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 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.
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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.
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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. Andour 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.
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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 w
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. I
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 l
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 f
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 o
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 d
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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More "Letters from Arunachala" Coming Soon