Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Nature, Mysticism and Sermons


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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