Shivpreet Singh
Shivpreet Singh
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What is Poison?

Anything Which Is More Than Our Necessity Is Poison.
It May Be Power, Wealth, Hunger, Ego, Greed, Laziness,
Love, Ambition, Hate Or Anything.

Fear, Envy, Anger and Hatred are poisons. But acceptance can transform them to nourishing emotions. 

What Is Fear?

Non Acceptance Of Uncertainty.
If we accept uncertainty, or fearless, we come Nirbhao

What Is Envy?

Non Acceptance Of Good In Others,
If we Accept that Good, it becomes Inspiration, we become Nirvair.

What Is Anger?

Non Acceptance Of Things Which Are Beyond Our Control.
If We Accept, it becomes Tolerance, we are in Santokh

What Is Hatred?

Non Acceptance Of Person As He Is.
If We Accept Person Unconditionally, It Becomes Love, Prem

Knowledge of transforming poisons to nourishments is real wisdom. Gyaan. Vichaar. 


This was my advice to a colleague at work today:

The lion is the king of the jungle.
Everyone else abides by his rule.
Or else you will be devoured.
shiv, do you know your lion?



"Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear" -William Shakespeare

How to exempt yourself from fear

Things done well and with care exempt themselves from fear. So said William Shakespeare, and I have found no sentence more fitting for these hurried days.

The world rushes. It rushes to speak, to build, to judge, to buy. We are told speed is virtue, efficiency is god. But I have walked in the woods and seen otherwise. The spider, in her slow genius, builds a web that holds morning dew like a string of pearls. She is not afraid. The tree sends roots into the dark earth for decades before lifting its arms. It does not tremble.

What is done with care holds its own weight. It needs no defense, no apology. When I build my table with hands steady and heart still, I do not fear its collapse. It will outlast me. It will hold the books I love and the bowls I fill. This is enough.

I have learned, too, that the hurried man is the anxious man. He forgets what he just said. He checks his phone to remember who he is. But the one who acts with attention, who listens while he speaks and breathes while he walks, becomes his own peace. He is not haunted.

To do something well is not to be perfect. It is to be present. When the painter mixes her colors with care, when the teacher pauses before she answers, when the child ties her shoelaces just so—something sacred enters the act. It becomes immune to mockery.

In my garden, I water the herbs slowly. I trim with scissors, not shears. The tomatoes grow. The basil leans toward the sun. If they fail, I will know I met them with care. I will not be afraid.

So I say: take your time. Build what you love. Say what you mean. Hold the hammer as if the nail were your own thumb. Then let the world judge. What you have done—if it was done well, and with care—will need no armor.

It will already be free.

[The following is a true story from this week]

I am so relieved he is watching TV now.  I know I don't sound like a good parent saying that, but right now I am liking this moment.  I am somewhat tickled that Mahatma Gandhi can make a difference in our lives. Only minutes ago, he was howling at the top of his lungs:  "It was the worst day of my life!"

When he came back from school, I heard him. It was as if a satellite had fallen upon unawares. Quickly descending the flight of stairs I reached him standing between the powder room and the front door. All the people that loved him surrounded him ... me, his grandparents, his sister, and his nanny.  All concerned. Looking at him.

"What happened, Gobind." 

"They were all laughing. I don't want to talk about it."  More crying followed.

"But what did you say that made them laugh. They probably liked it; that's why they laughed"

"No they were laughing at me. It's too embarrasing" And then the sobs continued.

Without wasting any more time, I dragged him upstairs.  I thought he would talk more if it was just me and him.  Locking the door behind me even as his sister banged on it for some time.  "Jania, I just need to talk to him alone." I told her.  She was quiet soon.

I read him the poem I used to love growing up. 

"When I was at the party,"
Said Betty, aged just four,
"A little girl fell off her chair
Right down upon the floor;
And all the other little girls
Began to laugh, but me---
I didn't laugh a single bit,"
Said Betty seriously.

"Why not?" her Mother asked her,
Full of delight to find
That Betty---bless her little heart!---
Had been so sweetly kind.
"Why didn't you laugh, my darling?
Or don't you like to tell?"
"I didn't laugh," said Betty,
"Cause it was me who fell."


Then I remembered.  He probably had his speech today.  He had been talking about this speech he had to make to qualify as a "Class representative."

"Is this about your speech?"

He looked up with moist eyes, "Yes."

And then he burst out. "I was speaking and everyone started laughing. And I didn't finish my speech. I took my name off the list. I am never making a speech ever again."

"But what did you say that was so funny?"

"It was not funny. I said I will take all the blame for you guys. I will always be there when you need me. And then they started laughing."

I thought about it. He basically made an emotional speech, and 8 year olds found that quite funny. Especially coming from him, who is normally very jovial. I told him that I was proud of what said. That would have been enough because he started to smile. But I thought I needed a one-two punch. So I shared with him what I have learned from Gandhi, that I remind myself when I am alone despite being right:

"Gobind, if Gandhi had stopped because he feared people laughing at him, we would not be Mahatma, he would not be a great soul. He used to say, 'They ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight. Then you win'."

He thought about it for a moment and said, "People laughed at Gandhi too!" He said he would stand for election again next year.

Mahatma's truth indeed lives on despite dying moments of despair. We shared a fleeting smile. And intending to pounce on this loving moment he asked, "Can I watch TV now?"


[End]

This week's Indie Ink Challenge came from Billy Flynn, who gave me this prompt: "In time we hate that which we fear - William Shakespear". I challenged Liz Culver with the prompt "The rose that grew from a crack in the concrete".
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SHIVPREET SINGH

Singing oneness!
- Shivpreet Singh

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