Letter #1 - Confidence in Arunachala
“When we enter on the spiritual path we come with substantial baggage.
Our deep-rooted fears, our unreasonable expectations, our blindness, and our
folly. We think we are nearly there and that only a few advanced teachings
remain between us and the holy grail of realisation when all bow down to
our superior knowledge. As we discover to our grief it is not like that at all.
Quite the contrary, we are in a muddle and do not know north from south."
We all seek certitude. From the moment we are born, we seek comfort and the
confidence that that which gives us nourishment and security will always be
available. Ideally, we first seek it with our mother’s loving breast. We seek it in the
strength of our father’s arms, he who lifts us up and carries us. We seek it in the
comfort of a warm cot from where we begin to dream our lives ahead and try to
make sense of what we just experienced in an ever-changing and puzzling world.
We are always on the search for that which is utterly reliable and unshakable.
We could say that our life is a series of lessons; we learn the hard way about
disappointment, betrayal, regret, and sorrow. These are interspersed with
moments of quite often unexpected pure joy, contentment and love.
When I was a boy, I looked first to my father and later to heroes in history who
could offer me lessons and guidance on how to conduct my life. It started with
Hanibal who dared to invade the mighty Roman empire at its very heart. His
courage in crossing the Alps with elephants, and his resilience in the face of
constant adversity inspired me but his ultimate defeat and his taking poison to
avoid capture showed me he had feet of clay. Next was Napoleon but that quickly
faded when I saw a sketch of him being hit on the foot by a cannonball. He was
not invincible as I had imagined, hopping around on one foot. For years after that,
I sought another hero but could not find one that satisfied my increasingly wide
knowledge and discrimination about the world. My mind became clouded and
progressively distressed.
In despair, I look elsewhere by traveling to other countries partly to escape
and partly in a desperate effort to locate someone or surely something that would
salve my heart. An encounter finally arose at Surakata or Solo in Java, at the
house of a cultured Javanese man, Pak. Suyono. He has a small library for
spiritual seekers who had clustered at Solo to practice Sumarah, a Javanese form
of meditation and not to be confused with Subud. In his library was a booklet,
Ramana Arunachala by Arthur Osborne. On the cover was a photograph of an old
man naked except for a loincloth sitting on a rock in front of a hill. He smiled
benignly as he confidently held an upright walking stick in one outstretched hand.
I did not think much of him. In my arrogance, I thought he had everyone fooled.
My disdain had no limits. Little did I realise that he was the one who would
eventually save me from myself.
It was a year later that I first looked upon Arunachala and sought sanctuary in
the ashram of Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi. The intermission between that
first meeting in Solo and my physical arrival saw many of my passing fancies and
delusions crushed. Not least of which was that peculiar sense of superiority young
males exude of being gifted for any task. In other words, an idiot. All that kept me
going was the indubitable conviction through a vision that occurred some months
after that first ill-starred meeting in the private library that I was on the right path.
The arrival at Arunachala was not the culmination of a search but the foundation.
And the first beginning was the recognition that I knew nothing. A terrible ordeal
followed in which a remorseless force created one humiliation after another until I
said sincerely in despair, “I don’t know.”
When we enter on the spiritual path we come with substantial baggage. Our
deep-rooted fears, our unreasonable expectations, our blindness, and our folly.
We think we are nearly there and that only a few advanced teachings remain
between us and the holy grail of realisation when all bow down to our superior
knowledge. As we discover to our grief it is not like that at all. Quite the contrary,
we are in a muddle and do not know north from south. All our previously acquired
knowledge is much like a song we cobbled together, only we cannot remember
the words in the right order. We know some ‘good’ bits that we can sing loudest
with conviction but how we got to that fragment by a series of mumbles and vague
out-of-tune stilted sounds is beyond our comprehension. It is a jumble of rubbish
and wise words and we do not appropriately know how to apportion the words in
the right order. It is all rather unsatisfactory and depressing.
To go forward we must dissolve the second-hand song and start again.
We start with the very staples of any successful spiritual search. Do not lie, do not
steal, do not slander, do not take advantage of others, do not hurt others… all our
elementary spiritual training is learning what not to do. It is a negative process that
can be boring and seemingly fruitless but it is necessary. This stubborn grey
landscape we travel through does contain those odd serendipitous moments when
the sun shines and gives us hope before once more the curtain is drawn and we
are stuck with our small-minded behaviour.
Though everyone’s journey is unique there are certain stations on the way
which are collective. Whether one is a Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, or Buddhist,
there are universal principles applicable to all humankind on the spiritual search.
The language may be different, the clothes may be different, the education may be
different but if we scrutinize it carefully, the fundamental principles are one and the
same. The various signposts given by the great religions may be in a foreign script
and the terrain unfamiliar but all paths lead to the one summit. There are those
who argue that is not necessarily true but we will save that for another essay.
When I arrived at Tiruvannamalai I did not know of the greatness of Arunachala.
It looked like a large pile of barren rocks. It was said to be the earthly
manifestation of Lord Siva. Mount Kailash may be where Lord Siva resides but
Arunachala is the supreme manifestation of this universal spirit.
As time went by the significance and power of Arunachala became more
readily recognisable. And it was only when I started to let go of my numerous
preconceptions and let’s face it, plain ignorance, that a new confidence arose that
all would be well.
And this proved to be true.
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Letter #2 - Arrival at Arunachala
“With my backpack, I stepped down from the bus and looked around. In front
was the hill called Arunachala of which I knew nothing, let alone its
significance. I had come because of Sri Ramana Maharshi. Suddenly while
standing there, my chest palpitated and a voice said, “I have come home.”
What! I was astonished and looked down at my chest with incredulity.
My jaw dropped open in disbelief. Again, the words sounded with the
accompanying palpitation. I felt dismayed.”
On the 15th of August 1975, I arrived at Chennai or Madras as it was then
known, on the Chidambaram, the Indian passenger ship that ferried people
between Madras and Penang, in Malaysia. I did not know it at the time but it was
an auspicious day. It was Indian Independence Day as well as the Assumption of
the Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven.
After a few days of absorbing the first sights of India, it was time to travel to
Tiruvannamalai, which was the intention for my arrival in India from Java. Not
knowing where Tiruvannamalai was, whether north, south or west, the hotel
receptionist wrote the name Tiruvannamalai in Tamil and I set out from Armenian
Street in the old section of Madras for the then-main bus station which was quite
close. The bus conductors and drivers who were milling around were immediately
helpful and told me to catch the 122 bus at the far end of a line of empty buses.
I found the bus and climbed on board, found an empty seat near the front and
waited. Within a short interval, others clambered onto the bus and we soon took
off. It was a four-and-half-hour journey and at one stage I asked the conductor
when do we reach Tiruvannamalai. He replied ‘soon’. After the lush greenery of
Java, I found the landscape relatively dry and the food, a south Indian thali at the
shabby hotel we stopped at about halfway, unappetising. Too much rice and little
vegetables. Closer to Tiruvannamalai on the roadside in the fields, I saw a man
run down and then up a steepish incline with a bullock in front being shouted at.
He was gathering water from a well in a large rough rubber container that at the
surface toppled over and sent the water into a channel for the paddy field. The
picturesque scene told me that this was an old land with its old ways. Very much
down to earth and slow.
Finally, we arrived at the old bus station just across the railway tracks on the
Tindivanam road from whence we came. Well, here we are. There was no sense
of trepidation but rather relief the long haul was over. I knew there was an ashram
at Tiruvannamalai where Sri Ramana Maharshi stayed but aside from that my
advanced knowledge was zero. I had never been to India before and was oblivious
of the ways and customs.
With my backpack I stepped down from the bus and looked around. In front
was the hill called Arunachala of which I knew nothing, let alone its significance. I
had come because of Sri Ramana Maharshi. Suddenly while standing there, my
chest palpitated and a voice said, “I have come home.” What! I was astonished
and looked down at my chest with incredulity. My jaw dropped open in disbelief.
Again, the words sounded with the accompanying palpitation. I felt dismayed.
The next moment a smiling, shy man came up to me and offered a cycle
rickshaw to take me where I wanted. I said Sri Ramana Ashram. He immediately
understood and took my bag and loaded it on the rickety transport. I sat up high on
the bumpy seat and off we went.
The ashram was some two kilometres from town, and in that period, I saw the
wide, dusty main street mainly empty and people moving about in a desultory way.
At the time in 1975, the emptiness was in sharp contrast to the crowded streets of
Java and the spacious aspect of the town’s openness made an impression.
This was a new world and I hardly knew what to think as the new sights tumbled
into view one after the other. Again, it was the dryness and rocky nature of the
surrounding landscape that hit me with its directness.
Eventually, we reached the ashram and in the office was given a three-day
stay. I was led to a room in the men’s quarters adjacent to the bath house in the
next complex which included the gosala (cowshed). It was all so strange with its
primitive structures and a room with just the essentials. Though clean and
comfortable, the room lacked colour and vibrancy. This I was to discover was the
norm. Physical comforts were at a minimum because of the nature of the ashram.
The atmosphere was stripped down to essentials. It was as if we were on a train
moving to another destination and our transient stay in this vehicle was of little
consequence.
After settling in I went to explore the ashram and entered the Samadhi Hall
where the Vedic chanting was happening. After squatting down on the hard tiled
floor, I listened but really after all the long day’s experiences, I was tired if not
numb with confusion at all the new sights and sounds and smells. Soon after I got
up and left the ashram in search of tea. There was nothing available as the only
tea stall across the road had closed.
It was hard to gain any bearing. Without precedents, I took every moment as
startlingly new. And somewhat disappointing. The very ordinariness of existence
did not jolt the imagination into a new reverie about exotic India. Returning to the
ashram I waited somehow for 7.30 pm, ate the evening meal in the dining hall, went
to my room and slept the sleep of the dead.
After the excitement and colour of Java, the next three days passed in a
progression of feeling disorientated and empty. I slept long and often. India was
another world and not at all what I had expected. It was familiar with its friendly
faces and strangely remote as if in a dream.
During that time, I walked up to Skandashram, the small ashram on the
eastern side of Arunachala where Sri Ramana stayed from 1916 to 1922. On the
path in the shallow valley up to the ashram I scanned the hills on both sides for
signs of caves in which reputed yogis resided in profound meditation. There were
none to be seen and the picture of mysterious India with its yogis and enigmatic
powers of the unknown shrank. The humid heat played its part in reducing my
uncomfortable perceptions to a ragged melee of disjointed thoughts.
This is not what I expected. However, there was no fear, no anxiety, just calm
acceptance.
This was where I was meant to be.
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Letter # 3 - A New Beginning
“That second evening on entering the Old Hall (where Sri Ramana is present
to this day!) I was immediately astonished by the overwhelming atmosphere
of subtle that pervaded the room. It was as heavy as lead soup. There was
no need to even meditate but just to sit and soon the pervasive power would
engulf one with its healing brush.”
During the three-day stay at the ashram, I explored the institution. The ashram
was quite empty, desolate in fact, at least that is what it seemed to me as I struggled
with this new reality so different from the green vibrancy of Java. There was no one
to talk with except for one American lady who, unusually for me, I approached and
we had a short conversation about Arunachala.
What was unusual during the brief stay in the ashram was the number of hours
in which I slept. I woke up around 7.30 or 8 am, stumbled around to take a bath in
the men’s bathhouse adjacent to the gosala (cow shed), wandered about in a daze,
had lunch at 11.30 am and then promptly went to sleep again until say 3 pm. This
somnambulistic state was unfamiliar.
On the second evening around 6 pm, I entered the Old Hall for the first time. It
was largely empty aside from a few people. Among those sitting was an older
Western lady who I later discovered was Lucia Osborne.
But before proceeding further, we required a short reversion back to Java to give a
a history of my previous meditation activity. In the course of my time in Solo, Java I
studied meditation with a Javanese Hindu teacher, Pak Hardjanta. He was a
remarkable person. Scholarly, funny, sharp, kind and naturally inquisitive. A stream
of people came through his ‘office’ where he sat all day. He spent the nights awake
and would sleep from dawn to midday. He introduced me to Javanese meditation
practices of sun meditation and later, moon meditation, based on Hindu tantric
practices. One must remember that Java was Hindu until the 16th Century when it
was transformed into the Muslim country it is today.
The sun meditation practice nearly killed me. The practitioner was instructed to
lie down in an open area for ten days for an hour or so at a time, with a dark cloth
over one’s eyes and absorb the sun’s prana through the navel. In my impetuosity, far
too much was absorbed in the three days lying there and I promptly fell seriously ill.
After a week of an almost catatonic state, the physical body slowly revived and
returned to normal. Pak Hardjanta then sent me to his mountain residence at
Tawangmangu forty kilometres east of Solo, to practice moon meditation. This
involved being awake in the middle of the night, sitting outside in the cold mountain
air with the stars clustered bright as diamonds, and gazing at the moon when it had
some substantial shape. The only instruction he gave me was to go through the
moon. I had no idea what he meant but for the next two months or more, I tried and
tried. Partly puzzled, partly irritated that nothing was happening, and partly
fascinated by the grandeur of the night sky and the beauty of the moon, I persisted.
And then one night I went through the moon. It is not possible to explain it, however
with that achievement there was a concomitant release of positive joyous energy.
I was in seventh heaven. The major benefit of the moon meditation was that the
uncontrollable mood swings that hitherto governed my life subsided considerably.
A few days later I returned to Pak Ha’s office at Solo and he confirmed that the
meditation was a success. After that, there was a general deflation because there
was nothing to do. I felt adrift as Pak Ha had not given me a new instruction. For the
next weeks I continued the moon meditation in a desultory fashion for want of
anything better to do until suddenly a vision of Sri Ramana Maharshi sent me to
India.
During nearly a year in Java and being engaged with Pak Hardjanta and his
close followers I picked up without any intention or effort several siddhis. It was
possible to read minds in terms of colour patterns, dimly see auras and perceive
power centres for want of a better description to explain the accumulation of psychic
energy, tejas, in one place. For example, the Temple Mount in Jerusalem is a power
centre as are the many churches, temples and mosques in the world. In Hinduism a
temple is created by one of three ways: a Svayambhū (Skt. self-born), that is, a
natural powerpoint; for example, Arunachala or Tirumalai hill at Tirupati; the second
is the interment of a great soul; and thirdly, through rituals and prayers.
That second evening on entering the Old Hall I was immediately astonished by
the overwhelming atmosphere of subtle energy that pervaded the room. It was as
heavy as lead soup. There was no need to even meditate but just to sit and soon the
pervasive power would engulf one with its healing brush.
After three days in the ashram, I was obliged to leave and find private
accommodation outside. When I did leave, I was like a naked and vulnerable
chicken. In the course of those three days, all that I had achieved in Java was
stripped from me. Those proud, colourful feathers were gone and never returned.
And no matter in the coming days how much those wings were feebly flapped there
was no lift to give a sense of accomplishment and I felt crestfallen and bewildered.
People think that Arunachala Sri Ramana will give them what they want. It is
quite the opposite, Arunachala Sri Ramana takes away from us not only our fears
but also our desires. Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi’s yoga is completely safe and
does not allow any false complacency or delusion that one is a special person. The
possible dangers of kundalini yoga and any other type of yogic practice through say
pranayama that can engender say siddhis or powers are nullified. That also includes
any fabulous but ultimately irrelevant spiritual experiences unless rightly acted upon.
These visions which are signposts to guide us and reassure us we are on the right
path, are nothing more than that and should be let go of as soon as possible once
rightly acted upon. Sri Ramana’s yoga may appear dull and slow but
hazardous it is not. A follower of Bhagavan who has received initiation
leads a perfectly normal life while that subtle invisible process forever engages the
deeper reaches of our soul in an unstoppable process of transformation.
Walking out through the front gates of the ashram was the end of my
honeymoon and the start of the serious work to destroy all the previous
illusions I tensely gripped about myself and the world.
____________________________________________________________________
Letter # 4 - Neither Here nor There
“The time spent in the ashram at first was random and unfocused. I felt
nothing spiritual either in myself or the ashram temple or the samadhi (burial
site) of Sri Ramana Maharshi. It was all rather odd and disconcerting. There
was a momentary thought to move on to Goa which I had heard about as a
tourist spot, and it was in the general direction of where I had previously
intended, but that thought vanished almost immediately and what I was left
with was a blank space from which no thoughts could arise. That momentary
thought happened on the third night while I lay on the lumpy bed in the cell.
I felt interrogated by some unknown presence and found myself suddenly in
despair at the awfulness of my situation, the unresolved conflicts left behind
in my homeland, and my sense of inadequacy. There was no way I could
dismiss the sudden avalanche of negative emotions and thoughts which
vied for attention.”
Little did I realise that after stepping outside the ashram gates, the next months
would test my resolution to persevere with this seemingly precipitous change of
direction. Though I was calm and meekly accepted all that happened to me, it was
not what was originally planned in the greater scheme of events. My initial plan on
departing from Australia was to travel to England on the then-popular overland route
through Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran and Turkey. Yet here I was in a rural setting far
from the vistas of the Taj Mahal among other famous sites.
It only got worse with the accommodation which was found for me by Raja, the
ashram postman, God bless him. Raja had been a fixture at the ashram for many
decades. From Bhagavan’s day, he was a constant presence who helped those
visitors who arrived disorientated and needing practical guidance.
Raja brought me to Marpillai Bungalow some ten minutes’ walk from the ashram. It
was a dark place with some small rooms but at least it had a bed, a toilet, and
running water. Raja also found me a place to eat one meal a day with Rajapalayam
Ramani Ammal, an extraordinary person. It was all well and good to locate a place to
stay but what to do with each day as it passed?
I am not sure how most people managed who first came to Arunachala. The
days passed in a combination of bewilderment (what am I doing?) and ennui, coupled
with small excursions into town some two kilometres away to eat tiffin of idli and
dosa or a meal of rice, at the Udipi Hotel or Vasanta Bhavan Hotel. Food at other
times generally consisted of porridge made on a small kerosene stove which I
bought.
The time spent in the ashram at first was random and unfocused. I felt nothing
spiritual either in myself or the ashram temple or the samadhi (burial site) of Sri
Ramana Maharshi. It was all rather odd and disconcerting. There was a momentary
thought to move on to Goa which I had heard about as a tourist spot, and it was in
the general direction of where I had previously intended, but that thought vanished
almost immediately and what I was left with was a blank space from which no
thoughts could arise. That momentary thought happened on the third night while I lay
on the lumpy bed in the cell. I felt interrogated by some unknown presence and
found myself suddenly in despair at the awfulness of my situation, the unresolved
conflicts left behind in my homeland, and my sense of inadequacy.
There was no way I could dismiss the sudden avalanche of negative emotions
and thoughts which vied for attention. The next moment I found myself flat on the
floor in full prostration towards Arunachala on the cold cement floor, crying the tears
that evidently had been pent up over the past years when my life and behaviour were
far from perfect. What a mess I seemed to have made of my life!
Eventually, the tears dried and I got up, the tumultuous mixture of emotions
wiped clean, and calmly lay down on the bed again, There comes a moment in all our
lives when we hit a brick wall. Our past seems to catch up with us and the future
appears bleak and uncertain. On our journey through life, these are major thresholds
where our physical appearance, emotional responses and mental attitudes undergo a
transformation if we are open to the possibility of the change that is actively seeking
us. Or they can harden if we refuse to heed the potential that life opens for us. Life
gives us all types of hints and warnings through dreams, words someone incidentally
speaks that happen to resonate with us, and events that compel us into action,
sometimes kicking and screaming.
At the age of twenty-two, I faced a new crisis precipitated by the proximity of
Arunachala – though I was not aware of the power of this sacred hill until much later
– and it appeared on reflection, the hidden presence of Sri Ramana Maharshi. From
an escapee of the atmosphere in Australia that I could no longer make sense of, to a
tourist on the hippie trail to Europe enjoying the new sights, to a beginner in
meditation and the spiritual life, to a dazed occupant of a dingy room wondering what
would happen next, I was on the verge of a commitment to an unknown future over
which I seemingly had no say, let alone control. And what of that strange moment on
arrival a few days before when my heart murmured, “I have come home’? Was there
another ‘person’ inside me of whom I was not in the slightest bit familiar? Who said
that and just as pertinently, who is this everyday person I call ‘I’?
Though we may think we are alone in the world I cannot but conclude after so
many years on the path of Sri Ramana Maharshi, that there are higher forces at
work in our lives, guiding, cajoling and protecting us. In the Christian world, we call
them angels. In Hinduism and Buddhism, there is an emphasis on lineage. Once a
soul has been accepted into an authentic lineage that bond is never broken, birth
after birth. This in part explains why we may be drawn to a particular tradition or
teacher. It may happen that we ‘accidentally’ come across a book in a library or
bookshop that catches our eye, which starts us off on the path.
We may see a photograph of a teacher who immediately holds our attention
which has often been the case with respect to Sri Ramana Maharshi. These are not
accidents but deliberate, inevitable encounters. Our dream life too precipitates new
physical conditions conducive to the enrichment of our lives. But this can also be
haphazard and can lead to nothing significant as I discovered on reflection after
puzzling about events in my past. There were opportunities that were lost because of
not paying proper attention or being wilfully stubborn. It seems a miracle at times
that we ever do make the right decision and embrace the opportunity presented to
us. However, that higher power, or whatever you may wish to name it, is patient and
insistent. There is no sense of failure and like water that runs down a mountain, that
power will find a way to reach us even in the darkest moments of our lives. In fact, it
is in those moments that our best opportunity arises, for with all the suffering we
endure, we ask that fundamental question, why? This single question can open the
gates.
'Why’ is that knock on the door which will spontaneously open if we but ask
with our whole, sincere heart. It is when we are so full of ourselves that we arrogantly
think we can do it without help. We cannot. And until we realise this, we will go round
and round in circles repeating the same mistakes again and again. For a moment I
had stopped running around on the treadmill and that made all the difference.
____________________________________________________________________
Letter # 5 - A New Beginning
“In essence, what we eat we become, what we think we become. The choice is ours whether we eat or think with discrimination or consume whatever is in front of us regardless of its impact on our well-being.”
The trauma that saw me prone on the cold floor lingered as a sobering reminder that
who I thought I was and who I really was were not the same. Scoured and somewhat
humbled I returned to the ashram with a determination to do something about my
predicament. At the least, I could sit quietly and do what others appear to be doing,
that is, sit in the Old Hall and meditate. This new type of meditation was quite foreign
to what passed for meditation in Java with its powerful psychic ambience. Here in the
spartan hall shorn of all but the necessary, meditation was quite abstract and
unyielding in its intent. There was not the possibility of a vision or a pleasant emotion.
The black cuddapah stone (slate) floor refused to relinquish its hardness and just
when one got comfortable and thoughts started to slide away into oblivion, the
occasional but inevitable mosquito made its presence felt with a sharp sting.
It was hard work and it was not possible to maintain for long any degree of
equanimity or strength of attention. Eventually just sitting quietly for an hour was an
accomplishment, never mind whether it was efficacious in curbing the thought
process. Meditation is a skill like any other and just as the athlete trains for a
marathon bit by bit, it takes determination, time, patience and renewed effort each
time one sits to build up the appropriate mental and physical muscles to prolong the
period of quietude. Usually, all one’s early efforts result in a sense of frustration. This
is normal. All one can do is persevere.
Slowly and eventually, that unique peace of mind will develop. But just as the
fresh sprig of a plant requires protection, we too need to carefully nurture the growth
of this new awareness. With the water of attention and the nourishment of undaunted
action, it will grow. Perseverance furthers.
In the Old Hall, there is the couch on which Bhagavan sat and half reclined for so
many years. There is a large-scale photograph of him stretched out reclining on the
couch with a large bolster at the back supporting his upper chest and head. He is by
then in the last years of his earthly existence and his compassionate eyes are alert
and wise. He has seen it all before, yet he is still there for us.
In those first days when I entered the Hall, I saw the photograph as a nice touch
and thought nothing more. It was only later, years later, the realisation arose that
though the photograph was an inert object, nonetheless it indicated the power of
Bhagavan’s Presence and by some mysterious alchemy that inert picture was a
gateway. From then on, I entered the Hall with considerable circumspection knowing
my every movement and thought was noticed.
The Old Hall has a unique atmosphere. The only other place in my experience
that came close to replicating it was strangely enough the chapel or cell, adjoining the
Church of St Julian in England, where the medieval anchoress, Julian of Norwich resided. 1
Each type of yoga, be it raja yoga, shabda yoga, ashtanga yoga, kundalini yoga,
bhakti yoga, all have their methods, and consequently, the results may be different.
Certainly, if say, one practices the bhakti yoga of one of the many schools of
Vaishnavism, one can gain a vision of Lord Krishna, while a person who practises
yoga techniques of the Tamil siddha tradition may find themselves encountering Lord
Murugan in a subtle vision.
Broadly speaking Sri Ramana Maharshi’s yoga may be classified as jnana yoga.
One of Sri Ramana’s disciples Lakshmana Sarma named it maha yoga in his
commentaries of Sri Ramana’s teachings. Whatever the name may be, the yoga of
Sri Ramana Maharshi is distinct.
It does have a close affiliation with the Advaita teaching of Adi Sankara, the great
proponent of Advaita who revivified Hinduism, in the eighth century CE, it is said. Sri
Ramana’s yoga differs more in the question of emphasis than metaphysical and
philosophical disparities. Sri Ramana was not interested in theorising but rather
constantly brought those who sought him out for guidance, to the concrete practice of
vichara, self-enquiry.The practice of self-enquiry starts with asking oneself, ‘Who am
I?’ There is no answer to the question in rational terms. Rather the question is meant
to focus one’s attention on who is asking the question. Who is asking the question?
By taking one’s attention back to the source of the question-thought, there is the
opportunity to hold onto that consciousness.
Perhaps for a nanosecond, one can focus on the pristine consciousness shorn of
all thought, but quickly the mind produces a stream of new persistent thoughts which
cloud one’s awareness of that pure consciousness. Again, one retrieves the attention
and takes it patiently back to that point.
By again asking the question who am I? the mind is once more brought to a halt.
But this should not be construed as chanting Who Am I? Who Am I? like a mantra.
With practice, it probably needs to be stated but once and one automatically dives
below the layer of the everyday mind factory. Those familiar with the technique know
all too well that moment when the chatter vanishes and one enters a thought-free
state. It is like entering an ocean where the water is clear and has a tranquil,
unhurried quality, and the feeling is pleasant.
At that moment of stasis, there can arise the insight that when a particular
thought, like a bubble, rises to the surface of consciousness, it is simply an objective,
impersonal thought, nothing more. In the past, we may have identified with it and said
that is mine, but now we see with the advantage of a silent thought-free moment that
we are not that passing apparition. That thought then loses its power of identification.
With each passing thought which is observed, it is seen to be other than oneself and
there slowly grows in one’s self an increased power of discrimination. With time and
patience, our centre of equilibrium is not rocked by ephemeral thoughts whose nature
is to trap our attention and eat up our energy.
Just as we clothe our bodies to keep warm or to be civilized, so too, we clothe
ourselves with a variety of thoughts and feelings which we often quite randomly
acquired because they seem to fit or were ‘given’ to us. Fashions change not only in
clothes but also in ways of attitude and expression, and we adapt to them, as well
drop those that are quaint or obsolete. We may laugh at the way people dressed in a
previous generation or we think their expressions and behaviour were primitive.
But we are much the same. Our language and expressions will change with time. And
our thoughts will change according to the prevailing winds of fashion or the zeitgeist,
the spirit of the times. In other words, thoughts are interchangeable. They are not
solid and imperishable. To get along we identify with common or acceptable thoughts.
The same occurs in our inner world. We constantly pick up thought patterns, some of
which are healthy and we like them, and some we reject as being ugly and
objectionable. There are subtle cunning thoughts that slip below the radar of our
attention and bury themselves in our unconscious. There are thoughts like viruses
which feed off our attention and make life hell.
In atma vichara meditation, we actively learn how to close the door to the
undesirable elements that cause us suffering by focusing on that pure sense of ‘I’.
In essence, what we eat we become, what we think we become. The choice is ours
whether we eat or think with discrimination or consume whatever is in front of us
regardless of its impact on our well-being.
1. We do not know Julian’s original name and it is accepted that it was taken from the
Church of St Julain to which her cell, now a chapel, was attached. However, Julian
was also a girl’s name in those times and may have been her Christian name.
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Letter # 6 - A Higher Power
“There can be a sudden unprovoked pull that takes one deep inside but more often than not this is a gratuitous act of Grace to spur on a seeker whether they are aware of it or not. It helps them to realise that there is a way forward. We can spend years bumbling along while underneath there is a general sense of discontent whose origin it is impossible to pinpoint. We know something is missing but what it is baffles us. It is when we receive such a magnificent demonstration of Grace that we can affirm…yes, now I have tasted that elixir that I always knew was there but could not touch let alone comprehend.”
Anyone who regularly sits in the Old Hall or walks around the Samadhi of Sri Ramana Maharshi does so with a purpose. The first few times that we sit quietly in the Old Hall are because we are attracted to the historical place where he resided for many years and we know it is a recognised place where people gather silently in a group. In general, for beginners as well as veterans, group meditation is by its dynamics much more effective than sitting alone.
And as well, we sit or walk around the Samadhi as an act of homage and surrender to that historical person whose earthly remains are present for anyone to honour. We do this, partly because others do it and partly because it helps harmonise our thoughts through the simple act of walking.
When Sri Ramana spoke about atma vichara he first indicated how one can withdraw from external disturbances, as well as the cacophony of mental static that besieges us, by asking who am I? and following to the root where that thought began and holding onto that space in which it arose. He then says that not only our external efforts will be effective but also we will be spontaneously pulled inside by an internal dynamism. This force is not in our conscious power to operate, rather it engages with us depending on our sincerity and willingness to let go of all the verbiage with which we indulge ourselves.
One may ask why this does not happen when doing normal meditation. Why only there in that Old Hall? Only there is that particular deed noticeable and patently active. It can and does happen elsewhere but generally not with the same characteristic degree of intensity or effectiveness in the initial stages of one’s personal meditation practice.
There can be a sudden unprovoked pull that takes one deep inside but more often than not this is a gratuitous act of Grace to spur on a seeker whether they are aware of it or not. It helps them to realise that there is a way forward. We can spend years bumbling along while underneath there is a general sense of discontent whose origin it is impossible to pinpoint. We know something is missing but what it is baffles us. It is when we receive such a magnificent demonstration of Grace that we can affirm…yes, now I have tasted that elixir that I always knew was there but could not touch let alone comprehend. This moment initiates the search and gives us the initial impetus to break out of our self-inflicted straight jacket of opinions and set beliefs. We were like vehicles driving on a highway created by our inherent propensities, family, culture, education and history with no end in sight except that dictated by the highway. When we notice an unusual sunshine breaking out at daybreak or a majestic beautiful mountain beckoning us, we desire to leave that highway but we can’t without a tremendous struggle. Grace provides us with the boldness and more importantly, the energy to break free of historical necessity, family and social pressures.
It is that very same Grace that pulls us within. The beauty of Sri Ramana’s path is he has shown us the way with his own life that began its momentous destiny at Madurai when he confronted death. We are merely following in his footsteps. It is a trusted and well-marked path. Though hints about it can be found in the Upanishads it is essential for a new path meant for this age where mental acuity is dominant and encouraged in so many aspects of life.
In those first months, I did sit in the Old Hall but not that often and the realisation of how important it was did not come until much later. Those months were relatively uneventful. When I did sit, it was a hard slog. There were a few regular sitters and I would surreptitiously check on how long they sat compared to my efforts. Probably they were doing much the same, to bolster their confidence that they were good sitters! There was one Telugu man who sat for long hours and there was a general wonder and envy that he could put in the time. At night, after his stint, he would leave the ashram and smoke a well-earned cigarette in the small shop opposite. One didn’t begrudge him the indulgence.
The Old Hall was sparsely populated in those years and the wall clock ticked away the moments, although it appeared to take a particular delight in slowing down when I would open half an eye to check to see how much time had passed. There was one ceiling fan near the couch as an allowance for the comfort-minded. In later years when more people started to sit another fan was installed at the other end of the hall and thus the fan wars began. Whether the fan was too fast or too slow there was always someone who decided to change the setting. I remembered one day sitting there and a lady came in, went straight to the fan control near the couch, and decisively switched the mechanism to the highest slot, then calmly sat down in front of the couch and entered her own satisfied, cool world. I could have whacked her or better still got up and changed the speed, but didn’t. Grumbling to myself out of weakness and the wish not to create a scene, I persevered, which in the end is all we can do whatever the circumstance. In the end, I forgot about the fan speed and the rush of wind. It just was not worth it.
There was much discussion among us newly minted veterans about all the long-term ashram residents who would occasionally come into the old hall, prostrate to the photo, and benignly and quickly walk out. Why didn’t they sit? What was the matter with them? With some degree of self-righteousness, we felt to be the chosen ones. It was not long before we began to do the same thing. For after the preliminary slog of sweat and tears, we each began to discover that the rhythm initiated in the Old Hall began to flow even when we were not there. Our vessels, our material organisms and in particular, our minds could only take in so much before a period of digestion was required. It was not possible to sit all day without repercussions. The nerves would become taut and a subtle hangover would predominate. Just as a person who stuffs themselves with food must stop at some point to allow their body to process the nutrients so too with meditation. Those who refused to listen to the signs could become odd in their behaviour. A normal general result of continued meditation was some type of negative reaction in the body, a physical illness in which toxins that the body and mind had stored in the past were eliminated.
What I learned in those first months was that nothing happened fast, that it was a long, slow drawn-out process which was as much for our own safety as it was the natural course of events. For after all meditation changes not only our minds and hearts, it also affects the nervous system and our gross physical body. With time we become lighter and clearer in our minds. Like a chrysalis, we slowly shed our gross habits and inclinations. Anyone who was in a hurry would soon crash or become dispirited.
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Letter # 7 - Reorientation
“Sri Ramana would not engage with questioners about free will and predestination. Though both theories appear contradictory, they do however reflect the truth to some degree. Sri Ramana would always bring the questioner back to the central point of our existence: Who is this who thinks they are predestined or who has free will?”
In the weeks following the decision to stay at Sri Ramana Nagar, I was still unsure
and slightly dazed by the radical change in my plans such as they were. It never
again occurred to me to move from the tawdry small cell I was living in and seek
adventures elsewhere in India and beyond. Reflecting on it now, I see that my
immediate life at Arunachala was in some way fixed like that of a train on railway
tracks. Once that initial decision to stay crystalized in my mind, a whole slew of
future decisions was immediately lined up and fell naturally into place. There are
crucial moments in our lives which dictate the aftermath of what will happen to us. An
easy example is a student who decides to become a doctor rather than a lawyer. A
whole new chain of experiences will automatically be lined up as possibilities. There
may be differences in how it unfolds but the main theme may hold for the rest of
one’s life. I did not know then that that commitment to stay would dictate the
remainder of my existence in this world. One decision taken in one minute decided
the general course of my future.
After about a week outside the ashram, I started to sporadically sit in the Old
Hall but for some reason one day in the late afternoon I climbed up the lower slopes
of Arunachala and saw two people, Rajapalayalam Ramani Ammal and an old
gentleman dressed in kasaya (orange cloth), who I later learned was Kunju Swami,
one of the senior swamis in the ashram who had been with Bhagavan since 1920.
They were sitting on a large flattish rock chatting. I sat down on a nearby rock and
watched them in the crepuscular light as it slowly died down on Arunachala. It was
sandhya, which happens four times a day. They are midnight, predawn, noon and in
the late afternoon as the sun sets. These times are especially conducive for
meditation, particularly early morning when our vital forces are naturally in balance.
On recollection, in that dying light, I sat feeling defeated in a way. It wasn’t
possible to go forward nor could I go back. I was stuck with myself with no means of
amusement or diversions to keep the dogs of depression away. A substantial
pressure slowly enveloped my brain until it felt like a dead weight. The emotional
pain was excruciating. There was nowhere to run and even if I could make a
decision, my body was numb as if it were deep underwater enduring a compression
of indefinable heaviness. The envelopment soon lifted and with it came the insight
that I was helpless in the face of superior forces of which I had almost no inkling let
alone control. The days when I thought I was captain of my fate seemed laughable.
It is hard, particularly for those educated with the Western attitudes that say
we freely make our own decisions and can do what we like to fulfil our ambitions, to
realise that we are pawns of fate. Sri Ramana said that our prarabdha karma (Fate
or the result of our accumulated past actions that bear fruit in this life) has already
been set in place when we are born. That everything is preordained. The one choice
we have is whether to identify with it or not. This is anathema to anyone who values
freedom, chance and endless possibilities.
There is a famous incident in the life of Sri Ramana Maharshi when his
mother came to Tiruvannamalai to plead with him to come back to the family home in
Madurai. Sri Ramana Mahahsi was in silence and wrote in response the following
and I quote from Arthur Osborne’s book Ramana Maharshi and the Path of Self
Knowledge. “The Ordainer controls the fate of souls in accordance with their
prarabdhakarma (destiny to be worked out in this life, resulting from the balance
sheet of actions in past lives). Whatever is destined not to happen will not happen, try
as you may. Whatever is destined to happen will happen, do what you may to prevent
it. This is certain.
The best course, therefore, is to remain silent.”
Sri Ramana would not engage with questioners about free will and predestination.
Though both theories appear contradictory, they do however reflect
the truth to some degree. Sri Ramana would always bring the questioner back to the
central point of our existence: Who is this who thinks they are predestined or who
has free will?
In Hinduism, there is the concept of twice-born (dvija). There is our natural,
physical life and then there is another life which opens up with the ceremonies of
what is called the upanayana initiation ceremony where the initiate is secretly given
the sacred Gayatri mantra. As a sign of that ceremony, the initiate is invested with a
multithread that loops next to the skin over the left shoulder and across the right hip.
This investiture is not limited to those of a certain religious caste who engage
in a public ceremony. All who enter a genuine spiritual life, experience a decisive
moment that divides their former life from the new chapter that opens. They are
invested with a mark that indicates that they are now members of a dedicated group
of seekers. Depending on whether one is a member of a formal religious order be it
say, Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim or Christian, or if one is a solitary seeker who is
outside the purview of these institutions, the ‘mark’ will be appropriate to the school.
In recognized religions, there is the physical attire which conveys to others that the
person is nominated but there is also an invisible one which only another initiate can
‘see’.
In the circle of Sri Ramana, those who had been initiated by Sri Ramana knew
who the others were. But they all kept quiet. There was no need to speak as it
served no purpose for others to know what would not be of help to them but would
create jealousy and bickering as to who was initiated and who was not. Unlike say
the outstanding Ramakrishna Math edifice, Sri Ramana’s ‘organisation’ is not strictly
structured. There is no rigid hierarchy, there are no certificates. But that does not
mean Sri Ramana does not oversee the progress of his disciples. Quite the contrary,
he does it in mysterious ways. Sri Ramana is not blatant but subtly exercises his
Grace. We are forever left with a slight doubt every time he works his miracles. Each
one he performs could be seen as a natural occurrence without any overt display.
That is Bhagavan’s style…nothing flashy.
Returning to the question of free will and predestination, the question
becomes irrelevant once the authentic initiation occurs. The physical unfoldment will
not change, the body will still undergo the results of former actions but there is a
radical and dramatic shift of perspective. Life becomes meaningful. The suffering
which previously appeared gratuitous and unfair now becomes significant. The
anguish we endure becomes useful experience or knowledge that helps us see our
way free of the seemingly blind forces that inhabit our existence. We use the
difficulty to become free.
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Letter # 8 - Initiation
Initiation is a tricky subject. In say, Tibetan Buddhism, there can be
elaborate rituals connected with initiation. In Hinduism, depending on the
sect or sampradaya (lineage) there may be a formal ceremony. An
initiation can happen in a moment with a simple formality of sitting before
the guru who initiates one into a mantra by softly speaking it into one’s
ear. There are also eccentric actions of an unpredictable siddha (a man
of power who does not follow orthodox tradition) who slaps the initiate
across the back or raps them on the head. The variety of ‘transactions’ is
too numerous to count for there are always, like life, exceptions to the
rule.
In the case of Sri Ramana, he was known to guide a suitable
devotee by a simple, Tamil word such as ‘summa iru’ (just be) or ‘Siva
Siva’. More often, he gave initiation by unspoken look. A young girl who
was only 9 years old, saw Bhagavan alive in the Old Hall and recounted
that one day he unexpectedly looked at her for a long moment in such a
distinct way that the memory remained indelibly imprinted on her mind.
She thought at the time, “So, that is what they all are talking about.” The
extraordinary thing was that when Bhagavan gave initiation to one
person sitting amidst a crowd of people…no one else was aware of what
had happened. As I have said before, everything he did was
unpretentious and intensely personal.
But most often it was in silence that the initiate received the
appropriate blessing that transported their consciousness beyond its
narrow boundary. In other words, the initiation broke down the barriers
we consciously or otherwise set up around our habitual sense of self that
inhibits our understanding of higher truths. Sri Ramana’s signature
initiation was the expression ‘Na Yar?’ (Who Am I?). This is not a simple
rhetorical statement but a powerful thrust into the underworld of our
swirling pool of thoughts and emotions which dictate generally
unbeknownst to us, how we act and react to situations. People in
general are like rockets that go off according to a specific trip word or
circumstance. The more tension a person has, the quicker the flare-up.
People are victims of their ignorance as to who they truly are.
Initiation aims to provide the initiate with a tool that helps them
build up a steady stream of consciousness that is unmoved by the
fluctuations of thoughts and emotions which constantly assail us. We
can well say with Napoleon Bonaparte that “The battlefield is a scene of
constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both
his own and the enemies.” For life, as we well know from the Bhagavan
Gita, is a battlefield. The guru through initiation gives us the means to
control our destiny. It is as significant as that.
My initiation happened one morning quite modestly as I was
walking up the laneway adjacent to the Morvi Guest House compound
which is owned by the ashram. It was about six weeks after my arrival. I
was on my way to the Old Hall when suddenly, this unseen voice in a
quiet, commanding tone took me through the process of asking the
question ‘Who Am I?’ It was all over within say thirty seconds. A seed
had been implanted in my consciousness and all I had to do was to
cultivate it with my attention. It was very clear. There were no doubts as
to what happened. From that moment on my mind had an instrument
that could pull thoughts back to their source. It eventually became so
much of a routine that it works spontaneously to a greater or lesser
degree depending on how identified I am with a thought. Deep-rooted
thoughts take much longer to dislodge but eventually, they do succumb
to persistence and just as important, faith in the practice.
One should remember that if a person is sincere and diligent in
their practice, initiation will surely come. It may not be in the form that
one expects, but come it does. Sri Ramana is so low-key that it is not
surprising that some who did receive the initiation did not realise that it
happened until perhaps much later. Sri Ramana unblocks the gateway to
effective self-attention, atma vichara.
It bears repeating from an earlier Letter about the practice of Who
am I? Nan Yar? or Who Am I? asks that direct, intimate question: Who
am I? There is no answer to the question as such, though one may
elaborate a series of depictions as to who one thinks one is, in terms of
sex, height, skin colour, hair colour, qualifications, names of
parents…..the list is ultimately endless. It doesn’t matter how thorough
you are, you can never fully satisfy any portrayal of yourself. For in the
end, what do you have? A humungous list but you know that none of
that inventory can present the essence of your being, which is elusive
and invisible like the wind.
The myth of the creation of the sacred hill Arunachala can be
linked to this conundrum which we all face as to who we are. It is said
that Brahma the Creator and Vishnu the Preserver argued that each of
them was greater than the other. Brahma claimed he was the architect of
the universe while Vishnu stated that the world could not exist if Brahma
had not been created within a lotus that bloomed from the navel of
Vishnu. They could not resolve their differences. Lord Siva then arrived
on the scene and declared that he was greater than either one of them.
Naturally, the other two violently disagreed. Lord Siva then said that he
would manifest as a pillar of light and if either one of them could find the
top or the bottom that god who was successful was greater than him.
Both Brahma and Vishnu accepted the challenge. Brahma took the form
of a bird and flew ever upward in search of the summit while Vishnu
turned into a boar and started to dig ever further down in search of the
bottom. Brahma was unable to locate the top and gave up but instead of
admitting defeat, he concocted a plan to show he reached the top. He
caught a flower that had fallen from the head of the Siva linga and
brought it back to where Lord Siva was and declared that he found the
top and the ketaki flower was proof. Lord Siva laughed and said he was
a liar. Meanwhile, Vishnu went as far as he could but still could not
locate the bottom. He returned to the surface humbled and admitted
defeat. Lord Siva graciously accepted his surrender and asserted that
because of his truthfulness, Vishnu would be worshipped in temples, but
Brahma because he lied would not be worshiped. This is the case in
India today except for a few minor temples where Brahma is the central
deity.
One of the interpretations of this well-known myth is that it does
not matter how far you voyage in external space you can never reach
the edge of the universe and no matter how deeply you analyse an
object, you will never find a core beyond which there is nothing. The one
abiding factor in all this is consciousness which is present throughout all
space and all time. It is physically represented by Lord Siva as an
endless pillar of light. Pure consciousness has no beginning and no end.
Further, for the sake of those who worshipped Lord Siva but could
not bear the fiery light, Lord Siva turned into a hill of stone that we now
know as Arunachala. Sri Ramana declared that Arunachala was his guru
and that we who follow in his footsteps are indeed fortunate that the
mountain, as a divine presence, is ever available to guide and nurture us
even when the physical form of Sri Ramana is no longer available.
With the process of self-enquiry, when the question is asked, ‘Who
am I?, the attention is directed towards who is asking the question and it
remains secure in that space of consciousness, this is in esoteric terms
the realm of Lord Siva. In Sanskrit, Siva means auspicious. Arunachala
is a physical manifestation of this auspiciousness.
We can easily bask in the presence of this phenomenon but it is
our responsibility to bring the mind and its endless thoughts back to its
point of origin. It does not mean analysing a situation to death like
Vishnu. It does not mean dreaming of all kinds of impossible solutions to
encapsulate infinity like Brahma. It means remaining ever vigilant as
thoughts arise. The emphasis is on being, or what in Vedanta is
identified as sat.
It is a subtle process but once a practitioner applies their attention
to the process often enough it gradually becomes easier and easier, until
it can be an automatic procedure when unwanted thoughts arise. It does
not mean that you become a zombie but quite the contrary, the powers
of discrimination and detachment are developed and the sense of
serenity flourishes. The investigation into our being brings with it an
unexpected joy.
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Letter # 9 - The Next Step
So, where to go from here once the initiation becomes evident?
The Buddha spoke about one of the key moments in one’s life and that is,
hearing the good news that there is a path trodden by others which is effective.
There is a higher power. There is Grace. There is a guiding presence which aids us.
There is a way out of the cycle of pain and suffering. The word Gospel means ‘good
news’.
With this epiphany, we know we are not alone and a new optimism explodes
inside us.
Then what?
After the initial euphoria of discovering what you always wanted, a sense of
certainty and safe harbour, there seems to be a vacuum where the anxiety which
was lurking in the back of your mind, reappears with, it seems added force and
urgency.
Unfortunately, the next step is usually taken as a fall from grace. Doubt,
ennui, frustration that the mountaintop is no longer in view. The shadows of despair
cover that shining light we briefly witnessed and subsequently coveted.
Where is it now? Now is the time for questions. The empathic declarations
that this is it, are a memory and so-called hard unforgiving reality smothers all
aspirations in a haze of doubt.
Could I have been wrong?
No, we are not wrong but the past tendencies rear up like a nasty snake and
bite us with their insistence that we pay them attention just as we did before.
This is the house cleaning period where it is somewhat dull, but necessary if
we are to grow.
It is a calling to account and an acceptance of responsibility for all the various
misdeeds and acts of omission that preceded this new chapter. At times it may seem
even worse than what we experienced before the revelation.
It is a slow methodical grind clearing up our delusions and wrong actions.
I remember in the first days of this new life hearing from a couple who
diligently practised hatha yoga for years, and were advised by a senior swami in the
Swami Sivananda lineage who told them to focus their efforts on yama and niyama.
They were perplexed by this pedantic instruction as if they had not already corrected
their own lives and in any case what had that to do with higher teachings? In another
anecdote, someone told me about new arrivals at Dharmsala eager to learn the
higher teachings of Tibetan Buddhism that they would go straight to the advanced
tantric section of books in the monastery library much to the amusement of senior
monks.
When we finally reluctantly conclude that these teachers are right not because
we see the wisdom of their instruction but because after the initial euphoria, we hit
an intractable wall. To employ a commercial analogy, we are financially broke. All
our savings have gone into a giant blowout. Thought is energy, emotion is energy,
and physical action is energy. We require energy to function. In sleep, our bodies
and minds rest and it is possible to generate energy for the forthcoming day. But that
energy can be quickly dissipated by negative thoughts and emotions and useless
behaviour.
Consider the following analogy. You walk or drive past a sign for a fast-food
restaurant chain that touts fried chicken and chips. You pass a restaurant that makes
fresh salads and healthy dishes. Which is better for us? We know the answer and
yet many, many people stop at the oily, nutrient-poor fried chicken. Why? Because
there is instant gratification. The carbohydrates, salt and sugar give us an instant
high. For a moment we feel on top of our small world. Soon afterwards, there is the
inevitable blowback of feeling empty and strangely out of sorts. It is a psychological
mini-depression as the body tries to absorb the recalcitrant fats that refuse to
dissolve. They linger like a bad smell and we can become irritated.
Again, what we think we become, what we eat we become. Does anyone wish
to become a battery chicken? Obviously not. We want to become the best in the
world, the most famous; the genius who is finally recognised for all our worth. The
most beautiful, the richest, the most intelligent. We all have similar dreams, the
difference is one of form and degree for each individual, but not principle which is
one and the same.
There is nothing wrong with this aspiration. Anyone who has no dream of
superiority, success or fulfilment is dead to the world and this is due either to a
defective body riddled with pain or a mind incapable of more than the simplest
actions, due to say, malnutrition or lack of nurturing and plain education.
We are all on various rungs of a ladder that reaches the stars. We all are
obliged to start somewhere and the various imperfect dreams and aspirations we
hold dear are stepping stones.
So where do we start?
We start at the beginning. We start at the simplest possible level. We begin to
slowly but surely clean up our lives on every possible level: physical, emotional and
mental.
There is no quote more apt than that by William Balke in his poem The
Marriage of Heaven and Hell.
“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as
it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.”
We live in a room that is chaotic, dirty and soul-destroying.
The first thing we do is pick up the easiest, most trivial piece of garbage and
put it in the rubbish bin. And then we pick up the next easiest, and then the next.
In our minds, we attempt to stop the flow of destructive thoughts. In our
hearts, we thwart the sense of smug satisfaction that we are better than others. At
first, we will not succeed but with patience and perseverance, a crack will open up in
our carefully constructed shell that denies the possibility of light and freedom from
the corrosive fears that eat us up.
Sri Ramana Maharshi’s teaching “Who Am I?’ is invaluable. Each time a
thought arises ask yourself to whom does it arise? We are not obligated to accept
and believe every thought or emotion that arises in our consciousness. We are free
to accept or negate.
None of this is easy, but all of this is essential. However, it does become easier with time and practice.
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More "Letters from Arunachala" to follow soon
