Because, irrespective of who I am, how
much I know or my own personal rank, what I have is so appalling to the people of the book, so antithetical to their current preoccupation/occupation that, to embrace me would mean instant fana. Instant fana for the lot of them.
And this understanding is unconscious within them, they listen and nod – but eventually, when they realize the implication and threat to their a selfhood and identity, they become angry: each and every one of them.
Their response is always the same: “practice what you preach”/”speak for yourself”/”do it to Julia – not me, Julia!”
Then there are people who understand everything I say, who embrace me: but their embrace is not fana, it’s either intimacy or not. But either way, their embrace is not fana for them.
And therein lies the paradox of my position: he who is angered by what I say, I am his salvation, and I’ve written a key for him. I write his book. And he who is enamored with my words, who grasps what I say without resistance, I have no key to provide for him — I don’t write his book.