<p>Life is described as a stream in Sufism -- a stream of consciousness. Because life is always flowing, changing its forms and colours. If one understands this, life will be a dance and song even if sometimes, there are deserts and storms. The stream gets lost, evaporates and reappears as a rain cloud. Therefore it is said that the story of the stream is written in sands.<br /><br />Here is a beautiful Sufi story as recounted by Osho.<br /><br />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 as it ran into the sand, its waters disappeared.<br /><br />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 cross a desert.<br /><br /> "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 it to know that it could ever be regained?<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />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 -- had been held in the arms of a wind. He also remembered that this was the real thing, not necessarily the obvious thing to do.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."</p>
<p>Life is described as a stream in Sufism -- a stream of consciousness. Because life is always flowing, changing its forms and colours. If one understands this, life will be a dance and song even if sometimes, there are deserts and storms. The stream gets lost, evaporates and reappears as a rain cloud. Therefore it is said that the story of the stream is written in sands.<br /><br />Here is a beautiful Sufi story as recounted by Osho.<br /><br />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 as it ran into the sand, its waters disappeared.<br /><br />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 cross a desert.<br /><br /> "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 it to know that it could ever be regained?<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />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 -- had been held in the arms of a wind. He also remembered that this was the real thing, not necessarily the obvious thing to do.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."</p>
