Wisdom of the Sands, A Sufi Story by Osha, A Guest Post

Shared by Michael Brine

A stream, from its source in far-off mountains, passing through every kind and description of countryside, at last reached the sands of the desert. Just as it had crossed every other barrier, the stream tried to cross this one, but it found as it ran into the sands, its waters disappeared.

It was convinced, however, that its destiny was to cross this desert, and yet there was no way. Now a hidden voice, coming from the desert itself, whispered, “The wind crosses the desert, and so can the stream.”

The stream objected; that it was dashing itself against the sand, and only getting absorbed; that the wind could fly and this was why it could cross a desert.

“By hurtling in your own accustomed way you cannot get across. You will either disappear or become a marsh. You must allow the wind to carry you over to your destination.”

“But how could this happen?”

“By allowing yourself to be absorbed in the wind.”

This idea was not acceptable to the stream. After all, it had never been absorbed before. It did not want to lose its individuality. And once having lost it, how was it to know that it could ever be regained?

“The wind” said the sand, “performs this function. It takes up water, carries it over the desert, and then lets it fall again. Falling as rain, the water again becomes a river.”

“How can I know that this is true?”

“It is so, and if you do not believe it, you cannot become more than a quagmire, and even that could take many, many years; and it certainly is not the same as a stream.”

“But can I not remain the same stream that I am today?”

“You cannot in either case remain so,” the whisper said. “Your essential part is carried away and forms a stream again. You are called what you are even today because you do not know which part of you is the essential one.”

When he heard this, certain echoes began to arise in the thoughts of the stream. Dimly, he remembered a state in which he – or some part of him, was it? – had been held in the arms of a wind. He also remembered – or did he? – that this was the real thing, not necessarily the obvious thing, to do.

And the stream raised his vapour into the welcoming arms of the wind, which gently and easily bore upwards and along, letting it fall softly as soon as they reached the roof of a mountain, many, many miles away.

And because he had had his doubts, the stream was able to remember and record more strongly in his mind the details of the experience. He reflected, “Yes, now I have learned my true identity.”

The stream was learning. But the sands whispered, “We know, because we see it happen day after day: and because we, the sands, extend from the riverside all the way to the mountain.”

And that is why it is said that the way in which the stream of life is to continue on its journey is written in the sands.”

Other articles like the one above, but also by Brine himself, can be accessed at http://www.missionignition.net/btb.  Michael Brine’s email address is:  wild.brine621@gmail.com.  Comments are always welcome.

Where Does the Wind Blow Now?

Change happens to everyone, all the time. And change is in the wind, literally. I live in the Western U.S. and we’ve had unusually strong Pacific winds blow over us these past months, bullying their way through the Midwest, on to meet up with the winds from the Southeast–double trouble. Mother Earth is rattling and we all know it. We see worldwide the loss of lives and destruction of communities and shake our heads, wondering if we’ll be next. There is no way to know until it’s happening where the lava will burn, the earth will crack and heave, or the oceans will claim new territory. History tells us the Earth has been cleansed of other life forms and of humans at least twice, perhaps more.

Do you ever wonder why? Do you wonder why the Mayan people seemed to disappear overnight, or if Atlantis was real, why did they suddenly sink into the ocean? I do. I wonder. About, for example, the total destruction of the dinosaurs. Why? They didn’t nearly ruin the Earth like we have. Were they removed to make room for God’s children, us, made in His/Her image? I wonder, are we more important than all other living things, so important that it doesn’t matter what we trample? Is it because we have souls and, if so, why have we lost our connection to the land, to the water and the air and to the critters we share this place with? Shortsighted industrialization, I think, though I don’t know enough to know for sure. Maybe it’s more than that—it is human nature to think of ourselves more than anything else.

I don’t want to be a cavewoman, but I do want to be connected to the life around me. I wish I lived near really ancient trees, the witnesses, so I could sit and ask them what happened. “Why did we humans steer more toward the darkness, rather than the light?” I’d say. “Why do so many meaningless things hold so much value for us?” “Is there anything we can do?”And, “Can I have a hug?”

Where does the wind blow now?