An elder person I met some years back, told me this story. It is about Abu Sharaf, one of his good friends.
Abu Sharaf was a rigorous man when it comes to modern science, meticulous, carefully selects his words. He also loved poetry and has written some good poems. Romantic poetry was his favorite. As for religious matters he was an ordinary person who prays and fasts, but did not seem to have a deep background in Jurisprudence or Theology. However, on rare occasions he might say something that would sound somewhat mystical. Any link between such remarks and mysticism was easily dismissible given the general “appearance” of the personality that Abu Sharaf was known of.
My friend saw him as a decent and a classy person and noted that while he respected Abu Sharaf and liked his company, he did not understand Abu Sharaf’s fondness with poetry, and especially female figures in poems of others and his own. My friend said that he once thought to himself: “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for such a cultured and a scientific gentleman not to be so fond of romantic poetry?” Of course, he kept his thoughts to himself and never said anything in this regard to Abu Sharaf.
Then, one night, while about to go into deep sleep, my friend saw a dream. He saw himself in what appeared to be an isolated village, at night. It was dark, and at some distance there were few scattered torches or lamps, the nearest would be about a couple of hundred meters away. And out of nowhere, Abu Sharaf appeared. My friend recognized him. They shook hands and my friend pointed to the nearest source of light and said “Let's go there where we can sit and have a talk”, and Abu Sharaf replied “How about you coming with me instead?” and with his left hand he held my friends right hand and took only one step, and something happened.
My friend said, he found himself with Abu Sharaf in a different world. Bright, cool and peaceful. They were in a city. He could see huge buildings like palaces. He also noticed domes and minarets. However, there was a golden bright light. It was so bright that seeing things was not easy for him, but it was not annoying at all, it was pleasant. It was so bright and penetrating and filling everything, that even though my friend felt Abu Sharaf’s hand holding his hand, he did not see clearly Abu Sharaf’s hand, or Abu Sharaf’s body, or his own body. They were immersed in light.
Ever since that night, my friend felt he would just accept Abu Sharaf, with his fondness of romantic poetry.
