Soul's Journey

Category: Sufi

  • The Clockmaker’s Secret Room

    The Clockmaker’s Secret Room

    The Clockmaker’s Secret Room

    In a small town, an old clockmaker named Elias made clocks that never rushed and never lagged. Each tick seemed to breathe.

    A child once asked, “Why do your clocks sound like whispers?”

    Elias led him to the back room.

    There was no noise. Just quiet. In the center stood a large, still pendulum.

    “This is where I tune time,” Elias said. “Not with gears—but silence.”

    He continued, “The world rushes. I slow it down.”

    The child sat. Time felt thick, golden. He didn’t want to leave.

    Elias whispered, “Remember: the deepest time keeps no time.”

    Commentary

    This story is a modern parable about reclaiming sacred rhythm. In a world of hyper-speed, the clockmaker restores slowness. Silence becomes the metronome of soul.

    Psychological Reflection

    We live in time-debt—overbooked, overstimulated, over-scheduled. But presence requires soul-time. Elias represents the archetype of the “inner clockkeeper” we all carry.

    Closing Reflection

    • Can I become a clockmaker of my own day today?
    • Where can I carve out 10 sacred minutes of stillness?

  • The Merchant and the Whispering Saint

    The Merchant and the Whispering Saint

    The Merchant and the Whispering Saint

    In a bustling city, a wealthy merchant named Samir had everything: jewels, caravans, servants. Yet he often sighed, feeling strangely unsettled.

    One evening, he passed a quiet alley and saw a dervish (wandering saint) sitting beneath a broken lamp, eyes closed.

    Samir mocked him. “What do you gain from sitting like that?”

    The dervish opened his eyes and said, “I’m listening.”

    “To what?”

    “To what you cannot hear over your coins.”

    That night, Samir couldn’t sleep. The whisper wouldn’t leave him. The next morning, he returned. “Teach me,” he demanded.

    The dervish gave him a bowl of water. “Walk around the market without spilling a drop. That is your first lesson.”

    Samir did so, carefully avoiding every jostle and shout. When he returned, he said, “I heard nothing.”

    “Exactly,” said the saint. “You focused. In silence, the world fell away. Now imagine that… inside.”

    Over weeks, Samir began to visit the dervish daily. He sold some caravans. Closed his shop early. Sat beneath the lamp. He never became poor—but he became rich in silence.

    Commentary

    In Sufi teachings, stillness is the gateway to divine remembrance (zikr). The merchant’s transformation isn’t from riches to rags—but from noise to awareness. The dervish models presence.

    Psychological Reflection

    The story addresses overstimulation and our addiction to busyness. Focus narrows the mind. Deep listening opens the heart. Samir’s discomfort reflects the spiritual thirst beneath modern abundance.

    Closing Reflection

    What am I chasing that keeps me from hearing myself?
    What noise must I quiet to listen inwardly?Coming Soon …..

  • The Reed Flute

    The Reed Flute

    The Reed Flute (Inspired by Rumi)

    “Listen to the reed,” said Jalaluddin Rumi, the great Sufi mystic, “how it complains of separation.”

    Once, a reed grew by the riverbank, swaying with the wind. One day, a flute maker came and cut it. Hollowed it. Burned holes into its body.

    The reed cried in agony, “Why have you broken me?”

    But then, when breath flowed through it — music was born.

    “Now,” the flute maker said, “you do not simply exist. You sing.”

    Rumi would say, “This is the story of the soul. We were cut from the reedbed of the Beloved, and now we long to return.”

    The music of the reed is the cry of remembrance — the ache of union.

    Commentary:

    This is the essential Sufi image: separation creates longing, and longing leads to awakening. The pain of the flute is not punishment, but preparation.

    The soul’s hollowing allows the Divine breath to pass through — creating music only sorrow can birth.

    Psychological Reflection:

    This story touches the wound of origin — our earliest sense of “I am apart.” The work of the soul begins in this ache. When we stop avoiding the longing, it becomes sacred.

    The self is not broken in vain. It is shaped to sing.

    Closing Reflection:

    • What longing lives inside me that I have not honored?
    • What if my ache is the beginning of my song?

    Pause & Reflect:

    🎧 (10 seconds of silence)