What is gained through aggression will be taken away through greater aggression: Hazel

'Always remember this: what is gained through aggression or through plans or even through victories of body and mind can always be taken away through greater aggression, superior plans and bigger victories of body and mind. What is gained through love and humility and surrender can never be taken away from you, except through and as an act of love and humility: and you never mind giving anything away as an act of love and humility . In fact, the more you lose on this path, the happier you are. Love is always happy to give; desire, always happy to snatch, to grab. That is why the objects that desire brings you are so temporary and so insecure. Fear of losing and of defeat always accompanies victories of desire; Fruits that love brings have no fears of loss accompanying them; Strangely, in fact, you are always keen to share, to give away the fruits that love brings you: you are searching for people to share love with. And here is another paradox. Everyone wants to possess things that make one happy , and to leave pain for others. Strangely however,it is in the nature of pain that it can not be shared; it is in the nature of happiness that everyone wants to and can and does share it. And here is the key to the difference between love and desire. No one wants to share objects of desire and joy; everyone wants to share love and happiness. "

Hazel:HAZEL'S SON AMID COLTS

Nothing to add, my son, to what I have already written to you, except perhaps pass on to you the voices that I have been hearing since the day I last stayed under this vast canopy.- a canopy of parchment made from raiment secured through skinning my self off. But for one whose pockets complain of no coins, this was just and minor shedding off load. 

Instead of coins and paper, I bring you voices, son, voices that fill empty corners in the valley with fragrant air. In special, there is a voice which resembles my mother's - is it hers? May you and I be happy only in the happiness of others and make their happiness my own !

We have been talking about our problems,my son, and I know you have those aplenty. But we have talked enough. It is time perhaps to turn inwards and discover the secret fountainhead of love and joy and spread it around. It is time to get up and bathe in sunrise of a new, boundless love - beyond definitions, beyond bounds and beyond even the imaginary horses which you and I keep riding through the streets of rows upon rows of dream-like, wall-less houses, riding into this city of love beyond the need for acknowledgement,and much less reciprocity . Thank you, horses, for you have taken me and my son past many a rough and ragged terrain, negotiating the scary turns and precipices with the ease of a musician. Thanks.

Thanks too for more - a wealth that it would never be possible for me to own, except through kindness, understanding and compassion of this Valley of Graces - the wealth of that belongs to my son, and the greater wealth of love in his heart that belongs to his mother - a love that he knows how to keep within his bosom. He therefor keeps busy distributing it among leaves and branches and petals of flowers and colts and nightingales and scorpions and snakes and rabbits and redbreasts in this amazing vale.

And horses ! horses!! - you who have taken people in hundreds and thousands of millions, as children of this valley, across milestones across this valley and its stretches to their final mission.

And honestly in a hush, horses, between you and me as friends, tell me, horses, do you ever expect thanks for all your wearisome and selfless efforts?

Oh no, stop neighing and don't be angry - deflate those fuming nostrils, and bring those hooves down on the ground. . Okay, I will never talk about expecting gratitude and thanks , but please , silence now. Yes, like that ! Good children. Our Father is here.

And now, let that colt, your colt - let him and my son play together here. And okay, I will tell my colt never to seek those pointless answers through questions which echo neither this valley, nor horses, nor you nor me, nor my colt nor your sons - these questions roam the valley of innocence like molesters. You and I shall defeat their intent, for you and I know that in their worst avatars, the goal of questions is never answers; it is just molestation.

And please, you dear horse, please allow my son to learn from yours how to carry the wealth of innocence and love on his back and bound across mountains and hills like the bard's daughter. And let him learn from the colts that backs were created for legs and legs for valleys and mountains, as hearts were created for love and love for humility and compassion. My son too will learn how to carry the wealth of gratitude and not mix it with the wealth of love, but keep it as pearls of a different hue and different make. Teach him how to carry big loads of valley's never-ending wealth.

And teach him to know and respect the difference between wealth and loads, and between loads and burden.

Part 2:

'Always remember this: what is gained through aggression or through plans or even through victories of body and mind can always be taken away through greater aggression, superior plans and bigger victories of body and mind. What is gained through love and humility and surrender can never be taken away from you, except through and as an act of love and humility: and you never mind giving anything away as an act of love and humility . In fact, the more you lose on this path, the happier you are. Love is always happy to give; desire, always happy to snatch, to grab. That is why the objects that desire brings you are so temporary and so insecure. Fear of losing and of defeat always accompanies victories of desire; Fruits that love brings have no fears of loss accompanying them; Strangely, in fact, you are always keen to share, to give away the fruits that love brings you: you are searching for people to share love with. And here is another paradox. Everyone wants to possess things that make one happy , and to leave pain for others. Strangely however,it is in the nature of pain that it can not be shared; it is in the nature of happiness that everyone wants to and can and does share it. And here is the key to the difference between love and desire. No one wants to share objects of desire and joy; everyone wants to share love and happiness. "

Won't pity if you didn't notice; won't notice if u focused hard enough: Don't pity: Love

D J: As you come closer to your goal things become tougher thn before.
Not because you now need to put extra effort (no! that has been done),
but because people around you, who did everything to stop, go blindly
crazy watching it!!

SMC If you really had meant to follow your goals with honesty, trust
me you won't even have had the time to notice what others were going
through. If you are still noticing anything except your goal and your
own efforts to get there, then you can be sure you are not focusing
hard enough on your goals.C_O_N_C_E_N_T_R_A_T_E ...HARDER

D J True.. it actually made me feel pity 4 thm.. bt nw ignored cmpletely..

SMC Would not need to pity if you hadn't noticed. Wouldn't have
noticed had you just focused hard enough. Don't do it out of spite. Do
it because work demands it. As for others, everyone deserves your
love, and if you are full of it, you wouldn't find their presence a
distraction. Just more work to do, more responsibility - a sacred and
lovable responsibility. But even that won't take your mind away from
your goal. As I always say, work like a pregnant mother-to-be: her
mind is always focused on the child within her, but that doesn't stop
her from attending to her far less significant duties. Learn from a
pregnant woman how to focus on just one thing without making an
effort, even without putting other things away, even without refusing
to attend to other work, even while serving meals to her husband's
mother with love. But her mind? Her mind is always, every minute,
every second, focused only on the life that's growing within
her......even when she is lost in the arms of her beloved husband, her
eyes closed in love, her bosom aching with love for him. But her mind
just would not stray away from her child......And never forget, if you
say you are pitying someone, generally you mean you don't give a dman.
Quite often our pity is the way we give expression to our arrogance.
Avoid it. Don't pity: love.

D J That's the magic of those words.. I transform!! Thanks..

SMC  You are honest therefore you are great. You do not transform
because of the magic of these words. You transform because you knew it
already and just needed a reminder...You are quite simply so beautiful
in mind and soul.

DJ:   Sir ji.. itni tareef ke kabil nahin hain hum.. jab hum ho jaenge
tab apko kabhi rokenge nahin..

SMC:  I don not flatter, you know it. I know there are others who
flatter because you are so beautiful. To me that is only one part of
you and that will never stop me from telling you where you go wrong.
But if I admire you, every word comes from the core of my heart. ..
Now, be a good girl and accept the taareef because it is honest and u
deserve it. and you deser e it because u are honest.

D J:  Yes everythg is true n i accept. aftr 26yrs of my life hv
realised it through hard lessons. Ohhhh n i knw U r true to ur evry
word.

 SMC:  Which dishonest girl would have accepted with such grace and
humility that she has been transformed. Thats your courage, and
courage comes from honesty and honesty comes from inner confidence,
because something within u tells you that there is no need for you to
be dishonest. And ll of this makes you so beautiful...ab samajh aya
ji,

D J: Bt ur experience n seniority must teach me even more abt d realities..

SMC: My experience ! I am sure you don’t mean serniority etc…
Experience is neither years nor events that one goes through in life.
Experience is what your mind does to what it sees. For that you don’t
need more years. You need more feeling. Budhha had when he was so
young: you will have it if you open your heart’s window and cast your
opinions away and try to love this world as your own child. We will
talk some time later.

SMC: Above all, never be afraid of opinions, except your own. They are
the only ones that inflict damage. Opinions of others are just a
reflection of who they are, not who we are. Be careful not to be
opinionated. Always keep your heart open. Live with your heart. As
Castenada said, what your heart says can not be wrong. If your path
has a heart, its the right path. If it doesn't have, its of no use

A teacher is nothing if not a lover....

THOUGHTS ON THE TEACHERS' DAY ( OR ARE THESE SENTIMENTS?)

All I can say on the Teacher's Day is that making me a teacher was one of two greatest gifts life ever gave me. It was a romance, a life-long love affair of the dizziest kind. it was never about imparting instruction,information, knowledge or stuff like that: that was always secondary to my understanding of my principle task. Awakening my students to the glorious and priceless wealth of love was the primary task, a key to everything else that was and is of any value in education. Igniting a passion for life, a zest for joy, a guiltless pursuit of happiness of the highest kind - this to me defined my job.

And I deem myself perhaps the most fortunate person on the planet for how many are rewarded for their honest work as handsomely, spontaneously and unhesitatingly as I have always been! For me, rewards came rich and thick and fast. Every moment of my life as a teacher was packed with these rewards: the smiles on the joyous faces of students when they looked at flowers and at one another in the college, the glow on their cheeks when they blushed for being too right, the shine in their eyes when they discovered that they were in love with just about everyone around them, even though a little more at one or two particular places or with person or persons or the other in their lives, and my own shy blushes every time I discovered that a student was in love with me too -- all this to me was always far, far more important than anything that I was supposed to "teach" them, or to receive as my remuneration for my "job". I received pay checks by the hundreds every morning as students would chance to pass by me in a corridor, through a colonnade, in a verandah, in playground, in front of class rooms - anywhere any morning , in fact any time of the day. My days and nights were packed with students and their love. I was with them during the day: they were with me during the night, in my loneliest hours even.
I was convinced I would be able to teach them nothing if I was not able to learn from them. And neither of the two was possible without my first falling in love with any student who came across to me with innocent queries or with just that look in his or her eyes which sang , "Won't you help me, sir?"

My sole regret - if any - would be that it wasn't humanly possible always to be equal to or worthy of the love that my students always gave me - even those few who thought they did not like me. But as Robert Browning says, "God above is great to grant, as Mighty to make/ And creates love to reward love." Sooner or later , at some point, somewhere, some day, nature brought all my students back into my heart's lap, where I had always kept, nursed, caressed and indulged them, each one of them - individually and together. How I loved and still love their little concerns, their little worries, fears, suspicions, unreal hatred, superficial dislikes and genuine and very genuine love ! So unashamed was I in my pursuit of love with my students that some girls in the Basic Sciences College had nicknamed me "Professor Love". ( Incidentally, Professor Love - Professor Paul L. Love - was an American teacher, a truly Christian missionary, at Baring Union Christian College, Batala, and he will always remain an icon to me for some of the things I followed in my life as a teacher)

I sincerely believe that its perhaps the highest honour for man to be chosen by life for a career in teaching. There is only one phase of my life which I might put above my years in love as a teacher: my years as a student in love with my teachers.)

I was one of the luckiest few who received and gave limitless love both as a teacher and as a student. In the final balance, I guess I perhaps received far more love than I can ever adequately acknowledge, far less return. In humble and sincerest apology to my students, all I can say is: " I do not love my son the less, but my students more."

And to my teachers: "I do not love my mother the less, but my teachers more." I was lucky that I had teachers who made me aware of all that beats in my bosom resembling what others would call "romance" - for want of a word still better than this. And I was even luckier that I found students who resonated to all that my teachers had put in my loving heart. 

Miracles zones and eyes too weak

I am seeing the wondrous miracle zones I have always wanted to see in my life, and they seem just a few steps away. But now my legs refuse to carry me across those few steps, too weak , too tired, too unwilling. Has someone else been so close to what he wanted so badly in life, and yet not able to reach his hand out to touch it just when it seems so much within reach ? Let thy experience be my guide - and the energy in my legs.

Thoughts on life in a civilisation free from death

One of the characters in my never-to-be-written (( so it seems) book is wondering these days how humans would have shaped their civilisation had one of man's oldest wishes been granted: immortality, or , in simple words, a world in which everyone is born but  no one dies. All kinds of  possibilities, none of them complimentary to the character of mankind,  cross my character's mind. Some of these are truly frightening ; others  even blood curdling,  What would the young members of such a civilisation do with their old: would they - would they be able to - keep them with their children in joint families? The old would always heavily outnumber the young, for generations upon generations of them would heaped together in each succeeding generation. Or - Heavens be merciful !- would the young, who would obviously be in control of the civilisation,  - in order to preserve the race against inevitable food shortages -  evolve laws,  practices and conventions under which everyone who crosses a certain age , say 80 to 100 years, would be offered the option of either voluntary exit - poison or something - or face merciful execution? In the event of the second, woould the execution be described as "sacrifice" to the God of Survival. My character seems convinced that human would have invented religious or spiritual justifications for the inevitable cruelty through all kinds of esoteric or occultist stretches of imagination.

When I talked to my character last night, I was horrified at how coollly he considered all these -- and many other such possibilities. Frankly, I had no answer to his questions as to what place would virtues like mercy, pity, love, compassion hold in a civilisation created thus by nature.

I stopped writing , and thought I would toss the question to friends on Facebook, to see how the story - or the line of my character's thought processes - be guided from hereon. I am confronted with terrible possibilities, all of whom make nonsense of beliefs I have always held dearer than life ( Ah! here may be the answer! But wait !)

I throw the idea before you. Personally, I am horror struck at the questions the character in my book is posing with ghastly grin. 

Sunnycaves: "There are no final goals in life. There are only steps you take towards them. Every step defines a goal,"..from Hazel

Sunnycaves: "There are no final goals in life. "..from Hazel

"There are no final goals in life. There are only steps you take towards them. Every step defines a goal,"..from Hazel

"You have run one fourth of your race well, are well on course for what you set out to do, and then suddenly get distracted towards something more immediately promising, alluring and rewarding , and achieve half of that too. And then , suddenly you look back to the exact point where you lost focus, got distracted. And you find that time has run our - almost - and you have gone in a direction that has taken you farther away from what you originally set out to reach......" In fact he had lost focus again. He had forgotten why he was saying what he was saying.

Then the forest spoke again:

" One fifth of the track is still ahead of you, inviting you to take it and try to re-route and finish as much of the race you originally started as you can because that was the race you were born to run. You may not reach the goal but you would be nearer it. Make sure that your goals are right. If you are running in the wrong direction, re-route - no matter how far you are gone. Once you do that, remember this, and only this: the important thing in life is not to reach your goals but to keep running and enjoy the distance covered. Every yard you cover towards the right goal - the goal after your heart -and every stride you take towards it, every step you put forward is a goal in itself, as enjoyable and as much worth reaching as what you thought was the final goal. There are no final goals in life. There are only steps you take towards them. Every step defines a goal, is a goal. If you do not enjoy the steps, you will not enjoy any goal you achieve. The important thing in life is not to breast the finishing tape;the important thing is running towards it. The goal in life is not the finishing line, but the track that takes you towards it. If you don't love the race, then the goal is not worth your reaching. Those who remember the goal and forget the race lose both."

Punjabi Poem: ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ / .

On Facebook on July 30, 2013

ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ / .....

ਮੈਂ ਹਾਂ ਖੰਡਰ , ਪਰ ਜੁਗਨੂੰ ਇਸ 'ਚ ਲਖਾਂ ਟਿਮ ਟਿਮੋੰਦੇ ਨੇ 

ਕੋਈ ਆਖੇ ਹੈ "ਸੜਿਆ ਘਰ", ਕੋਈ ਚਾਨਣ-ਮੀਨਾਰ ਆਖੇ /



ਹਾਂ ਠੰਡੀ ਰਾਖ , ਹਰ ਜ਼ਰੇ ਤੇ ਲਖ ਸੂਰਜ ਬ-ਸਜਦਾ ਨੇ 


ਰਬਾਬੀ ਧੁਨ ਕੋਈ ਏਹਨੂੰ ਆਸ਼ਕੀ ਦਾ ਆਬਸ਼ਾਰ ਆਖੇ /


ਨਹੀਂ ਸਿਵਿਆਂ ਦੀ ਚੁੱਪ ਮੈਂ, ਇਕ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਜੋੜ ਮੇਲਾ ਹਾਂ ,


ਕੋਈ ਮੇਨੂੰ ਆਖਰੀ ਅਰਦਾਸ , ਕੋਈ ਆਸਾ ਦੀ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ /



ਮੈਂ ਆਖਾਂ ਜੋ ਪਿਆ ਆਖਾਂ , ਇਲਾਹੀ ਹੁਕਮਨਾਮਾ ਹੈ ,


ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ /

Beware the innocence of hyacinths, beware!!

"Sane voices are often soft and subdue" ..  cri de coeur from Pakistan through Fozia Hafiz ( Please do not despair, the warriors of love and sanity)  HB 

BEWARE THE INNOCENCE OF HYACINTHS , BEWARE !! --

By  Harcharan Bains 

"Soft and subdued is  the music of spheres,

Soft and subdued is the whisper of spring

Soft and subdued the rustle of leaves with dewy tears

And soft and subtle  the wounded nightingales sing..

Soft and subtle is the pregnant breeze

Soft and subtle the drizzle-drops, her off-springs;

And the cuckoo and the breeze beneath her wings.

Soft too was the hour that presaged violence

When  Creation found voice in the big bang

Subtle the message that through the skies rang

Of billion suns ‘n stars and their radiance.

Beware the silence of lambs, beware !

Beware the innocence of hyacinths, beware!!

Hiding in gossamer clouds is the thundery vault

Wrapped in  pitch dark silence is  the lightning bolt.

Hiding in mother’s helpless stagger is the tigress’ leap

And an ever wakeful energy beneath her languid sleep.

In the enveloping gloomy dark

Sleeps the incendiary spark

That, once woken,  will wreak  vengeance

On Kings’  and  their kins’ arrogance;

And   spread through the skies such  gentle radiance

As drown out  hatred  which is a bliss of  ignorance.