In his celebrated epic poem, The Conference of the Birds, the Persian Sufi Fariduddin Attar (c. 1145 – c. 1221 CE) paints a picture of the human condition using the imagery of birds. The poem opens with a great assembly or ‘conference’ of all the birds of the world; they are deeply perplexed, for they are leaderless, they have no sovereign to rule over them. After some debate, the wisest among them, the hoopoe, proposes that they journey in search of the great Simurgh, the benevolent bird of legend that represents the Divine Presence. Such a journey will not be easy, the hoopoe warns, for they must endure many hardships, and cross seven valleys, with names such as ‘the valley of bewilderment’ and ‘the valley of poverty’ before they may come near the dwelling of the Simurgh. At this, before even setting out on the search, many of the birds withdraw from the quest, each one offering an excuse that represents a particular human failing that obstructs the way to the spiritual goal.

After a long trek and many difficulties, a small band of thirty birds under the guidance of the hoopoe does reach the dwelling of the Simurgh, and there, aided by a felicitous Persian pun, they discover the truth. ‘Simurgh’ means ‘great bird’ or perhaps ‘eagle-bird,’ but it can also mean ‘thirty birds.’ Now thoroughly purified by all their hardships, in a mystical revelation the thirty faithful birds come into the presence of the great Simurgh—and see themselves in a mirror.

The travellers, one could say, have found their real ‘Self’—which was always none other than the Divine; as we hear in the Invocation, there is only One Being, and therefore the perception of multiplicity is illusory. Nevertheless, the poem also shows us that the journey is necessary. The birds that stayed behind or that gave up the search did not have the same realisation as those who persisted to the end. The seven valleys that must be traversed represent layers of our constructed identity to be removed; only when we have thrown aside every scrap of ‘me’ can we recognise the bright light that is Omnipresent and All-Pervading.

The birds that arrived at the goal did so with the help, encouragement and guidance of the hoopoe. Hazrat Inayat Khan was once asked if it is possible to achieve realisation without a guide, and he replied that nothing in this world is impossible, but that it is certainly much easier to make the voyage with guidance. The problem with ‘self-guidance’ is that it is precisely the ‘self’ that stands in our way of the Self. In other words, we may ‘know’ conceptually that all is One, but that is not sufficient, and if one rashly says, “I don’t have to do anything, I know that I am God,” it shows, as Hazrat Inayat said with uncharacteristic bluntness, insolence and stupidity. Those who truly know it would prefer to seal their lips and keep silence.

Then, where should we turn for advice? To whom can we appeal for guidance? In a recent post, Ibn ‘Abbad suggested we find ‘a solidly grounded person, in whose heart there is light, and whose attitude is pure and clear.‘ Hazrat Inayat echoes this when he says in the Gayan:
You need not look for a saint or a master:
a wise man is sufficient to guide you on your path.