In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?
—Rabia Al Basri
In the Self, nothing exists between heart & heart
Language is born out of unbearable suffering,
True description from the real taste of suffering.
The one who integrates pre-language suffering, knows;
The one who dissociates, lies.
How can you describe the true experience of Something
In whose presence identity is blotted out?
And in whose being the Self arises?
And who lives as a sign that the Self is born?