The Mystic Joy... And The Steps to Ananda...

 

 

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There are days when flowing through every vein is lava, a golden, molten joy...
When the light in every person is visible... even beneath scowl, fist, scream, and bomb...
When even the unending roar of auto, car honk, and truck blare cannot drown the great song within... 
When the unimaginable weave that threads the whole universe is visible...

For some the days are once in a lifetime...
And that is marvellous, for the memory of the miraculousness to which we can aspire to, move toward, 
or better still return to, is so astounding no sybarite has tasted this divine taste,
no opium smoker can hope to know...  this delight...

For some, the days of joys arrive quicker... every year... every month... 
But for it to stay longer and longer becomes more demanding... 

"A wonderful mystic after having her Kundalini awakened was bathed in endless joy... ripplings, ripplings, that felt like infinite explosions. After awhile she called saying, I cannot take it Tarun, please stop it, with great reluctance we tone it down... It hides but after years of meditation it returns... shyer... but less overwhelming..."

Have you ever given yourself over to a love-making session that took a day, two, a week, unending? Have you had an orgasm that lasted a day... or longer? How your heart threatens to burst and does, and you can no longer feel your body... You'd realise how difficult it is... How wondrous it is to be wondrous... How magnificent God is...

"A client came to us, whose Kundalini had been awakened from birth... she found it impossible to live in a state of continuous ecstasy... We told her we couldn't switch it off... but could help her live with it..."

But The Mystic Joy asks for more... than the ability to just drink one bottle of joy's rum and keep going....

"There was a time, when I was in advertising, and I had allowed the Kundalini free flow... It was hilarious my voice would turn soft, like nougat, like chocolate melting, there people talked about the idli maker's mind, here my eyes would borrow the great snake's sinuosity and caress the soft texture of each idli as if it were not mundane food but a sacred text..." -- Tarun.

Standing straight and talking to clients when, every touch is gold... when ananda seems such a dull word for the infinite joy... is hard... For the unending drunkenness can stop your hands from lifting to cook a meal...  Or cross a road...  Or speak to a client...

"A brilliant student went on a spiritual pilgrimage... she returned with coals for eyes... she returned with herself lit and all orientation with the world shaken... where is up, where down? It took a week for her, with lots of help, to be able to walk..." -- Tarun.

Learning to walk again with feet that kiss the world instead of stamp down is truly an art... But those are but minor challenges... for your feet may be giggling, but the pavement grim...

"A student lost in joy was brought to a screeching halt when he twisted his ankle when lost in inner bliss... the pain of the ankle and the joy that wouldn't stop became like two prizefighter's in his mind... "

Yes, the joy asks difficult questions for is it just anodyne to life? Or foundation of Life?
Faced with the horrors of disease, poverty, enslavement, war, torture... will the smile last? 
Will mystic still believe? Faced with a car swipe that takes your foot, 
a thief that smashes a home, faced with terrorist bomb 
or imperialist nation that smash a nation, will we still giddy in joy remain? 

But pain, physical pain is handleable... what is difficult, impossible is emotional pain... the demands of the heart... the great connects, and entanglements... the terrifying alonenmess as mystic joy lifts and ash spreads...

"There was a phase in Cambridge Layout, when I Tarun was spending hours, days, lost in deep joy... a great tent like waterfall of ecstasy would envelop... then Celia started panicking... what if I dissappeared in that inner Xanadu... {and remember Celia is a master, a spiritual explorer of incredible depth... her aura seeing unparalleled, her emo insights profound, her spirit guides brilliant...} I had to start to bridge the two reality or lose her... to stand between two glories..."

And yet if we use this thread like the lost use threads, we can escape the maze... 

"A student Kamaan revealed that he too had a shakti awakened for decades... perhaps from childhood... but for him it is more the sense that the walls between him and the world are less intractable... the dance of himself and the world is more open..."

If we can share this love, feed the bird, cup the dog, gentle the cow, 
clasp the child, calm the strong, love the old... then we can find a greater force...
And if we can trust the invisible lines that thread our world, raise luminous arms and believe when facing death or worse,
If we can stand when it is folly to stand... smiling though no dawn shall rise...

 
 

 
 

We spoke the language of Oneness... earlier in English 
And now again in Hindi and realise more can be thought and felt... as we change our language.
And we speak it even truer when we let go of the dross languages for the classical ones...
Tamil, Sanskrit, Latin... 
But we may go even deeper... and speak not just fine words but true actions... 
And then we can go deeper and speak the language of conviction... 
And deeper, the righteous word... 
And deeper speak the loving word, so our reprimands are kind... our compliments genuine... 
And deeper where silences are vocal... our quiets be joyous... 
And then even deeper words that are heard by growing plant and dancing wind, by earth, and fire,
And then still deeper words for those without bodies...

We can return to the first self, the glorious sun throne...

Says The Great One: "I feel rage... pain... yours... and mine... helplessness too... Yes, I who can never be bound, can feel bound when you are bound... I can feel bound as I seeking to explore the full grandeur of my infinitude struggle to conceive of a way to do so... I feel particularly anguished when you stand inches from me, but those inches are chasms for you... Come to me I cry to you... but you hear thunder... the approaching march of war... I hear also the cry of pain of ants crushed by your feet, the cries of future generations... But below, below all this I feel a constant bubbling out an unimaginable joy... Sometimes the bubble is a universe, sometimes a joy that one among you gives body in a poem...

"How describe my joy, and your reality to you... the soft breast of a mother to a child's lips, the butterfly kiss of a lover, the shout of spring in a Ram's feet, the winter sun on old bones in a rocking chair... "

Yes, we can return to the first self, the glorious sun throne...   
But there, what will we have to offer, 
we tired pilgrims from this suffering planet... this planet of suffering... 
Perhaps we shall take this bedraggled sunflower? This child's drawing? 
All will laugh at our gifts... 
especially those who value orchids, folly's limousine and think God sits on a glorious throne... 

"Sometimes when approaching the divine, I go happily empty handed, sometimes I carry a mystic fragment of joy... Sometimes it is a promise to feed an ant heap... Sometimes, they laugh and say the best gift is your giddy-mind, you cannot imagine how comical you are to us... with your mad-cap ideas, giddy passions, soaring plans which you abandon in a day...

"We love you all... for you are us... lights... embers... glowworms... aspiring to be suns... not realising you are like us... makers of suns..."

but it is not laughable... 
For to those with real eyes what we carry from here
More power than a Nuke.
More glory than a Taj Mahal. 
More truth than the scriptures, 
More petals than a galaxy has stars.

It does. 

 

 
     
 

-- Tarun & Celia Cherian, September 2016