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The following is an essay by James R. Newell, Ph.D. on the idea of madness and its relationship to the creative process. This essay appears in the book Creativity, Madness and Civilisation, published by Cambridge Scholars Publishing (2007), edited by Richard Pine.  

The Wisdom of Intoxication:
Love and Madness in the Poetry of Hafiz of Shiraz

Persian poet Hafiz of Shiraz (Khwaja Shams ud-Din Hafiz-i Shirazi, d. 1389) is widely recognized as the preeminent master of the Persian ghazal form. In his native Iran, his Divan is revered to an extent rivaled only by the holy Qur’an. The dominant theme in the poetry of Hafiz is the tension between love and reason, madness and rationality. The unbalanced state of mind is most often represented by drunkenness. In the most basic understanding of the classical Persian ghazal genre, wine represents love for the beloved. The lover becomes drunk on the wine of love for the beloved and asserts the wisdom of this apparent irrationality as being superior to that of reason. As Hafiz himself puts it: "O Hafiz, be content, and bear this pain in silence, that will have to be enough/Those who judge all by reason, will never understand the mystery of love (Newell, 2002)"

One aspect of the art of the ghazal is the ambiguity of the poet’s intention. Is the poet writing about a flesh and blood beloved, or is the poem to be taken as a mystical treatise describing love for and union with the divine? In addition, Hafiz himself often functioned as a court poet, employing the symbol of the Beloved on multiple levels: the personal, erotic beloved; the patron to whom he directed his poem in hopes of obtaining financial compensation for his art; and the mystical, divine Beloved, or God. Although critics debated this ambiguity in the poetry of Hafiz during his lifetime, and continue to debate it today (Schimmel, 1979), for Sufis (Islamic mystics) there has never been any question but that the author’s intention was a mystical one. It is typical of the poetry of Hafiz (see appendix I) that worldly and mystical themes are woven together into a patchwork that is both grounded in an embodied sensuality and at the same time transported into the mystical realm of the "Other World."

For the Sufi, the madness of unbridled love for the beloved is not a regression into chaos, but a discipline which leads one to a conscious union with the source of all things. The cup of wine in classical Persian imagery can be understood as the heart of the lover which holds the elixir of life: Divine Love, the consumption of which ultimately leads to union with the Divine Beloved. Intoxication is that state of madness which results from surrender to this overpowering love for the Beloved, which seeks only fana (annihilation) in the baqa (subsistence) of the Beloved/God.

When madness is understood in this way, as a spiritual experience, the idea parallels the Jungian idea of individuation, which process necessarily involves a breakdown and transformation of conscious structures of the personality in order to make room for the inclusion of other, previously unconscious, contents of the personality. The integration of these previously unconscious contents results in a more functional psychological outlook, one in which the conscious ego-complex and the unconscious work together with the full, affective embodiment of the personality. The ego, the small ‘I,’ reunites with the archetypal Self, from which it had previously differentiated, without becoming overwhelmed by the experience, or losing its hard won sense of individuality. This process of integration of unconscious contents, especially in the case of a religious figure, or a creative artist, is often experienced as revelation. In its most extreme manifestation, this advent of the archetypal Self can be, in the words of Edward Edinger (1999), "world-shattering." It is,

"…the momentous event of the coming of the Self into conscious realization. Of course, it manifests itself and is experienced in quite different ways if occurring in the individual psyche or in the collective life of the group; but in either case, it is a momentous event—literally world-shattering. This is what the content of the Apocalypse archetype presents: the shattering of the world as it has been, followed by its reconstitution (5).

My goal with this essay is to outline parallels between the individuation process as described by the founder of Analytical Psychology, C. G. Jung, and the idea of divine madness in Sufism, as represented in the poetry of 14th century Persian poet Hafiz of Shiraz. In the process of this exposition, I hope additionally to shed light on the manner in which Analytical Psychology understands the relationships between madness, the creative process, and religious experience, and what that means for the creative individual. Although my subject matter is poetry, which features religious themes, my method is neither from the point of view of literary criticism, religious studies, nor theology. My approach is psychological, and will explore understandings of the relationship between madness and the development of consciousness.


The word individuation was coined by C. G. Jung in order to describe the process of the differentiation of the ego from the unconscious, as well as from its identification with social norms. As Jung (1990) says,

In general [individuation] is the process by which individual beings are formed and differentiated; in particular, it is the development of the psychological individual as a being distinct from the general, collective psychology. Individuation, therefore, is a process of differentiation, having for its goal the development of the individual personality (p. 448).

Thus, individuation is a direct result of social adaptation to the collective while maintaining the unique characteristics of the individual. As Jung continues, "Since Individuality is a prior psychological and physiological datum, it also expresses itself in psychological ways" (p. 448). That is, it becomes necessary for the individual to remain psychologically congruous and authentic in relation to his or her specific individual traits and characteristics while at the same time adapting to the collective. Any attempt, in either a deliberately dishonest or even an innocently unconscious way, to be something that one is not will result in neurosis or worse. This movement away from collective norms is not to be confused with a lack of development or regressive tendencies. "Under no circumstances can individuation be the sole aim of psychological education. Before it can be taken as a goal, the educational aim of adaptation to the necessary minimum of collective norms must first be attained" (p. 449). In this sense, then, individuation can be seen first as a process of differentiation of the ego from the unconscious, and then as a second process by which one further differentiates from collective norms that are incongruent with an individual's personal qualities and traits.

This first level of differentiation begins with the development of ego consciousness in childhood. Neumann (1976) describes this process of ego formation as being derivative of the archetypal Self. He uses here his own contribution to the theory of individuation, which he terms "centroversion," and says,

We give the name of centroversion to the psychic function of the totality, which in the first half of life leads, among other things, to the formation of a center of consciousness, which position is gradually assumed by the ego-complex. With this formation of a center, the Self establishes a "derivative" of itself, an "authority," the ego, whose role it is to represent the interests of the totality over against the particular demands of the inner world and the environment (p. 9).


The further differentiation of the ego from the unconscious is described by Neumann as the development of an ego-Self axis.

The ego-Self axis comes into being when the ego is established as a derivative of the Self, when it moves away from the Self. This moving away attains its culmination in the first half of life when the psyche separates into conscious and unconscious systems and the ego achieves an apparent autonomy. In the individuation process characteristic of the second half of life, the ego and the Self move back together again (p.47). (See appendix II).

This movement of the ego and the Self toward each other in the second half of life is related to the second level of differentiation mentioned above which involves moving away from collective norms with a tendency to emphasize individual traits and characteristics. What distinguishes this process of differentiation from an identical process seen in Freudian and post-Freudian psychologies is Jung’s claim that this entire process is unconsciously directed and mediated by the activity of the archetypal Self.

In Neumann’s view, the tendency of the archetypes to canalize unusually high levels of libido, or psychic energy, is experienced by outstanding individuals as a revelatory experience that, when communicated to the collective, provides a new direction for human cultural achievement. This so-called "Great Individual" often appears to be mad when first encountered by the collective because he or she represents some new element that has not yet appeared in the collective experience. As Neumann (1973) puts it:

The Archetypal canon is always created and brought to birth by 'eccentric' individuals. These are the founders of religions, sects, philosophies, political sciences, ideologies, and spiritual movements, in the security of which the collective man lives without needing to come into contact with the primordial fire of direct revelation, or to experience the throes of creation (p. 376).

The claim, then, is that the new element presented to the collective by the Great Individual is not solely an independent creation of the ego, but is the product of the ego’s interaction with both the outer world of collective of experience and the inner, directive experience of the archetype of the Self. As Neumann puts it, "The collective unconscious of the group manifests itself by taking possession of the individual, whose function it is, as an organ of the group, to convey to it the contents of the unconscious" (p. 423).

This process can take many forms, and some phases of development can appear to be regressive. The shaman, the prophet, or the creative artist, in the grip of an emerging archetypal content, may sometimes appear to be moving backwards in consciousness rather than forward. Jung’s (1973) claim, however, is that the key to the development of consciousness is differentiation of the ego from the unconscious, not simply the onward progression of life. Seen in this light, the apparent backwards or regressive movement of consciousness in the creative individual can be seen as a positive development leading towards the integration of previously unconscious material with consciousness. As he puts it,

…regression is not necessarily a retrograde step in the sense of backwards development or degeneration, but rather represents a necessary phase of development…It is only if he remains stuck in this condition that we can speak of involution or degeneration.

Again, progression should not be confused with development, for the continuous flow or current of life is not necessarily development and differentiation (p. 37).

Keeping in mind this assertion of Jung’s that differentiation, not simply a progression of libido, is the defining element in the development of consciousness, we can appreciate Neumann’s method of distinguishing between development and regression. According to Neumann:

In the main, two things distinguish the revelation bearers from one another: the first is the degree of conscious participation in the phenomena of revelation; the second is the scope of the emergent contents…The lowest place on the hierarchy is occupied by the Great Individual who is only a passive carrier of projections…On a rather higher level stands the individual whose personality is possessed directly by the unconscious content--spirit, demon, God--even when his conscious mind does not participate in its assimilation or interpretation…The Great Individual, on the other hand, who is really a great man in the sense of being a great personality, is characterized not only by the fact that the unconscious content has him in its grip, but by the fact that his conscious mind also has an active grip on the content (P. 424).


Using Neumann’s method as a guide, we will tentatively identify three categories of revelation of unconscious contents. These categories are to be understood developmentally, and are listed hierarchically from the lowest (most regressive) to the highest (most differentiated):

  1. First we encounter individuals whose ego structures are not sufficiently strong to withstand the incursion of unconscious contents. This could include anything from severe psychosis to mild neurosis.

  2. Second we find individuals who are possessed by unconscious contents and who are able to communicate archetypal truths, but do not have sufficient ego strength to engage, fragment, and assimilate the archetypal images and libidinous energies. In this category would be most shamans, many prophets, some very gifted artists, etc.

  3. Third, we have the Great individual who is able to encounter and even embody the archetype, but maintains, or regains, the directive, discriminating power of the ego and is able to give specific, consciously directed shape and form to archetypal energies. This could include influential religious leaders, social reformers, artists, etc.

While considering this list we would do well to keep in mind Neumann's observation that the "…scope of the emergent contents…" (p. 424) may also be a factor in distinguishing how regressive any apparently revelatory state might be. In this light, the scope of a revelation based only on the integration of the personal level of an unconscious complex would not be as great as the scope of a revelation that resulted from the integration of an archetypal content. In terms of the Sufi worldview, evident in the poetry of Hafiz, the content being integrated into consciousness can be understood at times as a personal content (when the beloved is understood as a personal, human object of affection) and at other times as being clearly archetypal (when the Beloved is understood as a symbol for the deity). It is this archetypal sense which is prominent in the underlying ideology of Sufism and which informs the idea of madness as it so often appears in the poetry of Hafiz of Shiraz.

Hafiz in the context of Medieval Islam

Very little is known about the life of Hafiz. Although there are many legends, they are largely attempts to extrapolate biographical data from the ghazals themselves. Few historical facts can be established with any certainty. It is known that Hafiz lived almost his entire life in the city of Shiraz, that he was a court poet, that he had memorized the Qur’an (his pen name, Hafiz—literally "rememberer"—is the title given to one who has committed the Qur’an to memory), and it is known that he worked as a calligrapher, and taught theology. Not much beyond this can be said. From the ghazals themselves we can see that he was heavily influenced by the classical Persian imagery of poets like Rumi (d. 1273) and Saadi (d. 1292). Saadi was also from Shiraz, as was Ruzbihan Baqli (d. 1209). There are some sources that suggest that Hafiz belonged to the Sufi order that was founded by Baqli’s family (Ernst, 1997a). Hafiz also drew heavily on the mythology of the Shah-nameh (Book of Kings) of Ferdowsi (d. 1020), and Islamic theology. All of these influences underline and emphasize the predominant Sufi character of his poetry. Although there have been many different opinions on the subject (Schimmel, 1979, Rheder, 1970) there are substantial grounds for understanding Hafiz as a Sufi poet. For this reason it will be helpful to have an understanding of how Hafiz fits into the broader context of Medieval Sufism. Through understanding this background we will see more clearly the connections between the Sufi idea of madness, Jungian ideas of individuation, and the creative process.

By the time Hafiz composed his ghazals, Sufism had become so well established that it was the orthodoxy. In many of his poems, Hafiz rails against the hypocritical Sufi as the one who maintains the letter of the law outwardly but violates the inner spirit of the law. One Sufi of the period observed that, "Today Sufism is a name without a reality, though it used to be a reality without a name" (Ernst, 1985, 2). Another Sufi, al-Hallaj (d. 922), was famous for emphasizing the nuances between the letter and the spirit of the law. He is said to have once told one of his disciples, "May God veil you from the exterior of the religious law, and may he reveal to you the reality of infidelity. For the exterior of the religious law is a hidden idolatry, while the reality of infidelity is manifest gnosis" (3). It was the orthodox Sufis who practiced what al-Hallaj called "hidden idolatry", that were the object of attacks from Hafiz. For al-Hallaj, the ultimate goal of the Sufi is to transcend the law (shariah) and achieve "manifest gnosis" through union with the Divine Beloved. The achievement of gnosis was understood as an ascension whose ultimate aim was union with the creator. The great Sufi thinker Ibn Arabi (d. 1240) describes the process of ascension to union in this way,

…all the steps of the meanings for the prophets, the friends, the faithful, and the messengers are the same. No ladder has a single step more than any other. The first step is Islam, which is submission (iniqiyad). The last step is annihilation (fana) in going up (uruj) and subsistence (baqa) in coming out (khuruj) (Chittick, 219).

Ruzbihan Baqli describes a similar process:

"Then is the station of unification (ittihad), of which the beginning is annihilation (fana), the middle subsistence (baqa), and the end essential union (‘ayn al-jam’). Annihilation is the veil of subsistence, and subsistence is the veil of annihilation, but essential union is pure unification (Ernst, 1985, 94).

Al-Hallaj claimed to have achieved this state of essential union with God, and was eventually put to death in Bhagdad in 922 for uttering the words "I am truth!" This historic moment in early Sufism is referred to by Hafiz in one of his ghazals, in which he says: "Our friend who ended on the gallows—his only crime was this—the blabbing of secrets" (Avery, Stubbs, 1952, 43).

One of the ways that Hafiz expresses this idea of the tension between shariah (the law) and tariqah (the esoteric path) is through the figure of the "rind." Rind is a Persian noun that has been translated many different ways; it generally refers to a person of questionable character. Robert Rehder (1970) discusses this concept in the poetry of Hafiz and offers several definitions of the word, a sampling includes: "…sagacious, shrewd; a knave, a rogue; a Sufi; dissolute; a drunkard, one whose exterior is subject to censure, but who at heart is sound; a wanderer, traveler; an insolent, reckless, fear-nought fellow…" (254). According to Rehder the ideas of the rind were "…developed into a way of life by the qalandari dervishes, beginning in the second half of the…eleventh century" (253). The law, then, for Hafiz, is love; there is no higher shariah than this. Persian scholar J. T. De Bruijn (1997) describes the attitude this way, "The true follower of the Path of Love is equal to the qalandar dervish who is eager to sacrifice his good name as a pious Muslim for the sake of his total submission to the Beloved" (80). As Hafiz says, "I am a lover and a rind and a carousing wine-drinker, And all three offices I hold because of that enchanting beauty" (311).

Madness in the context of Medieval and Modern Islam

To an outsider, the path of the rind, and the departure from the law that is enacted by following this path, is seen as a form of madness. Another understanding of this kind of madness, however, is that of one who is in state of absorption, transfixed by an overpowering love for the Beloved, for God. The word that is often used to describe this state in Medieval Islam is majnun. The word itself originally meant both possession, as in possession by a jinn, or daemonic spirit, as well as madness in the sense of a deranged individual. In the early Meccan suras of the Qur’an, the prophet Muhammad is accused of being majnun, but Allah defends him and declares that Muhammad’s revelation comes from God, not from spirits. The word later came to be used to describe someone absorbed in love for God. Early Islamic attitudes towards madness were mixed, and the cause of madness was just as often attributed to supernatural forces as to organic or infectious ones. The Greek medicine of Galen was the predominant system at the time, but common medical treatments were often combined with folk remedies from oral traditions dating back to time of the prophet. This "Prophetic Medicine" often included prayer, fasting, and remedies recommended by the prophet. Often in Medieval Islamic society, madness was not even considered a problem that required treatment at all. It was,

…perceived by some in Islamic society as a condition that did not need to be treated, healed, or exorcised. Paradoxically, it could be excessive love in the otherwise sane, the wisdom of the fool, or the divine love of the mystic. Love is a natural and desirable aspect of human existence, but obsessive love takes on the appearance of madness and its mysterious qualities (Dols, 1992, 12).

This point of view is expressed in the idea of the majdhub; an individual who experiences an overwhelming attraction to God. This attraction causes the individual to lose all interest in the outer, physical world. The Persian form of this phenomenon is called mast, or one who is so intoxicated with love for God that they lose interest in everything except God. In the case of the majdhub the understanding is that,

...the mystical call of the Sufi or dervish may be so sudden and the person may follow it so quickly that he is believed to have become mentally deranged. In fact, this state, being majdhub, was believed to be the normal beginning in the careers of many dervishes. The majdhub forgets all earthly things and follows only the internal call, living—so to speak—with his Caller. Being completely absorbed by his inner life, his outer existence is characterized by disconnected speech, repeating one and the same sentence, and roaming aimlessly in the streets or fields... (417-418).

Dols documents a number of majdhub cases in the Medieval period, but, interestingly, the phenomenon is not something that appears only in the past. In 1949 a British physician, Dr. William Donkin (1988), published a book which documents the work of Indian spiritual leader Meher Baba (d. 1969) with hundreds of masts, or "God-intoxicated" individuals. This book contains a detailed analysis of a variety of different types of God-intoxication and is a veritable diagnostic manual of spiritual maladies. Carl Ernst (1997b) observes that it is a document "…unparalleled in the history of religion…" (p. 117).

In his forward to Donkin’s book, Meher Baba describes the development of the mast experience.

Those aspirants who get launched on the mast line, find themselves propelled by an irresistible impulsion in the form of a yearning to realize God as the Divine Beloved…As the mast advances on the inner planes he gets more and more God intoxicated, and his yearning to be united with the Divine Beloved becomes so acute and irresistible that it gradually takes him beyond the domain of the mind...During the process of transcending the mind, the mental make-up of the mast is subjected to so much disturbance and upheaval, that he is unable to use his mind in the ordinary way (Donkin, 1988, p. 6).

In my own field research in India in 2004 I recorded qawwali singers at the tomb of a Sufi saint named Tajuddin Baba (d. 1925), in Nagpur, Maharashtra. Hagiographic accounts of the life of Tajuddin describe his meeting with a Sufi master at a young age, after which he became interested in the mystical life. In his late teens, Tajuddin began visiting another Sufi master, Hazrat Daood Chishti, in a nearby town and began following his instructions (Bharadwaja, 1981). Tajuddin soon fell into a state of majdhubyat, we are told, and was taken for a madman by many who encountered him. Taunted by children, rejected by his family and friends, he was eventually committed for life to the Nagpur insane asylum by British officials who had been offended by his bizarre behavior. Some time prior to being committed, however, he had already begun to attract a following of local people who understood his condition very differently from the way the British authorities understood it.

As time went on, miraculous powers were attributed to the saint, and soon literally thousands of people were coming to visit him in the mental hospital. A new gate had to be built on the grounds in order to accommodate the throngs. Taj Baba, as he is still affectionately referred to by the locals, did not remain permanently absorbed in a trance state, but would from time to time become quite lucid and give practical advice and encouragement to his followers. It is reported that the head of the hospital himself eventually became a devotee, and frequently went to his patient for advice. He would have released the patient but British authorities refused to allow it. Eventually, after sixteen years in the asylum, a local raja who was also a devotee convinced the authorities to release the saint to his custody (Kalchuri, 1986). In this story we have a modern hagiographic account which mirrors the classic Medieval understanding of the majdhub. Such stories illustrate an understanding of a regression of consciousness which is a positive development, not simply a break down of the ego structure, or total loss of consciousness. A parallel process of regression can also be seen in the creative individual who is drawn inward by the creative process, abandoning his or her normal connections to the outer world.


Before embarking on further analysis of this material, a word about Jung’s method, which I will employ here, will be helpful. As stated earlier, this is neither a literary, religious studies, nor theological exercise, although our findings may have useful applications for any or all of these fields. Jung understood the human psyche to be one of the "givens" through which we perceive the world. As such, the psyche leaves both individual and collective impressions on everything that it touches. Just as my hand print will leave clearly individual impressions (the fingerprints), it will also leave a collective mark: most hands have four fingers and a thumb, a wrist, and other common feature that are not of merely individual, but also of collective importance. Jung found that by studying religious texts, art, mythology, dreams, fantasies, and other individual and cultural artifacts, he was able to make determinations of both individual and collective impressions that had been left by the writer, artist, etc. The Jungian claim, then, is that we may find elements of collective psychological significance in the study of religious and literary phenomena. In the realm of religious phenomena, as we are considering here, the approach is purely empirical, and does not take any metaphysical position one way or the other. My aim here is not to be reductive, that is, my aim is not to say that religious phenomena are "nothing but" this or that psychological event, nor is it theological. I am not saying that God is using the human psyche as his or her agency in this or that way. What I am interested in is what this material can tell us about the healthy development of human consciousness, and the implications of such development for creative individuals, and the creative process itself.

From this perspective, if we consider the idea of madness in the poetry of Hafiz in light of Jung’s theory of the individuation process, we see several patterns begin to emerge. For one thing, the differentiation of the ego from the unconscious can be seen in Sufism in the adherence to the collective norms of the shariah, the Islamic law. The development of an individual, esoteric path (tariqah), that may even appear to violate the cultural canon (as endorsed by al-Hallaj), can then be seen as the further differentiation of the ego from the collective along the line of individual traits and characteristics. The path of the rind, endorsed by Hafiz, can also be seen as an individual path to the archetypal Self. This is another aspect of the further differentiation of the ego from the collective.

We have, then, if we employ Neumann’s schema, three different types of madness to consider. First, there is the madness of the individual who is unable to endure the intensity of love for the Beloved, that is, the individual who does not have sufficient ego strength to endure the intense numinosity of the encounter with the archetypal Self, and who falls into a regressive breakdown of some type. Next we have the madness of one possessed by love for the Beloved, but who can never enter into a meaningful dialogue, or union with, the Beloved, that is, one who is taken over by the archetypal energies but can never reach the final state of assimilation and annihilation (fana), or the conscious communication with (baqa) the archetypal energies. This is the individual who is identified with archetypal energies, not in communication with them, who is stuck in the process and unable to differentiate further. Finally, we have the madness of one who has achieved union with the Beloved, but whose accomplishment is not appreciated by the world. This is the individual who has negotiated the path to the Beloved, assimilated, fragmented and accessed the archetypal energies and given them political, social, religious, or artistic form, but is so far ahead of his or her time that she appears out of step, eccentric, or mad. Since the idea of madness itself is a cultural construct, it only has meaning in relation to an established norm. If the norm is to be crazy, the sane individual, by another standard, is out of step with the norm. By the standards of individuation, this individual is highly differentiated and working for the broader good of the collective. By collective norms, however, he or she will appear to be out of step, too eccentric to be accepted by the group, and perhaps misunderstood enough to be considered mad by society.

So what does this mean for the creative individual? In the end, the creative act is a dialogue between the ego and the unconscious. The ego must put in the conscious work which coaxes a revelation from the unconscious. With only the conscious work, however, and no dialogue with the unconscious, no creative revelation, a split remains between the conscious and unconscious systems. In this case, the creative work is at best lifeless, at worst the split will eventually lead to an emotional and psychological imbalance. As Neumann (1974) says,

Every transformative or creative process comprises stages of possession. To be moved, captivated, spellbound, signify to be possessed by something; and without such a fascination and the emotional tension connected with it, no concentration, no lasting interest, no creative process, are possible (177-178).

If the revelation comes, and the ego strength of the artist is not sufficient to manage the energies constellated, madness may indeed be the result. On the other hand, there are those who negotiate the archetypal energies perfectly and find themselves so far ahead of their fellows that their works will not be appreciated in their lifetimes. Out of step with the norms of their time and misunderstood by their potential patrons, they, too, may be branded mad. If fortunate, however, they will learn to embrace and celebrate their madness, and with Hafiz say:

Call me [king] of the mad, I who am without reason
Because in everything unwise, I am the best
(Rehder, 1970, 315).


Alston, A. J., translator. (1996). In Search of Hafiz: 109 poems from the Divan of Hafiz,
pp. 75- 76. London: Shanti Sadan.
Avery, P., Heath-Stubbs, J., translators. (1952). Hafiz of Shiraz: Thirty Poems. London:
John Murray.
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Gurupaduka Publications.
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Oxford University Press.
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Appendix I


O Saqi, illumine my cup
With the light of your sparkling wine.
Minstrel, sing the refrain
'The world is in tune with my desire'.
You have no notion
Of the joy of my continual intoxication:
I have seen the image of the Friend
Reflected in the cup.
He whose heart is lit with love never dies;
My eternity is testified
In the written record of creation.
The glances and blandishments
Of all tall beauties vanished
When my Beloved passed by, erect as a cypress,
Gait of a pine-tree swaying in the breeze.
O Wind! Take this message to my Beloved,
Should you visit the garden of the dear ones.
Say to him: 'Why forget my name expressly,
When the day will come
When it will be forgotten of its own accord?'
The intoxication in the eye of my Beloved
Is a delight to behold;
Hence I have entrusted the bridle of my life
To the hands of intoxication.
I fear that on the Day of Judgement
The hallowed bread of the Sheikh
Will avail him less than my illicit wine.
O Hafiz, shower the grain of your tears everywhere.
Perhaps the bird of Union with the Beloved
Will be attracted to come to your net.

(After a standard closing couplet, Hafiz has added the following couplet to this ghazal as an addendum in honor of one of his court patrons, Haji Qawam: The sky is the green sea and the new moon a boat floating upon it/Both are drowned in the infinitude of the compassion of Haji Qawam.)

Alston, A. J., translator. (1996). In Search of Hafiz: 109 poems from the Divan of Hafiz, pp. 75-76. London: Shanti Sadan.


Appendix II

Edinger, E. F. (1992). Ego and Archetype: Individuation and the Religious function of the Psyche, pp. 5. Boston: Shambala Publications, Inc.



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