So, dear friends, we return now to this series describing our recent trip to India. (This blog is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, so be forewarned.)
We left off leaving the Ananda Community in Pune to return to Delhi where the Southgate Hotel (near the south Delhi Ananda Center) is our hub. The ashram would store our larger luggage piece as we went out on shorter trips to various places. So now we returned after a ten-day jaunt that included Puri, Kolkata and Pune to re-group, re-pack our travel cases, store any gifts we had purchased, have laundry done and so on. That was Monday, March 11.
Tuesday morning, March 12, we returned to the Delhi airport (domestic terminal) for our flight to Varanasi. The flight was on time and happily uneventful. Varanasi airport was modern and clean and offered nothing worth mentioning. Out in the parking lot in front we readily found our three small vans who were ready and waiting for us. (We need smaller transportation because the streets of Varanasi are generally very narrow. Now mind, you, I am referring to streets where cars move around. The real "streets" of "old" Varanasi are but narrow lanes where one or two persons can sometimes walk side-by-side, or where a pedestrian is pushed aside by a motorcycle noisily wending its way through, its sound threateningly amplified by the buildings which rise straight up.)
The day was hot and humid and deceptively quiet at first. Almost unnoticed, the road from airport blended into the city precincts and soon the streets began to twist and turn. With each block it got more jammed and crowded. Progress toward the riverbank slowed to a crawl. Our van's air conditioner pooped out and we had to open windows to let in the intense noise (shouting, honking, braying, blaring, etc.) and a steady flow of dust, dirt, and Lord knows what else. I can't speak for the other vans, but by the time our van, one of three, reached the Ganges Palace Hotel we, its occupants, were over-heated, drenched by perspiration in our own clothes, and exhausted just mentally fending off the sensory assaults (trying not to breathe deeply and hold the mind inward and steady) while bouncing and jerking in our seats as the van tumbled through the streets.
We literally fell out of our vans, snatched our luggage, fought our way through the local beggars (presumably assigned to our hotel entrance by the local union) only to trudge up a steep flight of stairs to the one desk, one person lobby. 35 people and luggage soon overfilled the adjacent hallway. Rooms weren't ready yet (it was still early afternoon). People were tired and frazzled and the hallways were superheated.
Fortunately, arrangements had been made to serve us lunch upon our arrival, so after a spell of confusion which included sitting and waiting, we were ushered downstairs where it was even hotter and more stuffy. A solitary air conditioning unit in the wall offered half-hearted puffs of tepid air as if in lackluster devotion to some uncool, but relatively minor, Hindu god.
All told, it was not an auspicious beginning. Clearly Varanasi, as we were forewarned, was going to be a challenging adventure. (The spiritual name for Benares is Kashi--see prior blog post.) Whether your sins are forgiven by bathing in the Ganges or you receive other blessings, there's always a price to pay, you see. In the case of bathing in the Ganges, the price may be your life, at least if you are a foreigner, for what you can't see might kill you. Oh, did I mention: don't drink from the Ganges?
The view of the Ganges from our room, was, however, quite lovely. In early March, when there's not been substantial rainfall since the summer-fall monsoon season, the opposite bank turns into a gigantic sand bar. Still, the river is slow and wide at least this time of year. No buildings or city is visible on the opposite bank or even beyond. The river circles the city in such a manner that it is flowing northward as it flows through and past Varanasi. The symbolism is obvious to a yogi: the northward flowing current of energy in the spine flows toward the highest chakra(s) in its journey toward "moksha," liberation (enlightenment). The Ganges, among other things, symbolizes the river of grace and energy that leads to salvation. Hence the symbolism of bathing in the Ganges to cleanse one's "sins."
Mid-afternoon, we assembled to walk along the bathing ghats northward toward the center of town (but a relatively short distance) to visit and meditate at an ashram built by devotees of the woman saint, Ananda Moyi Ma. Ma didn't necessarily live anywhere specific for long periods of time but she certainly did stay there sometimes. It is a steep series of steps up from the river and into the ashram, but the ashram is clean and tidy, if austere. There, in front of a room filled with relics and artifacts of Ma's life, and an altar, we meditated in the mid-afternoon heat. Challenging to settle in, certainly, but well worth it. I won't attempt to recount Ma's life: Yogananda has an entire chapter on her in his autobiography. She's well known and was a remarkable person: a mixture of orthodox and unorthodox! Swami Kriyananda spent much time with her and was greatly touched by her kindness and spiritual power.
As the afternoon's heat broke, we boarded a hired boat to go downstream. The Ganges boats are very large rowboats, equipped in the center with a small engine in order to go upstream (as well as downstream). Going downstream they are steered and rowed relatively easily by one person, even when filled with over thirty people. We floated and rowed gently along the ghats, enjoying the incredible sight of the Varanasi (Kashi) skyline at the riverbanks. The ghats are entirely covered in cement and stone down into the water--so ancient is this city (the world's oldest continuously occupied city). The buildings along the shore rise vertically many stories high along the surrounding cliffs (no longer visible). Steep stairs, therefore, rise from the shore up to the land above, which, once climbed, is level as you enter the heart of the city beyond.
The visual effect is akin to seeing medieval castle walls lining the western bank for at least a mile or so. Some are very old and decrepit, others more up to date and maintained. Some colorful; others, drab. Antiquity and tradition stream outward from every rock and brick. Nonetheless, over centuries, the Ganges in flood has torn away many a riverside building or ghat, so the riverbank is forever re-inventing itself. No bridge exists here. One could be dimly seen a mile or two upstream. None of the buildings can be, themselves, all that old for the simple fact that man-made buildings of any kind, even stone, can only last so long before falling apart or otherwise becoming unfit for habitation. But even a merely medieval impact suggests an aura of timelessness and of fixed tradition.
The activities along the ghat, themselves, would seem to have been going on since time immemorial: bathing, worshipping, conducting rituals, plying one's various trades. Swamis, sadhus (including the famous "naga" or naked (literally, "sky-clad" sadhus) encamp along certain of the ghats in tents surrounded by smoke-filled smouldering fires used for cooking, washing, and conducting various rites and rituals. The haze and smoke that infest the place add to the surreal timelessness as do the clothing, dress, and activities of those assembled there in a never-ending parade of humanity.
We floated downstream to the largest and most famous burning ghat (there are actually several) ("Manikarnika") where it is said that a flame has been kept burning for five thousand years. You could see the flame inside a small building at the edge of the ghat. The flame is specifically used to light the wood-fueled funeral pyres that line the beach there, attended to by a special class (caste) of "morticians". Sometimes you can see an actual body in flames, but just as often only the wood pyre. Pictures are discouraged as a sign of respect but it seems this injunction is honored in the breach. Large pieces of timber are piled up for the non-stop, year-round functions of an outdoor crematorium. We never saw any dead bodies floating downstream and although that is not the correct disposition of the dead, it does in fact sometimes happen, whether for lack of funds or lack of care.
Eventually, we turned around, fired up the engine (which seemed as ancient as the ghats), and putt-putt'ed our way back to the main ghat ("Dasaswamedha") for the daily dusk "arati" ceremony. A hundred or more boats like ours filled the waterfront area just off the ghat, bobbing and butting one another, as tourists and pilgrims and their oarsmen jockeyed for position and assembled for the nightly "light show." Yes, it certainly was an entertainment: I believe 7 pujaris (priests) stood on a row of raised circular platforms lining the bank and like chorus girls (sorry for the image) conducted, in synchronization, a lengthy and elaborate ritual to the sound and beat of loud mantras and chants performed by a live mini-orchestra. It was entrancing and beautiful. The mantras have been chanted here for untold centuries and the effect was not lost upon us.
Boats bumped each others; hawkers of postcards and plastic religious items jumped from boat to boat hawking their wares with the annoying persistence appropriate to their trade no doubt since the dawn of time.
The priests used all sorts of ritual objects in their choreography but the most spectacular of them are these mini-Christmas tree shaped candelabra that they swung up and down and in all directions to the tune and beat of the chants. Incense, drums, bells, WOW.....beautiful to be sure. One vacillates between imagining you are in Los Vegas at a floor show and being in Kashi, mesmerized by the power of these mantras and rituals and transported into a timeless region of high vibration. And, sometimes one just pauses to look around, watching the people in the various boats and making silent observations of a more mundane type--you know, people who write blogs about things like this!
Still, one can hardly be indifferent to the spectacular and intense sights and sounds. Smoke fills the air everywhere here--which means one's eyes, nose, throat and lungs. Mosquitoes and moths have a feeding frenzy. One's individuality threatens to lose its tentative grip upon the body and is invited to merge into the haze of smoke, flashing lights, dark shadows, silhouetted forms, and pounding beat of mantric vibrations that fill and overtake every lesser reality. Though this may sound like a description of a rock concert and although the comparison is inevitable because so superficially similar, all comparisons end because the arati has at least the potential to lift you towards a transcendent state while the typical rock concert invites you hypnotically toward a gyrating, snakelike orgy of tribal subconsciousness.
Finally, and before it was completely ended lest a boat-jam take place, we motored back to our ghat, near to the hotel, and then ascended to the hotel rooftop for a dining buffet experience under the hazy stars. The air now was at least cool if not clear and it was a gentle and fitting end to a long day.
The ancient motor in the giant rowboat is housed in a wooden box at the center of the boat. There's no battery to start it. The "boy" opens a panel and inserts a heavy, steel crank; sets the spark and the mix; and cranks as hard as he can, jumping back lest it rip his arm off when it fires up! Though it sounds diesel-like, I think it uses petrol (gasoline). It might even be one cylinder and it sounds like it is wide diameter piston and long of neck cylinder: each oscillation is distinct and throaty. While going downriver with silent rowing, we could chant with our harmonium, there was no hope of chanting with the putt-putt thing happening. It was, if not deafening, anathema to any conversation except it the most intimate one-to-one shouting!
Early the next morning, about dawn, we walked back to Ma's ashram for meditation. Just as a few of us sat cross-legged on the marble floor (or upon our portable three-legged stools), two rows of young women marched up and sat behind us and began full-throttle mantras and chants, unaccompanied. It was lovely if a little disconcerting. We didn't know if it would go on for two hours; if we were supposed to move out of their way; whether we were intruding upon their ancient daily ritual, but finally they stopped and trooped away as soundlessly as they had appeared. We chanted a bit and then meditated.
The morning sun, rising across the eastern shore of the Ganges, was now beginning to heat the air. We stayed because invited one at a time to enter Ma's tiny, austere bedroom. Her bed was not quite made of nails, but it was simply a wooden, low-slung platform. Her tiny shoes were placed at the foot. We took turns entering and touching the shoes, pronaming and being in silence for a brief meditation.
Back then we went for hotel breakfast. By mid-morning the sun was awake and ready and beating fiercely. Once again we boarded our open rowboat to head back downstream to the main ghat. There we exited the boat and climbed steps into the labyrinth of alleyways, Kashi's heart, in order to find the shrine to Lahiri Mahasaya, created, I believe, by Shidendu Lahiri, great grandson of Lahiri (?). The boat ride was hot and therefore we were silent, most of us hiding from the blaze of the sun with whatever objects of cloth, sunglasses, hats we were perspicacious enough to have brought with us.
The walk into "town" and along the incredibly narrow (and filthy) lanes, being continually harassed by deep-throated motorcycles pushing their way through the narrow passageways, was an adventure to say the least. You could disappear into any number of alleys or doorways and never be heard from again. It's that easy.
You'd have to be a Houdini to know "who dunnit: the butler or the cook."
But find it we did. It was very clean and beautifully done. It included a side-shrine with a portion of Lahiri's ashes and a museum that included some books and items for sale. We stayed a good bit, left some donations, and had a nice meditation there.
Then out into the narrow and dark lanes we went again looking from the wooden front door to Lahiri's own house. Find it we did, but we could only gaze upon it or press our forehead against the door in prayerful obeisance to the guru who started it all in this tiny house in the heart of Kashi in 1861. The family who occupies the home doesn't welcome devotees though we were told that once a year in late September, around the time of Lahiri's mahasamadhi date, the door is open. But even in past years when Ananda devotees could go in, mostly all they could do was look. Even meditating was "forbidden." Such is maya.
I believe the preceptors of this path want no particular interest expressed in them as individuals and the mundane details of their personal biographies. I think they would prefer we emulate and assimilate God-consciousness into our daily lives through kriya yoga and with their inner guidance. End of lecture.
The day, however, was far from over. Some of us were on the hunt for some special gifts (see wedding below) and most still had enough verve to want to venture out even more. By special arrangements by our tour guide, Bijaya, we were to be given the opportunity to get close to the otherwise forbidden Vishnu Temple at the center of Kashi (Vishwanath Temple). The walk there was very long through narrow lanes that seemed to get narrower and narrower as we approached what was presumably the temple but the lanes are so narrow you can barely see your feet what to mention anything around you. Throngs of pilgrims, hawkers and shoppers pressed on all sides and in both directions. Keeping an eye on the placement of your feet was essential to avoid landing in holy cow shit, or worse, perhaps. The tiny stalls often were fascinating but the pushing crowd gave little opportunity for window shopping and the merchants within would have grabbed and kidnapped you for a private "showing" even if you did. Still it was all very intriguing if harrowing at the same time. The perfect tourist and pilgrim's "You wouldn't believe what we did" story.
Bijaya guided us to a tiny shop and we all pressed in, removing our shoes and backpacks there in the store for pre-arranged safekeeping (with the promise of "rich" American pilgrims shopping afterward, of course). Then out into the lane, shoeless, we went a short distance and then entered an even darker and more narrow alley guarded by men and women in army uniforms with machine guns and an X-ray machine. Women are always "handled" separately but I certainly was searched and patted down (and up) and then cleared.
Evidently, the Temple is adjacent to a mosque and there's been a centuries old festering wound around their relationship. A history not worth researching. But a year or so ago a bomb went off and hence security is rather tight. The tiny lane that we entered was one of several passageways into or at least toward the Temple. My understanding is that this entrance was especially for foreigners. We scooted along the alley, passing shops selling the various items that devotee Hindus typically bring as gifts to the deity. It was all very confusing but in the end all that happened to me was that I was told to walk up a few steps on a side alley so I could view the somewhat smallish but definitely beautiful and gold plated Temple dome. Yup: that was it.
Later I heard some people may have gotten a sneak peak into the temple inner sanctum through an ancient wooden door but in the hubbub I guess I missed an important cue or maybe I was suppose to miss it. Though it was all very dramatic and all very anti-climatic, I wouldn't have missed for anything! (I got to write this story, right?)
Well, the tension was broken and it was announced we were off (by pre-scouting pre-arrangement) to a nearby restaurant appropriate for the likes of us. We followed the lanes back in reverse order and gradually they widened and we reached something of a main thoroughfare where vehicles actually went. We eventually and magically happened upon an upstairs restaurant, somewhat large, where all of us managed to find tables and actually enjoyed a delicious and relaxing meal together. We took our time as we were fairly wrung out on all levels.
But, finished we were not. That magic hunting expedition for that special gift for that special someone hung over us like a black cloud, like a hangover on a sunny morning. (Well, ok, for those of us who couldn't find a gift if it were thrust at us, shopping in a strange, elusive, slightly forbidden place like Kashi is like searching for a "needle in a haystack of nettles." In short, daunting.)
Somehow our cultural attache, Murali Venkatrao, was up for the hunt and began to lead us down the main street of town. Soon he had outpaced us as the traffic began to snarl and massive lockdown took place. Some of us stood around and began dialing our cell phones in frustration and confusion. Eventually we all met up and to escape the lockdown (all cars, bullock carts, bicycles, pedestrians had been frozen by a coagulation of objects so complete as to leave everyone in shock and in paralysis). We found a side alley that headed in the direction of the river and made our escape--not having the scantiest idea where the labyrinth would lead this time. Murali had never been to Kashi before, either.
As God and guru and their grace would have it, after dodging innumerable cow pies, their former owners, and alleys that threatened to leave us blinded with dead-ended numbness, we actually found ourselves walking past Lahiri's front door! Ah! Revelation! We "knew" where we were. We would be safe!
In time, the shoppers found a cloth shop they announced was the real thing. Well, for me fatigue and confusion was the more real thing. I, and a bunch of others, were finished. We knew more or less the direction to the river and we could walk the ghat all the way to hotel. The afternoon sun would no longer be beating on the ghat and it could be pleasant enough. (Earlier, after lunch, my personal instinct had been to hire an auto rickshaw and hi-tail it back to our hotel, near the Assi Ghat. I was to kick myself later for not following my own travel instinct.)
Yes, the walk was pleasant enough but it was also rather long. As we walked (Gita, Badri and I, and many others, in a random, somewhat dazed, disorder), the smoke from small fires and the tent cities of the naga sadhus and others began increasingly to fill the still air. My eyes begun to water profusely. I couldn't see well; uncontrollable sneezing and dripping would force me to stop every minute or two using up my rapidly dwindling supply of paper tissues. I thought I'd never make it. I could hardly breathe.
Well, as you might have guessed, I did make it. But from this point to the rest of the trip and after home, I was blessed with a sinus cold and sore throat. It was light-duty, but omnipresent and a constant, if dull, damper upon my vitality and state of mind.
For the entire time of our stay in Kashi, Padma was bedridden. Bronchitis, asthma, and barrage of heavy-duty meds prescribed a few days earlier by a doctor called to the Delhi hotel room, had taken their toll. Late into the night after this long day, she was on the verge of calling a doctor (which would have probably meant, imagine the great story, being admitted into a Varanasi hospital--probably adjacent to the burning ghat, I was guessing). Well that horror show abated, in part because I wasn't going to permit it -- for I did sincerely feel that despite her multiple agonies, that she was in no great danger. I've had my share of travel troubles and you always think you are certain to die any minute, but, usually, you don't. There was enough drama going on amongst the pilgrims to want to shift the drama onto us on center stage. Not my usual schtick. "Boss say no." After this, and upon returning to Delhi, Padma dropped out of the journey to rest in Delhi. She returned home in better health than many of us. The story had a happy ending.
So, you think this story is over! Finished we are not!
Thursday, March 14, we arose well before dawn and met at the nearby ghat: chanting and/or energizing in the pre-dawn twilight. We boarded our boat and made our way downstream edging ever closer to the opposite (sand bar) bank. We chanted the Gayatri and Mahamitryajaya mantras as the sun rose, large and reddish. We docked opposite the river-skyline of Kashi and set up the simple accoutrements to conduct a previously arranged but secret wedding ceremony for Kelly and Mona Williams. Because Padma could not attend, my daughter Gita was my assistant. We conducted the entire Ananda wedding (sans most of the music) right there at the shore end of the large rowboat. The couple and myself faced the city of Varanasi standing in mute testimony to this tiny drama of human life as it has witnessed the birth, life, and death of countless millions down through the ages! Wow.....is all I can say. This morning was definitely a highlight of our Kashi experience. At the same time, it was intimate and, let's face it, personal! We had laughs; we had tears; it was joyful. A few feet away, locals, who seem to emerge from the invisible ether or from beneath the sands, gathered to watch the odd spectacle. (In India, you are never alone except, if you are lucky, in the squatter toilet, and then, only briefly, as it is likely that if you tarry, a persistent and impatient knocking sound commences.)
Then we motored downstream past the burning ghat and docked so we could walk up the steep stairs and find the ashram of a famous 19th century sadhu, contemporary of Lahiri Mahasaya, Trailanga Swami. (See Yogananda's autobiography for the details of this unusual Swami.) We had a good meditation there. It contains an enormous Shiva lingam, many photographs and an underground room where Trailanga left his body in the great samadhi of death.
We returned to hotel in time for breakfast, motoring quietly upstream past the main Kashi ghats, now coming alive in the morning sun with bathers and worshippers. We were tired but happy. Tired and inspired.
Mid-afternoon, we boarded our convoy of vans to visit Sarnath a few miles away: a beautiful collection of properties and shrines located where Lord Buddha, incarnation of Vishnu, gave his first "sermon" after his enlightenment. What a beautiful place; its serenity is a contrast with most Hindu shrines and temples; so, too, is its cleanliness. Not a few pilgrims wondered, at this point, whether they perhaps ought to have been Buddhists, instead! So, wonderful and refreshing (even the air was clean) was the experience. We meditated on the spacious lawns for about an hour (no locals or hawkers disturbed us) and visited several elaborate and beautiful shrines, including a brand new one with a thirty or forty foot high statue of the great Lord himself. It was all free, by the way.
As dusk quickly turned to inky black, we stopped at the Clark Hotel (on our way back to the Assi Ghat and our hotel) for a sumptuous banquet held and given to us by the newly married couple. They had made all the arrangements from America beforehand. The food is beyond the limits of my observational and descriptive powers but suffice to say, "it was really good." We had personal musicians who, it turned out, are part of the Benares School of Music and the Mishra family, some of whom have played at the Bothell Temple and are coming again this June to Seattle!
At the dinner, the happy couple displayed their newly made 9-stone wedding rings. The rings had been hand crafted the day before....at a shop just below our hotel by a man whose family for nine (?) generations have been jewelers in Kashi. One enormous mural behind the buffet tables showed an Indian couple where the groom has positioned the wedding ring ready to place onto his bride's finger. The happy couple stood in front, in the exact same position, as we chanted and blessed them and their very special rings.
Hours later, when we exited the Clark Hotel to jump in the vans we realized that the cooling but dark, water-laden thunderheads we had observed at Sarnath, had emptied their contents in a furious downpour that would no doubt have cleansed Kashi of so much of its dirt and dust! Thus we returned cool and clean, so to speak, to our hotel.
Friday, March 15, back to Delhi. Whew! Kashi: what an intense experience. In the prior blog I alluded to the spiritual significance and power of Kashi. That I won't repeat here but it was worth it, even though we returned to Delhi a bit travel weary and various degrees of unwellness. Overall, I think most of us are very glad we went, though, "Would you go again?" might have a mixed response.
Enough a-ready, finished we are. "Finnish" we are not. Fin-e.
Hriman
Showing posts with label Lahiri Mahasaya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lahiri Mahasaya. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Kolkata: Home of Saints, Avatars, Poets, Scientists & Revolutionaries
Part 2 in Pilgrimage to India series:
In the pre-dawn darkness we boarded the train from Puri to Kolkata: the same train and tracks that Paramhansa Yogananda and his guru, Swami Sri Yukteswar, would have taken together from about 1910 to 1920. (Sri Yukteswar would have gone there from 1903 to 1936 by train.)
Yes, indeed, the train looked like it was the same one, too. You couldn't open the windows or even really see out of the train windows and the bathroom was simply a hole in the floor: need I say more? It was, however, air conditioned, but even that was mostly an affirmation. For nearly eight hours we rode north along the coast and inland before arriving at Howrah Railway Station, Calcutta: perhaps India's greatest and largest and most famous railway station. Here Lahiri Mahasaya, Paramhansa Yogananda, Swami Sri Yukteswar, innumerable devotees and perhaps even Ramakrishna and most certain his great disciple, Vivekananda, and also Ananda Moyi Ma would have boarded and exited trains!
But Howrah was surprisingly tidy and quiet: not at all what I expected. There's an old building, where we de-trained, and a newer one. The rail yards are quite large and extensive. We boarded our tour bus but instead of crossing the Hoogli River into Calcutta by the Howrah Bridge, we circled around and entered the city across a brand new, modern suspension bridge to soon arrive at our hotel, the lovely and welcoming Kenilworth. (The Hoogli River is a branch of the Ganges as she splits apart to become the "mouths" of the Ganges flowing into the sea. For our purposes and that of most Indians, she is the Ganges!)
Fresh from the train ("a euphemism, merely, we were covered with soot" -- Autobiography of a Yogi), we soon got back on the bus (after depositing ourselves in the lovely and refreshing Kenilworth Hotel) to visit Yogananda's increasingly famous boyhood home at 4 Garpar Road, Calcutta. Somnath, the husband of Sarita (they have two grown daughers), is descended from Yogananda's younger brother, a well known artist in his own right, Sananda Lal Ghosh. The family, with assistance from devotees, have restored and now maintain the home for the purposes of serving devotees from all over the world. Treasures in photos and paintings (including colorized photos), personal belongings and of course a place of pilgrimage await all who come with devotion. Yogananda's bedroom; his attic meditation room; the spot where Babaji stood to bless his journey to the West....this and much more bring the great guru to life in his youthful vitality.
We had two visits there; the second one came three days later, on March 7, the day that commemorates Yogananda's "mahasamadhi" (conscious exit from his physical body). (On that day in 1952 in a crowded banquet room of the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles, Yogananda left this world speaking of his India and his America!)
So we chanted and meditated, taking turns meditating in Yogananda's bedroom and in his attic meditation room while having our central spot in the upstairs living room. On March 7, we had a discipleship renewal ceremony. All told, I think I can speak for most of us in saying this home was one of the trip's many highlights. The family served a catered lunch to us on that Thursday, March 7 and shared some time-honored stories of Yogananda's upbringing.
On March 5, the day after our arrival and after our first visit to Garpar Road, we visited the home of Yogananda's boyhood friend: Tulsi Bose. It is down the block and around the corner. You could never imagine it being what it really is: one of India's most precious shrines, but unknown to all of India and the world. For reasons of destiny, Yogananda's own home contained too large a family and was too busy a place for his youthful spiritual search. Divine Mother caused him to seek and meet young Tulsi Bose, whose home was quieter and better suited for satsang (spiritual gatherings), although considerably smaller. Master (Yogananda) spent much time there both as a high school and college student but also upon his only return visit to India, spanning 1935-1936. Stories from family and friends abound, for Yogananda's return to India was a big sensation throughout India but most certainly in Bengal: local boy does good! He was as much a spiritual sensation and sought-after speaker in India as he had been during his barnstorming days in America in the Twenties and Thirties.
There is what is now an old somewhat fragile guest chair in the tiny (12' x 15' ?) downstairs living room where the likes of Yogananda, Sri Yukteswar, perhaps Lahiri Mahasaya, plus one or more of Lahiri's most advanced disciples, Swami Vivekananda, anyone?, and who knows how many other saints (and I think that includes Ananda Moyi Ma, and maybe even Ramakrishna's widow, Sharda Devi?), had sat and where chanting, meditation, and high spiritual experiences, too numerous to attempt to catalogue here, had taken place. Just try sitting in that chair: a kind of "electric" chair! But be careful: it is very fragile!
Upstairs is the tiger skin that Sri Yukteswar meditated upon; plus the deerskin of Yogananda and the bed where they had slept at various visits. We took turns sitting on these to meditate! In an tiny upstairs meditation room are relics so numerous they've yet to be classified. One that stands out for most of us is an iron trident said to be given by Babaji to Lahiri, Lahiri to Sri Yukteswar, S.Y. to Master, and Master, having left it with Tulsi! The trident is the symbol of Shiva! Talk about "power."
I doubt anyone left there empty-hearted: awe-struck, at minimum, inwardly quiet and blissful, probably. And over all this tiny domain their reigns a queen of hearts, a custodian-saint worthy of the privilege: Tulsi's now elderly daughter, Hassi Mukherjee. Hassi was blessed by Master in 1936 when Hassi's mother, Tulsi's wife (chosen for him by Master), was pregnant. Years later Hassi, as a young girl, spoke to Master in Los Angeles by telephone when he would ring up to see how the family was doing. Master always watched over his extended, human family, even from afar, in America.
After a catered lunch in this tiny home, we motored to the nearby Dakshineswar Temple, home of Ramakrishna's life-long lila (life drama) -- as resident "avatar!" We chanted on the very spot in the portico opposite the statue of Divine Mother (Goddess Kali), where Master had an experience of Divine Mother as he describes in his autobiography. We watched the sunset across the Hoogli and meditated in the bedroom where Ramakrishna lived for 30 years.
What a day that was!
Calcutta has an interesting role in the history of modern India: from the mid to late 19th century until about the 1930's (as I understand it), West Bengal spawned a rise in nationalism and national and cultural pride through the genius and courage of such great souls as Rabindranath Tagore (poet laureate), J.C. Bose (scientist), reformers of Hinduism, revolutionaries, and, of course, an entire line of avatars! For those interested in historical matters, and who find synchronicity fascinating, it is well worth researching.
Calcutta has an interesting role in the history of modern India: from the mid to late 19th century until about the 1930's (as I understand it), West Bengal spawned a rise in nationalism and national and cultural pride through the genius and courage of such great souls as Rabindranath Tagore (poet laureate), J.C. Bose (scientist), reformers of Hinduism, revolutionaries, and, of course, an entire line of avatars! For those interested in historical matters, and who find synchronicity fascinating, it is well worth researching.
Wednesday, March 6, we crossed the Hoogli and went upriver to the town of Serampore: actually, Sri Ram Pur (city): site of Swami Sri Yukteswar's home. The home is mostly gone and now off limits to visitors, being occupied by what we assume are his descendants. Instead, there is a small shrine next door where we meditated for a while.
Then we walked through the ancient and quaint lanes to the riverside to the Rai Ghat, where Babaji once appeared to Sri Yukteswar to congratulate him on the completion of his book, The Holy Science. (Babaji had asked and commissioned S.Y. to write this tome which was intended to announce the basic message of these avatars: that the underlying message of Christ and Krishna, of Christianity and Hinduism, is the same.)
At this bathing ghat, too, did S.Y. and his disciple, Paramhansa Yogananda, would come in the early morning to bathe in the Ganges. Here we sat around the aged banyan (where Babaji and his band had stood to greet S.Y.), and chanted joyfully as throngs of locals pressed forward in curiosity. The experience was exhilarating. What a contrast between our hearts and minds and the mundane scene and thoughts of those around us. Presumably they did not understand our joy, though I would guess they have become somewhat accustomed to these groups of Westerners (and Indians) coming throughout the year to sit under the banyan tree and meditate.
These simple shrines and places specific to Yogananda and his line are yet to be particularly of note to modern Indian culture. Thus their seeming invisibility to the culture contrasts sharply with the intensity of feeling and magnetic draw they have for certain souls from around India and the world.
Then we walked through the ancient and quaint lanes to the riverside to the Rai Ghat, where Babaji once appeared to Sri Yukteswar to congratulate him on the completion of his book, The Holy Science. (Babaji had asked and commissioned S.Y. to write this tome which was intended to announce the basic message of these avatars: that the underlying message of Christ and Krishna, of Christianity and Hinduism, is the same.)
At this bathing ghat, too, did S.Y. and his disciple, Paramhansa Yogananda, would come in the early morning to bathe in the Ganges. Here we sat around the aged banyan (where Babaji and his band had stood to greet S.Y.), and chanted joyfully as throngs of locals pressed forward in curiosity. The experience was exhilarating. What a contrast between our hearts and minds and the mundane scene and thoughts of those around us. Presumably they did not understand our joy, though I would guess they have become somewhat accustomed to these groups of Westerners (and Indians) coming throughout the year to sit under the banyan tree and meditate.
These simple shrines and places specific to Yogananda and his line are yet to be particularly of note to modern Indian culture. Thus their seeming invisibility to the culture contrasts sharply with the intensity of feeling and magnetic draw they have for certain souls from around India and the world.
Then we crossed town to visit with the descendants of Master's elder brother, Ananta. Durlov, his wife, and his son greeted us and feed us a delightful lunch and regaled us to with family stories. Ananda members had, some years ago, intervened to help the family (in the spirit of Yogananda, himself, who always assisted his large, biological family, when in need) find a suitable place to live.
Next stop: Swami Kriyananda at Ananda Community, Pune! Pack your bags, we are off again!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
What does an Avatar Know? or, Feel?
[[edited and revised Saturday, Sept 17]]
The nature of divinity incarnate must surely remain one of humankind's greatest questions and mysteries. You may question that statement but the key to understanding it lies in the simple realization that our "answer" reveals our own nature as well.
I often state in my classes and talks that the answer to "Who is Jesus Christ?" shows us "Who am I?" Is the avatar a divine creation, a puppet? God descended into human form? Is the avatar human like us, and if so, to what degree, to what extent? How did such a one come into being an avatar? By divine fiat or by self-effort? Is such a state unique or do all of us have the potential to achieve it?
We are, to ourselves, also a mysterious concatenation of moods, ideas, actions and feelings. Our sublime states all too frequently descend to the mundane, or lower. We want our deity (our image of perfection) to be clear, clean, and essentially one-dimensional. Look what inevitably happens after the avatar leaves this earth. Even Yogananda who died only in 1952 has been cast by some of his disciples in the one dimensional terms of a strict disciplinarian, or as the founder, merely, of a monastery. In Swami Kriyananda's latest book, "Restoring the Legacy of Paramhansa Yogananda," he describes how in a few decades Yogananda's own disciples have been steadily re-making his image in their own image.
Jesus Christ was crucified once but his image, teachings, and persona have been crucified daily for centuries such that for many Christians and non-Christians he’s been reduced to a wooden crucifix or a spiritual victrola in a sad monotone of “Thou shalt!” Gone is the joyful camaraderie he had with his disciples, the adventure of living and learning from him, the joy and inspiration they felt in his presence. Who would be attracted to a sad and somber saint?
It is taught in India and is taught by Paramhansa Yogananda (author of the popular and renowned spiritual classic, "Autobiography of a Yogi") that an avatar is free from karma and acts in freedom (without personal desire). Is this always and under all circumstances? Is personal desire different than the influences of or appropriate responses to circumstances?
To what degree does such a one feel human joys and sorrows? A further question is this: to what degree does an avatar have access to omniscience? Let's explore this multi-faceted diamond of consciousness where infinity is crystallized into human form. Swami Kriyananda once used the example of an inverted triangle wherein the tip (pointing downward) touches earth in human form and the base (above) stretches to infinity.
Here are some examples (mostly from "Autobiography of a Yogi") for us to consider:
What do the rishis and scriptures tell us about the avatar? An avatar is considered to be an incarnation of divinity. In the teachings of Paramhansa Yogananda this definition is clarified to state that such an soul is like you and I, but has achieved Oneness with God and cosmic consciousness. This achievement occurs over many lifetimes and its victory is the combination of self-effort and divine grace. An avatar is freed from all past karma and has the power to help an unlimited number of souls and to dispense any and all levels of God-realization according to the will of "the Father who" sends him.
Others speak of an avatar as a direct manifestation of God or some aspect or diety (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva), but Yogananda did not use the term in that way. This is more or less how Christian theology defines the nature of Jesus Christ. But Yogananda pointed out that Jesus and his direct disciples made it clear numerous times that what Jesus attained all souls have the potential to become ("sons of God"). The avatars, Yogananda taught, do not come to show off, but to show to us our own highest potential.
Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita describes how he (and others) have come repeatedly down through history and may play a visible role on the stage of human history or be behind the scenes (like Babaji). Therefore it is clear that an avatar comes and takes on many different roles and personalities. Discerning the chain of incarnation is beyond the scope of any except the most spiritually advanced and probably is only truly made known by the avatar himself.
Swami Kriyananda, contemplating the paradox of Yogananda having once been William the Conqueror, once asked Paramhansa Yogananda what it means to be an avatar under such circumstances. Yogananda's terse reply was that "one never loses his sense of inner freedom." The clear iimplication is that, as William, he did not necessarily access (openly at least) his omniscience and prescience. So far as we know, he made no disclosure of knowledge of his longer-term purpose or his spiritual stature. Perhaps such knowledge was simply unnecessary to the fulfillment and conduct of his role as William.
[As an historical aside, historians show that William set into motion a chain of events whose significance grew over time. The government that he established and that was brought to greater completion by his youngest son Henry I created a new political form that, in time, produced the Magna Carta and subjected even kings to the rule of law and due process, and, established the concept of inalienable human rights and liberties. The political stability and power of Britain was to eventually give birth to the founding of America, to the beginnings of globalization and exchange of knowledge between east and west (through its empire), and to the spread of the English language as the linga franca of the world.]
In the book, "Conversations with Yogananda," Swami Kriyananda reports that Yogananda also clarified that an avatar does not necessarily act or have at his disposal in every moment cosmic and omniscient knowledge. Functioning as he must in a physical body, he, like ourselves, must deal with the material realities and human egos which surround him. In fact, while enjoying, let's say, a meal, he may be calmly present and enjoying that experience, chatting away merrily, without regard for or need to elevate himself to a transcendent level. If you ask him "What year did Columbus sail the ocean blue?", he may pause, try to remember, and even get the date wrong! For in that setting, there's no compelling spiritual need to prove anything or help anyone, so his ordinary human memory suffices for the task at hand.
But that's a far cry from what many people do: avidly wolfing down a sandwich, completely forgetful of the Self! For when the need arises, the avatar has a "divine security clearance" and higher access to cosmic knowledge! They demonstrate this time and again, certainly at least to those "with eyes to see."
But when and how does he access that higher knowledge? Can he just "dial up" God the Father and ask him about so-and-so? What is difficult for us to understand is the "I-ness" of an avatar. Yogananda said that even an avatar has to have an ego to deal responsibly with his body and in this world. Thus our inquiry today is the attempt to discern that spectrum of motivation and awareness possessed by one who is free in God.
We see in the life of Jesus, of Yogananda, and many others that they prayed frequently to God (as Father, Mother or in other forms dear to them) for guidance. They attribute their miraculous powers to God, not to themselves. So whether in reality or for our benefit, there seems to be a veil in place between omniscience and their level of consciousness in human form. But many avatars have raised the dead, healed the sick, spoke prophetically, or disclosed the thoughts or past lives of others. Sometimes these incidents were spontaneous; other times, the avatar prayed beforehand or otherwise showed himself going within for divine sanction or power.
Yogananda said of himself (and Jesus and Krishna similarly), "I killed Yogananda long ago. No one dwells in this form but He." There seems therefore to be a flow of energy between the avatar in his human form and the avatar in his cosmic consciousness. There seems to be an I-Thou interchange which, while different in degree, is not different in kind from our own efforts to attune ourselves to God's presence in our lives.
Absence of personal motive would be another approach to trying to discern the consciousness of the avatar. Thus we see illustrated in the life of William the Conqueror a steady flow of actions based on moral, ethical, political, and religious rules, precepts, and standards of behavior. Although some of his actions, looked at through the lens of 21st century mores may seem ruthless, living as he did in the Dark Ages ruthlessness (as we would define it) was not only accepted in his time but expected, for few royal subjects would respond to anything less. Reluctance to take on battle would only have been interpreted as weakness; likewise, as would anything less than the commitment to win and to be victorious or the willingness to punish enemies in accordance with standards of the time. (In fact, however, both William and his youngest son, Henry I, showed remarkable forebearance and magnanimity over their self-styled enemies.)
An analysis of history shows us that William was no mere interloper taking advantage of political instability to expand his dominion but the rightful heir and protector of the British crown. He was supported by all the princes of Europe and by the papacy in his claim. Similarly Henry I (who may very well have been Swami Kriyananda in that past life) conducted his royal affairs in a manner that showed that he was fulfilling "the will of his father" in establishing the British kingdom and Normandy on principled grounds. [See the fascinating account of their lives in Catherine Kairavi's newly published account, "Two Souls, Four Lives."]
An avatar willing accepts the limitations inherent in human form when he incarnates. This includes going through the human stages of infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood and old age. The avatar experiences the joys and sorrows of human existence. But the avatar's incarnation is not propelled by karmic complusions or ego-oriented desires, and, instead, is inspired by a desire to help others and fulfill the divine law.
If you willingly went to jail, though innocent of any crime, in an effort to spare another person who might have been wrongly accused or who would suffer unnecessarily from the experience of incarceration, you would still be innocent of the crime. But there you would be in jail and you'd have to accept the limitations, rules, and daily humiliations of prison life. Were you to protest your innocence, you would be ignored by fellow inmates and jailers alike, for we all know that in prison, "everyone's innocent!"
A grandparent might thoroughly enjoy playing catch with his grandson or a father wrestling with his son without ever losing the sense of his role. Even in the spirit of rivalry or competition, the grandparent or parent probably experiences the "game" with a greater sense of detachment than the child who perhaps plays in earnest or with abandon.
An actor, practiced and well honed in his skills, might with confidence play his role upon the stage with immersion into the role while acting. While doing so it is unncessary for him to remind himself that he's not, say, Hamlet, for on an existential level there is no confusion. Moreover, arriving home after work, he greets his wife and children as himself, and no taint of his stage persona or role lurks or stains his own consciousness.
Yogananda taught that Jesus did not suffer on the cross for himself but felt grief for the ignorance and the consequent (if future) suffering of his tormentors. Jesus' greatest victory was not even his resurrection but the forgiveness he expressed even while hanging on the cross. Yogananda went further to state that Jesus could have, at any time, transcended the physical pain of his agony. As Christians teach that "Jesus died for our sins," so Yogananda taught that a true guru (an avatar) can take on karma of his disciples. He himself endured physical illness and explained that it was for the purpose of taking on karma of his disciples. Such is the great gift of love and divine friendship the guru offers.
If your friend loses a loved one to illness or a sudden, fatal accident, will you tell her that "The soul is eternal and does not suffer? Or, that death has no true reality and therefore she shouldn't grieve?" Well, I hope not! Yogananda as a boy felt the grief natural to a child when he lost his mother. Later Divine Mother appeared to him to reveal that it was She, herself, who was his mother in that life. This consolation would have dissipated any vestige of sadness that may have been retained. But his grief need not have been merely the grief of human delusion but the grief appropriate to his condition and his circumstances. I believe that such a one, like the actor, can genuinely experience grief while remaining untouched within. This is demonstrated by the lack of residual or recollected pain in the future. The ordinary human being takes many years to recover from grief and very often re-experiences again and again, perhaps, over time, less often, or less intensely but all too often for the remainder of his or her lifetime! The avatar, by contrast, like writing on water, undergoes the human experience and then moves on, untouched.
Remaining in his human "self" and eschewing the power to withdraw to his omniscient Self, I believe that Yogananda experienced and expressed his loss as a child, even as the quiet, inner, watchful Self remained intact and withdrawn from the drama.
Swami Kriyananda has also commented on what might be somewhat particular to Yogananda's "lila" (the way he behaved and related to the world around him). Kriyananda explains that Yogananda willingly experienced various human emotions and circumstances even when he could have just as easily chosen to transcend them. Being free, he was unafraid or had no need to protect himself from the power of maya. He wore his wisdom like a comfortable old coat and had no need to affirm his transcendence. This was demonstrated at times when he was mistreated, misunderstood, humiliated, incurred or accepted physical pain, human grief, or enjoyed the simple pleasures of good food, in his infectious humor, beautiful scenery, sports, and the pleasure of the company of friends.
Sri Yukteswar tells the story of his childhood attachment to an ugly dog and how he could not be dissuaded from wanting that dog by more attractive substitutes! Lahiri may have had a past life desire for a golden palace but perhaps that desire was gone and perhaps Babaji simply resurrected that past desire to honor Lahiri's re-awakening and initiation in the form of that golden, bejeweled palace on Drongiri Mountain?
Still, let's assume that each them actually had, as avatars, these desires. Is that possible? Imagine that you are an avatar and that you are free from the delusion and shackles of desire. But then you willingly incarnate to help others. In so doing, you must cloak your cosmic spirit in maya. Your cosmic consciousness must be "squeezed" into a human body, so to speak. You descend into the womb of maya for the sake of struggling souls. This means you will be surrounded by and even temporarily exposed to and tempted by maya's power. Remember, for example, the temptation of Jesus (Yogananda said Jesus had long ago been liberated). An avatar, being free and retaining that freedom, can "play" in the storm of delusion with a kind of absolute impunity while even yet allowing the law of duality to influence or circumscribe his inner freedom during the "lila" of the experience.
Thus, should the circumstances surrounding the avatar (as a child, a warrior, a husband, etc.) call for grief, desire, warfare, he can enter the fray and may be, for a time, wholly or seemingly immersed in it. But when he "comes out of it" he can instantly detach the vrittis, the energies, from his consciousness, just as a professional football player can pound the heck out of the other team, leave the field satisfied and not be the least bit personally angry with his opponents. In the great epic of India, the Mahabharata, it is said that the good guys and bad guys met in Swarga (heaven) afterwards for a party! An avatar is perhaps like you and I working in the garden. We necessarily get dirty, but we can come inside the house, take a shower and the dirt is gone. It has no ultimate power to affect us.
Have you ever been in an embarrassing situation while yet laughing at yourself or mentally saying to yourself ("This will make a good story!")? Have you ever had a great idea and you knew instantly it was just perfect? Then, as you go about sharing, energizing and manifesting that idea you find that there is little or no sense of ego or pride in the idea: just the joy and satisfaction of its manifestation? In the midst of the flow of inspiration, talent, and skill we can feel "the force" without necessarily involving the ego beyond the necessity to stay present and focused on the task at hand. Isn't it so?
Some people (maybe in their business life, artistic talents, or inventiveness) just seem "to know." There's no great angst involved. There's no agony of reasoned analysis, or impassioned affirmation. "He who knows, knows." It doesn't require hindsight (conscious analysis of how you know) or foresight (conscious awareness of what it all means or what will result). It simply IS. We all have probably had this experience sometime, somewhere! Imagine the level of calm, inner confidence an avatar must possess! What freedom!
With these examples and illustration, perhaps we can intuitively sense even a fragment of the consciousness of an avatar who lives and acts in this world of duality. At the same time, we must be careful not to imagine we can define or in any way limit that consciousness, for it expresses Infinity itself! Their lives offer to us a window onto the uniqueness which is our true Self, and the permission and duty to play our roles with passion, creativity, joy and yet, like a great actor, without ever being touched by its drama.
Yet for us to "see" who is an avatar, to detect divinity in another person, and to finally uncover divinity in ourselves we mustn't be fooled by outer appearances. (Like the picture-perfect sadhu in India who approached Swami Kriyananda to say, "Want a picture? 40 rupees!") It takes sincere and sustained "sadhana" (meditation, introspection, right attitude and right action) to develop the intuition that we may have "eyes to see, and ears to hear."
Imagine it! Act it! Be-come free!
Blessings,
Nayaswami Hriman
The nature of divinity incarnate must surely remain one of humankind's greatest questions and mysteries. You may question that statement but the key to understanding it lies in the simple realization that our "answer" reveals our own nature as well.
I often state in my classes and talks that the answer to "Who is Jesus Christ?" shows us "Who am I?" Is the avatar a divine creation, a puppet? God descended into human form? Is the avatar human like us, and if so, to what degree, to what extent? How did such a one come into being an avatar? By divine fiat or by self-effort? Is such a state unique or do all of us have the potential to achieve it?
We are, to ourselves, also a mysterious concatenation of moods, ideas, actions and feelings. Our sublime states all too frequently descend to the mundane, or lower. We want our deity (our image of perfection) to be clear, clean, and essentially one-dimensional. Look what inevitably happens after the avatar leaves this earth. Even Yogananda who died only in 1952 has been cast by some of his disciples in the one dimensional terms of a strict disciplinarian, or as the founder, merely, of a monastery. In Swami Kriyananda's latest book, "Restoring the Legacy of Paramhansa Yogananda," he describes how in a few decades Yogananda's own disciples have been steadily re-making his image in their own image.
Jesus Christ was crucified once but his image, teachings, and persona have been crucified daily for centuries such that for many Christians and non-Christians he’s been reduced to a wooden crucifix or a spiritual victrola in a sad monotone of “Thou shalt!” Gone is the joyful camaraderie he had with his disciples, the adventure of living and learning from him, the joy and inspiration they felt in his presence. Who would be attracted to a sad and somber saint?
Life is dual; life is messy, and when divinity incarnates, He (She) plays by the rules She has created. Just as Oneness is a state of consciousness that transcends duality, so too the only way to pierce the veil of divinity incarnate is to aspire and to approach the deity via an upward effort and flow towards transcendence. Thus it was that the apostle Peter was the only one who answered Jesus’ question (Who do men say I am?) correctly when he responded from intuition, saying: Thou art the Christ, the son of the living God. That Jesus was One with the Father was more than his critics could handle. For his revelation, he was crucified. His own response to his accusers who saw only blasphemy in his claim, he said “Do not your scriptures say, ‘Ye are gods?’”.
Thus it is that our attempts to identify divinity or perfection in a living spiritual teacher, or in one now gone from sight, in another person, or in ourselves are fraught with peril. To pierce the veil of duality, we, ourselves, must achieve some degree of intuition born of our soul’s state of knowing-ness. Armed now with this tool of in-sight, let’s now turn directly to our subject of the avatara: the descent of divinity into human form.
If an avatar is "one with God" does the avatar feel pain? Grief? Does he make mistakes? Does he get angry like you or I? Is an avatar above delusion, material desires, hurt feelings, or judging other people? It is taught in India and is taught by Paramhansa Yogananda (author of the popular and renowned spiritual classic, "Autobiography of a Yogi") that an avatar is free from karma and acts in freedom (without personal desire). Is this always and under all circumstances? Is personal desire different than the influences of or appropriate responses to circumstances?
To what degree does such a one feel human joys and sorrows? A further question is this: to what degree does an avatar have access to omniscience? Let's explore this multi-faceted diamond of consciousness where infinity is crystallized into human form. Swami Kriyananda once used the example of an inverted triangle wherein the tip (pointing downward) touches earth in human form and the base (above) stretches to infinity.
Here are some examples (mostly from "Autobiography of a Yogi") for us to consider:
- Jesus was crucified and cried out in his agony, "Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani" (Loosely translated: "Lord, why have you abandoned me?").
- Paramhansa Yogananda grieved inconsolably (by his own account) at the loss of his mother when he was still a boy.
- Babaji told Lahiri Mahasaya that the reason he (Babaji) materialized a golden palace for Lahiri at the time of their meeting and Lahiri's initiation was that Lahiri had had a past life desire for a golden palace.
- According to the story of Lahiri's life, one gets the impression that until age 33, when he met Babaji and Babaji reawakened Lahiri's memory of his past life, he was somehow unaware of his own mission and consciousness as an avatar.
- Paramhansa Yogananda recounts in his famous story ("Autobiography of a Yogi") that the day after his own guru, Swami Sri Yukteswar had manifested pyschic and telephathic powers in the charming story of the "Cauliflower Robbery," Sri Yukteswar was unable to state the location of a misplaced lantern, disclaiming his own power to do so.
- When Sri Yukteswar and Lahiri Mahasaya were each informed of their impending death, they were temporarily taken aback and had to recollect themselves.
- In the garden of Gethesmane, Jesus prayed that "this cup be taken from me."
- Paramhansa Yogananda claimed that he was, in past lives, William the Conqueror, a famous Spanish king and general, and Arjuna, the Pandava warrior whose archery skills in warfare (and discipleship to Krishna) were legendary.
- Swami Sri Yukteswar tells the story how, as a boy, he wanted to have an ugly dog and his mother was powerless to entice him by more attractive canine substitutes.
What do the rishis and scriptures tell us about the avatar? An avatar is considered to be an incarnation of divinity. In the teachings of Paramhansa Yogananda this definition is clarified to state that such an soul is like you and I, but has achieved Oneness with God and cosmic consciousness. This achievement occurs over many lifetimes and its victory is the combination of self-effort and divine grace. An avatar is freed from all past karma and has the power to help an unlimited number of souls and to dispense any and all levels of God-realization according to the will of "the Father who" sends him.
Others speak of an avatar as a direct manifestation of God or some aspect or diety (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva), but Yogananda did not use the term in that way. This is more or less how Christian theology defines the nature of Jesus Christ. But Yogananda pointed out that Jesus and his direct disciples made it clear numerous times that what Jesus attained all souls have the potential to become ("sons of God"). The avatars, Yogananda taught, do not come to show off, but to show to us our own highest potential.
Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita describes how he (and others) have come repeatedly down through history and may play a visible role on the stage of human history or be behind the scenes (like Babaji). Therefore it is clear that an avatar comes and takes on many different roles and personalities. Discerning the chain of incarnation is beyond the scope of any except the most spiritually advanced and probably is only truly made known by the avatar himself.
Swami Kriyananda, contemplating the paradox of Yogananda having once been William the Conqueror, once asked Paramhansa Yogananda what it means to be an avatar under such circumstances. Yogananda's terse reply was that "one never loses his sense of inner freedom." The clear iimplication is that, as William, he did not necessarily access (openly at least) his omniscience and prescience. So far as we know, he made no disclosure of knowledge of his longer-term purpose or his spiritual stature. Perhaps such knowledge was simply unnecessary to the fulfillment and conduct of his role as William.
[As an historical aside, historians show that William set into motion a chain of events whose significance grew over time. The government that he established and that was brought to greater completion by his youngest son Henry I created a new political form that, in time, produced the Magna Carta and subjected even kings to the rule of law and due process, and, established the concept of inalienable human rights and liberties. The political stability and power of Britain was to eventually give birth to the founding of America, to the beginnings of globalization and exchange of knowledge between east and west (through its empire), and to the spread of the English language as the linga franca of the world.]
In the book, "Conversations with Yogananda," Swami Kriyananda reports that Yogananda also clarified that an avatar does not necessarily act or have at his disposal in every moment cosmic and omniscient knowledge. Functioning as he must in a physical body, he, like ourselves, must deal with the material realities and human egos which surround him. In fact, while enjoying, let's say, a meal, he may be calmly present and enjoying that experience, chatting away merrily, without regard for or need to elevate himself to a transcendent level. If you ask him "What year did Columbus sail the ocean blue?", he may pause, try to remember, and even get the date wrong! For in that setting, there's no compelling spiritual need to prove anything or help anyone, so his ordinary human memory suffices for the task at hand.
But that's a far cry from what many people do: avidly wolfing down a sandwich, completely forgetful of the Self! For when the need arises, the avatar has a "divine security clearance" and higher access to cosmic knowledge! They demonstrate this time and again, certainly at least to those "with eyes to see."
But when and how does he access that higher knowledge? Can he just "dial up" God the Father and ask him about so-and-so? What is difficult for us to understand is the "I-ness" of an avatar. Yogananda said that even an avatar has to have an ego to deal responsibly with his body and in this world. Thus our inquiry today is the attempt to discern that spectrum of motivation and awareness possessed by one who is free in God.
We see in the life of Jesus, of Yogananda, and many others that they prayed frequently to God (as Father, Mother or in other forms dear to them) for guidance. They attribute their miraculous powers to God, not to themselves. So whether in reality or for our benefit, there seems to be a veil in place between omniscience and their level of consciousness in human form. But many avatars have raised the dead, healed the sick, spoke prophetically, or disclosed the thoughts or past lives of others. Sometimes these incidents were spontaneous; other times, the avatar prayed beforehand or otherwise showed himself going within for divine sanction or power.
Yogananda said of himself (and Jesus and Krishna similarly), "I killed Yogananda long ago. No one dwells in this form but He." There seems therefore to be a flow of energy between the avatar in his human form and the avatar in his cosmic consciousness. There seems to be an I-Thou interchange which, while different in degree, is not different in kind from our own efforts to attune ourselves to God's presence in our lives.
Absence of personal motive would be another approach to trying to discern the consciousness of the avatar. Thus we see illustrated in the life of William the Conqueror a steady flow of actions based on moral, ethical, political, and religious rules, precepts, and standards of behavior. Although some of his actions, looked at through the lens of 21st century mores may seem ruthless, living as he did in the Dark Ages ruthlessness (as we would define it) was not only accepted in his time but expected, for few royal subjects would respond to anything less. Reluctance to take on battle would only have been interpreted as weakness; likewise, as would anything less than the commitment to win and to be victorious or the willingness to punish enemies in accordance with standards of the time. (In fact, however, both William and his youngest son, Henry I, showed remarkable forebearance and magnanimity over their self-styled enemies.)
An analysis of history shows us that William was no mere interloper taking advantage of political instability to expand his dominion but the rightful heir and protector of the British crown. He was supported by all the princes of Europe and by the papacy in his claim. Similarly Henry I (who may very well have been Swami Kriyananda in that past life) conducted his royal affairs in a manner that showed that he was fulfilling "the will of his father" in establishing the British kingdom and Normandy on principled grounds. [See the fascinating account of their lives in Catherine Kairavi's newly published account, "Two Souls, Four Lives."]
An avatar willing accepts the limitations inherent in human form when he incarnates. This includes going through the human stages of infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood and old age. The avatar experiences the joys and sorrows of human existence. But the avatar's incarnation is not propelled by karmic complusions or ego-oriented desires, and, instead, is inspired by a desire to help others and fulfill the divine law.
If you willingly went to jail, though innocent of any crime, in an effort to spare another person who might have been wrongly accused or who would suffer unnecessarily from the experience of incarceration, you would still be innocent of the crime. But there you would be in jail and you'd have to accept the limitations, rules, and daily humiliations of prison life. Were you to protest your innocence, you would be ignored by fellow inmates and jailers alike, for we all know that in prison, "everyone's innocent!"
A grandparent might thoroughly enjoy playing catch with his grandson or a father wrestling with his son without ever losing the sense of his role. Even in the spirit of rivalry or competition, the grandparent or parent probably experiences the "game" with a greater sense of detachment than the child who perhaps plays in earnest or with abandon.
An actor, practiced and well honed in his skills, might with confidence play his role upon the stage with immersion into the role while acting. While doing so it is unncessary for him to remind himself that he's not, say, Hamlet, for on an existential level there is no confusion. Moreover, arriving home after work, he greets his wife and children as himself, and no taint of his stage persona or role lurks or stains his own consciousness.
Yogananda taught that Jesus did not suffer on the cross for himself but felt grief for the ignorance and the consequent (if future) suffering of his tormentors. Jesus' greatest victory was not even his resurrection but the forgiveness he expressed even while hanging on the cross. Yogananda went further to state that Jesus could have, at any time, transcended the physical pain of his agony. As Christians teach that "Jesus died for our sins," so Yogananda taught that a true guru (an avatar) can take on karma of his disciples. He himself endured physical illness and explained that it was for the purpose of taking on karma of his disciples. Such is the great gift of love and divine friendship the guru offers.
If your friend loses a loved one to illness or a sudden, fatal accident, will you tell her that "The soul is eternal and does not suffer? Or, that death has no true reality and therefore she shouldn't grieve?" Well, I hope not! Yogananda as a boy felt the grief natural to a child when he lost his mother. Later Divine Mother appeared to him to reveal that it was She, herself, who was his mother in that life. This consolation would have dissipated any vestige of sadness that may have been retained. But his grief need not have been merely the grief of human delusion but the grief appropriate to his condition and his circumstances. I believe that such a one, like the actor, can genuinely experience grief while remaining untouched within. This is demonstrated by the lack of residual or recollected pain in the future. The ordinary human being takes many years to recover from grief and very often re-experiences again and again, perhaps, over time, less often, or less intensely but all too often for the remainder of his or her lifetime! The avatar, by contrast, like writing on water, undergoes the human experience and then moves on, untouched.
Remaining in his human "self" and eschewing the power to withdraw to his omniscient Self, I believe that Yogananda experienced and expressed his loss as a child, even as the quiet, inner, watchful Self remained intact and withdrawn from the drama.
Swami Kriyananda has also commented on what might be somewhat particular to Yogananda's "lila" (the way he behaved and related to the world around him). Kriyananda explains that Yogananda willingly experienced various human emotions and circumstances even when he could have just as easily chosen to transcend them. Being free, he was unafraid or had no need to protect himself from the power of maya. He wore his wisdom like a comfortable old coat and had no need to affirm his transcendence. This was demonstrated at times when he was mistreated, misunderstood, humiliated, incurred or accepted physical pain, human grief, or enjoyed the simple pleasures of good food, in his infectious humor, beautiful scenery, sports, and the pleasure of the company of friends.
Sri Yukteswar tells the story of his childhood attachment to an ugly dog and how he could not be dissuaded from wanting that dog by more attractive substitutes! Lahiri may have had a past life desire for a golden palace but perhaps that desire was gone and perhaps Babaji simply resurrected that past desire to honor Lahiri's re-awakening and initiation in the form of that golden, bejeweled palace on Drongiri Mountain?
Still, let's assume that each them actually had, as avatars, these desires. Is that possible? Imagine that you are an avatar and that you are free from the delusion and shackles of desire. But then you willingly incarnate to help others. In so doing, you must cloak your cosmic spirit in maya. Your cosmic consciousness must be "squeezed" into a human body, so to speak. You descend into the womb of maya for the sake of struggling souls. This means you will be surrounded by and even temporarily exposed to and tempted by maya's power. Remember, for example, the temptation of Jesus (Yogananda said Jesus had long ago been liberated). An avatar, being free and retaining that freedom, can "play" in the storm of delusion with a kind of absolute impunity while even yet allowing the law of duality to influence or circumscribe his inner freedom during the "lila" of the experience.
Thus, should the circumstances surrounding the avatar (as a child, a warrior, a husband, etc.) call for grief, desire, warfare, he can enter the fray and may be, for a time, wholly or seemingly immersed in it. But when he "comes out of it" he can instantly detach the vrittis, the energies, from his consciousness, just as a professional football player can pound the heck out of the other team, leave the field satisfied and not be the least bit personally angry with his opponents. In the great epic of India, the Mahabharata, it is said that the good guys and bad guys met in Swarga (heaven) afterwards for a party! An avatar is perhaps like you and I working in the garden. We necessarily get dirty, but we can come inside the house, take a shower and the dirt is gone. It has no ultimate power to affect us.
Have you ever been in an embarrassing situation while yet laughing at yourself or mentally saying to yourself ("This will make a good story!")? Have you ever had a great idea and you knew instantly it was just perfect? Then, as you go about sharing, energizing and manifesting that idea you find that there is little or no sense of ego or pride in the idea: just the joy and satisfaction of its manifestation? In the midst of the flow of inspiration, talent, and skill we can feel "the force" without necessarily involving the ego beyond the necessity to stay present and focused on the task at hand. Isn't it so?
Some people (maybe in their business life, artistic talents, or inventiveness) just seem "to know." There's no great angst involved. There's no agony of reasoned analysis, or impassioned affirmation. "He who knows, knows." It doesn't require hindsight (conscious analysis of how you know) or foresight (conscious awareness of what it all means or what will result). It simply IS. We all have probably had this experience sometime, somewhere! Imagine the level of calm, inner confidence an avatar must possess! What freedom!
With these examples and illustration, perhaps we can intuitively sense even a fragment of the consciousness of an avatar who lives and acts in this world of duality. At the same time, we must be careful not to imagine we can define or in any way limit that consciousness, for it expresses Infinity itself! Their lives offer to us a window onto the uniqueness which is our true Self, and the permission and duty to play our roles with passion, creativity, joy and yet, like a great actor, without ever being touched by its drama.
Yet for us to "see" who is an avatar, to detect divinity in another person, and to finally uncover divinity in ourselves we mustn't be fooled by outer appearances. (Like the picture-perfect sadhu in India who approached Swami Kriyananda to say, "Want a picture? 40 rupees!") It takes sincere and sustained "sadhana" (meditation, introspection, right attitude and right action) to develop the intuition that we may have "eyes to see, and ears to hear."
Imagine it! Act it! Be-come free!
Blessings,
Nayaswami Hriman
Monday, July 18, 2011
Return to India - Final Chapter - Calcutta
Gita and I only had two full days in Calcutta and we sought to make the best use of them we could. I am eager to complete this blog series and so will do my best to keep this brief.
Calcutta and the state of Bengal occupy a unique place in the awakening of modern India. I will not say more than that except to say that not only did there occur an extraordinary spiritual revolution but other revolutions from Bengal as well. More can be found from the history books than from me on this fascinating subject.
On our first day, Saturday, July 9, we first visited the home of Yogananda's boyhood companion, Tuli Bose. The home is now occupied by Hassi: the widow of Tulsi's son, Debi Mukherjee. Debi was a young boy or man when Paramhansa Yogananda returned to India in 1935-6 and has written of that visit in his own collection of stories. Hassi was in the womb of her mother at that time and was blessed by Yogananda. She spoke to him years later by phone after Yogananda had returned to his headquarters in Los Angeles.
Hassi is a devotee and very wise soul. She has greeted and hosted innumerable Ananda and other visitors to her home. Ananda members have assisted her in repairing and improving her simple home which no street map, no Google map will ever reveal but which is right around the corner from Yogananda's boyhood home at 4 Gurpar Road in an older section of Calcutta.
I can't vouch entirely for my notes or my memory or the language translation of our meeting but I will do my best to convey what I learned and experienced there. Yogananda, before leaving for America in 1920, and for some period of time (unknown but presumably before leaving Calcutta to start the school for boys that he founded in the state of Bihar), conducted weekly satsangs (spiritual gatherings) in this tiny home. I believe those satsangs were held on Thursday nights.
Among the spiritual stars who visited the home (and sometimes together, though which ones at the same time, I am not clear and their generations don't all exactly coincide) include: Sharda Devi, widow of Sri Ramakrishna, who conducted Durga puja there; Swami Vivekananda, most famous disciple of Ramakrishna (who visited America twice in the 1890's); Lahiri Mahasaya; Swami Sri Yukteswar, Paramhansa Yogananda, Ananda Moyi Ma, and Swami Atmananda (disciple of Yogananda), along with of course, Tuli Bose.
Just to be present there in the midst of such a place was indescribable. The home is as simple and unseen as a certain manger in Palestine. How many avatars can you fit in a 10' by 10' room? Can anyone imagine such an extraordinary "satsang" or a more blessed temple - yet one that will never impress the worldly man for its grand size and beauty?
Among a tiny sampling of the relics gathered there are an iron trident once possessed by Babaji, given to Lahiri, given to Sri Yukteswar, given to Yogananda, who left it there with Tulsi! The deerskin "asan" (meditation seat) of Sri Yukteswar; the tiger skin asan of Yogananda's; and a clay statute of goddess Kali that materialized in Yogananda's palm while meditating at the nearby Dakshineswar Temple (home to Ramakrishna in the prior century). Gita and I meditated there for a little and had the opportunity to visit with Hassi for some time. She's getting up in years and asked for prayers for an upcoming cataract surgery on July 30 and again later in the Fall 2011.
Around the corner we visited with Sarita Ghosh whose husband Sonat, is the living descendant of Yogananda's artist-brother, Sananda. When we arrived, two other pilgrims were visiting. (There's a steady stream of pilgrims coming to Gurpar Road). She toured us showing us the room in which Babaji appeared to Yogananda after a long night of intense prayer asking for tangible blessings upon his journey to America (in 1920). She showed us the room which had once been Yogananda's father's bedroom and where Yogananda as boy, after his mother's passing, had slept also. It was filled with wonderful photos including the original photo, touched up with color (as was the custom then) by Sananda of Rabindranath Tagore. This "painting" is now famous and hangs there in the room as does what might be (I'm not really sure) the original painting by Sananda of Babaji, among other things I failed to catalogue. (Tagore once visited there, perhaps to approve the painting.)
Upstairs we meditated in Yogananda's "attic room" - the scene of many meditations and experiences, including the window from which he dropped his bundle of items on his failed attempt to escape to the Himalayas (as recounted in his autobiography). Sigh, what can one say about such a visit except that I shall treasure it always.
The following day we visited Serampore, where Swami Sri Yukteswar (Yogananda's guru) lived and had his ashram. Ishan, son of Durlov Ghosh (living descendant of Yogananda's eldest brother, Ananta), hosted us. We went first to Rai Ghat where Sri Yukteswar (and Yogananda) would bathe daily in the mornings and where Sri Yukteswar encountered Babaji under the still living banyan tree when Babaji came to bless Yukteswar upon completion of the book Babaji commissioned Yutkeswar to write ("The Holy Science").
It was a very hot and sticky day and the ghat was filled with teenagers but Gita and I sat briefly in meditation, hoping to draw the blessings that should surely remain in the ether with gathering of three avatars (egads!), including the incomparable Babaji.
Wending our way through the narrow lanes of Serampore we then visited Sri Yukteswar's ashram. It is inhabited by two or three families: descendants of Sri Yukteswar (he had a daughter, though no one seems to know anything about her and her offspring). Recently, we were told, it was decided not to allow visitors into the home and into Sri Yukteswar's rooms for visits and meditation. Gita, and many others I know, have done so in past years but it was not to be so for me.
Instead we were allowed into an adjacent YSS shrine and offered meditation seats. Notwithstanding my disappointment, I had a very deep meditation in the shrine. It's built in what had been an extension of the original courtyard and from its steps one could see the courtyard balcony where the door to Sri Yukteswar's room was.
I hope someday YSS, at least, can obtain the ownership and can repair and restore the aging and now decrepit building for a shrine for generations to come. While they tend to be as much gatekeepers as preservers, someone, at least needs to do this. I don't know the relationship between the families and YSS. It's probably somewhat tentative and uneasy, I'm guessing.
We then had lunch with the Ghosh family in the home nearby that Ananda members helped the family acquire when their grandmother, Mira, was in desperate need some years ago. The family is very grateful and very sweet.
On our way back to our hotel we visited Dakshineswar Temple. The grand and beautiful temple (though now aging but relatively new, only 150 or so years old, built by a devotee-disciple of Sri Ramakrishna) was home to the lila (life) of Ramakrishna. Yogananda too had many deep experiences at the temple as he relates in "Autobiography of a Yogi." We got in line to pay our respects and view the famous Kali statue (the lines allow for a brief two-second glance) and then meditated in the adjacent portico where Yogananda had an experience in cosmic consciousness.
Then we meditated in the bedroom (now a museum and shrine) of Ramakrishna after touring the temple grounds. The visit was far more uplifting than I would have thought, given the Sunday-afternoon crowds of families and sightseers. The Temple is along the river (Ganges, though it's called the Hoogley or something like that), and adjacent to one of the bridges that cross the river from which we came from Serampore (which is on the opposite side of the river from downtown Calcutta and upstream).
That's as much as I feel to share on this part. The description I’ve given belies the blessings I feel, however, and leave it to my readers to allow me that inner beatitude as a sacred trust in my heart. As some of my readers are my close friends and fellow disciples, it remains a question "How has this changed your life?" "What personal insights might you have had."
That's as much as I feel to share on this part. The description I’ve given belies the blessings I feel, however, and leave it to my readers to allow me that inner beatitude as a sacred trust in my heart. As some of my readers are my close friends and fellow disciples, it remains a question "How has this changed your life?" "What personal insights might you have had."
I don't feel this blog is the place for such personal reflections except to say “Yes!”
Blessings, and thus ends our journey and pilgrimage,
Hriman
Calcutta and the state of Bengal occupy a unique place in the awakening of modern India. I will not say more than that except to say that not only did there occur an extraordinary spiritual revolution but other revolutions from Bengal as well. More can be found from the history books than from me on this fascinating subject.
On our first day, Saturday, July 9, we first visited the home of Yogananda's boyhood companion, Tuli Bose. The home is now occupied by Hassi: the widow of Tulsi's son, Debi Mukherjee. Debi was a young boy or man when Paramhansa Yogananda returned to India in 1935-6 and has written of that visit in his own collection of stories. Hassi was in the womb of her mother at that time and was blessed by Yogananda. She spoke to him years later by phone after Yogananda had returned to his headquarters in Los Angeles.
Hassi is a devotee and very wise soul. She has greeted and hosted innumerable Ananda and other visitors to her home. Ananda members have assisted her in repairing and improving her simple home which no street map, no Google map will ever reveal but which is right around the corner from Yogananda's boyhood home at 4 Gurpar Road in an older section of Calcutta.
I can't vouch entirely for my notes or my memory or the language translation of our meeting but I will do my best to convey what I learned and experienced there. Yogananda, before leaving for America in 1920, and for some period of time (unknown but presumably before leaving Calcutta to start the school for boys that he founded in the state of Bihar), conducted weekly satsangs (spiritual gatherings) in this tiny home. I believe those satsangs were held on Thursday nights.
Among the spiritual stars who visited the home (and sometimes together, though which ones at the same time, I am not clear and their generations don't all exactly coincide) include: Sharda Devi, widow of Sri Ramakrishna, who conducted Durga puja there; Swami Vivekananda, most famous disciple of Ramakrishna (who visited America twice in the 1890's); Lahiri Mahasaya; Swami Sri Yukteswar, Paramhansa Yogananda, Ananda Moyi Ma, and Swami Atmananda (disciple of Yogananda), along with of course, Tuli Bose.
Just to be present there in the midst of such a place was indescribable. The home is as simple and unseen as a certain manger in Palestine. How many avatars can you fit in a 10' by 10' room? Can anyone imagine such an extraordinary "satsang" or a more blessed temple - yet one that will never impress the worldly man for its grand size and beauty?
Among a tiny sampling of the relics gathered there are an iron trident once possessed by Babaji, given to Lahiri, given to Sri Yukteswar, given to Yogananda, who left it there with Tulsi! The deerskin "asan" (meditation seat) of Sri Yukteswar; the tiger skin asan of Yogananda's; and a clay statute of goddess Kali that materialized in Yogananda's palm while meditating at the nearby Dakshineswar Temple (home to Ramakrishna in the prior century). Gita and I meditated there for a little and had the opportunity to visit with Hassi for some time. She's getting up in years and asked for prayers for an upcoming cataract surgery on July 30 and again later in the Fall 2011.
Around the corner we visited with Sarita Ghosh whose husband Sonat, is the living descendant of Yogananda's artist-brother, Sananda. When we arrived, two other pilgrims were visiting. (There's a steady stream of pilgrims coming to Gurpar Road). She toured us showing us the room in which Babaji appeared to Yogananda after a long night of intense prayer asking for tangible blessings upon his journey to America (in 1920). She showed us the room which had once been Yogananda's father's bedroom and where Yogananda as boy, after his mother's passing, had slept also. It was filled with wonderful photos including the original photo, touched up with color (as was the custom then) by Sananda of Rabindranath Tagore. This "painting" is now famous and hangs there in the room as does what might be (I'm not really sure) the original painting by Sananda of Babaji, among other things I failed to catalogue. (Tagore once visited there, perhaps to approve the painting.)
Upstairs we meditated in Yogananda's "attic room" - the scene of many meditations and experiences, including the window from which he dropped his bundle of items on his failed attempt to escape to the Himalayas (as recounted in his autobiography). Sigh, what can one say about such a visit except that I shall treasure it always.
The following day we visited Serampore, where Swami Sri Yukteswar (Yogananda's guru) lived and had his ashram. Ishan, son of Durlov Ghosh (living descendant of Yogananda's eldest brother, Ananta), hosted us. We went first to Rai Ghat where Sri Yukteswar (and Yogananda) would bathe daily in the mornings and where Sri Yukteswar encountered Babaji under the still living banyan tree when Babaji came to bless Yukteswar upon completion of the book Babaji commissioned Yutkeswar to write ("The Holy Science").
It was a very hot and sticky day and the ghat was filled with teenagers but Gita and I sat briefly in meditation, hoping to draw the blessings that should surely remain in the ether with gathering of three avatars (egads!), including the incomparable Babaji.
Wending our way through the narrow lanes of Serampore we then visited Sri Yukteswar's ashram. It is inhabited by two or three families: descendants of Sri Yukteswar (he had a daughter, though no one seems to know anything about her and her offspring). Recently, we were told, it was decided not to allow visitors into the home and into Sri Yukteswar's rooms for visits and meditation. Gita, and many others I know, have done so in past years but it was not to be so for me.
Instead we were allowed into an adjacent YSS shrine and offered meditation seats. Notwithstanding my disappointment, I had a very deep meditation in the shrine. It's built in what had been an extension of the original courtyard and from its steps one could see the courtyard balcony where the door to Sri Yukteswar's room was.
I hope someday YSS, at least, can obtain the ownership and can repair and restore the aging and now decrepit building for a shrine for generations to come. While they tend to be as much gatekeepers as preservers, someone, at least needs to do this. I don't know the relationship between the families and YSS. It's probably somewhat tentative and uneasy, I'm guessing.
We then had lunch with the Ghosh family in the home nearby that Ananda members helped the family acquire when their grandmother, Mira, was in desperate need some years ago. The family is very grateful and very sweet.
On our way back to our hotel we visited Dakshineswar Temple. The grand and beautiful temple (though now aging but relatively new, only 150 or so years old, built by a devotee-disciple of Sri Ramakrishna) was home to the lila (life) of Ramakrishna. Yogananda too had many deep experiences at the temple as he relates in "Autobiography of a Yogi." We got in line to pay our respects and view the famous Kali statue (the lines allow for a brief two-second glance) and then meditated in the adjacent portico where Yogananda had an experience in cosmic consciousness.
Then we meditated in the bedroom (now a museum and shrine) of Ramakrishna after touring the temple grounds. The visit was far more uplifting than I would have thought, given the Sunday-afternoon crowds of families and sightseers. The Temple is along the river (Ganges, though it's called the Hoogley or something like that), and adjacent to one of the bridges that cross the river from which we came from Serampore (which is on the opposite side of the river from downtown Calcutta and upstream).
That's as much as I feel to share on this part. The description I’ve given belies the blessings I feel, however, and leave it to my readers to allow me that inner beatitude as a sacred trust in my heart. As some of my readers are my close friends and fellow disciples, it remains a question "How has this changed your life?" "What personal insights might you have had."
That's as much as I feel to share on this part. The description I’ve given belies the blessings I feel, however, and leave it to my readers to allow me that inner beatitude as a sacred trust in my heart. As some of my readers are my close friends and fellow disciples, it remains a question "How has this changed your life?" "What personal insights might you have had."
I don't feel this blog is the place for such personal reflections except to say “Yes!”
Blessings, and thus ends our journey and pilgrimage,
Hriman
Return to India - Babaji Safari
I am pressing to finish this series so life can go on. So today, while I have some time I can pretend to call me "own," I continue….
On our trip to India I had brought a camping vest that can only be described as a fly-fisherman's special. I don't fish and I'm not sure why Padma purchased this for me some years ago, but I've only worn it perhaps once but something inspired me to bring it to India. However it was many days into our trip that I had the nerve to wear it. Turns out it was perfect for all the many small items I needed to carry with me as we entered temples, hiked, or otherwise travelled about the Himalaya.
Gita, seeing this absurdly out of place item of clothing but admitting it worked perfectly for the needs of the trip, was inspired by it to call our trip the "Babaji Safari."
So I turn now to the spiritual highlight of our Himalayan adventure: the search for Babaji. Virtually anyone who reads this knows that Mahavatar Babaji is the deathless avatar featured so prominently in Paramhansa Yogananda's now famous story, "Autobiography of a Yogi." Said to be Krishna in a former incarnation, no one knows the date of Babaji's birth in the current incarnation and he is said to have promised to retain his physical form for the current cycle of the ages (not sure what this entails). He is in communion with Jesus Christ and together they send vibrations of the Divine Will to other saints working more visibly in the world for the salvation and upliftment of humanity. It was Babaji who resurrected the path of kriya yoga when he initiated Lahiri Mahasay in 1861 on Dronagiri Mountain near the town of Ranikhet. In India the existence of such an avatar has been affirmed and treasured for centuries. Many sadhus are called or call themselves Baba-ji (revered father) so it is far from clear who is who and one cannot help but ask "would the real Babaji please stand up." [[[1] Babaji often appears as a handsome, clean-shaven, fair-skinned youth and is said to have the ability to prevent others from guessing his identity.]]
Our Himalayan guide, Mahavir Singh Rawat had a life changing experience when he describes how “our” Babaji came to him over twenty years ago and asked him to be the Himalayan guide to Ananda devotees.
That's another story, of course. So back to my own.
We visited Dronagiri Mountain after completing the Char Dham previously described. The town of Rawahat sits at the base of the mountain. We stayed in a newish hotel there that was very nice and adequate for our needs. After unpacking our things one afternoon, we drove up the mountain. There was something very special about this mountain. Perhaps it was the effect of the monsoon season, but it is unlike any other mountain (and we drove up and down an untold number of mountains on the trip). The mountain was mostly thinly populated with pine trees which were separated by what would looked like carefully manicured or mowed lawn and small, neat and attractive walking paths winding through it. The mid to upper part contained a collection of handsome and brightly painted (think "blue") homes. The few small farms were attractively cultivated. The mountainside combined therefore a domestic simplicity with a mysterious aura of an unseen hand.
Where the road crests the mountain there is, as there is on every other mountain, a tea stall and a house or two. Here we stopped, for there was a well-maintained entrance to the mountain top shrine above. Some society or trust evidently held the property and was sufficiently endowed and energized to keep the property very attractive. An unheard-of covered walkway guided the pilgrim at least 360 steps up the mountain to the grounds of a temple dedicated to Divine Mother.
At this height a silent, drifting, and dripping fog shrouded the trees and grounds in mystery. The silence was deep and profound. Few people were about the place. With our bag of prasad (offerings) in hand, we ascended to the temple for the pujari's blessing. Mahavir had a few words with him and it was indicated that we should descend a few steps to an ancient fern-encrusted tree where a simple outdoor altar to Babaji would be found. Somewhere here on these grounds it was said that Lahiri met Babaji in 1861.
Gita and I sat in meditation upon the concrete platform in front of the tree and the very simple elements at its base that indicated that devotees and other worshippers had been there. It seemed a bit unkempt and ignored but it did not matter to us. We each had a deep meditation. Occasionally fog would drip onto us. At one point Gita offered to me her raincoat because all I had on (from our long day's travel and not knowing we were headed for a meditation at the top of a mountain) was a T-shirt. (It was here that I caught my cold.)
As we meditated we heard the gentle cooing of a dove in the tree above. I think we each felt an inward blessing. I felt an inner smile at the time. I thought immediately that Babaji was blessing us in this way. Of course I had only my imagination and desire to blame for this but I did feel great peace and upliftment. We meditated perhaps 40 minutes or longer.
After some photos, we descended in silence. All along the handrails hung temple bells: it seemed if not thousand or more, at least many hundreds of bells, at least 4 to 5 inches in diameter at the bell opening.
Near the temple entrance at the street below, Mahavir suddenly invited us into the otherwise unnoticed hut (perhaps 6' x 6') of what turned out to be a resident sadhu! Wonder of wonders he was watching television using old-fashion "bunny ears" antenna. It was the news and it looked like the 5 o'clock news anywhere in America or Europe (except in Hindi). All the smartly dressed news anchormen (and women), flashing headlines and so on.
Inside this simple hut was the normal firepit in the center but this one had a range hood, just as you'd see at home. Most huts impose upon their occupants endless smoke-in-the eyes and lungs but this one was very different. Shelves of provisions lined the simple hut as the sadhu sat there in traditional cross-legged style on the floor. (You couldn't possibly stand up straight in this thing). He'd been there for sixteen years, he said (presumably with permission from the temple stewards). What he did there I couldn't say but one never knows what sadhus do with their time, anyway.
He made us a cup of instant coffee with milk and sugar and we talked away (or I should say Mahavir and he spoke). The story of Babaji and Lahiri is well known here and is not considered unusual or extraordinary. I may have asked a few questions through Mahavir but at present I don't actually recall. Our visit was pleasant enough and unusual in its own way. The television remained on the entire time. I asked the sadhu if I could take some ash from the fire (in front of me) as holy or sacred ash (vibhutti) from Dronagiri Mountain. He happily complied wrapping a few tablespoons of ash in newsprint for each of the three of us!
The next morning after chai we checked out and once again drove to the crest of Dronagiri Mountain. There we had breakfast (noodles and paratha, I think, and more chai along with fresh fruit) before embarking on our trek up to Babaji's cave down the flank of the mountain, crossing the Gogash River and then climbing up the other side (don't know if that mountain has a name) to the cave. During breakfast the proprietor (a lively friendly gent) handed us a thick sheaf of internet printouts about the nearby Babaji cave. Gita and I were moved to inner joy when we read that it is said that Babaji sometimes comes to pilgrims in form of a cooing dove!
The morning was bright with sunshine. A young man from the south of India (Hyderabad, he said) arrived (he may have been staying right there at the cafe/lodge as a pilgrim) and explained in good English that he'd been meditating daily for a month at the Babaji cave. I asked him if he practiced kriya yoga but he said he did not. I found that puzzling for some reason but he seemed bright and calmly eager. After we left, we didn't see him again. (Was HE the elusive but young appearing Babaji?)
The light that morning through the forest was tinged with color and a softness born of what a westerner would say was lingering morning moisture in the air. To say that it was “ethereal” would be more accurate however. I flashed upon the memory of a scene from the movie "Jesus of Nazareth" when Mary Magdalene goes to the gravesite of Jesus. In the morning air it is still and the light is cloud or vapor-like. The colors in the forest were intensely green. Ferns and baby-tears (?) grew everywhere. And yet the grounds had that same consciously manicured feeling and appearance. The Gogash River had, Mahavir explained, become more of a stream than a river in recent decades. He didn't explain why. But it was clear and cool, and very inviting to see and cross. There was that same deep stillness in the air.
The hike finally turned from gentle to more steeply uphill until we reached an odd building with no windows and locked up with a grate. The property belongs to Y.S.S. (Yogoda Satsang Society - the Indian branch of Self-Realization Fellowship). The entire property is well maintained but well controlled. A little further on we came to the place called "Babaji's cave." YSS has not only locked it but blocked up all but the first 8 to 10' of the cave with bricks. Who knows what or who remains deep inside the cave. Mahavir explained that it was ill used (by local peasants) previously and that YSS cleaned it up and secured it. Well, be that as it may, we meditated nonetheless and had a very deep meditation there.
Up the hill further, Mahavir explained, is a cave once inhabited (for about a year) by the Pandavas long ago. For some reason further climb did not seem in order and neither Gita nor I expressed a desire to ascend higher. Instead, Mahavir took us to visit a nearby family farm where we were welcomed with (more) chai and cookies.
I was asked by a friend, "Well, did you MEET Babaji?" We felt his divine presence and blessings and treasure that wordless experience which defies description and which remains locked in our hearts.
Fresh from the Babaji Safari,
Hriman
On our trip to India I had brought a camping vest that can only be described as a fly-fisherman's special. I don't fish and I'm not sure why Padma purchased this for me some years ago, but I've only worn it perhaps once but something inspired me to bring it to India. However it was many days into our trip that I had the nerve to wear it. Turns out it was perfect for all the many small items I needed to carry with me as we entered temples, hiked, or otherwise travelled about the Himalaya.
Gita, seeing this absurdly out of place item of clothing but admitting it worked perfectly for the needs of the trip, was inspired by it to call our trip the "Babaji Safari."
So I turn now to the spiritual highlight of our Himalayan adventure: the search for Babaji. Virtually anyone who reads this knows that Mahavatar Babaji is the deathless avatar featured so prominently in Paramhansa Yogananda's now famous story, "Autobiography of a Yogi." Said to be Krishna in a former incarnation, no one knows the date of Babaji's birth in the current incarnation and he is said to have promised to retain his physical form for the current cycle of the ages (not sure what this entails). He is in communion with Jesus Christ and together they send vibrations of the Divine Will to other saints working more visibly in the world for the salvation and upliftment of humanity. It was Babaji who resurrected the path of kriya yoga when he initiated Lahiri Mahasay in 1861 on Dronagiri Mountain near the town of Ranikhet. In India the existence of such an avatar has been affirmed and treasured for centuries. Many sadhus are called or call themselves Baba-ji (revered father) so it is far from clear who is who and one cannot help but ask "would the real Babaji please stand up." [[[1] Babaji often appears as a handsome, clean-shaven, fair-skinned youth and is said to have the ability to prevent others from guessing his identity.]]
Our Himalayan guide, Mahavir Singh Rawat had a life changing experience when he describes how “our” Babaji came to him over twenty years ago and asked him to be the Himalayan guide to Ananda devotees.
That's another story, of course. So back to my own.
We visited Dronagiri Mountain after completing the Char Dham previously described. The town of Rawahat sits at the base of the mountain. We stayed in a newish hotel there that was very nice and adequate for our needs. After unpacking our things one afternoon, we drove up the mountain. There was something very special about this mountain. Perhaps it was the effect of the monsoon season, but it is unlike any other mountain (and we drove up and down an untold number of mountains on the trip). The mountain was mostly thinly populated with pine trees which were separated by what would looked like carefully manicured or mowed lawn and small, neat and attractive walking paths winding through it. The mid to upper part contained a collection of handsome and brightly painted (think "blue") homes. The few small farms were attractively cultivated. The mountainside combined therefore a domestic simplicity with a mysterious aura of an unseen hand.
Where the road crests the mountain there is, as there is on every other mountain, a tea stall and a house or two. Here we stopped, for there was a well-maintained entrance to the mountain top shrine above. Some society or trust evidently held the property and was sufficiently endowed and energized to keep the property very attractive. An unheard-of covered walkway guided the pilgrim at least 360 steps up the mountain to the grounds of a temple dedicated to Divine Mother.
At this height a silent, drifting, and dripping fog shrouded the trees and grounds in mystery. The silence was deep and profound. Few people were about the place. With our bag of prasad (offerings) in hand, we ascended to the temple for the pujari's blessing. Mahavir had a few words with him and it was indicated that we should descend a few steps to an ancient fern-encrusted tree where a simple outdoor altar to Babaji would be found. Somewhere here on these grounds it was said that Lahiri met Babaji in 1861.
Gita and I sat in meditation upon the concrete platform in front of the tree and the very simple elements at its base that indicated that devotees and other worshippers had been there. It seemed a bit unkempt and ignored but it did not matter to us. We each had a deep meditation. Occasionally fog would drip onto us. At one point Gita offered to me her raincoat because all I had on (from our long day's travel and not knowing we were headed for a meditation at the top of a mountain) was a T-shirt. (It was here that I caught my cold.)
As we meditated we heard the gentle cooing of a dove in the tree above. I think we each felt an inward blessing. I felt an inner smile at the time. I thought immediately that Babaji was blessing us in this way. Of course I had only my imagination and desire to blame for this but I did feel great peace and upliftment. We meditated perhaps 40 minutes or longer.
After some photos, we descended in silence. All along the handrails hung temple bells: it seemed if not thousand or more, at least many hundreds of bells, at least 4 to 5 inches in diameter at the bell opening.
Near the temple entrance at the street below, Mahavir suddenly invited us into the otherwise unnoticed hut (perhaps 6' x 6') of what turned out to be a resident sadhu! Wonder of wonders he was watching television using old-fashion "bunny ears" antenna. It was the news and it looked like the 5 o'clock news anywhere in America or Europe (except in Hindi). All the smartly dressed news anchormen (and women), flashing headlines and so on.
Inside this simple hut was the normal firepit in the center but this one had a range hood, just as you'd see at home. Most huts impose upon their occupants endless smoke-in-the eyes and lungs but this one was very different. Shelves of provisions lined the simple hut as the sadhu sat there in traditional cross-legged style on the floor. (You couldn't possibly stand up straight in this thing). He'd been there for sixteen years, he said (presumably with permission from the temple stewards). What he did there I couldn't say but one never knows what sadhus do with their time, anyway.
He made us a cup of instant coffee with milk and sugar and we talked away (or I should say Mahavir and he spoke). The story of Babaji and Lahiri is well known here and is not considered unusual or extraordinary. I may have asked a few questions through Mahavir but at present I don't actually recall. Our visit was pleasant enough and unusual in its own way. The television remained on the entire time. I asked the sadhu if I could take some ash from the fire (in front of me) as holy or sacred ash (vibhutti) from Dronagiri Mountain. He happily complied wrapping a few tablespoons of ash in newsprint for each of the three of us!
The next morning after chai we checked out and once again drove to the crest of Dronagiri Mountain. There we had breakfast (noodles and paratha, I think, and more chai along with fresh fruit) before embarking on our trek up to Babaji's cave down the flank of the mountain, crossing the Gogash River and then climbing up the other side (don't know if that mountain has a name) to the cave. During breakfast the proprietor (a lively friendly gent) handed us a thick sheaf of internet printouts about the nearby Babaji cave. Gita and I were moved to inner joy when we read that it is said that Babaji sometimes comes to pilgrims in form of a cooing dove!
The morning was bright with sunshine. A young man from the south of India (Hyderabad, he said) arrived (he may have been staying right there at the cafe/lodge as a pilgrim) and explained in good English that he'd been meditating daily for a month at the Babaji cave. I asked him if he practiced kriya yoga but he said he did not. I found that puzzling for some reason but he seemed bright and calmly eager. After we left, we didn't see him again. (Was HE the elusive but young appearing Babaji?)
The light that morning through the forest was tinged with color and a softness born of what a westerner would say was lingering morning moisture in the air. To say that it was “ethereal” would be more accurate however. I flashed upon the memory of a scene from the movie "Jesus of Nazareth" when Mary Magdalene goes to the gravesite of Jesus. In the morning air it is still and the light is cloud or vapor-like. The colors in the forest were intensely green. Ferns and baby-tears (?) grew everywhere. And yet the grounds had that same consciously manicured feeling and appearance. The Gogash River had, Mahavir explained, become more of a stream than a river in recent decades. He didn't explain why. But it was clear and cool, and very inviting to see and cross. There was that same deep stillness in the air.
The hike finally turned from gentle to more steeply uphill until we reached an odd building with no windows and locked up with a grate. The property belongs to Y.S.S. (Yogoda Satsang Society - the Indian branch of Self-Realization Fellowship). The entire property is well maintained but well controlled. A little further on we came to the place called "Babaji's cave." YSS has not only locked it but blocked up all but the first 8 to 10' of the cave with bricks. Who knows what or who remains deep inside the cave. Mahavir explained that it was ill used (by local peasants) previously and that YSS cleaned it up and secured it. Well, be that as it may, we meditated nonetheless and had a very deep meditation there.
Up the hill further, Mahavir explained, is a cave once inhabited (for about a year) by the Pandavas long ago. For some reason further climb did not seem in order and neither Gita nor I expressed a desire to ascend higher. Instead, Mahavir took us to visit a nearby family farm where we were welcomed with (more) chai and cookies.
I was asked by a friend, "Well, did you MEET Babaji?" We felt his divine presence and blessings and treasure that wordless experience which defies description and which remains locked in our hearts.
Fresh from the Babaji Safari,
Hriman
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Return to India - Part 2
In this Part 2 I will finish with a basic description of the journey itself - it's outer or objective parts before offering more personal thoughts and inspirations.
The trip was divided into two parts: the Himalaya, and Calcutta. The Himalaya segment occupied some 17 days and Calcutta, four days. Neither Gita nor I were familiar with the proposed itinerary which our guide, Mahavir Rawat proposed for the Himalayan segment. At the distance of six months from the trip I confess we didn't pay strict attention to the details.
What he proposed was for us to undertake the "Char Dham" or four-part pilgrimage ("yatra") to shrines near the headwaters of the Yamuna River and the Ganges including two of its tributaries. Traditionally pilgrims go from the western river (Yamuna) to the eastern most river (at Badrinath). The shrine near the headwaters of the Jamuna River is called Yamunotri and is dedicated to the goddess Yamuna. Heading east across the mountains that separate the Yamuna from the next river valley is Gangotri, once the physical source of the main branch of the Ganges (but due to global warming the glacier has receded some twelve miles up). The next shrine is at Kedernath, dedicated to Lord Shiva where the Pandavas (heroes of the epic, the Mahabharata) sought Shiva's blessings and where in later centuries the great reformer of Hinduism, Adi Swami Shankacharya, restored the shrine to its former glory. Badrinath is the final stop of the Char Dham and is dedicated to Lord Vishnu (the Preserver) and, like Kedernath, was restored by Adi Swami Shankacharya.
These are among the most visited and revered shrines in India, but there are countless other places made holy by tradition and by the vibrations of saints and sages over thousands of years. Badrinath includes the mountain village of Mana (the last Indian village before the Tibetan border) where the sage Byasa dictated the Mahabharata. We visited two sadhus: one in a cave outside Gangotri, and another, Tar Baba (wearer of only a burlap sack!), in Badrinath, in a tiny ashram dwelling. We entered three other caves, all unoccupied (more about that later), visited a famous shrine to the Pandavas called Lak Mandal, and a very sacred cave where Adi Swami Shankacharya lived and where a most ancient mulberry tree survives in mute testimony to his divine presence.
There is a deep yet not yet revealed connection between Paramhansa Yogananda and Adi Swami Shankacharya. In Yogananda's autobiography he went into ecstasy upon the mere sight of a temple in Kashmir dedicated to the great reformer. Even more importantly, Yogananda's life teachings take their lead from the one word description given to the world by Shankacharya centuries ago: "Satchidanandam." This is his description of God (and God-consciousness): ever-existing, ever-conscious, ever-new Bliss. The core thesis of Yogananda's teachings can be summarized in saying that what all beings are seeking is unending bliss. This defines our true nature and defines the goal of life!
Yogananda told his disciples that in a previous life he was Arjuna, the third of the Pandava brothers and the great warrior-king and chief disciple of Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita (a chapter of the epic story the Mahabharata). Thus the connection for us with the Pandavas and with Shankacharya.
Despite this grand and traditional pilgrimage I must state that the simple visit to Dronagiri Mountain and the cave of Babaji was perhaps the deepest and most touching of all of the Himalayan journey. Here we meditated near the spot where Lahiri Mahasaya met Mahavatar Babaji in 1861 (the deathless yogi of the Himalaya devoutly revered and spoken of by Hindus and yogis for centuries) and the nearby cave where Lahiri was initiated into Kriya Yoga and began the worldwide work of kriya in the modern age.
Calcutta is a story I will leave for another blog for the power of the simple abodes that I will describe is beyond imagination. Only in India can the contrast between the restless energy of a city such as Calcutta and the spiritual power of the divine manifestations of multiple avatars co-exist. As Jesus was born in a manger, the avatars of Dwapara Yuga congregated in the simple homes on the outskirts of one of the world's greatest and most vibrant cities. Calcutta was the intellectual, spiritual, and energetic heart and soul of the 20th century revolution that began the transformation of India from medieval times to the modern era.
Until we meet in the next blog,
Hriman
The trip was divided into two parts: the Himalaya, and Calcutta. The Himalaya segment occupied some 17 days and Calcutta, four days. Neither Gita nor I were familiar with the proposed itinerary which our guide, Mahavir Rawat proposed for the Himalayan segment. At the distance of six months from the trip I confess we didn't pay strict attention to the details.
What he proposed was for us to undertake the "Char Dham" or four-part pilgrimage ("yatra") to shrines near the headwaters of the Yamuna River and the Ganges including two of its tributaries. Traditionally pilgrims go from the western river (Yamuna) to the eastern most river (at Badrinath). The shrine near the headwaters of the Jamuna River is called Yamunotri and is dedicated to the goddess Yamuna. Heading east across the mountains that separate the Yamuna from the next river valley is Gangotri, once the physical source of the main branch of the Ganges (but due to global warming the glacier has receded some twelve miles up). The next shrine is at Kedernath, dedicated to Lord Shiva where the Pandavas (heroes of the epic, the Mahabharata) sought Shiva's blessings and where in later centuries the great reformer of Hinduism, Adi Swami Shankacharya, restored the shrine to its former glory. Badrinath is the final stop of the Char Dham and is dedicated to Lord Vishnu (the Preserver) and, like Kedernath, was restored by Adi Swami Shankacharya.
These are among the most visited and revered shrines in India, but there are countless other places made holy by tradition and by the vibrations of saints and sages over thousands of years. Badrinath includes the mountain village of Mana (the last Indian village before the Tibetan border) where the sage Byasa dictated the Mahabharata. We visited two sadhus: one in a cave outside Gangotri, and another, Tar Baba (wearer of only a burlap sack!), in Badrinath, in a tiny ashram dwelling. We entered three other caves, all unoccupied (more about that later), visited a famous shrine to the Pandavas called Lak Mandal, and a very sacred cave where Adi Swami Shankacharya lived and where a most ancient mulberry tree survives in mute testimony to his divine presence.
There is a deep yet not yet revealed connection between Paramhansa Yogananda and Adi Swami Shankacharya. In Yogananda's autobiography he went into ecstasy upon the mere sight of a temple in Kashmir dedicated to the great reformer. Even more importantly, Yogananda's life teachings take their lead from the one word description given to the world by Shankacharya centuries ago: "Satchidanandam." This is his description of God (and God-consciousness): ever-existing, ever-conscious, ever-new Bliss. The core thesis of Yogananda's teachings can be summarized in saying that what all beings are seeking is unending bliss. This defines our true nature and defines the goal of life!
Yogananda told his disciples that in a previous life he was Arjuna, the third of the Pandava brothers and the great warrior-king and chief disciple of Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita (a chapter of the epic story the Mahabharata). Thus the connection for us with the Pandavas and with Shankacharya.
Despite this grand and traditional pilgrimage I must state that the simple visit to Dronagiri Mountain and the cave of Babaji was perhaps the deepest and most touching of all of the Himalayan journey. Here we meditated near the spot where Lahiri Mahasaya met Mahavatar Babaji in 1861 (the deathless yogi of the Himalaya devoutly revered and spoken of by Hindus and yogis for centuries) and the nearby cave where Lahiri was initiated into Kriya Yoga and began the worldwide work of kriya in the modern age.
Calcutta is a story I will leave for another blog for the power of the simple abodes that I will describe is beyond imagination. Only in India can the contrast between the restless energy of a city such as Calcutta and the spiritual power of the divine manifestations of multiple avatars co-exist. As Jesus was born in a manger, the avatars of Dwapara Yuga congregated in the simple homes on the outskirts of one of the world's greatest and most vibrant cities. Calcutta was the intellectual, spiritual, and energetic heart and soul of the 20th century revolution that began the transformation of India from medieval times to the modern era.
Until we meet in the next blog,
Hriman
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