Dearest,
Today I want to share a story with you that I heard from Jack Kornfield. It’s called Heaven & Hell.
My grandma used to say,
There is no heaven or hell after death. This is heaven, this is hell.
But I believe heaven and hell go even deeper; they are within us.
This story illustrates it perfectly.
In feudal Japan, a formidable samurai warrior sought out a humble monk residing in a small temple. The samurai's imposing figure cast a shadow over the monk as he demanded, "Enlighten me about heaven and hell!"
The diminutive monk gazed up at the towering warrior, his eyes glinting with unexpected disdain. "Enlighten you?" he scoffed. "Impossible. Look at yourself—unkempt, malodorous, with a sword corroded by neglect. You disgrace the samurai tradition. Leave my presence at once; your very existence offends me."
Rage coursed through the samurai's veins. His face flushed crimson, and his body trembled with fury. Speechless with anger, he unsheathed his blade and raised it high, poised to strike down the insolent monk.
"That," the monk whispered calmly, "is hell."
The samurai froze, his sword suspended in mid-air. In that instant, understanding washed over him like a cool wave. He marveled at the monk's courage and wisdom—willing to risk his life to impart this profound lesson. Slowly, the warrior lowered his weapon, his heart filling with gratitude and a sense of tranquility he had never known before.
With a gentle smile, the monk concluded, "And that, my friend, is heaven."
Some verses by Vikram Seth:
#1 Round And Round
After a long and wretched flight
That stretched from daylight into night,
Where babies wept and tempers shattered
And the plane lurched and whiskey splattered
Over my plastic food, I came
To claim my bags from Baggage Claim
Around, the carousel went around
The anxious travelers sought and found
Their bags, intact or gently battered,
But to my foolish eyes what mattered
Was a brave suitcase, red and small,
That circled round, not mine at all.
I knew that bag. It must be hers.
We hadnt met in seven years!
And as the metal plates squealed and clattered
My happy memories chimed and chattered.
An old man pulled it of the Claim.
My bags appeared: I did the same.
#2 Unclaimed
To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. --
To lie and love, not aching to make sense
Of this night in the mesh of reference.
To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,
And understand, as only strangers may.
To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart
Preferring neither to prolong nor part.
To rest within the unknown arms and know
That this is all there is; that this is so.
#3 Mistaken
I smiled at you because I thought that you
Were someone else; you smiled back; and there grew
Between two strangers in a library
Something that seemes like love; but you loved me
(If that's the word) because you thought that I
Was other than I was. And by and by
We found we'd been mistaken all the while
From that first glance, that first mistaken smile.
#4 All you who sleep tonight
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
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See you next Sunday,
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Lovely verses!