Vadan Commentary

“My errors do not lull me to sleep, but they open my eyes to a deeper vision of life.”

To err is human. Becoming a complete human being does not mean becoming infallible. It means, instead, extracting wisdom from all experiences, including the experience of erring.

There are three principal conditions of the self: the imperious self, the self-critical self, and the tranquil self. Each responds to errors differently.

The imperious self is quick to point out others’ errors, but refuses to acknowledge its own. It is prepared to go to the most extreme lengths to conceal or justify its missteps and trespasses. With respect to matters of conscience, the imperious self is deep asleep.

The self-critical self, on the other hand, is acutely aware of its mistakes. In fact, it is often overwhelmed by their profusion. You might say the self-critical self is half-awake, painfully conscious of its errors but as yet unable to see its way past them.

When one makes amends, learns from experience, takes a turn in life, and trusts in the Divine Forgiveness, the tranquil self appears. The tranquil self is wide-awake, and walks with self-confidence and faith in the One.

When one has genuinely learned from one’s mistakes, one will not repeat them. Of course, one may yet make new and different mistakes—mistakes of a subtler kind. But one will learn from these too. In this way the vision of life continuously deepens.

“My soul often has the feeling of being stretched, held fast by the heavens and pulled continually by the earth.”

If the soul remained entirely in the heavens and did not incarnate, its life would be simple, clear, and serene, but it would lack the opportunity to undergo the journey of life. It would have innocence but not experience.

If the soul came to earth and gave itself over completely to the intoxication of personal identity and sensory experience, it would enjoy pleasures and suffer pains and become, all the while, oblivious to its own essential nature.

Some souls that incarnate remain firmly rooted in the inner spheres. Most, however, become so beguiled by appearances that they forget their invisible origin.

The Message comes to remind souls of the world of soul. This reminder is not a summons to leave the world of form. It is, instead, an invitation to reconcile form and formlessness, self and selflessness, this moment and the always.

The one who answers the Message will surely be stretched: gripped by the heavens and pulled by the earth. By means of this stretching, the heart grows. In time, it may grow so large as to fill the whole universe.

“We shall see who will endure to the end, my persevering adversary or my patience.”

In a battle of wills there is always the temptation to flee the encounter, or alternatively, to bend to pressure and make concessions soon to be regretted. Resoluteness comes either from egotism or conviction.

The resoluteness of egotism is the desire to always be seen to be right, or at least, to defeat one’s opponents. To the little ego, the nature of a disagreement is inconsequential; what matters is to have the last word.

The resoluteness of conviction, on the other hand, is concerned with principles. One’s desire to prevail is motivated by the justness of the cause one serves. Even if doomed to fail, one considers oneself obligated to make every effort.

The minor struggle in life is waged against external adversaries. The major struggle is against the inner foe: the little ego, the taproot of all selfishness, vanity, and ignorance. The Prophet Muhammad said, “Your worst enemy is your ego which lies between your two sides.”

The work of alchemizing the little ego, so that its narrow boundaries dissolve, is a work of patience. Success requires staying the course and abstaining from even the slightest compromise that obscures the light of the soul.

Assistance, when it comes, comes from the Light of Lights. Hence Dhu’n-Nun said, “Patience is seeking help from God Most High.”