The now is a whirling Dervish; it whirls and it worlds.
The Dervish sees; the Dervish sees,
A seeing that hides; a seeing that shows,
A seeing that holds; a seeing that lets go,
One veils; one unveils,
One is the farthest; one is the nearest,
One is the eye; one is the I.
But, alas, how easily the trance slips past our hasty glance!
The Grand Magician told us this secret:
Yearn and remember,
The truth is not found in holding; it is in withholding
He looked away and sighed,
This world is a mirage in the vacant gaze of the One
We asked about the world and listened to men’s stories; everyone had a long tale to tell us but none had seen the world itself. They all pointed fingers at it but none could take us to it. No one had actually touched the world or been touched by it, and yet that’s all everyone believed in: the world!
All we found and really touched was an experience of the world but not a world apart from the experiencing. And yet they thought the world is what must house and cause the experience! What foolish thought! Akin to claiming that the screen must be inside and caused by what is displayed on it!
At the end, we found that the world is nothing but a hearsay. They have spoken about it so much and repeated it in our ears that we have taken it for granted, unquestionably. Yet, we never found it; no one ever has. All that is ever found is what they’ve heard, their own hearing.
We lie dormant in a manifold of beliefs, and our beliefs have their own beliefs.
All you ever find is what you believe…
NOEMAYA 