Dance is the cyclone, his whole body is in motion is fluid, dynamic, but at the center of consciousness observes in silence, undisturbed and without distraction. Outwardly you can only learn the exercise. Outwardly you do not ever know what is happening inside the dancer. And the real story is inside. ‘ No matter where I lay my head, that is my place of worship. No matter where I am in this world, that is where God is. Courtyards, Vineyards, fresh dewy roses, nightingales calling their song, the sema and loving . . . They are all symbols, the reason is always Him.’, Once a murshid had been to the city, and on his return he said, “Oh, I am filled with joy, I am filled with joy. There was such an exaltation in the presence of the Beloved.” Then his mureed thought, “There was a beloved and an exaltation; how wonderful! I must go and see if I too cannot find one.” He went through the city, and when he came back he said, “Horrible! How terrible the world is! All seem to be at one another’s throats; that was the picture I saw. I felt nothing but a depression, as if my whole being was torn to pieces.” “Yes,” the murshid said, “you are right.” “But explain to me,” the mureed said, “why you are so exalted after going out, and why I must be so torn to pieces. I cannot bear it, it is horrible.” The murshid said, “You did not walk in the rhythm that I walked through the city.” –From Hazrat Inayat Khan, Tales (New Lebanon, N.Y.: Omega Publications, 1991), p. 198. Reprinted in Parabola, “The City,” Winter 1993.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 06:09:12 +0000
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