Monday, January 4, 2010


We are all greater than what we know, Chitleen, and those whom we consider great have merely proved it before us. But obviously , they did not do it to prove anything to anyone. They were perhaps trying to give an expression to the limitless volcanoes of love or life that their little bosoms could not contain and had to release. There is nothing to do in this life except love. Everything else is merely an infrastructure of lthis grand feeling; everything else is there to facilitate love to perform its eternal play which goes on every moment around and within us. But love for one man or one woman or one or even several children or things is merely a glimpse of the profound mystical surge experienced by the likes of Jesus, Nanak, Kabir, Meera, Buddha or Bulle Shah. And as for greatness, look at yourself. Or look at your comment posted here. Did this not require great courage to be saying this in public? Are you not committing yourself to something that others may mock at , at least at this juncture? But have you cared? That’s the whole thing about truthfulness. Truth -- or the way you feel about life -- always revolts against sanity or prudence or fear of public opinion. Truth is the only rebel there has ever been; and the beauty is that it has nothing to rebel against except itself. Truth is like a child --always transparent, naked and engaged in a mock battle, playing from both ends of battle-line. Sometimes, we also do the same thing, enact the same mock drama at a game of cards or in computer games, playing ourselves and our enemy at the same time. Did the man who drove that chariot in the fabled battle-fields of life say something like that. I think he did; but if he didn't, it needed to be said anyway.
That said, a million thanks for saying all those kind words which, coming from a person as talented and as much in pursuit of truth as anyone I have ever known, should be enough to inspire any man to heroic deeds. I promise to try. Stay in touch.


Chitleen said...

If ever there was a saint after Krishna whose religion is love I think I have found him. I am already looking forward to your next post and a book.
Please let me know if you need any assistance in writing the book. I would be blessed to be a part of any such venture.

harcharan bains said...

Expectations others have of us are a burden to the weak , but an impetus to the brave.

A grave is the final abode of the living, not of those who were always dead.

This kind of response can only help one be aware of the vast gap between the expectations one can raise and the strength one needs to meet those expectations. But looked at differently, the expectations others have of us are a burden to the weak but an impetus to the brave and the gifted. The days to come will unfold which I category I belong to. For the moment though, I must confess to an experience of being equal to God ( which all of us are) and of being transported to heights from where even God can be smiled at patronizingly. I can not lay any claim to saintliness but, yes, I am Love, every bone, pore and breath of my being. And so is everyone I know, and everyone knows it, except that ( may be) love enacts its own playful and naughty games before it blesses you. Those who think there are things in life more important than love are yet to be blessed by the glow of life. Even a grave, if it could speak, would refuse to accept a man with a loveless heart for a grave a resting place only for those who have toiled, sweated and enjoyed the sweet labour of love. A grave is the final abode of the living, not of those who were always dead. But then, there is no such thing as a loveless heart on earth; there are only those who are afraid to pay the wages of love. And they are afraid because they have not experienced the joys of endless giving, the greater joys of being able to make fools of themselves, of being cheated with willing consent. Do you think the saint who pretended to be asleep while his guest stole his only blanket at night was being foolish ? If yes, I pray to whatever power there is above us to grant me the courage to make a fool of mysel like this. Giving is the music that love produces at the merest touch; and love itself is the symphony of all creation. Love is God and his Creation ( Okay, energy and matter ! if you prefer) lost in a duet. Love may not be God, but I do not anything else that is. And love may not be God, but it’s the only language he speaks. Love -- boundless, untrammelled, unconditional, unspoken yet sung aloud: that is the language He speaks. Said Guru Nanak :"Bhaakhia bhau apaar" (Only Love that transcends all limits is the language He speaks).
And do I need assistance to write a book? A book is the collective energy of the writer and everyone and everything he has known and experienced. A writer is like mother: his pregnancy is through someone else -- some "one" or many others. But if I produce a book at this mental age, wouldn't I be a child mother! Don't I need to grow before I can have a progeny clinging to my bosom for milk of life!

Anonymous said...

"The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." - Jalal-Uddin Rumi