Flying Together: The Conference of the Birds by Farid ud Din Attar

“These lofty words are an antidote for anyone sickened by extremism’s poison.” Farid ud Din Attar, translation by Sholeh Wolpé

The Conference of the Birds is an epic poem from the 12th century written by Sufi poet Farid ud Din Attar. The poem tells the story of a group of birds and an arduous journey to find a mysterious king. Renowned for its depth and beauty, the Conference of the Birds is an allegorical teaching about the spiritual path to self-realization that offers insight into the communal nature of a solitary quest. 

Transcript

Hello and welcome to Myth Matters an exploration at the intersection of mythology, creativity and consciousness. I’m your host Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide beautiful crazy world of ours, I’m glad that you decided to join me here today.

Birds!
Look at the troubles happening in our world!
Anarchy — discontent — upheaval!
Desperate fights over territory, water, and food!
Poisoned air! Unhappiness!
I fear we are lost. We must do something!
I've seen the world. I know many secrets.
Listen to me: I know of a king who has all the answers.
We must go and find him.

----from The Conference of the Birds, translated by Peter Sis

So begins the story of the Conference of the Birds, as translated from the Persian by Peter Sis. The Conference of the Birds, also known as the Language, Speech, or Parliament of the Birds, is an epic poem written by the Sufi mystic Farid ud Din Attar in the 12th century. Attar lived about 200 years before Rumi. His poetry and practice inspired Rumi, who said, “Attar is the soul itself.” 

The poem tells the story of a group of birds and an arduous journey to find a mysterious king. Renowned for its depth and beauty, the Conference of the Birds is an allegorical teaching about the spiritual path to self-realization. 

"Self-realization," to be fully yourself, to know yourself, requires knowledge of the truth. The truth of who and/or what you are-- as a personality and a human, as soul, as spirit. As an individual and as part of the cosmic unity or the divine Oneness, united with the Beloved, as the Sufi say. 

I've worked with this story a number of times and shared it in a couple of episodes over the years. There is something new in it every time. The poem continues to reveal new dimensions and to show me aspects of my being, which is the purpose of the poem.

I want to tell you this story today. The Conference of the Birds has been told and translated many times over the years. In developing my version, the one that I’m going to share with you, I consulted several translations of the poem. I’ll provide info and links in the transcript of this episode so you can find them if you like. 

Now, let me tell you this gorgeous story. Simply relax and listen, and let yourself enter the story. Note the details that call to you or the questions that arise. They are clues to your journey and the place this story occupies in your life right now. In the words of the poet: 

"My friends! We are neighbors of one another; I wish to repeat my discourse to you day and night, so that you should not cease for a moment to long to set out in quest of Truth." (Invocation pg 7, C.S. Nott translation from the French, Shambala Publications 1971).

The Conference of the Birds

All of the birds of the world came together to discuss their need for a king. The Parrot and the Partridge, the Falcon, Quail, and Nightingale were there. The Peacock, Pheasant, Turtle-dove, Hummingbird, and Pigeon came. So did the Falcon, the Goldfinch, the Sparrow, the Heron, and the Hoopoe with a fanlike crest on her head. 

The birds looked at each other and said, “Every country in the world has a king so, why are we without one? We have many problems and confusion. A king would bring order and organization.” Some wondered if kings were actually a source of problems. "We've had enough of kings," they said. "What is the use of another king?" But before long the assembly settled on the need for such a leader. The birds began to speculate about where to find a king and how to attract him to lead them. 

The Hoopoe listened for a while. Then she stood up and said, “The world is full of trouble. I agree that we need a king. I have traveled the world in service to King Solomon and seen many things. I have studied and uncovered a great secret. We have a king, a true king who has the answers that we need. Our leader is called Simurgh, the Great Bird. The Great Bird lives on Mt. Kaf, in the mountain range that wraps around the earth. Our king is as close to us as we are far from him. Let us go at once to find the Great Bird. I know where to look.”

The birds were not convinced by the Hoopoe’s certainty or claims. Some thought that any king who lived far away was unlikely to understand the local conditions. Others thought such a king would be widely known so, why were they only now receiving the news? “How do we know this king exists,” asked one of the birds. This question made its way through the crowd.

“There is proof,” said the Hoopoe. “See here is a drawing of one of the Great Bird’s magic feathers. It felt to the earth in China, late one moonless night, and those who found it knew immediately that it was something very special. Those who found it recorded the occurrence and I have brought this drawing to share with you.”

Now the birds got excited at the prospect of having the Great Bird as king. They rose up impatient to be on the wing, but then they started thinking about the journey. They were aware of Mt. Kaf and the mountains that wrapped around the earth. They knew this was going to be a very long and difficult quest. Many had their doubts and fears about the endeavor. They were reluctant to give up their comforts. Suddenly their present situation didn’t seem quite so bad. 

“I am a very passionate bird,” said the Nightingale, "with a deep knowledge of the mysteries of love. My soul is invaded daily by love. I sing of nothing else. I sit in my beloved rose bush, whose beauty, fragrance, and sweetness are unsurpassed, and compose new love songs all day to the splendor of the rose. What greater bliss could I find? The love of a rose is enough. You better go without me.” “Those blooms are fleeting,” said the Hoopoe, “and what about the thorns?”

“I already have a passionate quest as well,” said the Partridge. “I sleep on stones and swallow gravel, searching for precious jewels. To yearn for something other than a jewel, to desire what dies, is foolish. My sorrows are many but I have no wish to fly. I’ll discover the precious gems that I seek here or die trying.” “It seems these hard gems have hardened your heart," said the Hoopoe. “What are jewels but colored stones, much like pebbles?” 

Duck said, “I am happy in water! All that lives depends on pure water and it is my home, my sanctuary, my sole concern. I already have it all. Why should I leave it to cross dry earth?” “You say that you value pure water but is your life as pure?” asked the Hoopoe. “There is plenty of water where we are going.”

“I also love water,” said the Heron. “I am devoted to the sea. I can’t imagine leaving it, even though it is so salty that I cannot drink a single drop of it. I must stay along the lonely shore.” “The character of your beloved sea changes by the moment,” said the Hoopoe, “The calm never lasts. Do you think it can return your loyalty?”

Falcon said, “I already have a master and am well trained to do important work. My eyes are hooded but I perch on my sovereign’s wrist and we share the joys of the hunt. I’m not sure that I need another king, even if he is the Great Bird.” “Your king is not a true king,” said the Hoopoe, “only a man with a crown who thinks that he rules. If you like following orders then follow me and see if what you have is enough.”

Sparrow came forward, trembling in her feathers. “I am small and frail,” she said, “I lack the strength for such an arduous journey. I don’t want to begin something that I know I cannot finish and what you propose is beyond the ability of a little bird like me.” “Do you always quit before you begin?” asked the Hoopoe.

Like Sparrow, Finch claimed to be too weak. Parrot said that he felt safe at home, where food and water were regularly provided for him in exchange for a few words. “I am in a cage,” he admitted, “but my routine is secure.” Peacock said that he had no need of adventure or self-improvement because he was already special enough. “Look at my colors,” he boasted and spread his glorious tail. “Come show your colors to the rest of the world,” the Hoopoe said, “and expand your bird brain.” 

The Hoopoe had an answer to every question and obstacle the birds proposed but they were still hesitant. “How can you let petty problems and fear stand in your way?” the Hoopoe asked. “Well, you have to admit,” the birds said, “that we ae are a flimsy crew. Just look at us! Success in this quest would be a miracle.” 

The journey will require a lion’s heart,” said the Hoopoe, “You are bigger and stronger than you know.”

“You understand more about this Great Bird than we do,” they said. “Maybe it would be easier for us to commit if we had a better sense of our relationship to the king. How do we know the Great Bird will agree to be our king?” “You want to know the outcome of the journey before you even take to the sky,” said the Hoopoe, “and that's impossible. But I can tell you this, the Great Bird cast a thousand shadows on his first flight across the earth and these shadows became every type of bird. If you look into your heart, you will see this image.”

This revelation inspired the birds and they decided to follow the Hoopoe on the quest for the Great Bird. When they took flight there were so many birds in the sky that they filled every corner of the world. The words of the Hoopoe gave them a sense of the ancient mysteries and the nature of their king. Still, their fears were not completely put to rest. “We are weak and feeble,” they said to the Hoopoe, “concerned about food and water and rest and the length of the journey ahead. What will sustain us?” “Love loves difficult things” said the Hoopoe, and led them up above the clouds.

The birds followed the Hoopoe. Still, they continued to make excuses to her and pass them among themselves. I am too weak, too full of faults, too ruled by my bodily desires some said. Too vain, too greedy. Addicted to pleasure and comfort, devoted to my mate. Afraid of death. Too cynical, too depressed. “How much farther do we have to go?” they asked the Hoopoe. “Will there be food there? What if the Great Bird is not there? What if he doesn’t want to be our king?”

They flew. After a while, some of the birds started to feel strong and determined and sure about their ability to succeed. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” said one, “but I am very spiritual. I am very dedicated to personal growth and quite aware. I am familiar with lack, just and good, with a steady practice and some measure of wisdom already.” The Hoopoe listened to these confident birds and said, “There is no substitute for the journey. No preparation or lack thereof is a guarantee of success or failure. Fly on.”

Some of the birds spoke of weakness or illness, and complained of bad luck. “My life has been misery since I was born. Nothing has gone my way, not the simplest plan has been realized and yet here I am,” said one of them. “What vain hope to think that I’ll make it.” “Do you think that you’re the only who suffers, struggles, and is disappointed?” the Hoopoe asked. “Are you that special? Troubles are part of every life. What differs is the attitude with which pain is met.”

The birds flapped, fluttered, and soared, casting huge shadows on the earth below. “You said the journey is long and arduous,” they said to the Hoopoe. “Can you tell us anything else?” 

“We have seven valleys to cross before we reach Mt. Kaf and the Great Bird,” answered the Hoopoe. “Every one of the valleys will pose its own challenges. No one who has ever crossed them all has returned to the world.” The Hoopoe told them about the seven valleys. When some of the birds heard what was ahead, they died right there and fell from the sky. But many continued.

The first valley was the Valley of the Quest. Here the seeker must learn that only the quest matters. Everything that you hold dear must be abandoned and left behind, all obsessions and dogmas surrendered to emptiness. Great efforts must be made. The process can take years. When you have crossed the Valley of the Quest, all belief and unbelief is gone.

"The obsessive bird, sifting earth through a sieve, says, I'm trying to find my way so I must look everywhere. "When you feel empty, the Hoopoe said, "you have to open up your heart and let the wind sweep through it." (Peter Sis adaptation, Penguin Press 2011).

The birds reached this valley and settled in for the night. At dawn they rose to fly.

The second valley was the Valley of Love. Here the seeker must abandon all reason and rationales, and become one with the burning fire that is love. The love that lifts you up and pulls you down. The love that consumes all it engulfs. If you stay lukewarm, doubtful, and uncommitted, you will never know or speak that love language. If you look at things with the ordinary eyes of reason, you will never understand the necessity of love.

When darkness fell, some of the birds quietly slipped away rather than cross the Valley of Love.

The third valley was the Valley of Understanding. Here the birds were confused and lost. There were so many possible paths. One for each pilgrim who is meant to follow it. Here each must choose a different way and different rules to disobey. The path evolves as you evolve. No bird can ever know the secret route traveled by another. Worldly knowledge was useless here.

Those who crossed discovered that true knowledge comes to those who can stay awake. And when insight arrives, don’t rest there. Fly on.

There was no time now, no beginning or end. Only flying.

The fourth valley was the Valley of Detachment. Here curiosity and desire fade away. There is no desire to possess or wish to discover. Nothing old or new has value. Good and bad have no meaning. A tiny fish is mightier than a whale. The solid earth is shifting grains of sand. You can act or not.

“Don’t even think of stopping here birds,” said the Hoopoe.

The fifth valley was the Valley of Unity. Each and every thing was broken into pieces and then revealed to be whole. Duality disappeared. Although there seem to be many beings, there is only one. One being and one fate. One neck bound by one collar.

Many birds had given up or dropped from the sky. Exhausted, those who remained kept flying.

The sixth valley was the Valley of Astonishment and Bewilderment. The birds were overcome by sadness and despair at the unanswerable questions of existence. Do I exist? What is real? Is the pain real? You doubt what you remember, where you’ve been, and the purpose of your quest. You doubt your doubt. The heart becomes empty and yet full of love. Is there anything other than the fullness, or the emptiness, of love? 

When the birds flew over this valley it disappeared below them. One of the birds said, “We should go back.” “There is no such thing as ‘back,’” said the Hoopoe, “there is only a circle.” She reminded them of the Phoenix, who sets herself on fire and rises weeping, born again from her own ashes. Over and over again.

The seventh valley was the Valley of Deprivation and Death. The essence of this valley is forgetfulness, and what is forgotten is your specific existence. Whoever becomes a drop in the immense ocean of being understands the paradox of existence and non-existence. There is nothing here. Nothing but the mystery, and who can describe it?

Think of the moth, drawn to the flame. The moth that comes close enough to see the light can tell others what he has seen. The moth that draws close enough to the candle to feel the heat can tell her story. But the moth that embraces the flame and unites with it, intoxicated with love, understands but can tell no one.

There can be no description of all that the birds suffered. Many abandoned the quest or fell along the way, beaten by hunger, thirst, exhaustion, or fear. Those that remained rejoiced when they reached the end of the seventh valley. “Where is that king with all the answers,” they said, “We’ve crossed the seven valleys so let us see him.”

“What valleys?” said the Hoopoe. “Those were illusions my friends. Now our quest begins.” When they heard this, some birds lost all hope and died. Some kept flying.

Mt. Kaf appeared in the distance. The group was small now. Only thirty birds, exhausted and broken. They flew empty of intention, will, or mind and reached the mountain at last. A door opened in the mountain and a voice said “Birds, who are you and why have you come?” “We have come to acknowledge the Great Bird as our King,” they replied. “We have come a long way and suffered from heat and cold, hunger and thirst, fear and exhaustion. We’ve fallen ill or been preyed upon by wild beasts. Many multitudes of us have fallen. Of thousands upon thousands, only thirty of us remain. Surely the Great Bird will greet us with kindness.” 

“You are nothing but a handful of earth,” said the voice, “This king that you seek governs in a glory that you can’t conceive. Go back to wherever you came from.”

The birds were astonished by this dismissal. Would they despair? Grief engulfed the ragged group but love made them strong and unafraid. They stood together at the threshold. After a time they said, “We want nothing other than to know our king. Even his insults are better than the life we once had. How can a moth save itself from the flame when its sole desire is to be one with that fire? The moth knows that it cannot penetrate the flame. Simply to reach it is enough, and so it is with us. We are here and nothing else matters.”  

Now the veil of clouds parted and the birds were bathed in celestial light. They saw a bright, shining mirror. Was it a reflective lake? Was that the face of Simurgh, the Great Bird? They looked closer. They saw themselves. The birds were startled, astonished. Then came the wisdom beyond words. Simorgh, the name of the Great Bird, is “si morgh,” Persian for “thirty birds.” 

When you see the face of the Beloved, you will always see yourself. 

The end of The Conference of the Birds.

When the birds first gathered and the Hoopoe stepped up to encourage the journey to the Simorgh, did you know or suspect, how the story would end? Did you know they were going to be called to move beyond what we would call “the ego’s confines?” I didn't the first time that I read this story. I thought there might actually be a king, although I wondered what such a king was going to have to offer. Or maybe "king" is a metaphor for the absolute mystery.

And it is, as I understand it.  We find out that we are the king. Our own king. How this can be despite the many contradictions and paradoxes presented to the logical mind is the mystical revelation of the mystery.

There a couple of details in the story that have me thinking. One is the fact that thirty birds manage to complete the journey to Mt Kaf and meet the Great Bird.  It's reasonable to imagine, isn't it, that only the Hoopoe bird will make it? The Hoopoe has knowledge the others don't possess and initiates the trip. The Hoopoe is committed to the journey although she has some awareness of what it will entail. Some of the birds die when they hear about the seven valleys! The Hoopoe knows and not only flies to the edges of the earth, she acts as a guide, teacher, and support to the other birds. The Hoopoe has what it takes but as for the others...

We have many stories of the solitary quest and the solo quester, the one who makes the journey alone. The story of Siddhartha, the Buddha, comes to mind. This is another description of the path to self-realization and in this case, the Buddha ends up alone under the Bodhi tree. He undergoes a similar struggle with body and mind, with needs and attachments, fears and desires, doubts and fantasies. He must make these conscious, understand them, and let them go. You might have heard echoes of the Buddha's story in the poem's language of love and emptiness, which are words associated with enlightenment.

In one important sense, each of the thirty birds, like Buddha, was on a solitary quest. We experience life through our individual subjectivity, seeing, feeling, making meaning all in a way that is unique and can't be fully known or shared with another. At the same time, the birds travel as a group, in company. And thirty birds meet the Simorgh and grasp the truth.

What might be the significance of this? There is the Persian word play of course; what first appears to be the name of someone is revealed to be two words, the number "30" and the noun "birds." Is this simply clever, or is it a clue?

I'm reminded of something the Hoopoe says in the early stages of the journey. The birds ask her about their relationship to the King and she replies "The Great Bird cast a thousand shadows on his first flight across the earth and these shadows became every type of bird. If you look into your heart, you will see this image.”

Thirty birds. Thirty different types of birds. Different birds with different appearance, character, and habit. Different strengths and different weaknesses. We are the birds of course.

The image of the flock of birds beings to mind the Zen Buddhist image/phrase "the world of ten thousand things," a reference to the mystery of the underlying unity expressed through a multitude of different beings, and the presence of that divinity or shared essence in every thing. I often think of the body-- every organ, every strand of hair, every cell is unique and yet they are one body.

Profound. And I think there's more to contemplate. In the Valley of Understanding, the birds learn that there is not one path to the truth. There is not one right way to reach the Great Bird. The quest for self-realization is not meant for one particular type of person. Each of us begins where we are, as we are, warts and all, and our path evolves as we evolve. And this diversity in the group is a strength, which suggest that diversity is key to completion and to the perfection of the truth.

Which leads me to the second detail that jumped out for me. According to one translation, one way of grasping the task of finding your own path in the Valley of Understanding is to learn which rules you should disobey. For me, this highlights the need to question the rules that we inherit from our society, especially the unspoken rules that support cultural values that don't align with us.

I'm also thinking about the way that rules or principles are chosen, and the common tendency to adhere to what is easy, to lay down rules for ourselves that are self-serving. Sometimes, the rules that we need to disobey originate in aspects of the self that resist the call to a spiritual journey. Even if they appear on the surface, to be spiritual or religious or ethical rules.

Each of the thirty birds is an individual and yet they share important qualities, essential to their success. The phrase "birds of feather flock together" comes it mind. Sufism places an emphasis on fellowship and worthy teachers or guides. We travel through life with others at a similar level of development so, it's important to look for people who understand you and share your aspirations, and to choose good and worthy teachers or guides. 

We are meant to lift each other up. We are meant to fly together toward the truth.

I have Rumi poem before we part ways. First, a big welcome to new email subscribers:  Esther, Giulia, Susan, Celeste, Clare, Lucia, Stacy,  Jane, Susan, Gursharn, Meriam, Claire, Travis, Mun Ying,  Laura, Antje, Joan, Jana, Hadley, Edward, and Joyce. Welcome!

If you're new to Myth Matters, I invite you to head over to the Mythic Mojo website. You'll find a transcript of this episode, information about mythic mentorship and creativity coaching that I offer. And you can also join the email list if you'd like to receive links to new Myth Matters episodes in your inbox.

I can keep creating Myth Matters for you because I have some financial support  from amazing Patreon patrons and supporters on Bandcamp. A big shout out of thanks to new patrons Lydia, Sarah, Julia, Kelsey, and Jane. Thank you! If you're finding something of value in this podcast and can afford to send a few dollars a month my way, I hope you will consider doing that. Thank you so much for your support of Myth Matters in whatever form makes sense for you. 

"Sublime Generosity" by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I was dead, then alive. 
Weeping, then laughing. 

The power of love came into me, 
and I became fierce like a lion, 
then tender like the evening star. 

He said, "You're not mad enough. 
You don't belong in this house." 

I went wild and had to be tied up. 
He said, "Still not wild enough 
to stay with us!" 

I broke through another layer 
into joyfulness. 

He said, "It's not enough." 
I died. 

He said, "You're a clever little man, 
full of fantasy and doubting." 

I plucked out my feathers and became a fool. 
He said, "Now you're the candle 
for this assembly." 

But I'm no candle. Look! 
I'm scattered smoke. 

He said, "You are the sheikh, the guide." 
But I'm not a teacher. I have no power. 

He said, "You already have wings. 
I cannot give you wings." 

But I wanted his wings. 
I felt like some flightless chicken. 

Then new events said to me, 
"Don't move. A sublime generosity is 
coming toward you." 

And old love said, "Stay with me." 

I said, "I will." 

You are the fountain of the sun's light. 
I am a willow shadow on the ground. 
You make my raggedness silky. 

The soul at dawn is like darkened water 
that slowly begins to say Thank you, Thank you 

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually 
changes into the moon and then the whole night sky. 

This comes of smiling back 
at your smile. 

The chess master says nothing, 
other than moving the silent chess piece. 

That I am part of the ploys 
of this game makes me 
amazingly happy. 

That was "Sublime Generosity" by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

If we have a better understanding of our need for myth, and all that our old stories offer, we can live more satisfying lives. We can inhabit a better story and create a more beautiful, just and sustainable world. 

This is probably my last episode for 2024. Thank you so much for joining me here, to weave together the threads of our shared appreciation for the power of myth.
And that's it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Best wishes for a peaceful year end. Take good care of yourself and until next time, keep the mystery in your life alive.

Links to several translations of The Conference of the Birds:

The Conference of the Birds, A Sufi Fable (Mantiq Ut-Tair) by Farid ud Din Attar. Translated by C. S. Nott from a French translation by Garcin de Tassy--  Online at the internet archive

The Conference of the Birds translation and illustrations by Peter Sis, whose illustrated version is a lovely distillation of the core story without the amplifying parables. I began this podcast with the opening lines from his translation.  Online at the internet archive

The Conference of the Birds translation by Farid ud Din Attar, translated by Sholeh Wolpé. Available on line and for download