The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
conference of the birds
The Mantiq ut-Tayr tells the story of how the remote king of the birds, the Simurgh, first manifests itself by dropping a magnificent feather in the center of China. The birds, tired of their ancestral anarchy, decide to look for him. They know that their king's name means thirty birds; they know that his castle is beyond the Kaf, the circular mountain range that surrounds the world. After long deliberation, they decide to undertake an almost infinite adventure. To reach Him, they must overcome seven valleys: the name of the penultimate is Vertigo, the last one's Annihilation. Many pilgrims desert, others perish. Thirty, purified by their labors, set foot on the King's castle. At last, in a state of contemplation, they realize that the Simurgh is each and every one of them.
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