Dolly Koghar urges us to be joyful and spread it outwards.
When the clouds burst open and rain pours down upon the earth, it doesn’t segregate dales from mountains nor differentiate between rivers and oceans, but falls equally on the stones, sand, and mud. However, the impact on the dissimilar surfaces is altogether another matter.
Although the rain shower gives the stones a reprieve from the blistering midsummer sun, the precious water splashes and slides right off its hard and unyielding surface, with not a single drop absorbed or retained; much like the majority of us. Though we are liberally soaked, nay, drowning under the abundant blessings showered on us, we neither appreciate nor are we ever satiated. We shrug it off as our given birthright, and when there’s even the slightest disturbance or change in them, we completely lose our santoolan (balance) and dive deep into worry and misery, disregarding the excess that we still possess. So again, we look to the heavens and wail and beg to be given back what we lost and a little more, if possible. OSHO says to remember the time we prayed for what we now have.
And when those very rainclouds pass over a sandy patch, the small and humble grains of sand easily allow the water to seep in; but its porous nature renders it incapable of retaining the moisture for any period of time. Under the intense rays of the burning sun, the water quickly evaporates, leaving the sand once again parched and wanting; akin to us, we quickly absorb and integrate the blessings we receive into our lives and then mistakenly assume that they are ours to stay. However, this place of contentment lasts just so long and as soon as we’re exposed to the materialistic elements around us, the gratitude evaporates, leaving us once again thirsting for more and more. The poet and lyricist Sri Sri says this about us: “a drop of water on a hot plate takes no time to disappear. It makes some noise and it evaporates. Gratitude in our lives disappears even faster.”
The blessings rained on the stones went wasted without any acknowledgement, while the sand did value it, but got easily disillusioned and desired for more. But a muddy field absorbs the generous downpour with humble gratitude, understanding how precious each droplet is, but also fully aware that there’s such a thing as too much, even of a good thing like water. So, while welcoming the life-giving elixir, it’s porous and giving nature then lends it forward in all directions, nourishing fern and fauna, on which the planet thrives.
Wealth or abundance isn’t an evil by itself, but the insatiable hankering and striving for it and for the power and recognition that accompanies it, is what enslaves us. We become oblivious, that essentially, we are all same to same underneath the disparity dealt out by finicky Fate. In this busy and seemingly-uncaring world, while we run around trying to better our lot materially, deep in the depths of our hearts, whether we be rich or poor, man or child, we stand parched and wilting. We’re hankering for a little recognition, to feel that we matter; that we fit somewhere, however small, in the grand scheme of things.
So, no matter how insignificant we think our contribution might be, the least that each of us is capable of is to nurture the small patch within our vicinity to bloom and thrive once again. We can start by simply sparing a teeny-weeny bit of our precious time to dispel an aged relative’s loneliness; to be a cool breeze to some lonely soul; to provide shade to someone bereft of joy; to be the tailwind for a crestfallen spirit; to nurture a youngsters’ dream for tomorrow; to lift someone fallen on bad times with a sat-sri-akaal greeting; to hold a grieving hand; to give a thumbs-up to the cook; to celebrate someone’s success. Rather than time wasted, Thích NhÍt Hãnh says, “When love and compassion are present in us, and we send them outward, then that is truly prayer.”