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Dreaming a dream and singing a song

5 Min
Dreaming a dream and singing a song

A Story Of The Love, Longing to Manifest
By Prof Surendra Bhatnagar.

Love is essentially self-communicative; those who do not have it catch it from those who have it…. No amount of rites, rituals, ceremonies, worship, meditation, penance and remembrance can produce love… None of these is necessarily a sign of love. On the contrary, those who sigh loudly and weep and wail have yet to experience love. Love sets on fire the one who finds it. At the same time it seals his lips so that no smoke comes out … Meher Baba

One day God appeared in my dream, in form and format perfectly human, wearing a coat of pink or a light-blue. He told me that this world is my instrument. “Your body too is a singing instrument. Play on it my song, My son!” I saw a big instrument with countless loose wires. I broke my head with it, stretching my million- billion neurons and straining all my muscles. All to create jarring notes and agonizing sounds. I cried, “O! God! Is this your song?”

God came and spoke in a still comforting voice. “Child! Be calm. First, be my instrument and play it again. This time I will give you, a much gentler instrument; play it soft and create the harmony of my soul-verse”. And a girl, with a softer and gentler manners, and with all sensual wares entered my life, as my wife. God said, “Make her your soul-mate and sing my song”.

But as she came, she wanted to create a song of her own, out of her instrument, and I in turn of my own. We, both, frequented different scales and could not create harmony of a soul-song. We, both, used our minds and bodies crushing against each other, to win for each, their individual share of song, which would not be. What came finally was a circus of indiscrete, harsh, rasping and discordant notes.

While, the two instruments crashed against each other in a competitive mode, the music became circus of sounds that will not muse. The dance too became a mechanical job-drill. I asked of her, “Our instrument was same, yet why we had separate strings, I of me and you of you?” Hearing this, she said, ‘Oh! This would always be since I am what I am, and you are also not made of mud”. Then she saw at me, smiled, her eyes spoke and she flew.

Yet, the God was still not annoyed. He still gave us one more chance. This time, He gave still gentler instrument to play- a new born child. Yet instead of playing with him, we made him learn our kaput rhythms and our respective, crude and corporeal, rhymes. Child as he grew became a dragon, who spate fires, sparing no home, no church, no mosque, no temple, new or old. He defied all written codes. Stood against all norms.

Energy was key to his conduct. He made moulds of molten fire and made ethics and law submit to it and fit into them. He invoked man against man in competitive modes, to fight and win. He created the world around me, made up of hate-spun wool, which would burn any time. On the chest on brass plates, of the competing individuals, was written ‘only losers make sinners, those who win never sin. All gods left and the angels feared to come in his way. His flag flew high, in the eastern as well as western sky. Like a chameleon he changed colours, from red, green, blue or a purple hue.

This forced God to descend from his throne in a mortal human frame and the ark of the God was established by the elders again in the east, in the land where gods once gathered to perform their horse-sacrifice. And a nation under whose domain, the sun would not set, had to return, rolling back, on the waves of sea. Like a dove, He came from His seventh heaven of His presence. Made His nest in the thickets of thorny bushes of Arangaon, where there were only few neem trees and yet still a fewer birds to nest and rest on them.

He entered there in perfect silence and humility. Servitude was his sign. Yet he became a fire-bird, the phoenix, soon as he gradually grew. He burnt the nest, which he prepared to rest, as he entered the New Life.

He never spoke, yet He was constantly speaking. He drew His flaming sword between the years 1945- 47. He divided lands and people and liberated those, who were slaves for centuries under the colonial chains.

Many were His ways, but all this work He did, away from the eyes of man. The Phoenix won his battle and finally departed. The world changed before our eyes, yet He performed no miracle to prove His truth.

Born in the order old, we live now in the new world, totally changed and revolutionized.

I saw Him in my life, number of times but each time He insisted His inseparability with me. Finally, before my eyes He has risen back to his throne. While returning, He said hearken to my word, the philosophies of man will fade or may fail one day, but my word, which I will give to you, is infallible and so it will remain. “My word is deeper than the depth of mind. From my divine authority I say, that I have not made you separate from me, or one from the other”

“…the word is not for the ears to hear; it is for the chosen ones who wish to live it with their flesh and bone and sing it, as My music, during the spring years. When I keep the word with Me it is already with you. It was My love which becomes flesh, when I come to you, and it is my love again which becomes fragrance when I depart. The love, I leave as My legacy, as I leave the world….

“…Love is reality. It is the quality of soul. The anger and hate are not real; they are the reactions of the denial of love. Love alone can bestow peace which is a quality of soul in a state of natural rest? Violence is the denial of genuine peace. The purpose of My coming this time is to make the world aware of its real instincts and those which were false…..”

The truth is, all that I heard and I saw in my dream was reality and rest, all else, was a reflection. With creation of man, God sowed His seed, in the heart of man, saying that in the heat of mind it will not grow. Wait for the rains to sprout and a spring to bloom. Save it for the rainy days.

The seed was the word of God, preserved in a bony case, waiting for a sprout in the spring, when it will bloom each leaf with a flower, each twig with a fruit, each fruit with the seed and each seed with a word and a song.

And God said “You are my seed and song my son. Sing it well, till I return. Sing it, to invite the spring. Sing it so the rain should come. Till then I am with you, waiting like a tiller, who keeps the soil ready to receive the season’s rain and my love. For the love sake alone, I come from the world of my existence, to that of my imagination.

“Heed, you need me. Heed, that when love manifests, I manifest. My manifestation is the spread of my love. All saints told it again and again, but you heed it not. But I am not a saint; I will create such situations where all roads will be blind to you, except the road of truth- the love’s truth. I have already written the destinies of nations and individuals on wall, while living in pits and caves dug. However, I would like to see it now, to be written with human hands…”

And now as I come out of the dream, I heard a silent voice ringing in my ears, “Follow me, and follow the trails of my love; which come to you from anywhere, in any form or any name, for the love alone is real. What is in the name, Ram, Buddha, Christ or as you like Muhammad? They are all names of love, and I am that love again.”

And a white dove came and set beside me. The deep peace prevailed. I said “Okay! Baba! But please hold my hand till my day is done and I return…”