In an era when many parts of the world were defeated by darkness, our horizon was everywhere emblazoned with colors, and the festivals of dawn came one after another. At breakneck speed were the heralds of light, with brightest torches in their hands, calling the people to revival in every land. Those to whom they drew near found new life, as though having felt the breath of the Messiah, and the lands through which they passed turned green, as though Al-Khidr had stopped by. With one eye on this world and one fixed upon the Hereafter, these entrancing countenances were turned to Divine whilst amongst the people. Their minds and hearts were joined hand in hand in this worldly adventure. With those magical travels sometimes here and sometimes beyond, they experienced a separate festival each day.

The firmaments were interwoven and converged with this world. Our cities and villages were like the layers of the heavens. We imagined journeying across these heavenly layers as if on land, from continent to continent. We were like children as our days and nights passed with the sweetest of dreams. We felt our existence anew with each dawn and sunrise, and we returned to life all over once more. Breezes of Paradise forever blew in our horizon of thought, and it was as though we heard the flutter of angelic spirits above us. We lived an entire past intertwined with this day, and this day with the near and distant future. At a time when our contemporaries writhed in different crises due to the narrowness of the present, we perpetually breathed an air of tranquility and joy, as though strolling across the spacious and relief-laden slopes of Paradise.

Once upon a time, our magical world was like the wellspring of life of the earth and the heart of the heavens.

In this world forever agleam with lights from eternity were our villages and cities dazzling with their celestial profundities and our glistening homes resembling a bridal chamber. In this world, the rose was reconciled with the thorn, the cat side by side with the pigeon, the nightingale friends with the magpie; everything oscillated so deeply while singing the song of eternity. In everything we saw and heard we straightened ourselves and rose up once again: as if having received the sound of the Trumpet of Resurrection, took to walking toward the Divine at an even greater pace, and felt as though our roads reached all the way to the heavens. Especially for the luminous souls who have attained the happiness of walking along the trajectory of a life of the heart and spirit, living in this world was a privilege, so to speak.

With the sounds of the call to prayer, a call to eternity at each dawn, we experienced a new resurrection and felt the faith with the freshness of the day it was first revealed from the heavens, feelings refreshed, hearts wakeful to the utmost, and our spirits neck and neck with the angels. It was as if we could see the smiling countenance of the Infinite Light, peace be upon him, just a few steps ahead and stood dazed with reverence. Our thoughts were as profound as to project to the beyond, evaluated life with the gravity of the angels, and spent every moment like hearts familiar with God.

Our magical world back then was like the wellspring of life of the earth and the heart of the heavens; this heart constantly proclaimed the Almighty with its rhythmic beating, and with its living and inanimate accessories it offered us unimaginable surprises reminiscent of the beauties of Paradise. Everywhere was aglow; looking to our surrounds, we felt the dazzling magnificence of the world beyond in the face of existence and creation.

Our nights always passed with the luminosity of a “daybreak” while our days were as bright as the slopes of the highest level in Paradise. The atmosphere hanging over us and the natural landscape it encircled were refulgent, as was spring, summer, autumn, winter, and indeed all creation. In this colorful climate, we always asked for that which surpassed our will by means of our supplication and entreaties and incessantly mumbled utterances that would please Him. With feelings alive and our hearts quivering like the lowest note struck, we always presented to Him melodies with a different tune each time! The lamentations breaking loose from our hearts from time to time and rising from our bosoms ascended like the heartfelt cries of Prophet Jacob, and the winds blew with the fragrance from the shirt of Prophet Joseph, peace be upon them. All around, the sugar-sweet words were woven with pure feelings, and accompanied with deeds of righteousness. These “good words” (Qur’an 14:24) rose to the best of their “dew points,” and then poured back upon us as another form of Divine favor.  Those days were the days promised to the believers, those places were places from the Ka’ba and Mount Sinai, and we were the auspicious inheritors of the earth.

Then, the day came when the ruthless assaults of the enemies combined with the disloyalty of friends, and we were no longer able to stand where we once stood. We experienced tremors one after another and thus toppled over suddenly. Who knows, perhaps if we had not been subjected to all those betrayals, this world would have continued to bedazzle until the end of time with its own particular beauty.

Then, the day came when the ruthless assaults of the enemies combined with the disloyalty of friends, and we were no longer able to stand where we once stood. 

It is a great pity that in an inauspicious age, all the lights of this luminous world were ravaged, the hands holding the torches broken, the mouths speaking the truth gagged, and a group of monstrous souls sat upon our life springs. The sun no longer rose with its own color. In the shadow of the stains upon its countenance, the moon was like a poor creature, and the earth had taken on the form of an arena of savagery where malicious demons ran wild. The damage had been done and no longer were the roses with which we were familiar blossoming, nor the flowers diffusing their fragrance to their surrounds, nor the nightingales singing. Replacing the people showering smiles upon their surroundings with serenity and jubilation were dark-spirited night demons who were overwhelmed by hatred, rancor, and enmity, and dejected souls growling with wrath. It seemed as though all people of heart and spirit had dissolved into thin air, along with that luminous era. Villages and towns were abandoned and our minds were as empty of spirit, meaning, and respect for our own values, as were the plains and prairies of life.

The masses were dead on their feet as though subjected to an illusion, those holding the reins in their hands were in pursuit of a different fantasy each day, people scattering helter-skelter away from their own values, and disorder on the societal scale was experienced. There was no respect left for the family tree, nor regard for its fruit; axes hacked away at the tree’s roots and our thousand-year legacy was cast away to the scrapheap just to spite our forebears. Hypocrisy was popularized and dissension reverberated in all quarters. Deception was considered prowess and subterfuge, in the hands of its professionals, witnessed its golden age in favor of besmirching the believers. Deviators were wilier and quicker than ever before; on the contrary, many of the believers were worship-weary, service-spent, and addicts of rewards, and matters requiring patience, determination, sacrifice, and resolve had of course been entrusted to extraordinary occurrences. As a matter of fact, how many people believing in extraordinary manifestations had actually remained, God knows!

Considering our recent history, was it at all possible for us to get back up on our feet and pull ourselves together as a society facing such a degree of disarray? Were we going to be able to stand on our own feet once more as ourselves? It was very difficult to say anything positive with respect to the apparent causes; however, for believing hearts, causes were not everything. After all, what could not happen when God manifested His Favor! How many times humanity had encountered surprise springs until the present day, at the very moment when they fell defeated to sleet and snow. How many times they had witnessed “coolness and peace” (Qur’an 21:69) in the bosom of the most formidable infernos. Each and every time humanity turned to the door to which they needed to turn with faithfulness, confided and expounded their troubles to Him, the death pits in which they found themselves were transformed into ramps of elevation and at a stretch, in the very same breath, reached peaks that had hitherto appeared unattainable. Why could it not happen once more!

Indeed, no one who had turned to Him sincerely until now had ever come away empty-handed, and there were none amongst those remaining independent of Him who had been delivered. Thus, with all these considerations at the present time, our faces are darkened, but our hearts tremble. Fixing our hopes on the vastness of His mercy, confiding our inadequacy, inconsistency, and of course our helplessness to Him, we ask that He enable us to reach a fresh phase of revival with a brand-new celestial calendar and entrust our hopes and aspirations to His favor.

My leaves reflected the moonlight. I looked up at the moon, and it looked back at me brightly. But even its lights seemed somehow unfamiliar to me.

I slowly turned my flower head to the right to watch my brothers and sisters. They all looked pretty exhausted from the long journey, and in their face I saw the same concerns as mine. They, too, felt like strangers here.

Feeling a little bit depressed, I sighed and just wanted to sleep, but in this precise moment a move in the dark bushes that separated the garden from the fence attracted my attention. I caught sight of a small hyacinth. She looked at me curiously, as I smiled at her with mild exertion.

My smile was returned immediately, and visibly excited she gave a sign to those behind her. All of a sudden, there appeared a bevy of hyacinths, closely followed by – I could not recognize them right away – small carnations and roses.

Chatting and giggling, they hopped over to me and I realized that they were thrilled. A small carnation stumbled while running and fell to the ground. The hyacinth, which I saw first, ran back to her and helped her up.

The flower children surrounded me, eyeing me curiously. I smiled back at them kindly, a little nervous. Unexpectedly, they all erupted into laughter. I hadn’t seen such vivid flower children for a long time.

The hyacinth took the little carnation that had stumbled by the hand and started to speak:

“You and your siblings did arrive just now, didn’t you?”

I nodded, hoping that she was old enough to guess that I simply wanted to have my peace and quiet. But unfortunately, she apparently wasn’t… None of these little children were.

A murmur went through the swarm of children.

“Wow! Then you are a tulip, aren’t you? We have heard of you tulips. You guys are the first tulips coming from there,” said the hyacinth, pointing east. Her big eyes were shining with enthusiasm.

Yes, the East. From there, I came here; from a land where the sun rose and sometimes only reluctantly went down again.

My petals cramped. It had been very painful to leave that wonderful place, my home and my people.

As if reading my gloomy thoughts, the hyacinth said:

“It’s really beautiful here in the West! God showers us with water and it is pleasantly cool, sometimes even colder than we would like. Besides, we are well treated. The people are really fond of us.”

These words reminded me of the magnificent brightly lit tulip festivals, which used to be celebrated in the Ottoman Empire, of the nights made into days, and of the wonderful names we have been given, like face of the beloved or lucky star. At once I felt warm all over my carpels.

But once again, grief seized my flower head, and my sepals sank slightly due to their oppressive severity. “How long are you here, now?” I asked the kids, only to divert my attention from these thoughts.

The hyacinth shrugged her leaves:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think it was my great-grandparents, who were brought here.” The other flower children nodded doubtfully. They didn’t know anymore.

“Do you actually know anything of the country from which you, and…” – I briefly swallowed – ” … I originated?” They shook their heads. They were so young, so inexperienced. I smiled and sighed acquiescently, because I had to suppress my fatigue.

“Would you love to learn something about your country from me?” I asked.

The hyacinth politely set me straight:

“Here is our homeland. Here we were born, and here we are living in peace and joy with each other. I know my homeland. But I would pretty much like to hear something about the country where you and our great-grandparents come from.”

Smiling back at her, I was slightly confused about this answer. She was very smart, for sure, and would be a wise flower.

“Well, then sit down. I want to tell you about my homeland that is also the land of your ancestors.” They bounced close, and formed a semicircle around me with their eyes curiously focused on me.

“I am a tulip and I used to live and prosper in the Ottoman Empire, where I was surrounded with every imaginable flower. The Turks love us so much so that we have become an important part of their art and literature.”

Again a murmur was heard, and I had to smile about the naive way of these children. My fatigue and my gloomy mood slowly vanished. It was nice to relive those memories again.

“I don’t want to dive too deep into this topic. But we all are common motifs of the so-called Quatre-Fleur style of the Ottomans in the crafts.” It still made me very proud when I thought of it.

The hyacinth intervened:

“In this country, people say that we flowers have our own language. Each of us has a very special meaning for them and is given away as a present on certain occasions.”

I looked at her in surprise and let her continue. It sounded exciting.

“And not only have the flowers special meanings, but their colors as well.” The children in the semicircle nodded in agreement. “Tulips, for example, symbolize love and affection. Lovers present each other red tulips. Orange symbolizes fascination and blue means a promise of fidelity.”

My stamens trembled with joy when I heard that. How beautiful, indeed!

“This brings me back to the Ottomans,” I smiled at the children. “They also have something like a language of flowers, but somehow different from yours. They, for example, place yellow roses on the window sill, which is saying something like: there are sick or old people living in this house. In this way, passersby were prompted to behave quietly, which they did.”

I gave the flower children a short while to digest this new information, which apparently pleased them.

“By the way, do you actually know where I originally come from?” I asked them. They shook their heads. “My ancestors once left their home as well and were brought into the Ottoman Empire.”

The astonished hyacinth interrupted me:

“Does that mean that this isn’t the first migration?”

I gave her a nod. “Your ancestors were not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last who moves from one place to another in this wide world. There have always been trade relations between nations, and this will certainly remain so.”

The children smiled at me.

“And from where did you come to the Ottoman Empire?” the little carnation asked me timidly.

“Well, my real home … We tulips were already mentioned by the Greek writer Xenophon, who lived from 430 to 354 BC. And in the fourteenth century the Persian poet Hafez introduced my species into literature. He called us Lale, and this name so much appealed to the Ottomans that they adopted it.”

“In Turkish garden culture we had our heyday with Sultan Ahmet III. At that time, a whole era was named after us: The Tulip Era – Lale devri, which began in 1718. The tulip hype exceeded all bounds. There were 1323 different varieties.”

“Do they only have tulips over there?”

I shook my flower head. “No. The Ottomans had many flowers, including hyacinths as well. A part of the courtyard gardens of the Sultan were always reserved for you, the hyacinths; and this is still the case today.”

The hyacinths giggled again and whispered to each other. “See, I told you,” the first hyacinth whispered to the others.

“The poet Fazli, an Ottoman poet, often wove the hyacinth motif into his poems,” I continued. “And in Edirne and Istanbul, there are meadows covered with fragrant hyacinths.”

“Do you also know where we came to the Ottomans from?” another hyacinth, tall but very thin, asked.

“From the gardens of Baghdad and Aleppo,” I told her. A murmur rose again. The crowd of children thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

“How exciting,” they blurted.

Thus I added, “by the way, you folks came to Europe in the sixteenth century.” While they kept on jabbering with each other, the little pink carnation looked at me expectantly. Then she squeaked hesitant and softly:

“Have you also got flowers like me in the Ottoman Empire?”

I smiled at her. “Carnations, you mean?”

She nodded eagerly, and her cute petals shook with her head.

“Of course, even at the time of Theophrastus, in 300 BC, you were already growing. But I guess it was the Arabs who brought you to the Ottomans. At least, you got your name from them. The Arabs call you Qaranful, which is probably derived from the Latin Caryophyllus or from the Greek Karyphillon. And the Ottomans call you Karanfil.”

The eyes of the flower children widened and they tried to repeat the name slowly. Apparently they liked it very much.

For the first time, a small rose spoke up, slowly and gracefully as is to be expected from a rose:

“And what about us? What did we mean to the Ottomans?”

Again, I had to smile. What a question!

“Roses are sacred to all Muslims and, therefore, also to the Ottomans. They play a major role in Turkish culture.” The roses looked at me in surprise. “The Ottomans never left rose petals lying on the floor because rose in their tradition symbolized the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

“Wow,” the children whispered reverently, as with one voice. The carnations and hyacinths respectfully looked up at the roses. They, in turn, humbly looked at me, waiting for me to go on, which I did:

Again, the flower children were whispering to each other. At the sight of them, I rejoiced. Now, they were my new neighbors. What luck! With them, I would certainly never get bored.

I looked over at my tulip siblings. They had already made themselves comfortable and were sound asleep. Out of the blue, I felt tired again. “Dear children! Tomorrow I’ll tell you more, if you want. But for today, it’s enough.”

A disappointed murmur rose. But the hyacinth encouraged me.

“Okay friends. She’s right. It’s enough for today. We should go back. Our parents are probably already worried. It’s getting late.”

“But I certainly would like to know more about my ancestors in Albania,” the little carnation complained.

“Arabia! Your ancestors came from Arabia! Just listen more carefully,” the hyacinth chastened her. She stood up and pulled the others behind her. “And now let’s go home!”

“Didn’t you forget something”, the hyacinth asked the flower children. As if on command they all turned again to me and shouted:

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Tulip!”

I laughed. The hyacinth had a very good grip on them.

“You are welcome,” I replied. “Good night!”

“Good night,” they echoed back, and with a broad grin and still fidgety, they retreated. I was alone again, and at once felt a little lonely. So I hurried back to my brothers and sisters.

This country seemed to be very exciting, at least more exciting than I would have thought. I smiled and suddenly did not even remember why it seemed so strange to me in the beginning.

In the remarkable interfaith city of Urfa, the author is surprised by extraordinary generosity which exemplifies the city’s “living faith.”

Sanliurfa, known to the Turks as “Urfa the Glorious,” is often described as a city of many faiths. It is indeed glorious, for a more impressive interfaith site than this one would be hard to find outside of Jerusalem. Legend has it that Adam met Eve on the Göbekli Mound outside of town. The two sons of Abraham, Ishmael and Isaac, were born in nearby Harran. Isaac met his wife Rachel while drawing water at a well in Harran, and their love story charted the destiny of the world, for their descendants included Moses, King David and Jesus. The descendants of his brother, Ishmael, included Mohammed, founder of the Islamic faith. The name of Urfa is scattered countless times throughout the verses of the Old Testament. The city later became known as Edessa, seat of the first major Crusader state of the Outremer, established during the First Crusade of Baldwin II in 1096. Edessa became an important center for the spread of Christianity and the revival of Greek learning, through translations made here into Syriac, the local language spoken by Jesus, then into Arabic, and finally into Latin and the European languages.

On my recent visit to this very hot city in southeastern Turkey, I could not help but be impressed by the cultural, historical, spiritual and mystical atmosphere of this capital of many faiths. When I walked through the rose gardens of the Hasan Padishah Mosque on my way towards the Pool where Abraham’s Sacred Fish swam, I could feel the memory of the prophets of many faiths. As I trod on stones polished by centuries of Biblical footsteps, I observed the crowds coming on pilgrimage to the site, many of whom would continue on to Mecca to complete the Hajj.

Yet faith does not just lie in the historical past of Urfa. Today, it is still a city of living faith, as I recently experienced.

Urfa is dotted with several splendid bazaars, reached by narrow backstreets just wide enough for one donkey to pass. These bazaars echo with the sounds of Turkish, Kurdish, Persian, and Arabic. Djellabias, facial tattoos, keffiyeh scarves, Salvar pants, tee-shirts and tennis shoes all mix in a colorful jumble of traditions and cultures. I went to the Kazzaz Bazaar to watch the silk weavers and to hear the hammering of its famed coppersmiths. I went to the Sipahi Bazaar to admire the bright Kurdish rugs. I went to the Ucuzluk Bazaar to buy some isot pepper.

I had read about isot, the celebrated red pepper of Urfa, and was fascinated by it. What did it taste like, I wondered, and is it really as scorching hot as the infamous palate-exploding habanero pepper of my southwest United States? Just what is it that makes it so special – so special that the people of Urfa consume 70 tons of isot pepper in their kebabs per day? It is certain that it is not just the 46 degree centigrade (115 F) weather that heats up this city, but all that fiery red powdered fuel, too. Isot would also appear to have something more explosive than its blazing taste. A team of scientists from the University of Nottingham, in England, intrigued by the link between the heavy consumption of isot and the very low cancer rates in this area, has carried out research on the pepper. Their research has provided conclusive evidence that isot pepper does indeed possess substantial anti-cancer properties.

I stopped in a spice shop where I was immediately taken in hand by the young owner, Abdulhekim. A tower of colorful spice sacs made from striped kilims rose in a tower against the wall, many of them containing different varieties of isot. When I asked to buy some, I first received a lengthy and informed lesson on their different qualities and textures from Abdulhekim: wetter vs. drier, big flakes vs. small flakes, sweeter vs. smokier, and so on, including his confirmation of its proven effectiveness against cancer cells. Tea was shared, stories were exchanged, politics were discussed and jokes were told, for that is the way business is done in Turkey, even for a handful of pepper. He told me I definitely needed to purchase the most expensive variety; the “best quality kind” he assured me. He knew his stock, so I took his word, and I wanted the best quality for sure.

As he scooped out my order of the searing pepper flakes into a paper bag, I said in a low voice, “I am bringing this pepper back for my friend Enciğim who lives in America. She was sick this past year, but she has bravely finished her treatments and is healthy once again. But I would like her to eat some of this pepper every day to keep her that way, just like you do here in Urfa.”

When he finished weighing out the pepper and wrapping it up, I took out my wallet to pay. He flicked his head up in the emphatic Turkish gesture to say “No!” He brushed my wallet away and placed the package in my hands.

“This is a gift. This is my gift to your friend. May Allah’s mercy and the city of Urfa and its pepper keep her healthy and strong for many, many years to come. That is my wish for this gift. Take it home to her from me.”

Yes, all the way from the dawn of time until today, Urfa is a glorious city of living faith.

No matter how expressive and stylishly it is told, what matters is that this important phenomenon of the era should be related. It should, after all, be related so that we add a footnote to history and show our respect for those devoted people who performed such heroic deeds. If, on the other hand, this soft breeze, this warm atmosphere, this fresh thought and this love, and the gentle winds felt across the globe were to be described very briefly, it would be disrespectful toward the noble traits, such as magnanimity and altruism.

This movement is a phenomenon to be written about and underscored. A few dozen passionate people set off in all directions for the sake of God without stopping to think about their longings or their feelings of separation and without uttering the words “foreign lands” or “unknown places” at a time when nobody could even fathom what lay ahead. They were full of determination, firm of intention, and self-reliant. They suppressed their love for their country and their homeland, replacing it with a love for mission. They were aware of their efforts for the cause of God as few have been, they lived as such, and they walked to the east and to the west saying:

We have entered the path of love,
We are lovesick.
(Nigari)

At the most colorful period of their lives, when worldly pleasures and material objectives attract young people with an irresistible lure, and when physicality oppresses the hearts and minds of a person, they virtually flew to all these places with a passion for accomplishment that suppressed the various desires and compulsions; the excitement of those in the first row was in their hearts. This flight abroad was not like the departure of lovelorn youths who chased a false siren that had entered their lives at an unlucky time, those youths who pursued their dreams for a lifetime, who became lovesick, and who were strangers to their own nature, yet unable to reach the desired goal. The mission of these youths was from the heart and based on emotions, on consciousness, and determination; it had a depth of good faith and sincerity. You could say that these were the usual dynamics of faith, the natural conditions of divine ambition, the ideals of the devoted, the guides of the Infinite Light, or the efforts of those who had abandoned their selves and their beloved ones in order to express themselves. Indeed, they were neither prevented by their own shortcomings nor did they surrender to the obstacles in their way; they walked to the far corners of the world, the only never-fading love in their hearts being God’s favor and the ambition to meet Him. They walked; the roads took pride in this, the angels cheered them on, and, naturally, the devils beat their breasts. They walked; they had neither horses nor cars, nor weapons, nor ammunition. Their source of energy was their incredible faith and the excitement in their hearts that seethed like magma; on the horizon was the happiness of humanity, consent, and pleasure. Their destiny equaled that of the Companions and the Apostles. Soon after dawn they attained, with their chastity and purity, a manner that was tantamount to kinship with the angels. They became a theme for legends and a thing of never fading memory. They brought streams of light from eternity wherever they went. They lit a fire all around; the flame, ember, and smoke of this fire was happiness. The spell of tyranny and darkness gave way. The disbelieving bats were deprived of their sleep, and darkness unceasingly grumbled. Lies, calumny, and intrigue were hindered once again. All this made boorish thoughts and bigotry intolerably arrogant, making it want to tread on others’ ideas and set up traps for faith. However, all opposition was in vain: the light shone everywhere. The light that radiated from eternity embraced the entire world. Now it was the time and the epoch of the bright souls, although the murky situation still prevailed and the horizons were foggy, but the magic of darkness and the boorish thoughts were already undone.

Now it was the turn of the bright souls to speak. Humanity would discover itself through them and take its true place in the hierarchy of creation. Therefore, it was a generation that had long been awaited. As people had been waiting for them, wherever they went they always bent double as a consequence of their reverence for God and their respect for humanity, their eyes fixed on the doorway of the Most Gracious, meekly and humbly, awaiting the time when showers of light would be unleashed, while their heads and feet touched the ground. No matter how the people of today assess the issue, these were the children of tomorrow; the bright future bore their secrets. These lucky people, who were the apostles of resurrection, each in their own way, held the flowers of friendship in their hands and the verses of brother and sisterhood on their lips. Their tongues, sharper than sharpest swords, were nourished by Qur’anic waterfalls and their words had divine dimensions. These words destroyed darkness, but did not harm anyone. They brought the sound of the rivers of Paradise within earshot, but they did not lead to a longing for Paradise. In fact, these people needed neither hands nor tongues. Their pure faces that reminded one of God wherever seen were so magical that words stumbled in the presence of the meanings that emanated from their manners, and tongues became mute. Even their shadows burned the night moths; not to mention their light, which dazzled anyone that came near. We rightfully say, “Tongues and words have nothing to say in the presence of actions. When manners speak, is there a need for speech?” They are the representatives of this truth. There have always been multitudes of good people on the Earth; however, the manners and words of this latest group are entirely different. I can hardly say that they were singular or unique, but were I asked to explain how they were, I would not be able to immediately reply. I would probably say, “They look like angels,” and give up there.

Wherever these bright souls go, dry deserts turned into gardens of Eden thanks to the light they radiated. Much coal has been transformed into diamonds. Natures made of mud and stone have ascended to the rank of gold and silver. And everybody is talking about them now, waiting for the days when the love, brotherhood, and tolerance they promised will be realized. Today, only those who confuse darkness and light and who spend their lives in the realm of physicality are speaking against them. The bats are uneasy. The wolves and jackals are baring their teeth. The fools are restless. I find all these natural, and say, “Everybody exhibits his or her true nature.”

Whatever happens, despite those who blow out the candles, these men and women have long illuminated the hearts that are thirsty for light wherever they go, they warn the pure natures of what lies behind things and events, and they announce the universal human values to unspoiled souls.

I firmly believe that, just as intercontinental obstacles were once overcome thanks to the Qur’an, and love, respect, and dialogue were permanently established, a new ground for reconciliation has been or will be founded by the efforts of these lucky people today. Humanity used to recognize our nation, with its smiling face and fortunate destiny. Why should this very fact not also be true today? A flood of love among the people has started overflowing in almost every place that these bearers of the mission visit. There have been breezes of happiness and gladness, one after another, that can be felt all around. Moreover, islands of peace, which we can call invulnerable castles of harmony and stability, are forming near and far.

Who knows, maybe in the near future, thanks to these volunteers who devote themselves to letting others live, the mind and soul will embrace each other once again; conscience and logic will become complementary depths of each other; physics and metaphysics will stop fighting and withdraw to their own realms, and everything will find the opportunity to express the beauty in its own nature through its own language, the intricacy of legislative rules and the principles of creation will be rediscovered, people will regret having fought each other over nothing, an atmosphere of peace that was not previously established in the marketplaces, in the schools and homes will be established, and breezes of happiness will blow, chastity will not be violated, honesty will not be oppressed, hearts will always breathe respect and esteem, no one will envy others, their property or their reputation, the powerful will treat the weak justly, the weak and the poor will have the chance to live humanely, nobody will be arrested on the strength of mere suspicions, no dwelling or workplace will be raided, nobody’s blood will be shed and the weak will not cry, everybody will adore God and love humanity. It is only then that this world, which is the hallway to Paradise, will become an Eden that is fascinating to live in.

Notes

1. The author has dedicated this article to countless educational activists who have gone all around the world, with a motivation to provide quality education and to promote peace between different nations and cultures. All throughout his life and career Gulen has preached the importance of education and directed his audience to participate in and support educational activities.
2. Seyyid Nigari: A famous poet of Azerbaijan. He was an important representative of nineteenth century mystical poetry.

Churning in time, “the process of becoming”

Every particle must sacrifice the ego to mill

Listening to the call, enabling Divine Will

Death in “itself” is the desire to “live”

Eternity is in giving away to rebuild

The mountains squash at the will of self

The meek perceive a mound a hill

Wandering hither and thither the lowly stars

Are but lost in the vastness of heaven,

To realize oneself, one has to part

It is the destiny, for existence, for non-being.

The moon is pale; loosing glamour at the last stretch

All secrets told, is stripped off into void

Soon the demons of dark will engulf the bright.

Why looking for a phantom light…?

Thy lamp is thy heart, O’ forlorn

Leave the sojourn, thee, thyself is the guide.

Thou art real, the only truth in heaven,

On the earth; the whole universe’s might.

Resting in a world of fabricated illusion,

Deserts are but for an infinite exploration

Thorns bear witness to a searching soul

How limited is the effort to grow one Rose

Yet, ye complain scarcity of the resource.

Mercy O benevolent, the most compassionate Lord.

Upon the ignorant, the sinful, and the tyrant

I urge to see an oasis, not an iced spring at a stronghold.

Muhammad Iqbal

Ode No XXX1 from Bang-i-D’rra of Muhammad Iqbal. Translated from Urdu by Seema Arif.

Seema Arif is an assistant professor of Business Administration, University of Central Punjab, Lahore, Pakistan.

On a Friday evening, the Little Prince landed on his home planet. Then, he went to his precious rose and related his travel stories to her…

“And I saw so many flowers with different colors on the earth.”

After few forced coughs, the rose responded in jealousy:

“Oh, but were they as beautiful as me?”

“There were many roses just like you; but I learned that you are unique…”

“Then go talk with them. If you are not going to water me with your words, telling me how much you missed me, why did you come here?”

Unfortunately, these happened to be the last words of the rose, as it had not been watered for a while. The death of his rose, his only friend at home, shook the Little Prince from deep within. As his home planet was so small, his tears soon became a lake. He decided to bury his rose near this lake; a lake that sprang from his heart.

At the end of the day, he sat by the lake and watched the sunset. Then he remembered his conversations with the fox. The fox had said that if they became friends, he would cry after the Little Prince departed. But he would stare at the glaring yellow of the wheat fields, for the yellow color there would remind him of his blond friend, the Little Prince.

Taking the fox’s words to heart, the Little Prince also decided to assign things around him meanings that would remind him of his rose. The red color of the sky at sunset became the petals of the rose, the wings of the birds became its leaves. And most importantly, the lake that was formed by his tears became his love for his precious one. So, whenever the Little Prince wanted to remember his rose, he would come to the lake side at sunset, stare at the horizon as the sun embellished the sky with the petals of his rose, and he would add some more tears to his lake of love.

On one of those days, he felt the absence of his rose so strongly that he cried, sobbing deeply “everything comes to an end, just like the sun, just like my rose…” Having said that, a shock wave reverberated in his mind: what about my own end? And, this question brought others, like a chain reaction: Is it possible to know when his life was going to end? What would happen afterwards? What is the meaning of all the manifest beauties if they are destined to perish? What is the wisdom behind love, if it leads to so much destruction in the heart upon separation…?

Then he remembered the two secrets that the fox had shared with him: 1) It is only with the heart that one can see well, for the essential is invisible to the eye, 2) it is the time that you spend with your rose that makes her so important to you. He thought “the essence of my rose cannot be mere soil; the essence of my love cannot be just tears…” So, did this mean that if he wanted to see his rose, he could see her with his heart? Or, was the time he spent with his rose spent in vain, since she had departed without considering the sorrow of the Little Prince?

Days passed with unanswered questions like these. The Little Prince looked at the sheep in the box that the pilot on the earth had drawn. He sighed, and wished that the sheep could get out of its home; the absence of a friend had slowly but surely destroyed him. Seeing that his desire for company was not realized, he slowly lost his hope as well. He was severely aware of his own doom in his soul. But, still in the depths of his heart, one question kept him alive: When he was lost in the desert with the pilot, with no water left, how did they happen to find a water-well exactly when they were most in need of it? Out of the infinite number of ways they could have followed, were they guided by a hidden hand to this particular path that lead to the well?

Whenever the Little Prince thought about this moment, he would feel the warmth of unseen company. Maybe this was something he could see with his heart, but not with his eyes. He wanted to call this essence that he could see with his heart the essence of life. Then, he thought, if the essence of life had not loved him, it would have abandoned him to perish in the desert. “I love you, too” he whispered. Then he continued to talk to the essence of life; maybe it could hear him, and respond to his need. Thus, with this final hope to be delivered from misery, the Little Prince held conversations with the essence of life that he could not see. And he tried to have his conversations always at the same time of the day, as the fox had told him. The more time he spent with the essence of life, the closer he felt towards it, again, just like the fox had told him. He felt that he was making a new friend, finding love again. The feeling of being taken care of was indescribably comforting.

One day, while he was walking by the lakeside, he came to the place where he had buried his rose last year. He started to cry. As the tears dropped on the graveyard, the Little Prince silently pondered “my precious rose; I cannot see you, but I do believe in the essence that my heart feels. It is the time that I spent with you that made you so important to me; true… And it is my entire life that makes me so important to the essence of life. I feel something extraordinary, because, I feel that the essence of life loves me. I am sure it is taking care of you as well, and I feel that I am going to see you again.”

After his last sentence, he felt something inside that he could not put into words; a feeling of serenity mixed with a glimpse of reunion. But how, when, and where? These questions were unanswered. It was as if his mind was imprisoned in a cell, while his heart was rejoicing at the new freedom that it found with the essence of life. Unfortunately, his mind could not keep up with his heart, and he fell asleep from the intense conflict between his heart and mind.

The Little Prince did not go to visit his rose for a long time after that day. One Saturday morning, he woke up as the dawn was embellishing the surface of the lake of love. He went to the lakeside and washed his face with the water of love. Then behold! He saw his rose burgeoning from where he had buried her the previous year.

“Welcome travelers! You may enter the king’s palace, and you may benefit from everything for free. When your time is due the king is going to take you to a better palace where you can stay forever. Respect the rules of the palace, and each other. Thank the king who provides everything to you, who built this palace just for you. The beauties of the palace are just samples, not the real bounties. Do not let them make you forget the owner of the palace, and the short time you have.” The King.

Then we entered the palace. There were servants, who welcomed us. We were all amazed by the palace, and its beauties. The servants took us to the bath. They cleaned us with rose-scented soaps, and jasmine oil. They brought us clean white cashmere clothes.

After we were all clean, the servants took us to a feast. They showed us our seats. The table was full of different kinds of food and fruits. We were starving; had not eaten for days. We started to eat. They were all delicious. After dinner, they took us to small houses. Inside the house every thing was made of silk, even the curtains. Outside, there were all kinds of trees, waterfalls, birds, fountains; even the sun was shining differently. I forgot that we were in the middle of a desert.

Days were passing very fast. Actually, it was a palace designed to serve us. When we were altogether, one of us stood up and said, “There cannot be a better place than this. I think this is the place where we should stay.” Most of us agreed with him, but I stood up, and said; “ But my friend, do not forget what we read on the gate, there is a king who owns the palace, and we all have a short time to stay here, and he offers us a better place if we act according to his will.” He replied, “I don’t think there is a king. Maybe there was, but he is not here any more. They wrote it when he was here, but he left the palace, so we are its owners.” Most of the people agreed with him, and said; “Yeah, we are the owners!” By this time, we were divided into basically three groups. One who claimed that they were the owners of the palace, and believed that they would stay forever in it. Second, the biggest group, who believed that there was a king, but they did not care about him. They were just so into the beauties of the palace, and they were drunk most of the time. Third, me, and some of my friends, the smallest of the groups, believed that there was a king, and we had a short time in the palace. Everything we had was a sample of the real bounties of the king in the better place where he was going to take us.

The first group, who claimed that they were the owners of the palace, started to treat the servants badly and violate all the rules. The second group also let them do whatever they wanted; they did not care about what was going on. The travelers in the caravan turned the palace into a hell.

With these thoughts on my mind I was looking at the books of old times. They were mostly history books, which were about the people who lived in this palace before us. I took a book, written three centuries ago; its name was Age of Rose. I turned the pages slowly; it was talking about an unbelievable period of time which lasted almost a thousand years in this same palace. There were people who lived a wonderful life in peace and joy. They were also righteous and thankful to the king. So, not all times have been like mine in this palace. Unfortunately, I came here in a wrong time, but as they say; there is for sure a reason for everything happening. The book was also mentioning about the outside of the palace, where people lived happily forever. Reading this chronicle I was comforted with an expectation promising an eternal glorious life.

I have not lost my hope for the future of this palace. I am striving hard with my friends to remind others of the King’s message, so that they become conscious about the purposes and wisdom behind their transient presence here. I am praying that the All-Merciful King will guide us to His Path and we all enter His Abode happily. 

Even though garden cultivation of roses began some 5,000 years ago, possibly in China, the fossil record indicates that roses have existed for millions of years. Wherever roses are found, they become a symbol of something: love, beauty, royalty, death, war, and politics. Sometimes, they even represent famous names in history.

During the Roman Empire, roses were grown extensively in the Middle East. Those roses, the most fragrant in the world, were used to make perfume. Their strong scent also caused people to regard them as having a deep mystical significance. However, roses grown in China do not have such a scent. Perhaps this is one reason why roses are not nearly so beloved in China.

Roses seem to make their first literary appearance in the eighth century bce. In The Iliad, an epic poem of ancient Greece, Hectares body was anointed with rose oil. Roses are often mentioned in ancient Greek myths in a wide variety of different forms. For example, a white raised symbolized Aphrodites purity and innocence. Furthermore, her desire and passion for Adonis, her wounded love, was represented by a few drops of her blood changing a white rose into a red rose. In another myth, Zeus scattered roses across the land as a wedding gift to Eros and Psyche.

The Romans also embellished their myths with roses. They used roses at funerals as a sign of resurrection, for example, and Flora was the goddess of spring and flowers. Despite being credited with creating the rose, other Greek deities helped Flora give it its life, sweet scent, and beautiful shape.

Presumably, a correlation exists between ancient Greek and Roman mythology and Christianity with respect to roses. Harpcrates, who was bribed into secrecy with a white rose by Eros, became the god of silence. This was carried over into Christianity, for a rose was often carved onto a meeting rooms plastered ceilings to warn that the discussions were sub rosa (under the rose, or secret).

The rose and religion

Christians used the red rose as a symbol of Jesus passion, martyrdom, and resurrection, as well as for Marys motherhood and purity. Mary is mostly linked with the white rose. The roses design also implies the liturgy. For instance, Mary is surrounded with brilliant roses in this beautiful poem by Wordsworth (1807):

In trellised shed with clustering roses gay,
And, Mary! Oft beside our blazing fire,
When yeas of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the hearts desire.(1)

Also, Mary is often reported as being accompanied by showers of fragrant rose petals. Many stained-glass window scenes of the Blessed Mother and other saints show them holding roses. Underlying all of this is the idea that fragrance is good.

In the seventh century, Prophet Muhammad is symbolized with a rose. It seems that every opening bloom points to another wonderful person in the garden of humanity. The roses reputation increased a thousandfold with the coming of the Prophet. His great personality illuminated the roses color, and his perfect morality is the source of its fragrant sense.

Farid ad-Din Attar (d. 1230), one of the greatest Sufi mystic poets of all time, wrote in his The Rose Garden:

In the rose bed, mystery glows.
The secret is hidden in the rose.(2)

Another Sufi mystic, Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882-1927), notes that just as the rose consists of many petals held together, so a Sufis soul shows many different qualities. These qualities emit fragrance in the form of a spiritual personality. As the rose has a beautiful structure, the Sufi has a fine structure, manner, dealing with others, speech, action, and so on. Just as the roses beautiful perfume penetrates the entire room, the Sufi penetrates society and helps to heal its problems.

Furthermore, the Quran honors the red rose by mentioning only it out of all flowers: When the sky is torn apart, so it was (like) a red rose like ointment. Then which of your Lords favors will you deny? (55:37-38). The beauty of a single rose is just one small creation among all of Gods bestowed bounties. The rose has a distinct shape, and whoever created it and tore the sky apart, just like we might tear apart a red rose, created it so that we could understand that the rose was created for significant reasons.

In the Islamic tradition, wearing perfume is a food for the soul and the spirit. One hadith relates that one of the Prophets favorite things was good fragrance. That is why Muslims often wear pure essence of rosewater, especially before prayers. Rosewater is also the preferred soak for the miswak (a traditional toothbrush taken from the branches of a fibrous tree).

Possessing one of the most heavenly scents, a roses essence has several aromatherapeutic benefits as well. Valerie Worwood, in her The Complete Book of Aromatherapy, writes that a roses essence is a powerful and uplifting anti-depressant, aids in digestion, and soothes frayed nerves. These benefits can be enjoyed just by sprinkling some rose water or essence on your body, adding a few drops to your bathwater, or burning the scent in an incense burner in your home.

Associating roses with religion is as old as religion itself. How nice it would be if the veneration that all Jews, Christians, and Muslims have for the rose could make all of us understand that we are bound together with each other and many others in this very way! Moreover, these three monotheistic religions trace their origins to the Middle East, the ancestral home of modern roses.

The rose in other cultures

Many other cultures feature things related to the rose. For example, different sects within Hinduism worship deities through such household and temple offerings as rose attar (perfume). Ancient Persian legends speak of a nightingale that so dearly loved the white rose that it grasped it tightly. The thorns, which pierced its breast and caused its blood to fall on the rose, turned it red. Hence, one type of rose is known as the red damask. Interestingly, Rose is one of the most popular names for girls in many languages. The Turkish word gul, for instance, means rose and smile and has many popular derivations in Turkey.

Around the twelfth or thirteenth century, knights returning from the Crusades brought the rose home to Europe. By the middle of the fifteenth century, the rose was used as a symbol for the factions fighting to control England. The white rose symbolized York, and the red rose symbolized Lancaster. As a result, the conflict became known by historians as the War of the Roses. The red rose is still the emblem of England, since Lancaster won the war. Roses were in such high demand during the seventeenth century that royalty considered roses or rose water as legal tender. Both were often used as barter and for payment. Napoleons wife Josephine established an extensive collection of roses in western Paris during the 1800s.

A new interpretation

In the twentieth century, a splendid new interpretation of the rose and nightingale story was presented by Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. His famous The Words contains an addendum to the discussion on the nightingale. The nightingales small wage is the delight it experiences from gazing on smiling, beautiful roses, and the pleasure it receives from conversing with them and pouring out its woes. In other words, its sorrowful song is not a complaint arising from animal grief; rather, it is the birds thanks for the gifts of the Most Merciful.

Moreover, according to Said Nursi, every sort of being–even stars–has a nightingale. But the most excellent and noble nightingale, whose voice was the most ringing, whose recitation was the most complete, whose thanks were the most universal, who brought all beings of the heavens and Earth in the universes garden to rapture through his poetry was Prophet Muhammad, the nightingale of the luminous Quran. Here, the rose is associated with divine knowledge and wisdom.

Conclusion

Today, people prefer to buy roses for special occasions as precious gifts. As Shakespeare said, there is a meaning kept in the rose that we have to understand, just as the rose keeps its scent within itself. On Valentines Day roses express our love, on Mothers Day they tell our mothers that we remember their mercy toward us, and on Teachers Day they show a students respect for his or her teachers.

Most modern-day roses can be traced back to this symbolic ancestry. The popularity of roses seems to rise and fall according to gardening trends of the time. Gardeners realize that roses fit the lifestyle of every century. With the rise of emphasis on spirituality in the twenty-first century, roses are once again enjoying a resurgence in popularity.

Roses have a special hold upon us and, even though it is hard to capture in words, there is something about roses that evokes a response beyond the virtue of great beauty. This article has presented some historical traces of roses in several civilizations. Perhaps you will associate them with a favorite meaning or figure. So, would you like to finish the following sonnet of Shakespeare in your own way?

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I …?(3)
(the original says in her cheeks)

Footnotes

1. www.poetry.com
2. Omar Ali-Shah, tr. The Rose Garden (Gulistan) of Saadi (Reno, NV: Tractus, 1997).
3. From My Mistress Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun, Sonnet 130, www.poets.org.

I imagined you travelling on the hills of my heart.

A mirage, I know, but it sufficed to calm the anguish of my heart.

As I mentioned you again, nothing else remained in my memory.

I wish I could move the whole of time with love of you,

and travel in your horizons, rising high like spirits;

I wish I, finding a way, could fly into your heart.

I wish I could move the whole of time with love of you.

I’ve come to understand that it’s too late to reach you,

I will lament continually for the pangs of separation;

Lamenting, I will wait with ever-fresh hopes of union with you.

I’ve come to understand that it’s too late to reach you.

My heart, like a pigeon’s, trembles following your footprints;

I beg you to give me a feather from your wing,

so that I might continue after you and reach you.

My heart, like a pigeon’s, trembles following your footprints.

O Rose, which changed dry deserts into gardens of Eden,

Come and, with your intoxicating colour, enter my heart!

It’s time that you smiled into my weeping eyes,

O Rose, which changed dry deserts into gardens of Eden!

Let me be your slave who, like Majnun, runs after you,

Spark such embers within me that I catch fire like a furnace,

and come out of this dream, enduringly bitter without you.

Let me be your slave who, like Majnun, runs after you.

I count how many days have passed without you,

and a gloom invades my soul, darkening it;

Let me see your face, as the sun is about to set.

I count how many days have passed without you.

Let my setting, the last moment of my life, be a new rising,

and my heart be invaded by the colours of your climate;

let lutes be played everywhere, and reed flutes heard.

Let my setting, the last moment of my life, be a new rising.

***

And so absorbs us we can hardly tell spring from summer;

The enchanting song of faith is on our tongues,

And in our hearts a love as deep as Majnun’s…

All who partake of our feast from us glowing like emeralds;

From all directions, downpouring Light enters our souls;

Do not suppose such blessings come from us but from the Eternal

Transcendent, in whose garden abide both lover and beloved:

Faces looking up to Him are like flowers turning toward the sun;

By virtue of that gaze, they open and grow as in springtime.

It little matters that their colour is that of silver or of rose:

What their radiance reflects is the Tincture of the Infinite.