They call Him Emptiness who is the Truth of truths,
in Whom all truths are stored!
There within Him creation goes forward,
which is beyond all philosophy;
for philosophy cannot attain to Him:
There is an endless world,
O my Brother! and there is the Nameless Being,
of whom naught can be said.
Only he knows it who has reached that region:
it is other than all that is heard and said.
No form, no body, no length, no breadth is seen there:
how can I tell you that which it is?
— Kabir – Songs of Kabir – LXXVI (transl. Rabindranath Tagore)
(image source: poemhunter.com)
In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?
— Rabia al Basri – Reality
Behold how this drop of sea-water
Has taken so many forms and names;
It has existed as mist, cloud, rain, dew, and mud,
The plant, animal, and perfect man;
And yet is was a drop of water
From which these things appeared.
Even so this universe of reason, soul, heavens and bodies,
Was but a drop of water in its beginning and ending.
… When a wave strikes it, the world vanishes;
And when the appointed times comes to heaven and stars,
Their being is lost in not being.
— Sa’d Ud Din Mahmud Shabistari – The Secret Rose Garden – Part III – The Sea and its Pearls
Steadfast a lamp burns sheltered from the wind;
Such is the likeness of the Yogi’s mind
Shut from sense-storms and burning bright to Heaven.
When mind broods placid, soothed with holy wont;
When Self contemplates self, and in itself
Hath comfort; when it knows the nameless joy
Beyond all scope of sense, revealed to soul —
Only to soul! and, knowing, wavers not,
True to the farther Truth; when, holding this,
It deems no other treasure comparable,
But, harbored there, cannot be stirred or shook
By any gravest grief, call that state ‘peace’,
That happy severance Yoga; call that man
The perfect Yogin!
— Bhagavat Gita VI: 19-23 (Arnold’s translation)