The poems by Lalleshwari, recently posted here, show two related conditions on the spiritual path.  One is the stage of the travel-worn seeker who has not yet arrived, and who, after trying all the usual methods, such as reciting scriptures and repeating holy names, has no idea where else to search.  The second poem is a glimpse of what can happen when we reach that stage of exhaustion and ‘turn back’ – the possibility of divine bliss discovered within.

Can we reach the second stage without passing through the first? No.  How long must the first stage last? That depends.  It depends upon how thirsty we are for the truth, and upon how firmly we cling to our attachments and misconceptions.

But, the weary traveller might ask, what misconceptions do I have?  So long as we insist on being ‘me,’ separate and distinct from the infinite cascade of divine light and life, we are obliged to look outside ourselves for what we need.  It is the obvious conclusion: we are unhappy, so the answer cannot be within us; it must be outside somewhere. When we have finally cast aside enough of the baggage we were carrying, a process Hazrat Inayat Khan referred to as ‘unlearning,’ then the truth can begin to dawn.  That luggage includes innumerable conceptions about name and form, but the largest and heaviest ‘lump’ in the load is the belief in ‘me,’ the conviction that the wave is somehow independent of the sea.

This ‘turning back’ or turning within might remind us of the verse in the Psalms of David, 46:10, which says “Be still, and know that I am God.”  ‘Being still’ means letting go of our restless searching, of our inner chatter. The topic of silence has been discussed here recently; it is the absence of distraction.  When the ‘I’ drops its guard and surrenders, we at last may be dissolved into the loving present.  And where can that be experienced?  Only and always in the heart.

It is normal to be silent in the presence of someone we respect; how much more should we be silent in the all pervading Divine Presence?