We will tell thee the most beautiful of tales. What a beautiful tale is the tale of Joseph! It is the tale of the passionate and the object of passion, the talk of separation and union. It wants the pain-stricken to read the tale of those in pain. It wants the passionate to report about the pain of passion and the burning of the passionate. It wants the burnt so that the burning of the longing may leave a trace. I am the slave of the yearner who lights up the fire of longing at the top of the Friend's street. I envy the eye that rains down tears at separation in love for the Beloved. I scatter spirit and heart before the lost-hearted one who tells the story of the lost-hearted. In the city my heart inclines, my dear, to him who sings your passion's tale, my dear. On the day when the seed of passion's pain was planted in the hearts of the familiar, the heart of Jacob the prophet was on the highway of this talk. He found flourishing in disengagement and solitariness, he took himself into the crucible of discipline and self-purification, and he became receptive to the seed of passion's pain. When the seed reached the earth of his heart, the water of “He sprinkled them with some of His light” nurtured it until the jasmine of the Covenant grew up. Then, as a pretext, the beauty of Joseph was made his kiblah, and his mortal nature was given ac- cess to its own kind. This cry went out: “Jacob's throat has been hung by the noose of desire for Joseph.” Within the curtain of jealousy that center point of the Haqiqah said, “Call Me Arsalan so that no one will know who I am.”