ABSTRACT
We speak of God who is hidden Describing the indescribable. You philosophize, I only criticize. Another refutes us both. Yet another, There are always others, Will pontificate and vilify And pin truth down like A dead butterfly. Everyone prognosticates And assassinates with A knowing word, a nod, A distant seeking look; Each insinuates even to Himself even that he knows. All these busy mouthing truths Cannot speak the hidden Truth; Yet each carries in itself An antidote for its being As blindness contains insight, As the fleeting moment Unveils eternity. Be patient With your counterfeit truths, Like false coins to the real, Is their value to be measured. So, like God’s word in the Book We learn to discriminate— All is not true nor all entirely false— As a small dose of poison A potent medicine makes, So our partial errors our thirst For impartial Good do slake. (Jalal Ed-Din Rumi, Mathnavi II, 2923, Abdulla (trans.) 2000)
