Knowledge is the Largest Miracle # 1

Windows of the Moments

What can I call it? The perception of a long journey, the march from the mind up to the intellect, or an approach from matter to the 'self'? The breaths rise from the extreme-mental depths, like a prisoner released from jail. The sense of this release stirs every particle of the body and enwraps me in a delicious experience.
No trace of the beginning of this journey is visible—in a state of helplessness. Existence buds forth, but if I mean to utter something, what can I say? Yes, what can I say? A cry seeks to burst from my bones and my intellect is eager to burst. My existence desires to annihilate itself, but how do I do all this? I fail to make out.
This helplessness takes the shape of a prayer. The prayer brings tears, tears sweep away helplessness, and the flower of peace blossoms out of this state of detachment. In this detached state, self-consciousness becomes acute and it seeks self-annihilation.
Four weeks back, November 20, 2004, I returned from India where I spent twelve joyful days with my friends, and the rest of the time alone in Mullanpur. This solitude dominated me one hundred percent. It was the fine weather which led to the burgeoning of a new spring; at the same time something kept dying out of these buds. 
Today, I am realizing that the caravans of old reflections, the crowds of thoughts, the veils of sensa-tions, and the feelings from the heart have all dis-appeared. My death is giving birth to someone.
Who is born? 
This experience unveils itself always in silence. As I lapse into it, the depth of my indescribable state puts an end to my existence. Today, I feel that:
Every change taking place in the world never ends. I watch every article of lust, which loses its shape but maintains its existence. I perceive my individuality in this experience, in this period of transition; some appearance is also taking place.
Does anything ever really die?
Is anything given birth to?
Do I die or merely undergo a change?
My thoughts, feelings, are they also all in this state of change or actually dying?
If they are dying, then why am I still alive?
If they have changed, have I, also, undergone a change?
As I stand in this bewildering state, my thoughts and feelings stand burgeoning in a new and immaculate state; they suggest that no novelty can be obtained without undergoing pain.
In the rare moments of the death experience, I perceive my moments of life being enclosed in the fold of a new life and they pour into me the necessary energy, the fortitude, the rich gift of courage, and the gift of divine grace. They bring, into my present field of action, the moments of stability, quietness, and peace, making me assess their worth. Led by the whispers of my arrogant ego, I feel that I bring disgrace and shame to the beautiful part of my life by filling it with troublesome despair, painful dissatisfaction, irrelevant tension, and meaningless rage, and by constraining greed and attachment.
The sense of seeing the past moments in the light of the present moments became a window for me and took my incoming and outgoing breaths into the laps of the past moments.
These perceptions, which my breaths enclosed within them, are the pilgrimage which I have under different names, the direction which became my longing, and the state of mind in which moments passed away smoothly. Today, more valuable than the window of the moments, these windows take different shapes for the under-standing of life and ultimately become the means for the realization of one's own self.
If I peep through the window of my mind, I find that life is actually a journey from attachment to detachment and from material objects to self-knowledge. Even if I peep into this moment of today and try to assess the significance of the past happenings, see if they had really transpired, I ask:
Were these moments, which passed through intense disquietude, infinite desires, painful disappointments, and impossible omissions, or were they dreams, mere hallucinations, encouraged by my poor intellect? Today, innocence tightens its grip upon me and demonstrates that, despite being a reality, it was not a reality but a case of forgetfulness and that, despite being false, it was not false. Like the spider weaves a web with its own efforts and then becomes entrapped within it, so do my own reflections.
In fact, it was my own ignorance and foolhardiness, picked from reality, which assumed the beautiful shape of chaos and hubbub and appeared in the external world. In reality, it was the personality of my omissions and negligence which involved:
In the chaos of ideas and caught in restless restraints,
In the despondency of my daring sensibilities,
In the snare of envy and bitterness, and
In the grip of a greedy mind.
Was my own stream of consciousness, emerging in the outer world, manifesting itself?
The window of today’s moment enables me to show where the invaluable moments of today were being born. Moment by moment, preparations of building such a tower in order that we acquire the capacity for observing the whole life-sketch or life’s vignette, are being made.
Those moments which were parched in sighs.
Those moments which echoed guffaws
The assemblage of them all today began to bloom in the same color; the thirst growing in the innermost recess, brushed against longings, and outward desires. This game of friction, ever conscious, always encountered me—I kept watching the two streams of ideas, running within me. They were the indicators of the warmth, as well as the coolness, of my breaths. They kept invigorating my life and guiding some profound susceptibility of mine.
Worms of doubt, wriggled within me
But also
Brave and daring deeds moved on
I endured intimidating fear
But also
Conducted the non-descript passion of revolt
If I controlled and recovered my trembling being, I also cajoled my love-soaked mind.
If I found my hostility soaked in shame and my incapacity lost, but I felt in the distance a peaceful mind, there in the coils of oneness my beautiful sensibility would lie crouched. To transform life, the portrait of which does not take shape on the usual compass but on the compass of quietness, the grand constructiveness of Nature stood before me in order to extricate my life from the extremely deep bog of despair. The sloughs of despondency raise it on the lofty tower of hope—to make me perceive the true shape of myself.
Then a number of questions showers down. Did this nature not exist before? Did I sleep all that time? Was I so stupid? In fact, I was blind and could not see a boon lying before me. This consciousness removes all my complaints and misgivings regarding a very big part of my life and gives me relief. Then a sweet whiff of the moment says:
“This Nature was extant as well as non-extant in the past. For life always passes through the window of desires; for it is longing that studies life, not we.” This consciousness becomes a persuasion, turns the steering wheel of the mind and starts its travel. The destination is the world's appearance, brought into being by longing. Involved in the present day's sentiments, I look back at that Shaheer:
~who mingles with the moments past?
~who is being tormented by the delusion of the mind's sauciness, imbalance, and chaotic state?
~whose efficiency and capability has been stunned? 
~whose courage has considerably declined?
~who is eager to take a flight, but whose wings are very weak?
~who is very zealous, active, and enthusiasm but whose environment is very precarious?
~where is a link with the self is fluttering, and life feels plunge in grief?
~where is the siege of separation that makes the seeds of listlessness rejuvenate?
~ who is sitting in the dreadful abyss of despair writing a dialogue of the critical drama of suicide?
At the same time, who assesses the worth of life through the window of the longing desire?
~The world?
-The abode of woes,
~The people?
-Is non-extant
Helpless, caught up in the snare of dirt.
The failure of longing can change the world, but the steps taken to the court of Death give us a glimpse of a new aspect of life. Then, I turn my car towards the hospital.
My consciousness is turning into unconsciousness, but in the depth of my being, another consciousness has cropped up.