M6:765 — کل آت آت آن را نقد دان / دوست را در نزع و اندر فقد دان

Translation: Whatever is coming, consider it already present; regard your friend always in the throes of death and in absence. Meaning: This verse urges a constant awareness of death and the transience of loved ones, encouraging one to live not in heedlessness, but with the understanding of the world's impermanence.

I have repeatedly emphasized that Mowlana is a poet who views the world from a profound and singular perspective. In this verse, he invites us to a worldview deeply rooted in ancient wisdom and Islamic teachings. The phrase kol āt āt (كل آت آت), meaning 'whatever is coming, consider it already arrived,' appears in classical Persian literature and, as I have mentioned before, finds a parallel in Nahj al-Balagha of Imam Ali. This implies that a certain future, being inevitable, is effectively no different from the present. Mowlana immediately links this wisdom to death: consider death as naqd (cash, present). Not something to be recalled in a distant future, but a coin already in your hand.

This perspective extends to our friends and loved ones. Dust rā dar naz' o andar faqd dān (دوست را در نزع و اندر فقد دان). Naz' (نزع) signifies 'pulling' or 'extraction,' but in mystical and theological contexts, it refers to the throes of death, the stage just before demise. Faqd (فقد) means absence or loss. Mowlana thus advises us to always see our friends as being in the process of dying, departing, and being lost. This is not for pessimism, but for purification. Because we are heedless of death, grudges, envy, and malice take root in our hearts. But if we realize that we and others are all 'mortal' and constantly 'dying,' what benefit do these worldly aims hold? What good is envy if I know tomorrow neither I nor the object of my envy will exist? This illusion of immortality is one of the pillars of human vices.

This insight arises from a battle against heedlessness. If you view the world through this lens, the shoots of admonition (ʿebrat) and compassion (rahmat) will grow in your heart. You will learn that all things are transient, and compassion will take root, knowing that none of you are everlasting. This is how malice and hatred are eradicated. Why should I envy someone when I know that tomorrow neither I nor they will be here? This illusion of immortality is one of the pillars of human vices. In tradition, we have: ṣallī ṣalāta mawaddīʿ lā tazunn annaka turīd an lā tarjiʿa ilayhā abadā (صَلِّ صَلاةَ مُوَدِّعٍ لَا تَظُنُّ اَنَّكَ تُرِیدُ اَنْ لَا تَرْجِعَ اِلَيْهَا اَبَداً) – pray as if it is your last prayer, as if you will never return to it. This 'death-awareness' must overshadow every moment of our lives.

Mowlana even goes further, considering this perspective an antidote to boundless sorrow. If you look at relatives with this intention, when they pass away, your heart will not 'burn' so much – and I believe this nasuzad (نسوزد, 'may not burn') is more accurate than basuzad (بسوزد, 'may burn'), or at least carries a more fitting meaning – because they were already constantly dying, and this was merely their final death, not the end of their existence. This insight entirely transforms one's worldview: we have not come to stay, but to 'depart'. It is a 'departure,' not 'death' in the sense of annihilation. We are guests in this world, and a guest must eventually journey on.

Mowlana's 'death-thinking' is fundamentally different from that of Heidegger or other existentialist philosophers. In Mowlana's worldview, death is not an absolute end, but a passage from one world to another, and the 'friend' is never entirely annihilated. This awareness is not meant to create despair, but to sever attachments to transient things and liberate oneself from worldly bonds. If worldly aims, desires, and corruptions obstruct this vision, they must be cast away, like something held in one's pocket and discarded. If someone is unable to do so, Mowlana calls them to deeper contemplation: war nayārī, khushk bar ʿajzī mīst / zānke bā ʿājiz gozīda moʿjezī ast (ور نیاری، خشک بر عجزی میست / زانکه با عاجز گزیده معجزی است). Meaning, do not say 'I cannot,' but rather in this very helplessness, seek the 'one who renders helpless' (ʿājizkonanda); that Other who has imposed this inability upon you. ʿAjz zanjīrī ast, zanjīrat nehād / cheshm dar zanjīr-neh bāyad goshād (عجز زنجیری است، زنجیرت نهاد / چشم در زنجیرنه باید گشاد) – 'Helplessness is a chain, someone has placed this chain on your foot; you must open your eyes to see the one who chained you.' This itself is an invitation to self-knowledge and to recognize the hidden power that dominates our will.

Key takeaways

• Consider death as ever-present and immediate, not a distant future event.
• View loved ones as perpetually in transition and potential absence to purify your heart from malice and envy.
• Heedlessness of death is the root of many moral vices.
• This insight moderates the sorrow of separation and transforms one's outlook on life.
• We are guests in this world, meant to depart, not to stay.
• Inability to grasp this truth is an invitation to recognize God's hidden power.