The ineffability of the mystical state isn’t known to many. Across all the major and minor religions we can find reference to a ‘consciousness of the Oneness of everything’; it’s an innate knowing that one is an integral part of existence, beyond just knowing through the external self-it’s an extraordinary experience but they seldom last for long unless one chooses to practice along the path and follow a particular way of life to enter the state again, again and again. It requires self-discipline, dedication and commitment.
In the West we have the history of the Christian Mystics-long lost in the 21st century- today found mainly in the cloistered corners of the lives of contemplative monks and nuns-very few left now. Mysticism’s secular counterpart is sometimes found in the works of poets like Wordsworth:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking, all objects all thoughts,
And rolls through all things
Or in the lines of Shelley:
That light whose smile kindles the Universe
That Beauty in which all things work and move
In the East among other religions is the deep insight and beauty of the Islamic Sufi mystics, poets and musicians. Amjad Sabri’s soul based mystical renditions of Qawwal crossed sectarian religious lines in Pakistan-he was much loved by the population. His assassination in Karachi on Wednesday is another deep wound in the psyche of this culturally rich and diverse nation.
I must utter what comes to my lips by Bulleh Shah
Speaking the truth creates chaos.
Telling a lie saves one scarce.
I am afraid of both these.
Afraid I am both here and there.
I must utter what comes to my lips.
He who has this secret known.
He must peep into his own
Lives He in the shrine of peace
Where there are no ups and downs
I must utter what comes to my lips.
It is indeed a slippery path.
I take precautions in the dark
Look inside and see for yourself
Why this wild search afar?
I must utter what comes to my lips.
It is a matter of good form
A norm to which we all conform
It’s God in every soul you see
If he is in me why not in you?
I must utter what comes to my lips.
The master is not far from me
Without him there none could be
That explains the suffering and pain
But mine is not the eye to see
I must say what comes to my lips.
Rest In Peace Amjad Sabri
The LB Chronicles 