Roo'ay Shab'ay HijraaN

The first god man creates is always inside. A divinity, a deity, perched at the highest pedestal within the confines of one's own being.

This is probably why the concept of a structured religion mostly brings with it an outlandish, invader's cry of war. It tends to reduce man's majestic divinity to that of an undignified subject; and the Throne is anchored at a place so remote from access, that many lose their path in approaching it... swaying somewhere in between the abysmal abyss, belonging to neither the Conqueror, nor the conquered. 

Surrendering to the shift of holiness from within their own core of self, is then followed by another dilemma. Love.

Intoxicated by the Wine of Love.

From each a mystic silence Love demands.

What do all seek so earnestly? ‘Tis Love.

What do they whisper to each other? Love.

Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts.

In Love no longer ‘thou’ and ‘I’ exist,

For Self has passed away in the Beloved.

Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,

And in the temple of mine inmost soul,

Behold the Friend; Incomparable Love.

He who would know the secret of both worlds,

Will find the secret of them both, is Love.  

(Farid ud Din Attar, from The Jawhar Al-Dhat)

The tyranny of love, when subjects are exposed to it, is gagging. It unleashes its whip, and spares none. It shatters, it brands, it crushes. The crumbled, walloped, ashed subject is all there is left of the once lofty lord. The burns, the scars, the bruises, all but diminish the subject further. However, surprisingly, the abyss lying at the pit of the gulf separating the minuscule subject and the Divine Majesty begins to shrink!

Some say that there does exit a Silk Route that leads one across the abyss, that enjoins one battered lover with the lofty Lord. But none is sure how to read the Emerald Tablet that bears the map of the route. Rumi, perhaps, had grasped something of the scripture when he exclaimed

Drunkenness and emptyhandedness brought Thee to me;

I am the slave of Thy drunkenness and indigency!

But in the tradition of lovers, no one recognizes another's seal of kiss. Each wants his own seal...

And they keep searching. Some falling to the abyss, a few making it across...