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T
hose who live there possess neither head nor feet, neither faith nor infidelity.
Drinking the wine of dispassion they have renounced good and evil.
Sipping from a cup of bliss, without lips or mouth,
They have cast away
All thoughts of name and fame,
All talk of marvels and visions,
All dreams of secret chambers and distant worlds.
Now with blackened faces staring at a wall, or faces reddened by the wine of Unity. Now in a mystic whirl, dancing in the arms of their Beloved, losing head and foot like the turning heavens. With every strain the minstrel plays, the rapture of the unseen world unfolds; With every note of this mystic song a veil is torn from a priceless treasure.
They are blind to this world, Indifferent to great and small, Ignorant of Master and disciple.
They guzzle down cup after cup of wine and still they want more! They sweep ancient dust from their souls. They grab at the Beloved's dress like a bunch of drunkards!
So who are these guys? They are Sufis.
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