Shivpreet Singh
Shivpreet Singh
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The form of this shabad is a "Pauri", a Punjabi term used to describe a ladder, step, staircase. Pauris are a poetic form characterized by their concise structure, typically comprising 6 to 8 lines. Within a Pauri, two or more lines are skillfully crafted to end with rhyming words, adding a harmonious and melodic quality to the composition. Guru Nanak's Japji Sahib has 38 Pauris or step, each progressing the singer of the hymns to the highest ideal. I started my Gurbani recordings with a Guru Amar Das pauri, Prabh Paas Jan Ki Ardaas.  Here is an example of a Pauri by Guru Arjan, Ja Tu Mere Val Hai: 

Ja Tu Mere Val Hai

The metaphor of stairs or ladders as a means of ascending to Heaven is prevalent in various religions worldwide. In Sikhism, the Sikh Gurus and the Sri Guru Granth Sahib are considered the guide or path for Sikhs to attain Moksha or liberation by following Gurbani and living a life of service to others. Similar concepts of ascending to the divine are found in the religious traditions of Hindus, Jews, Christians, and Muslims, each with their own symbolic references and religious texts.

As an example of popular culture, the song "Stairway to Heaven" by the band Led Zeppelin became a hit during a period in the West. Although the song's musical style may not directly reflect Indian music, the metaphor of the stairway in the song resonates with the idea of taking a different path towards spiritual enlightenment or transcendence. The lyrics beckon listeners to embark on a different road, much like the metaphorical journey portrayed in religious texts and traditions. The song ends in the heaven of oneness:

And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll


While we humans cannot do many things, there are certain things we can do. We cannot fly in the sky. WE don't have wings.  But we can ascend stairs. Its a human thing to do.  As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow says in his poem The Ladder of St. Augustine:

We have not wings, we cannot soar; 
      But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 
      The cloudy summits of our time. 


The ladders of the world versus the spiritual ladders


The ladder of the world has long enticed individuals to climb in pursuit of social and material standing. However, the poet Jane Hirshfield explores the illusory nature of such ladders in her poem, highlighting their inability to lead to lasting peace. In her ladder, the bottom rungs are rendered nonexistent upon closer examination, and even the top rings, representing pinnacle achievements, lack substantiality. This analogy likens the ladder to a fleeting bubble in water, mirroring the transience of life itself. It further draws a parallel to sand dunes in a desert, appearing and vanishing within moments.

While the poem sheds light on the impermanence and emptiness of worldly ladders, it contrasts this notion with the assertion that the ladder of spirituality is real. Unlike the illusory pursuits of social and material stature, the ladder of spirituality carries a sense of authenticity and profound significance.

The ladder of spirituality, in contrast to its worldly counterpart, offers a pathway to enduring peace and fulfillment. It signifies a journey of inner exploration, seeking connection with something greater than oneself. By ascending this ladder, individuals strive to transcend the ephemeral nature of the world and find solace in a deeper understanding of existence.

Hirshfield's poem prompts contemplation on the dichotomy between temporary pursuits and the lasting significance of spirituality. It encourages individuals to look beyond the fleeting ambitions of the material world and turn their gaze towards the ladder of spirituality, which offers the possibility of enduring peace and a deeper connection to the profound aspects of life.

In essence, the ladder of spirituality stands apart from the illusory ladders of the world, inviting individuals to embark on a transformative journey of self-discovery, purpose, and connection to a higher realm. It serves as a reminder that true fulfillment lies not in the transitory achievements of the world, but in the pursuit of spiritual growth and enlightenment.


It Was As If a Ladder by Jane Hirshfield

It was as if
a ladder,

and each rung,
real to itself,
round or slat,
narrow or wide,
rope or metal –

and as you ascended,
real to yourself,
the rungs directly above
you solid,
directly beneath you, solid.

Scent of peeled orange
mixed with gasoline,
sound of hammers.

Farther below,
the rungs one by one vanished.

Farther above,
the rungs one by one
vanished.

And the side-rails’ lines
vanished, as into
a drawing by Brunelleschi.

Scent of peeled orange
and gasoline,
sound of hammers.

Grip now, night-dog, your barking:

this ladder in air,
invented by others, received by others.

Reading Jane Hirshfield’s My Species and thinking about Kabir this morning:

Go slow my mind,
The farmer plants the seed
But only when the season comes
Is there a flower 

- Kabir (Dheere Dheere)

Sehaj pake so meetha hoye. 
What ripens with intuitive ease turns sweet. 

My Species


even
a small purple artichoke
boiled
in its own bittered
and darkening
waters
grows tender,
grows tender and sweet

patience, I think,
my species

keep testing the spiny leaves

the spiny heart

- Jane Hirshfield 

Note: 
Artichokes contain cynarin. This compound is bitter, and has the unique characteristic of making the foods you eat after the artichoke taste sweet.
Shivoham - Pt. Rajendra Prasanna

Two of my favorite women poets, Jane Hirshfield and Mirabai. And singing about the flute. Ah the love!  Now only if someone could add Emily Dickinson in the mix. Well, perhaps the flute music and this cute poem will suffice until that magic happens.  What better way to celebrate international women's day. Even though I must be guilty of celebrating these three poets a lot more than once a year. 

The sound of the flute

The sound of the flute, O sister, is madness.
I thought that nothing that was not God could hold me,
But hearing that sound, I lose mind and body,
My heart wholly caught in the net.
O flute, what were your vows, what is your practice?
What power sits by your side?
Even Mira’s Lord is trapped in Your seven notes.

– Mirabai
(Translated by Robert Bly and Jane Hirshfield)




First Jane's poem, and then my own musing on singing songs. 



The Poet

She is working now, in a room
not unlike this one,
the one where I write, or you read.
Her table is covered with paper.
The light of the lamp would be
tempered by a shade, where the bulb's
single harshness might dissolve,
but it is not, she has taken it off.
Her poems? I will never know them,
though they are the ones I most need.
Even the alphabet she writes in
I cannot decipher. Her chair --
Let us imagine whether it is leather
or canvas, vinyl or wicker. Let her
have a chair, her shadeless lamp,
the table. Let one or two she loves
be in the next room. Let the door
be closed, the sleeping ones healthy.
Let her have time, and silence,
enough paper to make mistakes and go on.

- Jane Hirshfield



Give yourself

It is not easy to sing
it is hard says 
the Guru

What makes it 
hard specifically
are two steps: 

First,  deciding what you are going to sing.
Second, having the patience 
to sing this song. 

A good singer
gives himself
the time
the patience
and the courage
to sing your song ...

whatever his song is ...
a home, a family, a bridge,
a poem, a friendship, a painting.
He lets himself expand his horizons.

And if he get lucky in the end
he gets to hear your song
in his own voice

- Shivpreet Singh
Ah kindness and its limitations! Reading Jane Hirshfield's "Today, When I could do nothing" once again. I am posting the poem and then some of my thoughts on it below. 




Today, When I Could Do Nothing

Today, when I could do nothing,
I saved an ant.

It must have come in with the morning paper,
still being delivered
to those who shelter in place.

A morning paper is still an essential service.

I am not an essential service.

I have coffee and books,
time,
a garden,
silence enough to fill cisterns.

It must have first walked
the morning paper, as if loosened ink
taking the shape of an ant.

Then across the laptop computer — warm —
then onto the back of a cushion.

Small black ant, alone,
crossing a navy cushion,
moving steadily because that is what it could do.

Set outside in the sun,
it could not have found again its nest.
What then did I save?

It did not move as if it was frightened,
even while walking my hand,
which moved it through swiftness and air.

Ant, alone, without companions,
whose ant-heart I could not fathom—
how is your life, I wanted to ask.

I lifted it, took it outside.

This first day when I could do nothing,
contribute nothing
beyond staying distant from my own kind,
I did this.

My Thoughts


In the song Phulko aakha ma says “let me never kill an ant by unknowingly walking on it.” I find it endearing that in their vast compassion Buddhists find saving ants important. But Jane Hirshfield questions if actively saving an ant is a useful act. 

We think we are saving ants. And that trivial pursuit may make us proud. But, actually are we in control? We had other important things to do; but because everything was shut down we needed to do something kind. So we save an ant that was crawling on the couch. We picked it up and dropped it outside.  However, we then realize, that we didn't really save the ant. The ant is as alone outside as it was  inside. He will not find his family again.  He will be alone and likely die alone.  What then did we save? Was this compassion useless?

“I know that heaven does not exist,” says Mirza Ghalib in his famous ghazal. “But it is a still great way to keep your heart happy.” When we think we are being kind, when we give ourselves the credit, is the compassion useful?  In any case, I think I'll leave saving ants to Jane, and I'll take a few cisterns of silence to fill my singing. 

The purpose of life is to sing!


Woman In Red Coat
Jane Hirshfield

Some questions cannot be answered.
They become familiar weights in the hand,
round stones pulled from the pocket,
unyielding and cool.
Your fingers travel their surfaces,
lose themselves finally
in the braille of the durable world.
Look out of any window, it's the same --
the yellow leaves, the wintering light.
A truck passes, piled deep in cut wood.
A woman, in a red wool coat,
sees you watching and quickly looks away.
             
Jane Hirshfield
Woman In Red Coat
Commentary by Iris Jamahl Dunkle

One never knows when disaster will strike, but when it does, it is often difficult for us to understand the impact unless we are the ones who are directly affected, unless it is our house that floods or is swept by a fire.

This week’s short poem is from one of this country’s most beloved poets, Jane Hirshfield, who lives in Marin County. In it, Hirshfield writes about watching Sonoma County from afar during the summer of 2008 when 1,781 fires (mostly caused by lightning strikes) burned uncontrollably up and down California. At the time, Marin remained safe and free of fire, and the poem observes what it is like to see and smell the beauty of the fire from a distance without the consequence of the fire’s destruction.

The poem explores how our experience of a thing is influenced by where we stand looking at it. From afar, whether from distance or from the passage of time, a tragic event can look absolutely beautiful. How fire from above looks like a necklace of red rubies sewn into the dark, or how the moon, ambered in smoke, simmers on the horizon.

What this poem admits is that when we see beauty in tragedies observed from a distance, when we are drawn to help strangers recover from a terrible loss, it is because at some level we are relived that we are not the ones suffering in the heart of the fire.

___

Sonoma Fire
By Jane Hirshfield

Large moon the deep orange of embers.
Also the scent.
The griefs of others — beautiful at a distance.

Originally published in Poetry (December 2010).

Iris Jamahl Dunkle is Sonoma County’s 2016 Poet Laureate.
First the poem, and them some comments ... 

The Promise
- Jane Hirshfield

Stay, I said
to the cut flowers.
They bowed
their heads lower.

Stay, I said to the spider,
who fled.

Stay, leaf.
It reddened,
embarrassed for me and itself.

Stay, I said to my body.
It sat as a dog does,
obedient for a moment,
soon starting to tremble.

Stay, to the earth
of riverine valley meadows,
of fossiled escarpments,
of limestone and sandstone.
It looked back
with a changing expression, in silence.

Stay, I said to my loves.
Each answered,
Always.


Poem copyright ©2011 by Jane Hirshfield, from her book of poems, Come, Thief, Alfred A. Knopf, 2011.




The message seems clear. Nothing stays. Even those that you trust to stay the most. The ones that you love. Even you yourself. You cannot stay. 

To me this poem explains two things simultaneously: that the promises that our loves make to us about staying are false. Our loves keep leaving us even if they promise to stay. It also shows that we -- or even they themselves who leave -- have little control over leaving. The changes happen whether we want or not.

We are all looking for our happiness to stay with us. Many of us have also realized that will be happy as long as we are with our love. As long as we have love, we are with our love, we should remain happy. As soon as we are seperated from our love, we become unhappy.

The key to unending happiness is to always be in the presence of our love. Whatever that love is, we want to make sure that love is absolutely real and true -- that it does not change.

The poem reminds me of Guru Nanaks first shook - Aad Sach: "That which was the same in the past, is the same now, and will always be the same in the future is the truth." The name of truth, or the essence of truth, is that which does not change over time. Your true love, is similarly your love that does not change over time. It was always your love, it is now your love, and it will always be your love. No wonder Guru Gobind Singh says that Love is the only path to God (Jin Prem Kiyo). 

So where is this true love that is the path to oneness and happiness? Is it the love that exists between two people?

Nothing stays. What we see and feel from our senses cannot be true love. Because everything changes. Not only does everything change, we generally have little control over these changes.

In a poem that I have found very profound and direct in its message, Guru Tegh Bahadur says the love of this world is false (Jagat Main Jhoothee Dekhee Preet). Whether it is the spouse or the friend, their love is not real. Whatever we think love is, it is not. The places that we are looking for love are equally obscure. Wherever we think love is, it is not. The love of the world is sham. The people who said "You're mine" are acting on behalf of their own needs. The pronouncements of love are a result of ulterior motives. In the end no one is with you. "I keep telling my mind," says Guru Tegh Bahadur says, "My mind is stupid. I keep explaining the reality of love to my mind, but it does not understand." He concludes that the only person who can cross the trecherous ocean of the world is the one who sings the songs of the limitless.  

The only love that has staying power is the love of singing oneness. For staying happy, we have to adhere to the love that stays with us always. What stays with us always is acceptance. The love of acceptance can stay with us. The song of limitless life is the love of acceptance. If we can sing acceptance of all the changes. If we can understand that our loves -- no matter how much they promise -- are going to change and leave, we will not have the expectations that make us unhappy. Having accepted we would sing the song of limitless life. We would realize that the purpose of life is to sing. The promise to sing is the only promise that can be kept forever. That is the only true promise.

[O my Lord]

by rabi'A

Translated by Jane hirshfield

O my Lord,
the stars glitter
and the eyes of men are closed.
Kings have locked their doors
and each lover is alone with his love.

Here, I am alone with You

When Rabia Came Over
-Shivpreet Singh

It was sometime after midnight—
the parrot had stopped practicing
his whistle from that Bollywood song,
and the dishwasher had entered
its contemplative rinse cycle.

Then Rabia knocked,
without knocking, really.
She just appeared,
as if my thoughts had gotten too noisy
and someone had to intervene.

She didn’t say much at first.
She looked around the room,
nodded at the moonlight
slipping in through the blinds,
then pulled her robe tighter and said,
“Kings have locked their doors.”

I offered her tea.
She declined, but the steam
rose between us like a small prayer.

Outside, the stars were holding
their breath.

She looked at me—
that look your grandmother gives
right before she tells you
you’ve forgotten God
but she still loves you anyway.

“I’m not alone,” I said,
thinking of my family,
my dog, the leftover curry
still warm in the fridge.

“No,” she said,
and the syllable floated
through the kitchen like a blessing—
or maybe a broom,
sweeping everything else aside.

And then she was gone.
And then she never left. 


This poem reminds me of Guru Arjan's shabad, Bhinni Rainariye Chamkan Taare:




More on Rabi'a


Rabi'a al-Adawiyya (also known as Rabi'a al-Basri) was not primarily known as a poet but as a prominent Muslim mystic and saint. She was born in the 8th century CE in Basra, which is now present-day Iraq. Rabi'a is considered one of the early Sufi mystics and is revered for her profound spiritual insights and devotion to God.

While Rabi'a is primarily remembered for her teachings and spiritual practices, she did express her mystical experiences through poetry. Her poems often reflected her intense love and longing for union with the divine. Rabi'a's poetry is characterized by themes of divine love, the pursuit of spiritual closeness to God, and the renunciation of worldly attachments.

Although the exact corpus of Rabi'a's poetry is not widely known, her poems have been preserved and passed down through oral tradition and various Sufi texts. Rabi'a's spiritual teachings and poetry have had a significant influence on Sufism and Islamic spirituality. Her life and writings continue to inspire many seekers on the path of divine love and devotion.

More on Rabi'a's poem O My Lord

This poem by Rabi'a al-Adawiyya conveys her profound longing for a deep and intimate connection with God. Let's explore its meaning line by line:

"O my Lord,
the stars glitter
and the eyes of men are closed."

In these lines, Rabi'a addresses God, expressing her awareness of the beauty and radiance of the stars. The stars symbolize the magnificence and wonders of the universe. However, she contrasts this with the closed eyes of human beings, suggesting that despite the beauty around them, people are spiritually unaware or disconnected from the divine.

"Kings have locked their doors
and each lover is alone with his love."

Here, Rabi'a speaks metaphorically. The "kings" refer to those in power or positions of authority who have shut themselves away and isolated themselves. This can represent worldly distractions, ego, and attachments that prevent people from seeking a connection with God. The mention of "each lover" being alone with their love implies that everyone has their individual pursuit or object of affection, but Rabi'a acknowledges that true fulfillment and union lie in being alone with God.

"Here, I am alone with You."

In this final line, Rabi'a expresses her personal state of being. She emphasizes her spiritual solitude, highlighting the deep connection she feels with God. Rabi'a finds solace and fulfillment in her intimate relationship with the divine, recognizing that true union and companionship are found in her devotion to God.

Overall, this poem reflects Rabi'a's intense longing for divine connection and her belief that true fulfillment can only be achieved through a deep and personal relationship with God. It highlights her detachment from worldly distractions and her devotion to seeking spiritual closeness with the divine presence.
Interesting lines of poetry from Jane Hirshfield. The following is an excerpt from her poem that was published in January 2014's "Poetry" -- Reminds me of Guru Arjan's Bhinni Rainariye, where sparkling stars are a symbol of optimism and of saints, who are optimistic. They are called happy, alive, awake, and lovers. Very similar words are used in Jane's poem:
 
The happy see only happiness,
the living see only life,
the young see only the young,

as lovers believe
they wake always beside one also in love.
 
The poet, like Mary Oliver sees the world as a poem. And the playwright, Shakespeare, sees the world as a stage. If you want to know how to fall in love, ask the ones who have fallen in love. Guru Nanak gives the directive, Jaye Puchho Sohaagni, or "go ask the ones in love."
I was reminded of this poem by Jane Hirshfield as I wrote "Monochrome" just minutes ago. While we make a lot of choices, habits often choose us. We don't know where we picked them from. This poem is really about the universal guru. The teacher who is teaching us all the time. Making habits all the time. To form good habits, we need good company. The company of sweeter singers makes us even sweeter. 



Habit
- Jane Hirshfield

The morning potion's teaspoon
of sweetness stirred always
for seven circlings—no fewer, no more—
into the cracked blue cup.

Touching the pocket for wallet,
for keys,
before closing the door.

How did we come
to believe these small rituals' promise,
that we are today the selves we yesterday knew,
tomorrow will be?

How intimate and unthinking,
the way the toothbrush is shaken dry after use,
the part we wash first in the bath.

Which habits we learned from others
and which are ours alone we may never know.
Unbearable to acknowledge
how much they are themselves our fated life.

Open the traveling suitcase—

There the beloved red sweater,
bright tangle of necklace, earrings of amber.
Each confirming: I chose these, I.

But habit is different: it chooses.
And we, its good horse,
opening our mouths at even the sight of the bit.
Reading Jane Hirshfield from this month's edition of the poetry magazine.  The poem is called "Once I" -  http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/245604#poem

Once, Iwas seven Spanish bullocks in a high meadow,
sleepy and nameless.

In a prior life, I, says the soul of the poem, was seven Spanish bullocks in a high meadow.  These bullocks are sleepy and nameless -- not awake and not with ego.

As-ifness strange to myself, but complete.


This ridiculous statement might seem strange, but it is "complete" -- it is a statement stemming from the principle of oneness.


Light on the neck-nape
of time
as two wings of one starling,
or lovers so happy
neither needs think of the other.

This is a revelation to me, a light of some sort, that there was no difference between all the bullocks.  They were all one.  They were an "I."  Just like there is no difference in two wings of a starling. Or two happy lovers who are so in love, that leave apart say anything to each other, they don't even have to think of the other, as "the other".  They are one.
Why do I write?

I write because to write a new sentence, let alone a new poem, is to cross the threshold into both a larger existence and a profound mystery. A thought was not there, then it is. An image, a story, an idea about what it is to be human, did not exist, then it does. With every new poem, an emotion new to the heart, to the world, speaks itself into being. Any new metaphor is a telescope, a canoe in rapids, an MRI machine. And like that MRI machine, sometimes its looking is accompanied by an awful banging. To write can be frightening as well as magnetic. You don't know what will happen when you throw open your windows and doors.

To write a new sentence, let alone a new poem, is to cross the threshold into both a larger existence and a profound mystery.
Why write? You might as well ask a fish, why swim, ask an apple tree, why make apples? The eye wants to look, the ear wants to hear, the heart wants to feel more than it thought it could bear...

The writer, when she or he cannot write, is a person outside the gates of her own being. Not long ago, I stood like that for months, disbarred from myself. Then, one sentence arrived; another. And I? I was a woman in love. For that also is what writing is. Every sentence that comes for a writer when actually writing—however imperfect, however inadequate—every sentence is a love poem to this world and to our good luck at being here, alive, in it.

This was my morning dose of poetry.  Again a poem from Jane Hirshfield about acceptance and the happiness in acceptance.  This one a very simple, yet profound one.  Life goes on despite the pulling and pushing against it.  To be sung in the color of hope. 

I am now thinking of the woman at work who, with teary eyes, confided in me yesterday, that she lost her husband last month.  They were both in their late 40s I think.  I had met them both together earlier in June this year, and we had discussed doing some music together because he played the tuba.  I am in two minds whether I should send this to her or not.

Which brings me back to think about the usefulness of poems.  Plato was wrong.  Art can be useful.  As long as life is there, poetry must be there.  Poetry is so life exists. 

Now it's a different day. And I just read a story about a 15 year old girl who stood up against the Taliban for her right to learn. She is being considered for a Nobel prize.
Is she not accepting the will of God by submitting to the Taliban? The answer is no! Education is the birthright of every human. It brings enlightenment. It brings you closer to truth.
That is the difference between the acceptance of a stone and the acceptance of a human being. They are both accepting. But one is an intelligent acceptance and the other is not. Humans are like the tree described in Jane's poem. They are looking for light naturally. This is built in their interiors. And when the light is blocked they must turn to find the light again.
That is the balance between acceptance of fate and following the light through the inner guide.


Optimism


More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam
returns over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous
tenacity of a tree: finding the light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another. A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs—all this resinous, unretractable earth.
- Jane Hirschfield






The Adamantine Perfection of Desire
by Jane Hirshfield

Nothing more strong
than to be helpless before desire.

No reason,
the simplified heart whispers,
the argument over,
only This.

No longer choosing anything but assent.

Its bowl scraped clean to the bottom,
the skull-bone cup no longer horrifies,
but, rimmed in silver, shines.

A spotted dog follows a bitch in heat.
Gray geese flying past us, crying.
The living cannot help but love the world.


"The Adamantine Perfection of Desire" by Jane Hirshfield is a poem that explores the complex and multifaceted nature of desire. Jane Hirshfield, a renowned poet with strong connections to Buddhism, weaves Buddhist themes into her work, and this poem is no exception. While the poem does not explicitly convey a Buddhist perspective, it can be interpreted through the lens of Buddhist philosophy, offering insights into desire and attachment. In this essay, we will explore the Buddhist interpretation of this poem, considering it as a cautionary tale against worldly love and attachment.

The Allure of Desire

The poem begins with the assertion that "Nothing more strong than to be helpless before desire." This line encapsulates the relentless and overpowering nature of desire. In Buddhism, desire (or "tanha") is one of the fundamental causes of suffering, leading to attachment, clinging, and ultimately dissatisfaction. The opening lines of the poem can be seen as a recognition of the seductive power of desire and its potential to ensnare individuals in the cycle of suffering.

Surrendering to Desire

The poem suggests that desire should be accepted without resistance. It speaks of the "simplified heart" that whispers, "only This," encouraging a surrender to the immediacy of desire. This concept aligns with the Buddhist idea of accepting the present moment and acknowledging desires without judgment or attachment. However, it also serves as a warning against allowing desire to consume one's existence.

The Adamantine Nature of Desire

The choice of the word "adamantine" in the poem's title underscores the unyielding and unbreakable quality of desire. In a Buddhist context, this can be interpreted as a cautionary symbol. Desire, when unchecked and unexamined, can become as unyielding as diamond, leading individuals to form strong attachments to the impermanent world. This attachment is at the core of suffering, according to Buddhist teachings.

The Illusion of Beauty

The poem continues to explore the transformation of desire from something that "horrifies" into something that "shines." This evolution can be seen as a commentary on the illusory nature of worldly beauty and pleasure. In Buddhism, attachment to transient, external beauty and pleasures is considered a cause of suffering. The poem suggests that once one fully surrenders to desire, the allure of the external world loses its power.

The Natural World and Love

The final stanza introduces images from the natural world, such as the spotted dog following a bitch in heat and the gray geese flying and crying. These images highlight the interconnectedness of all living beings with the world. In Buddhism, the interconnectedness of all existence is a fundamental concept. The poem's conclusion, "The living cannot help but love the world," can be interpreted as a reminder of the importance of cultivating a compassionate and loving attitude towards all living beings, beyond worldly desires and attachments.



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SHIVPREET SINGH

Singing oneness!
- Shivpreet Singh

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    Sanson ki Maala was made famous by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan sahib.  Although some have attributed this song to Mirabai and Khusro, this is a gh...
  • Kabir's Gao Gao Ri Dulhani - Lyrics and meanings
    One of my favorite Kabir's poem I call "Dulhani." In this beautiful poem, Kabir envisions himself as the bride and the univers...
  • The Many Types of Raag Malhar
    Pour love in your heart, like the rain pours on the land today. As I am working on a Meerabai song I am doing research on the different vari...
  • Loving in the night - a poem by Rabi'a
    [O my Lord] by rabi'A Translated by Jane hirshfield O my Lord, the stars glitter and the eyes of men are closed. Kings have locked their...
  • Love and the Mool Mantra
    Guru Nanak's teachings are undoubtedly about love. So are Guru Arjan's teachings. The Mool Mantra is given the highest importance i...
  • Jindari Lutti by Ghulam Farid - Lyrics/Translation and Performance by Bade Ghulam Ali Khan (Also Rohi or Dilri Lutti)
    Bade Ghulam Ali Khan's version of this Multani Kafi This is a beautiful spiritual song of separation written by Ghulam Farid.  I recentl...
  • Beethal Bhaila - Namdev Asa - Wherever I go, the playful Beethal is there
    I’ve been working on a musical composition for a beautiful shabad by Bhagat Naamdev, and it’s been making me think deeply about its message....
  • Krishna's Cosmic Flute - Reflecting upon Bulleh Shah's Kafi, Bansi Kaanh Acharj Bajai
    Krishna's Cosmic Flute Playing Bulleh Shah in a kafi says, "You are playing a surprising, wondrous, flute O Krishna." Bulleh S...
  • Gulon Mein Rang Bhare - Lyrics and Translation of Mehdi Hassan Ghazal
    I was listening and meditating upon this beautiful ghazal by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, beautifully composed by Mehdi Hassan. It is one of my favorite...

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