Sunday, May 25, 2008

Luminaries, part I: The River of Life

I sat in the twilight watching as they made their way down the path to the river. There must have been two hundred of them—some alone, some with family members, each carrying a glowing lantern. These ‘luminaries’ had been decorated in remembrance of a departed loved one, some recently gone, some who had passed years ago. Other people without lanterns had grown silent, recognizing the emotional and sacred nature of the moment. These empathetic observers lined the river’s banks from the bridge overlooking the release point to the downstream turn in the river where the luminaries would float out to sea.

A prayer was spoken to acknowledge each departed person, who had once lighted the heart of a loved one or a friend. That life was now being remembered in the glow of a symbolically painted lantern which would soon be placed into the stream.

When I had arrived earlier at the hospice ‘Celebration of Life,’ I looked over the information tables, spoke with some friends, listened to music and enjoyed the communal atmosphere. I glanced at a table with what looked like some kids’ home-made lamps. Then I saw her. On one of the lanterns I saw a picture of Joyce, one of my former hospice patients. All of a sudden, tears welled up in my eyes. She would be floating down the river tonight.

Now the moment had arrived. The first luminary was released, then another and another. In a few minutes the river was full of lights moving slowly down the River of Life, igniting memories of good and hard times, of youth, of old age, of last words and special embraces, of legacies and lessons learned. Then came the tears. In the darkness, tears flow more easily. Each person along the banks of that river remembered someone. Each person was alone in their sadness, but united in a common fate of love and loss.

Now I looked out into the darkness straining intensely to see Joyce’s luminary. Did I see it there? Was she really heading out to sea? Out of the blue, a dream from the night before flashed in my mind. The main visitor in that dream was my Dad, who died ten years ago. Perhaps his luminary was out in the water too! Then other memories flooded in—of departed loved ones and friends, of hospice patients who had become new friends before swiftly leaving our friendship and the world. Suddenly, my night vision came on and I saw everyone on that river bank crying desperately, inconsolable at loss after loss after loss. The River of Life had become a River of Death.

There were tears for loved ones and friends, and friends of friends; for fathers and mothers, grandparents and children, for unknown families lost in the Myanmar cyclone and the China earthquake. The River swelled with the tears of hundreds, thousands, billions of crying human beings. The whole world was crying, but the River never came onshore. It flowed on without noticing, carrying the luminaries slowly out to sea.

Luminaries, part II: The River of Light

Gradually, the scene before my eyes began to change. Minutes before, as people released the Luminaries of their departed loved ones, everyone had stood on the shore alone in the darkness of their grief, in stunned silence and reverie. Now, there was a rustle here and there; people were moving around. What was going on?

I had noticed immediately that each Luminary upon release into the water seemed to have a mind of its own, or perhaps ‘karma’ of its own. Some of them moved swiftly into the middle of the river, sailing quickly toward the awaiting ocean. Others drifted toward the shore and seemed to get stuck in a place of no movement. Some of the lanterns got caught in little whirlpools and even moved backwards for a while.

Then I understood what was happening. People were moving down to the river in the darkness to free the lanterns that had gone off course, or were wandering lost around the banks. A little boy pushed two stranded lanterns out away from the bank with a stick. A man made waves with his hands which sent several helpless lanterns out toward the middle of the river, to the main stream of lights moving toward the ocean. The energy in the crowd shifted from sadness and loss to joy.

Then I saw a small boat out in the water. Several people were sailing in the darkness to rescue lost Luminaries and set them moving toward the ocean-seeking current. The crowd saw the boat and cheered. No Luminary will be lost! They will all reach the ocean! This physical and metaphysical reality hit me like a brick. Here on this one tiny planet on a little Island in the Pacific Ocean, a handful of human beings were making damn sure that the Luminaries of their departed loved ones would make it down the river to their destination in the ocean. Would an all-loving Supreme Being do any less?

The inescapable truth of unlimited mercy and universal salvation was so palpable to me in that moment that I started a one-way conversation in my head: ‘You ministers who talk of eternal damnation by a loving God….come down to this river bank tonight and see how every soul is saved. See the mercy of mere human beings who will in no way let a beloved relative or friend fail to reach their destination. Did you notice, my brother, that not a single Luminary floated upstream, away from the ocean. Did you see, my sister, that all lights got out to the sea---though some had gone off course and appeared lost? Can you see my friends how a loving God, the dearmost Friend and Beloved of all souls, will not allow a single soul to remain lost forever?’

That river, which in our humanity and sorrow had seemed a river of darkness and death, had now become a river of hope, a river of light.

In this Ashram of the World, every human drama, every act of heroism and courage becomes a metaphysical lesson for us—if we have the eyes to see.

Luminaries, part III: The River’s End

There was once a river that flowed from a high, high mountain. It was said that this particular mountain, being closest to the sky, received only those blessed rains containing souls arriving from the upper world. These new immigrant spirits thus began their journey down the river of life.

One day a little boy noticed the way in which souls traveled the river. He saw some spirits flying down the middle of the stream, streaking toward the ocean like comets. The boy was impressed! ‘These must be the little ones who finish their journey quickly to get back home soon,’ he thought. He saw other spirits gently gliding along the river as if they would float forever. ‘Those must be the aged ones who live long and full lives so they can share wisdom about the river with others coming behind.’ The boy saw other spirits caught in little eddies or big whirlpools. They seemed to go round in circles, or get battered against the rocks. ‘Uh oh, those must be the ones who have a rough ride in the river school. I have heard that some of these become powerful survivors who go on to great deeds.’

The boy watched the river and the spirits for a long time. He noticed several truths about the river and its spirit travelers. Most obviously, all of the souls moved in the same direction—downstream. The boy never saw a traveling spirit make much progress against the current, although many of them tried with all their might. No matter how hard a traveler struggled to reverse direction on the river of life, soon a new rain or a strong wave would push him along with the others.

One day the boy wandered all the way to the river’s end and saw traveler after traveler hit the ocean with a yell of triumph. Shortly thereafter, he noticed these life-completed spirits being ‘evaporated’ back up into the Great Raincloud from which they had all come. He wondered if all of the spirits he saw up the river would get to the ocean. Moving on his little path back upstream the boy saw time and again a traveler who was stuck in a whirlpool, or exhausted and unmoving, or languishing in a brackish backwash. Would these spirits make it to the sea?

The boy would sit and watch a trapped or exhausted traveler, sometimes for hours or even days, to see if anyone would come to the rescue. Sometimes a new traveler coming downstream would bump into the stuck traveler, pushing her back out into the main course of the river. Or compassionate travelers, who seemed to be looking toward every rough patch of water, would reach out a hand to grasp an exhausted brother or sister. The boy also noticed some mysterious occurrences where no spirit traveler was involved, but a trapped soul would be freed without any visible intervention.

The boy’s grandfather once told him that he had also been a ‘river watcher’ in his childhood. He claimed to have met a magical being down by the river’s end one day who told him that he could ask one question about the ‘doings’ of this river and the spirits who traveled it. The boy-grandfather asked about the spirits ‘who got evaporated’ up into the heavens. Were they all going to the same destination? The wise being smiled and answered, “No my child, at least not right away; many will return with the rain to this great mountain or another mountain some where in the universe. These are called the ‘life finishers.’ They will come back for another ride down the river school, likely a very different ride next time. And some deep-hearted ones will go above the Great Raincloud and beyond the rainbow to our homeworld and never return. These are the ‘life graduaters.’ But, do not fret! Every one of them will graduate beyond the rainbow in time.”

His grandfather had died two years ago. The boy never met the magical being down at the river’s end. But after years of watching the river and its travelers, he sat down one day with his school notebook and wrote: All souls travel downstream; all souls get the help they need; all souls make it to the ocean in their own time; all souls eventually return to their Source.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

I Wonder

Honoka’a is a little town in the northern part of Hawaii’s Big Island that overlooks the Pacific Ocean at an altitude of about 1,000 feet. It is named for the many caves which have been created by the ocean’s endless pounding of tall cliffs along this part of the Hamakua coast. Sitting here today in my ‘sea cave’ (honoka’a), breathing the ‘breath of God’ (hamakua), I wonder about the world.

I wonder why we have created such a busy world where the simple and profound acts of life (such as taking a single day off for deep meditation and contemplation) have become something we can only do by working, working and working to save for a ‘vacation.’ Ana reminds me that the word vacation means that one ‘vacates’ their routine place or way of living and working in order to find a more exciting or relaxing place to be for awhile.

I wonder why some so-called ‘primitive’ cultures (e.g., the Zuni of New Mexico) may have over 200 days of ‘vacation’ or ‘ceremonial celebration’ as a community, while we can only muster up a hand full of holidays (used to be ‘holy days’), and two or three weeks of personal vacation time per year.

I wonder why we think that happiness comes from complex, technology-crazy living and low-brow entertainment, rather than the ancient cultural dictum of ‘simple living, high thinking.’

It is said that five millennia ago in Naimisaranya, India, once believed to be the ‘hub of the universe,’ many seers gathered to perform a great sacrifice for the benefit of the people of our time. They were able to see what would be the lacks and needs of those who would take birth in this Winter Age of the Universe. That ‘Kali Yuga Age’ was just beginning, and the sages saw signs of a coming ‘spiritual winter’ when earth’s residents would become wrapped up in worldly affairs, working like animals just for material maintenance—thus missing the precious opportunity for spiritual evolution available in the human form of life.

Long ago, the sages foretold that such a time would come. Those great souls seemed to always spend their time by the river, a holy river such as the Ganges or the Jordan. Thinking thus, sitting here in the little seaside town of Honoka’a, I release my mind from wondering and worrying about the imperfections of this day and age and offer gratitude for the gift of this day---a day to sit by the Ocean into which all of the holy rivers flow.

So today, like our spiritual ancestors, I sit by the water, chant ancient mantras, feel the purity of God’s breath, and look out to where sacred rivers of all faiths have mingled together as one. And, in awe, I wonder.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Mistaken Identity

A four year old boy named Jacob is convinced that he is a girl trapped in a male body. No matter how hard his parents try to get him to play with ‘boy toys’ or to stop dreaming of wearing dresses, Jacob cannot shake his conviction that he is a girl. As years go by he struggles to resist his urges toward all things female (including the color pink) until the age of ten when he puts a gun to his head threatening to kill himself unless he is allowed to ‘be who I am.’

A National Public Radio program explored in detail a split within the psychotherapy community between therapists who believe that children like Jacob have been culturally conditioned toward the ‘wrong sex’ and those who adamantly believe that some children are indeed boys trapped in girl’s bodies and vice versa. One thing is clear: children or adults who feel forced to be someone other than who they are inside may go through immense confusion and suffering.

I have had two friends over the years who struggled with these types of issues. I know from counseling with them the deep and traumatic pain they both experienced in trying to come to grips with their ‘mistaken identity.’

Not only within the physical realm, but in spiritual circles as well, the issue of our true identity is a vital question. The inquiry “Who am I” is at the heart of the mystical path within the traditions of Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, Judaism and other faiths.

Some Eastern philosophies view a person as possessing three identities: a physical body, a subtle psyche, and a spiritual essence. Children who at a young age recognize that their innate male or female psyche does not match their physical body may struggle violently within themselves, as well as with well-meaning parents and teachers, to come to terms with an identity crisis that will not go away.

And those of us on the spiritual path may also reach a shocking point when we realize with unmistakable clarity that we are not who we appear to be. We are not just a man or a woman, an American or a Mexican, a Jew or a Christian, a Caucasian or a Filipino. Deeper than our physical body, our psyche, our ethnic, cultural and even religious identity we exist as our innermost identity—as primal spirit, or immortal soul.

“We are spirits in a material world,” sings the contemporary rock star as most of us nod in vague agreement. But if we do not at some point wake up to recognize our real identity as a spiritual being covered with a temporary physical body and psyche, we may wind up ‘living a lie’ like the boys who are girls and the girls who are boys inside. Our precious and fleeting human life will be compromised in a profound and tragic way if we do not wake up and live as who we truly are.

Then we will live powerful and free. We will live as who we are and have always been.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Seeds of Greatness

Michael Avery, a California eighth grader, has been signed to a basketball scholarship by the University of Kentucky for the 2012 season.

Many people were upset that such a young boy would be subject to the pressures of fame and the sports media when Michael’s scholarship was made public today. What I found ironic is that the intense scrutiny of young people to discover special talents is limited mostly to sports. Hundreds and thousands of sports ‘talent scouts’ fly all over the country and around the world looking for physically-gifted young people who could become elite football, basketball and baseball players.

What if hundreds and thousands of ‘scouts’ were out looking for young people who possessed the potential to become highly gifted poets, writers, politicians, spiritual teachers, visionary scientists, business leaders, etc. What if we were out looking for a potential president rather than a potential Superbowl quarterback. Think of the enormous value which could be added to America and its citizens if we sought out future public servants with the same intensity that we seek out future sports stars!

In some cultures of past and even recent history, special seers had a role in discovering the future greatness which existed in all of their society’s young. I met a man from India in the 1980’s who said that his father had the ability to understand a person’s unique gifts and destiny simply by observing his or her ‘karmic lines.’ These lines were said to be visible not only on hands and as fingerprints, but as facial lines and even peculiarities of the eyes. In ancient India, the role of a Brahman-guru-teacher was to look into the face and heart of a young student to see the special ‘seed of greatness’ which had been planted there by Destiny.

Psychologist James Hillman’s excellent book, The Soul’s Code, affirms this thesis: that each person’s destined greatness exists clearly in seed form in early childhood. His research indicates that those who grow to fulfill their destinies in a magnificent way have one thing in common—at least one adult saw each child’s special gift and encouraged the young person to follow their soul’s natural path.

The Wisdom Text Bhagavad-gita confirms the importance of a person following their own life purpose, their own special dharma, “Better to follow one’s own dharma imperfectly than another’s dharma perfectly.” The teaching is that following one’s own inherent seed of greatness leads to excellence in one’s service to society, but will also fill one’s heart with happiness because he or she is ‘doing what comes naturally.’

And spiritually, the peace we attain by following the path to which we are most inherently psychically attuned (our dharma) creates a foundation for accelerated spiritual progress. If I’m a satisfied farmer, or poet, or nurse or politician, I will be less likely to ‘run after the things of the world’ to find my happiness. My discretionary time may then be spent ‘growing my seed of greatness,’ evolving my soul through the lessons of the earth school—to more compassion, cooperation, love, generosity, service and wisdom; to love of God and love of man.

I wish the best for Michael the budding basketball star who will play for the University of Kentucky Wildcats in 2012. If his occupational calling, his seed of greatness, is in the sports arena, I pray that he attains his happiness there. And I pray that we as a society quickly wake up to assist all of our young people in cultivating their unique seeds of greatness. We will need their most heroic material and spiritual efforts to support the World Transformation prophesied for the 2012-era.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Whose God?

“God in All Worlds” read the title of the book. I paged through it recently, finding mostly Christian quotes with a few philosophers and sages of other religions thrown in for universality. But I sure liked the title.

How could God, a designation for Ultimate Reality, be less than any or all of the ways in which individuals and faith traditions have sought to understand that Being who is Being Itself? Religions and their apologists have an annoying tendency to point fingers at what they consider competing views of God. The ‘monotheists’ disparage the ‘polytheists,’ the ‘pantheists’ are at odds with the ‘monists’ and everyone seems to be down on the ‘atheists.’ Interestingly, all of these categorical views include the word ‘theos’ indicating God.

I grew up in the monotheistic tradition of Christianity (as a Southern Baptist) which posits a Transcendent Supreme Being. Later I discovered that my mother’s family were Quakers who came seven generations ago from Germany to Pennsylvania. I was also told by my mother that we had a Cherokee grand-relative in our family tree as well. Over the years, I was able to study with teachers and practitioners of these and other religious traditions. The Quakers are more inclined to commune with God as the ‘still small voice’ Who speaks to us when we quiet our mind/ego through prayer and meditation. The Cherokee, like most Native American traditions, honor a Great Spirit Who interpenetrates the world and can be seen, felt and heard within its natural phenomena.

These three views of God—as Transcendent, Immanent within ourselves, and Immanent within the world—all made sense to me. In fact, I felt over time that I was able to touch the Spirit Who is God through all of these avenues of communion.

My wonderful Baptist Church community in rural Georgia gave me a profound sense of God as the Supreme Loving Being. Although some of our ministers were a little intense for my taste, the deep-feeling hymns which we sang every Sunday and Wednesday night spoke of a God of beauty, wisdom, grace and mercy. However, after leaving home and meeting people of many denominations and faiths, the exclusivist doctrines of my boyhood church no longer resonated with my experiences in the greater world. I had been satisfied devotionally, but later disappointed theologically.

Baptist? Quaker? Native American? Were these views contradictory, half true or false? Was one right and the others wrong? For a few years I ignored religion, for it seemed that perhaps all religious views were arbitrary attempts to find ‘the one true way’ to the exclusion of all others. One day in Graduate School I came across a little book called “How to Know God.” It turned out to be an English translation of the quintessential yoga text—Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. The philosophy and theological perspective of this and other Vedic texts of India finally gave me a universal view which made sense--incorporating, at least for me, ways of seeing God or Truth which were complementary instead of contradictory.


The Vaishnava Vedic lineage that I eventually embraced as a monk even had venerable Sanskrit names to describe these three ‘faces of God’ that I had discovered in my Protestant Christian, Quaker and Native American heritages. Bhagavan described God as the Supreme Person, Brahman described God as interpenetrating Spirit within the world, and Paramatma described the God within, the ‘still small voice’ of the Quakers.

I was at last able to integrate the devotional heart of a Christian with the deep meditational practice of a Quaker, and the ecstatic harmony of an Indigenous oneness with Nature. God within all worlds came to be the God within my world. And for this, I will always be grateful to the Sanatan Dharma* tradition of India.


*Sanatan Dharma is the name preferred by practitioners of the ancient religion of India for their faith. Sanatan means ‘Eternal’ and ‘dharma’ means ‘the Way.’

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Every Flower will Bloom

A flower must bloom, even if it blooms once in a lifetime in the desert, even if it blooms in the morning and has withered by noon. The world is full of flowers: some are in full bloom, some are still hidden beneath the surface, some are just now going out in a blaze of glory on a windy day. If a flower never blooms in this world, then there must be other worlds that will witness its blooming glory one day. One day, one by one, they will indeed bloom. All of the countless lovers of the Beloved will surely bloom one day, finally mesmerized and blown open by the unstoppable love of God.

God is not an old man with a beard, though he may have taken up that disguise one day to get a point across, or to cause someone to laugh at the paradox of it all. God is love, God is beauty, God is grace. One special day, God inspires to bloom every one of his countless flowers, whose winds of karma, extinction of desire and exhaustion of free will mistakes have run their course.

So rise up young flower of destiny. Grasp the special qualities and gifts that only you have been seeded by your Creator. Look around you. The world is in dire need of color. Your color may complete the special rainbow that is destined for today alone. Your color may complete the rainbow that gives hope to someone in a hopeless situation. Your song may give symphony to someone who has heard no words of joy today. Your love may reflect the Creator in a unique way that someone needs to receive.

We are all flowers in the field of Life: wildflowers, fragrant flowers, flowers reaching up to the sun with confidence. We come and we go, and then another one blooms, and then another. Some bloom quickly, streaking through the sky like a comet. Some bloom gradually, and fade away in a graceful and memorable exit. There is no need to worry or fear. We will all bloom someday, somewhere within the Realm of our Creator. Every single one of us.