From the sand

[Guest guest]

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 that as fast as it ran into the sand,

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 corss a desert.

" By hurtling in your 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 one 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 shisper 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 bovious things to do.

And the stream raised his vapour into the welcoming arms of the

wind, which gently and easily bore it 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.

 

as collected by Idries Shah

[Guest guest]

another uplifting story, thankyou, it's such a nice

way to start my day

Love Elektra x x x

 

 

 

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