Today we were to look at the faces of people and see their souls.
Imagine a couple of thousand people running around gazing deep into the eyes of store clerks.
I went for meditation today and looked deep into the ‘instruments’ eyes.
He’s a chubby guy with smooth skin and a silky voice. He’s from Madagascar or Mauritius and speaks french. Gorgeous accent.
His eyes glaze over after the reading of the ‘murli’, soft music in the background, a picture of light rays eminating from a point on the wall seems to shimmer.
I’m asking myself why this man left his family, dropped out of life, attached himself to BapDada so completely that he lives like a monk with the Brahma Kumaris. How is this different from Monks and Nuns.
I’m staring into his eyes and I feel obscene – like at any second I’m going to find out all the secrets that make him who he is.
I do not see his soul though, I see his shiney forehead.
I’m sure that ‘soul’ exists – my sister looked different alive from dead.
I wonder what the eyes of the Soldier who killed those kids in Afghanistan look like.
I wonder what the eyes of the man who shot those Jewish kids in France are saying.
I think my eyes are melanchoic and sad.
What are yours like?
Jesus has the kind eyes of someone who knows he’s deeply loved.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” 2 Corinthians 4:16