I died in the Beauty’s embrace.

As the red hair falls down upon the floor beneath me, I offer them as a sacrifice to the Soil, to the Heritage of the Prophets, to the Hand.

Venus at her toilette, Renoir's voluptuous bathers who merge into a singular existence with the dreamlike landscapes, Diana Bathing.

Love has sung the funeral hymns to our sorrowful Romance. And Love has sung the wedding hymns to our Eternal Union.

The more one listens, the more one becomes sensitive & responsive to the subtle, and the subtle is a peak to that which behind the veil.

But one is told not to give heed to thoughts or voices, they lie! Look around you, the wise saints say, be grateful for your daily bread.

The intellect lights up and reveals the beauty of the object we are looking at and our pleasure is in the beauty itself.

We may return with the knowledge that we just had a taste of God

A scent is never alone - it is inherently interactive.

Give me a handful of hair, a fingertip of skin, so I may remember, so I may know something other than me.

Praised be His Mutilated world, for it is a playful cruelty, and never a cruelty that wounds.

This time, she says, she will not forget, she will not be cruel to the nightingale, for if she is cruel to him, she is cruel to herself.

"Now you are seen without seeing. You cannot allow it!".

A contemplation on the world - weariness.

Once we come to know that we are the way for God to know Himself through Himself, we come to live the Divine Compassion.

14th century Turkish folk poet of Alevi tradition (in the Balkans also known as Bektashi), Kaygusuz Abdal, wrote a poem in which he...

The lover is tormented and deeply enjoys her torments.