Today, Saturday March 7, is the 63rd anniversary of the day that Paramhansa Yogananda (author of the now famous life story: "Autobiography of a Yogi") "left his body" (died) at a banquet at the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles in the presence of a large gathering to honor the newly appointed ambassador to the United States from India.
The term used (Sanskrit) is "mahasamadhi" - the Great Samadhi. This describes the conscious exit from the body by a saint. Samadhi is a term that refers to the ultimate state of God consciousness, a state of oneness with God (and, by extension, all creation which is a manifestation of God's consciousness).
You may rightly ask: "Many people die consciously, so how does this differ?" Yes, it's true many people die a peaceful and otherwise conscious death and they are not necessarily considered great saints. Since we are talking in terms of consciousness it is not so easy to observe by outer signs. By definition, the act of dying entails no necessary physical movements. So, to a degree the designation of an act of "mahasamadhi" is, at least to a casual observer, a statement of belief.
Since Yogananda ("PY") lived in recent times and until the death of Ananda's founder in 2013, Swami Kriyananda ("SK"), we personally knew someone who was present at PY's death in 1952, we can take his mahasamadhi as our example. At the moment PY slipped to the floor while reciting his poem, "My India," SK had his head down writing down PY's words as he addressed the gathering at the Biltmore Hotel. SK said he knew instantly however that PY had exited his body. In SK's own autobiography, "The New Path," he describes numerous instances in the preceding days, weeks, months and even years that PY dropped hints of the nature of his exit.
Among the hints that he gave was his statement that he would go by a heart attack (stopping his heart, that is; something he demonstrated repeatedly publicly, though temporarily, of course); another was that he would leave his body while reciting his poem, "My India." And on and on like that. But these are but hints. The real essence of the appellation of mahasamadhi comes not only in the striking manner of death but more importantly in the power of his life.
I occasionally come across a student at our Ananda center who, while enjoying the practice of yoga and meditation, is resistant to the idea of miracles. Such folks object to the stories in "Autobiography of a Yogi" wherein saints materialize from nowhere, or bi-locate, cure the sick or raise the dead. And, in some way, who can argue?
SK, at age 22, had similar reservations; so did I, at age 26. For many of us, we simply put such things on a mental shelf to be dealt with later as we continued to enjoy the stories, wisdom, humor and inspiration of what surely must be one of the greatest spiritual classics of the modern era.
Now, mind you: I have no intention of convincing anyone that miracles happen. In fact, I would direct your attention to that chapter in the "Autobiography" ("AY") called "The Law of Miracles." As excellent a discourse on miracles you will not find anywhere! Bar none!
It has been well said by others wiser than me that "Either everything is a miracle, or nothing is a miracle." The one defense I would offer in favor of what we call miracles is simply that: what we call miracles are phenomenon that we simply do not yet have an explanation for! Most of what passes for our daily use in technology would be shockingly miraculous in prior centuries. And, we've only just begun to explore nature and the cosmos! I am long past fussing over how it is possible for Jesus Christ to resurrect his body from the portals of death and any other similar miracle. Whether he did so as a matter of fact, is, for me, secondary, to the possibility that it can be done.
Getting back to "mahasamadhi," did PY choose that moment or was that moment chosen for him? According to the theology of oneness that he and others in the Vedantic lineages have professed, a liberated soul who returns to human form is an "avatar." Avatara is the descent into a human body of a soul that has, as Jesus said of himself, become "one with the Father." "Self-realization" is a term now used for that state of consciousness. As God can be both infinite and infinitesimal, so God-consciousness now permanently resident in the vehicle of a unique and eternal soul can incarnate into human form. Not a puppet or a divinely-created automaton, but a soul, like you and I. In such a one, however, his consciousness is united to God's infinite consciousness. Such a soul comes to play a part on earth, like you and I, but the part he plays is not compelled by ignorance and attachment, but is guided by divine impulse even as filtered through the unique qualities and past tendencies of that soul.
Thus the question of whether PY committed an act of spiritual suicide (as someone once asked me) or whether God "took him out" is a non-question. Such a one would easily have, or be given, glimpses of his final exit and, like many people on earth, might have an inkling for the timing of it. There is no separate "ego" to decide such a thing apart from the divine mind.
As all action creates reaction ("karma"), the action of a Self-realized soul accrues to the benefit of others but nonetheless follows certain patterns appropriate to itself. In PY's life work, it was entirely fitting that he leave this world speaking, as he predicted that he would, of "my India and my America" and, in the presence of the ambassador from India! Like a great story or play, his end was as fitting and appropriate as any inspired ending should have been. In God there are no coincidences, only God "choosing to remain anonymous."
PY was a public figure a part of whose public mission was to highlight and bring together the best of east and west. He taught that soon America and India would lead the world in their respective contributions to the evolution of human consciousness: the one in the discovery of natural laws, efficiency and individual liberties, and the other in the science of mind (yoga) leading to the true freedom and happiness born of direct, personal perception of our true Self.
During his life, PY demonstrated to those close to him that could enter, at will, the state of oneness (samadhi). During the last years of his life, he was in seclusion much more than before and close disciples experienced or perceived that during such times he would be in an elevated state of consciousness and oblivious to his own body and the world around him.
Adding to that his predictions of his exit from this world, it is the custom among yogis to label the death of such a one a conscious act and the final great-samadhi (for that lifetime). With the power to unite his consciousness (confined in the physical form) with the consciousness of Infinity, such a one could enter that state and permanently (rather than temporarily) exit the body. This, at least, is one way of describing what is said to have taken place.
Of course, it can't be proved in an objective sense. It is an article of faith. Faith, however, is not the same as the more tentative hypothesis inherent in mere belief. The faith of his disciples rested in their actual experience of PY as a human being in daily life. To those close to him, PY demonstrated that he knew their every thought. That proof and impact of that accrued only to those individuals. It can be described but not proven to anyone else.
The so-called miracles of saints are only rarely demonstrated on a large public scale. But even when it does happen, those people die off soon enough and nothing is left but their testimony. Whether to one or a handful of close disciples (who witness, say, the raising of a person from death), or whether a group of diners being given full glasses of carrot juice from a small half-filled pitcher, it inevitably comes down to someone's personal experience and testimony.
God, it is said, does not win devotees by performing circus stunts. God has and is everything. We have only our love to give or withhold--for eternity if we choose.
SK suggested that we, at Ananda, use the occasion of PY's mahasamadhi to honor the life, teachings and consciousness of great saints in every tradition, east and west, past and present. Self-realized saints (we use the term "masters" -- having achieved Self-mastery) are, in effect, God incarnate. They demonstrate that we, too, are God incarnate but still mostly asleep. It is the purpose of creation that we awaken. Simply to "die and go to heaven" and to turn our backs on the creation as a sham, is not the divine intention. The creation is beautiful to the extent God who is the creation awakens to become Self-aware.
It is, therefore, in the fitness of things that souls do, in fact, by self-effort and the power of grace, achieve Self-realization while in human form. In this way, then, God speaks and teaches others and gives upliftment and hope to those who "have ears to hear and eyes to see." To honor such living examples is to honor ourselves, our souls and all souls. Too many sects have abandoned the devotion to God through the saints (especially the true masters.....many others are but saints still "in-the-making"). Thus, we take this day to pay such tribute in song, prayer, chanting and inner communion (in meditation).
Blessings to all this sacred special day!
Nayaswami Hriman
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Monday, March 2, 2015
Making the Impersonal, personal, and, the Personal, impersonal!
In the great drama of human life we see played out a "tug-a-war" between personal and impersonal. We encounter this in the impact governments and its laws have upon our lives. We encounter this tug in the ways male and female view one another. We stumble on this in religion, in science, in metaphysics and psychology. Let me give some simple examples, making the object of the subject, well, 'er, more personal!
In the so-called rule of law (to which we salute as bringing peace, security and order to the chaos of self-interested human behavior), we might find that our obligation to pay our taxes conflicts with our conscientious objection to how those taxes are used.
In a relationship, one partner may object to his partner's friendship with another person on the grounds of it being too personal, too familiar; the other will presumably affirm her right and valuable need to have other friendships and may insist that such friendships are not of the romantic or committed nature of their own with one another. The one intuits trouble, or is suspicious, jealous or fearful; the other denies it, whether being merely naive, subconsciously dishonest, or in fact completely innocent.
Most religious sects insist theirs is the best and most likely to bestow salvation. Others insist that all religions are based on and offer more or less the same virtues and rewards. A religionist insists on the existence of God while the atheist demands proof. Nondualists say God is without form; devotees ("bhaktis") worship God in the form they hold dear.
Some scientists, like Albert Einstein was, are bent upon finding universal natural laws that apply throughout the universe. Others are content to find what works under prescribed conditions, perhaps solely with the object of discovering new and useful (perhaps profitable) products.
Meta-physicians see in human conduct and motivation the interplay of universal states of consciousness guided by a unifying motivation: our souls seeking eternal happiness. By contrast, a psychologist might seek a specific cause and effect such as how your parents treated you.
I find myself in that category of persons (there being, of course, "two kinds of people in this world") who, when coming upon someone's personal account, am likely to say something that will generalize that person's experience into the context of a universal response. I hope, thereby, to help that person see that his predicament is shared with many. Indeed, is there any human emotion or reaction that isn't shared by millions under similar circumstances?
Yet in doing so, I might be intentionally or inadvertently seeming to dismiss the opportunity to be helpful or at least sympathetic. As if by saying, "Yeah, that happens to everyone." (So, therefore, let it go.)
It is true, however that seeing my own problems in a larger context can help me to step back from the emotional intensity of my reaction. An astrology reading, for example, gives one the benefit of seeing larger forces and tendencies at play in one's life. One person might be tempted to shirk responsibility (blaming the impersonal forces of the stars), another might find the longer rhythm perspective calming and insightful.
That other category of persons (the more personal) will undoubtedly respond to a friend's woes with moral outrage. In so doing, however, she might find herself as upset as her friend and lead them both nowhere but into a pit of emotion. Or, maybe instead, having responded sympathetically, she might come up with practical suggestions on how to resolve or improve the situation.
So, you see, there is a place for both approaches. It IS helpful to view our lives more impersonally. "Thoughts are universally, not individually, rooted," Paramhansa Yogananda (author of the classic, "Autobiography of a Yogi") is frequently quoted as saying. Having lived In Los Angeles during the heyday of Hollywood (1925-1952), Yogananda was apt to compare life to the movies. He encouraged students to step back from the drama of life and look to the "beam of light" being projected from the booth of eternity. In that light we are all one and the drama of life is seen as but moving shadows of light and dark projected on screen of life. We then can see the alternating currents of sadness and happiness, tragedy and comedy, and birth, life, and death. The impersonal point of view is potentially helpful for everyone (BOTH kinds of people, that is) to contemplate.
I've been watching the series, Cosmos. It's quite fun and interesting, though I bristle from time to time with its narrow view of human history: it's unending characterization of ancient man as little more than hairy cave dwellers and with its only slightly hidden message that science will make us not only more intelligent but happier.
The joy, indeed the smirk, that astrophysicists and astronomers seem to perpetually wear is the equivalent to the smugness exhibited by nondualistic philosophers (like me). It reminds me of that expression: "The operation was a success, but the patient died peacefully on the table."
This attitude is all too often sterile: dead on arrival. It can be an excuse for aloofness, lack of feeling, and unwillingness to lift a finger to help another person in his grief or time of need. Sure, God is all there is; God is One & Eternal; God has manifested Himself in the creation.....etc. etc. Wonderful, but how does that help me along with my wife or my co-workers? What about the grief, sorrow and suffering of so many people around me? Yes, indeed, the scientific or metaphysical views of the cosmos and creation may be factually true or intellectually satisfying but too strict a view is apt to shrivel my heart and apt to belittle the significance of anyone's personal life!
Indeed, as a nondualist and Vedantin, I find the impersonal view inspiring but, at the same time, I would do well to be as impersonal towards my own feelings as to those of others!
Any true scripture (try the Book of Genesis, e.g.) will address both the "Why God made this creation" and the "Why that's important to me" questions. (Contrast Chapter 1 of Genesis with Chapter 2, wherein the impersonal descends with breath-taking speed to the very personal.) Both the impersonal and the personal are needed. Our minds want to know "why," our hearts want to know what we can do about it. Truth must blend, or reconcile, the impersonal with the personal. Reason and feeling.
Life treats armchair philosophers rather rudely. "Your religion (life philosophy) is tested in the cold light of day" a wise person once wrote. Take life personally if you are to act responsibly and have any hope of finding true happiness in this roiling, ever-insecure cauldron we call life. Take life TOO personally, and you are apt to augur downward towards anger, resentment, paranoia, or depression.
"Think globally; act locally." This neatly sums up the integration of your philosophy with your emotions. I say emotions because our feelings are the engine that quick-starts us into action. Philosophy is dry; emotions are wet! We need both, lest we die either of thirst or by drowning.
Introspect, therefore, as to you own temperament: do you take the dry, intellectual or impersonal point of view, or do you tend to get down and personal? Learn to refine your responses and to balance them with the other. See the big picture but act to improve the little picture of here and now. The latter is a microcosm of the former. Life is a hologram!
So, when the stars come out at night, go outside with a friend and hold hands while gazing heavenward!
Blessings to all,
Hriman
In the so-called rule of law (to which we salute as bringing peace, security and order to the chaos of self-interested human behavior), we might find that our obligation to pay our taxes conflicts with our conscientious objection to how those taxes are used.
In a relationship, one partner may object to his partner's friendship with another person on the grounds of it being too personal, too familiar; the other will presumably affirm her right and valuable need to have other friendships and may insist that such friendships are not of the romantic or committed nature of their own with one another. The one intuits trouble, or is suspicious, jealous or fearful; the other denies it, whether being merely naive, subconsciously dishonest, or in fact completely innocent.
Most religious sects insist theirs is the best and most likely to bestow salvation. Others insist that all religions are based on and offer more or less the same virtues and rewards. A religionist insists on the existence of God while the atheist demands proof. Nondualists say God is without form; devotees ("bhaktis") worship God in the form they hold dear.
Some scientists, like Albert Einstein was, are bent upon finding universal natural laws that apply throughout the universe. Others are content to find what works under prescribed conditions, perhaps solely with the object of discovering new and useful (perhaps profitable) products.
Meta-physicians see in human conduct and motivation the interplay of universal states of consciousness guided by a unifying motivation: our souls seeking eternal happiness. By contrast, a psychologist might seek a specific cause and effect such as how your parents treated you.
I find myself in that category of persons (there being, of course, "two kinds of people in this world") who, when coming upon someone's personal account, am likely to say something that will generalize that person's experience into the context of a universal response. I hope, thereby, to help that person see that his predicament is shared with many. Indeed, is there any human emotion or reaction that isn't shared by millions under similar circumstances?
Yet in doing so, I might be intentionally or inadvertently seeming to dismiss the opportunity to be helpful or at least sympathetic. As if by saying, "Yeah, that happens to everyone." (So, therefore, let it go.)
It is true, however that seeing my own problems in a larger context can help me to step back from the emotional intensity of my reaction. An astrology reading, for example, gives one the benefit of seeing larger forces and tendencies at play in one's life. One person might be tempted to shirk responsibility (blaming the impersonal forces of the stars), another might find the longer rhythm perspective calming and insightful.
That other category of persons (the more personal) will undoubtedly respond to a friend's woes with moral outrage. In so doing, however, she might find herself as upset as her friend and lead them both nowhere but into a pit of emotion. Or, maybe instead, having responded sympathetically, she might come up with practical suggestions on how to resolve or improve the situation.
So, you see, there is a place for both approaches. It IS helpful to view our lives more impersonally. "Thoughts are universally, not individually, rooted," Paramhansa Yogananda (author of the classic, "Autobiography of a Yogi") is frequently quoted as saying. Having lived In Los Angeles during the heyday of Hollywood (1925-1952), Yogananda was apt to compare life to the movies. He encouraged students to step back from the drama of life and look to the "beam of light" being projected from the booth of eternity. In that light we are all one and the drama of life is seen as but moving shadows of light and dark projected on screen of life. We then can see the alternating currents of sadness and happiness, tragedy and comedy, and birth, life, and death. The impersonal point of view is potentially helpful for everyone (BOTH kinds of people, that is) to contemplate.
I've been watching the series, Cosmos. It's quite fun and interesting, though I bristle from time to time with its narrow view of human history: it's unending characterization of ancient man as little more than hairy cave dwellers and with its only slightly hidden message that science will make us not only more intelligent but happier.
The joy, indeed the smirk, that astrophysicists and astronomers seem to perpetually wear is the equivalent to the smugness exhibited by nondualistic philosophers (like me). It reminds me of that expression: "The operation was a success, but the patient died peacefully on the table."
This attitude is all too often sterile: dead on arrival. It can be an excuse for aloofness, lack of feeling, and unwillingness to lift a finger to help another person in his grief or time of need. Sure, God is all there is; God is One & Eternal; God has manifested Himself in the creation.....etc. etc. Wonderful, but how does that help me along with my wife or my co-workers? What about the grief, sorrow and suffering of so many people around me? Yes, indeed, the scientific or metaphysical views of the cosmos and creation may be factually true or intellectually satisfying but too strict a view is apt to shrivel my heart and apt to belittle the significance of anyone's personal life!
Indeed, as a nondualist and Vedantin, I find the impersonal view inspiring but, at the same time, I would do well to be as impersonal towards my own feelings as to those of others!
Any true scripture (try the Book of Genesis, e.g.) will address both the "Why God made this creation" and the "Why that's important to me" questions. (Contrast Chapter 1 of Genesis with Chapter 2, wherein the impersonal descends with breath-taking speed to the very personal.) Both the impersonal and the personal are needed. Our minds want to know "why," our hearts want to know what we can do about it. Truth must blend, or reconcile, the impersonal with the personal. Reason and feeling.
Life treats armchair philosophers rather rudely. "Your religion (life philosophy) is tested in the cold light of day" a wise person once wrote. Take life personally if you are to act responsibly and have any hope of finding true happiness in this roiling, ever-insecure cauldron we call life. Take life TOO personally, and you are apt to augur downward towards anger, resentment, paranoia, or depression.
"Think globally; act locally." This neatly sums up the integration of your philosophy with your emotions. I say emotions because our feelings are the engine that quick-starts us into action. Philosophy is dry; emotions are wet! We need both, lest we die either of thirst or by drowning.
Introspect, therefore, as to you own temperament: do you take the dry, intellectual or impersonal point of view, or do you tend to get down and personal? Learn to refine your responses and to balance them with the other. See the big picture but act to improve the little picture of here and now. The latter is a microcosm of the former. Life is a hologram!
So, when the stars come out at night, go outside with a friend and hold hands while gazing heavenward!
Blessings to all,
Hriman
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