Birds (No Time, part 11)

He had sensed a profound darkness in her, but could not figure out what type of darkness it was. He also did not know what he should do with this discovery. He wanted to help, but didn’t know how nor if he should. An image came to mind: the Phoenix. The Phoenix led him to the Simorgh, which he’d read about in a story. 

Of course he had the volume Thirty Birds. It was only a facsimile, but it served the purpose. Attar of Nishapur, who was Sufi, had published the poem in 1177. He thought perhaps the story of the birds’ journey might help her, although he didn’t know how. Anyway, he knew literature wasn’t as important in most people’s lives as it was in his. He was simply relying on instinct, thinking that if he was drawn to this book at the specific moment, then maybe there was a reason, maybe she would share the same attraction to it. He hadn’t decided yet if he would actually show her the book with its exquisite cover or if he’d just bring it up in a conversation. It was not a goal he was confident of achieving, given the esoteric nature of the work.

He sat down after taking the book from a shelf. Sonnet the cat was beside him as always, and he read for a long time, losing himself in the old verses from a place that was very far away. He took notes as he read, trying to connect his response to it and simultaneously connect it to her, uncertain if that was even possible. It was a bit risky. He had to go over the Sufi text again and again to see what he thought would be of interest and help to her.

It reminds me of the Wizard of Oz, he thought. The birds were traveling to a land they had never seen and had no idea what to expect when they got there. Along the way, there were many challenges, moments of uncertainty, even fear. Yet they had to reach their goal and knew they were right to undertake the daunting journey.

The title of the book was a direct allusion to the Qur'an sura 27:16, where Sulayman (Solomon) and Dāwūd(David) were said to have learned the language, or speech, of the birds (manṭiq al-ṭayr). He was not familiar with the Qur’an, but did not doubt its importance for civilization. His notes were as follows:

First of all, he wrote a synopsis of the poem. It began with the birds of the world gathering in order to determine who who ought to be their ruler, because they knew they needed one. The hoopoe was wisest of the birds. He came forth and suggested that they should find the legendary Simorgh. Then the hoopoe led the birds to the site where the Simorgh was located. He noted that each of the birds represented human fault, faults which prevented humanity from attaining the knowledge they desired.

The hoopoe explained to the birds that they would need to cross seven valleys in order to reach the place where the Simorgh lived. The valleys were: (1) the Valley of the Quest. This was the place where the traveler had to put aside all dogma, belief, and unbelief. (2) the Valley of Love, where reason was discarded in order to achieve love. (3) the Valley of Knowledge, which was actually where worldly knowledge was no longer of any use. (4) the Valley of Detachment, the place where all desires and connection to the world were eliminated. The book explained that the thing that was heretofore thought to be “reality” disappeared. (5) the Valley of Unity, where the travelers realized that everything is connected to everything else and that the Beloved (whoever that might be) was greater than everything else, including harmony, multiplicity, and eternity. (This was not easy for him to interpret and he considered putting the story of the birds aside and finding a better one. Still, he kept going.) (6) was the Valley of Wonderment, the place where, entranced by the beauty of the Beloved (he was still confused as to who this was), the travelers were confused and overcome by awe, discovering that they had in fact never known or understood anything that was familiar to them. (7) the Valley of Poverty and Annihilation. It sounded ominous, but it was where the self dissipated, passing into the universe. This at first sounded like an unpleasant end to the search for a leader, for guidance. However, it actually meant that the traveler had become eternal, possessed no measurable time and therefore existed in both the past and the future.

He then thought that he still didn’t understand what a Simorgh (or Symurgh; it had the body of a bird and the head of any of several animals) was, although he could see that it had great cultural meaning in the Persian culture of the author. An internet search revealed that the creature was frequently associated with (quote) ‘wisdom, transformation, and divine symbolism’. In addition, it was associated with healing and fertility and people believed that it was able to cure illnesses. It resided between the earth and the sky. Some descriptions considered it to be gentle and wise, a protector. Its wisdom was the result of having lived a very long time, perhaps long enough to see the world be reborn three times.

He did not know a great deal about Sufi mysticism, but hope and healing as well as wisdom were part of the poem’s theme. He also understood that the birds had undertaken their journey to find self-understanding and wholeness. In the end, the winged travelers were themselves the Simurgh and the valleys were the stages in a process that was not to be feared. Unity and oneness were fundamental to Sufi beliefs.

The mythical being, in essence, symbolized wisdom. It provided guidance in times of crisis as well. It represented hope. It was like the Phoenix, the creature that arises from its ashes. It was a creature that might trace its roots back to Babylonia.

He read all this and wondered again how the Conference of the Birds could interest her. It was confusing and seemed to pertain to a religious philosophy he barely knew. His notes read like a sermon or parable, although he hadn’t intended to record his thoughts that way; he was not religious. He was going to throw his notes away and never mention the poem to her, when he saw what could be a connection.

She was strong because of her dedication to things like running, yet there was a fragility about her that showed in her eyes and certain gestures of avoidance. Her eyes also had a darkness and pain. She was probably unaware of how accurately he could read her, but then his life of books would make that easy. And he saw fragments of a past but not of a future. He did not know her whole story and knew he would never ask her to tell him about it, but she deserved to have relief from whatever hold it had on her, whatever harm had lodged itself inside her.

It had been a good idea, one that had occurred to him after opening one of the drawers in his Cabinet of Curiosities, the drawer with a feather whose origin he did not like to remember. He had been surprised (or frightened) by the feather because he didn’t recall putting it there. He didn’t want it there. The feather was painful. Yet it had led him to read a poem written by a Persian poet in 1177. Maybe what had appealed to him the most was the Simurgh’s representation of unity - something he wished he had in his own life.

He didn’t think he’d ever tell her about that, just as he wouldn’t ask her to talk about her past. Maybe they’d have to accept that - the lack of telling but not for lack of a story. Sonnet had sensed the indecision and discomfort he was feeling, and rubbed purrs onto his thigh where she lay.

[to be continued]