The Wizard Lyrics

Song Lyrics on Allspirit

Uriah Heep

From the Album Demons And Wizards

He was the wizard
Of a thousand kings
And I chanced to meet him
One night wandering
He told me tales
And he drank my wine
Me and my magic man
Kinda feeling fine

He had a cloak of gold
And eyes of fire
And as he spoke
I felt a deep desire
To free the world
Of its fear and pain
And help the people
To feel free again

Why don’t we listen to
The voices in our hearts
cause then I know wed find
Were not so far apart
Everybody’s got to be happy
Everyone should sing
For we know the joy of life
The peace that love can bring

So spoke the wizard
In his mountain home
The vision of his wisdom
Means well never be alone
And I will dream of my magic night
And a million silver stars
That guide me with their light

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Desire and the Importance of Failing

By Rumi

A window opens.
A curtain pulls back.

The lamp of lovers connect,
not at their ceramic bases,
but in their lightedness.

No lover wants union with the Beloved
without the Beloved also wanting the lover.

Love makes the lover weak,
while the Beloved gets strong.

Lightning from here strikes there.
When you begin to love God, God
is loving you. A clapping sound
does not come from one hand.

A thirsty man calls out, ‘Delicious water,
where are you?’ while the water moans,
‘Where is the water drinker?’

The thirst in our souls is the attraction
put out by the Water itself.

We belong to It,
and It to us.

God’s wisdom made us lovers of one another.
In fact, all the particles of the world
are in love and looking for lovers.

Pieces of straw tremble
in the presence of amber.

We tremble like iron filings
welcoming the magnet.

Whatever that Presence gives us
we take in. Earth signs feed.
Water signs wash and freshen.
Air signs clear the atmosphere.
Fire signs jiggle the skillet,
so we cook without getting burnt.

And the Holy Spirit helps with everything,
like a young man trying to support a family.
We, like the man’s young wife, stay home,
taking care of the house, nursing the children.

Spirit and matter work together like this,
in a division of labor.

Sweethearts kiss and taste the delight
before they slip into bed and mate.

The desire of each lover is
that the work of the other be perfected.
By this man-and-woman cooperation,
the world gets preserved.
Generation occurs.

Roses and blue arghawan flowers flower.
Night and day meet in a mutual hug.

So different, but they do love each other,
the day and the night, like family.

And without their mutual alternation
we would have no energy.

Every part of the cosmos is draws toward its mate.
The ground keeps talking to the body,
saying, ‘Come back! It’s better for you
down here where you came from.’

The streamwater calls to the moisture in the body.
The fiery aether whispers to the body’s heat,
‘I am your origin. Come with me.’
Seventy-two diseases are caused
by the various elements pulling inside the body.
Disease comes, and the organs
fall out of harmony.

We’re like four different birds,
that each had one leg tied in
with the other birds.

A flopping bouguet of birds!
Death releases the binding, and they fly off,
but before that, their pulling is our pain.

Consider how the soul must be,
in the midst of these tensions,
feeling its own exalted pull.

My longing is more profound.
The birds want sweet green herbs
and the water running by.

I want the infinite! I want wisdom.
These birds want orchards and meadows
and vines with fruit on them.

I want a vast expansion.
They want profit and security
of having enough food.

Remember what the soul wants,
because in that, eternity
is wanting our souls!

Which is the meaning of the text,
They love That, and That loves them.

If I keep on explaining this,
the Mathnawi will run to eighty volumes!

The gist is: whatever anyone seeks,
that is seeking the seeker.

No matter if its animal,
or vegetable, or mineral.

Every bit of the universe
is filled with wanting,
and whatever any bit wants,
wants the wanter!

This subject must dissolve again.

Back to Sadri Jahan and the uneducated peasant
who loved him, so that gradually Sadri Jahan
loved the lowly man. But who really
attracted who, whoom, Huuuu?

Don’t be presumptuous and say one or the other.
Close your lips. The mystery of loving
is God’s sweetest secret.

Keep it. Bury it. Leave it here
where I leave it, drawn as I am
by the pull of the Puller
to something else.

You know how it is. Sometimes
we plan a trip to one place,
but something takes us to another.

When a horse is being broken, the trainer
pulls it in many different directions,
so the horse will come to know
what it is to be ridden.

The most beautiful and alert horse is one
completely attuned to the rider.

God fixes a passionate desire in you,
and then disappoints you.
God does that a hundred times!

God breaks the wings of one intention
and then gives you another,
cuts the rope of contriving,
so you’ll remember your dependence.

But sometimes your plans work out!
You feel fulfilled and in control.

That’s because, if you were always failing,
you might give up. But remember,
it is by failures that lovers
stay aware of how they are loved.

Failure is the key
to the kingdom within.

Your prayer should be, “Break the legs
of what I want to happen. Humiliate
my desire. Eat me like candy.
It’s spring and finally
I have no will.”

(Mathnawi, III, 4391 – 4472)

From: Feeling the Shoulder of the Lion
Translated by Coleman Barks

Read more poems from Rumi

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Silence

By Edgar Lee Masters

I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
And the silence of the city when it pauses,
And the silence of a man and a maid,
And the silence for which music alone finds the word,
And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin,
And the silence of the sick
When their eyes roam about the room.
And I ask: For the depths
Of what use is language?
A beast of the field moans a few times
When death takes its young
And we are voiceless in the presence of realities —
We cannot speak.

A curious boy asks an old soldier
Sitting in front of the grocery store,
“How did you lose your leg?”
And the old soldier is struck with silence,
Or his mind flies away
Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg.
It comes back jocosely
And he says, “A bear bit it off.”
And the boy wonders, while the old soldier
Dumbly, feebly lives over
The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,
The shrieks of the slain,
And himself lying on the ground,
And the hospital surgeons, the knives,
And the long days in bed.
But if he could describe it all
He would be an artist.
But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds
Which he could not describe.

There is the silence of a great hatred,
And the silence of a great love,
And the silence of a deep peace of mind,
And the silence of an embittered friendship,
There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,
Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,
Comes with visions not to be uttered
Into a realm of higher life.
And the silence of the gods who understand each other
without speech,
There is the silence of defeat.
There is the silence of those unjustly punished;
And the silence of the dying whose hand
Suddenly grips yours.
There is the silence between father and son,
When the father cannot explain his life,
Even though he be misunderstood for it.

There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
There is the silence of those who have failed;
And the vast silence that covers
Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
There is the silence of Lincoln,
Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon
After Waterloo.
And the silence of Jeanne d’Arc
Saying amid the flames, “Blessed Jesus” —
Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,
Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.

And there is the silence of the dead.
If we who are in life cannot speak
Of profound experiences,
Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?
Their silence shall be interpreted
As we approach them.

 

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A Visit From Wisdom

Kahlil Gibran

In the stillness of night Wisdom came and stood
by my bed. She gazed upon me like a tender mother
and wiped away my tears, and said : “I have heard
the cry of your spirit and I am come to comfort it.
Open your heart to me and I shall fill it with light.
Ask of me and I shall show you the way of truth.”

And I said : “Who am I, Wisdom, and how came
I to this frightening place? What manner of things
are these mighty hopes and these many books and
strange patterns ? What are these thoughts that pass
as doves in flight? And these words composed by
desire and sung by delight, what are they? What are
these conclusions, grievous and joyous, that embrace
my spirit and envelop my heart? And those
eyes which look at me seeing into my depths and
fleeing from my sorrows ? And those voices mourning
my days and chanting my littleness, what are they ?

“What is this youth that plays with my desires
and mocks at my longings, forgetful of yesterday’s
deeds, rejoicing in paltry things of the moment,
scornful of the morrow’s coming?

“What is this world that leads me whither I know
not, standing with me in despising? And this earth
that opens wide its mouth to swallow bodies and
lets evil things to dwell on its breast? What is this
creature that is satisfied with the love of fortune,
whilst beyond its union is the pit? Who seeks Life’s
kiss whilst Death does smite him, and brings the
pleasure of a minute with a year of repentance, and
gives himself to slumber the while dreams call him?
What is he who flows with the rivers of folly to the
sea of darkness? O Wisdom, what manner of things
are these?”

And she answered, saying :
“You would see, human creature, this world
through the eyes of a god. And you would seek to
know the secrets of the hereafter with the thinking
of men. Yet in truth is this the height of folly.
“Go you to the wild places and you shall find
there the bee above the flowers and behold the eagle
swooping down on his prey. Go you into your neighbor’s
house and see then the child blinking at the
firelight and his mother busied at her household
tasks. Be you like the bee and spend not the days of
spring looking on the eagle’s doing. Be as the child
and rejoice in the firelight and heed not your mother’s
affairs. All that you see with your eyes was and
is for your sake.

“The many books and the strange patterns and
beautiful thoughts are the shades of those spirits
that came ere you were come. The words that you
do weave are a bond between you and your brothers.
The conclusions, grievous and joyous, are the
seeds that the past did scatter in the field of the
spirit to be reaped by the future. That youth who
plays with your desires is he who will open the door
of your heart to let enter the light. This earth with
the ever open mouth is the savior of your spirit from
the body’s slavery. This world which walks with
you is your heart; and your heart is all that you
think that world. This creature whom you see as
ignorant and small is the same who has come from
God’s side to learn pity through sadness, and knowledge
by way of darkness.”

Then Wisdom put her hand on my burning brow
and said :
“Go then forward and do not tarry, for before
walks perfection. Go, and have not fear of thorns
on the path, for they deem naught lawful save corrupted blood.”

Read more  Kahlil Gibran poems

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