A man on his deathbed left instructionsfor dividing up his goods among his three sons.He had devoted his entire spirit to those sons.They stood like cypress trees around him,quiet and strong.He told the town judge,"Whichever of my sons is laziest,give him all the inheritance."Then he died, and the judge turned to the three,"Each of you must give some account of your laziness,so I can understand just how you are lazy."Mystics are experts in laziness. They rely on it,because they continually see God working all around them.The harvest keeps coming in, yet theynever even did the plowing!"Come on. Say something about the ways you are lazy."Every spoken word is a covering for the inner self.A little curtain-flick no wider than a sliceof roast meat can reveal hundreds of exploding suns.Even if what is being said is trivial and wrong,the listener hears the source. One breeze comesfrom across a garden. Another from across the ash-heap.Think how different the voices of the foxand the lion, and what they tell you!Hearing someone is lifting the lid off the cooking pot.You learn what's for supper. Though some peoplecan know just by the smell, a sweet stewfrom a sour soup cooked with vinegar.A man taps a clay pot before he buys itto know by the sound if it has a crack.The eldest of the three brothers told the judge."I can know a man by his voice,and if he won't speak,I wait three days, and then I know him intuitively."The second brother, "I know him when he speaks,and if he won't talk, I strike up a conversation.""But what if he knows that trick?" asked the judge.Which reminds me of the mother who tells her child,"When you are walking through the graveyard at nightand you see a boogeyman, run at it,and it will go away.""But what," replies the child, "if the boogeyman'smother has told it to do the same thing?Boogeymen have mothers too."The second brother had no answer.The judge then asked the youngest brother,What if a man cannot be made to say anything?How do you learn his hidden nature?""I sit in front of him in silence,and set up a ladder made of patience,and if in his presence a language from beyond joyand beyond grief begins to pour from my chest,I know that his soul is as deep and brightas the star Canopus rising over Yemen.
And so when I start speaking a powerful right armof words sweeping down, I know him from what I say,and how I say it, because there's a window openbetween us, mixing the night air of our beings."The youngest was, obviously,the laziest. He won.
–RumiColeman Barks version