In the mosque of Baalbek, I was once delivering a sermon to a group of despondent, lifeless people who had not moved from the world of appearances to the world of meaning.
I saw that my words were not taking effect, and my fire was not igniting the wet wood.
I regretted trying to educate the stubborn and holding a mirror in the neighborhood of the blind. However, the door of meaning was open, and the chain of speech was long.
In explaining the meaning of the verse: “And We are closer to him than his jugular vein,” I reached the point where I said:
The friend is closer to me than I am to myself
Yet it is a problem that I am far from Him
What can I do, to whom can I say? That He
Is beside me, and I am distant from Him
I was intoxicated by the wine of this speech, holding the dregs of the cup in my hand, when a passerby at the edge of the gathering was affected by the final round and let out a cry that brought others into a chorus, and the novices in the assembly into a fervor.
I said, “Glory be to God! The informed are present, and the near-sighted are distant!”
When the listener does not understand the speech
Do not seek the eloquence from the speaker
Provide the spacious field of willingness
So that the eloquent man may strike the ball.
