The One Who Owns His Feelings from the Southern Suburbs sat with his elbows on the table, detached from everything, looked up and breathed quietly, as if he were absent. The Wanderer of Perfect Beauty, standing waiting in front of him, asked:
- How can that be? Is it really true that in body one can be like a dry tree, and in the heart like faded ashes? After all, the one who sits with his elbows on the table is now no longer the same one who sat with his elbows on the table earlier!
- How well you asked, Wanderer! - said the One Who Owns His Senses. “Did you understand that today I have abandoned myself?” When you heard the pipe of man, you did not yet know what the pipe of the earth was; When you hear the pipe of the earth, you will not yet know what the pipe of the universe is.
- May I ask, how can I find out? - continued the Stranger.
- The earth sighs and they say that the wind has blown. Now it's quiet. And when it starts playing, it will howl furiously through the darkness of the earth’s holes. Haven't you ever heard such voices? Mountain gorges, forest massifs, holes from giant trees uprooted with a hundred girths are like a nose, mouth, ears; like crossbars, fences, mortars, like either a rushing stream or stagnant water. Some bubble like a stream, others whistle like an arrow. Some have a noisy exhalation, others have a quiet inhalation. Voices are high, low, drawn-out, abrupt sounds. Some start singing, others join in. A cool breeze is a small choir, but a whirlwind is a huge choir. The violent wind will subside, and all the holes will be empty. Didn't you hear the last breaths of the dying wind?
“The pipe of the earth is created by all its holes, just as a man’s pipe is created by holes in bamboo.” Dare I ask what the pipe of the universe is? - said the Stranger.
“The darkness of modes sounds in it, and each one is on its own,” answered the One Who Owns His Feelings. - All things sound on their own, does anyone influence them?!
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru