Another Overseas Lesson
It was during the Dasara festival that Baba kept sending wave upon wave of bliss to me. It came at all times, until one knew that only He could be creating such moments filled with nectar.
His teachings of late have been emphasizing the great need for becoming aware that each moment unfolds according to His plan, and not according to man’s plan. It is when man tries to out-guess Him that man feels saddened, whenever the moment is not just what he had pictured it out to be.
He taught me that learning to know that each moment is unique is filled with its own incense, is sprinkled with a different distinct vibhuti [holy ash], is true progress. “Will you ever expect,” He asked me, “the same butterfly to nestle upon the same blossom at the same time each day?” “Of course not,” He said. “Nor would you expect every one’s reactions to be exactly the same each time they meet talk and discuss their personal experiences.” Thus Baba spoke to me, and I pondered, during dhyana [meditation], upon this great wisdom.
“But, Babaji,” I asked, “while each moment unfolds according to Your plan, are not all lives very similar? Cannot one, therefore, expect that each will open similarly?”
“Yes. Charles!” He said. “All lives have a sameness. All experience conception, birth, growth, decline, and death. But is your life the same since you have known of Me? Is it what it used to be before the revelation? As you are now aware that all is illusion—even your body, even the scenes you see day after day, why, even the days themselves, even the conception of time, including your life-span—let Me unfold the lotus flower more clearly to you, Charles!
“Life is a vahini [river/stream]. High above the Himalayas, you see the white clouds and higher still is the clear blue sky, the vast depths of My universe extend, and beyond even that is the path to the Creator.
“For one drop of snow upon the mountaintop, the Creator actuates all His forces, far beyond mortal vision. With those drops of soft snow, He reveals Himself in another of His lordly forms. So the snows cloak His mantle; the placid pools of His prema are formed in the crevices of His mountain form. When the crest of the lakes rises beyond the rock’s edge, He pours Himself over the side and falls against the hard sides of the mountain.
“The stream begins far below, flowing first over more hard rocks, and then rushing against jagged edges ever downward, until the stream becomes a river. Then the river widens, the surface becomes calm; even the soft silt far below remains unruffled as the passage of the lordly One continues. And so, when the River Ganga finally reaches the sea, the mergence is peaceful. The first part of the ocean crossing has been successful.
“Now, Charles, what becomes of the Ganga when it tosses itself into the sea? With His great power, He lifts the pure water up—and, leaves behind the bitterness. Thus, the seas remain filled with salt; yet, through them, have not the sweet snowdrops risen to the mountaintop? There is life. The Lord gives life; nay, it is one with Him, and so how can it be given? It is a part of the Lord. Each such part of the divine, that is, each life is dashed against the rocks and stones, until it roars out in thunderous pain, until it realizes the folly of running over the bed of jagged experiences. Then when reality is discovered, it passes into tranquility, and then, when the last particle of bitterness is shed, He reaches down—and scoops you up to His own bosom, from whence, in truth, you have never left.
“You ask, why does the Lord arrange such a vahini? Why, with His great power, does He not create a heaven rid of this great pain? Charles! You have experienced during dhyanam such high bliss that you have had to turn away from it. You are He; therefore, your experience, too, is His. When the sweet waters rise in vapor form, they experience such great bliss; finally, they return to the sea to earn more of His glory.
“Knowing this, you need never be concerned with the final outcome of this round in time. If you want to endure great hardship, then that is your desire. If you have earned the place in His plan to stay risen, high above the great Himalayas beyond the vast universe, and even further along His path that, too is your choice.
“Each year, My birthday is celebrated in grand style. Thousands come to have My darshan, the darshan I once brought you around this world on My wings to enjoy. But do not think that it is My birthday that is celebrated. No. I am a part of each of you; I pour Myself from the great beyond; after another year, year of onward movement, you merge in the estuary of My vahini, My Ganga. As the birthdays pass along, you wait your turn to rise, through the sea, into the ocean of sweetness. When I pour My nectar from the bottomless cup, I am scooping each of you up to My bosom, nay, not to My bosom, for each of you are a part of Me. So, at the height of the birthday festival, all devotees who have reached My Sea rise as one. The ananda [bliss] you feel then is the result of leaving behind all the bitterness and being bathed in My light.
“My teachings have taught you to look upon life as an endless stream, a stream without sunrise or sunset, a stream that can join My vahini whenever it wishes, a stream that can be narrow or broad, shallow or deep, smooth or turbulent. It is whatever you want to make it. You can select a smooth bed or a rough one. You can prance or glide. You can rant and rage or chant and rejoice. It is all of your own making.
But, Charles! Everyone is Me; it is not they who suffer from intolerances, from mass carnage, from deep wounds. No. These are My pains, which are but the shade of illusion, compared with the moments of bliss. It is only when man believes that he creates, that he feels his own destructiveness. For each pain that you endure for Me, I shall hold you to My bosom for a thousand years.”
So, Babaji ended another of His lessons. I thank Sanathana Sarathi for letting me share His prema with its readers. Always at His lotus feet with Om and prema.
~Charles Penn, Los Angeles, USA.
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, Dec. 1967
