Remember the story of the Caravan that started like so many before its time? Where to begin? You already know its outward journey, but do you remember the inward one?
It was assembled with travellers coming from the north, south, east and the west – bringing with them, their bags of grief and wounds. That night, by the time the wine was just poured, they were already half drunk, surrounded by the fragrance of the Rose Garden.
How do you explain the rose that opens up in the thick of the night, evoking the rose bed to bloom? The roses see and recognize each other from their secret scent, a fragrance from the past.
How do you reveal to someone about the wine that is gently poured by the Saqi (the wine bearer)? It gets sipped, breath by breath, propelling towards ascension.
How do you explain the whispering of “Jaan” turning to “Jaana” summoning the nightingale – singing, hovering over the roses with utter joy. It sips the nectar from the roses.
The roses, they sway gently and blush - opening up a little more, to feed the beloved friend.
The wine is shared, the flight is set. The nightingale begins to ascend. It reaches the dream state. Ancient dreams now manifesting and unfolding, like the “wao”, speaking of its purpose. It makes it way through the portals.
As it enters and flies through the Valley of Tuwa, it glances down below. There are hundreds of nightingales below, engrossed in trance of remembrance – “illallah, illallah!”.
The nightingale pauses to ascent. The crafted time stops, leaving the empty space of now. It glances below to smell the breeze beneath its wings - the breeze radiating light, Illuminating every spec around. Light upon Light!
It soaks its wings in the light, beginning to descend in the valley of remembrance, entering amongst the other nightingales. It re-enters the garden: That which is below is like to that which is above. The duty of serving, and being a servant – remember.
– NS
Note: the image above has been created with Midjourney.