Sufi story

I know nothing. Isn’t it Wonderful?

Sabina told me a Sufi story. A woman went to the mosque regularly, and her husband did not. She often told him that he should come. One day she returned home early from the mosque, to find him praying.

Oh! You do believe! she said.

He was so distressed, that he died.

Sabina thought of it this morning, and has finally understood it. I do not, and you are less likely to, as either of us might have unconsciously added or suppressed bits. I did not ask her to explain.

After yesterday morning, which may or may not have been a Profound Spiritual Experience, I was prompted by a phone call to progress one of those Problems, sent an email to progress another, and was prompted by an email to send another email which took me two minutes and which I should have sent in October. I have no idea why I did not send it before. After two phone conversations and two emails I was feeling unusually effectual, and then cycled in the sun to Swanston for coffee with S. I told of my experience, and she understood. She said that one can only understand Wisdom sayings such as in the Gospel of Thomas when one has had the life experience and learned the lesson, and I agree- once we understand the mystery, we understand the parable. It was lovely.

We have slightly different perspectives on academe. She met someone at Woodbrooke and discussed something, and was put off when the woman said she had done a PhD on it. She believes that academic analysis is the letter that killeth, but the spirit giveth life. I feel that David Blamires (to pick someone I know), a wise, spiritual man, can do useful academic work on Parsifal. I also feel that my understanding in words lags behind my real knowing, but that it increases.

She values togetherness without words: having taught all ages from 4-adult, she feels she has turned a corner- that is the completely wrong metaphor, she said something different which I do not recall- when all of them can laugh together. Yes.

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