If life was to put a name to this Lesson, I think it would be called: A Lesson in Love. Bringing me towards this book reminded me that perhaps the greatest form of worship is the service of the world we live in. Sikhs of course understand this concept as Seva. But this is not Seva as we understand, or rather misunderstand it. This is Seva as in Manas Ki Jaat Sabhe Eykay Pehchaanbo, recognising the human race as one (Guru Gobind Singh).
As much as it sounds like a happy-daisy, care bear, slightly-on-a-high philosophy, I think it's also the toughest one there is. To utterly and totally love one person is challenging enough. But to take that concept and extend it to every living, breathing organism we know and will know of? That is near-impossible. Almost as impossible as believing in the existence of Miss Lulu.
Logically, though, if we think about it, this should be the easiest thing there is! If I can accept that we are all made of the same elements and by the same creator, and that He/She lives in all of us, then you are really just an extension of me. How hard can it be to love an extension of myself? Even if that extension was large enough to stretch my imagination?
Don't we all know the answer to this one - EGO :) It's all about me, honey. Me, and MY love, and MY God, and MY faith. By the time I've filled in the 'me's, there is no room for anything else, not even for Miss Lulu's Needle of Life-Lessons. By filling all the space out with Me, we paradoxically create a vacuum where there is nothing.
Miss Lulu had one more point to make. Just in case I got the message wrong, and only remembered to love humanity, She caused me to witness a fascinating incident.
It was lunchtime at work, and we were enjoying the sunny day by eating outside.
Enter: Pigeon. Sad, scruffy looking pigeon.
Enter: Nice Lady, on the phone.
Enter: RSPCA, on the line with Nice Lady.
If you've lived in London (perhaps this is also true in other parts of the world), you learn to dismiss pigeons very quickly. Much to the public's distaste, they are everywhere, they are a nuisance (so much so that people console each other by saying that it's lucky if they poop on you), thus leading to the unaffectionate label of 'pest'. Besides an obsession with the weather and a love for curry, nothing unites Londoners more than an utter loathing of pigeons.