Shivpreet Singh
Shivpreet Singh
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At the end of the year I want to focus on the light of hope in these troubled times. Let us ignite the light within, and let the light do its magic. Listen to the following shabad as you read this:


The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel,

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

- Thomas Hardy



In his tender poem The Oxen, Thomas Hardy reflects on a fragile yet enduring hope—a childlike belief in the miraculous, expressed through the story of oxen kneeling in reverence on Christmas Eve. Hardy, writing in the shadow of doubt and skepticism, reveals a deeper truth: in moments of despair and uncertainty, the human spirit longs for something sacred, something that affirms goodness in the world. He leaves us not with certainty, but with the willingness to believe, even if it is only "hoping it might be so."

Let's look at Mary Oliver's poem: 

Summery Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

- Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver echoes this sentiment in her reflections on prayer, where she reminds us that prayer need not be elaborate or perfect—it is simply the act of paying attention, of opening our hearts to the divine presence in the ordinary. Both poets, in their own ways, speak to the power of quiet faith and the solace of small acts of reverence.


Gurbani, the sacred hymns of the Sikh Gurus, deepens this understanding by illuminating the Divine Light within us. Guru Gobind Singh Ji's Shabad, "Puran Jot Jagai Ghat Mai," resonates particularly with this idea:

Let nothing enter your mind except oneness
Day & night, rekindle this awakening lamp
You don’t need fasts, shrines, and temples
Adorn the wisdom of real love
Pilgrimage, charity, kindness, meditation, equanimity
None of these have any credence without oneness
If you want to see clearly
Light the authentic lamp within
- Guru Gobind Singh

This Shabad is both a reminder and an invitation. It tells us that no matter how dim the world appears, the divine Light—the Puran Jot—exists within us, waiting to be kindled. This Light is not something external or fleeting; it is eternal and radiant, capable of dispelling the shadows of fear, doubt, and despair.

Today, as we face wars in Europe and the Middle East, the looming threat of climate change, and the pervasive uncertainty of our times, the wisdom of this Shabad calls us to look inward. Just as Hardy invites us to “hope it might be so” and Oliver asks us to pay attention in prayer, Gurbani urges us to awaken this Light within ourselves. It is here, in this illumination, that we find clarity, peace, and the courage to move forward. The ancient bards are urging us to listen. 

Hardy’s “The Oxen,” Oliver’s meditations, and Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s Shabad come together as a gentle reminder: in a fractured world, our hope, however fragile, is an act of faith. It is the kneeling oxen, the small prayer, the flicker of divine Light in our hearts—signs that, despite everything, the sacred remains.

This holiday season, and during my first meditation session for next year (January 4), let us embrace these moments of quiet reverence. Let us look for the sacred, not in distant promises, but in the nearness of hope and love. Let us awaken the Puran Jot within and, in doing so, illuminate the path for ourselves and others. Let the light do the magic. 

 

It is John Lennon’s birthday today. He was a singer of peace and hope, a kindler of imaginations. He passed away prematurely at the age of 40, but he left behind a legacy of lovely melodies and a message of love.

Lennon attained fame all over the world after joining the Beatles as a founding member. The songwriting connection he formed with Paul McCartney was one of the most productive in music history. Together, they produced enduring works that resonate across generations.

I especially like the lyrics of “Imagine”. The song challenges us to picture a world free of division and conflicts. It urges us to work for peace and imagine a society devoid of material possessions and greed, and it strikes a deep chord with me. The lyrics clearly convey Lennon's faith in group effort and his desire for a peaceful society.

Personally, I think John Lennon's idealism and capacity for human connection through music to be inspirational. His creations, such as "Imagine," cross barriers and inspire us to envision a better future. We cherish his message of love and unity that continues to touch hearts all across the world as we commemorate his life and honor his memory today, the day of his birthday.

Imagine by John Lennon

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us, only sky
Imagine all the people
Livin' for today
Ah
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too
Imagine all the people
Livin' life in peace
You
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one


#quote #johnlennon #flowers #shivpreetsingh #love #imagine #kirtanyoga #yoga

I've Dreamed Many Dreams
Ron DeMarco

I've dreamed many dreams that never came true.
I've seen them vanish at dawn.
But I've realized enough of my dreams thank the Lord,
To make me want to dream on.

I've prayed many prayers when no answer came,
Though I've waited patient and long,
But answers have come to enough of my prayers
To make me keep praying on.

I've trusted many a friend that failed,
And left me to weep alone,
But I've found enough of my friends that are really true,
That will make me keep trusting on.

I've sown many seeds that have fallen by the way,
For the birds to feed upon,
But I've held enough golden sheaves in my hand,
To make me keep sowing on.

I've drunk from the cup of disappointment and pain
I've gone many days without song,
But I've sipped enough nectar from the Roses of Life
To make me keep living on!


In the book Journal of a Solitude, the poet May Sarton once wrote that “Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.”   

Poems can be companions when you are alone. In his poem, The Day is Done, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow invites a poem to soothe his feelings, and in turns soothes anyone who reads his words:
Come, read to me some poem,
      Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
      And banish the thoughts of day.

The following poems soothe my feelings:

Tagore - Jodi Tor Dak Shune

Jodi tor đak shune keu na ashe tôbe êkla chôlo re,
Êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo re.
Jodi keu kôtha na kôe, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi shôbai thake mukh firaee shôbai kôre bhôe---
Tôbe pôran khule
O tui mukh fuţe tor moner kôtha êkla bôlo re.
Jodi shôbai fire jae, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi gôhon pôthe jabar kale keu fire na chae---
Tôbe pôther kãţa
O tui rôktomakha chôrontôle êkla dôlo re.
Jodi alo na dhôre, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi jhôŗ-badole ãdhar rate duar dêe ghôre---
Tôbe bojranôle
Apon buker pãjor jalie nie êkla jôlo re.

Tagore's English translation

If they answer not to thy call walk alone,
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou unlucky one,
open thy mind and speak out alone.

If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O thou unlucky one,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track travel alone.

If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,
O thou unlucky one,
with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart
and let it burn alone.


William Stafford - Royalty in Desperation

A Story That Could Be True

If you were exchanged in the cradle and
your real mother died
without ever telling the story
then no one knows your name,
and somewhere in the world
your father is lost and needs you
but you are far away.
He can never find
how true you are, how ready.
When the great wind comes
and the robberies of the rain
you stand on the corner shivering.
The people who go by—
you wonder at their calm.
They miss the whisper that runs
any day in your mind,
“Who are you really, wanderer?”—
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
“Maybe I’m a king.”

- William Stafford 

Guru Arjan - Bhinni Rainariye

The night is beautiful
but everyone is asleep
Still, the saints are awake
they are awake day and night
to see the stars twinkling in the sky
and in the dewdrops on petals and sepals

More on Bhinni Rainariye


Song by Adrienne Rich

Song

“You’re wondering if I’m lonely;
OK then, yes, I’m lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I’m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn’s first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I’m lonely
it’s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it’s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning”

—Adrienne Rich

Unto my books - Emily Dickinson


Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.

As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.

It may be wilderness without,
Far feet of failing men,
But holiday excludes the night,
And it is bells within.

I thank these Kinsmen of the Shelf;
Their countenances bland
Enamour in prospective,
And satisfy, obtained.

- Emily Dickinson

Acquainted with the Night - Robert Frost


I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.

- Robert Frost
I have been invited to participate in a seminar on resisting injustice and building equity. Coincidentally this morning I was reading a letter today that Russian writer Dostoevsky to his brother right after being pardoned from a death sentence; his story is very interesting. This letter is a great example in resisting injustice and maintaining hope in dire times.  Dostoevsky's letter (excerpted below) reminds me of many truths about life, love, hope, truth and resistance.   I am also reminded of Guru Nanak's resistance against the atrocities of Babar, and singing the songs of murder (khoon ke sohele), a daring act of courage. I am also reminded of Guru Arjan's sweet song of hope, Tera Kiya Meetha Laagai, which he sang sitting on the iron plate upon which he would die.  Dostoevsky letter is definitely worth a read for anyone trying to affirm the purpose of life: 

Dostoevsky after his mock-execution: An excerpt of his letter to his brother


Brother, my precious friend! I have not become gloomy or low-spirited; life is everywhere life, life is in ourselves and not in what is outside us. To be among people and remain a man forever, not to despair nor to be downhearted – this is life, this is the task of life. This idea has entered deeply into my flesh and into my blood.

Yes, it’s true! The head which was creating and living with the highest life of art, which had realized and grown used to the highest needs of the spirit, that head has already been cut off from my shoulders. There remain the memory and the images created but not yet incarnated. They will tear me, it is true! But there remains in me my heart and the same flesh and blood which are still capable of loving and suffering, desiring and remembering, and this, after all, is life. On voit le soleil!

My God! How many imaginations lived through by me, created by me anew will be extinguished in my brain or will be spilled as poison in my blood! If I am not allowed to write, I will perish! Better 15 years of prison with a pen in my hands!

Do not grieve for me for the love of God! Do believe that I am not downhearted, do remember that hope is still alive in me. In four years there will be a mitigation of my fate. I will serve as a private – much better than being a prisoner, and remember that someday I will embrace you! I was today in the grip of death for three quarters of an hour; I have lived it through with that idea; I was at the last instant and now I live again!

If anyone has bad memories about me or bears a grudge against me, tell them to forgive and forget it. There is no resentment or spite in my soul. I wish I could embrace any one of my former friends with great fondness.

When I look back at the past, I realize how much time has been wasted in vain, how much time has been lost in delusions, in errors, in ignorance of how to live, how I did not value time, how often I sinned against my heart and my spirit, and my heart starts bleeding. Life is a gift, life is happiness, every minute of my life might have been an age of happiness.

I tear myself from everything that was dear; it is painful to leave it! It is painful to break oneself in two, to cut the heart in two.

Today we need to pick ourselves up,
unruffle our feathers and renew our singing.
We need to soar into this winter knowing
that a spring awaits around the corner.

We need to make new love songs
-- not the flaky and fake ones --
real bold silver pinions of equality
that wave over our heads.

We need to perch on all her branches
to keep spilling their essence
until we have infected all the rest
and can hear America singing again.
                                                   - Shivpreet Singh


More Songs of American Renewal


1. Long, too long America - Walt Whitman (written after Civil War)

Long, too long America,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn'd from joys and prosperity only,
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish, advancing, grappling with direst fate and recoiling not,
And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse really are,
(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse really are?)


2. Hope - Emily Brontë

Hope

Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne’er returned again!


3. To Hope - John Keats

To Hope

When by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!


4. Grace - Jo Harjo

Grace
Joy Harjo

Grace

- for Darlene Wind and James Welch

I think of Wind and her wild ways the year we had nothing to lose and lost it anyway in the cursed country of the fox. We still talk about that winter, how the cold froze imaginary buffalo on the stuffed horizon of snowbanks. The haunting voices of the starved and mutilated broke fences, crashed our thermostat dreams, and we couldn’t stand it one more time. So once again we lost a winter in stubborn memory, walked through cheap apartment walls, skated through fields of ghosts into a town that never wanted us, in the epic search for grace.

Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.
   
I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn.
   
I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn’t; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it.

5. “Hope” is the thing with feathers - Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.

6. From The Cure of Troy - Seamus Heaney

This is from Seamus Heaney'a poetic drama The Cure at Troy, a version of a play by the Greek dramatist Sophocles (fifth century BCE), and addresses questions of personal morality, deceit and political expediency, suffering and healing. 

Human beings suffer.
They torture one another.
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.

History says, don’t hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracle
And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there’s fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
of new life at its term.
It means once in a lifetime
That justice can rise up
And hope and history rhyme.

7. I too - Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.




I am listening to this unusual shabad by Kabir today:

The words if you read the direct translation below are somewhat confusing, but a deeper read tells you Kabir is talking about transformation here.  The perverse animalistic instincts have left Kabir and he is transformed. The one who was an elephant is now an adriot guitar player; the rhythmless ox is a drummer, and the harsh voiced crow is now playing sweet cymbals.

Kabir has been transformed.  Kabir's own body was like the dried kakri tree.  But the lord has ripened mangoes on this tree.  And Kabir is consuming these sweet mangoes.  We all have the potential to transform our inner kakri tree, to ripen the mangoes within us, and to partake of them.

Enjoy listening and reading:



ਆਸਾ ॥
Aasaa:

ਫੀਲੁ ਰਬਾਬੀ ਬਲਦੁ ਪਖਾਵਜ ਕਊਆ ਤਾਲ ਬਜਾਵੈ ॥
The elephant is the guitar player, the ox is the drummer, and the crow plays the cymbals.
ਪਹਿਰਿ ਚੋਲਨਾ ਗਦਹਾ ਨਾਚੈ ਭੈਸਾ ਭਗਤਿ ਕਰਾਵੈ ॥੧॥
Putting on the skirt, the donkey dances around, and the water buffalo performs devotional worship. ||1||

ਰਾਜਾ ਰਾਮ ਕਕਰੀ ਆਬਰੇ ਪਕਾਏ ॥ *
The king has ripened mangoes on the dry Kakri tree
ਕਿਨੈ ਬੂਝਨਹਾਰੈ ਖਾਏ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
but only the rare man of understanding eats them. ||1||Pause||
* Note that some texts say "ਕਕਰੀਆ ਬਰੇ" but it should be "ਕਕਰੀ ਆਬਰੇ"
ਬੈਠਿ ਸਿੰਘੁ ਘਰਿ ਪਾਨ ਲਗਾਵੈ ਘੀਸ ਗਲਉਰੇ ਲਿਆਵੈ ॥
Sitting in his den, the lion prepares the betel leaves, and the muskrat brings the betel nuts.
ਘਰਿ ਘਰਿ ਮੁਸਰੀ ਮੰਗਲੁ ਗਾਵਹਿ ਕਛੂਆ ਸੰਖੁ ਬਜਾਵੈ ॥੨॥
Going from house to house, the mouse sings the songs of joy, and the turtle blows on the conch-shell. ||2||

ਬੰਸ ਕੋ ਪੂਤੁ ਬੀਆਹਨ ਚਲਿਆ ਸੁਇਨੇ ਮੰਡਪ ਛਾਏ ॥
The son of the sterile woman goes to get married, and the golden canopy is spread out for him.
ਰੂਪ ਕੰਨਿਆ ਸੁੰਦਰਿ ਬੇਧੀ ਸਸੈ ਸਿੰਘ ਗੁਨ ਗਾਏ ॥੩॥
He marries a beautiful and enticing young woman; the rabbit and the lion sing their praises. ||3||

ਕਹਤ ਕਬੀਰ ਸੁਨਹੁ ਰੇ ਸੰਤਹੁ ਕੀਟੀ ਪਰਬਤੁ ਖਾਇਆ ॥
Says Kabeer, listen, O Saints - the ant has eaten the mountain.
ਕਛੂਆ ਕਹੈ ਅੰਗਾਰ ਭਿ ਲੋਰਉ ਲੂਕੀ ਸਬਦੁ ਸੁਨਾਇਆ ॥੪॥੬॥
The turtle says, "I need a burning coal, also". Listen to this mystery of the Shabad. ||4||6||

Links on similar topics/shabads about transformation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-4TgO-q7Us
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkunCziCQVg
http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?Action=Page&Param=477&g=1&h=1&r=1&t=1&p=0&fb=0&k=1
http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?Action=Page&Param=1359&punjabi=t&id=58055
http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?Action=Page&Param=1411&punjabi=t&id=59898
http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?Action=Page&Param=326&punjabi=t&id=14916
http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?Action=Page&Param=239&punjabi=t&id=10469

Krishna's perspective is that duty should be done regardless of fruit.  But what do you think? Should work be done with hope of gaining something, or should it be done without hope.  Here are two perspectives from Cooleridge and Emily Dickinson.  Emily Dickinson perhaps read Cooleridge's "Work without Hope" poem before writing her poem.  She distinguishes between Work, which requires hope, and Service, which does not require hope.  So she claims, work has an end, but service does not have an end.  Service lives forever.  

First, Emily Dickinson:
The Service without Hope—
Is tenderest, I think—
Because ’tis unsustained
By stint—Rewarded Work— 
Has impetus of Gain—
And impetus of Goal—
There is no Diligence like that
That knows not an Until—

Work Without Hope by Cooleridge
1825




ALL Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And WINTER, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve,
And HOPE without an OBJECT cannot live.


Written in 1825, Coleridge’s “Work Without Hope” is a sonnet relating nature to the emotions of the speaker. The imagery used throughout the poem is both a reflection of the natural world and a reference to the speaker’s mental state. Seasons are used in the poem to relate what the speaker is feeling, and how it affects his life. Described as “lines composed on a day in February,” or during the beginning of spring, we realize that the speaker is truly contemplating the ideas presented throughout the poem.

“Work Without Hope” is a sonnet, although it is not written in traditional sonnet form. The development of the poem is presented the same way as in a sonnet; the poem develops in the first 12 lines. The last two lines then present the overall theme of the poem to the reader. Throughout this poem the speaker observes nature at work, and uses the activity to set up a contrast between himself and a busy natural world. This is illustrated throughout the first six lines of the poem, which discuss the beauty of nature using classic terms – "slugs leave their lair/ the bees are stirring – birds are on the wing". The contrast is made quite apparent here: “And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,/ Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.” We learn that the speaker has come to the realization that while nature is beautiful, he struggles to identify himself within this world of purpose and business. Instead, we see him as an observer, not a participant. These are personal themes throughout Coleridge's life; he often battled with feelings of failure due to a variety of life events. Please refer to the Biography of S.T.C. for more information on this topic. Although Coleridge’s phrase, “WINTER slumbering in the open air/ Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring” appears trite and unconvincing, this contrived sentence sets up this idyllic setting as a foil for what the speaker has to say about his own purposelessness.

The speaker then develops his conscious thought in the next six lines. Although aware of the beauty that surrounds him, he is also conscious of the unsuccessful picture he presents to such a scene. This is clear when the speaker addressed the world around him, saying, “Bloom, O ye Amaranths! Bloom for whom ye may/ For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!” The speaker recognizes that this beauty does not exist for him, and he sees himself as a poor recipient for the natural world. This parallel between nature and man is a prevalent theme throughout Romantic literature, often elaborated upon by Percy Bysshe Shelley, among others. Amaranths, coincidentally, are unfading flowers, and exist as yet another contrast to a speaker who is fading as we speak. He is well aware that he possesses a lack of success: “With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll” illustrates his deficiency as compared to this productive natural scene. The speaker is full of despair; he realizes that he has contributed nothing. He is as sterile as the winter that preceded this productive spring season.

The final theme is illustrated and interpreted in the last two lines of the poem. “WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve/And HOPE without an OBJECT cannot live” ends Coleridge’s poem and summarizes the overall point. Drawing nectar, the sugary-sweet juice of poetic fame, through a sieve is impossible, as is performing any work without hope. For without hope, there can never be success. This idea is expanded with the statement that hope cannot live without an object, or a point. For if there is nothing to hope for, then where does hope go? It simply drains away. The speaker is isolated in this world of spring beauty, the contrast felt all the more because of the life and production that surrounds him.
Sung in Raag Asa or the color of Hope



Hope - Bhagat Ravidas

I am not afraid of losing my life
I am afraid of losing your love

Prosperity property and wealth are Maya
Your servant's heart doesn't dwell on those

My heart's home is in your lotus feet
Drinking its wash is God's wealth

I am tied by your love's rope
What is the benefit of escaping?

ਆਸਾ ॥
Aasaa:

ਕਹਾ ਭਇਓ ਜਉ ਤਨੁ ਭਇਓ ਛਿਨੁ ਛਿਨੁ ॥
What would it matter, if my body were cut into pieces?
ਪ੍ਰੇਮੁ ਜਾਇ ਤਉ ਡਰਪੈ ਤੇਰੋ ਜਨੁ ॥੧॥
If I were to lose Your Love, Lord, then Your humble servant would be afraid. ||1||


ਤੁਝਹਿ ਚਰਨ ਅਰਬਿੰਦ ਭਵਨ ਮਨੁ ॥
Your lotus feet are the home of my mind.
ਪਾਨ ਕਰਤ ਪਾਇਓ ਪਾਇਓ ਰਾਮਈਆ ਧਨੁ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
Drinking in Your Nectar, I have obtained the wealth of the Lord. ||1||Pause||


ਸੰਪਤਿ ਬਿਪਤਿ ਪਟਲ ਮਾਇਆ ਧਨੁ ॥
Prosperity, adversity, property and wealth are just Maya.
ਤਾ ਮਹਿ ਮਗਨ ਹੋਤ ਨ ਤੇਰੋ ਜਨੁ ॥੨॥
Your humble servant is not engrossed in them. ||2||


ਪ੍ਰੇਮ ਕੀ ਜੇਵਰੀ ਬਾਧਿਓ ਤੇਰੋ ਜਨ ॥
Your humble servant is tied by the rope of Your Love.
ਕਹਿ ਰਵਿਦਾਸ ਛੂਟਿਬੋ ਕਵਨ ਗੁਨ ॥੩॥੪॥
Says Ravi Daas, what benefit would I get by escaping from it? ||3||4||



"Cheerfulness strengthens the heart and makes us persevere in a good life; therefore the servant of God ought always to be in good spirits." - Saint Philip of Neri

When things go wrong, that’s the time to be more cheerful. When things go right, of course we are cheerful. When nerves are getting frayed, that’s the time to smile.

The practice of spiritual disciplines has a very useful purpose: they can make us so secure, so firmly rooted in our deepest Self that not only can we go and live in the midst of people who are difficult with cheerfulness and equanimity, we can even learn to change them for the better.

Even if you have a bad day in the office, or a very busy day on the campus, that’s no cause for your courtesy to fail, for your consideration to fail.

I knew a little girl of three or four who was usually very nice to me. Then suddenly one afternoon she was looking at me like a storm cloud. I asked, “What’s the matter?” and she replied, “You better watch out: I haven’t had my nap.”

Now imagine grown-up people coming home in the evening and telling everyone, “Don’t bother me. I haven’t had my nap.”

It is one of the hallmarks of the spiritually aware man or woman that they will always be cheerful, not because they don’t feel deeply, but because they do feel deeply.
A poem to be sent to invite friends and family to join in the journey of the new album, "Sparkling Stars" -- 

Sparkling Stars
- Shiv, Feb 23, 2014
Edited 2020




Welcome 
on a journey
to the heavens
holding sparkling stars

to a place where
all your wishes 
come true

to a place

where whatever
you speak
happens

where there is no I 
there is no you,
just us, 
one

where you are not nameless
you are the genuine you
way beyond the body
the essence of truth
waking infinite
as Satnam

Come 
see the stars
while the world sleeps

Come see the stars
sparkling in life's night
and notice for yourself how
you are the stars lit bright

A story of waking up by Jane Honeck (http://janehoneck.com/in-like-a-lion/)

This picture says it all. Hunter Joseph, our 8th grandchild, arrived April 4th with great gusto. Nothing held back, he greets the world full of passion with energy engaging every ounce of his tiny being. I imagine him fully conscious of everything—from the hands of the doctor holding him to the air lightly touching his body—everything is new and exciting. What if we greeted each day in the same way? What would our life and our world look like?

What if we experienced the light of dawn each morning and felt the cool air on our bodies as we rolled out of bed as if it were the first time. What if we used this heightened awareness and energy to craft a whole new day, any way we wanted it. Instead of being mired in problems and stuck with obstacles, we’d be poised for each new experience that life hands us. Sure, some we might greet like a lion, but at least we’d be facing them instead of hiding from problems or staying stuck in patterns that no longer work.

Life would change for sure. When we face each day with energy and passion we can move forward to build the life we want rather than settle for the life we have. Building is always better than settling into an unconscious way of doing life.  Whether it’s unconscious spending, eating or politics as usual, the only way for change is to enter life like a lion. Because if we don’t, the end won’t be going out like lambs but more like sheep going to slaughter.

Remember that energy, creativity and curiosity you felt as a child and use it to your advantage every day. And, make it your duty to keep it growing in every child you meet.




WHERE THE MIND IS WITHOUT FEAR

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

- Rabindranath Tagore

Bridge collapses
friends again
strangers
need not be
for still underneath
a common ground exists


Guru Nanak's poem Jai Ghar mentions the six houses of Hindu Philosophy ...



Wikipedia mentions the following on the six orthodox systems:

Several Indian intellectual traditions were codified during the medieval period into a standard list of six orthodox systems or ṣaḍdarśanas, all of which cite Vedic authority as their source. Nyaya, Vaisheshika, Samkhya, Yoga, Mimāṃsā and Vedanta are classified as āstika schools:

Nyāyá, the school of logic
Vaiśeṣika, the atomist school
Sāṃkhya, the enumeration school
Yoga, the school of Patañjali (which assumes the metaphysics of Sāṃkhya)
Mimāṃsā, the tradition of Vedic exegesis
Vedanta or Uttara Mimāṃsā, the Upaniṣadic tradition.

These are often coupled into three groups for both historical and conceptual reasons: Nyāyá-Vaiśeṣika, Sāṃkhya-Yoga, and Mimāṃsā-Vedanta.

The following is an excerpt from an essay about the six houses of philosophy.

Nyaya - The Nyaya school was founded by sage Gautama. Sixteen major topics were discussed in this system, the most important of which is pramana, the source of valid knowledge. Actually, Nyaya is a school of logic, and all other schools of Indian philosophy use the Nyaya system of logic, in whole or in part, as a foundation for philosophical reasoning and debate. Navya-Nyaya or Neologic, a further development of this school, occurred in the 16th century in Bengal and Mithila.

Vaisesika - Kannada is the founder of this school, which is associated with the Nyaya system. This school discusses seven major topics: substance, quality, action, generality, uniqueness, inherence and non-existence. This school is called Vaisesika because it considers, uniqueness, as an aspect of reality and studies it as a separate category. Under the topic of substance, it deals with the physics and chemistry of the body and the universe. The theory of atomic structure was established by this school. Its practical teaching emphasizes dharma, the code of conduct that leads man to worldly welfare and to the highest goal of life.

Samkhya - Kapila is traditionally cites as the founder of this school, although his Samkhya Sutras have been lost. The Samkhya-karika of Isvarakrsna, the oldest text on this philosophy, cites the name of Kapila, Asuri and Pancasikha as previous teachers of this school. It is considered to the oldest of the philosophical systems.

Samkhya is a dualistic philosophy that believes in the coexistent and interdependent realities, conscious Purusha and unconscious Prakrti. Purusha is ever pure, wise and free but it becomes a subject of pain and pleasure when it identifies itself with Prakrti. Prakrti is the material cause of the universe and is composed of three gunas – sattva, rajas and tamas that correspond to light, activity and inertia respectively. The state in which the gunas are in equilibrium is called Prakrti but when disturbed the state is called Vikrti. Disturbance of the equilibrium of Prakrti produces the material world, including the mind, which is supposed to be the finest form of material energy.

Samkhya philosophy explains the dynamics of the body and nature of mind. It is the mother of mathematics as well as Ayurveda and is indeed the very basis of Eastern philosophy.

Yoga - Yoga and Samskhya are allied systems. Although Yoga philosophy was known even in the Vedic and pre-Vedic periods, it was not formally systematized until it was codified by Patanjali in about 200 BC. The Yoga Sutras contain 196 aphorisms, which are divided into four sections. Yoga studies all aspects of human personality and teaches one how to control the modifications of the mind through practice of meditation and detachment and surrender to higher consciousness. It prescribes a holistic system of practice beginning with the yamas and niyamas (ethical and behavioral codes) and proceeding through the asanas (physical postures), pranayama (breathing exercises), pratyahara (control of senses), dharana (concentration), dhyana (meditation) and culminating in samadhi. In this system the individual self is the seeker and pure consciousness is the ultimate reality that he finds within. Practicality is the main feature of this system.

Mimamsa - Jamini was the founder of this system that accepts the Veda as the final authority on all questions. It provides a comprehensive method for interpreting and understanding the underlying meaning of the Veda. It lays great emphasis on rituals, worship and ethical conduct and provides a systematic lifestyle and direction. Mimamsa offers guidelines for practical application of Vedantic theory. This school is foremost in the analysis of sound and mantra.

Eventually this school was divided into two groups: the school founded by Prabhakara and the one founded by Kumarila Bhatta. According to the former there are five sources of valid knowledge: perception, inference, comparison, testimony and postulation. According to the latter there is only one source of knowledge – noncognition.

Vedanta - was taught and practiced by the sages of the Vedas and Upanishads and was handed over through a long line of sages. But Veda Vyasa, who codified these teachings in the Brahma Sutras, is considered its founder. Until the time of Sankara, Vedanta was mainly transmitted through oral tradition but sometime between the 6th and 8th centuries a.d. Sankara reorganized the system of this monistic school of thought. After him numerous teachers wrote commentaries on the Brahma Sutras, interpreting it in various ways and thus establishing various schools within the single system of Vedanta.

The major schools of Vedanta are Advaita (nondualistic), Dvaita (dualistic), Dvaitadvaita (both dualistic and non dualistic), Visistadvaita (qualifies nondualism) and Visuddhadvaita (pure non-dualism). Of these schools Sankara’s Advaita and Ramanuja’s Visistadvaita are the most important. Sankara’s Advaita Vedanta covers all the other systems. The main teachings of Vedanta is that self-realization is the actual goal of life, that the essence of the self is the ever existent consciousness and bliss, the Self is free from all qualifications and limitations, that the self is essentially Brahman, supreme consciousness and this Brahman is the absolute, transcendent, attributeless reality but it eternally embodies itself within itself the capacity or power called maya, which is the basis of mind and matter.

Read here for the complete essay on the six houses.

Questions About Angels
By Billy Collins
 
Of all the questions you might want to ask
about angels, the only one you ever hear
is how many can dance on the head of a pin.

No curiosity about how they pass the eternal time
besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin
or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth
or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge.

Do they fly through God's body and come out singing?
Do they swing like children from the hinges
of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards?
Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors?

What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes,
their diet of unfiltered divine light?
What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall
these tall presences can look over and see hell?

If an angel fell off a cloud, would he leave a hole
in a river and would the hole float along endlessly
filled with the silent letters of every angelic word?

If an angel delivered the mail, would he arrive
in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume
the appearance of the regular mailman and
whistle up the driveway reading the postcards?

No, the medieval theologians control the court.
The only question you ever hear is about
the little dance floor on the head of a pin
where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly.

It is designed to make us think in millions,
billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse
into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one:
one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet,
a small jazz combo working in the background.

She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful
eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over
to glance at his watch because she has been dancing
forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.
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SHIVPREET SINGH

Singing oneness!
- Shivpreet Singh

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