mothers in comma yet
how filling that but we pray to god that youer mothers is arly is goods because after two years pribiase my mothers conditions is so week she is goto diprations and evry doctors tell me that yoer is not ok to next tims but jo divain pawor hai is real grate and today my mother is so batter than because jo self confidanse is works to evry time i wles to god toyoer mothers
Dear Ivan,
I wish a speedy recovery of your mother. Wish you be able to return to your work at the earliest with the news of full recovery of your mother. Amin.
……..Subhan Ali
hello Ivan i write to send you my blessings today,
thank you for this beautiful poem too and yes the full moon shines like the sun at dawn in the sky when its slowly rising up, up away.
Hi, I just wanted to say and to send blessings to your mother as she prepares to leave this world and to you and yours, who remain in grief,
love Rose
Dear Ivan, Thanks for sharing. Yes, the dawn has truly come. All blessing to your mother, you and your family.
Shirin
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the sheered not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet : On Death
Dear Ivan
All Love to you and your family during this sacred time. With gratitude for
all the treasures you share with us, I send you these lyrics to what I believe
is a traditional African American song.
Death come a knockin’ on my mama’s door
Sayin: “Come on mama, ain’t you ready to go?”
Well my mama bent down, buckled up her shoes
And she move on down by the Jordan stream
And then she shout:
“Halleluia! Done done my duty!
Got on my travelin’ shoes!”
Ivan,
Just want to tell you my thoughts are with you at this difficult time. I wish your mother a peaceful passing. Thank you for all the good you do.
Dearest Ivan,
So sorry to hear about your mother, I know this experience, well and recently. A very sad but comforting , spiritually growing time for you and
your family. Important to be with her, the root of your life as she will go beyond the beyond… hail the goer. She will follow the light that
will take her home. A sacred time indeed.
An experience with my mother that I will hold forever in my heart. Yes, a time of deep reflection.
Blessings and prayers to you and your family and know that we, your friends throughout the world are with you, and love you.
Liz
Blessings to you and your mother, Ivan, as she prepares to go on her journey back home.
May light, love and peace be with you.
It’s a sacred art; that dying, drink it in.
We covered our mother’s body with flowers and stood around her limp body, singing, all day.
There is music, CD, from the Taize monastery in France that practices the sacred art of living and dying. It is divine.
Deep and quite journey to you,
Andreya
In Germanic mythology, the sun is feminine and the moon masculine.
Die Sonne, der Mond.
How about that!
It makes much more sense to me.
The radiant life giving feminine, and the cool and collected masculine.
Andreya
blessings on this journey. remember that all you say to your mother will be heard. she is in a place of deep
receptivity. this can be a time of deep communion and healing for both of you. recite to her some of the amazing poetry you have gathered, play music, bring in the beauty of rose oil and neroli. And touch her, gentle stroking her face…
This is a Tagore’s poem translated by William Radice
Maran-milan (‘Death-wedding’, 1902)
Why do you speak so softly, Death, Death,
Creep upon me, watch me so stealthily?
This is not how a lover should behave.
When evening flowers droop upon their tired
Stems, when cattle are brought in from the fields
After a whole day’s grazing, you, Death,
Death, approach me with such gentle steps,
Settle yourself immovably by my side.
I cannot understand the things you say.
Alas, will this be how you will take me, Death,
Death? Like a thief, laying heavy sleep
On my eyes as you descend to my heart?
Will you thus let your tread be a slow beat
In my sleep-numbed blood, your jingling ankle-bells
A drowsy rumble in my ear? Will you, Death,
Death, wrap me, finally, in your cold
Arms and carry me away while I dream?
I do not know why you thus come and go.
Tell me, is this the way you wed, Death,
Death? Unceremonially, with no
Weight of sacrament or blessing or prayer?
Will you come with your massy tawny hair
Unkempt, unbound into a bright coil-crown?
Will no one bear your victory-flag before
Or after, will no torches glow like red
Eyes along the river, Death, Death?
Will earth not quake in terror at your step?
When fierce-eyed Siva came to take his bride,
Remember all the pomp and trappings, Death,
Death: the flapping tiger-skins he wore;
His roaring bull; the serpents hissing round
His hair; the bom-bom sound as he slapped his cheeks;
The necklace of skulls swinging round his neck;
The sudden raucous music as he blew
His horn to announce his coming - was this not
A better way of wedding, Death, Death?
And as that deathly wedding-party’s din
Grew nearer, Death, Death, tears of joy
Filled Gauri’s eyes and the garments at her breast
Quivered; her left eye fluttered and her heart
Pounded; her body quailed with thrilled delight
And her mind ran away with itself, Death, Death;
Her mother wailed and smote her head at the thought
Of receiving so wild a groom; and in his mind
Her father agreed calamity had struck.
Why must you always come like a thief, Death,
Death, always silently, at night’s end,
Leaving only tears? Come to me festively,
Make the whole night ring with your triumph, blow
Your victory-conch, dress me in blood-red robes,
Grasp me by the hand and sweep me away!
Pay no heed to what others may think, Death,
Death, for I shall of my own free will
Resort to you if you but take me gloriously.
If I am immersed in work in my room
When you arrive, Death, Death, then break
My work, thrust my unreadiness aside.
If I am sleeping, sinking all desires
In the dreamy pleasure of my bed, or I lie
With apathy gripping my heart and my eyes
Flickering between sleep and waking, fill
Your conch with your destructive breath and blow,
Death, Death, and I shall run to you.
I shall go to where your boat is moored,
Death, Death, to the sea where the wind rolls
Darkness towards me from infinity.
I may see black clouds massing in the far
North-east corner of the sky; fiery snakes
Of lightning may rear up with their hoods raised,
But I shall not flinch in unfounded fear -
I shall pass silently, unswervingly
Across that red storm-sea, Death, Death
Dear Ivan,
Don’t know if you got my email message…but just to let you know that I send my prayers…here below is something I just posted on facebook to a friend in New York whose mother is also about ready to cross over…so I will share with you a bit of my personal story too.
I remember sitting by my mother’s hospital bedside when she was in a coma…I asked silently, “Where is your consciousness now?” an amazing thing happened…it was as though a hand came under my chin and turned my face toward the tv at the foot of her bed…which, I swear, had not been turned on before…but now there is suddenly this program..”the dance theatre of harlem” …they are doing ‘the dance of death’….the dancers are advancing toward strange forms…then retreating…then advancing…then retreating…and so on. I was so amazed that I had such a dramatic answer to my question. Actually, those days in the hospital, before the coma, have some wonderful and amazing stories…I should write them all down because, I realized that there is something utterly ‘magical’ going on when a loved one is about to cross over. Perhaps you will have this experience too. Rose is experiencing some place/events within consciousness…..not representative of her total self of course. Have you read about the ‘bardo’ experence in the Tibetan Book of the Dead?
About the moon poem…I notice the synchronicity of your choice with the choice of NASA to ‘bomb the moon’….which apparently did not do the damage expected. I am still gasping a bit over that event.
The moon!!!