Spiritual Forum

CONFERENCE OF THE BIRDS: A SEEKER'S JOURNEY TO GOD
by Farid ud-din Attar (1177)
Translated by Afham Darbandi and Dick Davis
London: Penguin, 1984
To read full version: pdf file: Farid_ud-din_Attar_-_The_Conference_of_the_Birds_%28pdf%29.pdf

The Conference of the Birds contains many anecdotes about Sufis who suffered for their beliefs; and if Attar was attacked for his writings, the experience surely cannot have been a surprise to him.

The Conference of the Birds is a poem about Sufism. Sufism was an esoteric system, partly because it was continually accused of being heretical, partly because it was held to be incomprehensible and dangerous if expounded to those who had not received the necessary spiritual training. Different Sufis living at different times have clearly believed different things, and most Sufi authors tend to retreat into paradox at crucial moments, either because they feel their beliefs are genuinely inexpressible by other means or because they fear orthodox reprisal.

Your face is neither infinite nor ephemeral.
You can never see your own face,
only a reflection, not the face itself.
So you sigh in front of mirrors
and cloud the surface.
It's better to keep your breath cold.
Hold it, like a diver does in the ocean.
One slight movement, the mirror-image goes.

The allegorical framework of the poem is as follows: the birds of the world gather together to seek a king. They are told by the hoopoe that they have a king -- the Simurgh -- but that he lives far away and the journey to him is hazardous. The birds are at first enthusiastic to begin their search, but when they realize how difficult the journey will be they start to make excuses.

The story revolves around their painstaking journeys though 7 valleys in a quest to find their King, Simurgh. These valleys are:

· The Valley of Quest
· The Valley of Love
· The Valley of Understanding
· The Valley of Independence and Detachment
· The Valley of Unity
· The Valley of Astonishment and Bewilderment
· The Valley of Deprivation and Death

The journeys undertaken by birds profoundly represent the spiritual pilgrimages of man, in quest of the God, as he goes through different phases. Attar began The Conference of the Birds (Mantiq al-tair) with an invocation praising Creator in which he suggested that one must live a hundred lives to know oneself; but you must know God by the deity, not by yourself, for God opens the way, not human wisdom. 'Attar believed that God is beyond all human knowledge.

The soul will manifest itself when the body is laid aside. One cannot gain spiritual knowledge without dying to all things. When the birds assemble, they wonder why they have no king. The Hoopoe presents herself as a messenger from the invisible world with knowledge of God and the secrets of creation. She recommends Simurgh as their true king, saying that one of his feathers fell on China. The Nightingale says that the love of the Rose satisfies him, and the journey is beyond his strength; but the Hoopoe warns against being a slave of passing love that interferes with seeking self-perfection. The Parrot longs for immortality, and the Hoopoe encourages the Peacock to choose the whole. The Duck is too content with water to seek the Simurgh. The Hoopoe advises the Partridge that gems are just colored stones and that love of them hardens the heart; she should seek the real jewel of sound quality. The Homa is distracted by ambition, and the Owl loves only the treasure he has found.

The Hoopoe reprimands the Sparrow for taking pride in humility and recommends struggling bravely with oneself. She states that the different birds are just shadows of the Simurgh. If they succeed, they will not be God; but they will be immersed in God. If they look in their hearts, they will see the divine image. All appearances are just the shadow of the Simurgh. Those loving truly do not think about their own lives and sacrifice their desires. Those grounded in love renounce faith and religion as well as unbelief. One must hear with the ear of the mind and the heart.

A total of 22 birds speak to the Hoopoe or ask questions about the journey. Short anecdotes are told to illustrate the Hoopoe's points. The Hoopoe says that it is better to lose your life than to languish miserably. The Hoopoe says: So long as we do not die to ourselves, and so long as we identify with someone or something, we shall never be free. The spiritual way is not for those wrapped up in exterior life. You will enjoy happiness if you succeed in withdrawing from attachment to the world. Whoever is merciful even to the merciless is favored by the compassionate. It is better to agree to differ than to quarrel. The Hoopoe warns the sixth bird against the dog of desire that runs ahead. Each vain desire becomes a demon, and yielding to each one begets a hundred others. The world is a prison under the devil, and one should have no truck with its master. She says, Good fortune will come to you only as you give. If you cannot renounce life completely, you can at least free yourself from the love of riches and honors. A pupil becomes afraid in facing a choice between two roads, but a sheikh advises getting rid of fear so that either road will be good. The Hoopoe tells the eighth bird that only if death ceases to exercise power over creatures would it be wise to remain content in a golden palace. The ninth bird is told that sensual love is a game inspired by passing beauty that is fleeting.

The Hoopoe advises the eleventh bird that giving yourself over to pride or self-pity will disturb you. Since the world passes, pass it by, for whoever becomes identified with transient things has no part in the lasting things. The suffering endured is made glorious and is a treasure for the seer, for blessings will come if you make efforts on the path. The fifteenth bird is told that justice is salvation, and the just are saved from errors. Being just is better than a life of worship. Justice exercised in secret is even better than liberality; but justice professed openly may lead to hypocrisy. A story of two drunks teaches that we see faults because we do not love. When we understand real love, the faults of those near us appear as good qualities. When you see the ugliness of your own faults, you will not bother so much with the faults of others.

The journey of the birds takes them through the seven valleys of the quest, love, understanding, independence and detachment, unity, astonishment, and finally poverty and nothingness. In the valley of the quest one undergoes a hundred difficulties and trials. After one has been tested and become free, one learns in the valley of love that love has nothing to do with reason. The valley of understanding teaches that knowledge is temporary, but understanding endures. Overcoming faults and weaknesses brings the seeker closer to the goal. In the valley of independence and detachment one has neither desire to possess nor any wish to discover.

To cross this difficult valley one must be roused from apathy to renounce inner and outer attachments so that one can become self-sufficient. In the valley of unity the Hoopoe announces that although you may see many beings, in reality there is only one, which is complete in its unity. As long as you are separate, good and evil will arise; but when you lose yourself in the divine essence, they will be transcended by love. When unity is achieved, one forgets all and forgets oneself in the valley of astonishment and bewilderment.

The Hoopoe declares that the last valley of deprivation and death is almost impossible to describe. In the immensity of the divine ocean the pattern of the present world and the future world dissolves. As you realize that the individual self does not really exist, the drop becomes part of the great ocean forever in peace. The analogy of moths seeking the flame is used. Out of thousands of birds only thirty reach the end of the journey. When the light of lights is manifested and they are in peace, they become aware that the Simurgh is them. They begin a new life in the Simurgh and contemplate the inner world. Simurgh, it turns out, means thirty birds; but if forty or fifty had arrived, it would be the same. By annihilating themselves gloriously in the Simurgh they find themselves in joy, learn the secrets, and receive immortality. So long as you do not realize your nothingness and do not renounce your self-pride, vanity, and self-love, you will not reach the heights of immortality.

'Attar concluded the epilog with the admonition that if you wish to find the ocean of your soul, then die to all your old life and then keep silent.

The birds assemble and the hoopoe tells them of the Simurgh
The world’s birds gathered for their conference
And said: “Our constitution makes no sense.
All nations in the world require a king;
How is it we alone have no such thing?
Only a kingdom can be justly run;
We need a king and must inquire for one.”

They argued how to set about their quest.
The hoopoe fluttered forward; on his breast
There shone the symbol of the Spirit’s Way
And on his head Truth’s crown, a feathered spray.
Discerning, righteous and intelligent,
He spoke: “My purposes are heaven-sent;
I keep God’s secrets, mundane and divine,

In proof of which behold the holy sign
Bisillah * etched forever on my beak.
No one can share the grief with which I seek
Our longed-for Lord, and quickened by my haste
My wits find water in the trackless waste.
I come as Solomon’s close friend and claim
The matchless wisdom of that mighty name
(He never asked for those who quit his court,
But when I left him once alone he sought
With anxious vigilance for my return --
Measure my worth by this great king’s concern!).
I bore his letters -- back again I flew
Whatever secrets he divined I knew;
A prophet loved me; God has trusted me;
What other bird has won such dignity?
For years I travelled over many lands,
Past oceans, mountains, valleys, desert sands,
And when the Deluge rose I flew around
The world itself and never glimpsed dry ground;
With Solomon I set out to explore
The limits of the earth from shore to shore.
I know our king -- but how can I alone
Endure the journey to His distant throne?
Join me, and when at last we end our quest
Our king will greet you as His honored guest.
How long will you persist in blasphemy?
Escape your self-hood’s vicious tyranny
Whoever can evade the Self transcends
This world and as a lover he ascends.
Set free your soul; impatient of delay,
Step out along our sovereign’s royal Way:
We have a king; beyond Kaf’s mountain peak
The Simurgh lives, the sovereign whom you seek,
And He is always near to us, though we
Live far from His transcendent majesty.
A hundred thousand veils of dark and light
Withdraw His presence from our mortal sight,
And in both worlds no being shares the throne
That marks the Simurgh’s power and His alone
He reigns in undisturbed omnipotence,
Bathed in the light of His magnificence
No mind, no intellect can penetrate
The mystery of his unending state:
How many countless hundred thousands pray
For patience and true knowledge of the Way
That leads to Him whom reason cannot claim,
Nor mortal purity describes or name;
Their soul and mind bewildered miss the mark
And, faced by Him, like dazzled eyes, are dark
No sage could understand His perfect grace,
Nor seers discern the beauty of His face.
His creatures strive to find a path to Him,
Deluded by each new, deceitful whim,

But fancy cannot work, as she would wish;
You cannot weigh the moon like so much fish!
How many search for Him whose heads are sent
Like polo-balls in some great tournament
From side to giddy side -- how many cries,
How many countless groans assail the skies!
Do not imagine that the Way is short;
Vast seas and deserts lie before His court.
Consider carefully before you start;
The journey asks of you a lion’s heart.
The road is long, the sea is deep -- one flies
Will sacrifice His inmost soul for you.

The nightingale’s excuse
The nightingale made his excuses first.
His pleading notes described the lover’s thirst,
And through the crowd hushed silence spread as he
Descanted on love’s scope and mystery.
“The secrets of all love are known to me,”
He crooned. “Throughout the darkest night my song
Resounds, and to my retinue belong
The sweet notes of the melancholy lute,
The plaintive wailing of the love-sick flute;
When love speaks in the soul my voice replies
In accents plangent as the ocean’s sighs.
The man who hears this song spurns reason’s rule;
Grey wisdom is content to be love’s fool.
My love is for the rose; I bow to her;
From her dear presence I could never stir.
If she should disappear the nightingale
Would lose his reason and his song would fail,
And though my grief is one that no bird knows,
One being understands my heart -- the rose.
I am so drowned in love that I can find
No thought of my existence in my mind.
Her worship is sufficient life for me;
The quest for her is my reality
(And nightingales are not robust or strong;
The path to find the Simurgh is too long).
My love is here; the journey you propose
Cannot beguile me from my life -- the rose.
It is for me she flowers; what greater bliss
Could life provide me -- anywhere -- than this?
Her buds are mine; she blossoms in my sight -•
How could I leave her for a single night?”

The hoopoe answers him

Renounce delusion and prepare your wings
For our great quest; sharp thorns defend the rose
For what it is -- a fleeting turbulence
That fills your sleepless nights with grief and blame -•
Forget the rose’s blush and blush for shame!
Each spring she laughs, not for you, as you say,
But at you -- and has faded in a day.

The duck’s excuse
The coy duck waddled from her stream and quacked:
“Now none of you can argue with the fact
That both in this world and the next I am
The purest bird that ever flew or swam;
I spread my prayer-mat out, and all the time
I clean myself of every bit of grime
As God commands. There’s no doubt in my mind
That purity like mine is hard to find;
Among the birds I’m like an anchorite
My soul and feathers are a spotless white.
I live in water and I cannot go
To places where no streams or rivers flow;
They wash away a world of discontent --
Why should I leave this perfect element?
Fresh water is my home, my sanctuary;
What use would arid deserts be to me?
I can’t leave water -- think what water gives;
It is the source of everything that lives.
Water’s the only home I’ve ever known;
Why should I care about this Simurgh’s throne?”

The hoopoe answers her
The hoopoe answered her: “Your life is passed
In vague, aquatic dreams which cannot last
A sudden wave and they are swept away.
You value water’s purity, you say,
But is your life as pure as you declare?
A fool described the nature both worlds share:
‘The unseen world and that which we can see
Are like a water-drop which instantly
Is and is not. A water-drop was formed
When time began, and on its surface swarmed
The world’s appearances. If they were made
Of all-resisting iron they would fade;
Hard iron is mere water, after all
Dispersing like a dream, impalpable’.”

The heron’s excuse
The heron whimpered next: “My misery
Prefers the empty shoreline of the sea.
There no one hears my desolate, thin cry
I wait in sorrow there, there mourn and sigh.
My love is for the ocean, but since I
A bird -- must be excluded from the deep,
I haunt the solitary shore and weep.
My beak is dry -- not one drop can I drink 
But if the level of the sea should sink
By one drop, jealous rage would seize my heart.
This love suffices me; how can I start
A journey like the one that you suggest?
I cannot join you in this arduous quest.
The Simorgh’s glory could not comfort me;
My love is fixed entirely on the sea.”

The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe answered him: “You do not know The nature of this sea you love: below
Its surface linger sharks; tempests appear,
Then sudden calms -- its course is never clear,
But turbid, varying, in constant stress;
Its water’s taste is salty bitterness.
How many noble ships has it destroyed,
Their crews sucked under in the whirlwind’s void:
The diver plunges and in fear of death
Must struggle to conserve his scanty breath;
The failure is cast up, a broken straw.
Who trusts the sea? Lawlessness is her law;
You will be drowned if you cannot decide
To turn away from her inconstant tide.
She seethes with love herself -- that turbulence
Of tumbling waves, that yearning violence,
Are for her Lord, and since she cannot rest,
What peace could you discover in her breast?
She lives for Him -- yet you are satisfied
To hear His invitation and to hide.

The finch’s excuse
The timid finch approached. Her feeble frame
Trembled from head to foot, a nervous flame;
She chirped: “I am less sturdy than a hair
And lack the courage that my betters share;
My feathers are too weak to carry me
The distance to the Simurgh’s sanctuary.
How could a sickly creature stand alone
Before the glory of the Simurgh’s throne?
The world is full of those who seek His grace,
But I do not deserve to see His face.
And cannot join in this delusive race
Exhaustion would cut short my foolish days,
Or I should turn to ashes in His gaze.
Joseph was hidden in a well and I
Shall seek my loved one in the wells nearby.”

The hoopoe answers her
The hoopoe said: “You teasing little bird,
This humble ostentation is absurd!
If all of us are destined for the fire,
Then you too must ascend the burning pyre.
Get ready for the road, you can’t fool me -•
Sew up your beak, I loathe hypocrisy!
Though Jacob mourned for Joseph’s absent face,
Do you imagine you could take his place?

The other birds in turn received their chance
To show off their loquacious ignorance.
All made excuses – floods of foolish words
Flowed from these babbling, rumor-loving birds.
Forgive me, reader, if I do not say
All these excuses to avoid the Way;
But in an incoherent rush they came,
And all were inappropriate and lame.
How could they gain the Simurgh? Such a goal
Belongs to those who discipline the soul.

If you would glimpse the beauty we revere
Look in your heart -- its image will appear.
Make of your heart a looking-glass and see
Reflected there the Friend’s nobility;
Your sovereign’s glory will illuminate
The palace where he reigns in proper state.
Search for this king within your heart; His soul
Reveals itself in atoms of the Whole.
The multitude of forms that masquerade
Throughout the world spring from the Simurgh’s shade.
If you catch sight of His magnificence
It is His shadow that beguiles your glance;
The Simurgh’s shadow and Himself are one;
Seek them together, twinned in unison.
But you are lost in vague uncertainty …
Pass beyond shadows to Reality.

"Friend follows friend to hell and blasphemy
When sorrows come a man’s true friends are found;
In times of joy ten thousand gather round".

A cowardly bird protests
One of the birds let out a helpless squeak:
“I can’t go on this journey, I’m too weak.
Dear guide, I know I can’t fly any more;
I’ve never tried a feat like this before.
This valley’s endless; dangers lie ahead;
The first time that we rest I’ll drop down dead.
Volcanoes loom before the goal is won
Admit this journey’s not for everyone.
The blood of multitudes has stained the Way;
A hundred thousand creatures, as you say,
Address themselves to this great enterprise
How many die, a useless sacrifice!
On such a road the best of men are cowed,
Hoods hide the frightened features of the proud
What chance have timid souls? What chance have I?
If I set out it’s certain I shall die!”

The hoopoe admonishes him
The hoopoe said: “Your heart’s congealed like ice;
When will you free yourself from cowardice?
Since you have such a short time to live here,
What difference does it make? What should you fear?
The world is filth and sin, and homeless men
Must enter it and homeless leave again.
They die, as worms, in squalid pain; if we
Must perish in this quest, that, certainly,
Is better than a life of filth and grief.
If this great search is vain, if my belief
Is groundless, it is right that I should die.
So many errors throng the world -- then why
Should we not risk this quest? To suffer blame
For love is better than a life of shame.
No one has reached this goal, so why appeal
To those whose blindness claims it is unreal?
I’d rather die deceived by dreams than give
My heart to home and trade and never live.
We’ve seen and heard so much -- what have we learned?
Not for one moment has the Self been spurned;
Fools gather round and hinder our release:
When will their stale, insistent whining cease?
We have no freedom to achieve our goal
Until from Self and fools we free the soul.
To be admitted past the veil you must
Be dead to all the crowd considers just.
Once past the veil you understand the Way

From which the crowd’s glib courtiers blindly stray.
If you have any will, leave women’s stories,
And even if this search for hidden glories
Proves blasphemy at last, be sure our quest
Is not mere talk but an exacting test.
The fruit of love’s great tree is poverty;
Whoever knows this knows humility.
When love has pitched his tent in someone’s breast,
That man despairs of life and knows no rest.
Love’s pain will murder him, then blandly ask
A surgeon’s fee for managing the task
The water that he drinks brings pain, his bread
Is turned to blood immediately shed;
Though he is weak, faint, feebler than an ant,
Love forces him to be her combatant;
He cannot take one mouthful unaware
That he is floundering in a sea of care.

Shame forced a vicious sinner to repent.
Once more his strength returned, once more he went
Down his old paths of wickedness and lust;
Leaving the Way, he wallowed in his dust.
But pain welled in his heart, his life became
A second time -- the source of bitter shame.
Since sin had brought him nothing but despair,
He wanted to repent, but did not dare;
His looks betrayed more agitation than
Ripe corn grains jumping in a heated pan
His heart was racked by grief and warring fears;
The highway’s dust was laid by his sad tears.
But in the dawn he heard a voice: ‘The Lord
Was merciful when first you pledged your word.

You broke it and again I gave you time,
Asking no payment for this newer crime;
Poor fool -- would you repent once more? My gate
Stands open always; patiently I wait.’

An indecisive bird complains
Another bird declared, “As you can see,
I lack the organs of virility;
Each moment I prefer a different tree
I’m drunk, devout, the world’s, then (briefly) His;
Caught between ‘No, it isn’t’, ‘Yes, it is’.
The flesh will send me drinking, then I’ll find
The praise of God awakening in my mind;
What should I do between these two extremes,
Imprisoned by conflicting needs and dreams?”

And the hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “This troubles everyone;
What man is truly single-minded? None!
If all of us could boast a spotless mind,
Why should the prophets mingle with mankind?
If it is love which prompts your fervent prayers,
A hundred kindnesses will calm your cares.
Life is an obstinate young colt -- until
He’s broken in by your restraining will;
He knows no peace; but you are indolent,
Stretched out beside the oven, warm, content.
Tears temper hearts; but living’s well’s a rust
That inch by inch reduces them to dust
You’re just a eunuch pampering his needs;
Your Self’s grown gross, a dog that sleeps and feeds.

A bird complains of the Self
One of the birds then said: “My enemy’s
That veteran of highway robberies,
My Self; how can I travel on the Way
With such a follower? The dog won’t pay
The least attention to a word I say
The dog I knew is gone and in his place
A slavering wolf stalks by me, pace for pace.”

And the hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “How has this dog betrayed
And brought to dust whatever plans you made!
The Self’s squint-eyed and cannot guide you well,
Part dog, part parasite, part infidel.
When you are praised your Self swells up with pride
(Aware that praise is quite unjustified);
There’s no hope for the Self -- the dog grows fatter
The more it hears men fawn, deceive and flatter.
What is your childhood but a negligence,
A time of carelessness and ignorance?
What is your youth but madness, strife and danger,
Knowledge that in this world you are a stranger?
What is your age but torpid helplessness,
The flesh and spirit sapped by long distress?
Until this dog, the Self, can be subdued,
Our life is folly, endlessly renewed;
If all of life from birth to death is vain,
Blank nothingness will be our only gain 

Such slaves the Self owns! What a catalogue!
How many rush to worship this foul dog!
The Self is hell -- a furnace belching fire,
An icy pit as Price succeeds Desire,
And though a hundred thousand die of grief,
That this same dog should die is past belief.

A bird complains of pride
Another said: “Whenever I decide
To seek His presence, that arch-devil Pride
Obstructs my path. I can’t fight back with force;
Against his specious talk I’ve no recourse.
How can I find salvation from his lies,
Drink down the wine of meaning and be wise?”

The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “This devil never leaves
Until the Self has gone; if he deceives
You now, his cunning is your own deceit
Your wishes are the devil, you the cheat!
If you accomplish one desire, a shoal
Of struggling demons rises in your soul;
The world’s a furnace and a prison cell,
The devil’s province, an unending hell
Draw back your hand from it if you would win
An unmolested life secure from sin.

The devil complains
A sluggard once approached a fasting saint
And, baffled by despair, made this complaint:
‘The devil is a highwayman, a thief,
Who’s ruined me and robbed me of belief.’
The saint replied: ‘Young man, the devil too
Has made his way here to complain -- of you.
‘My province is the world,’ I heard him say;
‘Tell this new pilgrim of God’s holy Way
To keep his hands off what is mine -- if I
Attack him it’s because his fingers pry
In my affairs; if he will leave me be,
He’s no concern of mine and can go free.’

A bird who fears death
Another bird spoke up: “The Way is long,
And I am neither valiant nor strong.
I’m terrified of death; I know that I
Before the first stage is complete -- must die;
I tremble at the thought; when death draws near,
I know I’ll shriek and groan in snivelling fear.
Whoever fights death with his sword will meet
Inevitable, absolute defeat;
His sword and hand lie smashed. Alas! What grief
They grasp who grasp the sword as their belief!”

The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “How feebly you complain!
How long will this worn bag of bones remain?
What are you but a few bones? -- and at heart
Each bone is soft and hastens to depart.
Aren’t you aware that life, from birth to death,
Is little more than one precarious breath?
That all who suffer birth must also die,
Their being scattered to the windy sky?
As you are reared to live, so from your birth
You’re also reared to one day leave this earth.
The sky is like some huge, inverted bowl
Which sunset fills with blood from pole to pole
The sun seems then an executioner,
Beheading thousands with his scimitar.
If you are profligate, if you are pure,
You are but water mixed with dust, no more
A drop of trembling instability,
And can a drop resist the surging sea?
Though in the world you are a king, you must
In sorrow and despair return to dust.
A bird complains of his bad luck
Another bird said: “Hoopoe, it’s no good.
Things never happen as I’d hoped they would;
I’ve spent my time in misery since birth,
The most unlucky wretch in all the earth 
My heart knows so much torment that it seems
Each atom of my body raves and screams;
My life has trodden out a hopeless way;
God damn me if I’ve had one happy day!
These sorrows lock me in myself -- how can
I undertake this journey which you plan?
If I were happy I would gladly start;
What stops me is this sorrow in my heart.
What can I do? Look, I appeal to you
I’ve told you everything, what can I do?”

The hoopoe said: “How arrogant you are
To think your wretched self so singular!
The disappointments of this world will die
In less time than the blinking of an eye,
And as the earth must pass, pass by the earth
Don’t even glance at it, know what it’s worth;
What empty foolishness it is to care
For what must one day be dispersed to air.

A bird who burns with aspiration
“O hoopoe,” cried another of the birds,
“What lofty ardor blazes from your words!
Although I seem despondent, weak and lame,
I burn with aspiration’s noble flame
And though I’m not obedient I feel
My soul devoured by an insatiate zeal.”

The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “This strange, magnetic force
That holds God’s ancient lovers to their course
Still shows the Truth: if you will but aspire
You will attain to all that you desire.
Before an atom of such need the sun
Seems dim and murky by comparison
It is life’s strength, the wings by which we fly
Beyond the further reaches of the sky.

A bird claims that he lives only for the Simurgh
Another bird spoke up: ‘I live for love,
For Him and for the glorious world above
For Him I’ve cut myself from everything;
My life’s one song of love to our great king.
I’ve seen the world’s inhabitants, and know
I could not worship any here below;
My ardent love’s for Him alone; how few
Can manage to adore Him as I do!
But though I’ve struggled on with all my soul,
It seems I haven’t quite achieved our goal.
The time has come -- my Self will disappear;
I’ll drink the wine of meekness and draw near;
His beauty will illuminate my heart;
His neck will know my touch; we shall not part.”

The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe said: “The Simurgh isn’t won
By boasts of who you are and what you’ve done
Don’t brag of love; He’s not deceived by lies,
And no one pulls the wool across his eyes.
His call is like some lightly wafted breeze
Lifting the veil from hidden mysteries
Then He will draw you to Himself, alone;
Your place will be with Him, beside His throne
(Though if mere pride of place prompts your desire,
Your love prepares you for eternal fire).

A bird asks how long the journey is, and the hoopoe describes the seven valleys of the Way

Another bird said: “Hoopoe, you can find
The way from here, but we are almost blind
The way seems full of terrors and despair.
Dear hoopoe, how much further till we’re there?”

“Before we reach our goal,” the hoopoe said,
“The journey’s seven valleys lie ahead;
How far this is the world has never learned,
For no one who has gone there has returned
Impatient bird, who would retrace this trail?
There is no messenger to tell the tale,
And they are lost to our concerns below
How can men tell you what they do not know?
The first stage is the Valley of the Quest;
Then Love’s wide valley is our second test;
The third is Insight into Mystery,
The fourth Detachment and Serenity
The fifth is Unity; the sixth is Awe,
A deep Bewilderment unknown before,
The seventh Poverty and Nothingness
And there you are suspended, motionless,
Till you are drawn -- the impulse is not yours
A drop absorbed in seas that have no shores.

The Valley of the Quest
When you begin the Valley of the Quest
Misfortunes will deprive you of all rest,
Each moment some new trouble terrifies,
And parrots there are panic-stricken flies.
There years must vanish while you strive and grieve;
There is the heart of all you will achieve
Renounce the world, your power and all you own,
And in your heart’s blood journey on alone.
When once your hands are empty, then your heart
Must purify itself and move apart
From everything that is -- when this is done,
The Lord’s light blazes brighter than the sun,
Your heart is bathed in splendor and the quest
Expands a thousandfold within your breast.
Though fire flares up across his path, and though
A hundred monsters peer out from its glow,
The pilgrim driven on by his desire
Will like a moth rush gladly on the fire.
When love inspires his heart he begs for wine,
One drop to be vouchsafed him as a sign -•
And when he drinks this drop both worlds are gone;
Dry-lipped he founders in oblivion.
His zeal to know faith’s mysteries will make
Him fight with dragons for salvation’s sake -•
Though blasphemy and curses crowd the gate,
Until it opens he will calmly wait,
And then where is this faith? this blasphemy?
Both vanish into strengthless vacancy.

The journey of the birds takes them through the seven valleys of the quest, love, understanding, independence and detachment, unity, astonishment, and finally poverty and nothingness. In the valley of the quest one undergoes a hundred difficulties and trials. After one has been tested and become free, one learns in the valley of love that love has nothing to do with reason. The valley of understanding teaches that knowledge is temporary, but understanding endures. Overcoming faults and weaknesses brings the seeker closer to the goal. In the valley of independence and detachment one has no desire to possess nor any wish to discover. To cross this difficult valley one must be roused from apathy to renounce inner and outer attachments so that one can become self-sufficient. In the valley of unity the Hoopoe announces that although you may see many beings, in reality there is only one, which is complete in its unity. As long as you are separate, good and evil will arise; but when you lose yourself in the divine essence, they will be transcended by love. When unity is achieved, one forgets all and forgets oneself in the valley of astonishment and bewilderment.

The Hoopoe declares that the last valley of deprivation and death is almost impossible to describe. In the immensity of the divine ocean the pattern of the present world and the future world dissolves. As you realize that the individual self does not really exist, the drop becomes part of the great ocean forever in peace. The analogy of moths seeking the flame is used. Out of thousands of birds only thirty reach the end of the journey. When the light of lights is manifested and they are in peace, they become aware that the Simurgh is them. They begin a new life in the Simurgh and contemplate the inner world. Simurgh, it turns out, means thirty birds; but if forty or fifty had arrived, it would be the same. 

'Attar concluded the epilog with the admonition that if you wish to find the ocean of your soul, then die to all your old life and then keep silent.