Saturday, May 28, 2011

Snakes and Ladders.

One of the oldest and most often used analogies for the human condition has to do with the much maligned snake.  The ancient sages pointed out how a person might come across a rope on the path, but think it’s a snake.  A Realized being, they continued, would see it for what it is; a harmless rope.  In other words, we tend to see this world as real and dangerous while, they insist, it is a magical, illusory show and quite benign.    

Well, I have heard and read that analogy so often over the years that when I saw what certainly looked like a snake in the grass, one recent morning, I was not to be fooled.  I assumed it was simply a harmless length of rope, I grabbed the thing up, it actually was a snake, it bit me and now I am dying.  I suppose I should've known it was in fact a snake since it was moving at the time.  Ok, maybe I’m not actually dying.  Perhaps I wasn’t even bitten, but I might’ve been, I could’ve been. 
Meanwhile that evening, following some basketball, I dropped down onto my bed and immediately went into a catatonic state that lasted a long, long time.  I tried to take a bath, after a while, but by the time I finally made it to the top of my stairs, a distance of approximately three feet, I realized my backside was still on the bed.  It didn’t seem worth taking a bath without my backside, it being such an integral part of the bathing process.  And, while good hygiene is clearly not a priority for many, it is important to me.  So I returned to my bed and waited for the whole carcass to agree upon a time for the event.  As it turned out, that was not until next morning.  So I had plenty of time to reflect on how I had mistaken a nefarious snake for a harmless rope. 
Now, unlike many weak-minded and complex-ridden individuals whom I know, I’m not scared of snakes.  Upon encountering one, I initially just feel uneasy, perhaps a little queasy.  Of course, if it looks at me sideways my skin crawls, I begin to scream silently as I thrash my way through the bushes up the hill.  But, that’s normal.  What bothered me was the fact that the age-old analogy of human-kind; seeing a rope and mistaking it for a snake, had proved incorrect.  I might have died a horrible death. Snakes are not actually poisonous around here, but that’s totally beside my point.  And I wish it would move.  I’m trying to say that the age-old analogy was incorrect, misleading and potentially dangerous.   
What occurred to me was that, if a rope might actually be a snake, perhaps this world might actually be real after all.  Perhaps all the Realized beings strutting around, cajoling all of us into thinking that this is one big dream, are deluded.  And two thoughts followed upon the heels of that one, almost tripping it.  I became haunted by the thought, firstly, that I may have wasted my whole adult life.  Rather than having lived a yogic lifestyle, I could’ve been out there enjoying what this world has to offer; drinking, smoking, doping, throwing up in tavern bathrooms, waking up beside strange women wearing feathers, eating dead animals, huge debts, line-dancing.  Secondly, I thought that I had better give the matter further consideration.  
I’ll let you know now what saved me from spiraling down into a serious depression, as I lay on the bed waiting for my backside to get off itself.  I’ll tell you what helped me rise up.  No, it was not drugs, although that’s a future consideration.  I have three words for you; direct experience.  There’s nothing quite like it.  And I’ve got it.  Had I just read or heard that we mistake ropes for snakes, and then been bitten by one or the other, I would’ve been in serious trouble.  Luckily, those same sages didn’t stop there.  They gave us Meditation.  They encouraged us to find it all out for ourselves, directly, so that the knowledge would remain unshakable, forever.      
What follows here is a short excerpt from an article I wrote a few years back for Wakefield’s famous newspaper; The Low Down To Hull And Back News.  It has been reproduced, with many others, in my book; The Bridge Between, which can be purchased on-line through the publishers; www.bluemoosebooks.com, on-line at; www.amazon.com/uk or through Susan Randall in Wakefield, Quebec, phone; 819 459 1160 or email; madhurta@magma.ca.  I am not aware of anyone actually ever buying a copy, but it is available. 
Snakes.  (pg; 60, The Bridge Between by Nathan Vanek.) 
There’s a charming, ancient saying in India that goes; ‘Oh how I hate snakes! Kill it! Kill it! Kill the slimy creature! There’s a boulder. Smash it!’  Generally speaking, Indians are not overly fond of the reptiles.  They worship them.  They’re fascinated by them.  But, they fear them…
Indian sages liken death to a harmless rope that’s mistaken for a dangerous, venomous snake in the dark of night.  When travelers realize their error, they’re quite relieved.  In the same way, those sages say, when spiritual travelers realize their essential, eternal nature, through maturing their practice of meditation, they’re obviously relieved, forever…
When he lifted the lid, the cobra raised its awful head; the porter let out a blood-curdling scream and threw the basket straight up.  As he ran through the lobby, he yelled; ‘Snake! Snake!  The other porter ran behind him as though they were in a qualifying match for the Asian games.  The hapless Danish couple, trapped in the corner of the elevator, shrieked, wept and bounced from wall to wall while I lay on the ground laughing so hard I must’ve appeared as though I had been bitten.  I wanted to tell them it wasn’t real, but I couldn’t.  People were leaping over counters, jumping onto chairs and out the front doors…
It also reminded me that it behooves all of us to keep in mind what’s real and what’s important, because the rest will eventually slither away.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Bridges.

That was not a form of sleep I ever remembered having before.  I had no memory of crossing over the bridge between worlds, between states of consciousness. 

I arrived at the 1977 Maha Kumbha Mela in Allahabad on the afternoon of February 19th, bedroll on my shoulders.  A strong and steady rain had washed the land a day earlier, turning the whole area into a colossal mudslide.  There was no place to even sit.  So I walked, for hours, taking it all in.  The Naga Babas crouched naked close to the river’s edge, sure to be first to bathe each morning.  A sadhu was buried straight down into the ground, up to his neck.  Another sadhu had a withered arm, raised up, stuck in place.  There was a sea of humanity stretched out in front of me, the earth's largest act of faith, as I’ve heard it called, a profound testimonial to the belief in one life permeating all, and the likes of which I knew I’d almost certainly never see again in this lifetime.  
I walked and walked, watched and watched; the pilgrims, fifteen million of them, sanyasis, yogis, the animals, the life, until I had to lie down.  I felt rather confused, a bit sick and totally disoriented in spite of having already been in India for several months.  Eventually, I just dropped down on my bedroll in the middle of a muddy path.  My last conscious thought, before passing out, was that just maybe I was dying.  It seemed appropriate somehow, alone among millions, on a bridge between civilizations, a bit sad, resigned, it was alright.     
The next thing I knew, I was lying next to a small fire with a circle of sadhus around me.  Someone had placed a bowl of jellabies and curd next to me.  Jellabies are basically deep-fried sugar and flour shaped like pretzels.  Curd is basically yogurt.  I had slept through the night.  A mange-ridden dog was sniffing at my feet, sidling up closer and closer to the bowl of sweets until one of the sadhus threw a stick at it.  I took a nibble at the jellabies, carefully.  The taste of them nearly made me snap my head back with delight.  I ate the whole thing and drank some chai while listening to chanting, not really questioning how I had come to be in the midst of that odd group.  Most of them had matted dread-locked hair, long beards and were dressed in loincloths or dhotis.  I meditated while their chanting continued to fill the atmosphere around me and, in sharp contrast to the day before, I actually felt fine. 
Later the same day, having resumed my wandering, a French couple came running up to me, asking where the bathrooms were.  I told them it was anywhere between the two parallel ropes that ran for miles along one side of the mela.  They looked horrified as they melted back into the crowd, and I felt a little less like a stranger there.  I had crossed a bridge between worlds. 
Gurus, masters, spiritual leaders of all sorts, of all shapes and sizes, seemed to take turns parading through the grounds with their entourage and with varying degrees of pomp and lavishness, each a celebration of India’s long respected Guru Tradition.  One such procession, however, struck me as rather too grand, too ostentatious.  The Guru rode on a massive elephant decorated from top to bottom; red and orange Rajasthan carpets, colored beads and bells, Peacock feathers on its forehead and huge garlands around its neck.  The man was himself an imposing figure, with thick black beard, orange robes and rudraaksh-seed malas.  Behind him, several slightly smaller, less decorated elephants followed, apparently carrying some of his disciples. 
Hundreds of people flocked around that front elephant, trying to touch its tail or feet or stomach, believing that one touch of the mount of the Guru, the enlightened one, would bless them.  The mahout was clearly frightened.  He was having trouble controlling the beast as it stepped sideways, swaying dangerously, and twisting almost out of control.  Meanwhile, the great Guru was laughing, wagging his finger down at the people, seemingly unconcerned. 
I found myself moving along with the procession, keeping pace with the skittish elephant, caught up in the moment.  But, I kept thinking it was wrong to sit up on that elephant, basking in the glory, endangering many lives.  Who was he to be held up so high and mighty when the life is one, when we are all from one source (?)  And then the great man turned right around in his howdah and looked straight at me.  We were frozen in time, for a moment, as he spoke with his eyes; ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said, ‘but don’t tell me, tell them.’  I stopped dead in my tracks as he rode off into the mela. 
I’m not sure when I really began to understand on a very visceral level that there are in fact no bridges between worlds, civilizations or even states of consciousness, that all forms and phenomena are like so many waves upon one ocean.  I only know that my short time at the Mela went a long way in helping to shape the understanding.    
“Kindness is the bridge between souls, families and nations.”  Paramahansa Yogananda. 

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Face of God.

Do you know God?  Do you ever speak with her, him or it?  Do you believe in God?  Do you even know what God is?  Do you know where we’ve come from, where we’re going?  Do you know if there is any real order to the universe?  Do you know why I am attracted to large ladies who wear spandex?  These are all questions I can’t answer.  I have a friend who calls himself an atheist.  I also don’t understand that.  It’s like saying he doesn’t believe that he exists.  Not believing in God makes no sense to me.
I met a guy once who seemed pretty definite that he spoke to God, on a regular basis as a matter of fact.  He was very convincing.  He would have been even more convincing had he not insisted on total secrecy.  There was a rather large crowd of people surrounding him on a corner of Rideau street at the time.  In case you don’t know, that’s one of the busiest places in Ottawa.  He also had eyes painted on his eye-lids, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t converse with God.  It was, however, rather distracting.           
When I was a wee little willy wonderful, I would look up at the stars and wonder where it all ends.  Believe it or not, I would close my eyes and wonder where it all begins too.  The mysteries of the universe have always fascinated me.  And, although I have lived my whole adult life as a yogi and a mystic, I have not succeeded in answering those questions.  In fact, I frankly don’t expect that I’ll ever be able to answer those questions.  Meanwhile, I’ll tell you one humble, largely unknown fact that I have been able to uncover.
Somewhere along the path I discovered a very practical, down-to-earth way to get free of the problems that plague every person, in spite of caste, color, creed or cataract.  By acting opposite from what is normally considered natural, in other words by not acting at all for a while each day, I have seen the face of God, or at least the face of freedom.  And, by God, she’s wearing spandex.
Of course, everyone knows someone who believes that God is love.  With the New-Age catch phrase; ‘God is love,’ they try to impress upon us that God is, well, love.  How they reach that conclusion is beyond my comprehension.  They clearly ignore the reality staring them in their foolishly smiling faces.  Some still insist on walking around flashing the old peace sign, the v-shaped two-fingered salute of the innocent, hopeful, naive sixties.  Their jargon include phrases like; ‘All you need is love,’ the ever popular; ‘Give peace a chance,’ or even, ‘We are all one love,’ whatever that means.    
And yet, and yet, anyone who has ever experienced a simple love, someone who gave without asking anything in return, would agree there certainly seems to be something Godly in that.  It is beyond reason, of course.  As humans, up on our hind legs, rubbing sticks together for fire, looking up at the sun with a sense of wonder, something opens up within us when we are simply loved.  What could possibly be closer to any concept of God than the unconditional, fierce, primal, self-sacrificing love of a mother?  In love we find a release even from our own disbelief. 
Perhaps each day of our lives should be a prayer to that which we don’t know, don’t understand, for no greater reason than we also don’t know how better to enjoy the fleeting moments of our existence on this earth, and because it feels Godly.