M6:1190 — کور بر اشکم رونده هم‌چو مار / چشمها بگشاد در باغ و بهار

Translation: The one who crawled blindly on its belly, like a snake, Opened its eyes in a garden and spring. Meaning: This verse describes a radical spiritual transformation where someone previously blind and ignorant suddenly gains insight, finding themselves in a world of beauty and vibrant life.

This verse explicitly speaks to a sudden and fundamental transformation in human perception and insight. In the story of Hilal, who changes from a "polluted dog" to a fierce "lion," Rumi explains this astonishing metamorphosis through various allegories. A snake, which has been blind and crawling on the earth since birth, suddenly opens its eyes and finds itself not in dark, dreary soil, but in a lush, blossoming garden and spring. This is, without doubt, a quantum leap in mystical experience. Let me be clearer: the discussion here is not about gradual growth or step-by-step progress. The mystic, sometimes through divine grace or a sudden unveiling, is catapulted from one world into another. This blind, crawling snake is an allegory for the human soul dwelling in heedlessness and veiledness, clinging only to the superficial, earthy layer of existence. It lacks the necessary insight to perceive hidden beauties and the profound meaning of life. But what does "Opened its eyes in a garden and spring" signify? It means that the veil has been lifted from its inner sight, and truths have been revealed to it that were previously hidden. It now sees a world that has always been there, but it was blind to it. This transformation is precisely the transition from chūnī (beingness, form) to bī-chūnī (formlessness) that Rumi repeatedly emphasizes. Chūnī refers to the world of forms, of limitations and determinations, a world where "we are like mountains, and the echo within us is from You"—meaning we are merely reflections. But bī-chūnī signifies liberation from these constraints, an entry into an infinite, boundless space where the human being itself becomes a source of grace and light. The snake, as long as it is blind, is bound by its chūnī, that is, its snake-like form and crawling movement. But when it opens its eyes and sees the garden, it is freed from the confines of that limited chūnī and enters the expanse of bī-chūnī of perception. Here, Rumi tells us through the language of poetry how true gnosis is attained not by accumulating information, but by a change in ontological status. This snake does not gain sight through theory and philosophy, but through an inner "unveiling" (gushāyish) it comes to light. Just as the contemporary philosopher Thomas Nagel, in his discussion of consciousness, points out that the experience of "being a bat" cannot be understood solely by the physics of the brain, Rumi also says that the "garden and spring" cannot be heard through description, but must be "seen with open eyes." This is an invitation to direct, unmediated experience, not abstract comprehension. This insight is the formless perception in which the human soul finds itself as an boundless ocean, not a drop confined in dry earth.

Key takeaways

• Inner transformation can be sudden and radical, not always gradual and step-by-step.
• The blind snake symbolizes the human soul in heedlessness, clinging to superficial realities.
• Opening eyes in a garden signifies the unveiling of hidden truths and entry into a realm of insight.
• This transformation is a transition from the world of forms and limitations (chūnī) to the boundless realm of pure perception (bī-chūnī).
• True gnosis is achieved through an ontological shift and direct experience, not merely through abstract knowledge.