riverisimilitude 2: the reach

riverisimilitude 1: reeding the end

Robert Adams & Last Words of Ramana Maharshi

When I was eighteen years old, I arrived at Tiruvannamalai. In those days they didn’t have jet planes. It was a propeller plane. I purchased flowers and a bag of fruit to bring to Ramana. I took the rickshaw to the ashram. It was about 8:30 a.m. I entered the hall and there was Ramana on his couch reading his mail. It was after breakfast. I brought the fruit and the flowers over and laid them on his feet. There was a guardrail in front of him to prevent fanatics from attacking him with love. And then I sat down in front of him. He looked at me and smiled, and I smiled back.

I have been to many teachers, many saints, many sages. I was with Nisargadatta, Ananda Mayi Ma, Papa Ramdas, Neem Karoli Baba and many others, but never did I meet anyone who exuded such compassion, such love, such bliss as Ramana Maharshi. There were about thirty people in the room. He looked at me and asked me if I’d eaten breakfast. I said, ‘No’. He spoke some Tamil to the attendant and the attendant came back with two giant leaves, one with fruit and one with some porridge with pepper. After I had consumed the food, I just lay down on the floor. I was very tired.

It was time for his usual walk. He had arthritis in the legs and could hardly walk at that time. After his attendants had helped him to get up, he walked out the door. When he was outside he said something to his attendants, and his attendants motioned for me to come. He guided me to a little shack that I was going to use while I stayed there. He came inside with me, and I bet you think we spoke about profound subjects. On the contrary, he was a natural man. He was the Self of the universe. He asked me how my trip was, where I was from, what made me come here. Then he said I should rest, so I lay down on the cot and he left.

I was awakened about 5 o’clock. It was Ramana again. He came by himself and he brought me food. Can you imagine that? We spoke briefly; I ate and I slept. The next morning I went into the hall. After the morning chanting there was breakfast, and everybody sat around just watching Ramana as he went through his routine. He would go through the mail and read it out loud, talk to some of his devotees. I just observed everything. His composure never changed. Never did I see such compassion, such love.

  

********

Six months prior to his leaving his body, I went to Bangalore to see Papa Ramdas. While I was there, I was informed that he [Bhagavan] had left his body. I went back to Tiruvannamalai. The crowds had already started to come, thousands and thousands of people. So, I climbed the hill and went into one of the caves. I stayed there for five days. When I came down, the crowds had dispersed. Ramana had already been interred.

I enquired of the devotee who saw him last, ‘What were the last words he spoke?’

The devotee said, ‘While he was leaving his body a peacock flew on top of the hall and started screeching. Ramana remarked to his devotee, ‘Has anyone fed the peacock yet?’ Those were the last words he spoke.

Now, let’s talk about you. Think of the problems you believe you have. Think of the nonsense that you go on with everyday. Think how furious you become, how you always want to stick up for your rights, as if you had any. The problem is, you think. If you would only stop thinking.

You say, ‘How can I function if I stop thinking?’

Very well, thank you! As a matter of fact you will function much better than you do now, for you will always be taken care of. The universe loves you. It will always supply you with your needs. Forget about other people, what they do, what they don’t do. Do not listen to malicious gossip. Be yourself. Understand who you really are. You are the absolute reality, unconditioned consciousness. Work from that standpoint. Do not work from your problems. Do not get lost in meaningless gossip. Understand your true reality. Be yourself.

What Ramana taught was not new. Ramana simply taught the Upanishads. ‘Who am I?’ has been around since time immemorial. If a teacher always tells you he has something new to teach you, be careful, because there’s nothing new under the sun. Ramana simply revised the ‘Who am I’ philosophy and made it simple for people in the twentieth century. But what did he teach? He simply taught that you are not the body-mind principle. He simply taught that if you have a problem, do not feel sorry for yourself, do not go to psychiatrists, do not condemn yourself. Simply ask yourself, ‘To whom does this problem come?’ And of course the answer will be, ‘The problem comes to me’. Hold onto the ‘me’. Follow the ‘me’ to the source, the substratum of all existence.

How do you do that? How do you hold onto ‘me’? How do you hold onto ‘I’? By simply asking yourself, ‘Who am I? What am I?’ It’s the same thing. Ask yourself again and again, ‘Who am I?’

Forget about time. Forget about space. Forget everything. Keep yourself from thinking. When the thoughts come, ask yourself, ‘To whom comes the thoughts?’

Again, ‘They come to me.’ Hold onto the ‘me’. ‘I think these thoughts. Well then, Who am I? Who thinks these thoughts? Who am I?’

An easier way to do this I have found is to simply say to yourself, ‘I-I, I-I,’ and you will notice as you do this, the I-I goes deeper, deeper, deeper within you into your Heart centre, right to the source. For westerners I have found that saying ‘I-I’ seems to be more helpful than ‘Who am I?’ Again, do not look at time. Do not ask yourself, ‘When is something going to happen?’

A devotee went to Ramana and said, ‘I’ve been with you for twenty-five years, doing “Who am I?” and nothing has happened yet,’ so Ramana said, ‘Try it another twenty-five and see what happens’.

~Robert Adams (edited) via David Godman post on Arunachala and Sri Ramana Maharshi

Ramana Maharshi: First Words to the West

Paul Brunton was born in London in 1898. He was originally born Raphael Hurst. He was a bookseller and journalist. Brunton wrote under various pseudonyms, including Raphael Meriden and Raphael Delmonte, Later, he chose the pen name Brunton Paul, but for some reason, perhaps a printer's error, the names were reversed to Paul Brunton, a name that he kept. He served in a tank division during the First World War, and later devoted himself to mysticism and came into contact with Theosophists. Being partner of an occult bookshop, The Atlantis Bookshop, in Bloomsbury, Brunton came into contact with both the literary and occult British intelligentsia of the 1920s. In the early 1930s, Brunton embarked on a voyage to India, which brought him into contact with such luminaries as Meher Baba, Sri Shankaracharya of Kancheepuram and Sri Ramana Maharshi. When Brunton met the Shankaracharya of Kanchipuram he was directed to meet Sri Ramana. Brunton's first visit to Sri Ramana's ashram took place in 1931. ...Brunton has been credited with introducing Ramana Maharshi to the West through his books A Search in Secret India and The Secret Path. (from Wikipedia)

There is something in this man which holds my attention as steel filings are held by a magnet. I cannot turn my gaze away from him. My initial bewilderment, my perplexity at being totally ignored, slowly fade away as this strange fascination begins to grip me more firmly. But it is not till the second hour of the uncommon scene that I become aware of a silent, resistless change which is taking place within my mind. One by one, the questions which I prepared in the train with such meticulous accuracy drop away. For it does not now seem to matter whether they are asked or not, and it does not matter whether I solve the problems which have hitherto troubled me. I know only that a steady river of quietness seems to be flowing near me; that a great peace is penetrating the inner reaches of my being, and that my thought-tortured brain is beginning to arrive at some rest.

How small seem those questions which I have asked myself with such frequency? How petty grows the panorama of the last years! I perceive with sudden clarity that intellect creates its own problems and then makes itself miserable trying to solve them. This is indeed a novel concept to enter the mind of one who has hitherto placed such high value upon intellect.

I surrender myself to the steadily deepening sense of restfulness until two hours have passed. The passage of time now provokes no irritation, because I feel that the chains of mind-made problems are being broken and thrown away. And then, little by little, a new question takes the field of consciousness.

“Does this man, the Maharshi, emanate the perfume of spiritual peace as the flower emanates fragrance from its petals?”

I do not consider myself a competent person to apprehend spirituality, but I have personal reactions to other people. The dawning suspicion that the mysterious peace which has arisen within me must be attributed to the geographical situation in which I am now placed, is my reaction to the personality of the Maharshi. I begin to wonder whether, by some radioactivity of the soul, some unknown telepathic process, the stillness which invades the troubled waters of my own soul really comes from him. Yet he remains completely impassive completely unaware of my very existence, it seems.

Comes the first ripple. Someone approaches me and whispers in my ear. “Did you not wish to question the Maharshi?”

He may have lost patience, this quondam guide of mine. More likely, he imagines that I, a restless European, have reached the limit of my own patience. Alas, my inquisitive friend! Truly I came here to question your Master, but now ... I, who am at peace with all the world and with myself, why should I trouble my head with questions? I feel that the ship of my soul is beginning to slip its moorings; a wonderful sea waits to be crossed; yet you would draw me back to the noisy port of this world, just when I am about to start the great adventure!

But the spell is broken. As if this infelicitous intrusion is a signal, figures rise from the floor and begin to move about the hall, voices float up to my hearing, and wonder of wonders! — the dark brown eyes of the Maharshi flicker once or twice. Then the head turns, the face moves slowly, very slowly, and bends downward at an angle. A few more moments and it has brought me into the ambit of its vision. For the first time the Sage’s mysterious gaze is directed upon me. It is plain that he has now awakened from his long trance.

The intruder, thinking perhaps that my lack of response is a sign that I have not heard him, repeats his question aloud. But in those lustrous eyes which are gently staring at me, I read another question, albeit unspoken:

“Can it be — is it possible — that you are still tormented with distracting doubts when you have now glimpsed the deep mental peace which you — and all men — may attain?”

The peace overwhelms me. I turn to the guide and answer: “No. There is nothing I care to ask now. Another time ”

The midday meal is over. For once I am grateful that India is favoured with a climate which does not foster activity, because most of the people have disappeared into the shady groves to take a siesta. I can therefore approach the Maharshi in the way I prefer, without undue notice or fuss.

I enter the large hall and sit down near him. The Maharshi holds a folded manuscript book in his hands; he is writing something with extreme slowness. A few minutes after my entry he puts the book aside and calls a disciple. A few words pass between them in Tamil and the man tells me that his master wishes to reiterate his regrets at my inability to partake of their food. He explains that they live a simple life, and never having catered for Europeans before do not know what the latter eat. I add that I regard the question of diet as being far less important than the quest which has brought me to his hermitage.

The Sage listens intently, his face calm, imperturbable and non-committal.

“It is a good object,” he comments at length.

This encourages me to enlarge upon the same theme.

“Master, I have studied our Western philosophies and sciences, lived and worked among the people of our crowded cities, tasted their pleasures and allowed myself to be caught up into their ambitions. Yet I have also gone into solitary places and wandered there amid the loneliness of deep thought. I have questioned the sages of the West; now I have turned my face towards the East. I seek more light.”

The Maharshi nods his head, as if to say, “Yes, I quite understand.”

“I have heard many opinions, listened to many theories. Intellectual proofs of one belief or another lie piled up all around me. I am tired of them, sceptical of anything which cannot be proved by personal experience. Forgive me for saying so, but I am not religious. Is there anything beyond man’s material existence? If so, how can I realize it for myself?”

The three or four devotees who are gathered around us stare in surprise. Have I offended the subtle etiquette of the hermitage by speaking so brusquely and boldly to their Master? I do not know; perhaps I do not care. The accumulated weight of many years’ desire has unexpectedly escaped my control and passed beyond my lips. If the Maharshi is the right kind of man, surely he will understand and brush aside mere lapses from convention.

He makes no verbal reply but appears to have dropped into some train of thought. Because there is nothing else to do and because my tongue has now been loosened, I address him for the third time:

“The wise men of the West, our scientists, are greatly honoured for their cleverness. Yet they have confessed that they can throw but little light upon the hidden truth behind life. It is said that there are some in your land who can give what our Western sages fail to reveal. Is this so? Can you assist me to experience enlightenment? Or is the search itself a mere delusion?”

I have now reached my conversational objective and decide to await the Maharshi’s response. He continues to stare thoughtfully at me. Perhaps he is pondering over my questions. Ten minutes pass in silence.

At last his lips open and he says gently:

“You say I. ‘I want to know.’ Tell me, who is that I?”

What does he mean? He has now cut across the services of the interpreter and speaks direct to me in English. Bewilderment creeps across my brain.

“I am afraid I do not understand your question,” I reply blankly.

“Is it not clear? Think again!”

I puzzle over his words once more. An idea suddenly flashes into my head. I point a finger towards myself and mention my name.

“And do you know him?”

“All my life!” I smile back at him.

“But that is only your body! Again I ask, ‘Who are you’?”

I cannot find a ready answer to this extraordinary query. The Maharshi continues:

“Know first that I and then you shall know the truth.”

My mind hazes again. I am deeply puzzled. This bewilderment finds verbal expression. But the Maharshi has evidently reached the limit of his English, for he turns to the interpreter and the answer is slowly translated to me:

“There is only one thing to be done. Look into your own self. Do this in the right way and you shall find the answer to all your problems.”

It is a strange rejoinder. But I ask him:

“What must one do? What method can I pursue?”

“Through deep reflection on the nature of one’s self and through constant meditation, the light can be found.”

~Paul Brunton, 'A Search in Secret India' 1934

profisee 15 - the dream of saint francis

last night i dreamt

the world was waiting for

saint francis to awaken

and on awakening

the world was seeing

it was nothing but a dream

as in the mind

light descends

into a body

yet in the light

of loving truth

there's ever always

only light

profisee 14 - in the belly of consciousness

consciousness is

one

great

umbilical cord

separation is

the dawning of a dream

that always ends

in nightmare

the center is

awareness

and its point is

void

unconditional love is

just the way

undivided consciousness

is

profisee 13 - sans world, sans everything

all the world

is

in the mind

and none of it is real

but acting in the world as if it isn’t real

is

just the mind thinking that it is

there's no reason to reject the you

for the you

is

youless

profisee 12 - the atomizing of creation

Mind dreams body-mind

and touches it with

identification

this Touch of Mind is in

the finger of

conditioning

in the chapel of love,

awaken to

the touchless

footnote to profisee 11 - self-remembering fixedly

Nothing written here is original. Often there’s a response to words read. If it was possible to see the writing behind the wall, this is what would be revealed:

Nisargadatta Maharaj:

These [qualifications and opportunities] will come with earnestness. What is supremely important is to be free from contradictions: the goal and the way must not be on different levels; life and light must not quarrel; behavior must not betray belief. Call it honesty, integrity, wholeness; you must not go back, undo, uproot, abandon the conquered ground. Tenacity of purpose and honesty in pursuit will bring you to your goal.

Stephen Levine on Miao Shan (Kuan Yin):

She found her heart in the first breath upon waking...

And she found that noting the intentions at the beginning and end of each breath kept her even more focused on her purpose. And, most wonderfully, this recognition of intention, a choice, before action purified her actions and seemed to clear much of what many refer to as karma (which she defined as simply “momentum”).

Able to enter her original heart, she was getting the teaching from every nook and cranny.

Bodhidharma (Tanlin) (tr- John McRae):

The entrance of principle is to become enlightened to the Truth on the basis of the teaching. One must have a profound faith in the fact that one and the same True Nature is possessed of all sentient beings, both ordinary and enlightened, and that this True Nature is only covered up and made imperceptible by false sense impressions.

If one discards the false and takes refuge in the True, one resides frozen in "wall contemplation", in which self and other, ordinary person and sage, are one and the same; one resides fixedly without wavering, never again to be swayed by written teachings. To be thus mysteriously identified with the True Principle, to be without discrimination, serene and inactive: This is called the entrance of principle.

P. D. Ouspensky:

I was once walking along the Liteiny towards the Nevsky, and in spite of all my efforts I was unable to keep my attention on self-remembering. The noise, movement, everything distracted me. Every minute I lost the thread of attention, found it again, and then lost it again. At last I felt a kind of ridiculous irritation with myself and I turned into the street on the left having firmly decided to keep my attention on the fact that I would remember myself at least for some time, at any rate until I reached the following street. I reached the Nadejdinskaya without losing the thread of attention except, perhaps, for short moments. Then I again turned towards the Nevsky realizing that, in quiet streets, it was easier for me not to lose the line of thought and wishing therefore to test myself in more noisy streets. I reached the Nevsky still remembering myself, and was already beginning to experience the strange emotional state of inner peace and confidence which comes after great efforts of this kind. Just around the corner on the Nevsky was a tobacconist’s shop where they made my cigarettes. Still remembering myself I thought I would call there and order some cigarettes.

Two hours later I woke up in the Tavricheskaya, that is, far away. I was going by ivostchik to the printers. The sensation of awakening was extraordinarily vivid. I can almost say that I came to. I remembered everything at once. How I had been walking along the Nadejdinskaya, how I had been remembering myself, how I had thought about cigarettes, and how at this thought I seemed to fall and disappear into a deep sleep. At the same time, while immersed in this sleep, I had continued to perform consistent and expedient actions. I left the tobacconist, called at my flat in the Liteiny, telephoned to the printers. I wrote two letters. Then again I went out of the house . . . And on the way while driving along the Tavricheskaya I began to feel a strange uneasiness, as though I had forgotten something. And I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to remember myself.

These would be endless, but I stop here, to begin at the beginning again.

The concept of a spiritual warrior is a pervasive one in the literature. It can be a dangerous one as well. One’s identification with thought is divisional in essence. Thought in essence separates and categorizes. War is its nature.

When closely investigated, its seen in everything people do, although it’s covered up and hidden in daily self-deceptions. It’s a god eat god world. It's every thought for themselves. If you don't look out for your self, surely some concept will.

It’s important to see this is not a pointed attack on warriors in the military; they are merely people made plainest. Every person is a warrior, fighting for their security at work, at play, and even in relationships. It’s such a part of the personal daily existence, it’s not even recognized as anything untoward. Thoreau called this silent acceptance of the world “quiet desperation.” What else can a person do but takes things personally?

profisee 11 - an effortless resting within the power of impersonal affectionate omnipotent potential

the true warrior

is

the no-warrior

the real work of the mind

is to stay in

the heart

its every thought exhaled

concerns

a silencing inhaled