I, Ali b. Osman al-Jullabi, once found myself confronted with a spiritual state whose meaning I strove intensely to unravel, yet could not. The same experience had come to me years before; on that occasion I had remained beside the blessed grave of Bayazid al-Bistami, and by staying there the matter had become clear. Hoping for the same relief, I went again and stayed by his resting place for three months. Each day I performed three full ritual baths and renewed my ablution thirty times, hoping that the veil over this state would finally lift—but it did not.
So I departed and travelled toward Khurasan. One night I reached the town of Kumish. There was a small zawiya there, and a group of Sufis were gathered inside. In accordance with tradition, I wore a coarse, patched wool cloak. Apart from the staff and the water-flask—items familiar to all people of the path—I had nothing with me. In their eyes I was insignificant; none of them recognized me. Each whispered to the other, “He is not one of us,” and indeed I was not. Yet I had no choice but to spend the night among them.
They left me on a small terrace below and went up to the upper floor. They placed before me a piece of stale bread. As they ate pastries above, the smell drifted down to where I sat. While they ate, they mocked me from the upper level. When they finished their pastries, they began eating melon, throwing the rinds at my head as they laughed.
I bore their scorn patiently and said within myself: “My Lord, had it not been for the garments on their backs—garments worn by Your friends—I would not have endured them even for a moment.” The more they mocked me, the more my heart was lifted with an inner joy. In that very state, the meaning of the spiritual experience that had troubled me finally opened, and I attained what I had sought.
Only then did I understand why the great masters allow the ignorant to remain among them, and why they carry the burdens of those who understand nothing of the way.
***
From: Kashf al-Mahjub
