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Destination is only Received by Journey # 7

Understanding the Depth of Life

Gradually as Time is passing, moment by moment, this being of mine is craving more and more for solitude, rather eager to swallow it in a single morsel.
Perhaps my inefficiency is great and my container is small. This very inefficiency teaches my helplessness the lesson of cool resignation.
The suffocation of helplessness is enquiring of me where to bury itself. While the birds of helplessness are fluttering their wings as though to ask me if I am not the sand of the desert? Today, the sand of this being is craving for Savana. This ‘ego’ (extremely subtle) of mine is very calmly watching and this subtle ‘self’, experiencing the quiet motion of my respiration.
Today again, there is a clash between my subtle ‘self’ and my ‘self’ (extremely subtle), and my eyes begin to tear at the sight of this Beautiful rendezvous.
The subtle ‘self’ wishes to become similar to the ‘self’ (extremely subtle).
Yes, this longing is impelling me.
The whirlpool of my longing desire is active, impelling me to sow my absolutely novel aspirations in the wilderness, so that the atmosphere of tranquility all around the flowers of Quietude bear the fruit of bloom.
Then these moments will no longer starve for solitude; then I will no longer search for the wilderness.
In such weather, sprout up those seeds that strike us with wonder and make us cut capers with Joy.
These very capers, being confirmed, are transporting my being into a new world where we develop the sense of our cooperation with Nature. How?
The rough behaviour of Punjab—Haryana Police is transformed into a behaviour of courtesy and forgiveness; the rickshaw drivers and beggars display their richness.
Then Love begins to flow in tears, while wonder satiates its lust through shouts of cheer. Along with poverty and fortitude, richness and restlessness suggest their relationship.
Every poor person is not necessarily of hungry disposition. If poverty is an impression, patience is a higher impression. Not every rich person is a well-satiated person, for they might have the blemish of base discontent. In short, I have realized that these are the bracing puffs of feelings, that:
We are not to judge a person’s action and acquirement from their outer garments, no matter whether they are rich or poor; whether living in Canada and America or in India and China.
Bodily clothes are entirely different from the mental clothes. I have often heard this maxim since childhood:
What is bigger—wisdom or buffalo?
I always answer the buffalo because the buffalo always stands before me in solid state; wisdom is not visible. Today’s experience, at the sight of such a vast expansion, says:
“Yes, for us it is proper to say that the buffalo is bigger than wisdom, because wisdom belongs to very few and for them wisdom is superior than a buffalo.”
True wisdom seems to be beyond reflections and exists by the name of ignorance. However, when this consciousness occurs in one’s life, it leaves a man half dead.
What is Life? What is its significance or utility?
Who am I? Why do I Exist? Where have I come from? Where do I have I to go?
When these questions cropped up in my consciousness, this present pilgrimage started.
With these very questions revolving in my Life, how can the subtle ‘ego’ of mine take any other path than to give some comfort?
Whether there is maize—cobs parching children, fruit-selling children, crippled or blind children.
The feeling of pity, rather than love inspired whatever I did for them, in the past. Perhaps it was prompted by some selfishness which feared to see such sights of imperfections. Well, let it be what it was, it certainly did not contain my present sensibility.
Love welling in the eyes and a desire to share one’s longings and aspirations with others are both valuable in Life. As one enters this stage, all incompletion and imperfection disappears. There is only the stare of an invaluable moment—which knows no distinction between yours, and mine only Love reigns supreme!
I remember an old incident from when I was thirteen years old. I went to the village of my paternal Aunt. An elderly man was passing down the street, when my Aunt called him.
Aunt: “O Uncle!” passing down the street, “please, come in.”
Man: “No, my daughter, I shall see you some other time.”
Aunt: “No, Uncle, I will let you go only after you have some tea.” She took him by the arm inside the house for a cup of tea. We all had some. While cleaning the utensils, I was about to pick up the glass of that revered Uncle, but my Aunt forbade me to pick it up. 
Shaheer: “Why?”
Aunt: “Wash all others, leave it alone.”
Shaheer: “Why?” Aunt picked up the glass with tongs and dropped it in the ashes in the hearth. “Why did you do that?”
Aunt: “We shall take it out tomorrow.”
Shaheer: “But, why?”
Aunt, contemptuously:  “He was an untouchable*.”
Shaheer: “But he was your senior uncle.”
Aunt: “Don’t be so talkative!”
Shaheer, bitterly: “Why not? Before you were calling him Uncle! Uncle! What has become of you now? I do not like such behaviour.”
Aunt: “Then what should we do?”
Shaheer: “You can do nothing; nothing at all!”
Aunt: “Shut up!”
Shaheer: “Why? I must protest against it. What are you? Dirty and dark complexioned! I will not wash your utensils. Here they are!” I walked out leaving the utensils unwashed.
After that, we were never on good terms.
After a few years, I went along with my aunt to her parental village. There she met her old friends after a twenty-five year absent. There was a lot of love-prattle and showers of embraces. After sometime, her friends cooked the meal and left. My aunt threw out the food into the buffalo’s manger.
 Shaheer: “Aunty, why did you throw the food into the manger?”
Aunt: “We do not accept any meal from their house.”
Shaheer: “Why?”
Aunt: “They are cobblers*”
Shaheer: “So, only become friends with them?”
Aunt, pries at me
Shaheer: “That love, sweet words, intimacy—was it all a fraud?”
Aunt, peevishly: “I don’t know.”
Shaheer: “What are you?”
I didn’t get any answers, but my brain is crowded with questions. No one watches their own face, or realizes their own worth—all are merely taking hollow breaths. They have nothing to be proud of, only refer to their special caste or creed, their Americanism, Hinduism, or Sikhism—all external apparel! This hauteur does not permit us to study ourselves.
Perhaps it is why I try to befriend a tree and hold it dear as it yields flowers and fruit, which provide shade to all; trees never shows any discrimination.
I have never fallen a victim to such discriminations; in the midst of the present day’s moments, these discriminations are simply burnt off. Today, the definition of Love and pity suggest the definition of charity and generosity. These words escape my lips:
“O Lord, let only your thirst, only your sweet remembrance remain with this being; obliterate all egoistic considerations from my being. Lest this being remains very empty and unfilled, convert it into a melodious flute. Please, see that this being doesn’t remain mute. Turn it into some melodious tune so that it is absorbed in you; make it worthy of you.”
It seems some Light enriches this Life with its special syrup, and I shall have the true zest of Life. Life gives another life manifold blessing; no one does anything for one another, but only become a means.


This means is also determined by one’s own sanskars and nothing else.
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