The subject belongs to an inchoate but essential working of the psyche. I will concretize it to explain the point about worship. About a year ago I decided not to wear shoes as a mark of respect when I step on the 6×4 carpet where my harmonium sits. It seemed important to consecrate the area with this gesture and other marks of respect, like covering the harmonium with a nice shawl and to occasionally light incense etc. It seemed important to have a holy space within my living space. This rule was self made, and had a purpose. But it is not easy to conform in the winter when I wear my sheepskin boots and I can’t just slip out of them easily. The other day I said, hell, this is a self made constriction, so I will ignore it. I did, and it didn’t feel right, so I took them off.

So, what did I want to say about this? Perhaps I should talk about the other point and that may help me clarify. All our conceptions of God are filtered through our own, limited sensibilities and can therefore be false. And yet we cannot do without conceptions so it becomes imperative that we remain aware of their limited nature in order not to get stuck in any of them, or to take them deadly seriously (and they can be deadly; the state of the world and religious wars are evidence). We need to take our conceptions very lightly and remind ourselves again and again that God is far, far vaster than any we might hold, and far, far more mysterious than our minds can comprehend. Carl Jung, in his autobiography, Memories, Dreams and Reflections has a wonderful example of this. When he was a young boy he tortured himself by not allowing himself to give birth to an image that his psyche kept thrusting into his consciousness. When he finally allowed himself to let it birth itself, it was as satisfying as having a huge dump. And here is the image: God, in heaven, is shitting on a church in his town.

I think that God would probably shit upon all our conceptions of Him and Her. They are altogether too small and constricted. And yet . . . for those of us who love to worship, who need concrete little rituals by which to consecrate our praying, it becomes important not to get stuck in the institutions we build around it. By all means remove your shoes if it makes you feel humbler; if it makes you feel your little carpet temple is sacred, special, real; that you do have a physical space you can retreat to in moments of joy and sorrow. But know that God is not confined to your carpet, and would have no trouble shitting on it if you started to think so.

No Comments »

Tried all morning to crawl back into my solitude, but couldn’t. Was tired and walked slowly on my hike up this beautiful mountains which I must leave soon to return to the US, knowing in my heart that wherever I am is right. Even the tiredness and the inability to enter my solitude. After lunch I lay out in the sun, not wanting to read or even talk with anyone, and unable to get up and water the few plants that looked at me thirstily. And it was okay. I might never want to read or write or be obsessive about all the things I need to, ought to, or want to do. But when I did reach for the watering can and began to feed the plants, I slid smoothly into the arms of my solitude, the quiet stillness returning like sunshine and warmth wrapping around my organs, all of them, and specially the heart and the brain. There is such a supreme ALL RIGHTNESS about everything. I move towards a great love and acceptance of myself and my life. All of it. There is not a thing that I am or think or act that is outside of myself, or life, or God. No matter how far I get from my self or from God I am still connected, tethered, bound. No implement exists to cut this bond. Even when I let it go, it stays.

No Comments »

The Snake Who Lost His Hiss

The elders of a village went to the Saint where he was meditating in a cave in the mountains, and complained about Nagarajah, an evil snake that had terrorized the village.

“His hiss can be heard for miles around,” they said. “He bites and swallows our cattle, our dogs, our children, our men, our women. Even the bravest among us have become afraid to venture out into the fields which are dry, parched, uncultivated. Our granaries are depleted and empty. Our numbers are dwindling from death by the snake, and by starvation. Help us, Guru, you alone can subdue and vanquish him. ”

The Saint, realizing the gravity of the situation, descended to the village, and went to the  large, spreading bodhi tree. This used to be the tree under which children played, yogis meditated, and lovers lay in each other’s arms under the moonlight. But no more. Now at its coiling, twisted roots, the snake lived in his burrow.

“Come forth, O Ancient One,” the Saint called, and the snake crept out of his hole,  slithering and undulating, his scales shimmering in the sunlight. He was dark and shining in his majesty, awesome in his length and his beauty. He glided to the Guru, and coiled up meekly at his feet.

“Oi, what is this I hear about you being the scourge of the village? Leave your destructive ways. Be good. Don’t kill needlessly. Stop biting them. Leave them alone,” the Saint said.

Because the snake had good karma, because he could be made conscious of the consequences of his acts, and because he had the sense and the power to obey the Saint, he returned to his burrow, resolved henceforth to leave his evil ways, and be good.

The fields yielded grain, the children came out to play, the lovers loved, the brave came out with their bows and their arrows, and the villagers were once again at peace.

One day, several months later, the Saint passed by the tree in the village, and found the snake coiled near the root of the tree. He was utterly transformed. His scales had fallen off, he looked mangy, emaciated, innocuous, limp. He had sores all over his body. He looked like he was on the verge of death.

“Oi, what happened to you?” the Saint asked.

“This, O Guru, is the fruit of obedience, of being good. I obeyed you, I gave up my evil ways, I let the villagers alone, I stopped biting them, I stopped eating their livestock, and what happened? Look what they did to me. The children come and throw stones at me. Even the rats dance on my head. I haven’t eaten for months. I am simply waiting to be eaten when I die.”

“This is your own fault,” the Saint replied. “I told you not to bite them, but I didn’t tell you not to hiss.”

I FIRST READ THIS STORY IN RAMAKRISHNA AND RETOLD IT IN MY BOOK

GANESHA GOES TO LUNCH.

No Comments »