Some fool begins to chase the shadow, running after it so far that he becomes exhausted,
Not knowing that it is the reflexion of that bird in the air,
not knowing where is the origin of the shadow
He shoots arrows at the shadow;
his quiver is emptied in seeking to shoot it.
The quiver of his life became empty; his life passed in running
hotly in chase of the shadow."
Masnavi, Jalal Ud Din Rumi, Nicholson translation, lines 419-421.
" The quiver of his life became empty." As I am putting on the monkish robes of age, I feel over my shoulder and check my quiver. Are there any arrows left? Have I spent my life chasing shadows? Yes, I fear that we all are guilty of using our life's force in ways that are useless, or even unproductive, but isn't it possible that every now and then I have used my arrows wisely?
A second question is, do I have any arrows left? Is my quiver empty? Unfortunately, I know some who at my age have lost the gleam in the eye, the hand on the throttle and the desire to pick up our bow and make a decisive thrust at life once more. Tis a pity! The sports hero who can no longer throw the ball, the businessperson whose advice is no longer sought, the mother who has lost contact with her grown children, the socially involved who have lost faith in what they have been doing; these are the sad residue of a spent life.
It would be folly to assume that any living man wishes to spend a life shooting arrows at shadows only to end up near the end of life with no fire left in his gut, and yet it is very unclear what we should be aiming at, or where the real target is. What purpose is this life? Is leading the life of an ascetic the way, or is generosity toward my fellow man my goal, is trust in God enough, or should I try to become powerful and use my power to fight for God as I see him.
Should I trust my senses to tell me of life's purpose, or should I search for the spiritual moment that seldom appears? There are more questions than answers, but I have no sense that my quiver is yet empty.
