This is also one of my favourite stories. My own story as well.
Whenever I seem/seemed settled in a situation, along comes an invitation
to allow moving on to happen.

As I see it, not only is this the only creative way to live, it is the
only true way of living.  Truth in living - staying or going, has not to do with choice.

Choice is of the mind.
The mind has only conditioned information from which to draw its
conclusions, and this information is only of the past. As the past is done
and dead already, any choice based on the mind is a choice based on the
past. So it is dead.

Whether by coincidence or divine design, it seems to me that ‘life’ is
always presenting and invitation - to live, unconditionally, in the
present moment:
“Take no thought of the morrow, let the morrow take thought of its self."

As soon as the mind is engaged to check if an action is appropriate or
not, it is like stepping on the bank of a river, watching the river of
life flow by, and trying to work out the temperature, and to where the
water is flowing. Then we wonder why we get bored!

We all know when something is appropriate. Always. We get a tingle, a
gentle buzz.  As soon as we go to our mind to work out if an response is appropriate or
not - too late!

Try this. If you think you have a choice about somethings, sit quietly by
yourself and imagine that you are living the one choice. Then come back,
let it go, and do the same with the other choice. Your body will tell you
which one is the most alive. For sure.

How does that fit into ’normal life?’ It doesn’t. What we call ‘normal
life' is not natural.
And noticed? - it doesn’t work.

I could recant to you many such happenings from my life. Over and over.
And each time it gets better. Much better.

When in doubt - do it!


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The Sufi Story of Mojud:
There was once a man named Mojud. He lived in a town where he had obtained
a post as a small official, and it seemed likely that he would end his
days as inspector of weights and measures.

One day when he was walking through the gardens of an ancient building
near his home, Khidr, the mysterious guide of the Sufis, appeared to him,
dressed in shimmering green. Khidr said, "Man of bright prospects! Resign
from your work and meet me at the riverside in three days' time." Then he
disappeared. Mojud went to his superior in trepidation and said that he
had to leave. Everyone in the town soon heard of this and they said, "Poor
Mojud! He has gone mad." But, as there were many candidates for his job,
they soon forgot him.

On the appointed day, Mojud met Khidr, who said to him, "Tear your clothes
and throw yourself into the stream. Perhaps someone will save you." Mojud
did so, even though he wondered if he were mad. Since he could swim, he
did not drown, but drifted a long way before a fisherman hauled him into
his boat, saying, "Foolish man! The current is strong. What are you trying
to do?" Mojud said, "I don't really know."
"You are mad," said the fisherman, "But I will take you into my reed-hut
by the river yonder, and we shall see what can be done for you."
When he discovered that Mojud was well-spoken, he learned from him how to
read and write. In exchange, Mojud was given food and helped the fisherman
with his work.

After a few months, Khidr again appeared, this time at the foot of Mojud's
bed, and said, "Get up now and leave this fisherman. You will be provided
for."
Mojud immediately quit the hut, dressed as a fisherman, and wandered about
until he came to a highway.
As dawn was breaking he saw a farmer on a donkey on his way to market. "Do
you seek work?" asked the farmer, "because I need a man to help me bring
back some purchases."
Mojud followed him. He worked for the farmer for nearly two years, by
which time he had learned a great deal about agriculture but little else.
One afternoon when he was baling wool, Khidr appeared to him and said,
"Leave that work, walk to the city of Mosul, and use your savings to
become a skin-merchant."
Mojud obeyed.

In Mosul he became known as a skin-merchant, never seeing Khidr while he
plied his trade for three years. He had saved quite a large sum of money,
and was thinking of buying a house, when Khidr appeared and said, "Give me
your money, walk out of this town as far as the distant Samarkand, and
work for a grocer there."
Mojud did so.

Presently he began to show undoubted signs of illumination. He healed the
sick, served his fellow men in the shop during his spare time, and his
knowledge of the mysteries became deeper and deeper.
Clerics, philosophers and others visited him and asked, "under whom did
you study?"
"It is difficult to say," said Mojud.
His disciples asked, "How did you start your career?"
He said, "As a small official." "And you gave it up to devote yourself to
self-mortification?"
"No, I just gave it up." They did not understand him.
People approached him to write the story of his life.
"What have you been in your life?" they asked.

"I jumped into a river, became a fisherman, then walked out of his
reed-hut in the middle of the night. After that, I became a farmhand.
While I was baling wool, I changed and went to Mosul, where I became a
skin-merchant. I saved some money there, but gave it away. Then I walked
to samarkand where I worked for a grocer. And this is where I am now."
"But this inexplicable behavior throws no light upon your strange gifts
and wonderful examples," said the biographers. "That is so," said Mojud.

So the biographers constructed for Mojud a wonderful and exciting story:
because all saints must have their story, and the story must be in
accordance with the appetite of the listener, not with the realities of
life.

And nobody is allowed to speak of Khidr directly. That is why this story
is not true. It is a representation of a life. This is the real life of
one of the greatest Sufis.