mystical-powers

All these stories of Janamsakhi were like an artistic instrument that was yielded more to spread Nanak__ spiritual sovereignty as a mystical prophet than as an effective teacher in flesh and blood. In the midst of ignorance and mystical craving, they provided a simple method to guide people, or rather allure them to a newly formed religious path by sermonizing through stories of mystical non-sense.

Somewhere within this realm of imagination there is a mood, a feeling of the wish fulfilled which, if appropriated, means success to you.

...You see I believe in that stuff to: yoga and mystical powers. I once knew a man who could kill himself on command. Can you believe that? . . . Why do you laugh? . . . Believe it! By will of his own mind, he could make his heart stop beating for good' My neighbor poised and looked seriously at me, searching in my eyes. '...You laugh!' he repeated once more_ 'You laugh, but he was a master at it! He could commit suicide at his own will!' Indeed, hearty laughter streamed through my nose. 'Could he do it perpetually?' I asked. 'Perpetually...?' My neighbor rubbed his waxy chin. 'I mean, is he still able to do it?' 'I__ not sure I understand.' 'Well? Then is he dead_?!'My neighbor's puzzled face slowly began to transform into a look of realization. 'But sir,' he said, 'Of course he__ dead! I mean to say... this man could kill himself on command, you see. And you don__ come back from the dead!' The two of us found ourselves crossing to the door so I could let my visitor out. I slapped him with friendliness on the shoulder. 'No, you don__ come back from the dead,' I agreed.

Dreams dress us carefully in the colors of power and faith.

If some mystical occurrences happen to us, don__ we __ormally_ and fearfully prefer to call them strange coincidences? Or try to persuade ourselves it was only an indication of our overactive imagination? Aren__ we __ormally_ closing our eyes and ears, refusing to face the truth?