Labor, pure physical labor is needed for gathering the beauty of God scattered as gleams in the trembling dreams of Maya. An incessant chant of “Glory to the Guru” eventually transports you where angels come and form above your head a canopy with their wings. No hot breaths of the winds of difference blow there. Simrin is companionship of angels invisible, that rejoice seeing you naming Him: Simrin is seeing God’s glory, feeling it, drinking it, swallowing it, and being it a song, a prayer, a flame, a sword.