AUM SAINATH: WEAVERS OF DESTINY

Your web-strand to life is continous. Ever-present. A single threadweaves through your tapestry. A web-strand, close-by as life to breath. As Alpha to Omega. As notes to a harp.Everyday, outwardly, ordinary moments hold poignant spirituall-charged, answers. Your "gift-wrapped" moment will arrive, unexpected. Anywhere.

At the barber's. Whilst watching your child play. Every spot is pre-saturated with spiritual chemistry of vatic significence. The flimsiest idea-strand once viewed with all-new eyes, becomes a lead. To something, else. You, pick up each golden thread-strands. Weaving, with diligence your own wicker-basket. With the time at hand.Until your nest is complete.

Then we begin all over again. How many countless strands go into making our world is an idea, staggering, and humbling enough.

A single spider-web holds, masterfully, together a few 1000 web-strands. A rainbow arching the heavens, is woven into subtler sanguine streams, wisps and light-plumes. Sharing the flmae of ideas reminds me of the startling ingenuity of 'baya,' weaver-birds.I cannot pass a field without being struck by their divinity. Not a single moment do they spend at school. No need to pursue scholarships.

Nor higher learning.Weaver-birds, naturally, stay attuned with the rare gift-rays they already, possess. A hand-finished painting by Vinci couldn't inspire me more. Their marvellous creations make me smile in wonder.

Great engineer's. Artist extra-ordinaire going about their day with astounding purpose.I witnessed a colony by a lake-shore build nests amongst thorny acasias.

One, bird in particular, held my un-divided, attention. A tiny strip of feather-grass, thin as a human-hair was the first strand it brought, and wrapped it securely around a firm branch. So flimsy a building-block did it seem. Yet, a feat of sublime engineering had commenced.Far, into fields he flew. Cheerfully, returning with another ordinary-looking dried-up strand. Each fragile strand in time garnered strength more than steel. Tantra, i could not help wonder, is related to the concept of weaving and its derivatives. Pointing, at the inter-woven-ness of moments. The interdependance of all that exists. The continuity in our spiritual progress, which like a thread-strand sutures its way into the very warp and weave of our individual earth lives. Realized yogis reach union with the 1000-petalled lotus, sahsara-chakra after deep inward, meditation. The, baya-bird, before me was already in a state of perennial bliss: At-one-ment. Wide-Awake, in super-conscious-ness.I gazed in wonderment at my newely-found friend. I returned for 2-weeks. As one under the influence of a gravitational field. Watching the progress of weave and inter-weave. suture and re-stitch of that solitary nest swinging pendulum-like. An impregnable, fortress.

What struck me sharply was once completed, its left, entirely up to the female to decide if it pleases her sufficiently. Heaven forbid should she decide to re-emerge, the message to the male is a curt and clear-cut: "Re-begin all over again."In this case, thankfully, she remained, inside. Look upon each idea-strand in your mind, no matter how flimy at first as a golden-tipped gift-ray from above.Dexterously, spin, and re-spin structures of solid-gold.

More than anything, it will gird and re-furbish your spirit with added resilience. Into impregnable bands of steel.

Austrian mystic-poet Rainer Rilke's insight is provocative, all-revealing: "Keep growing quietly and seriously throughout your whole development. You cannot disturb it more rudely than by looking outward and expecting from outside reples to questions that only your innermost felign in your hushed hour can answer."Cyrus jehangir Sataravalla