I am not disposed by fire, air, water and dust. I am neither A Hindu nor a Turk, my identity lies neither int he wilderness of Arabia nor within the walls of Lahore. I am not the secret essence strenuously revealed by creed and religion. I was not born of Adam and Eve. I did not adopt my name nor can I own any. I am neither stationary nor adrift. can I know who I am?
It is I myself I know to be the beginning and the end. Neither do I recognise any other being. It is nowhere else but within myself that perception and knowledge are embodied. Then who is he that stands as the Other? And who am I? Can I know bulleh?
----Bulleh Shah

Time has no loyalty;
the single moment is our treasure.
Dance in the loyal covenant from the beautiful ones.
Constant seeking is delight-
why do you think of getting over it?
Give up walking-
dance at the sound of the caravan bell.
---Ghalib.

(astarte, if you have a better translation please do float it along)

I was one, then I was two, then one again. But one is not a number. There are so few places for the way I feel. Why do you search for the unsearchable, for a place that lasts forever? You do not know. It is strange now that you think of it. The past, even though never really completed, can never give birth to the future. But neither is this unraveling of the thread any use to you. You are not a mystic, it's not in your bones. If there is no pattern, no unity, but a series of discontinuous fragments, as if one were passing from one dream to another, then you have no name.

To see the world like a tree, through the latticework of a thousand unanswered prayers. Sky rain, and cloud intermingle..it's on your skin. Open to the elemetal, sometimes light strikes. Satori : the illumination of emptiness. But we see everything separately, abstractly, from a distance. And our lights are our own. On a clear night you grow in the lightness of the moon; we, on the other hand, are reduced to speaking in metaphors. Neither poetry nor philosophy, neither words nor thought gets us there.

Early this morning whilst walking past some trees I wondered to myself: why do we put nameplates on trees? Is it because they have no title, no signature of their own? Strange to think they were here before us, as Fate would have it. Like gods, panging for finitude. Pillars of eternity. I pass another. Someone has carved a heart on it. The scar, the wound, the only sign of humanity?