Nature of truth in life

I died this morning. The cremation in the afternoon, as cremations go, was a satisfactory affair , with many of my friends and all of my enemies attending it. As I watch what was once my body being subjected to degrading, even humiliating handling by those who loved me no end, I am not even sure if this death experience is one with a ring of finality about it, or is just an illusion - something like an "out of body experience". I read somewhere -- was it in Carl Sagan's Broca's Brain ? -- that people can have an experience of floating above their body and that this experience can be induced by drugs like ketamine. So its really hard to tell what am I experiencing now. I remember -- or seem to -- that I took no such drugs while 'alive' or 'in body', but then, who can tell? One of the effects of that drug could be loss of detailed memory, especially the memory of having taken the substance. Suddenly, another possibility of a stunning range and implications is opening up before me: does the ketamine experience transport us to an illusory reality or does it in fact transport us out of it? Is 'real life' really real and the ketamine experience an illusion, or is it the other way round? Is there some way of proving that our day to experience is a 'reality', an experience of truth, or is it really a 'dream' in which things appear tangible and real whereas the true of nature reality is really not what we think it is and ketamine experience is truly the experience of real life. (To be continued)

ਕੂੜ ਰਾਜਾ ਕੂੜ ਪਰਜਾ ਕੂੜ ਸਭ ਸੰਸਾਰ

ਕੂੜ ਰਾਜਾ ਕੂੜ ਪਰਜਾ ਕੂੜ ਸਭ ਸੰਸਾਰ / False and Unreal is the king, false the people, false and unreal is play of the juggler seen all this universe

day, July 25, 2011 at 11:20pm

ਕੂੜ ਮੰਡਪ ਕੂੜ ਮਾੜੀ ਕੂੜ ਬੈਸਣਹਾਰ/ Unreal and illusory the palaces,unreal its inhabitant,

ਕੂੜ ਸੋਇਨਾ ਕੂੜ ਰੂਪਾ ਕੂੜ ਪਹਨਨਹਾਰ / Misleading is the reality of gold, ornamanet, and unreal its wearer

ਕੂੜ ਕਾਇਆ ਕੂੜ ਕਪੜ ਕੂੜ ਰੂਪ ਅਪਾਰ / Uneal the seemingly solid world of of matter, unreal its appearance of garment, and the enchantinng beauty of the seemingly real;

ਕੂੜ ਮੀਆਂ ਕੂੜ ਬੀਬੀ ਖਪ ਹੋਇ ਖਾਰ / False and illusory are the husband and wife and their relationship in which they both fritter away life;

ਕੂੜ ਕੂੜੇ ਨੇਹੋ ਲਗਾ ਵਿਸਰਿਆ ਕਰਤਾਰ / Irony of relationships: falsehood and unreal in love with falsehood and unreal

ਕਿਸ ਨਾਲ ਕੀਚੈ ਦੋਸਤੀ ਸਭ ਜਗ ਚਲਣਹਾਰ / Whom shall one befriend when all that one sees is ever slipping and passing away

ਕੂੜ ਮਿਠਾ ਕੂੜ ਮਾਖਿਓ ਕੂੜ ਡੋਬੇ ਪੂਰ / The sweeetness and the honeyed - unreal and sinking

ਨਾਨਕ ਵਖਾਣੇ ਬੇਨਤੀ ਤੁਧ ਬਾਝ ਕੂੜੋ ਕੂੜ : Nanak humbly observes and prays: all except the abidiing truth of this cosmos ( some call it God and others call it the cosmic physical and metaphysical reality) - false, O, false!!

The vision of Nanak is not merely ritualistic submission to the idea of a physically real God; the vision is more in tune with the findings of modenrn science including the uncertainty principle and the findings of the quantum theory in which the location and the velocity of objects are impossible to determine. The use fhte word "false and unreal" by Guru Nanak does not mean that the world is a myth and reality lies somewhere else standing out in the shape of a figurehead God. God himself is another name for enerrgy and laws. Nanak was too subtle to fall into the fallacy of God as an idol. Time and again, he subtly refers to God as the " truth as it exists in the form of shifting patterns in a kaliedscope in which no one pattern is permanenent" ; so how can one fall in love with any one pattern or form when one knows its soon going to shift? Nanak's definition of religion is the recognition of the reality of these shiftng patttern as the "will of the universe" -- and not just recognitin but acceptance of this reality of impermanence of patterns and forms. . Elsewhere, Gurbani urges us to accept the shifting nature of seemingly permamennt images in life as "the sweet law" (Tera bhaana meetha laage) Ancient Hindu wisdom as also the crux of Chiinese philosophy, with both of which Nanak was familiar, had underlinesd the same thouht: "The multiplicity of things is a mirage produced by the distrubance of Mind; when the Mind is quieted -- or settles into peace -- the multiplicity of things disappears." Says physicist Frtjof Capra:" Our tendency to divide the perceieved world into individual and separate things and to experience ourselves as sepaparated egos comes from our categorising mentality."

We know today that of hundreds of particles are being created artificially in collision processes and living only for an extremely short time, far less than a millionth of a second ( Sabh jag chalan haar) In Budhism also, things do not have any meaning except as intercoonection of their mutual relations :" Things derive their being and nature as a set of relations; they are nothing in themselves."

Says the Gita: " At the end of the Night of Time, all things return to my nature; and when the new day of time begins, I bring them into light and shape again." ( Shades of multiples big bangs or the theory of the universe as expanding -contracting of the palpitating heart) It is quite another thing that that the ritualists and fanatics among the Hindus have reduced even Krishan to a mere idol whereas in the Gita, the voice of Krishan is like Cosmos speaking about itself to itelf by splitting itself into two illusory patterns: Krishan and Arjun.

Nanak's thought rhymes with the findings of science, especially the quantum theory in which " particles ( or say human beings or other forms of life) are no more than 'probabibility pattterns, interconnections in an inseparable cosmic web

. .. a continuous dance of energy in which no one posture can be treated as a permanent or frozen image.

In sub-atomic physics, various forms of matter are nothing but unstable and inconcrete processes which keep changing. Any one form in its definite and frozen state is thus not real but illusory. The only reality is the permanence of Law -- which various religions describe as "His Will" , Raza, Hukam (Order in the sense of a system of Laws -- Hukami hovan akaaar -- all that comes into being does so under the force of an Order or Supreme Law." That Law itself pronounces the supremacy of constant change, impermanence of any given stage, dynamism and shifting of patterns, life-and-death interplay also being only a reflection of this dynamism of reality.Gurbani says: "Na koi mare, na aave jaave." (No one dies, neither is there any comin and going from life.") It is in this context that Gurbani and other scriptures urge us to calmly and wisely accept death as something as natural as life itself, one no more a cause for grief than the other is a cause for exultation.)

I think the problem here is one of language and its misunderstanding at some places and deliberate minsinteretation by fanatical ritualists at others. And matter is nothing but energy taking different shapes; the same energy permeates every particle. Says Gurbani: Ghat ghat main har jeo basse, Santan kahio pukaar" The saints have been crying aloud that only one and the same energy inhabits each and every particle."

To my mother, the word 'saint' meant a mind that can comprehend reality and therefore be at peace with it. (The note is based on the discussions I used to have with my mother on religion; she did not know anything about science or its principles but her interpretations were always in tune with them. To her, Gurbani and eligions in general were an attempt of the human mind to make sense of this universe and its laws in order to be able to accept them with mental calm and poise. ( THIS NOTE IS WRITTEN IN A HURRY UNDER PRESSURE OF TIME, ME HAVING TO RUSH TO MEET AN APPOINTMENT. ERRORS, WHICH MUST BE MANY, MAY PLEASE BE FORGIVEN. I WILL COME BACK AND TRY TO CORRECT THEM)

(The views expressed here naturally represent only one way of looking at the universe and I make no claims that this is correct or the only way )

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• Harman Bhullar, DrNirmal S Dhallu, Parveen Sethi and 2 others like this.
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    Ssidhu Ravin ur mum was nthng less than a scholar....

    3 hours ago · · 1 person
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    Ssidhu Ravin the note s vry nicly writn 'n has gotta deep deep thought 'n values too....

    3 hours ago ·
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    Raeshmon Kapoor for d first time i got d hang of quantm physics..;

    3 hours ago ·
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    Raeshmon Kapoor ‎:)..not being cheeky but this is butfully written piece..n ur rite about krishna being reduced to not only an idol bt a nomenclature fr other worthless atributes (krishan kanhaiya/smone flir atious n frivlous)..in his viraat swaroop he was d universe...in all its fiery glory..

Miracles are natural

Ironically, the greatest truth about miracles is that these happen, and happen so simply that no one need call them even miracles at all. A thousand miracles are happening every day in everyone's life, but just because someone or the other has an explanation for them, to most these cease to be miracles. For some bright reason, we insist that a miracle is an event or a happening that can not be explained except either as un-natural or supernatural. This to me is a hilarious invention of human mind - that a miracle to stay a miracle it must always remain inexplicable or beyond human comprehension.

That is not the way a prophet looks at a miracle, for a prophet is a person who sees a miracle in everything that we take for granted. To a child, as to a prophet, even a bud opening into a flower is an event miraculously enchanting. As is the sight of a gigantic object carrying over 400 persons plus the other load, suddenly leaving the ground and flying into the vast skies with no support from anywhere. To an aeronautical engineer or a pilot, this is a boring routine; to a child, it is an experience worth going thousands of miles to see.

To a child, as to a prophet, the rainbow is a miracle with joy without end. So are the colours of life, and life itself. As is the very existence of the universe. Where did all this empty space come from in which galaxies swim freely in trillions and of sizes that cannot be measured except in terms of light years . A light year is the distance travelled by light in one year at a speed touching 300,000 KMs per second. And now imagine a child's and a prophet's thrill to know that even the smallest cluster of galaxies spreads several million light years across ! Or that the universe is expanding but expanding into nothing ! Or that while it is not allowed by the universe for anything to travel faster than the speed of light, a small human brain has waves that can scan, race to and back from billions of multiple universes in less than a second ! A prophet needs no explanation for a miracle because fr him everything, even the universe bothering to exist, is a miracle. A cool easterly breeze is a miracle which has nothing unnatural about it -- nor solar flares, black holes or baby universes. To a prophet, these are miracles because even though there is an explanation for each one of these phenomenon, there is no explanation why a different explanation is not possible. No explanation for any explanation not being different from what it is. Yes, the universe has laws, but why are these laws not different. Could a minor shift in the big bang singularity would have produced a different set of laws in which for instance humans could remember the future rather than the past. There is no need to look for explanation why a child is dearer to her mother than any other child. These are just simple miracles of everyday existence, a part of the cosmic poetry that sings through galaxies.

A Prophet is a person to whom the whole nature is a miracle and therefore all miracles are natural. A prophet is a poet who has come to believe in his poetry and dance to it. To him, the fact that something has an explanation does not disqualify it from being a miracle.

On the other end are people for whom even love is not a miracle because it can be explained as a neural activity.

A miracle is not a miracle because it defies explanation; a miracle, on the contrary, is a miracle because the beauty of its simplicity. Children, lovers, poets and prophets enjoy the miracle-packed life; the rest merely stop taking interest once they can explain something. That is a miracle.

"It is is difficult to be a either a Master or a Servant if one is sensitive"…

‎"It is is difficult to be a either a Master or a Servant if one is sensitive"….Either way, your sensitivity will keep cursing you. Life is so easy for those who can act like there is no sensitivity, their own or that of others they deal with. And yet, I would rather have my sensitivity make me insane than to live a life in which I am not hurt by others' pain or be happy in the happiness of everyone I meet.

The doctor stunningly beautiful

The Stunning Doctor

By Harcharan Bains

Sometimes, Nature achieves for you what you so desperately want but are unable to because of some weakness or the other in you. Where Facebook is concerned, I had told myself several times: "Just shut yourself up" and keep listening to the great words of wisdom that keep pouring in out here. "Shut up and wisdom will flow into you from these sparkling streams," was the self call, but I was unable to obey it.

And I also found that I was beginning to be waylaid and robbed of precious treasures my mother had handed me the day she died: patience , poise and cool.

Just when I was completely lost in my inability to obey a call I gave myself, up came support from unexpected quarters. First, my son walked up to me one day and said with the confidence that only modern young folks have with their parents: "Papa, this Facebook ( I could sense trouble marching in on me !)….its juvenile, a youth pass time, not for seniors like you. It works for you partly – only partly – where your artistic or literary interests are concerned. So carry on with your songs and comments and literature but politically, there are more people out there free to ask you more inane questions than you can have the energy to answer, especially now that you are already in sick bed. "

In hospital, where I was, with nothing except those horrendous monitors meant to tell you how much worse have you gotten than since the last time you thought you were getting better , I was in any case minus a computer, cell phone et al. But my fingers would itch, and worse, my mind would mock my idleness. But trust a Punjabi to think of "jugaad."

And Nature seldom fails to give us charming enough compensation.

So, as I was absorbed in thinking my way out of this loneliness, in walked a young and stunningly beautiful doctor.

She wore an exquisite Sari with sublime grace. The rise and fall of her dress and the crisp music it produced plus the sheer elegance of her presence had already made it impossible for God to remain either Supreme, All Powerful or even All-Resisting. Why would anyone want to be Iimmortal or rule the world if one could have just one day with such beauty as this doctor's? In her train tip-toed a secret swim of fragrance of the finest feminine variety. Doctors, especially young and especially the beautiful of the species, like to chat their patients up. I knew I had found my luck. I used the opportunity to request her to secure me a pen and a wad of papers, "Please".

"Why do you need these , Sir"

"No, I am not writing a report against the hospital people. "

"What do you , Sir?" As I said "I am a government employee," a look of disappointment spread right across her face. "Okay now, what do you need these papers for? The "sir" salutation had already fallen a casualty to the 'government employee.'

I said, "I am a painter. It keeps me relaxed. I paint with words, which have a far greater range of hues than colours have." Now, I have always believed that there are two things which the young and beautiful women as doctors have: a compassionate heart and a face that is itching to be painted. I needed both and she did not disappointment me in either.

"Would you do a paiting of me , Sir? So the King Opportunist, "sir" had made a sneaky re-entry. Although she did not care about words or colours, she clearly knew two things: she was beautiful and she wanted a picture of herself painted. "I am no MF Hussein ," I cautioned her, jokingly. "And thank God for that" was her reply. "I want my painting to resemble me." "

As appointed, she arrived in the very early hours of the day , just past midnight, and sat for me. Nature herself could not have replicated an image so flawless, a poise so ascetically perfect, limbs oozing with so much of Nature's honey. I knew I had taken on a task I could not perform.

As if sensing my thoughts, Nature came up invisibly to me and gave me an impish smile and whispered in my ears: "If this girl could be mirrored through words or colours, I could have created another one like her. I knew I was powerless. But you think- or thought – you were powerful enough. I have been overseeing what you have been writing about her. Its not bad. But who do you think you are—God? – to recreate beauty such as this?

I never felt pettier in life.

"But cool it, son. There is more beauty in the heart of that girl sitting there, and she knows it. Good that she didn't dare you to paint that. You would n't have recognized that because only beauty can recognize beauty. To recognize- much less paint - the beauty in her heart, you would have to have the same abundance in your heart. Do you know who she is?

"No."

"A mother of two, one of whom is named Kaaynaat—which of course means the 'whole universe'. Her son's name Kabir –a saint with a bolder vision would be hard to find. This girl has struggled all her life so that she could save the lives of her own and those of all the poor in her locality. She may dress like a queen when she steps out, but she lives in a hutment, one of the stinkiest in town. Her husband is a …well, with so much in her, does it really matter?

"And she is an oncologist – a cancer expert. And do you know why she is here with you tonight ?

"For a painting of herself.," I said.

"Men are such idiotic species sometimes I feel I should created more swine than men; at least they don't claim to know what they don't know. But men ! They think they see beauty while they are totally blind to it. Or they are blinded by it. Want to know why she is here at this late hour in such shimmering dress, alone in a room, with a complete stranger, while she has children of the poor to tend to?"

"If you insist, tell me, " I mumbled.

"I told you she is a cancer expert. And you don't know what she does: that you have less than a year left to live. She knows it; she has seen it so often in life. But every life in danger isa new challenge to her. And a new love. . She wanted you to go from this world happily. And she thought the kid in you will feel proud that you had her in your room at such an odd time for two hours, though she knew the glitter on her face could have snuffed out several galaxies in this universe. Her daughter's name is Kaaynaat, as I told you. "

"And you have as much beauty within you as she has, though you are too preoccupied to see that. Many have. But because beauty is ethereal, it can't be seen. You belittle beauty when you try to describe or paint her. If you are lucky, you may just feebly brush your cheek accidentally against hers and feel the music of love and goodness ringing through the cosmos . Forget about describing beauty. Dance or break into a song about her, as Guru Nanak did. The only thing you can do with beauty is: be it.

And as Nature walked away, she bade me "Go, pick that little dirty child up and clean her nose. She is your child. And who knows , she is her child: she has so many in this world. Own that little girl. And there are million such children waiting to be loved. The moment you own them, you will outshine this most beautiful woman on the planet."

I could see no child around. Why did Nature say it? That day I wondered really.

Any, before I could as her, Nature had left, as invisibly as she had come.

And as I turned to look at the doctor sitting at the desk, waiting for me to complete the painting, all I could see was the desk.

But the room was full of a new fragrance and my heart, full of a new hope, a new love and new lure for beauty. There was also a new music in the universe.And my room was full of children, some dirty, some not so dirty, some with noses flowing --- but each one of them so stunningly beautiful.

And every child, every old suffering poor man or woman have looked similarly stunningly beautiful since that day.

you dont reach anywhere with questions; keep flying

As she was flying with her four children, one of them asked her, " Mamma o Mamma !! We are tired and you are telling us to fly on these frail wings from Siberia to Sukhna!" Mother was quiet for sometime but when the child, the youngest of the four, persisted, she said, " Shut up, and keep flying. You don't reach anywhere with questions. And as for your wings, if these were really so weak, I wouldn't have asked you to accompany me. And I m taking u where food is. " Having said that the mother straightened her neck to stream-line against the wind. The weather was beautiful, the sky a clear blue, and although she felt like singing, she realized that the children may not like it. So she glanced behind her and saw that all four were either quarreling among themselves --- a sign of good health --- or just following their mother.

Suddenly, She saw a hawk approaching, and she took an immediate swirl. She knew her chidren were too weak to face the enemy but she knew she wasn't.

Among animals, and sometime even humans, mothers have to fend for their children. For her, it was either the hawk or her children. She spread her wings a little wider. She was tired coming from a distance while the hawk, young aggressive and fresh having just taken off from the nearest hill, was more than a match for her but she had one thing the hawk didn't have: a mother's instinct.

Before the hawk could decide which one of the four children to attack first, she had decided what to do: attack the hawk. He did not expect to be attacked. My thoughts went back to my brother, Parbodh.

From my brother's experience as a hunter I had learnt one thing; all predators either try to scare or are scared. He had told me that all hawks are like bullies: if you don't resist them, they will attack you. But the moment a bird stands up against him, he simply flies away.

As I saw the mother get after the hawk, I remembered an incident my brother had faced.

On a hunt for a leopard and not finding one, my brother felt the urge of nature at midnight and went to the nearest Tobha (pond) in a village Mallhi near jaijon. The pond was known as Jallani da Tobha and it was rumored that flames flew up from water at midnight there..

There, as he was about to use the water for cleaning his hands, he saw a leopard, face to face, just a few a feet away.

And this is how my brother described it to my mother, " Maan, sohna taan oh bhi bahut si par sohna taan tera putt bhi ghatt nahin( The leopard was also very handsome but your son is no less handsome) I had my gun lying by my side but he wouldn't have given me the time to pick it up... So I kept looking into his eyes and he into mine.... Then suddenly it struck me "Je eh pio da put hunda taan hun tak main jeonda he na hunda" (If he were a brave son of his faher, I wwould have been a dead man by now) I snatched my gun in a second and fired point black at him, taking care that I don't spoilt his skin." Main sochia hun do sheraan di ladaai hai... .. par thaapi de maan apne put nu... oh baahr piya....jeeona taan sadde dona vichon ik ne hi si ... mainu maan tere utte taras aa gya ... tu meri laash nu kivein dekhengi.... so sad as it is, he had to go..." (I knew it was battle of two lions but then i had a feeling of pity for you.. u would not have been able to bear the sight of my dead body ... so in an instant, i thought, its your mother or mine) I did not go near him even after he was dead... sher maria bhi maann nahin hunda( A tiger is not weak even when dead)

Mother told my brother to stop it all....but he didn't listen ....

A few days before he left us, he was in great pain, and was shouting in anguish .. I went and asked him "Veerji, koi davai liavaan(Should I bring some medicine?) and he said " Kaka, koi khaas gall nahi , tu chup kar ke parre beh ja....eh mere andar oh sherni bol rahi jisda jawan putt main maria si" (Kaka, nothing so big as to worry. You keep quiet and go to sleep ... in my stomach, that mother tigress is howling whose young son i had killed...atte ahna gallaan baare enee nahin sochida ) ......{One should never worry so much about these things..}. as he said this he was in great pain, but he wouldn't care.... ( Lot of my frnds, including Rajiv Mudgil, Dev K and a thousand others know hoe my brother dared death.... even in the London Hammersmith hospital, where i arrived a day too late, he was telling doctors " whats going to happen is gong to happen Are you kids and as if anyone among st you can stop it.... please don't spoil my last few minutes with frowns .. u know whats going to happ ( as if you can help) Please smile

So I saw the mother bird battle against the hawk, I was immediately carried back to the courage of my brother..." Will this hawk have the same courage as my brother had to own up and suffer?" But when I saw him disappearing in the face of a challenge from a mother, I felt prouder of my brother who till his last days of pain kept saying, Kaka jehde keete aa oh bhugtne taan painge hi but given another chance, I would do the same thing again and suffer the same pain.... in nature, everything is give and take.. i was ready for the fun and i am ready for punishment... no regrets.....the day he died, these were his last words " O Yaar manu ik sher taan hor maran dio....hisaab taan poora ho jaaye... main koi siraf ik sher no maran jammia si..." By that time our mother had already left us....but he said, "Maan di gall taan theek si...jo karaange oh bharaange.... par main taan bharan nu tiar bethaan.... koi ik sher taan hor sahmne aave....saale saare dar ke khuddaan vich badi bethe aa."( t least kill me one more lion... let at leat the balance be restored ... was i born to ill just one lion .even the lions are hiding in their holes.. let at leat one more lion come forward and face me....

and the the way the mother bird had scared the hawk away, I was reminded of my brother again

anjana

Blisters as poems

" Your happiness has to do entirely with you. Its not a slave to what others do but a fruit of how you receive what they do. The hurt that others cause is their asset; do not hasten to own it because it does not belong to you. You can not escape it but you can transcend it. And the only way to do that is to keep reminding yourself that the greatest treasure that you have is the love that nature put in your heart. No one can rob you of that. No one, except you. Its your thing. Others can test it. But since its precious to you, never let go of it. Its your only gateway to lasting happiness. Everything else will bring you only temporary happiness, temporary glee, pride, triumph or stuff like that. But love alone can give you immortal peace and happiness. Its not a fairy tale I am talking about. Its the voice of naked skin exposed to the desert summer sun and coming out of it. Coming out with some burns and blisters, yes, but treating those burns as souvenirs, those blisetrs as poems, those scars as songs of love in my heart. And if you love enough, forgiveness becomes irrelevant. Once in love, you never have to forgive. But never confuse love with a need for a relationship. Free it from the need for reciprocity. Love faces as you love flowers - free of the need to see them loving you back. And if you love, you will go beyond being judgmental. That alone will solve a lot of things. Hard, yes, but, if you try over a period of time, you will find yourself smiling at the universe and its people, including yourself. Not tomorrow, but the next moment -- liberate yourself from the bondage of hurt . Liberate yourself from bondage of expectations. And never feel that you are doing to be good to others. You are doing to be good to yourself. The rest will follow. Let your love be a sovereign in this the world. Love the world regardless of the world. Don't give the world an option: force it to be loved.".......

Never stop spreading your love : you will never run out of it. And whenever you forgive someone, think hard: may be it is you who needed forgiveness more than the person you think you are forgiving.

If God is not here, he is nowhere...

I don't expect to stand in the presence of some external God if I don't stand thee already every moment now in myself and in others and in everything... I do not fall to the fallacy of calling everything God and yet believing that God must be distinct from everything....Quite frankly, I have no belief in God as an external living patriarachical figure. If there is God -- and there could be -- he can't be hiding away in some corner of the sky. If I don't see godliness everywhere, I won't see it anywhere. Kudrat sarab akaar...

Need to transcend reciprocity

I am not talking about a stage below love requited but above and beyond it. On the desire to have our love requited, who can disagree with you -- even saints want their God to respond. But comes a stage when you transcend that. But obviously you transcend something only after going it. Only those who experienced the pangs of love unrequited can understand what it means to transcend that pain.The need to transcend the need for reciprocity in love can be understood only by those who can experience the intensity of loving in the first place.