An interesting platform is this life and the unceasing wheel of death and the life-this wheel seems to move very fast in India—gods are more than pleased there—all offspring are blessings of some gods–we are just passive agents of fertile gods. Some very gyani ones steps away and see the wheel in full manifestation—the Jagatyaan. Some of them stay put, others put their shoulder to the wheel. Thank you, Om Swami, for allowing such musings on your site. Here is a little speculation.

Life by default finds its course in bodies. This receptacle alone caries that life and it becomes life only when the fire of consciousness leaps up with the wind of Prana in this human pit. It is then that the charter of life is set—we are animated. The whole universe is played out in this body. We are not used to blankness, must have tangible rhetoric to our absence as much as presence. We must insist that there is life before life and life afterlife—out of fear or insecurity—we just abhor the silence of non-being. Imagine the fate of the ocean bubble tremoring on its short-lived being-ness. There is the other scale measuring life without the body–the body is just a period that completed one sentence. But the One traversing through these periods writes granths with long and short sentences—the epilogue is the last life—that is the final full stop with the seal of Nirvana. We read Buddha, when he achieved enlightenment, the whole script of past lives came before his eyes—he identified with the players and the plays—this time though the spider rolled back its wasp—the threads that had weaved web over innumerable lives. He crossed that cycle of Yugas. And he carried no more the saddle of Karma, it was a different spider—he had wrapped up the cycles—no tukda was left to stitch. He wrapped up his script not only that of Siddharta, but each life that he had lived,

“I recalled my past lives, i.e., one birth to two, five, fifty, a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand. And through many Yugas have I lived. In
that life, I had such a name, belonged to that caste, had that appearance, ate such food and died in that manner and re-arose there to other
lives . . . Thus, I remembered my several past lives and what each entailed.”

Every dying person, we are told go through their mini-me-script but only of this life. The entire years of life is concentrated in that film—in a minute one sees what one has done in her/his entire life—whatever years they were given to ripen. For the soul’s glance is not in time or space . . . it is the super-sense, one without a second, as they say—both the seer and seen are one. So, there is no surprise when that handsome ascetic in Bodhgaya looked back, not only at living life but all the lives he had embodied. Indeed, one does not shy of calling him a yugavtaar. He is the only one we know as Indians who gave a human bridge to that eternal land…rest of the teachers claimed a special origin. Even Ramakrishna claimed to an avatar lineage [Rama and then Krishna] and his protégé Vivekananda, he declared was a member of the Sapta-Rishis who agreed to come down to work for him. (Sometimes he would think of Naren as an incarnation of Nara [who had also come as Arjuna], then look at his dark nipple color to distinguish him as a Bhakti-bhav Arjuna, for Arjuna’s nipple color was white, a sign of brave-Kshatriya). Buddha arrogated no such lineage or title to himself in this or past lives. If he ever claimed anything–close to claiming–it was only when his father King Suddhodana came to know that his Son, now the Enlightened One, has set foot in his Kingdom and was begging for alms with a bowl in his hand. He ran to his enlightened son and pleaded,

“Oh, my son, do not embarrass me, do not embarrass yourself. Do not beg here, it is your kingdom, for generations, we have been kings and we
have only ruled. Command and all shall be yours.”

Siddhartha had become Buddha and looked at his father with respect and intoned,

“Father, I do not know about the generations, but for several lives that I have come to, I have always been a Bhikshu, I have begged for food”

Stunned and hurt, but admonished, his father reverently welcomed him. Such a beautiful complete man walked in India–It is unfathomable. He indeed was a complete man–had read all the scripts that he had authored from Anadi-kaal point—and now for others alone he had put his shoulder to the wheel. And if there was a title he claimed, it was that of a farmer. He said he was a farmer and he tilled the land with Dharma not to grow Karmic bumper but to weed out whatever that hindered Nirvana. Meditation was his hoe, faith his seed, the tapsya was his rain, his body was the field. Thus, he claimed to a skeptic Brahmin who had jeered at him for not working:

“I bear my yoke until I come to Nirvana. I have done my ploughing to Nirvana.”

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