The Bauls of Bengal

The Bauls of Bengal are like the wombles of Wimbledon: common are we, wandering free.

Dalrymple on the Bauls here

Bob's original post that pointed me this way is here

And this made me think of:

I am not disposed by fire, air, water and dust.
I am neither a Hindu nor a Turk,
my identity lies neither in the 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 recognize 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?
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