Quests and Questions
The stars slowly flicker to life as shadows creep up to consume the steep walls of the rio grande canyon. In the middle of new mexican wilderness, sunrises and sunsets can be dramatic. And while we watch, darkness has begun its nightly ritual to envelop the ashram.
In the distance, a resplendent full-moon shines upon a mist shrouded wheeler peak. Basking in the glory of celestial reflections, the menacing edges of the mountain defiantly contrast the calm serenity of the ashram. The cries of a distant owl create the only ripples in the absolute quiet - undisciplined notes corrupting the ten empty lines of my treble and bass.
Inside the ashram, a dim sodium lamp fights a losing battle against darkness. It is only a matter of time before the embers in the fireplace outshine the lamp. I turn away, unable to watch this sad spectacle. Zero sum games interest me no more.
I sit on the wooden bench near the oak table and struggle to soak the few sights around me. I reason thats what aspiring philosphers ought to do. To observe and learn, like Hesse's Siddhartha. I watch without emotions as the embers in the fireplace taunt the hapless potted rose. The tabla, tambura and ektara are huddled in a corner - overcome by torpor, disinterested in the world around them. The simmering tea kettle torments me with its incessant chatter. The smoke from the incense keeps me awake.
Minutes seem like hours as complete silence numbs my mind. I wonder about the rest of the world. But the voice of the self makes me claustrophic. Tortured within the walls of unspoken words, my conscious writhes in agony. I crave to talk to someone. Anyone.
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Life has its own checks and balances. Mysterious and complicated. But unfailingly effective. And so, a dimunitive Persian nestles next to me with his pot of chai. The illusion of being left alone with exactly one other human becomes real. I find solace by dreading the alternative.
Politely, I ask his name.
Sarkis, he answers.
A seed served with a little water and a bit of light grows into a tree. Between a cup of chai and a dim light bulb, we had both. Failing to dissappoint, conversation flowers and meanders across my education and his, my family and his, my experiences and his...
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
I realize that it is inevitable. Sooner or later, he will gravitate towards the ultimate. Thats what keeps the ashram going. Makes it special. Attracts all these people from afar. They had seen me in this ashram all too often and someone is bound to ask me this question. It is only a matter of time. As it always is. I was prepared.
I brace myself for the confession as he broaches the topic: "You believe in God despite your scientific background, I assume". It was not a statement. It was an enquiry. His eyes peer deep into me and glow in anticipation, a smile adorns his face permanently.
My strength wanes as it hurts to disappoint him and I run through my options: should I use the weapon of cowards and shamelessly speak a veiled truth with a radiant smile? or should I stick with honesty even in blasphemy?
If the way of truth is the path to the realization of God, my confession contradicts itself! But I knew, I should confess even if I do not wish to.
Confusion has its own way of begetting clarity. As one famous western movie classic recommends, "When in doubt, shoot". And so I did.
There were no fireworks. The smile did not waver one bit. And his eyes were bright as ever, showing no signs of dissent. I wonder if that is true love - to accept without vindication; to wait for wisdom to arrive; for realization to dawn; to give and not expect to take; to understand. And I wonder when that wisdom of realization will find its home in my soul. If ever.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unburdened, I walk out of the ashram into the clear night, puzzled about the nature of the real Hindu. One was soaked by birth and the other walked across an entire country in its search. Only one became wise.
Perhaps, its the search itself that is important - the desire to want, the desire to comprehend and capture it within the heart, the courage to travel the path without a fear of failure. Or maybe I did not understand it right and my past remains unchanged.
Walking the long road back, I turned to take another look at the ashram. The windows had a dim glow, the fireplace had burnt itself out and the light bulb was still fighting the darkness...
In the distance, a resplendent full-moon shines upon a mist shrouded wheeler peak. Basking in the glory of celestial reflections, the menacing edges of the mountain defiantly contrast the calm serenity of the ashram. The cries of a distant owl create the only ripples in the absolute quiet - undisciplined notes corrupting the ten empty lines of my treble and bass.
Inside the ashram, a dim sodium lamp fights a losing battle against darkness. It is only a matter of time before the embers in the fireplace outshine the lamp. I turn away, unable to watch this sad spectacle. Zero sum games interest me no more.
I sit on the wooden bench near the oak table and struggle to soak the few sights around me. I reason thats what aspiring philosphers ought to do. To observe and learn, like Hesse's Siddhartha. I watch without emotions as the embers in the fireplace taunt the hapless potted rose. The tabla, tambura and ektara are huddled in a corner - overcome by torpor, disinterested in the world around them. The simmering tea kettle torments me with its incessant chatter. The smoke from the incense keeps me awake.
Minutes seem like hours as complete silence numbs my mind. I wonder about the rest of the world. But the voice of the self makes me claustrophic. Tortured within the walls of unspoken words, my conscious writhes in agony. I crave to talk to someone. Anyone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Life has its own checks and balances. Mysterious and complicated. But unfailingly effective. And so, a dimunitive Persian nestles next to me with his pot of chai. The illusion of being left alone with exactly one other human becomes real. I find solace by dreading the alternative.
Politely, I ask his name.
Sarkis, he answers.
A seed served with a little water and a bit of light grows into a tree. Between a cup of chai and a dim light bulb, we had both. Failing to dissappoint, conversation flowers and meanders across my education and his, my family and his, my experiences and his...
...tick...tick...tick...tick...
I realize that it is inevitable. Sooner or later, he will gravitate towards the ultimate. Thats what keeps the ashram going. Makes it special. Attracts all these people from afar. They had seen me in this ashram all too often and someone is bound to ask me this question. It is only a matter of time. As it always is. I was prepared.
I brace myself for the confession as he broaches the topic: "You believe in God despite your scientific background, I assume". It was not a statement. It was an enquiry. His eyes peer deep into me and glow in anticipation, a smile adorns his face permanently.
My strength wanes as it hurts to disappoint him and I run through my options: should I use the weapon of cowards and shamelessly speak a veiled truth with a radiant smile? or should I stick with honesty even in blasphemy?
If the way of truth is the path to the realization of God, my confession contradicts itself! But I knew, I should confess even if I do not wish to.
Confusion has its own way of begetting clarity. As one famous western movie classic recommends, "When in doubt, shoot". And so I did.
There were no fireworks. The smile did not waver one bit. And his eyes were bright as ever, showing no signs of dissent. I wonder if that is true love - to accept without vindication; to wait for wisdom to arrive; for realization to dawn; to give and not expect to take; to understand. And I wonder when that wisdom of realization will find its home in my soul. If ever.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unburdened, I walk out of the ashram into the clear night, puzzled about the nature of the real Hindu. One was soaked by birth and the other walked across an entire country in its search. Only one became wise.
Perhaps, its the search itself that is important - the desire to want, the desire to comprehend and capture it within the heart, the courage to travel the path without a fear of failure. Or maybe I did not understand it right and my past remains unchanged.
Walking the long road back, I turned to take another look at the ashram. The windows had a dim glow, the fireplace had burnt itself out and the light bulb was still fighting the darkness...
posted by littlecow at
8:55 PM
3 Comments:
got to say.. you have a with words.. well written, with lots of feeling those letters!
i meant to say "in those letters "
So beautifully put with the a great intensity. How can I praise excellence, except admire it!!
"Perhaps, its the search itself that is important"..or is it that this very search is the cause of all confusion? In the end, journey is the reward (Tao). I may add humbly, that its inward perhaps.
@
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