In the wake of a
free car-wash (rain of course; nothing comes free here in America. No, not even
water or air), I thought about the beauty of nature. The way we look outwardly
into the nature and project something inwardly through thoughts, beauty, and
poetry is very mysterious. When rain falls here, I barely smell any earth.
Everywhere is concrete, cement, rocks and wood. No fresh air after the rain, no
sound of plopping of drops of water on a ditch filled road, no corn leafs
making music to it, no tin roof approving of it. It rains here and the land dries
within five minutes. Which poet would ever write a poem about a rain in Dallas
Metroplex? Just a thought …a silly rhetoric really… would Guirdeff or Hartman
or Nanak or Kabir ever compose anything of substance in a ‘Dallas rain’?
All the greatest
of poets are usually born and raised by the rivers, jungles, lakes, and
mountains. I can think of Guirdjeff, whose books I have recently revisited. In
his fondest of memories, he references a festival where best of musicians, singers;
poets of the generation used to gather and compete to compose something tremendous,
often organized and observed by a very large community, in a valley surrounded by high mountains. The winner
(he would be rewarded a fat goat by the way) would be the one who can compose, sing
or play some instrument which can vibrate and produce echoes in the mountains.
Now mind you! Not every sound in that mountain echoes. It is something very
mysterious. On one occasion he witnessed as he followed his father to the festival,
one flute player who plays with such passion and creates such a beautiful cord,
the mountains started to echo, vibrate and sing after him. People were awestruck.
The nature knows the music. Poetry, art, dancing etc. are some other things
which are universal in communication and deeply connected to nature. Only poets
like Tagore can write poetry to touch the soul, only great musicians like Hartman
can compose for ‘enlightenment Dance’, only Kabir can sing to your heart, only
Guirdeff can dance to the likes of nature. These people can touch the soul and
stir mysticism in there. They can communicate even to the nature, tress and
clouds, rivers and lakes, although for an ordinary man these things are inert. Those
people were not ordinary men. In fact,
Guirdeff titles his book, meeting with remarkable men.
To feel
mysticism and the innermost consciousness, people need to be with the nature. The
human history has proved it. All mystics in the east or west have talked about
it and authenticated. All poets, singers, artists were, in some stage of their
lives felt something experiencing this nature, in their core, which shook them
and made them extraordinary, although, the events were just ordinary in
themselves. Nobody has to go meditate in the jungle for years; no one has to
play beautiful music to feel the silence of the innermost soul. Not to sound
like a phony Indian guru, I hate to use these words, but I confess the mindless
mind and thoughtless thought can be achieved, not by being celibate all life or
singling praise Hare Ram Hare Krishna, or roting the Sermon on the Mount. Honestly,
just to mention, I sometimes wonder what would have happened to Bible if Sermon
on the Mount was not included.
Back to the topic: even uneducated,
unsophisticated, uncultured, unimaginative, unpredictable, unhappy, afraid,
unreligious soul can lay in the bed, at night wrapped up in a blanket, after an
eventful tiring but nevertheless an ordinary day, hear the rain pouring in the
maize plant leaves, see the lightning, feel wind whistling by window cracks and
just witness it without thoughts and projections, absorb it without judgments
of any kind, be it, live it. It is an extraordinary experience. People can
experience it but most of us all only can poorly explain it, just like my
futile attempt here. Blessed are those who flows in this music, and be the song;
for them the God dances in heaven. Blessed are those who judge not but absorb
the thundering of the sky; for them the God plays his drum. Blessed are those
who experience the God in such rain; for them God himself manifest in the
nature. Blessed are those poor souls, who in spite of the expected rough days
of tomorrows, smile in the dark, not to please his neighbors, not even to their
partners, but because they live there
totally for a moment and unconsciously conscious of the present, fully
acknowledging without thinking, or even trying, the Heaven for eternity. Blessed
are those who quit roting Gita and Bible for a while and disappears in the
thoughtless thought of this rain, for them Nepalese, who understand it, a
Dharmaraj song playing in the radio is like Jesus speaking on the mount at that
moment.
Jham Jham Jham Jham
Pani Paryo Asarko Raat
Paari Bata Bajna Lage
Makaika Paat
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