Welcome to F.I.E.L.D.- the First Ismaili Electronic Library and Database.

6. Planets, Metals, Etc..

Reveille! Time to get up! from the couch of sloth! my son!

And gaze upon the globe with the orb of sagesse!

Eating and sleeping is the work of a creature with whom

you my ignoramus cannot hope to compare: the ASS.

Why do you suppose God gave you a brain?

foe eating and snoring contests with donkeys?

Tie round your fat head the turban of Wisdom

then one night raise your eyes to the lapis lazuli vault

or heaven like an emerald seas surging waves

which cast bright pearls from stygian trenches:

dark night crawling with stars like the armour

of Alexanders legions glinting through tenebrous shades.

See the Pleiades like seven sisters sitting side by side

Venus palefaced as terrified girl and Mars

with the baleful eye of a he-lion. Ponder:

Did the Dogstar grow silvery grey or Capella

begin to glow like a scarlet carnelian by themselves?

Each might the spheres spin their cerulean twine

about the throats of thousands upon thousands

of blossoming narcissus and lay their distant fires

around the harvest of the water lilies. But -

if these lights are really fires, how has this harvest

never been sent to increase or diminish?

Without, wick or wood fire never gives

light and radiance. If fire is that which needs fuel

that which needs no fuel cannot be fire.

The Sun is the maker of fire, distinguish, my boy,

between the maker and the fire itself.

Or if that which you see is an army, who

is its general? Socrates spoke of seven

commanders of these troops, prudent and energetic.

The Moon (said he) is green and from it grows

salt and bowels of the earth, silver in stone.

Mars breeds ill-tempered iron and from the womb

of the Sun (so he maintained) all gold is born.

>Jupiter he claimed >is the father of tin

and all copper has Venus for its dam.

Quicksilver is the daughter of Mercury

and Saturn the mother of gloomy lead.

Thus did the Greek associate with seven worlds

these seven melting metals; are the words

of this great sage true? Reason! come

and arbitrate my argument with him. I say

these planets are mere agents, helpless

with no will of their own. Each is charged

as guardian of a certain function - but

a true leader could never be an agent,

a slave or servant - no - he must be the king

who brought into being the very stars themselves

and the greensward on which they play.

It must be his command that alone has raised

without a scaffold the foundations of sea and land,

his decree that harmonises dry earth

with humid water, his power that revolves

the swift and gateless millwheel of the heavens;

and through him the dusty world adorns itself

with countless beauties. Four fecund sisters

and their innumerable spawn praise and glorify

HIM without end beneath this finespun azure

pavilion - but - who has ever heard such praise

of the seven planets? Unless by some hallucinatory

tintinnabulation on the broken eardrum of the heart?

Seize the hand of God or youll regret it! Find

a new-minted ear, a fresh eye to gaze upon

this great sovereign - for he will not grant you

audience unless you cut off your ears and pluck

your eyes from the webs of this world.

Your lord summons you to the heights why

have you cast yourself in the Pit? Climb

to highest heaven on feet of knowledge

and wings of devotion.

Oh you who tread the wilderness

of Insolence, your body lard, your soul starved thin

your arms coiled like snakes around the neck

of this deceitful world (imagining shes some

gorgeous slut) and clasp to your bosom something

more venomous than a king cobra -

seclude yourself from the world or not,

it makes no difference, shell have her

vengeance, her stiletto-satisfaction in the end.

To expect fidelity from this infidel is

to blow on sifted ashes hoping for fire and warmth.

This ghoul, this vampire has kicked a million

like you off the wharf and drowned them

in the shoreless passageless sea.

The world is a scab: it hurts

but it feels so nice to scratch it.

You think its pleasant and cozy as hot milk and sugar

but when it means you ill, watch out:

neither Caesar nor the Emperor of China

can do a thing to save you.

Sometimes it appears to you as a young bride

dripping with earings, bracelets and a diadem

who with sinuously erotic gestures, blushing

like a virgin, removes from her face

first the dust of humility and then - the veil . . .

suddenly, just as you anticipate . . . well

we wont go into that - suddenly like a lunatic

she whips out a dagger and stabs you in the throat.

In doing battle with this psychopath forge yourself

a sword of patience, a helmet of faith;

pluck gnostic buds from the branch of religion

and gaze upon devotional hyacinths in the

in the pasture of knowledge. The here-and-now

is no mansion for the wise but merely

a thoroughfare to be passed and left behind;

it is a twig whose yield is forbidden us to enjoy

- no matter then it bears fruit of not.

Compared to God, the partnerless judge, this world

cannot be counted even as an atom.

If He cared a whit for the worlds worth

do you suppose Hed allow an unbeliever

to take from it even a sip of water?

This is but a store where you can buy

road-provision for your trip to the Hereafter,

only a book wherein you must read

the mysterious calligraphy of your Lord.

Do not deny these hints from the PROOF

(truth can never be denied); you may learn

most readily to decipher the divine script

if you enter the Prophets house - then

in your footsteps tulips and lilies will spring up

and water-mint grow. But God will not permit

you to enter this house except behind ALI

the hero whose glory in the conquest of Khaybar

ha spread from Qayrawan to China,

whose sword has dumbfounded the lions;

Ocean before his great heart has shrunk

into a single drop; his words are a restingplace

a lamp of enlightenment for the heart

his sword a pit of fear and confusion to the foe -

Gods gift to Muhammad - his name Ali

his nickname Kawthar. If you yearn to see

to glaze upon that blessed countenance, that holy face

then hurry to the threshold of the IMAM MUSTANSIR

and do him the honour to approach, face in the dust,

towards that Kaaba of this world and the hereafter

that sacred temple of glory and majesty.

The sun dims before his shining face and the universe

before his doorstep appears but a heap of dirt.

By your sword, by your words, the battlefield

and pulpit have at last attained to grandeur;

without your blessed face the world itself

remains unknown, naked and unadorned.

Only by your knowledge has religion been known:

religion is the frankincense, your heart the pyx.

Hail, PROOF of the land of Khorasan, well done!

This propaganda, this eulogy of the Prophet and his House.

The point of your eloquent pen is a lancet

stuck in the eye of the enemies of true faith.

Such astonishing brocades you spin - tell me

are the famous looms of Shustar hid in your heart?

Spend your remaining years in weaving

these poems of piety, and in devotion.


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