Years ago, there was a Sufi shaykh, righteous and holy, who was revered by all. As it happened, an unknown illness took the lives of two of his children. His household, the entire neighborhood, indeed people from far and away mourned this calamity for weeks on end. The only person who never shed a tear was the shaykh himself. Much time passed, but still there were no tears, no signs of mourning. People were perplexed, unable to decipher what had happened to their favorite holy man. At last a devotee gently approached him: “Forgive my intrusion, great shaykh, but we're all in a state of disbelief,” she said sheepishly.
“How can I help you, my dear?” inquired the shaykh, looking up from his reading.
“How can you remain so aloof and unfeeling about the loss of your darling children, while grief over their tragedy has bent our backs in double? You're our leader and master whom we trust intrinsically, and we ultimately hope to find solace in you during our own illness and demise. Why this silence? Don't you feel any pain? Perhaps you've no compassion left in your heart! How can we continue to hope for your guidance in our hour of need?”
On and on she pestered the shaykh, who remained silent, allowing her to speak her mind and relieve herself of the disappointment she felt. When she finally finished, the shaykh gently explained: “My dear girl, don't imagine for a moment that I'm void of compassion and love. I feel empathy even for sinners; I've compassion even for rocks and stones, which can injure people! Even dogs who bite us get my sympathy, and I pray that God may relieve them of this particular foul habit!”
“When you feel such mercy for strangers and offer them guidance like the good shepherd you are, how come you don't mourn the loss of your own children? Tears are a sign of kindness and love, yet your eyes are never moist like ours.”
The shaykh turned his face to the woman and said: “My good woman, let me tell you, winter is not like the summer! Although my children are gone, they're not absent before my heart's eyes; in fact, they're very much alive. When I see them living joyfully like this, how can I scratch my eyes out like you do? They may not be present at this time, but I can see them playing all around me. They cry when they feel the separation between us, but I'm always with them. Some people may see them in their dreams, but I see them while I'm awake. I've let go of the senses and hide myself from the people of this world, and that's how I can observe everyone in silence. Having such a treasure, why should I be shedding tears needlessly?”