One went to the door of the Beloved and knocked. A voice asked: 'Who is there?' He answered: 'It is I.' The voice said: 'There is no room here for me and thee.' The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation this man returned to the door of the Beloved. He knocked. A voice from within asked: 'Who is there?' The man said: 'It is Thou.' The door was opened for him. Rumi
When you are with everyone but me, you're with no one. When you are with no one but me, you're with everyone. Instead of being so bound up with everyone, be everyone. When you become that many, you're nothing. Empty.
You're sitting here with us, but you're also out walking in a field at dawn. You are yourself the animal we hunt when you come with us on the hunt. You're in your body like a plant is solid in the ground, yet you're wind. You're the diver's clothes lying empty on the beach. You're the fish.
In the ocean are many bright strands and many dark strands like veins that are seen when a wing is lifted up. Your hidden self is blood in those, those veins that are lute strings that make ocean music, not the sad sound of surf, but the sound of no shore.