Hair And It's Connection To Guru.. Prof Puran Singh Ji's Beautiful Take

[jss]

the passage entitled Our Long Tresses, taken from the chapter The Garden of Simran:

Don't you know these tresses of ours are the wandering waves of the sea of illusion? Guru Gobind Singh gathered the waves of the Ocean of Consciousness as the mother gathers the hair of the child. What is man but an ocean of consciousness. The master washed them, combed them and bound them in a knot as the vow of the future manhood which shall know no caste, not distinction between man and man, and which shall work for the peace and amity of spiritual brotherhood. He who wears His knot of hair is a brother to all men, freed of all ill-feeling of selfishness. He is to be on the bayonet's point to be of no separatist creed, no religion, nor of any national combine of men bent upon loot and plunder and the tyranny of subjugating other men.

Those who do not yet understand the law of love cannot and should not wear the Master's knot of the sacred tresses and shoe who do should wear it as a token of spiritual isolation from the herd. So did Guru Gobind Singh comman. And obedience to him is life. There is no life outside the Great Love.

The aim of the Brothers of the tress-knot off Guru Gobind Singh is different, different the direction, different their persuasion.

We do not concern ourselves with the conditions of life. We glow like flowers on the thorny bed or on the bed of velvet moss with equal joy, for facing Him and living in Him and breathing Him is our life. And all who desire to be Brothers of the tress-knot of Guru Gobind Singh come and be. This is the life of love, not of any other truth. All other truths are of no concern to us! We are now the Sangha of the tress-knot of Guru Gobind Singh, our purposes are as inscrutable as those of the God of Destiny.

[jss]

nother beautiful passage by Prof Puran Singh Ji, entitled Under a Hank of Hair, in the chapter of Discipleship:

The Guru has buried the disciples under heaps of grass. He has concealed His handicraft in a hank of hair. Very irrational, they say. Possibly very superstitious. but superstitions preserve the life sparks more effectively than the reason of man. In the fleecy clouds is lightening. In our superstition of hanks of hair there is truth of His burning bosom divine. Christ in his Bride-braids is certainly more beautiful even as a man, as a woman-born, than a cleanshaven modern American face which is more in the image of the Dollar than of the sweet Jesus who is the comfort of so many distressed souls. The pendulum would swing. Fashions would give way to Love again. God would replace the Dollar, or elsewhere shall be the Man's Art, which is more of that lyrical leisure divine, of soul, of love. This haste, this machine-like man is far removed from His self, the Great Guru love. Our truth, unlike that of the old Brahman, is not of any mathematical balance of an endless denying of things. Our Truth is not a problem solved. Our Truth is but a lotus and the bee buzing about, the cloud and the rain-bird crying for that pearl-like drop of life, the swan and the lake, the child and the mother, the cow and the calf. Our hymns centre round these metaphors and all human suffering is vindicated in a moment of this transitory Union, even if it be after ages. Meeting Him dispels all sorrow, but it is all sorrow without Him. His absence is as holy as His presence.

And countless such living statues of Holy Simran, of Live's inspiration filling the whole Temple of this earth and its domes and galleries and diffusing the atmosphere of the individual peace into the crowned universe of such statues, is the Ideal of the Divine Society of men made angels by the Grace of His Love.

Assuredly in this kingdom of dream and vision, there is no place for duality, hatred and harm, so deeply ingrained in the animal man.

O Sikh young men! rise and fill yourselves with this Glory. It makes you noble, bold and free, self-drunk, selfless, flower-like, sun-like. It sweets you and your sweetness sweetens all life around you. At your sight, the lamb and the tiger must drink at the same pool. Perpetual spring must roll in you. You shall be the moral influence radiating peace, good-will, friendship, fellowship, life, vigour, vitality, in short, spirituality. You shall live in perpetual blossom, reconciled to be the sorrow of life in a thousand new ways every day. Be ye a revelation to the world of man, of the gods that live in your hearts. Seekers after God retire to the woods. Show them they need not go to the woods, for the Guru made you the woods. Seeing you, you yourself, the very peace of the woods, the freshness of the little rivulets chiming through them should come to all. Your tresses shall provide the shade of the woods and their mystery.

[jss]

taken from that passage entitled The Sword of Guru Gobind Singh:

When He touched my hair and blessed me, how could I bear my hair being shorn? The Sikh is the dedicated. I nestle the fragrance of His though in my tresses. I am the bride. They, of the modern era, have bobbed the bride but the Sacred Braids of Christ still remain the most beautiful adornment of man's or woman's head. I love the Guru's superstition. The lightning spark is concealed in the wool of the wandering cloud in the sky and the life spark of the Guru is hidden in this sheaf of hair. They say it is troublesome to carry it. but more troublesome is a life of no inspiration. The body itself is not less troublesome. The daily toilet, poweder and puff and rogue, and pearlcaps, and arranging of ear drops and shingles is in no less troublesome. And when one is reconciled to such a thing as the human body, to such a thing as this impossible life, it is emptiness of soul, it is the bankruptcy of love for God and Guru to think of the riddance of Hair, the spiritual crown of humanity. The modern woman, as i have said elsewhere, has lost most of her soul by shingling her hair and putting an odourous reed on her rode-bud-like lips.

[Demonic Warrior]

This is amazing! :WW:

The hair is very sacred and holy. In Gurbani it says that when we jap naam each and every pore of hair is filled with that Naam, and at a certain stage the hair japps naam as well:

romae rom rom romae mai guramukh raam dhhiaaeae raam ||

With each and every hair, with each and every hair, as Gurmukh, I meditate on the Lord.

The power's within the hair. Look at the story Samson and Delilah, Samson's strength was supernatural and great due to him keeping his hair uncut, but as soon as it was cut by delilah, he lost all his supernatural strength.

We should be proud of the hair that we keep, anywhere it may be. It's what seperates us from everyone else; it seperates us from doubt and keeps us connected to faith, Guru Ji and God.