In plain words
The scissors. They join those many pieces into one again. To stitch the Shirt, what is it that makes them one? The needle. The scissors divide what is one. The needle makes all things one.
We must show human life to be an ideal life
Every man today is turning into scissors; he is not becoming the needle that makes things one. They think this is great intelligence. Our intelligence is not this. Today, ignoring intelligence, they are making life meaningless with tricks and stratagems. There is a family. Mother, father and son. When the father toiled, earned and brought money home, the mother would be very happy. On any day he found no work and reached home empty-handed, the mother would look at the father and be very angry. Every day this boy kept watching a home life full of joys and sorrows. Life is a mixture of joy and sorrow. Gain and loss, joy and sorrow, good and bad, darkness and light: all these are reflections of one another. Unable to bear these troubles, the father went to a temple of Kāḷikā Devī. ‘Mother! Devī! I am unable to bear these troubles. I cannot live with this wife. Make death come to her quickly,’ he said. ‘So be it,’ said the Devī. She died. The son saw this sight. The son in his turn went to the temple of Kāḷikā Devī. With a patient mind he prayed to Kāḷikā Devī. Kāḷikā Devī appeared. ‘My child! What do you want?’ She asked. ‘Bring my mother back to life,’ he said. ‘So be it,’ said Kāḷī. The father asked for death. The son asked for life. What was their prayer? Death, and life. Between just these two, life came to its end. Is this intelligence? If he had asked that the mother be given good qualities, how happy it would have been! Could he not have asked the Devī, ‘Grant my wife good qualities’? In the very end, what came of making prayers? It became the root cause of birth and death. Why prayers for this?