Solitude vs Ceremony.
And you wonder,
somewhere in the
cracks of uncertainty:
who is “Christ” in all this …
if this really, indeed celebrates
the birth of an enigmatic teacher,
then, where-oh-where
is Teacher and Teachings
in this recipe?
Through my progression of life, it has meant different things. As a child, it was simply a holiday from school; perhaps a day imbued with ritual dour parades and gatherings in the auditorium – something we all fidgeted and complained through, waiting impatiently for that half-day of freedom that followed.
Later in my adult life, it was a creative photo-op, a chance to watch human expression, a chance to take in the curious and fantastic actors in the Human Movie.
Now I watch it with different eyes. Now, that means – in a literal sense – that my body cells have been largely replaced over the past year, and indeed, these eyes are different eyes. But this also means that my perceptions, values, realities, neuronal network, has all transformed, evolved, shifted. I see and feel, not only the pulse, the longing, the full and empty cups inside of me, but the same in all the humans around me.
I am typing in the dark back of my hotel room in Palermo so as not to wake my roomate. The computer will go with her today and I want to get this to you, so I am writing. I cannot read my notes in this light, so I will start again so I can share with you – and savor my own memories, while fresh – of this amazing event which unfolded as a tale of old.
Corleone is not city like Palermo — indeed it is a small town. The bus ride took about 1 and 1/4 hours and way route was lined with grapevines and hayfields, beautiful mountains and a picturesque countryside.
Grown men baling and stacking hay waived at our bus, the way chlldren waive to train engineers in rural areas. The town square, named for 2 men who were shot because they stood up to the Mafia was smaller than a football field.
Chairs had been brought in and some bleachers at the back. They said this important event could have been held indoors, but that they wanted it in the open air where all who wished to could come. Their sincerity and genuine affection for Mr.Prem Rawat was evident and very touching.
This past weekend I attended a two-day event with Maharaji at the Palace Theater in Albany, NY. As always, I enjoyed the experience immensely.
On the way home, I started thinking about why, specifically, I enjoy being with him as much as I do — and how I might describe these benefits to others, especially those intrigued by Maharaji’s message, but not totally sure it’s for them.
Well… at the risk of trying to explain the unexplainable, here goes:
Believe me or not,
from our birth you and i,
we were trained like a dog,
trained in what is right and what is wrong,
trained in what is good and what is bad,
trained in who is and who isn’t our god.
Who wasn’t blind for this inner light?
Who wasn’t deaf for this inner sound?
Who wasn’t shackled for their false self?
Who wasn’t living in their own unrest?
Who?
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Yes this experience is all about your breath,
but sincerely said it is much more than that,
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It is the end of another business day, school-day, peace-keeping day. Soldiers, school children, a handful of tourists, Hasidic Jews all pile on and empty off the bus in drips, droves, coughs and sputters, as the bus navigates the stew of the afternoon rush.
Soldiers are everywhere in Israel; more pronounced in Jerusalem, less visible in Tel Aviv. They are all young. College young. Just- out-of -high -school young. A period of military service is a mandatory part of the young Israelis’ journey into adulthood, for both men and women. This rite-of-passage speaks of the reality of a societal burden as old as the stones in the temple walls here.
OK. Here’s the scene. It’s December 3rd, five days before Maharaji’s 50th birthday event in San Diego, when the phone rings in my kitchen. Its Kate, one of the program coordinators, wondering if I’m available to be the “back up MC.”
“Back up, MC?” I ask.
Kate laughs and deftly explains that Maharaji has already selected the MC for the event, but they always like to have a back up, “just in case.”
“In case of what?” I’m thinking. “A heart attack?”
Two thoughts race through my mind. One is the wow-amazed-humbled-what-a-beautiful-opportunity thought that spontaneously arises from deep within the heart of someone who loves Maharaji and wants to be of service in any way possible.
The other?
Lima downtown is an area than meets more than ten million people a day. The colorful crowd has received epithets such as “urban wildlifeâ€Â, “concrete jungle” and several less poetic names, that describe, somewhat, its chaotic aspect. There can be seen, perhaps, the best and the worst of this stunning city, called “City of the Viceroysâ€Â. The beautiful restored historic buildings, try to survive the smog that, merciless, covers them every day, with a layer of black pollution; and the noise of thousands of public service passenger cars is such a cacophony, which peaks among noontime to eight p.m. The scenes are worth of a Fellini’s film, disturbing the mood of walking people. It’s easy to feel alone among this concert.