Mystic Meandering - The Cosmic Dance...

 

 

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Farid ud-Din Attar on Love

 

 

 Love's valley is the next, and here desire
Will plunge the pilgrim into seas of fire,
Until his very being is en-flamed
And those whom fire rejects turn back ashamed.
The lover is a man who flares and burns,
Whose face is fevered, who in frenzy yearns,
Who knows no prudence, who will gladly send
A hundred worlds toward their blazing end,
Who knows of neither faith nor blasphemy,
Who has no time for doubt or certainty,
To whom both good and evil are the same,
And who is neither, but a living flame.
But you! Lukewarm in all you say or do,
Backsliding, weak - oh no, this is not you!
True lovers give up everything they own
To steal one moment with the Friend alone -
They make no vague, procrastinating vow,
But risk their livelihood and risk it now.
Until their hearts are burned, how can they flee
From their desire's incessant misery?
They are the falcon when it flies distressed
In circles, searching for its absent nest -
They are the fish cast up upon the land
That seeks the sea and shudders on the sand.
Love here is fire; its thick smoke clouds the head -
When love has come the intellect has fled;
It cannot tutor love, and all its care
Supplies no remedy for love's despair.
If you could seek the unseen you would find
Love's home, which is not reason or the mind,
And love's intoxication tumbles down
The world's designs for glory and renown -
If you could penetrate their passing show
And see the world's wild atoms, you would know
That reason's eyes will never glimpse one spark
Of shining love to mitigate the dark.
Love leads whoever starts along our Way;
The noblest bow to love and must obey -
But you, unwilling both to love and tread
The pilgrim's path, you might as well be dead!
The lover chafes, impatient to depart,
And longs to sacrifice his life and heart.

 

 

Ibn‘Arabi - His Existence

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 Know that whenever something permeates another, it is assumed into the other.
That which permeates, the agent, is disguised by that which is permeated, the object.
In this case, the object is the manifest [universe], and the agent is the Unmanifest, the Hidden.

On Him alone we depend for everything; our dependence on other things is in reality dependence on Him, for they are nothing but His appearances.

The eye perceives nothing but Him; only He is to be known.
We are His; by Him we exist, and by
Him we are governed; and we are, at all times and in all states, in His presence.

 There is no existence save His existence...
This means that the existence of the beggar is His existence
and the existence of the sick is His existence.
Now, when this is admitted,
it is acknowledged that all existence is His existence;
and that the existence of all created things,
both accidents and substances, is His existence;
and when the secret of one particle of the atoms is clear, the secret of all created things,
both outward and inward, is clear;
and you do not see in this world or the next, anything except God.

 

 

Hāfez-e Shīrāzī - Dear Moon...

 

 

 

            The moon came to me last night
                With a sweet question.

                She said,
                “The sun has been my faithful lover
                For millions of years.
                Whenever I offer my body to him
                Brilliant light pours from his heart.
                Thousands then notice my happiness
                And delight in pointing
                toward my beauty.

                Hafiz,
                Is it true that our destiny
                Is to turn into Light
                Itself?”

                And I replied,
                "Dear moon,
                Now that your love is maturing,
                We need to sit together
                Close like this more often

                So I might instruct you
                How to become
                Who you
                Are!"

 

                   

 

Jiddu Krishnamurti on Silence

 

"Silence is not to be cultivated, it is not to be deliberately brought about;
it is not to be sought out, thought of, or meditated upon. The deliberate cultivation of silence is as the enjoyment of some longed for pleasure;
the desire to silence the mind is but the pursuit of sensation.
Such silence is only a form of resistance, an isolation which leads to decay.
Silence that is bought is a thing of the market in which there is the noise of activity.
Silence comes with the absence of desire. Desire is swift, cunning and deep.
Remembrance shuts off the sweep of silence, and a mind that is caught in experience cannot be silent.
Time, the movement of yesterday flowing into today and tomorrow, is not silence.
With the cessation of this movement there is silence, and only then can that which is unnameable come into being."