Liebe Inayati-Familie,
Weiter unten schenkt uns Pir Zia sein Neujahrsgedicht, persönlich vorgetragen …. 💛
Hier eine ‚grobe‘ Übersetzung, da ich des Reimens nicht mächtig bin. ;))….
…zusammen mit vielen vielen guten Wünschen für das noch unbekannte Jahr, für uns alle und
für die Welt,
von Herzen,
Margarethe
*****
Ein sorgloser Derwisch wanderte von Ort zu Ort,
ohne Mittel, von der Gnade des Himmels erhalten.
Das Gewand, das er trug, bestand aus bloßen Lumpen,
noch besaß er etwas, außer dreier Taschen.
In der ersten bewahrte er das tägliche Brot auf,
das ihm von gütigen Seelen geschenkt wurde, deren Furcht,
jemanden hungern zu lassen, ihre Hand dazu bewegte,
Essen oder Trinken zu geben, wenn jemand vor ihrer Tür stand
und ehrliche Not litt.
Obwohl sanft wie ein Pusteblumensamen,
begegnete der Derwisch leider nicht immer
Freundlichkeit in der Welt; auf der Straße
war es nicht selten, dass Steine nach ihm geworfen wurden.
War er ein Narr, ein Wahnsinniger?
Der Dervisch mochte unorthodox erscheinen,
aber es war klug von ihm, die Steine aufzubewahren,
denn manchmal versiegte der Strom der Almosen,
und veranlasste ihn dann, auf das Salz zurückgreifen,
das er in seinem dritten Sack mit sich trug,
ein Mineral, das Angriffe ins Gegenteil verkehrte.
Das Salz war etwas Magisches, versteht ihr,
Eine Substanz aus himmlischem Geiste,
Und wenn er es auf die kalkigen Steine streute,
Sangen die Seraphim in geweihten Tönen,
Und augenblicklich wurden die bitteren Steine
Zu köstlichen Leckerbissen, gegart von mystischer Flamme.
Er benutzte es oft, doch ging es nicht zur Neige.
Es reichte sogar, um einer Freundin etwas davon zu schenken,
die Übriges ebenfalls weitergab, sodass
sich das Salz weit verbreitete und bald eine ganze Schar
von Salz konsumierender Derwische hervorbrachte,
die jede Nacht in Frieden schliefen und beim Erwachen
die trügerische Fassade der Welt durchschauten,
denn in ihren Augen leuchtete das Licht Gottes.
Nun, da das neue Jahr anbricht, meine Freunde, ist mein Wunsch
für euch und für mich selbst, dass das Mahl,
welches wir zu uns nehmen, von welcher Art es auch sein mag,
mit Salz aus Allahs See verfeinert werde,
einem Ozean, welcher weder West noch Ost angehört,
das Salz, durch welches selbst Steine zu einem Festmahl werden.
******

Margarethe Hubauer
Nothelferweg 9A/1/7 - 8020 Graz
M +49-(0)170-440 93 54
hu.farmer(a)margarethe.de
Anfang der weitergeleiteten Nachricht:
Von: Inayatiyya <astana(a)inayatiyya.org>
Betreff: Pir Zia's New Year’s Poem ⭐
Datum: 1. Januar 2026 um 11:14:38 MEZ
An: Margarethe Hubauer <hu.farmer(a)margarethe.de>
Antwort an: Inayatiyya <astana(a)inayatiyya.org>
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Dear Ones,
My hope is that this message reaches all of you with a warm reception that equals the
best intentions in which it was crafted. It goes without saying that 2025 was a busy year.
And as we look forward to what lies ahead of all of us in 2026, we should expect it to be
similarly active. That's a future that each of us should encourage, Beloved! I have
been a part of this community for a short time now, but take solace in knowing that the
Inayatiyya is full of life, energy, and reflection.
At this new year's outset, please, please pause to express gratitude out loud for
what you have been given, accomplished, and earned until this very moment. Even if you
don't normally talk to God, just say "thank you" emphatically. May we all
be grateful to the One who is Love every moment and everyday who has bestowed so much upon
each of us. May we all be grateful to the One who has brought us through what is now
behind us. And may we all be grateful to the One who is Time, is the Future, is
Everlasting, the Absolute, and our collective goal.
If you could, please take a few moments more to watch the video message by Pir Zia as he
shares a poem with all of us, it encapsulates the sentiment beautifully. Let me close by
saying that despite our personal rags or riches, all of us have something to be grateful
for.
Peace and blessings,
MP
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A carefree dervish roamed from place to place,
Devoid of means, sustained by Heaven’s grace.
The garments that he wore were merest rags,
Nor did he own a thing, except three bags.
Within the first he kept the daily bread
Bestowed on him by kindly souls whose dread
Of leaving mouths unfed impelled their hand
To offer food or drink should any stand
Before their door displaying honest need.
Though gentle as a dandelion seed,
Alas, the dervish did not always meet
With kindness in the world; out on the street
It wasn’t rare that rocks were thrown his way.
When this occurred he wouldn’t run away,
But would instead collect the hurled stones
As if they were his very flesh and bones.
He kept the stones within his second sack.
Was he a lunatic, a maniac?
The dervish might have seemed unorthodox,
But it was wise of him to keep the rocks
Because the flow of alms would sometimes halt,
Compelling him to draw upon the salt
He carried in the third of his three sacks,
A mineral turning tables on attacks.
The salt was something magical, you see,
A substance made of heavenly esprit,
And when he poured it on the chalky stones,
The seraphs sang in sacerdotal tones,
And instantly the bitter rocks became
Delicious morsels cooked by mystic flame.
He used it often; still it had no end,
In fact there was enough to gift a friend,
Who likewise passed on her excess so that
The salt spread far and soon begat
A tribe of salt-consuming dervish folk
Who slept each night in peace, and when they woke
Saw through the world’s illusory facade,
For in their eyes there shone the light of God.
Now as the New Year dawns, my friends, my wish
For you, and for myself, is that the dish
On which we dine, whatever it may be,
May be enhanced with brine from Allah’s sea,
An ocean neither of the West nor East,
The salt of which makes even stones a feast.
Please note that Pir Zia's new book,Tears from the Mother of the Sun, is now
available for pre-order.
www.innertraditions.com/tears-from-the-mother-of-the-sun
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