The Book, Part One – Phil Morimitsu
"Gonna be late again if things don't go just right," I muttered to myself in a pressured tone of voice. Whenever it was going to be close — whether or not I'd make it to work on time — it seemed like the whole world was out to make sure I'd be late by throwing little delays here and there in front of me. I was usually able to make it if all the traffic lights cooperated and there weren't too many cars out. But today, there was one obstacle that seemed determined to stop me: the railroad crossing. Just as I was pulling up to the tracks, the lights started flashing and the red-and-white barriers started moving slowly downward to halt traffic. I was the only car on my side of the road, and there was only one other Car on the other side, also trying to beat the signal. We entered the track intersection at the same time — actually, he was a little ahead of me. Then I saw that the traffic barrier was starting to fall on my car hood. I had to swerve to my left to avoid hitting it. But the other car was moving so fast, I didn't have time to see how close he was to me. I was in his lane! It was going to be a head-on collision, with my car in his lane. I had stepped on the gas to beat the falling barrier, and now it was too late to stop or get out of the way. I turned the steering wheel so the impact wouldn't be too bad. All of a sudden, my car swerved far to the right — farther than I could have possibly turned under normal circumstances. Our cars missed each other by fractions of an inch. It all happened so fast; I just kept speeding off to work, while the railroad barrier stopped all the other approaching cars.
"What happened?" I asked myself. "I should have hit that car!" It was as if a mysterious force had moved me and my car completely out of the way at the last moment.
I glanced at my watch. I was going to make it to work on time after all. I started to thank the ECK for my good fortunes — for missing a severe car accident and for making it to work on time. Then I spotted Wah Z in the backseat of my car. "Isn't it just like the human consciousness to thank the ECK when It allows us to avoid disaster, but not for the rest of life," I said.
Wah Z spoke for the first time. "Do you know Rumi?" he asked me.
"Uh, not personally, but I've read a little about him in some of the ECK works," I said, a little unsure of myself.
"Should I —"
But I didn't get a chance to finish my question, as Wah Z was already gone. I sat, a little confused. Then I realized that I'd better get to work.
All day while at work, I couldn't stop thinking about what happened at the railroad crossing that morning and why Wah Z had mentioned Rumi. When five o' clock rolled around, all I could think of was getting to the local public library to find some books on Rumi. When I got there, however, there was only one book by Rumi, the Masnavi, and someone had already checked it out. Determined to get the book, I went to a bookstore nearby and found it on the shelves of the Eastern-philosophy section. Thumbing through it, I read the beginning of the book.
Apparently, the Masnavi was a huge collection of books Rumi wrote over a period of more than ten years. Masnavi means inner meanings. The book was a series of poems, short stories, and anecdotes of everyday life situations and parables, depicting things of the spiritual side of life. Each story may have as many as seven different levels of meaning. An example was a story of a man and his lover and the trials he had gone through to meet her after being separated from her. The whole story was also an allegory for a man and his search for spiritual truth — his lover. It was really clever and neat. You could read the story from an number of viewpoints and get a hidden meaning out of it. I sat in a chair in the back of the bookstore and started reading some of the little stories and poems.
This is an enlightened bookstore, I thought to myself. They have chairs for you to sit on while you read the books. I had made up my mind to buy the book as soon as I'd found it though. I just couldn't put it down before reading a few pages.
The bookstore was pretty empty. I guess not too many people feel like book-browsing right after a heavy day at the office, so I had the place to myself. I read some of the introductory biographical information about Rumi. It seems he was born in Afghanistan in the year 1207, and in 1230, was admitted to the Sufis. A professor of theology, he was well traveled and spent many years in Persia, studying and teaching. In 1244, he met Shamus-i-Tabriz, or "Sun of Tabriz," Tabriz being a city in northern Persia. I had learned from my studies in ECK that Shamus was one of the great teachers of the Order of the Vairagi and that Jalal-ud-Din'l-Rumi was his successor. It was Shamus who inspired and encouraged Rumi to write the Masnavi so that the world would have something of the great ECK teachings for that day and period. The two men spent three years of intense study together.
At one point Shamus was surrounded by some jealous students of Rumi 1 They were going to kill him, but at the moment they struck, Shamus cried out, "There is no other God but SUGMAD!" 2
Then he disappeared totally. The consciousness of the killers was shattered, and upon awakening, they found no trace of Shamus, nor was he ever seen again.3 On the fortieth day after the disappearance of Shamus, Rumi organized a ceremony for his beloved teacher. Lost in his thoughts of the teacher, he began to turn, chanting the word of SUGMAD, the HU. He turned, falling into a light trance state and opening his heart to Spirit, and experienced out-of-the-body travel into the God Worlds of ECK. This was the beginning of the whirling dervishes.
I was slightly awestruck by the wonderful stories in the Masnavi , and then I saw Wah Z walking toward me in the narrow aisle of the bookstore. "I see you found the Masnavi ," he said.
"Yes, it's really great. Thanks for recommending Rumi!" I said.
Wah Z seemed to be preoccupied with something else. He was looking about the bookstore. "He should be coming any moment now. Ah, yes, there he is," he said.
Down one of the aisles came a man of medium height, five feet eight or nine inches, wearing a gray wool frock and a turban. He was a thin, grizzly fellow, with a fuzzy beard and dark features. He looked like someone out of another century. When he got to us, he smiled a warm happy smile and his eyes danced with fire.
Wah Z said, "Sri Maulana Jalal-ud-Din'l-Rumi!"
The man chuckled a little and said, "You can just call me Rumi," and both he and Wah Z had a chuckle.
"Rumi was quite accomplished at direct projection in his day. You had a little taste of it this morning on your way to work, didn't you?" Wah Z said to me.
"Hmmm. So that was direct projection? I thought it was something else," I said.
Rumi smiled and said, "Well, you know, there are a vast number of varieties of Soul Travel and direct projection techniques, and there are an equally vast number of results. It is possible that one may never have the same experience twice in one lifetime!"
"I'm a little confused on this aspect of Soul Travel. I've heard so many different ideas about it — what it is and what it isn't. Could you please tell me more?" I asked the two Masters.
Wah Z motioned to Rumi, that he should answer the next question. Rumi obliged.
"Perhaps I should start off by explaining the goal of Soul Travel, whatever form it should take. Now within this goal, there may be man aspects to reaching that goal. You may have read stories of men who would be besieged by enemies and, in the next moment, would disappear only to be seen miles away , or to disappear completely as did Sri Shamus-i-Tabriz.. 4 Direct projection is an individual skill similar to mastering a violin or another craft. It takes discipline and ability, and frankly, not all are cut out to do it, nor is it necessary. This is but one aspect of Soul Travel. It offers the separation of the physical body from the spiritual — from Soul. This will give one the experience of spiritual liberation, of freedom from the blindness of the earthly senses and bodies. But there are man other techniques that will give the same result.
"Another form of direct projection is just moving one's attention away from the body for the moment. Have you ever noticed that when you are experiencing pain, such as in the dentist's office, that if you focus your attention far away in a field of flowers, you no longer feel the pain as intensely as before? This is also Soul Travel or direct projection, only it is our attention moving from the outer body to one of the inner bodies to experience something on one of the inner planes, while the physical body remains in the same place."
I thought about this. It made sense, except for one thing. "What about the stories of people who see things on another plane while their physical bodies are still. Like the people who have near-death experiences on hospital operating tables and rise above their bodies and see things from above?"
Rumi answered, "There are varying degrees of sight, and it depends upon which body you are viewing the situation from, at that moment. Things will look slightly different on the Astral Plane than the Physical. The same goes with the other inner planes. When you look at life on the Astral Plane, you are using the Astral eyes. Soul is using that vehicle for that moment. But remember, Soul viewing life on the Soul Plane may not see much of anything as there is less to see the higher one goes.
"Again, one must always be aware of the goal of such experiences. Are these visions and experiences taking to you, as Soul, closer to your goal of spiritual liberation; or is it just a matter of seeking some sort of lower gratification and curiosity, to pat oneself on the back for being able to do tricks?
"A far greater skill is that of knowingness. This is what eventually happens when one becomes adept at direct projection. The knowingness factor arrives within the individual, for what is the purpose of direct projection, but to know something? The individual may go beyond direct projection into direct knowingness. This is Soul gaining the pure, instantaneous knowledge of all things and no longer needing to go through mechanical means such as Soul Travel or any other projection techniques. When one needs to know something, he places his attention on the ECK and simply knows. God is not divided but always one, and consciousness is one so, so it's just a matter of Soul, the knower of life, tapping into Its true home, into pure consciousness of the One. Hence, Soul knows all."
I thought this over for a minute, but my mind wanted to argue. "If that's the case, why don't I know all the things in this book you wrote? There are definitely some things worth reading in here. And what about the writings of Sri Harold Klemp, the Living ECK Master? There are always things that I get out of his works that I didn't know before."
Rumi answered patiently, "The Masnavi certainly had its merit for those of the day, and perhaps still does for some today. But you must remember that I wrote it for the men of my day, and that was over seven hundred years ago. Today, you have a Living ECK Master to speak to the men of today in their own language. His word is living. When you read and study his words, you are not just reading words, you are opening your heart, so when you contemplate the ECK, you can partake of the knowingness with an opened and pure heart. The words, the paper they're printed on, are important only in that they can act as keys to open the consciousness and heart of the seeker."
"Hmm. I'll have to think about that. It makes sense though," I replied, a little unsure of what was being said to me. I knew from a Soul level that what he was saying was true, but somehow, my mind wouldn't let go of the other ideas I had. I was like a little dog that wouldn't let go of a shoe.
"Well, I should be off now!" Rumi said, his eyes still ablaze, though his countenance was soft and gentle. I said good-bye to him and watched as he and Wah Z left the bookstore together, leaving me standing there in the back aisle holding his book. I felt a little abandoned and lonely. I'm not sure why. I was being stubborn and was going to buy that book no matter what he had said. I marched to the cashier's desk and pulled out a five-dollar bill. The book was $3.95, so I got some change back after tax.
"I don't need a bag," I told the clerk. I was going to read it on the way to my car.
I had parked about a block away, and as I left the bookstore, I had the strangest feeling. I was holding a precious book, a book that was the culmination of over ten years of love and labor by an ECK Master. A book that held secrets of truth and wisdom, but I still felt funny. Somewhere in my mind, I couldn't let go of something that was holding me back. What was it?
I started to read the book, but closed it, and was content just to walk back to my car in thought.
The Book, Part Two – Phil Morimitsu
I don't know how long I had been in the bookstore, but it was long enough for it to have rained pretty hard and then stop. There were shiny pools of rainwater on the street and sidewalks, and small rivulets poured into the gutters and into the drains near the curbs. The air smelled fresh, as it always does after a good rain.
I thought I heard the jingling bells of an ice-cream truck nearby, but I didn't see one. Funny, I thought to myself, I could have sworn I'd heard jingling bells behind me. I passed the thought off and whistled a tune as I walked toward my car.
Shortly, I heard those strange bells again. I turned to look, and this time I saw a man coming up behind me. I was a bit startled, but upon looking into his eyes, I somehow knew he meant no harm. He was a fairly big, burly fellow, wearing a gray wool frock similar to Sri Rumi's. His hair was black and curly, down to his neck, and he was wearing a beard about two or three inches long. His features were dark — like someone from the Middle East — and rough-hewn.
He walked right up to me and announced himself in a deep, strong voice. "They call me Shamus-i-Tabriz, the Sun of Tabriz. I can see by your light that you have troubles of the mind!"
I was so taken aback by the stranger, that I didn't have time to become defensive. And when he announced who he was, plus the fact that there was such great love coming from his presence, I couldn't remain standoffish.
"Y-you're Rumi's teacher, aren't you? I've heard about you," I said lacking anything better to say.
"What have you got there?" he asked, motioning to the book I was carrying.
"It's the Masnavi , Sri Rumi's book. The one you inspired him to write, " I said.
"May I take a look?" he asked politely.
"Sure," I said, handing the book to him.
He thumbed through a few pages of it, and as he did, he began to talk, a serious look coming to his brow.
"When I met Rumi for the first time, he was carrying a great load of books that he was studying. I took those books from him, as I just did your book, and tossed them into a pool of water in the road, just like that puddle over there. I told him, 'Now you must live the life of ECK!' "
He was hefting the book in his hands, as if at any moment he was going to heave it into the puddle of fresh rainwater at the curb. The first thought that came to my mind was, There goes $3.95 … plus tax.
Then he looked me in the eye, and said, "You need only know one thing: That ECK is! All the good that will come to you in life, will come of It. All good is of the SUGMAD. All life is but a small reflection of the Ocean of Love and Mercy. We, of ourselves, are nothing, do nothing. Whatever love shines through us, we are only acting as a window for the ECK to shine through. All we can do in serving the great SUGMAD is to clean the glass of our windows, to become pure and transparent so Its loving Light may shine through to the world through us, Its windows. We must not make the error of vainly thinking that because the Light of God shines through us that we are God. No! God will not be divided! We cannot take a slice of God with a knife like a piece of bread and claim it is our own! We are nothing! We are the window for God. That is all! There is no other God but SUGMAD!" And he disappeared right before my eyes. All that was left of him was the jingling bells that I'd heard when he arrived.
Whatever had happened, his presence seemed to have woken me up, as I no longer felt the heavy thoughts I'd clung to in the bookstore. He was right. I was getting hung up in the mental machinations of the Soul Travel techniques and such, when the only thing that was of any importance was that we are here to serve in love as channels for the Light and the Sound of SUGMAD. This knowingness seemed to wipe away the gray fog, like rain washes away the muggy air leaving freshness and clarity in its wake.
As I made my way to my car, I realized that I was holding something. It was the book. I didn't remember Sri Shamus handing it back to me, but there it was in my hand, the Masnavi. Only this time, it felt lighter. After all, it was just a book.
From the book In the Company of ECK Masters © 1987 Phil Morimitsu
Available here: http://www.eckbooks.org/items/In_the_Company_of_ECK_Masters-129-12.html
Notes by Matt Sharpe
1. All accounts name Rumi's students, but some say that one of Rumi's sons was among these that challenged Shamus-i-Tabriz.
2. Among Sufis, the term SARMAD is generally used, it meaning being the Divine Eternal One. In Eckankar we use the term SUGMAD in exactly the same way, however, it is worth noting the similarities in the two words, as well as the definitive meaning that the bot have, being one and the same.
3. Some of the stories of Shamus-i-Tabriz say that he was murdered by these jealous students, and still others say that he escaped them and went to Damascus, eventually ending up in Khoy, Iran, where he was known to have written out his discourses,and among those he makes references to his age, denoting that he did not in fact die in Konya, but lived to an old age after departing from Rumi.
4. This again demonstrates the tradition that Shamus-i-Tabriz did indeed live beyond his leaving Konya, and went on to live to an older age in Khoy, where he died only after leaving his discourses in written form. These are well known to the Muslim world, especially in Iran where they have been used and studied for centuries. Only recently has an English translation become available to the Western world, verifying the veracity of this legend that he did indeed die of old age rather than of murder. The English translation can be bought here: