' Tale of the Sands '...

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 obvious 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