Guest guest Posted October 25, 2001 Report Share Posted October 25, 2001 Dear Friends, I am at present reading a book called "The Death of al-Hallaj," by Herbert Mason. This book is done in dramatic narrative, a recital of the thought and spiritual way of al-Hallaj. Al-Hallaj Mansur, born as Husayn ibn Mansur, was know as hallaj al-asrar (the carder of consciences or the reader of hearts.) He talks in this narrative with his beloved disciple Ibn Ata. This form of presentation is that of sama or 'hearing' of spiritual teacher's words on God, life, and the world. Part of the narrative is done as 'shath' or conversation with God. "It is part of his impudent character that he does not keep this conversation to himself." He is beyond fear and therefore strange and frightening to those around him in the tenth century amidst fundamentalist Islamic fervor. Al-Hallaj is a lover of God and of humanity who simply cannot measure out his love in moderation. He was so over-flowing with God's love, he HAD to say it. He could not contain It within himself, it had to come out for all near him to witness God's Abundance. He is imprisoned, but free. Al-Hallaj was martyred and executed in 922 for saying "I am the Truth." And he wouldn't stop saying it. Here is some of the great dialogue in this superb book, this part taking place while he is imprisoned and his death is within a couple of days. His attitude and his beauty are so evident in his ecstatic communion with God: IBN ATA: No, master, I cannot let you stop. There isn't time. HALLAJ: Yes, I know. Time becomes precious at a certain age. We lose our sense of being wholly lost Only to find our next dilemma, time. We see but have too little time to change. The world we seek is all too evident. We even have the power of words and faith To make it almost be. Our Truth is there, Hovering to take us out of time. And now, when time's irrelevant at last, We need it as we languish here in jail Between the visits of our sons and friends. We have too little time with them. We know the way to read the hearts we love. Like branches that have lost their leaves, Captive in the cold we cry for clothes Paraded in our old humiliation On the esplanade. The wind grieves loud for us As we stand numb, the stranger no one knows. I have looked through hearts, Through tiny vein-like branches into skies With only face-like vapors passing through. Do you think I'm mad? IBN ATA: You are not afraid of death. That is strange. Perhaps you are. I think I'm afraid of you. HALLAJ: That is why He maddens us to death, To free the others of their fear of it, Through the love of the mad one who must die. We do not really die when we are desperate... When we are carried beyond loss... Beyond grief. We do not go mad or die, we dance... We dance we dance we dance... HAMD (Hallaj's son, narrating): My father danced alone. Ibn Ata stared, Frightened at first. He then was drawn to his fet And followed him around the cell until He too had entered his master's dance, Beyond his fear, beyond his sense of coming loss. Each danced in union, without words. Later on when they describe al-Hallaj just prior to his torture and beheading, he said and did things that are so similar to what Jesus said and did. I don't wonder why, with both being fully God- conscious. I'll include part of it in a later post. Love, Peace, Mazie Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted October 27, 2001 Report Share Posted October 27, 2001 Thanks Mazie for sharing the story. Please tell more. I remember Swami Sivananda writing about it. It always brings tears to my eyes. Love Harsha sraddha54 [sraddha54] Thursday, October 25, 2001 10:20 AM About al-Hallaj Mansur Dear Friends, I am at present reading a book called "The Death of al-Hallaj," by Herbert Mason. This book is done in dramatic narrative, a recital of the thought and spiritual way of al-Hallaj. Al-Hallaj Mansur, born as Husayn ibn Mansur, was know as hallaj al-asrar (the carder of consciences or the reader of hearts.) He talks in this narrative with his beloved disciple Ibn Ata. This form of presentation is that of sama or 'hearing' of spiritual teacher's words on God, life, and the world. Part of the narrative is done as 'shath' or conversation with God. "It is part of his impudent character that he does not keep this conversation to himself." He is beyond fear and therefore strange and frightening to those around him in the tenth century amidst fundamentalist Islamic fervor. Al-Hallaj is a lover of God and of humanity who simply cannot measure out his love in moderation. He was so over-flowing with God's love, he HAD to say it. He could not contain It within himself, it had to come out for all near him to witness God's Abundance. He is imprisoned, but free. Al-Hallaj was martyred and executed in 922 for saying "I am the Truth." And he wouldn't stop saying it. Here is some of the great dialogue in this superb book, this part taking place while he is imprisoned and his death is within a couple of days. His attitude and his beauty are so evident in his ecstatic communion with God: IBN ATA: No, master, I cannot let you stop. There isn't time. HALLAJ: Yes, I know. Time becomes precious at a certain age. We lose our sense of being wholly lost Only to find our next dilemma, time. We see but have too little time to change. The world we seek is all too evident. We even have the power of words and faith To make it almost be. Our Truth is there, Hovering to take us out of time. And now, when time's irrelevant at last, We need it as we languish here in jail Between the visits of our sons and friends. We have too little time with them. We know the way to read the hearts we love. Like branches that have lost their leaves, Captive in the cold we cry for clothes Paraded in our old humiliation On the esplanade. The wind grieves loud for us As we stand numb, the stranger no one knows. I have looked through hearts, Through tiny vein-like branches into skies With only face-like vapors passing through. Do you think I'm mad? IBN ATA: You are not afraid of death. That is strange. Perhaps you are. I think I'm afraid of you. HALLAJ: That is why He maddens us to death, To free the others of their fear of it, Through the love of the mad one who must die. We do not really die when we are desperate... When we are carried beyond loss... Beyond grief. We do not go mad or die, we dance... We dance we dance we dance... HAMD (Hallaj's son, narrating): My father danced alone. Ibn Ata stared, Frightened at first. He then was drawn to his fet And followed him around the cell until He too had entered his master's dance, Beyond his fear, beyond his sense of coming loss. Each danced in union, without words. Later on when they describe al-Hallaj just prior to his torture and beheading, he said and did things that are so similar to what Jesus said and did. I don't wonder why, with both being fully God- conscious. I'll include part of it in a later post. Love, Peace, Mazie /join All paths go somewhere. No path goes nowhere. Paths, places, sights, perceptions, and indeed all experiences arise from and exist in and subside back into the Space of Awareness. Like waves rising are not different than the ocean, all things arising from Awareness are of the nature of Awareness. Awareness does not come and go but is always Present. It is Home. Home is where the Heart Is. Jnanis know the Heart to be the Finality of Eternal Being. A true devotee relishes in the Truth of Self-Knowledge, spontaneously arising from within into It Self. Welcome all to a. Your use of is subject to Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted October 27, 2001 Report Share Posted October 27, 2001 , "Harsha" <harsha-hkl@h...> wrote: > Thanks Mazie for sharing the story. Please tell more. I remember Swami > Sivananda writing about it. It always brings tears to my eyes. > > Love > Harsha Dearest Harshaji, It was our beloved Whitewolfe who first told me about al-Hallaj Mansur. It instantly piqued up some great yearning to learn about him. I only knew one thing about him, that he had said "I am the Truth," and been martyred for it. There is supposed to be a very good book about al-Hallaj Mansur by Massignion. Here is the last part of the book, the tale of the execution. I cannot read this without crying my eyes out. HAMD narrating: ( Al-Hallaj's son) On the morning of the execution He was taken from his prison, Put on one of the pack mules, Led away, jostled by grooms Who ran alongside him Shouting at the crowd which formed A mob. The commissioner, Afraid himself of being killed Or of someone killing his prisoner, Said: "This is not Hallaj, Hallaj is in the palace of Vizirs." While Hamid's mounted guard Escorted him, the commissioner, To the esplanade, near Khurasani Gate, on the west bank of the Tigris Where the gibbet was set up. Everyone who lived in Baghdad And hundreds of foreign visitors To the City of Peace were there. Never had such a crowd formed To witness an execution. The guards lifted him from the mule And he began dancing in his chains. The guards were shocked, the people Who could see burst into nervous laughter, And then they led him to the gibbet. They tore the clothes from his back And began the ordered flagellation. "Now Constantinople is taken!" he shouted, At the five hundreth lash. He fainted And the commissioner ordered The flagellation stopped Lest he die without suffering The full prescribed punishment. The guards had been ordered to close their ears Lest they be seduced to show him mercy. Once the lashes had been stopped The executioner cut off one of his hands And then a foot, and then the other hand Followed as prescribed by the other foot. He then was hoisted on the gibbet in display. The air was filled with screams. The commissioner ordered the decapitation Postponed until morning So the vizir, Hamid, could be present. That night his friends and enemies Came to him, challenging him To answer for himself. Looters Roamed the city, setting fire to shops. Baghdad was convulsed with rioting. He cried out to God: "O my Friend, my Friend..." His disciples came. . . and said To the gibbet: "Have we not forbidden you To receive a guest, neither angel nor man!" One threw a rose at my father, Who raised his bloody stump And wiped his cheek Where it had struck him. Life ebbed from him And he could barely speak. In the morning Hamid came. He had ordered the official witnesses At the trial scattered through the crowd To cry out: "This is for the salvation Of Islam. Let his blood fall on our necks!" Advancing toward the gibbet Hamid drew >From his sleeve a scroll which he handed To the commissioner to unroll. The latter handed it back to him. It had The names of eighty-four learned men on it, The legal scholars and Koran reciters, Attesting to his heresy. A placard Was raised that later would be pinned To his head, saying "This is the head Of the blasphemous conniver and deceiver Husayn Ibn al-Hallaj, One whom God has put to death At the hands of Caliph al-Muqtadir After proof was given showing that he claimed The sovereignty of God himself. Glory be to God, Who causes his blood To be shed and led him to be cursed." The crowd shouted: God is great! Hamid then called for the witnesses To reenact the trial, as was prescribed, Arguing the pros and cons and finally Concurring with the statemnet read. Hamid then asked: "The Caliph is innocent Of his blood?" They shouted "Yes!" "The commissioner is innocent of his blood?" "Yes. Let his blood fall on our necks!" Then Hamid returned the scroll to his sleeve And lowered his right hand. The executioner Stepped forward and the guards took My father down. As he was being lowered He cried out "the ecstatic Wants only to be alone with his Only One." The executioner beheaded him. mazie > > > sraddha54@h... [sraddha54@h...] > Thursday, October 25, 2001 10:20 AM > > About al-Hallaj Mansur > > > Dear Friends, > > I am at present reading a book called "The Death of al-Hallaj," by > Herbert Mason. This book is done in dramatic narrative, a recital of > the thought and spiritual way of al-Hallaj. Al-Hallaj Mansur, born as > Husayn ibn Mansur, was know as hallaj al-asrar (the carder of > consciences or the reader of hearts.) He talks in this narrative with > his beloved disciple Ibn Ata. This form of presentation is that of > sama or 'hearing' of spiritual teacher's words on God, life, and the > world. Part of the narrative is done as 'shath' or conversation with > God. "It is part of his impudent character that he does not keep this > conversation to himself." He is beyond fear and therefore strange and > frightening to those around him in the tenth century amidst > fundamentalist Islamic fervor. Al-Hallaj is a lover of God and of > humanity who simply cannot measure out his love in moderation. He was > so over-flowing with God's love, he HAD to say it. He could not > contain It within himself, it had to come out for all near him to > witness God's Abundance. He is imprisoned, but free. Al-Hallaj was > martyred and executed in 922 for saying "I am the Truth." And he > wouldn't stop saying it. Here is some of the great dialogue in this > superb book, this part taking place while he is imprisoned and his > death is within a couple of days. His attitude and his beauty are so > evident in his ecstatic communion with God: > > IBN ATA: > No, master, I cannot let you stop. > There isn't time. > > HALLAJ: > Yes, I know. > Time becomes precious at a certain age. > We lose our sense of being wholly lost > Only to find our next dilemma, time. > We see but have too little time to change. > The world we seek is all too evident. > We even have the power of words and faith > To make it almost be. Our Truth is there, > Hovering to take us out of time. > And now, when time's irrelevant at last, > We need it as we languish here in jail > Between the visits of our sons and friends. > We have too little time with them. > We know the way to read the hearts we love. > Like branches that have lost their leaves, > Captive in the cold we cry for clothes > Paraded in our old humiliation > On the esplanade. The wind grieves loud for us > As we stand numb, the stranger no one knows. > I have looked through hearts, > Through tiny vein-like branches into skies > With only face-like vapors passing through. > Do you think I'm mad? > > IBN ATA: > You are not afraid of death. > That is strange. Perhaps you are. > I think I'm afraid of you. > > HALLAJ: > That is why He maddens us to death, > To free the others of their fear of it, > Through the love of the mad one who must die. > We do not really die when we are desperate... > When we are carried beyond loss... > Beyond grief. > We do not go mad or die, we dance... > We dance we dance we dance... > > HAMD (Hallaj's son, narrating): > My father danced alone. Ibn Ata stared, > Frightened at first. He then was drawn to his fet > And followed him around the cell until > He too had entered his master's dance, > Beyond his fear, beyond his sense of coming loss. > Each danced in union, without words. > > Later on when they describe al-Hallaj just prior to his torture and > beheading, he said and did things that are so similar to what Jesus > said and did. I don't wonder why, with both being fully God- > conscious. I'll include part of it in a later post. > > Love, Peace, > Mazie > > > > > /join > > > > > > All paths go somewhere. No path goes nowhere. Paths, places, sights, > perceptions, and indeed all experiences arise from and exist in and subside > back into the Space of Awareness. Like waves rising are not different than > the ocean, all things arising from Awareness are of the nature of Awareness. > Awareness does not come and go but is always Present. It is Home. Home is > where the Heart Is. Jnanis know the Heart to be the Finality of Eternal > Being. A true devotee relishes in the Truth of Self-Knowledge, spontaneously > arising from within into It Self. Welcome all to a. > > > > Your use of is subject to Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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