veD OF UNDERSTANDING THE TRUTH IN LIFE.....WHAT YOU SEE IS USUALLY AN ILLUSION....THE TRUTH IS SEEN IF YOU TAKE TIME TO INVESTIGATE....
Posted by Champaklal Dajibhai Mistry on August 10, 2004

 LIFE = pRpNch = ILLUSION....
...WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE, EXPERIENCE & WISDOM
 AND
 HAVE TIME TO USE
KNOWLEDGE, EXPERIENCE & WISDOM
 TO FIND THE TRUTH
BEFORE WE ACT
FOR A HAPPIER TOMORROW 

In our learning of veD which is the SCIENCES OF CREATION AND LIFE, we have come across the fact that this entire creation and all we experience in this creation is called pRpNch....In sNskrit language the word pRpNch is defined as follows in Apte's dictionary with supplementary explanation from veD sources:

  • Display or manifestation of anything in this universe which can be experienced with 10 GNaanaeNDRRiyo ( 5 cognitive and 5 conative senses in living beings);
  • Development, expansion or extension or anything in this universe;
  • amplification, expatiation, explanation or elucidation of any experience of this universe;
  • prolixity (protracted or repetitious), diffuseness, copiousness of any manifestation experienced in the universe;
  • manifoldness, diversity of any manifestation in the universe;
  • abundance or quantity of any manifestation in the universe;
  • an appearance or phenomenon in this universe;
  • illusion or fraud in this universe;
  • the visible world or universe which is illusory and the scene of manifold actions and with all the explanations of the word pRpNch as noted above due to the effect of maayaa-shkti by which is created all universes and all that they contain and all that happens....maayaa-shkti is the power of creator bRH`m through which creator bRH`m fulfils HIS wish to be many and do many kARm (actions)

In yog-vshiSH`TH which is also called mahaa-raamaayAN, vaSHiSH1TH-muni also explains that this universe and everything in it is created by mns (mind) with its aakaash-chit-shkti....and thus it is only an illusion or dream....the only REALITY is creator bRH`m....

Please click on the next line to read a real life anecdote submitted by PVAF's copious contributor SRii Jaswantbhai Mehta of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada which tells the story that what we see is usually not the REALITY....we have to have the knowledge of life and then with that knowledge supported by wisdom gained in life have the time and patience to investigate the REALITY AND TRUTH of all that we see, hear, smell, taste and touch in life......the knowledge, wisdom, time and patience is what made Newton, Einstein and all the great inventors and scientists and also people like gaaNDHi, Lincoln, Alexander....please click on the next line and have an experience next time in YOUR own life by understanding the morale of the anecdote...or alternatively not listening to veD keep on messing up life with no understanding....



Do We Fight or Do We Listen?

The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty - a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab houses and dusty hedgerows.

At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into our car. He wore laborer's clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed.

Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that on of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.

I was young then, some 20 years ago, and in pretty good shape. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training nearly every day for the past three years. I like to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.

"Aikido," my teacher had said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it."

I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.

This is it! I said to myself, getting to my feet. People are in danger and if I don't do something fast, they will probably get hurt. Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage.

"Aha!" He roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!"

I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.

"All right! He hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson." He gathered himself for a rush at me.

A split second before he could move, someone shouted "Hey!" It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it - as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he suddenly stumbled upon it.

"Hey!" I wheeled to my left; the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.

"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C'mere and talk with me."

He waved his hand lightly. The big man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman, and roared above the clacking wheels,

"Why the hell should I talk to you?"

The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him in his socks. The old man continued to beam at the laborer.

"What'cha been drinkin'?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.

"I been drinkin' sake," the laborer bellowed back, "and it's none of your business!" Flecks of spittle spattered the old man.

"Ok, that's wonderful," the old man said, "absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake too. Every night, me and my wife (she's 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing."

He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling. As he struggled to follow the old man's conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched.

"Yeah," he said. "I love persimmons too." His voice trailed off.

"Yes," said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife."

"No," replied the laborer. "My wife died." Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got no wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job. I am so ashamed of myself." Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of despair rippled through his body.

Now it was my turn. Standing there in well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically.

"My, my," he said, "that is a difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it."

I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man's lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair.

As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.

Terry Dobson



From his book "The Teachings of Terry Dobson" who spent 10 years as an early student, disciple and teaching assistant to Morehei Ueshiba, the founder of Aikido, and then returned to the United States to refine a system of conflict resolution


 



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