Der Mythenspiegel

While we were sitting listing to Sheikh Bahaudin talking, I saw sheikh Hassan’s face looking through the window from outside. Behind him there were many others, Afghany, Turkish, Cypriot, British, Pakistani, and more. This reminded me once a group from Egypt went to visit Mawlana in Cyprus. When they returned I asked one of them, how was the Sheikh? He said..He looked tired and was not talking much. The second said, oh he was so warm and loving. The third, Mawlana as always gave such sohbet it’s amazing. The last, He was humerus and joked a lot. Each eye each person caught a particular reflection of the same Sheikh as if he was a completely different Mawlana. Therefore, I was wondering if we were to ask each one present now how he met the Sheikh, how he found him, how Mawlana appeared in his dreams, how he knew him, how he remember him? If only the eyes of each follower can report what he saw from Mawlana. If each eyes and senses can draw and describe the Mawlana they met. The Mawlana they prayed with, eat their meals with, did their Zikr and traveled with. The sheikh they listened to and recorded his voice in Sham, Lebanon, Europe, Pakistan, Africa, America, and the Far East. If only they can tell their feeling during the Ramadan taraweeh prayers. How was it to follow the master to dinner invitations across London like little children running after their father. What stories would they tell about the early days in London when He cooked for them. The late nights after the Friday prayers in all the various cities in Cyprus when they fell asleep from exhaustion. What stories were told at dinner, how he served the food at the derga in Lefke when it was still all happening inside his house. How he was arranging the gardens during fasting days, and how was the Eid prayers frost early in the morning. How was his inspection to the kitchen of the derga and searching in the dust bin to find something worth saving. What would they say about hearing his voice calling the Azan for fajr prayers and latter coming to derga to pray with the men. What do they remember from the stories told at the mosque near his house after Esha prayers. How he received the foreigners and greeted each in his own language. How was their smile to hear him say hello, eat, and sleep in German. How each one felt in the midst of so many people, as if he was the only one present with the Sheikh. Oh my master, you went every were. You spoke every language. You touched so many hearts. And yet you were never away or distracted from the presence of your master. I beg you to keep our hearts fixed firm with you, towards you till we meet again.