Magazine Articles May / June 2002

Joy and Peace in Believing

 Sometimes a light surprises

The Christian while he sings;

It is the Lord who rises

With healing on His wings.

When comforts are declining,

He grants the soul again

A season of clear shining

To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation

We sweetly then pursue

The theme of God's salvation,

And find it ever new.

Set free from present sorrow,

We cheerfully can say,

`E'en let th'unknown tomorrow

Bring with it what it may!

It can bring with it nothing

But He will bear us thro';

Who gives the lilies clothing

Will clothe His people too.

Beneath the spreading heavens

No creature but is fed;

And He who feeds the ravens

Will give His children bread.

Though vine, nor fig-tree neither,

Their wonted fruit should bear,

Tho' all the field should wither,

Nor flocks, nor herds, be there,

Yet God the same abiding,

His praise shall tune my voice

For while in him confiding,

I cannot but rejoice.

William Cowper (1731-1800)

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Eliot, Karma, and the re-birth of Language

David Moses and Miles Wright

This paper attempts to identify a coherent line of Vedic thought in Eliot's work, available through the exegesis of the Indic literatures he sources. It is a two way operation that, in offering a hermeneutic based on scripture, it must also take the form of a scriptural exegesis which Eliot's own treatment consciously avoids. Avoids, I think, because he is rather more concerned with consolidating `Eastern' classics into a structure of disparate ideas than with exploring what ideas actually mean. It is generally accepted that this homogenisation aims to confront anxiety surrounding the loss of spirituality in the modern. Specifically, there is a sense that the lack of a spiritual system is the consequence of a chosen neglect of the Divine, resulting in abandonment in time and space. To speak is to accept time and space - or at least the idea of time and space - in which language operates. But pre-linguistic-conception is within and has no time or space: in Bergson's terms time is a `spurious concept due to the trespassing of the idea of space upon the pure consciousness'1 which separates consciousness from that imposed upon it. God still exists by this definition, but we are separate from Him, lost in the concept we call time. God, in Hinduism, centres on a Greater Self which differs from the individuated Christian God who brings man into being. If you are God or one aspect of him then time is within. Thus `moments' of pure perception which the subject subsequently tries to express in language, are moments of true understanding when time and space cease to happen. Perhaps Wordsworth's moments `recollected in tranquillity' suggest the attempt to recreate the experience of perception before language distorts its meaning? Regardless, concepts are brought into exteriority and time by the cause and effect of language. Eliot's use of Indic thought explores the idea that the poet's realisations - the ones he wants to express - are formed pre-language. What the poet attempts to express is where the need for language came from primarily - the place where language does not work or function. The non-linear experience of the subject himself is brought into the linear to be expressed by language: the desire to express the inexpressible involving the corruption of meaning. In The Waste Land this confusion finds its equivalence in the linguistic maze which is an attempt at identification; but the difficulties of the text mean that the identity of the reader is always problematised in the act of reading, who `bewildered, gropes about for what is absent, and puzzles his head for a kind of meaning which is not there, and is not meant to be there'.2 Consequently the reader may be left puzzled, with only the fragments of `other' texts from which to extract possible meanings. Identification is attained only with Truth, not with what appears to be true; in Hindu terms this can only be attained by realising the `Self', or ultimate reality, beginning with Karma, and realised through a specific language use, mantra: repetition, whose original purpose was to inspire speaker and listener to an innate understanding of Self. Linked to this is the underlying concept of Karma: despite actions one has no control whatsoever. As soon as you believe that you have control over karma, you are included in the process of cause and effect. But once left alone, karma becomes a fiction. Thus the process of surrender - the Damyatta of The Waste Land - is all important: a positive rather than the negative resolution suggested by many critics, because a surrender to karma would involve the dissipation of ego and a surrender to the already decided. The subject becomes a tool who cannot win the battle of good or evil, only make him/herself an instrument of either. Ego and the belief that one can express the subjective experience at the fleeting moment are part of the illusion. Prufrock (1917) offers a study on the disparity between the real and pretence in relation to the idea of Karma. Ostensibly Upanishadic ideas which Eliot deals with in an eclectic manner in The Waste Land (1922) are to some extent reconciled in the Four Quartets (1942) though there is still an awareness that despite the constant deterioration of language as a mode of representation, we are left only with words to describe ourselves. In `Tradition and the Individual Talent' (1928) Eliot isolates the reader's role as a meditative one. The identification, detachment and recovery which comes from the reader's moment of surrender into a position of believer requires both `tireless activity and tireless passivity,' involving an absorbed encyclopaedic reading which results in the confirmation or denial of a priori beliefs. Bestowing sequence and consequence upon his canon of writers, Eliot observes `Someone said: "The dead writers are removed from us because we know so much more than they did." Precisely, and they are that which we know.'3 His ideal order exists in a historical sense, a sense of the timeless and of the temporal together; it is `what makes a writer traditional ... you cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead.'(49) Eliot's description is remarkable in that it describes the Hindu sage. The sage is timeless, characterised by his realisation over the illusions of heaven and hell. True, he operates in the temporal world, where he perceives, and where people try to understand him as an object in time. He sees no others in his timelessness - merely projections outside of it. He cannot give set rules and does not offer them: the attempt to describe to the other involves language. Thus his language, if spoken, is enigmatic, means nothing - and everything. Eliot's `dead writers,' like the sage, embody coherent ideals, but cannot be perceived as individuals. Re-birthing them into The Waste Land leaves only the contingency of their language - not what it means. And he tries to overcome this by placing them in a `tradition' which is still sequential. For Eliot their immediacy may be that a reader - present consciousness - makes the past indivisible from the present. The `not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence' of Eliot (49) is `the present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause' of Bergson.4 Underlying all `personality' is pure consciousness. The process of extinguishing that personality results in the subject acting as a medium to express what has been recorded as having gone before. If you read the text in the right way, you understand, and your personality is momentarily lost, re-emerging only when attempting to understand in time, space and language. Eliot states: `the point of view which I am struggling to attack is perhaps related to the metaphysical theory of the substantial unity of the soul: for my meaning is, that the poet has, not a "personality" to express, but a particular medium, which is only a medium and not a personality, in which impressions and experiences combine in peculiar and unexpected ways.' (56) He explains the relationship between how a poet writes as an identity and the original identity of the material which he writes. It resounds with the metaphysics of the Brihad‹ranyaka Upanishad, where personality is the result of conditioning: an illusion projected upon an immutable Self. That the writer carries meaning inherent from a tradition requires `a continual surrender of himself as he is at the moment, to something which is more valuable ... a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.' (52 - 53) The purging of personality entails an exploration of all the persona that this involves. Eliot's assertion that there is inherent meaning in the texts of his tradition, where `great' works make place for the new is problematic. As we know, the eclectic intertextuality of The Waste Land presents an arbitrary construction of what T. S. Eliot unifies into meaning.5 His `tradition' imbues absolute authority in a necessarily exclusionary selection. If this is true of the work overall, then Eliot is less concerned about what Eastern works say and mean, than with the qualities of the language involved, and `Sanskrit' works are about shared belief rather than what those beliefs are. But Eliot's use of mantra - repetition inspiring innate understanding of Self - suggests an Indic reading of absolute meaning: sage-like, his `authorities' enunciate words capable of taking you back to the pre-conceptual, to understand, absolutely. On these terms, allusions to Buddhist versions of karma and rebirth are not incompatible with established critiques of the text. The modern is interrogated by ancient scripture, the epigonous presence of figures confined to the limits of material experience indicate the indivisibility of change for the subject from one context to another: the modern imposed upon them, their very presence scrutinises the significance of history by creating a homogenised version of time where things are reconfigured and rehearsed in different contexts. While Prufrock's `ragged claws' (73) evoke Hamlet's Polonius, they also suggest that if karma really applied, his rebirth might be a bestial one. The Buddhist influence of the `hidden advantage of tradition' might be the collateral satisfaction of an intellectual demand for meaning - a need for multivocal discourse. A multivocal sense of tradition as a succession of perspectives that reconcile and modify one another `replaces the concept of simple semantic meaning with notions of relationship, place, contextual significance.'6 If the representation of multiple perspectives in `The Fire Sermon' are akin to the "middle way" of the Buddha's teaching `between extremes of thought and practice,' (Kearns 80) then its root is the concept of enlightenment and the transcending of a single line of vision to perceiving a multiple of perspectives. `Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality' (56) to accommodate multiple perspectives into one text. Collocating sources from contrasting traditions presents the apparently fragmented consciousness which creates such amplitude: the enlargement, depth and wide range of language in a trans-cultural sense: the relationship explored between the extent of the Divine word (AUM) in relation to the perceiver. The Upanishadic idea of divine language extends to the Self's intuiting of what is already there, both gain and a loss. Like the ripple a stone creates in a pond, language dissipates: Created, diffuses, and vanishes. It is a signifier of something which remains as the calm surface once the ripples cease. Words activate what is already known. There is no change in reality: reality just becomes apparent through a change in intuition, a touching on innate understanding. Importantly Silence is not a void - nothing is, everything is filled with something - and here it is filled with the ultimate teaching of the sage - silence. Maunam is Sanskrit Silence. The muni or sage is one steeped in Silence, or one who is inspired from within, ecstatic, etc.. The words muni and mauna are related. Being steeped in Silence is, by extension, living in the Self. Language comes into being only to describe itself. (trans. Wright.)7

(To be continued)

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 A Mother's Heart (continued)

Swami Ishanananda

 A Brahmachari tries to serve Holy Mother

When Holy Mother was living at Koalpara, a new Brahmachari came from Belur Math to pay his respects to her. When he met the Mother, he expressed his wish to stay on for some days, but she told him: `My son, if you stay here you will have to put up with many inconveniences. Here I am, in this jungle, with Radhu; and there is so much work to do.' The Brahmachari, however, kept on insisting, and Holy Mother finally said: `All right, you may stay at the Koalpara Ashrama for some days.' After a few days the Mother asked the Brahmachari: `Look, Radhu is on a special diet. Do you think you could cook her meals?' The boy was overjoyed, and agreed at once to do the job. The next day he cooked Radhu's meal at the Ashrama. As he was taking the food to Holy Mother's house nearby, the tray he carried felt so hot that his hands began to burn, and finally the tray fell on the ground, spreading its contents around! A perplexed Brahmachari presented himself before the Mother, empty tray in hand! He then told her what had happened. The Mother was rather displeased; and that day, of course, Radhu could not have her usual food. In the evening, when Varada went to visit the Mother, she told him: `Look, as a sadhu (holy man) the boy is quite good. But at the moment, here the work cannot go on without efficient people. This kind of work cannot be performed by sadhus that dwell under trees (i.e., sadhus indifferent to outward events). Again, on the impulse of some temporary enthusiasm anybody can do a good job, but the nature of a person can be known by observing in detail just how they perform their every-day work.'

Holy Mother's `jewels'

On one occasion, when Holy Mother had just returned to Jayrambati, Uncle Prasanna had to leave for Calcutta on some priestly duties. Being sad on that account, he told her: `Sister, that I should have to travel to Calcutta now that you have come! Please look after my children. What else shall I say? Now Kali will have a good time. Managing his property and staying at home with his family, he is leading a comfortable life, while I, even in old age, have to stay away from home.' Unfortunately, Uncle Kali happened to overhear these words, and, rushing to his brother started a heated verbal exchange. Uncle Prasanna said: `Look, Kali, whether you respect me or not, you should bear this in mind: I was born after Sister. Your birth was much later. You shouldn't be so disrespectful towards me. Where is your devotion to Sister? You have no idea in what high regard I hold Sister. You are only after Sister's money.' Kali: `I have served Paramahamsa Deva (Sri Ramakrishna). I used to catch fish for him. You never went near him even. How deeply he used to love me! And now I carry Sister's burden alone. I am the one who looks after Sister's devotees while you try to keep by yourself all the time.' Prasanna: `How could you understand my devotion to Sister! You could never revere her as I do. Sister and I alone can understand this.' The Mother listened to this conversation, and smiled sweetly. Later she told a disciple: `My brothers are jewels indeed! They must have performed great austerities in previous lives that we have been born in the same family. Such unrest and attachment I have never seen before, my son.'

Holy Mother's gentleness

Here is an example that shows how careful and considerate Holy Mother was when talking to others. There was a worker called Chandra employed at the Udbodhan house. Once Holy Mother sent him to buy a trunk for Radhu, telling him: `Nowadays the prices of things fluctuate all the time. I don't know exactly how much it will cost; take this money with you (giving him ten rupees); it is better to take some extra money in case prices have gone up. Please shop around a little before making the purchase.' Chandra bought the trunk, and Radhu was very pleased with it, but he absent-mindedly forgot to account for the money to Holy Mother. After a few days the Mother told Chandra: `The trunk you bought pleased Radhu very much. It was a good purchase. Was what I gave you enough, or did you need more money?' Hearing these words Chandra was embarrassed, and brought to Holy Mother the receipt and the change at once. Golap Ma, who happened to witness all this, shouted at Chandra in her usual loud voice: `Oh Chandra, are you greedy for your Guru's money even? Days have passed, and you still had not accounted for the money or given any change!' Chandra replied humbly: `Golap Ma, being busy with other work, I completely forgot about it. I have made a great mistake.'

Gangaram

In Holy Mother's house at Jayrambati there used to be a pet parrot named `Gangaram'. In the morning and in the evening Mother used to say to him: `Speak, Father Gangaram! Speak, Gangaram!' Then Gangaram would comply by repeating loudly: `Hare Krishna, Hare Rama, Krishna Krishna, Rama Rama.' Apart from learning to repeat this sentence, Gangaram had also learned to be naughty. He used to imitate the Mother's call to her different attendants. He would call them by their names now and then, just the way the Mother called. He also imitated Holy Mother by saying: `Speak, Father Gangaram, speak!' and would himself answer with his `Hare Krishna, Hare Rama...' Gangaram knew very well which call to use and when. Sometimes he would call: `Mother, Oh Mother!', which meant that he was hungry and his bowl was empty. Holy Mother would then answer immediately: `I'm coming, Father, I'm coming', and would lovingly feed him with lentils, water and fruits.

Radhu's faith in Mother

In 1940 Radhu was living in Jayrambati, at Holy Mother's house. In the second half of that year she contracted malarial fever and after some time became so sick that she had to be brought to Calcutta for treatment. The doctors suspected she might be suffering from tuberculosis and therefore decided to send her to the Ramakrishna Mission Sevashrama in Benares, where she could receive specialized treatment. Radhu arrived in Benares accompanied by Swami Ishanananda and a female servant, and was lodged on the second floor of a small rented house near the Ashrama. The doctors had Radhu's chest X-rayed and found that she did indeed have TB. Both lungs were so badly damaged by the disease that there was no hope of recovery. Swami Ishanananda, who as a boy had been Holy Mother's close attendant, had known Radhu for many years, and she therefore could talk to him freely. After staying for twelve days in Benares, it was time for the Swami to return to Calcutta. When he went to say goodbye to Radhu, they had the following conversation: Swami- `Radhu, today I'm going back to Calcutta. Please don't worry. Once you have recovered from your illness you will return to Jayrambati. The Swamis here have made all necessary arrangements for your stay and treatment. Afterwards I will come and take you back to Jayrambati.' Radhu- (in a feeble voice but forcefully) `Dear me! What kind of understanding do you have? I know the disease I am suffering from, no matter how much you may try to conceal it from me. I have got tuberculosis, I know it is a fatal illness. Still you are telling me, "Once you have recovered you will return to Jayrambati."' Swami- `Radhu, why do you entertain such thoughts? You will be properly looked after, and if any problem arises, all you have to do is tell the Swamis and they will try to help you in every possible way. Please do not worry.' Radhu- `Gopal-da4, I am not talking about such things, you know. You want to keep me here because if I die in Benares I will obtain liberation. Is this what you have understood after serving the Mother for so many years? She, who took my burden from my very birth, who looked after my well-being in all respects, who even gave me the right to live in her own house as long as I am alive, in whom I have taken refuge forever, has She not secured my liberation as well? Even if I die in an impure place, by her grace, liberation is in my hand (showing her clenched fist). You don't have to worry about that, brother. I will die in whichever place the Mother chooses for me.' Everyone present in the room was touched to see Radhu's deep faith in Holy Mother. At the earnest request of those looking after her, Radhu stayed on at Benares for just a few days and then returned to Jayrambati. On 23rd November 1940, at nine in the morning, Radhu passed away in Holy Mother's room in Jayrambati. She was only forty years old. She died fully conscious, with her mind firmly fixed on the lotus feet of Holy Mother.

Why Swami Saradananda did not write Holy Mother's biography

After the passing away of Holy Mother, when Swami Saradananda once visited Benares, he was requested by some senior Swamis of the Order to write a book about Holy Mother. They told him that by writing Sri Ramakrishna's life he had done immense good to the world, and that he should now write Holy Mother's life, so that future generations might understand who she was. Swami Saradananda did not give any direct reply, but only quoted the following song:

Having seen the play of the playful

Mother, I am really wonderstruck;

Not knowing quite well

Whether to weep or to laugh.

I stayed near Her so long,

And followed Her here and there,

But finally had to admit defeat,

Unable to understand Her at all.

Amazing are Her sportive moods,

Ever creating and destroying

-just for fun, like children's games.

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Seeing Brahman with Open Eyes (continued)

Swami Siddheswarananda

 Some aspects of the Mandukya Upanishad The idea as though the three states of consciousness would succeed one another in time-duration, follows from a wrong interpretation of the intellect, made afterwards through abstraction in the waking state with the aid of memory. The `I' of the waking state unjustly `appropriates' the other two states of consciousness. This applies to the state of deep sleep in particular. In the expression, `Last night I slept soundly for eight hours, I didn't know anything', the paradox of the state of deep sleep comes to light. The three aspects of this statement, `I' (causal), `for eight hours' (temporal), and `didn't know anything' (cognitive), are but the elements of an illegitimate claim made afterwards by the ego of the waking state. To that same ego the state of deep sleep remains puzzling, because in it the perception of the world as a time-space complex disappears all at once just like that, including the perception of an `I' as a subject. At the same time the state of deep sleep is a miniature example of the reality as a non-causal, non-relational and non-temporal actuality. The dream state also may be an important guru to us. Looking at them from the eternal Now - Time the waking and the dream states, as manifestations, are equivalents. Then the dream state may give us an insight into the waking state: in the dream state one and the same consciousness is spontaneously split into subject and object, thereby giving us a miniature example of how the world as a time-space complex may be presented all at once just like that as pure idea in the Totality of the Now. The dream state makes it clear how everything may be pure idea, including the idea of an `I' as a subject. It is the unique contribution of the Mandukya Upanishad that it removes the distinction between the illusory reality of the dream state and the empirical reality of the waking state by viewing them on the same level. In order to arrive at such sameness of vision we need the objectless attention, which comes through discrimination and detachment. In objectless attention there is no preference and we don't entertain any interest for an object or a situation in particular. (Compare the Latin `inter-esse': `to stand-in-between'.) The play of attention gives us the impression of duality and of multiplicity, but what I really perceive is one synchronous whole throughout. (H. Benoit: `La vision stereoscopique') We have to see the three states globally, as one synchronous happening. Sri Ramana Maharshi also says: `The non-manifested equally exists in your waking state. Even now you are in the non-manifested. You must become conscious of that. It is a mistake to think that one enters the sushupti (the state of deep sleep), and that one comes out of it. To be conscious of the sushupti in the jagrat (the waking state) is called the `jagrat-sushupti' or `samadhi.' (The jnana-samadhi is meant.) At present we do not have the vision of the Totality, but the experience of relativity - maya. The literal meaning of the word `maya' is: `That which measures (the Unmeasurable).' The ignorance (avidya) makes itself felt as a want, a gap and, as an individual, we are constantly looking for possibilities to fill that gap (`Nature abhors a vacuum'): by filling our lives sensibly so as to come to fulfilment. In our attempts to find compensation we are caught by the desire to embrace the particular in the manifestation and thus, in the experience, to remove the duality between the `I' and the `non-I', trying to become whole again. In the process of wanting `to grasp' the reality through the particular we enter the field of time-space to be confronted there with the contradictions inherent in all experience - maya. These contradictions are life - through this polarisation we know life. But, at the same time, there is the possibility to detach ourselves from it. The same relativity (maya) may be solved through the very fact of its being inescapably related to the Totality in the eternal moment of the here-and-now - just as the forms of clay are always indissolubly connected with the clay. Through the practice of objectless attention we open ourselves to the possibility of being the pure and non-dual consciousness. Through the detachment of objectless attention that very attention may be realized as the unrelated and unborn Now of Time. We don't have that attention: we are that attention as pure Intelligence, apart from all physical and mental activities. That realisation is the realisation of the metaphysical insight.

The name and the form

The dream state is a personal perception in which objects and ideas are projected by the mind. In the waking state objects and ideas may be perceived by several persons, in both cases the perception is, normally speaking, determined by our particular attention, for example through our personal point of view, our personal scale of values, etc. Through all perception runs the dualism of subject-object, the opposition between the `I' and the `non-I', which is the basis of all particular attention and fragmentation. Thus the perception of the Totality is constantly broken up into pieces as it were. All the time we are trying to resolve that contradiction: physically - through the senses, and mentally - through our ideas. These are the two aspects of our experience. There is a lot of cheating with the notion of `experience'. In reality neither the ideas nor the objects are being `grasped' by experience. What persists through all experience is the awareness of the reality. Each of our experiences is borne by the sense of the real and everybody is in search of the sense of that Sense (V. Subramanyam Iyer: `The meaning of Meaning'). The awareness of the reality is implicit in every experience, because we are that reality as pure consciousness here and now already. The realisation of that fact (as a given reality) is the metaphysical insight. In order to record and communicate the experience of our perceptions, we attribute certain sound-symbols to them - their names. The names are like labels which enable us to indicate objects and ideas. Through the emotional value of a name we maintain a certain rapport, a certain relationship with an object or idea. First we have the idea that an object is presenting itself as an independent, separate reality. Nevertheless each object is but a form, the essence of which remains unnameable - just as in the example of the clay. Next we attach, through tradition or convention, a name to the form of the object, which we are able to communicate via a common language. The name (nama) is the `nameing' (and therefore defining) element, and the form (rupa) is the `named' (the defined) element. It is said that it was only after the fall, when Adam and Eve had eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (the knowledge of relativity brought about by polarisation through opposites - maya), that they started to give names (definitions) to things. In the perception of a table, for example, there is only the perception of its total instantaneousness (just as in the perception of a dream). We first have a direct perception of the table, then the idea `table' comes to our mind. Next we try to analyse the experience of that perception: we put the idea `table' (the name) on one side, and the object (the form) on the other side. Through the power of abstraction we make a separation between the table and the name of the table, that is to say, with our imagination we mentally attribute an independent existence to the name of an object. That way all names are recorded and stored in the mind, to be processed into a more or less complex structure which we experience as an `inner' world of our own. With this complex we identify ourselves indirectly and retrospectively through the memory, so as to derive a sense and meaning from it as a person. Push aside with one single effort the illusion that name and form may be seen separately. Name and form are indissolubly linked to each other as the mental and physical aspect of one and the same reality. From the Totality of Time the names are as much a manifestation within time-duration as are their forms: the name has no superiority over the form, or the form over the name. He who knows through realisation that, in reality, there is no difference between name and form, is liberated.

The mantra `OM'

The Mandukya Upanishad gives a unique place to the symbol `OM'. OM is not a symbol in the usual sense of the term. Let us take an example. It can be said that the flag of a country is the symbol of that country, because the flag represents that country. OM, however, is more than a symbol representing the one reality. OM is a sign which possesses a concrete counter-value. A banknote, for example, is a sign, that is to say, the note may be exchanged for its fixed counter-value. Similarly, OM is a sign which not only represents the one reality, but presents it at the same time. (We owe the distinction between symbol and sound to vicar Dominice from Geneva.) The Chandogya Upanishad states that the syllable OM contains all the sounds that may be uttered by man. Swami Vivekananda also explains in his `Raja Yoga' that the syllable OM (pronounced `AUM') is the womb of all the vowels and consonants which the human voice is capable of. Starting with the A sound with a fully opened mouth, one concludes, via the U sound, with the M sound, where the mouth is completely closed. Thus OM comprises all sounds and, therefore, all names and their meanings. The Mandukya Upanishad identifies the letter A of the symbol OM with the waking state, the letter U with the dream state, and the letter M with the state of deep sleep. The letter A merges in the letter U, and the letter U in the letter M. The silence which follows the uttering of the last letter M, and which constitutes the interstitial void between any two words or thoughts, is identified with turiya. The interstitial void may be made bigger by slowing down the `internal dialogue' through the practice of the objectless attention. Since name and form as `nameing' and `named' are indissolubly connected with each other, the same applies to OM: OM is the name of the reality. (Compare `the Word' from St. John's gospel in the Christian tradition.) Meditation on the mantra OM is essential for those who are not able as yet to remove the ignorance directly with the aid of the metaphysical insight on account of their attachment to the presupposition of causality.

The metaphysical insight

In the second verse of the Mandukya Upanishad is the mahavakya (literally: `big pronouncement'): `Ayam Atma Brahma': `This Atman is Brahman'. The realisation of this mahavakya is not an experience, but a metaphysical insight, falling outside the realm of duality. With this realisation disappears the ignorance regarding the non-dual nature of the one reality and, along with it, all the rapports and relationships which were built between the `I' and the `non-I'. At the same time the illusion disappears as if there had never been the question of two selves, a higher Self and a lower self, the latter being in search of the former. As long as there is a seeking, there is the sense of separation. As long as there is a seeker, there is faith in the words of the holy scriptures and in the example of those who realized their true nature. Faith is a knowledge `by anticipation': without faith one cannot progress, whereas a belief may be refuted at any level. In the investigation it is not a matter of personal development. Realisation is not the outcome of a certain discipline or planned action, but a metaphysical insight which makes one recognize that the reality is one integral whole. The metaphysical insight cannot be `practised' as one would practise yoga. When all our personal efforts have collapsed through the bankruptcy of all our seeking, only then, on that basis, can the reality come and seek us with its grace. Realisation is a gift of the Omnipresent to stay in the Intemporal, where past and future dissolve in the moment of the eternal Now. Realisation is the precipitation of the reality, a unique happening, indivisible and, therefore, ungraspable by the mind and its categories. The metaphysical insight is not a form of mThe metaphysical insight In the second verse of the Mandukya Upanishad is the mahavakya (literally: `big pronouncement'): `Ayam Atma Brahma': `This Atman is Brahman'. The realisation of this mahavakya is not an experience, but a metaphysical insight, falling outside the realm of duality. With this realisation disappears the ignorance regarding the non-dual nature of the one reality and, along with it, all the rapports and relationships which were built between the `I' and the `non-I'. At the same time the illusion disappears as if there had never been the question of two selves, a higher Self and a lower self, the latter being in search of the former. As long as there is a seeking, there is the sense of separation. As long as there is a seeker, there is faith in the words of the holy scriptures and in the example of those who realized their true nature. Faith is a knowledge `by anticipation': without faith one cannot progress, whereas a belief may be refuted at any level. In the investigation it is not a matter of personal development. Realisation is not the outcome of a certain discipline or planned action, but a metaphysical insight which makes one recognize that the reality is one integral whole. The metaphysical insight cannot be `practised' as one would practise yoga. When all our personal efforts have collapsed through the bankruptcy of all our seeking, only then, on that basis, can the reality come and seek us with its grace. Realisation is a gift of the Omnipresent to stay in the Intemporal, where past and future dissolve in the moment of the eternal Now. Realisation is the precipitation of the reality, a unique happening, indivisible and, therefore, ungraspable by the mind and its categories. The metaphysical insight is not a form of mental cognition (vritti), it does not remain stuck in an intellectual conviction, but implicates the person as a whole. The Mandukya Upanishad teaches us `to see Brahman with open eyes'. In the words of Meister Eckhart: `To see God is to see through the eyes of God.' It is a great outburst against the fixed idea that realisation is an exclusive state of security, in which there is no longer any danger, created by religion and yoga in their inferior sense. Nor is it a matter of transcending the world: the world stays as it is. There is only the overcoming of the ignorance regarding the truth of the one reality. Indian thought does not avoid the world of matter at all, but gives it its true value. There is no question of mystique or of transcendentalism. The whole of reality may be seen in a single grain of sand. Why seek a transcendence? (Compare in Buddhism the realisation of nirvana in samsara.) There is but one reality and three ways of seeing it. The three states of consciousness are three different visions of one and the same reality, they are like zones of attention through which the awareness of the reality persists. Let us take a stone, for example. In its grosser aspect it is perceived as a form of gross matter; under a microscope it is perceived as a specific molecular structure in movement; and with an even subtler perception the stone appears as a speck of light. All three are but the different presentations of one and the same substance. What one sees in realisation is the reality and always only the reality. Mind and matter are equally Brahman. On the one hand, there is only Atman-Brahman who, as the eternal Subject, is the Self of all our experiences; on the other hand, the experience of the world is but `one unbroken perception of Brahman' (Shankara) as an Object. Therefore one can no longer say: Brahman is real and the universe is unreal. `All that exists is Brahman.' The notion of unreality, of illusion or of ignorance, is felt only in relation to a foregoing experience. With the realisation of the metaphysical insight all rapports collapse into the non-dual one. Duality is but an artifice of the memory.

Literature

1. Swami Siddheswarananda: L'Intuition Metaphysique (Centre Vedantique Ramakrichna, Gretz, France, 1959).

2. La Mandukyopanisad avec les Karikas de Gaudapada et les Commentaires de Camkaracarya; translated from the English of Swami Nikhilananda by Marcel Sauton; introduction by Swami Siddheswarananda (Adyar, Paris, 1952).

3. Comment discriminer le Spectateur du Spectacle (Drg-Drcya-Viveka); translated from the English of Swami Nikhilananda by Marcel Sauton; foreword by Swami Siddheswarananda (Adrien Maisonneuve, Paris, 1945).

4. Eight Upanishads; translated by Swami Gambhirananda (Advaita Ashrama, Calcutta, 2nd edition, 1966,2 volumes).

5. Astavakra Samhita; translated by Swami Nityaswarupananda (Advaita Ashrama, Calcutta, 1969).

6. The World within the Mind (Yoga-Vasishta); translated by Hari Prasad Shastri (Shanti Sadan, London, 6th edition, 1980).

7. The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna; noted down by `M'; translated from the Bengali by Swami Nikhilananda (Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Center, New York, 8th edition, 1992).

8. Vivekananda - The Yogas and Other Works; published by Swami Nikhilananda (Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Center, New York, 2nd revised edition, 1953).

9. The Collected Works of Ramana Maharshi; published by Arthur Osborne (Sri Ramanasramam, Tiruvannamalai, India, 4th edition, 1974).

10. K.A. Krishnaswami Iyer: Vedanta or the Science of reality (Luzac, 1930).

11. J. Krishnamurti: The Wholeness of Life (Harper & Row Publishers, San Francisco, 1981).

12. I am That - Conversations with Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj; translated by Maurice Frydman (Chetana, Bombay, 2nd edition, 1977).

13. Alexander Smit: Bewustzijn - Gesprekken over dot wat nooit verandert (Altamira Publishers, Heemstede, Netherlands, 1990).

14. Dhiravamsa: The Way of Non-Attachment (Crucible - Aquarian Press, Wellingborough, U.K., 1984).

15. Hubert Benoit: La Doctrine Supreme - Reflexions sur le bouddhisme Zen (Cercle du Livre, 1952).

16. Hubert Benoit: Lacher Prise - Theorie et pratique du detachement selon le Zen; foreword by Swami Siddheswarananda (La Colombe, 1955).

17. Douglas E. Harding: On Having no Head - Zen and the re-discovery of the obvious (Arkana Publishers, 1961).

18. Meester Eckhard: Waar God naamloos is; inleiding door Hasso Schelp (Mirananda Uitgevers, The Hague, 1994).

19. Carl Franklin Kelley: Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge (Yale University Press Ltd, London, 1977).

20. Swami Ashokananda: When the Many become One (Vedanta Society of Northern California, 2e editie, 1987).

21. Lewis Carroll: Through the Looking-Glass and what Alice found there (Macmillan, 1871). M

The Five Commandments of Sri Ramakrishna (continued)

Swami Dayatmananda

 "The mind cannot dwell on God if it is immersed day and night in worldliness, in worldly duties and responsibilities; it is most necessary to go into solitude now and then and think of God. To fix the mind on God is very difficult, in the beginning, unless one practises meditation in solitude. When a tree is young it should be fenced all around; otherwise it may be destroyed by cattle." This was the third commandment of Sri Ramakrishna. The tradition of retiring into solitude is immemorial. As soon as his temple duties were over Sri Ramakrishna would retire into the surrounding jungle for practising meditation. Most of his disciples wandered off to the Himalayas, and to various other holy places to perform hard austerities. Many early Christian holy men took to the deserts and engaged themselves in a life of unceasing prayer and contemplation. Later they became known as the desert fathers. Christ went into the desert and prayed for forty days. Sri Ramakrishna used to say: "The rishis of old attained the Knowledge of Brahman. One cannot have this so long as there is the slightest trace of worldliness. How hard the rishis laboured! Early in the morning they would go away from the hermitage, and would spend the whole day in solitude, meditating on Brahman. At night they would return to the hermitage and eat a little fruit or roots. They kept their minds aloof from the objects of sight, hearing, touch, and other things of a worldly nature. Only thus did they realize Brahman as their own inner consciousness." Religion apart, solitude is a need felt in all thoughtful vocations. Great writers, scientists, artists - all labour hard in solitude. In every case solitude is a thing that cannot be dispensed with. When we see that even in secular life solitude is so necessary, we must pause to ask : how much more earnestly should not the religious seek it? As soon as we think about solitude the first thing that comes to our mind is a place which has the least disturbance: no people, no sounds, no duties and responsibilities, and above all no worries or anxieties - relatively speaking a place which affords us a sense of restfulness and freedom. Solitude is a place where we can afford to be ourselves. In our day to day life, rarely have we a chance of being ourselves. Invariably we are forced to act and react according to the dictates of society. Our attitudes, likes, dislikes, duties, responsibilities, relationships, desires and expectations - all these influence our behaviour forcing us to be other than what we would like to be. Such a situation is not conducive to prayer and contemplation. However this is only the external and easier part of solitude. True solitude is to live for God, with God, in God. Solitude is a way of living totally dependent on God. If one goes to a lonely spot with an abundance of provisions it does not become a solitary life but turns out to be a pleasant picnic. To be worthy of its name one should not be looking forward, even unconsciously, to a return to the worldly way of life. Solitude is a state of mind devoid of imaginations and thoughts and memories excepting that of God. The specific word Sri Ramakrishna used was nirjanata i.e. a place where there are no people. He is not referring merely to the absence of people or to the absence of noise. Primarily he is indicating that one should give up dependence on any person or thing except God. He says: "If you desire to live in the world unattached, you should first practise devotion in solitude for some timeÑ a year, six months, a month, or at least twelve days. During this period of retirement, you should constantly meditate upon God and pray to Him for Divine love. You should think that there is nothing in the world which you may call your own, that those whom you consider as your own are sure to pass away some day or other. God alone is really your own. He is your all-in-all. How to obtain Him? - this should be your only concern." "It is good that you should often retire into solitudeÑa place away from either men or women; a place where you may be left absolutely to yourself, praying to the Lord with a yearning heart for true knowledge; a place where you may stay at least for three days, if not more, or for at least one day, if not three." In solitude we must be able to give up dependence on books, music, and even the comfort of a well laid out routine. It may be difficult at the beginning but that is what one should be able to achieve. Only then can one turn to God for everything. Solitude, ultimately, is complete surrender to God. Naturally this involves living in the simplest manner possible. Silence is the very heart of solitude. Silence is not making the mind empty; it is the art of emptying the mind of all worldly thoughts and filling it with spiritual thoughts, thoughts of God. True silence is to feel the divine presence intensely and constantly. In solitude one is forced to confront oneself. For many this is most painful. One can easily know one's capacity, weaknesses, what thoughts are predominant etc, how much time we are capable of keeping silent and thinking of God. There are many distractions all around us. Solitude is a great help in acquiring concentration. Without concentration it is impossible to progress in either secular or spiritual life. Man's greatness in any field is an indication of his or her power of concentration. Sri Ramakrishna says: "But one must go into solitude to attain this divine love. To get butter from milk you must let it set into curd in a secluded spot: if it is too much disturbed, milk won't turn into curd. Next, you must put aside all other duties, sit in a quiet spot, and churn the curd. Only then do you get butter. Further, by meditating on God in solitude the mind acquires knowledge, dispassion, and devotion. But the very same mind goes downward if it dwells in the world. Only when we try to practise concentration do we find how difficult it is. The famous psychologist Eric Fromm equates concentration with solitude. He says: "The most important step in learning concentration is to learn to be alone with oneself without reading, listening to the radio, smoking or drinking. Indeed, to be able to concentrate means to be able to be alone with oneself - and this ability is precisely a condition for the ability to love. If I am attached to another person because I cannot stand on my own feet, he or she may be a life saver, but the relationship is not one of love. Paradoxically, the ability to be alone is the condition for the ability to love. Anyone who tries to be alone with himself will discover how difficult it is. He will begin to feel restless, fidgety, or even to sense considerable anxiety. He will be prone to rationalise his unwillingness to go on with this practice by thinking that it has no value, is just silly, that it takes too much time, and so on, and so on. He will also observe that all sorts of thoughts come to his mind which take possession of him. He will find himself thinking about his plans for later in the day, or about some difficulty in a job he has to do, or where to go in the evening, or about any number of things that will fill his mind - rather than permitting it to empty itself." (The Art of Loving) However difficult, the only way is to practice and persevere. In the world we take many things for granted. Only when we try to live a simple life in solitude do we appreciate our blessings. Consequently we learn to be grateful for the many blessings of life. Solitude also helps us appreciate the goodness of others. Solitude is man's most valuable treasure. It will not be wrong to say that, rightly practised, solitude bestows both physical and mental health. Above all solitude gives us the opportunity for reflecting on the most important questions of life. Who am I? Why am I here? What is life? What is its meaning? What is my goal? What do I really want? How am I supposed to lead my life? How am I to respond to the vagaries of life? What are my priorities, my weaknesses? How can I improve myself? Solitude is a great boon making us turn our attention inward and giving us an opportunity to ponder over these important questions of life and evolve a plan of action. However it is not easy to live in solitude; we cannot just make a quick plan and go! It needs long, and often many years of conscious preparation. Real taste for solitude is generated only when the clamourings of the senses are silenced and the senses themselves are rudely shocked out of their gear through the blows the mind receives or the sufferings the body endures. When this taste develops and is directed towards God a greater part of the battle is won. But mind being what it is, it requires constant watching and hard practice. There are three types of solitude: 1)external, 2)internal, and 3) with the Self. Sri Ramakrishna was very emphatic about having recourse to solitude for the purpose of practising spiritual disciplines. He says that one should practise meditation in the forest, in a secluded corner of the house or in the mind. When one has an opportunity one should retire to an undisturbed place, preferably a quiet and beautiful place; places of natural beauty have a great power of calming and uplifting the mind. That is why many holy temples were built in places of great beauty - on the tops of great mountains, in deep forests, on the banks of mighty rivers etc. We have already discussed a little about this type of external solitude. One can and must have daily solitude right in one's house. A sincere aspirant should set aside some time daily for spiritual practice. He should sit in a quiet corner of the house and should try to call on God, even if it be for a short time only. He should consider this period of time absolutely as his own and should never allow anyone or anything to interfere with his practice; he should call on God whole-heartedly feeling that he has no one whom he could call his own except God. This is the internal and daily solitude. Then comes real solitude, living with Atman or Self. Solitude with Atman is to feel the presence of God constantly and uninterruptedly. This comes only after long and hard spiritual practice and as the result of the grace of God. Once a man has achieved this he has nothing more to do. He lives enjoying His presence always. This is the state of perfection. Br Lawrence says: "Having found in many books different methods of going to God, and divers practices of the spiritual life, I thought this would serve rather to puzzle me, than facilitate what I sought after, which was nothing but how to become wholly God's. This made me resolve to give the all for the All: so after having given myself wholly to God, to make all the satisfaction I could for my sins, I renounced, for the love of Him, everything that was not He; and I began to live as if there was none but He and I in the world. Such was my beginning; and yet I must tell you, that for the first ten years I suffered much: the apprehension that I was not devoted to God, as I wished to be, my past sins always present to my mind, and the great unmerited favours which God did me, were the matter and source of my sufferings. When I thought of nothing but to end my days in these troubles (which did not at all diminish the trust I had in God, and which served only to increase my faith), I found myself changed all at once; and my soul, which till that time was in trouble, felt a profound inward peace, as if she were in her centre and place of rest. Ever since that time I walk before God simply, in faith, with humility and with love; and I apply myself diligently to do nothing and think nothing which may displease Him." How long should one practise solitude? Sri Ramakrishna remarks, "If you ask me how long you should live in solitude away from your family, I should say that it would be good for you if you could spend even one day in such a manner. Three days at a time are still better. One may live in solitude for twelve days, a month, three months, or a year, according to one's convenienceÑand ability." This advice he gives to householders who cannot devote all their time to God. What then to speak of aspirants who have forsaken their all for the sake of God? Sri Ramakrishna's advice on how to practice solitude: he exhorts : "When you practise discipline in solitude, keep yourself entirely away from your family. You must not allow your wife, son, daughter, mother, father, sister, brother, friends, or relatives near you. While thus practising discipline in solitude, you should think , `I have no one else in the world. God is my all'. Continuing, Sri Ramakrishna remarks, "The mind is like milk. If you keep the mind in the world, which is like water, then the milk and water will get mixed. That is why people keep milk in a quiet place and let it set into curd, and then churn butter from it. Likewise, through spiritual discipline practised in solitude, churn the butter of knowledge and devotion from the milk of the mind. Then that butter can easily be kept in the water of the world. It will not get mixed with the world. The mind will float detached on the water of the world." But solitude frightens. What is the cause of this fear? Man has long been accustomed to live in groups, in constant activity and turmoil. He is addicted to the charms of society so much that he finds it difficult to live alone. Swami Vivekananda says: "Can a man who has been used to the turmoil and the rush of life live at ease if he comes to a quiet place? He suffers and perchance he may lose his mind." The Brihadaranyaka Upanisad gives a description of how Prajapati also, at the beginning of creation, was deluded and afraid. It says : In the beginning this (universe) was only the self (Viraj), of human form. He reflected and found nothing else but himself. ... At this he was afraid. Therefore even now a solitary one is afraid. He then reflected, "As there is none else than myself what am I afraid of?" On reflecting thus fear left him, for what was there to fear? It is from a second entity alone that fear comes." Sankara in his commentary on these verses says : "Because this Purusa was endowed with a body and limbs, he was afraid of his extinction, owing to a false notion. And as, in our case, the way he adopted to get rid of this false notion, which was the cause of fear, was by acquiring the right knowledge of the Atman." Sankara here states that we too are deluded by the false notion of our extinction with the death of the body and the only way to get over this fear is to know our Atman in its true perspective. And right knowledge can be acquired by contemplating in solitude on the teachings of the scriptures. One may go mad if one enters into solitude unprepared. Certain thoughts, memories, may become prominent, even obsessive. That is why without some preparation one is not advised to go into solitude. It is possible that many people attuned as they are to the hectic life of the present civilization may feel one with the idea expressed in Cowper's poem :

O Solitude, where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?

Better to live in the midst of alarms

Than dwell in this horrible place.'

(Alexander Selkirk, Stanza 1.)

The same rule applies to retired life also. Many people plan in their imagination to spend longer periods of time in spiritual practice after retirement. This becomes possible only if one starts preparing early in life. Sri Ramakrishna's advice for the spiritual aspirants to retire into solitude now and then is a commandment. Some may think of it as unnecessary by touting the name of Karma Yoga; others by saying that after all the mind is the root cause of bondage and liberation, therefore, if we can watch the mind it would be fine. All this may be true. Or it may be we are just deluding ourselves; and we can only do so at the cost of our spiritual life. Hence retiring into solitude now and then is indispensable.

A Scientific Vision on Mind-Brain-Body System

 Dr Sampooran Singh

Man is an amphibian who lives simultaneously in two worlds - (i) the external world of time-space-causation matrices, the world of data and symbols, the known, the objective world: and (ii) the inner world, the world of consciousness and life, the Unknown, the subjective world. But these two worlds offer no guidance in regard to the much more fundamental problem of the relationship of man in his psycho-physical totality (subjective world), on the one hand, and the world of data and symbols (objective world), on the other. Modern physics has shown that the outer (objective world) and the inner (subjective world) are one, a unitary movement not separate but whole. To have the sensitivity of seeing that life is not a movement of two separate entities, the objective (matter, atom) and the subjective (brain), and the relationship in this movement, we discuss the recent scientific discoveries on `atom' and `Self', or brain and mind, or matter and consciousness. We also discuss freedom, entropy and life, intelligence, and the wholeness and oneness of life.

`Atom' and `Self' or Brain and Mind

We have to investigate the fundamental distinction between `atom' and `self', or, what comes to the same thing, between brain and mind. Atom or brain belongs to the external, objective world of space-time and matter-energy. Self or mind belongs to the internal subjective world. The subjective (mental) world is not describable in terms of space-time and matter-energy concepts. Self or mind, therefore, lies outside natural science. Experience, knowledge (information) and memories are stored in the brain-cells. The brain is the result of time, the past. Many great scientists have expounded the above theme. In 1913 Niels Bohr, as a result of the wave-particle duality, showed that there exists discrete sequences of electron orbits. When an atom is excited, the electron jumps from one orbit to another. At this very instant the atom emits or absorbs a photon the frequency of which corresponds to the difference between the energies characterizing the electron's motion in each of the two orbits. When an atom makes a transition, or a `jump' from one stationary state to another, the actual process cannot be visualized or even imagined. There are no intermediate stages. We cannot break down the process into components. The entire process of transition from one state to another is a non-visualizable, unanalyzable, unity. It is indivisible. Its parts cannot be imagined. It is a quantum jump, as we call it. In dealing with atomic phenomena we have to recognize that the act of observation is accompanied by an inevitable disturbance which alters the state of the observed system in an unpredictable manner. What is observed is different from what it was before the act of observation. This is inherent in the nature of things. Our activity introduces discontinuities in whatever we are observing. These discontinuities are fundamental to the new physics of the twentieth century. Bohr knew that the world was fundamentally a discontinuous and quantum-jumping world. To Bohr, discontinuity was a fundamental truth. In its attempt to understand the mystery of the world of atoms, quantum physics is forced to the view that the act of observation projects, as it were, the atomic object from an unmanifest mathematical space into the manifest physical space of our experience. Perhaps, we can call the electron orbits as manifest, and the quantum jump from one orbit to another as the unmanifest. Obviously the manifest is in the time-space matrices, and the unmanifest is in the timeless realm. Kothari pointed out an analogous situation for thought-process. Quantum jumps for thought appear to be as much a necessity for the conscious Self as they are for the atom.1.2 Between any two consecutive thoughts, there is always the unmanifest, the timeless realm. The unmanifest between two thoughts expresses itself as pure perception. The brain-cells having memory stored are held back in abeyance and perhaps new cells are energized. In perception there is no time. Perception is not an experience to be stored up and remembered and therefore to become knowledge. This process is so fast that we are generally unaware of the pure perception. It interacts (photon exchange) with thought and gets transformed to non-fact, the false, the what should be. Generally we are inattentive to the flow of thought and in that case the silence (moment of perception) decreases. If one can hold on to attentiveness (observe thought with a scientific mind), the moment of silence increases. The chain is: thought-silence-thought-silence-thought, and some brain-cells rapidly transform themselves. The psychosomatic organism is attentive - which is also the brain-cells. Therefore the brain-cells in the circuitory are exceedingly quiet, not responding with the old memory; otherwise you could not be attentive. In attention there is no ripple, there is no centre, there is no measurement.

Freedom

The brain-cells are the repository of memory. The reaction of memory is thought. To live with knowledge in the psychological field is prison. The intellect analyses and projects thought, so intellect is conditioned, is limited. The intellect can never find freedom, because it functions only within the radius of its own tether. There is no freedom in the psychological field. Every man is born with two dimensions - self-knowledge of the known and understanding and learning the Unknown. Intellect says "I want to investigate the known, I will gather self-knowledge of the known", but it has no capacity to understand the learned. Intellect works in the psychological field, so there is nothing to learn in the psychological living. When the scientific mode of mind sees a thought without interfering in its flow, the mind is attentive. The non-variable attentivity takes up the role of the true subject. At the moment of attentiveness all the conditioning disappears and all the image-building comes to an end. The symbolic-dualistic frame makes a quantum jump to the non-dual and non-conceptual frame of reference of mind spectrum. The non-dual frame revels in freedom. In philosophical language, we say that the highest realization the intellect can have is to realize that it is limited and conditioned, therefore it is incapable of seeing truth. This is the supreme realization for the intellect and realizing this it becomes silent and still. Stillness of the intellect implies that the recalled memory (pseudo-subject) goes to abeyance. The intellect says, "I do not know". It means a real humility, a sense of austerity. Therefore, there is no possibility of having any conclusion at any time. Relationship with the mind is not-knowing. Relationship means care; care means attention; attention means love. Attention and love bestow freedom. A mind free from the known revels in freedom. When man becomes aware of the movement of his own thoughts, he will see the division between the observer and the observed, between the thinker and the thought. He will discover that this division is an illusion. Then only there is pure observation which is insight without any shadow of the past or of time. This timeless insight brings about a deep radical mutation in the mind. Freedom is pure observation without direction, without fear of punishment and reward. Freedom is without motive; freedom is not at the end of the evolution of man but lies in the first step of his existence. Freedom is found in choiceless awareness of our daily existence and activity. Freedom implies the total ending of all illusions, of all beliefs, of all your accumulated wants, desires. A religious (non-dual frame) mind is a sane, healthy, factual mind. It faces facts, not ideas. It is endowed with pure perception which leads to intuition and spontaneity. There is no psychological time between perception and action, so the action is logical, sane and rational. That action is born of intelligence. Intelligence, love, compassion, all go together.

Entropy and Life

As long as we are engaged in ego-consciousness, time-space consciousness and sex-consciousness, there is a movement from a fairly high level of orderliness (fairly low level of entropy) to a low level of orderliness (high level of entropy), and thus tends to approach the dangerous state of maximum entropy, which is death. Every one of us is aware of the energy of sorrow, conflict, violence, fear - they are within the field of time and that is the whole of my consciousness - and these are the energies of decay; they add subtle matter to consciousness. This decreases the sensitivity of the system and leads to self-destruction. If one scientifically observes the movement of the whole content of consciousness, then the false drops, and there is true perception: (i) of the fact, then (ii) mutation of the fact. If this state is sustained for a long chronological time, the attentiveness and the fact coalesce and both vanish. The unconditioned energy bathes the brain-cells. This flows to ending of all entropy.

Intelligence

Intelligence is the understanding or discovering what love is. Intelligence has nothing whatsoever to do with thought, with cleverness, with knowledge. Intelligence goes with love and compassion, and you cannot come upon that intelligence as an individual. Compassion is not yours or mine, like thought is not yours and mine. When there is intelligence, there is no me and you. Intelligence is supreme and is everywhere. Intelligence is the highest supreme form of energy, it is the ultimate security; it is not the intelligence of the cunning thought. There is the intelligence of compassion, in that intelligence, there is no doubt, no uncertainty, no fear. That intelligence is something immense and universal. And where there is attention, there is silence. It is something sacred, nameless, supreme. It is utterly free from all travails of life.

Oneness of Life

Consciousness performs a dual role in the universe. It is both the awareness and the creation of experience. It is the being and the knowing of experience. With the stroke of the twentieth-century quantum eraser, the dividing line between ontology (theory of being) and epistemology (theory of knowing) is rubbed out. The fusion of ontology, epistemology, psychology, philosophy, physics and biology is beginning to emerge. It points to harmony, order and Oneness of Life.

 Concluding Comment

Many physicists are of the view that an explicit involvement of consciousness is an essential factor - silence is simultaneous consciousness, and thought is successive consciousness: so the whole is an expression or manifestation of consciousness. Consciousness is shared by all humanity. Thinking is the movement of all mankind; it is not individual thinking. Many physicists accept the Vedantic viewpoint:

i) The role of consciousness in atomic physics is a reflection of the intervention of Brahman (Life Field, Universal Consciousness) in the projection of an Unmanifest into a manifest state of being.

ii) The role of individual consciousness (atman) in atomic physics has a metaphysical parallel in the creation through an act of Will of Brahman of the manifest universe from an unmanifest state beyond space-time-causation. Brahman is the one Self of all, it is the very basis and consummation of experience and knowledge.

iii) The Unmanifest, the Unknown is a fathomless, unbounded ocean of energy (at very high frequency, higher frequency means higher energy), which is infinite, immutable and eternal; whereas the manifest (known) is finite, mutable and transitory and expresses itself as time-space-causation matrices. The finite, as an analogy, may be compared to a drop of the ocean of Eternity.

iv) Nature has endowed man with self-knowledge to investigate the known; and understanding and learning to explore the Eternity. All intelligence and wisdom is structured in Consciousness.

v) Nature is releasing its hidden secrets to man bit by bit, and it is now set to help mankind from psychosocial evolution to spiritual evolution. Modern science has brought man to the control panel of mutation of human psyche. It has touched the fringes of Vedantic wisdom. It adds a quantum of freedom, love and compassion to the orbit of global human Consciousness. It is a symbiosis of science and spirituality that can resolve all human challenges and save mankind from self-annihilation.

Anyone for tea?

(Points of interest arising from a recorded discussion involving Swamis Bhuteshananda, Bhavyananda and others at Bourne End, 1988)

David Black 

Bhuteshananda The sum total of our talks is this..we are bound because of our imagination that we are so. If we can free ourselves from this hypnotic state in which we think we are limited, we can be free here and now. It depends on how we strive for the transcendence of limitation..how we strive for it. Someone capable of it can at once deny all these conditions and states of bondage and say `I am free, the Atman can never be in bondage'. Once this happens, there is no more fear of darkness ever again covering the light, because there will be no darkness anywhere. But for most of us, this state is not possible. However much we go on repeating `I am free, I am free', our bondage remains. Therefore other ways have been described by different religions, every one of which is capable of leading man to a state beyond all conditions, provided it is properly understood and pursued. Firstly, I must think of an Ideal which I consider to be the highest in my own mind. It is up to me to find the Highest Ideal which is relevant for me, then to try and concentrate upon it and live up to it. Doing this without digressing, just following in a concentrated way, step by step, I am sure to evolve and to be transformed gradually. I become what my Ideal is, and as I go ahead my Ideal will gradually develop more and more. In the beginning, it may be just an imaginary thing which is not very high, like a child's idea to get more sweets. But then as I grow, concentrating myself on the Ideal, gradually it unfolds. I develop further as does my Ideal. It becomes increasingly clarified, and in this way I proceed. My progress will accelerate the more I try to free myself from my bondage. It will perhaps be a great struggle in the beginning, but my Ideal, or that state of liberation, will become clearer. My intensity of longing will increase. This is the message of great hope: there is another rational way of gaining `heaven', i.e. the highest state of existence I can think of. Everybody can do this, and in fact is doing so even if they are unaware of it. Remember the illustration of the musk deer who becomes maddened with searching in the grass for the perfume which in fact is emanating from its own navel. In the same way, we seek joy from worldly things and adopt a roundabout route. If we follow the straight path, with sincerity and earnestness, we will ultimately become our Ideal. That is why we say that religion is `being and becoming', not merely certain rituals and dogmas. This process will take you to the highest goal, a state of complete blessedness from which there is no fear of fall......(pause)......I've given you the ideal of reaching heaven...(chuckling in the group)..and also how to reach it...

Bhavyananda I think we'll stop it at that, we have a little tea arranged for everyone..of course if we all go there at once there will be no room..(chuckling)..

 Bhuteshananda I shall venture wherever you ask me..my stay is short and I won't disoblige anybody.. Bhavyananda Anyway, I'm sure we're all happy..

Bhuteshananda I don't know, but I know I'm happy (general laughter).