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I Think ... Therefore, I Am ...



Inspired by a kathaa by Giani Sant Singh Maskeen on The Mool Mantar: Ik Oankaar  


Disdain's seething eyes have pierced mine, and betrayal has struck me with a sharp, blunt force from behind.

Madness has possessed every fibre of my being, and surprise has thrust me into a whirlwind of emotional turmoil.

Remorse has nearly drowned me into a pool of my own tears.

Sadness has blinded me and left me alone in a dark, deep abyss.

Warm rays of happiness have uplifted me into a state of transient elation, and when its role has come to an end, I have fallen into the suffocating hands of grief whilst vulnerability has stood behind me hideously laughing.

Unrelenting resolve has freed me and propelled me to great heights, but at the end of everyday, it is ultimately exhaustion that lulls me into a stupor of sleep.

Although my body rests from the day‘s activities, my mind, once again, tumultuously dives into the subconscious upheaval of a dream. I travel the vast universe eliciting emotion upon emotion and as the sun's rays outstretch over the horizon and the reflections of the moon begin to disappear, my eyes open, and I begin yet another day, and yet another dream - the dream of life:

Jag supnā bājī banī

The world is a drama, staged in a dream.

I awaken from my slumber, and my mind's subconscious babble of the night transitions into the incessant, conscious chatter of the day. It is an internal, uncensored voice that speaks volumes.

For twenty-seven years it has carried on a continuous, uninterrupted monologue that has spanned the spectrum of every emotion of the human experience - with the exception of internal bliss.

I think, therefore I exist. But surely, I do not exist just to merely think?

* * * * * *

Tẖakur hamrā saḏ bolanṯa.
My Lord and Master speaks forever.

He speaks. He is always speaking. I speak. I am internally speaking. I am in a constant battle to speak over Him, yet I have the audacity to tell Him that His Words just never make sense. During my times of prayer and reflection, I demand His complete undivided attention. Yet, I cannot stop to listen to the rhythm of His Words dancing so gracefully in the air of a crisp, cool autumn‘s wind. I fail to listen to the beat of His Words drumming in my heart.

I fail to acknowledge the melody of His Words pitter-pattering on my windowpane with the season's first rain. I simply continue to speak. For, if I choose for once to listen, then I must cease to speak, to think. And I therefore, will cease to exist:

Jab ham hoṯe ṯab ṯu nāhī ab ṯuhī mai nāhī

When I was, then You were not; now that You are, I am not.

Must I annihilate myself to reach You? Must I become mute?

Guru Nanak, with utmost grace and humility, answers:

Ha▫o āphu bol na jāṇḏā
By myself, I do not even know how to speak.

Nanak does not think, nor does he speak. Nanak dies, but Guru Nanak is born.

I hope to follow in my Guru's meek and modest footsteps that have traveled the Empire of Empires. And perhaps one day, when my forehead touches the ground to bow in reverence, my mind will, for once, agree to do the same.

It's a stubborn little thing, my mind is - sometimes it just does not want to listen.


November 26, 2009

Conversation about this article

1: Ravinder Singh Khalsa (Sydney, Australia), November 26, 2009, 4:57 PM.

What you've written is deep and beautiful - thanks for sharing, sister ...

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