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Surdas went to God’s temple, then people said - “How did you come?” Hesaid - “I came to see God” People said - “You do not have eyes, how will you beable to see God?” He said - “If I do not have eyes for beholding God, then doesThakurji (God) not have eyes? He said, but God will be able to see me! He willbecome pleased on seeing me, and my work will be done.”Now Brother! Sister! Pay attention. Just as I have no eyes, but God haseyes, with that He sees me. Similarly gentlemen! If you do not have awareness ofGod, then does God not have awareness about us? If in our knowledge God is notknown therefore I am Surdas, but are we not in God’s awareness? When we are inHis awareness, then now we have never to worry about anything at all. Just as achild is in his mother’s site, till then no one can do him any wrong and whatever isneeded for the child, the mother will arrange everything for him. Similarly, whenGod’s presence, we are never are distant from him, then our protection, provision,welfare etc. whatever is needed, that all he will do.God’s says in the Gita –Ananyaascintayanto maam ye janaah paryupaasate;tesaam nityaabhiyuktaanaam yogaksemam ahaamyaham.( Gita 9:22)"To those men, who worship Me alone, thinking of none but Me, who areever-devout, I make provisions to protect what they have and I also provide themwith all the necessities that are required." (Gita 9:22)"macchitah sarvadurgaani matprasaadaattrishyasi” (Gita 18/58);"By fixing your mind on Me, you will by My favor, conquest all difficulties, butif your ego does not let you listen to Me, then you will be lost"; and“matprasaadaadvaanoti shaasvatam padmavyayam” (Gita 18/56)That eternal ever-lasting post can also be attained by My grace,”The point is that in knowledge, the Lord’s grace is present, then He willprotect us from the inauspicious and will make us attain Him. However our mindmust remain fixed on God. Our trust and faith should all be on God. If our trustand faith is not on Him, His grace will shower on us. He is already making all theprovisions for us. Whatever is for our welfare, and eternal good, his is naturallydoing that for us.We see pleasure and pain in two different forms, that pleasure is separateand pain is separate. However in God’s abode, pleasure and pain are notseparate. Just as“laalane taadne maaturnaakaaroopnyam yathaarbhake |Tadvedeva maheshasya niyanturgunadoshyoh ||Mother does not have two different feelings while loving or scolding. Withonly one feeling, the mother loves and scolds. In other words, with a heart filledwith love, she loves the child, and seeing towards what is for his good, she alsoslaps him. Then does she do anything that is harmful to the child? Never ! In thesame way, when God does what is in accordance to our wishes and other timesnot, rather He slaps us, then in His doing, we must see that He is our mother! Maa!Whatever is favorable or unfavorable, whatever it be, in that is our welfare,whether we understand it or not.Does the child understand mother’s efforts? Does a child have any power tounderstand her endeavors? No ! A child has no such power to understand abouther struggles. The child has no need whatsoever to understand her labor. Hesimply lies in his Maa’s lap. Likewise, there is no need for us to understand whatGod does and how he does it. How is He, where does He live - we have no needto know all this. Does a child know where his mother was born? Whose daughteris she? Whose sister? Whose wife? Whose sister-in-law? Whose aunt? Wheredoes she live? How does she support herself? What does she do? Whatbusiness does she do and at what time,? Etc. The child knows nothing aboutthese things, and also the child has no need to know this. Similarly how is ourGod (Maa)? Who is she? Whether she is beautiful or not? Whether she is harshor compassionate? Whether she is good or bad? Whether she is helpful or harmful? etc. etc. what have we got to do with all of this? Simply that she is mymother. Whatever is good for us, she will do on her own. What do we know ofgood and bad? What understanding do we have about what is good and what isnot? Do we have that knowledge? Can we see that? Oh! What can Surdassee? What do we understand of what is good and what is not? What is proper andwhat is improper? There is no need to explain any of this talk at all. Simply, I amHis and He is mine. He alone is my mother, my father, my brother, my friend, myfamily member and He is everything. And He only is my wealth, my possessions,my glories, my land, my property etc. He is everything –tvameva mata cha pita tvamevatvameva bandhuscha sakha tvameva |tvameva vidyaa dravinam tvamevatvameva sarvam mama devadeva ||"You are my mother, father, brother, friend, knowledge .....You are myeverything."If someone asks you, who is your mother? God! Who is your father? God!Who is your brother? God! Who is your companion? God! Who does yourwork? God! Everything is only God. Everything is only Maa. Just as for a child,the mother is the clothes washer, mother is the hair dresser, mother is the midwife,mother is the one to breastfeed, mother is the Lord, mother is Guru (spiritualguide), mother is servant, mother is also a sweeper, etc. Mother is the one whodoes even the most menial tasks and even the most skilled tasks. Like that,everything is only God, then what are we worried about!Chinta deen-dayaalko mo man sada anand. It is joy and only joy in ourminds. Simply bliss ! Whether He is worried for us, not worried, what concern dowe have of this? Just as whether the mother is worried or not about her child,what concern does the child have about this! She is worried about him on her own;because the child is her very own. It is no obligation for her to care for her ownchild. Rather it is her duty. Whether she does or does not do, what has the childgot to do with it? Child has no concern whatsoever regarding this matter. God toois like our mother in the same way, that is it! He is our mother. We neither have todo anything, nor do we have to know anything, nor study anything; but only remain joyful at all times. We have to blissfully play. Lying in the mother’s lap,simply play, laugh and be happy. Why must we be happy? Because the mother ispleased, i.e. when we are happy, then the mother is pleased. For her pleasureonly we are sitting in her lap, playing, jumping, and doing all work. We have noconcern with anything else at all. We are only concerned about our one mother.Whatever a mother owns, it is all to provide for the child. A mother’sstrength, intellect, abilities, education, body, clothes, house, etc. all of it is forthe child only. Similarly, whatever capabilities, power, extra-ordinariness thatGod has, it is all for us only. If it is not for us, then who is it for? Therefore at notime should we worry about anything at all. Even if worries occasionally arise,then, say to God - “He Naath! See! worries have come” Just as when a child isthirsty, he says “Boo Boo” and the Maa feeds him some water. In no languagethe expression “Boo” means water, but the minute a child says “boo”, the mothergives him water to drink, similarly in whatever language we say anything at all, ourMaa (God) will understand it -Gungaa teri baatko aur na smajhe koi |Kai samajhai teri maavadi kai samajhai teri joiJust as a man who cannot speak, his language is understood by his motherand his wife. Who else will understand his language? However, whether Godunderstands our language or not, this too should be of no concern to us. We mustsimply continue to call out “Maa! Maa ! Surely a child does not use some specialmeans to call out to his mother. He simply continues to say, Maa! Maa! In thesame way, simply continue to call out “Maa! Maa! That is it! There is nothingmore that needs to be done. Maa appears dear, Maa’s name is pleasing.Therefore lovingly say - Maa! Maa!! Maa!!!We met a gentleman. He said that when I rotate the “mala” (Holy beads),then I make the sounds that are made while relishing tasty food. Now what is themethod of doing “bhajan”! We simply have to make the sound of relishing goodfood. With great joy, repeat the Lord’s Name, chant His name. Whatever you do,do so joyfully.“What will happen ? How will it happen ?” - we have nothing to do with all
of this. The mother is concerned about these things, and she worries about all
this. Just as Mother Yashoda and Mother Kaushalya worried about when will my
“Lala” (loving son) get married? But the “Lala” does not understand what marriage
is and what it is not? He is simply rejoicing and playing around in his own joyful
state. Similarly our Mother worries about what will happen to her child, how will it
happen? We have no concern about all this, and we have no need to even know.
Mother knows and her work knows! We have to remain in bliss and bliss alone
and remain in the mother’s lap! What a jubilant point this is. What a blissful thing!
“Tu jaane tera kaam jaane” You know and your work knows. Saying so, become
free of all worries, free of fear, free of remorse and free of all doubts. We have to
remain ever blissful and jubilant. At all times we have to be carefree and happy.
We have no work whatsoever, only rejoicing, remaining blissful! Our
responsibility is only one and that is, to remain joyful, to remain blissful at all times.
It is a good feeling to call the name of mother - Maa ! Maa ! Saying Maa! Maa !
is a dear and affectionate feeling, therefore we repeat His name. Ram ! Ram!
Appears sweet, therefore we say so. In this there is no rule or ordinance that we
must repeat so many times. What is there in that many times or the other? We
are saying Maa Maa, out of our own will. How are we to repeat the Lord’s Name?
How many times? How is “Bhajan” to be done? How much bhajan is to be done?
With all of this, what is our intent? The name of Maa is dear to us, therefore with
great joy, with pure delight and contentment (prasannataa se) we repeat the name.
We are simply in ecstacy. We are experiencing great joy. We are very much
pleased! We are most delighted and contented!
Mukh Raam Krishna Raam Krishna kijiye re |
Sita Ram ne bhajan laavo lijiye re ||
Nayaran ! Narayan !! Narayan !!!
zayn malik sketch
zayn malik sketch by me
Friend give to accomplish
A Mother Is Not Just A Mother,
Visiting her grave was part of my routine. If I returned I would know exactly which wooden box to walk too, in which flower patch her body rests and exactly how far beneath the ground her degrading body sits in harmony with the earth. She was ready to die. She was ready to die six months before I forced her body awake every morning. Before I coerced her to eat her wet soggy food. Before I held her so close to my body and dripped my tears of optimism all over her back. She was ready to die long before I decided she should live.
On September 6, 2010 Mother Nature decided that Idaho was ready for winter. The clouds swirled into a monotonous tundra over my home. The hawks mocked us for not being prepared for winter. It’s easier for them – they fill their stomachs and fly south. It was their time to eat. They flew in circles over my chicken shed meditating on their prey. As I saw the commotion in the sky and the craving of flesh in their eyes I knew it was time to corral my chickens.
My chickens roamed around the ten-acre land as they pleased. Some would make their way into my home on occasions and eat the food off the counters and others would go near the barn and roll their bodies into the hay hiding themselves from the rest of the world. The ones with more exploring initiative would lay on their sides in the middle of the fields like they were born in the tropics – stomach turned toward the heat finding every way to become one with the sun. They didn’t succeed but when I would pick those ones off the ground their heat would soak into my body and I would understand their logic. After their day of roaming the world they would find their way back to the coop. The coop was painted with my neighbors and my love. The names of the chickens were written on the walls and amateur drawings covered all the nooks and crannies. It was comforting to me. I wonder if they thought it was too.
As the hawks picked their prey I was frantic. My mom and I frolicked the land, me in search for all my babies and her supporting hers. I was yelling trying to scare away the hawks but they knew I couldn’t fly. I could never reach them. The sound of my petrified voice didn’t pierce the hawks as much as it pierced myself. There was one chicken missing. Where was the last one? I saw her body frantically trapped on the other side of the fence. I guided her around the fence to the shed and I pushed the last chicken into the shed and slammed the door shut. As the door slammed I heard the cries of a bird. Did I miss one? Did a hawk steal it before I did? But the distant noise wasn’t so distant at all. As I turned my head toward the door the chicken I had just saved from the hawk I had shut in the door. She lay – just like she used to lay beneath the sun but this time it was not out of pleasure. I opened the door and my chicken rest, her neck strutting in multiple directions and her eyes looking at me in desperation.
I convinced my mom to let me buy chickens when I was eight. She said “if you pay for them and take care of them – you can get them.” So, I saved my money, did my research, and found it only reasonable to make a business to pay for my chickens. I would sell eggs and thus my chickens would be paid for. And this is what I did. But the relationship between my chickens and I over the years became less of a business venture and more of a companionship. When I heard the arguing in the house I found solace in the chickens outside. I talked to them like I was a chicken myself. I would tell them my secrets and my fears. They would sit in my lap and tilt their head whenever I said something noteworthy. After I paused they would come in with some of their thoughts. It’s too bad I didn’t understand their language.
My chicken laid in my arms. My mom took it upon herself to make a bed in the warmth of our home. I brought the barely breathing chicken to the bed that was so delicately made and placed her in it. My tears of optimism didn’t cover the chicken today – they covered her body creating a coat of pain and suffering. I’m sure this coat wasn’t ever taken off my chicken – but I pretended it didn’t exist. I’m good at pretending.
In the preceding days, every morning, pre-lunch, lunch, pre-dinner, dinner, pre-dessert, and post dessert I would feed my chicken food that I soaked in water so it was soft enough to go down her broken neck. I wasn’t an anatomy expert but somehow I figured that with a neck that looks like a 90-degree angle it might be easier to eat if the food is soft. My chicken laid there day after day – gaining energy by night. I convinced myself or perhaps I dreamed it – that she was getting better. I imagined her standing up. I craved her leading a happy life – the life that she deserved.
My mom used to say that if she got in an accident and was unable to move or do anything with her life that she would want to die. She wouldn’t want her children spending their lives caring for a cause that we cared so deeply for but that she left long ago. Our family likes knowing one another at our best and at our worst. But when our worst makes others suffer it becomes a problem that affects all those around us. When I ponder the chicken months today – I always wonder if my chicken was like my mother. Did she want me to let her die? Did she want to close her eyes and sleep to her death? Had I stripped her of her one wish just like I would strip my mother?
As her health improved and she began to seem more alert to the world we started having daily sessions. In the morning’s we stretched. I would pick her immobile body up and slowly move her legs away from her body. I would do the same for her feet. I trusted I was saving a child from its misery. I know now that death isn’t something to fear. I feared for my chicken – I’m sure she didn’t fear it. I would put her body to the ground like she was walking – reminding her of a past long forgotten. A past that today she only sees in her heaven. I didn’t put any of her weight on the ground – it was more of a presentation. When she gobbled, I thought she was telling me things. I would listen and try to pick up on her words. But somehow her gobbles never translated to English.
When people visited our home, they wondered why my mother let me keep a dying chicken in our bathroom. You couldn’t use that bathroom because it smelled of manure and death – so people were ushered to the one in my mother’s room. My mom and I thought it was normal. She was a part of the family. I considered her a part of me just like a person would consider their sibling a part of them. My mother felt the same way. Often when I slept in too late my mom would do my job for me. She would help her walk and feed her her wet food. I remember her words ringing in my head “if you take care of them, you can get them.” I knew she believed this but my mother would also check in on my chicken day and night when I couldn’t care for her myself. She is a mother after all. I learned my ways from her.
A month later my chicken could stand up. I never thought her progress would be so vast. Balancing was a difficult task for her. Her vision was off – or at least something was because when she stood up to eat her food – she would go to peck the liquid matter but she would miss and peck the ground instead. It would take her a few tries to get her beak into the bowl. I didn’t know how to teach her without moving her head in the right direction. Sometimes I would place my hands around the bowl covering the ground. My chicken knew when she pecked me – she never wanted to peck me so she would try to find the bowl. When the days were still warm I would bring her under the hot sun to some of her favorite places – to the sawdust where she used to roll or to the blanket of grass where she would heat her body. She loved the days when it was warm. She would place herself near a tree and sprawl on the ground.
Sometimes my mother would come play the guitar outside. Her lyrics penetrated the atmosphere. She wasn’t playing for anyone – or at least anyone I knew of. But I know my chicken would sit under the tree a few feet away from her and she would turn her head, in any way she knew how, to look at my mother. She would tilt her head, a sober sign of listening and she would keep it that way until my mother’s words receded. Then she would go back to sticking her beak into the ground in search of insects but whenever my mom started up again she would always repeat her actions. I think her voice was a gift into a world of pleasure that was absent from her life. My mother’s voice was a gift to more than one.
As time went on my chicken became stronger. She could walk. Her head and neck leaned to one side of her body making her unbalanced. When she could walk, she would only go in a circle. Her circles eventually got bigger and some days she would make it all the way across the yard by way of circles. When I think about spending life only able to move in circles it makes me shiver.
We could never reintroduce her to the other chickens because they would peck her to death. Chickens are cruel birds – or cruel to the human eye. If one has a disability they will peck it until it dies. I couldn’t let this happen – but maybe that’s the way of the chicken world – and maybe that’s what is best.
My chicken would go to the fence and stand at it looking at all the other ones on the other side of the fence. She looked in desperation as if she was so alone – as if she wanted to be pecked to death – as if she was ready to take death. I couldn’t bear to see her own kind kill her and I couldn’t leave her knowing exactly what was going to happen when I left.
By May 8, 2010 my chicken acted as if she had never got her neck crushed in a door. She laid eggs, she only tilted her head slightly and she befriended the less cruel chickens. She still slept in a different place than them, she would still eat wet food, and I would still watch her with a hawk’s eye.
Months later I walked into her bed and she lied there dead. I still wonder what caused it. Was it her age? Was it something from the event that occurred seven months earlier? Or was she just ready to die?
We buried her on the same day and my tears covered the dirt of where she lay. My tears soaked the area – I’m sure they reached her body that lied so far beneath the dirt. Her body lays in the dirt that I shed my tears on today. But, she doesn’t lay there. She is somewhere, in some beautiful place, dancing with the land just of how she always dreamed. A rock lay by her grave and on it are the words ‘Crazy 8.’ We called her Crazy 8. Her name is Crazy 8.