Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Good Hearts Grow Strong


A resonant moment in the “Water of Life” (Grimms’ version) happens early on when the youngest brother differs sharply from the older two especially when he gets down off his horse showing respect to the small voice. Although it’s more subtle, we were given advance notice with their contrasting hearts: his is filled with tender love for the father and theirs are dark in self-centered greed. The story happily rewards the good-hearted with the prize but only after he suffers and grows a heart strong enough to deal with the dark side. Humans are not meant to remain in the Garden but like Eve are destined to know of good and evil.
From that third son we’re offered some sense of the heart’s journey, but the Arabian Nights’ version of this tale gives an enriched account. The character who embodies the heart-journey continues to be figured as the third child but shifts to the feminine. Early in the story, it’s the third sister who playfully makes the big-hearted wish to marry the ruler. Such a lofty wish does come true, but her naiveté (along with that of her husband) prompts harsh consequences extending even into her own daughter who has to live the rough trek out into the knowledge of dark voices, growing strong enough to foresee the necessity of developing a protective strategy.  
When we seek to further amplify this theme of the good heart that develops into a strong heart, we’re fortunate to happen into a tale from Sierra Leone, Africa. The figure of the good but still innocent heart comes in “the daughter of the village” who is much loved by the ruler. The daughter gets separated from the village and is believed to have been taken by the ruler-above. In order to bring her back, the village has to absorb four or five (depending on the version of the story) unfamiliar and even unwanted characters. The nature of these characters includes: 
  • appearing to be lazy—while actually creating webs that are artistic but almost invisible connections, and by doing this work without being seen and thus without getting any credit, 
  • appearing to steal material objects—while redistributing wealth and thus incurring the wrath of the rich, 
  • appearing to inflict harm—while digging into the groundwork and too-familiar pathways, 
  • appearing to be unreliable, confusing, and inconsistent—while providing safe proximity to power, and 
  • appearing to inflict pain—while providing warnings of toxic materials and disclosures of high value.


Messages from these stories related to our real-world village here in 2017 seem almost too painfully clear. Where is the water of life that carries cleansing and renewal for our land, for all people of the world, including the rich folks who desperately, even if unknowingly, need renewal, inner and outer? Is the water/daughter still waiting, still captive, because we have not yet developed strong-enough hearts and generous-enough vision?  We must see into the secret spaces, share resources, open to hard truths, and expand into Emerson’s darkened knowledge that “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.” And we must grow strong enough to endure the pain of dealing with poison within and without. Love that survives is not just altruistic; it also demands the discernment of giving with care so that resources are not turned to evil.
Martin Buber points our way to our divine resources and to the necessity of facing the old stories anew. It’s like admitting the stranger. 
“…face the Book with a new attitude as something new…its sayings and images will overpower…mold…ferment…enter in…to incorporate itself anew…To endure revelation is to endure this moment full of possible decisions, to respond to and to be responsible for every moment” (On the Bible, pp. 5-7).

For our world village to adapt and survive, we need to work and play as if the spiritual text is unfamiliar, not frozen but alive, so that we can receive the needed revelation. One friend from across the ocean who is in our Good Stories class brought in a perfect passage from Pushkin to help us open to the revelations from Books and tales:


Thursday, February 9, 2017

Amplifying the Water-of-Life Theme


Photo taken from my home office window this morning, Feb 9, 2017. Perhaps today’s “water of life” says to stay in and appreciate a less active form of beauty…
        One theme that we’re following in Good Stories is represented by the image of the “water of life.” Without water, we die; so the archetypal image pushes us to consider the essentials of living. For example, what do we do and what do we take into our beings that brings refreshment, cleansing, and renewal?
        Although water was not the dominant image in our first story, we did wonder if there was more to Luis in “Buried Treasure” than laziness. A sense of wonder signals a place to focus, a point of resonance. The primary evidence that Luis has mysterious power comes in his ability to stop the runaway horse. But we might need to backtrack if we want to explore this amazing gift. When we reflect back into the story, we notice an easy-to-skip-over detail about his initiative. In order to get on the path of the horse, he had to set out in search of a spring—that’s an image of the water of life. This action, the willingness to go after the water of life, although subtle it’s an opposite to laziness, and it leads to the connection with horsepower, with the spirit being, and with the “tatema” treasure.
       The focus on this moment in a story is what we’re calling resonance, and our backtracking and circling around the “hotspot” shows the beginning of “amplification.” To amplify is to increase understanding. Often it involves zooming in like we just did to get a fine focus on Luis’ action. Amplification also works by circling around a theme through finding different translations of a story, variations on the theme, and similar stories. Often we need multiple perspectives on an archetypal image if we are to gain enough texture so that applications to our individual lives can be appropriated.
        We amplify the moment where Luis goes in search of a spring by looking at other stories where a character looks for the water of life. One comes from the Grimms tales and another is from the Arabian Nights collection. A version of the Grimms’ “Water of Life” is included in Shah’s World Tales, and the hardback version has powerful illustrations by Melvyn Grant.

       "Golden Water" comes from Arabian Nights and contributes to our amplification by emphasizing female characters. It even features a younger sister who becomes a mother and has a third child who is female. This double presentation lets us see a continued development of the character that is needed to search out the water of life.
        Our resonance and amplification of the water-of-life theme can be portrayed like this:
1. We are struck by the advanced embodiment of a quality in Luis. He has been labeled as “lazy” but we see he has amazing capacity and wonder how a person might develop this ability. We might also note that sometimes a wonderful gift is not seen by others and even can be desecrated by them.
2. When we amplify this point of resonance with the Grimms’ “Water of Life,” we see the development of the younger son (who also is incorrectly perceived as weak). His character includes love and humility, instead of arrogance. We watch how his rather naive love progresses through suffering into a love that can face evil and that can design necessary strategy for dealing with betrayal.
3. When we amplify further with the Arabian Nights’ “Golden Water,” the person who has capacity to bring back the water of life is shown to have an advanced capacity for strategy related to self-defense.
4. The amplification of the water-of-life theme suggests next steps that might involve exploration of a related theme such as the nature of guidance. Concerning guides, our sequence of stories included 1) a spirit-being who just suddenly appears, 2) a small but powerful voice that has to be respected, 3) a semi-hidden dervish, and 4) a talking bird!
        Because exploration of the water-of-life theme offers to guide us in relation to the essential dimensions of life, it’s a good one for amplification. When we look for comparison stories that feature the water-of-life theme, we find it’s been labeled as tale-type 551 in the system devised by Aarne-Thompson-Uther (ATU). It’s classified within the category 550 “Supernatural Helpers.” Wikipedia shows links to 13 stories associated with “Water of Life” from around the world; sometimes the healing comes through something other than water.
       The guidance we find in amplification does not provide a roadmap, of course; but it does give us clues about the development of character that contribute to an enriched life. For example, in the Grimms’ version, the youngest son is motivated through love of his father in sharp contrast with his brothers’ desire for status and wealth. While his good heart helps him get the advice, directions, and resources he needs to get to the water of life, we find that love as he initially knows it won’t be enough. He is too trusting and has to suffer the development of a more mature love that includes discernment of traitors. His older brothers may be related by blood but they’re not related by heart, and he has to learn that love can include being strategic.
        In our primary textbook, On the Origin of Stories, Brian Boyd develops the meaning of reciprocal altruism: “I help you in the expectation that you may help me later” (p. 57). Boyd features this concept in his chapter “The Evolution of Cooperation” and continues throughout the book to show how reciprocal altruism has played a vital role in the survival of species and how it continues to be very significant in human’s cognitive development. Our ability to enact reciprocal altruism could be a significant development connected with the archetypal image of the water of life. Stories provide us with models of effective incorporation of reciprocal altruism in our lives.
        Passages from Boyd that elaborate reciprocal altruism include these:
"Cheaters will thrive in exchanges with altruists unless altruists discriminate against—refuse further exchange with, or actively punish—cheaters" (p. 57.
"For altruism to work robustly a whole suite of motivations has to be in place: sympathy, so that I am inclined to help another; trust, so that I can offer help now and expect it will be somehow repaid later; gratitude, to incline me, when I have been helped, to return the favor; shame, to prompt me to repay when I still owe a debt; a sense of fairness, so that I can intuitively gauge an adequate share or repayment; indignation, to spur me to break off cooperation with or even inflict punishment on a cheat; and guilt, a displeasure at myself and fear of exposure and reprisal to deter me from seeking the short-term advantages of cheating. We can reverse-engineer the social and moral emotions so central to our engagement with others in life and in story. (note 21) Rather than merely taking these emotions as givens, we can account for them as natural selection's way of motivating widespread cooperation in highly social species" pp. 57-58.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Inspiration & Revolution

this morning
Late winter

most leaves down 
yellowed grass
Light comes thru
plenty of room
     Through the past twelve or so semesters, this final seventh of a forty-plus-year career in teaching, it’s all crystallized in a course I designed and continuously revised called Good Stories. The heart of our engagement centers in the essence of the making of a good story. In the oral culture, story is alive, not frozen in print or on screen; and the vitality pulses in renewal, even in revolution.
     Life depends on change and adaptation, including social reorganization as well as advancing consciousness; this inner-outer dynamic pushes forward an enacted conscience as reflected in the subtitle of the course: Teaching Narratives for Peace and Justice. Looking out in the window of today’s world, we must wonder if we’ve been telling enough good stories. 
     Despite the prevailing overemphasis on entertainment, narratives can be shaped and enacted for the force of goodness; this potential is convincingly evident in the narratives enriching the major religions of the world. Consider, for example, Robert Alter’s The Art of Biblical Narrative Kenan Rifai’s commentary on Rumi’s Mathnawi, and Crossan’s books on parable, especially those of Jesus.  Instead of renewing life, far too much discourse, particularly in our educational system, seems to have lost the revolutionary power to inspire us beyond hegemonic selfish interests that freeze and kill. 
      Change comes hard, particularly to persons who are fat and happy or drugged into distracted illusions that deny climate change, poisoned food and water, toxic dogma, soporific screens, and inane mind/heart numbing test-taking. Good stories happen not just in the telling but in the calling for them by persons who are searching. Rumi’s radical narratives were frequently paused by the command for the storyteller to stop talking; persons have to be ready to break open. 
     Perhaps one of the most powerful examples of this comes in the narrative around King David. Walter Brueggemann consolidates several incisive explorations with the synthesis that “this narrative is distinctively counterculture, subversive, against our presuppositions” and “against such a self-deceiving enlightenment” (p. 49, David’s Truth in Israel’s Imagination and Memory). The reformations of power and surrender shape in the heart rending parable of shepherd and lamb, love and death.
     That the essence of a good story rumbles in its revolutionary power is also modeled in Rumi’s “The Merchant & the Parrot.”** The caged bird (yes, remember Maya Angelou) provokes us to consider our spirit contained within the body. 

‘My parrot, O my most sagacious bird,
  interpreter of all my thoughts and secrets!
Whatever comes to me that’s just and unjust,
  she told me from the first so I’d remember.’
A parrot with a voice from revelation
  began her life before the first existence,
This parrot is concealed inside yourself;
  you’ve seen her image in phenomena.
Alan Williams, Trans. Rumi: Spiritual Verses, p. 162.
** Several print versions of “The Merchant & the Parrot” can be seen through this page:  http://www.mythfolklore.net/3043mythfolklore/reading/rumi/pages/12.htm
 (Links to an external site.) . It includes translations by Whinfield (19th century) and Barks (20th century), who each translate Rumi according to the poetic expectations and liberty of their time. If you are interested in a more literal translation of Rumi (13th century), you can take a look at a version of "The Merchant and The Parrot" by Ibrahim Gamard. 

Monday, January 30, 2017

Art of Repetition with Variation



Repetition has a trickster quality, at first take seeming almost inartistic; and then, if we can shake off a bit of presumption, of presumed superiority, if we recognize our kinship with the noodlehead, we just might be positioned for awakening to a deeper level of feeling or understanding. Godly qualities like peace, justice, and love contain layer after layer with access available only by patient walking, step by step, through experiences and reflections that develop ability to see the hand of God and hear further into the Voice. Robert Alter’s chapter on repetition in The Art of Biblical Narrative reminds us of the power of the word that anticipates the phenomena of creation. He quotes Martin Buber on the biblical convention off “Leitwort”:
"a word or root-word that recurs significantly in a text, in a continuum of texts or in a configuration of texts: by following these repetitions, one is able to decipher or grasp a meaning of the text, or at any rate, the meaning will be revealed more strikingly" (p. 93).
Alter illustrates with the transition from Saul to David as King involving variations on the words “listen,” “voice,” and “word.” Saul, perhaps as a model for most of us, was rather slow to hear the word that said “to listen is better than sacrifice” (I Sam. 15:22).
My experience in teaching Good Stories continually proves the gift of re-telling. For example, we circle around a theme or character type and call this “amplification.” The Lazy Jack story was added to Good Stories to amplify Epaminondas with the way each fails to adapt. And then the so-called Lazy Man in “Buried Treasure” (also called “Tatema”) came in more recently to amplify Lazy Jack. The Tatema character allows us to move deeper into the strange way humans devalue persons and miss the gift they hold because the so-called lazy person is the one who stops the runaway horse and gets the silver coins that the Working Man only sees as stinky mud. 
But it took this sixth or eighth repetition for me to feel a particular value, an affection, for the Working Man whom on earlier takes I’d dismissively seen simply as a rather crass materialist. This time, when applying the strategy of taking the whole story inside as well as making external applications, I appreciated the connection between the two characters. The working man delivers the treasure to the horse-stopping man’s house. Like Lazy Jack’s ethic of showing up at work day after day even when he’s devalued each time, the working man does the grunt work. The two figures in Tatema are called compadres (Wilson Hudson, Healer of Los Olmos, p. 128-) suggesting a connection even stronger than friendship. 

I’ve been so fascinated with the one who dramatically stops the horse, that I’ve missed listening to the message from the worker. This time I began to realize that I might want to feel more appreciation for the part of me that just shows up. To be on-time for over a hundred beginnings of a semester and almost every class session in those forty years—while not the breath-stopping moment—still has merit. If we’re going to advance peace and justice, both on the inner and the outer spaces, complementary roles need to be valued, even when they fuss and just “don’t get” each other.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Going in Circles

Circular Labyrinth, near chapel, University of Maryland campus


Sometimes going in circles is a good thing. Maybe it just feels deja vu, really makes a spiral, or trues like Rilke’s path around a magnetic center:
I live my life in growing orbits
which move out over the things of the world.
Perhaps I can never achieve the last,
but that will be my attempt.

I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years,
and I still don’t know if I am a falcon, or a storm,
or a great song.”

Translation by Robert Bly, Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, pp. 12-13
Take this week’s Good Stories class for example. We moved about the “Buried Treasure.” Wilson Hudson prefaces his account of the tale by saying he heard it told by a blind shepherd in western Jalisco, Mexico. Imagine a blind shepherd on the hillsides along the Pacific! Tending lambs beyond the edges of sight, trusting hidden knowledge. Maybe a deeper knowing is the only guide to the center.
Perhaps shaping, perfecting, takes many circles around a centering image, like a potter’s wheel. “Do you love me?” was asked Peter three times, moving the meaning deeper: “Shepherd my sheep” (Berean Study Bible, Jn 21: 15-17). The often memorized Psalm reminds us over and over, The Lord is my shepherd.
The “Buried Treasure” itself isn’t explicitly about herding sheep, but it is about hidden knowledge. One of the central characters is seen as a lazy man, and yet he’s the one able to stop the runaway horse that’s mounted by a spirit figure. We should realize presuming labels, like “lazy,” sometimes mirrors a different blindness. If our career circles God, the world’s labels have to be let go because status, possession, being liked, and all other desires of material existence mar the inner vision.
When the protagonist manifests true character in catching the horse, the spirit figure names a gift. It’s a double naming: 1) The person’s unique identity has been enacted and witnessed; in this case, destiny manifests by going in search of the spring (a “water of life” motif), next being met by the runaway horse (meeting with spirit), and then taking the risk of grabbing the horse’s bit to restore peace. 2) The spirit figure tells that this act, this manifestation of destiny, allows the gift to be revealed. In the story, the gift is called the “tatema” and that’s explained as a treasure than “can be found only by supernatural aid and that can be taken out of hiding only by the person to whom it is revealed” (p. 129, Wilson Hudson, Healer of Los Olmos). 
The rest of the story then illustrates the tatema as the person who lives by faith (“to whom God wishes to give, God gives, even if God has to push it in through the window”) receives the bounty, and the one who lives by the material vision sees only smelly mud, until gaining a final insight.
Of course, I'd rather identify only with the hero catching the runaway horse, but more frequently it's the small insight that waits daily at the edge of vision. That final spark of apprehension might be all we get. But let’s not dismiss the bit of insight. If it’s enough to turn our attention toward that magnetic center, then an imprisoning hypnotic spell might be broken. What a gift! 
Perhaps every spiritual tradition already offers the blessing, and it awaits a person’s capacity to gain sight of it. The psalmist promised it: still waters, restoration of soul, presence, home. Jesus says we’re given talents, to use or to bury. From the Islamic tradition, we’re connected with “a hidden treasure.” (For example, see commentary on Ibn Arabi and the hadith qudsî: http://www.ibnarabisociety.org/articles/addas1.html .) In the Kuan Yin story that we tell in Good Stories, the bodhisattva brings the gift of embodied compassion.

The mystifying circular phenomenon comes from such promises. A person manifests his or her unique gift, the talent, the indwelling spirit; and that actualization transforms, in a way, to God, the center of life, the hidden treasure. 

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

The Love of God

This Morning's Window Opens onto Snow & Sun

   To add texture and splendor to Love, open windows of anger, commands, and wonder. In the quotations leading into Carl Sagan’s The Dragons of Eden, he includes one from Thoreau’s Journal: 
“I do not know where to find in any literature, whether ancient or modern, any adequate account of that nature with which I am acquainted. Mythology comes nearest to it of any.” 
In a somewhat similar puzzlement, I do not know where to find the meaning of “the love of God” (but teaching-stories whisper invitations). Of course, like Thoreau’s acquaintance with nature, it’s hardly a stranger; instead, when a treasure is long held close, sometimes new windows open.
     My previous post noted several spiritual verses giving this the highest priority: “love God more than all else.” The commentary on Rumi’s Mathnawi even pushes us to consider that the essence of any love is found in love of God: “When I say ‘love,’ I mean love of God” (Listen, p. 252). 
     Perhaps one window that’s opening has to do with anger. Love is more than not-angry; yet as appparent opposites often inform each other, perhaps a path to the love of God passes through anger. When someone we love gets taken from us, if we believe in an all-powerful deity, how can we avoid feeling hurt, betrayed, even angry. Of course, the book of Job offers guidance. C.S. Lewis rewrote it in dealing with the loss of Joy, the love of his life. Perhaps to love God requires going through the shadow of death. Harold Kushner’s ending to his second book on Job includes the embodied knowing of anger in the pathway to the love of God: 
“I like Job, respond…I repudiate my past accusations, my doubts, even my anger. I have experienced the reality of God. I know that I am not alone, and, vulnerable mortal that I am, I am comforted” (p. 202). 
Stephen Mitchell, recommended by Kushner for expressing the verses as a poet, translates Job 42:6: “Therefore I will be quiet/ comforted that I am dust” (p. 88, The Book of Job).
     As conveyed in Job’s struggle, the Love of God seems not to be encompassed by human understanding. So I’m not surprised that Job’s condition as “quiet/comforted” leaves me unsatisfied, still yearning for more. Love, it seems, is multi-textured, a “many-splendored thing.” The texturing built through the suffering side of passion cannot be denied, as developed so magnificently in Job; and granting that, other textures may also be admitted, even when they seem incompatible, even paradoxical to the human mind. To recognize the limitation in our thinking is not to diminish the exercise and development of it; instead, a deepened knowing of the love of God depends on reaching as far into a human’s cognition and consciousness as one can stretch.
     Perhaps another window, adding texture and splendor, to the Love of God searches the relationship with commandment. When Moses came down from Mount Sinai, he transmitted that God is impassioned, “showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments” (Ex 20:6 JPS translation; “mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments” KJ version; “showing loyalty to the thousandth/ of those that love me,/ of those that keep my commandments” Everett Fox translation).  
     As I’m looking through this window today, I’m wondering about the word “because.” When is the love relationship affirmed because a person obeys the command? Dad to child: “You do it because I tell you to!” While this tone may be necessary at certain times and force some levels of development, there must be more.
     My searching into this is not to question the necessity of submitting to God’s authority; instead, it’s to wonder about getting a sharpened perspective on the way it fits with living in a path of attraction. One of the many gifts of Rumi’s Mathnawi comes in the compelling push to clear the window/mirror. In order to clean away the rust that mars the surface of human perception, what could be better than the direction given by an Authority that has infinite knowledge and far superior love!
     Of other windows that open to this many-splendored thing, one already named but easily skipped past must be wonder. When a person wishes to trace the “trailing clouds of glory,” a portal might be along the singular lines of one’s unique fingerprint. Perhaps the love of God shows up in the enactment of the personal gift, the talent, and that’s key to living in the path of attraction. To track the fingerprint sometimes comes in clues as small and sweet as “I wonder…”
     While the wonder may be as huge as Job’s, it also plays in delicate, almost invisible lines, like the one I followed from a “nonsense tale” into a long journey leading to “spiritual verses,” "teaching-stories," and biblical narrative.  I feel Wordsworth's trailing clouds easily get lost in distraction, illusion, and deception. Guidance from God’s commands may have to clear the lens over one’s eyes in order to gain the heart’s vision. And for that I find stories invaluable, wonder tales. Robert Alter says that the Art of Biblical Narrative is for “a momentous revolution in consciousness” (p. 155).
“The biblical tale might usefully be regarded as a narrative experiment in the possibilities of moral, spiritual, and historical knowledge, undertaken through a process of studied contrasts between the variously limited knowledge of the human characters and the divine omniscience quietly but firmly represented by the narrator. From time to time, a human figure is granted special knowledge or foreknowledge, but only through God’s discretionary help. . . by the course through which some are made to pass from dangerous ignorance to necessary knowledge of self and other, and of God’s way.” (pp. 157-9)

Friday, January 20, 2017

Path of Attraction

“Such a spirit thinks of the body it has as a camel and goes down the roads of life on that camel. 
And the roads it travels are graced with the light of its self-disclosure.”  
Listen: Commentary on the Spiritual Couplets of Mevlana Rumi 
by Kenan Rifai and translated by Victoria Holbrook, p. 250.

        While building up the fire in our wood stove in the meditative time closer to midnight than dawn, the reflective time perhaps more open to be “graced with the light,” I noted the time/space calling for a comparable branch, midway between twig and log. Without that progression, the passionate first blaze fizzles, for densely-textured maturity waits upon the mid-range. A culture addicted to fiery youth—intoxications, excitements, flashy power—disdains the moderate climb, the development of moral sense; and without the enduring warmth of mature wisdom, the short-sighted body, or nation, seldom endures the night.
The phrase “path of attraction” notably commanded my attention about a decade ago. Fortunately, I was already past midlife, and so the seductive allure of “attraction” had already progressed from blonde to silver. Attraction’s range of meanings, like fire, spans from the quick blaze to enduring coal. By midlife, the gold of detachment-from-applause glimmered on the horizon, hinting that path-of-attraction gains value only according to the purity of the enacting vision. False gold coats the surface of snakeskin; it takes mature insight to penetrate to the depths of the mine that’s close to the source of gold, the home of goodness, the love of God.
Attraction can be like the twigs; love, lies so elusive, so easily mistaken for complete when but a taste of the sublime. Falling in love can be so easy, even addictive enough that when seared and burnt out, one still seeks the rush again, sometimes slanted into substitute romance, as in books or bottles, instead of suffering the midrange of passion. The path of attraction that leads toward the divine demands the desert, for without it, no oasis. 
So Rumi tells of camels. In one passage, the camel represents the human body possessed by lust and greed, so deluded to believe the thorn is the rose or the sweet date:
“The thorn-eating body is like a camel…/ O camel, you carry a bale of roses / A hundred rose gardens grow from its fragrance / Your preference is for sand and great big thorns… / How long will you cry, ‘Where is that rose garden?’” 
(Mathnawi, Book I, couplets 1995-1998, p. 246 in Listen)

The world around is grazing on thorns as if in a bed of roses, as if thorns taste sweet as dates, as if greed/lust/hate compose love. Prophets across time have called, “Wake up!” But perhaps to advance the stream of consciousness a mid-range is required, a camel-journey. Immediate apprehension of the tragic thorn diet, like a flood of fire, hurts too much. 

Rifai in his commentary on Rumi’s camel talks of this:
“But you who have lost the ability to tell the difference between good and evil due to varied kinds of greed you cannot see the matchless purity. . . In reality it is when you have begun to see the dates of worldly lust and greed as thorns that your spirit, unconquered by the soul, will taste the felicity more delicious than the most delightful dates.. . . Such a spirit thinks of the body it has as a camel and goes down the roads of life on that camel. And the roads it travels are graced with the light of its self-disclosure.   Although that is the case, the camel is usually unaware of the rose garden it carries on its back. The camel is unaware that because of the rose scent it carries, many a rose garden sprouts up on the roads it travels, and many a rose of gnosis blooms in these gardens. Because its eye is always on the thorns and sandpits of the world. Every soul looks out for the food and worldly goods it desires. But let us see how long he will believe that a rose will bloom from a giant thorn, how long will he live with the goal of picking roses from desert thorn bushes.   If the thorns of soul-mouthfuls stick in the eye of one’s spirit, one is probably deprived of the capacity to see . . . How will such people see God’s rosebeds of gnosis; how can they stroll these gardens? This is such a strange self-disclosure that sometimes a person cannot fit in all the world. Then you see that he is wandering around on the head of a thorn (pp. 249-250).

To tend a fire through the long night, like a camel crossing the desert, needs a scent of the water of life, like the path of attraction. Love, of course, is the answer. It’s an act of faith, and in all faiths, the ultimate answer is the love of God. Yet the answer holds a great mystery. In this camel section, Rumi tells the problem: “Love and spirit are, both of them, veiled and hid” (couplet 2021, p. 247 in Listen).  
And yet, for the lifetime journey on the path of attraction, we have good stories and spiritual verses to light the way. An oasis comes in Rumi’s Mathnawi and, of course, the spiritual verses of all faiths.

from Rifai’s commentary on the Mathnawi, page 252:
“Consider that in my tongue words like love, spirit and beloved are in reality metaphorical ways of speaking.    When I say “love,” I mean love of God; if I say “spirit,” I mean the light separated off from God, and if I say “bride” or “beloved” I mean only that greatest Beloved.”
from Deuteronomy 10:12-13 
“And now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God demand of you? Only this: to revere the LORD your God, to walk only in His paths, to love Him, and to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and soul, keeping the LORD’s commandments and laws, which I enjoin upon you today, for your good.” [Tanakh; new JPS translation]
from Micah 6:8
“It hath been told thee, O man, what is good, And what the LORD doth require of thee: Only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.” [Tanakh; new JPS translation]
from I John 5:3; I Cor 13:13
“For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments” "the greatest of these is love" 
from Qur’an 2:165 
“those who have attained to faith love God more than all else”