One day three thieves entered the effendi’s house. The effendi had seen them and had hidden himself in a trunk. The thieves searched everywhere for something of some value. At last, discouraged, they opened the trunk. “What are you doing here in the trunk?” exclaimed one of the astonished thieves. “Excuse me,” said the Effendi politely. “Knowing that you couldn’t find anything valuable in my house, I was so ashamed that I hid myself”.

Before becoming a resident in a Sufi khanegah, dervish ‘Abdullah lived the life of a traveling dervish. He, for instance, worked for seven years in Rome as a provider of care to the elderly. This work was somewhat frustrating as it was difficult for him to adjust to the demands of the Italian culture. The elderly Mrs. Corrado was quite demanding. She didn’t like to be dependent on others. That’s why she insisted to be of service to her caretaker. She decided to teach Italian to dervish ‘Abdullah. Dervish ‘Abdullah, however, found it difficult to memorize the Italian words as taught by Mrs. Corrado. He talked about this situation with Maria Martinelli, who was the caretaker of Mrs. Elsas. Maria…

This is the true story of the prophet Moshgel Gosha who saved the life of an innocent prisoner. Many years ago there was an old man by the name of Abdollah who lived in abject poverty. With a broken back and pain in his old hands he went every day to the desert to plant some shrubs in order to to earn some money for his family. This type of life was very hard and bitter for him and his wife. The older Abdollah became, the harder his life became. The wife of Abdollah then formulated an inner intention that every Friday morning before sunrise she would sweep the spot in front of their house and sprinkle some water on…

Within the shadow of the city wall, at the place where the cypress trees begin a long dark blue march down the mountainside to the ocean, sits the basket weaver. Daily, as his ancestors have done for generations before him, he squats in the dust, surrounded by strands of coloured straw, weaving not only baskets but tales of love, lust and longing; fabricating from the gossip of passers-by new mythologies and legends. He tells them of their own lives, yet they hear them as the stories of others. As they pass in and out of the city on various errands, some people mesmerized by his swiftly moving fingers stop for a moment, sitting next to him to listen, only later…

A quarrel broke out between two men. Among the bystanders was a Chishti dervish. Just as one of the fighters was about to strike the other man with a stick, the dervish picked up his sitar and plucked a single, clear note. Upon hearing this sound, the angry man lay down his stick and walked away.