Inscendence as a complementary word to the transcendence brings you contemplations on various topics from the perspective of the reflective, associative and internal intelligence. A journey into depths to find, like Rumi said, the “Messiah, in my heart, I bear.” (مسيحا در دلم پيدا و من بيمار می گردم).
Enjoy the articles. Take them in. More than philosophical discussions or my attempts to convince you of anything, approach them as gentle meditations. Let them reveal that which your own Inner Heart knows. Perhaps they invite you to dream or to look at Reality with an expanded gaze.
[The articles from the old website, Orphic Inscendence, are here too.]
Of World That Demands a Lie
Blessed is the foreigner, for she is the one who is free. Blessed is the foreigner, who in distance & silence, away from clamour & lie, loves the world that does not know how to love her back.
Talk To Me, Red One
When a soul tires of wandering in the cruel desert, she finds some shelter, some place of rest. Her sorrow & grief may overwhelm her & the hopelessness may find its peak that surrender to God becomes the only option. Yet it is when the soul is rest, when she has found its peace (as its final inclination), that she can hear her lover's steps - for she has stopped reacting & rising her head up at any echo coming from the distance. Silent, rest & at peace, she trusts to recognise the one true pair of steps over a million of false ones. Finally, she finds peace.
A Story of Senses: Hearing
Many of us hear, yet few of us are capable of listening, precisely because, as it is said in the beginning of this essay, to truly listen, one needs a heightened awareness and sharp focus. For most of us, music becomes a background noise to some work, in a car, or while we are having fun — very rarely do we listen to music for an hour or two without doing something else or looking at a phone. We are also assaulted by all kinds of unwanted noise and music that has no other purpose than to make silence disappear, which makes our minds overly stimulated and tired.
A Story of Senses: Sight
There is a primordial consolation in being offered a warm, yet slightly non-attached. So much of our perturbation comes from feeling insignificant and from a feeling that nobody has neither courage nor capability to sit before us and look at us the way we are. The non-attached gaze is consoling because it neither cares to judge, nor to compare, nor to comment — it only cares to look and it gains all its pleasure and joy only by being allowed to do it.
A Story of Senses: Taste
On the other hand, the taste belongs to the element of earth. Instead of taking us out, it calls us inside of ourselves. Taking a piece of good chocolate in our mouth, or of a juicy fruit, if one closes their eyes, and focuses with awareness on the pleasurable sensations that were received, for a short moment, just a short instant, one can experience the loss of identification. For a moment, it ceases being sweet or sour or juicy, and it just a blissful moment. And you are there, as the awareness, to enjoy this pure experience of the pure bliss.
A Story of Senses: Smell
Its magical potency is perhaps most visible in the many stories of beautiful women, goddesses who put on a perfume as if it were a magical potion that is to help them acquire their own magical powers and accomplish their goals or reach their targets. No ritual is complete without an incense - and even our most mundane of daily rituals of baths, dinners, or putting on clothes appear incomplete without a beautifully scented soap, a scented candle or a dash of perfume.
A Story of Senses: Touch
With touch one can see — drawing a line with one's finger against another's eyebrows, against the jawline, nose, waistline, hips, has the eye of the heart get a more complete image. It sees that which the sensorial eye had missed. A hand in another's hair & it is only then that its texture, length, volume & thickness are truly perceived. Fingers find hidden structures & reliefs. With eyes closed & with the hands, one draws lines & sees without seeing. A blindman sees with touch, for the mind brings images from the memory far beyond & greater than his life.
Praise the Mutilated World
Praised be the One who created the Mutilated World and covered the bottoms of the seas with sea urchins so that the feet can't rest. Praised be His Mutilated world, for it is a playful cruelty, and never a cruelty that wounds.
The Inner Apartments
While the Night allows, it also hides. Perfect intimacy manifests only when hidden from the vulgar gaze of the masses. Would you speak of a perfect night you spent with your lover, of the ecstasy experienced, of the wine and sherbet that flew, of the music that played? And could that night, spoken into the world, ever be free?
Embodying Art and Culture
Perhaps her world is false, a fancy lie, an offense to the reality that demands strain and effort. Or perhaps not, perhaps her world is what everyone and everything is, and they visit her so they would remember, and not forget.