The next time some one needs you, just be there

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

"Your son is here," she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times
before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart
attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed
Marine standing outside the oxygen tent.

He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped
his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones,
squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine
could sit beside the bed. All through the night
the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old
man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse
suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/sikh-sikhi-sikhism/25084-next-time-some-one-needs-you.html

He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the
ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of
the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the
laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of
the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle
words. The dying man said nothing, only held
tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine
released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the
nurse. While she did what she had to do, he
waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of
sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked. The nurse was
startled, "He was your father," she answered.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084
"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my
life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I
took you to him?"

"I knew right away there had been a mistake,
but I also knew he needed his son, and his
son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick to
tell whether or not I was his son, knowing
how much he needed me, I stayed."

...................................

The next time someone needs you ... just be
there.


WE ARE NOT HUMAN BEINGS GOING THROUGH A
TEMPORARY SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE.

WE ARE SPIRITUAL BEINGS GOING THROUGH A
TEMPORARY HUMAN EXPERIENCE

 
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The above story illustrates how important the worldly relations are
for ordinary folks who tend to be quite emotional about their
loved ones near the end of their life. On the other
end of the spectrum we have the example of Sahib Sri
Guru Gobind Singh ji Maharaj who was completely above
this silly and overly mushy stuff:

Great Sikh Martyrs

If my counting is correct, this is my 100th post. I asked myself if I should ignore that or make a big deal or what. I decided to reflect about the three years I've been in SPN. Next, where could I put it? I looked through the various forums and topics and hit on this one here. It so happens that "Mystic Void" is a friend of mine, so it seems fitting.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084

When I first came here, I was a complete mess. I had been in a self-imposed exile from the Sangaat for 20 years. For those 20 years, I had not spoken of 1984, of the deaths of my husband and son and daughters and brothers. Even my second husband knew nothing about any of this. (He still doesn't.)

I found myself wandering back into the Sangaat and longing to be a Khalsa again and was taking the necessary steps.

Then I had a major or massive stroke, depending on which doctor you listened to. During this stroke, I died two times and was twice revived. (Ain't technology great?) I had a near death experience. No tunnels, no lights, no dead relativers. A very strange and rather humourous encounter with Yamraj, who ended up exclaiming, "You're not one of mine. Guru over there wants to talk to you." He pointed to a laughing Guru Gobind Singh, who motioned me to him. I am not prepared now to write about the rest except to say that time in a timeless space is as fluid as water. Was I with him a second, a day, a week, a year, many years? Where time does not exist, that is a meaningless question. Here in Maya, it must have been only very few minutes or even seconds. He politely asked me to return to Maya, which I did. I didn't ask why - If he asked you to do something, would you ask why? Then I saw myself returning to him, but he waved me off. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a hospital bed, the left side of my body paralysed.

Now, what happened? Was I really with him? Or was this all really the strange imaginings of a dying brain starved for oxygen? I do not know. I am not even sure what "really" means in this context. Real or imagined, this experience had a huge effect on me. This is where SPN comes in. Against all odds, I survived and have largely recovered. I walk and talk and eat and seem to have my intelligence about me.

But in the first months after the stroke, I was confused and unaware of where to turn. The most devastating effect of the stroke on me was a complete loss of the Punjabi language, a problem that persists to this day and also a type of amnesia about all things Sikh. I could remember about who were Vaheguru and the ten Nanaks and Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji, but beyond that was pure confusion. I had even to relearn the Mool Mantar, which I knew at 2 or three years of age.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084

A Kaur who goes by the name here of Kaur1 (if my memory serves), helped me out. I felt the need to talk about what happened to us in 1984 and did that first here. I needed to express my confusion about my family - my mother's family were/are French Canadian Catholics and my Dad's family were/are Punjabi Sikhs. I felt free to express myself and slowly, little by little began opening up.

Over these three years, much has changed for me. SPN has been a big help and a good friend and I am taking this occasion to say, Thank you. Someone needed you and you were there. The Hukam of Vaheguru and all that.

Chardi kala!

Mai Harinder Kaur

Mai ji
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084

No words from me but to say I will pass this to Kaur1 so she can read it for herself.

Sat nam,
Antonia

Dear Mai Ji,

The point I want to make is this:

The overly dramatic mushy stuff that is shown in
movies and novels sounds very sweet. Most people
easily fall for it because it is tender and appeals
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084
to our senses and the self-serving rationalizations
we have invented to justify ourselves. However,
it's wrong to consider it the be-all and end-all of
human existence.

One who has not yet realized that there is a
purpose higher than their immediate comforts
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=25084
and rationalizations has not made much progress.

The lives of Guru Sahiban, the four Sahibjadays
and the Panj Piayray and numerous other Sikhs
who followed their footsteps serve to remind us
what that higher purpose is. That is why their
memory is so precious to us.

We may never be able to rise even a tiny
infinitesimal fraction of the heights they rose to
but as long as we have the memory we know we
have a long way to go and don't run the risk of
getting arrogant and complacent. The day I start
believing that I know everything that needs to be
known and I have done everything that needs to
be done would probably be the worst day of my life.

Aad 0002 (Antonia ji) saiid:

Thank you so much! I wanted to do so myself, but I had recently (carelessly) deleted all my personal message and was unsure how to procede.

mystic_void ji,

Thank you for the explanation. Fictional nice is one thing; reality is usually a lot grittier, less romantic. Reality often stinks (I mean literally, has a bad smell.) It's easy to get lost in Maya with fictional niceness as well as the icky stuff. The raw truth of the lives and deaths of our Gurus and shaheeds and other heroes is a breath of fresh mountain air after breathing the stinking, polluted air of the city; it can shock us back into reality of everyday life and inspire us to do better.

BTW, holding someone as they die sounds very romantic and uplifting; in reality, when it happens, it is neither. The memory, though, can be romantic and uplifting, if it really happened.

You said:

I totally agree. One reason they had to go through all they endured was to be our teachers as well as our inspiration. Remembering the elder sahibzadays has helped me endure the death of my own son, for example, but I'm afraid not with the love and understanding and acceptance of Guru Ji their (and our) father. I think it's OK to have a long, long way to go as long as we keep putting one (spiritual) foot in front of the other and ever so slowly move closer to our goal. Ego/pride is always a problem for me and I need to be reminded on a regular basis, sometimes clobbered over the head in dramatic fashion.

I know you well enough to suggest that you change the word "will" to "would" in your last sentence (transform the indicative voice to the subjunctive). ::

Gur fateh to all my dear friends here.

BTW, I just looked through all the available simleys. They have some great ones, for example, a !

However, there are no visible Sikh smileys, not even a single turban. I know such exist because I have seen them else. (Don't ask, I don't remember where.) Just a hint.

Chardi kala!