Lord Shiva Never Did It

Verona. 1981. According to Tantra, there are no accidents. Life is a series of incidents, each with its own cause and meaning.

When I first attempted to analyze the causes behind my mistakes, my injuries and the injustices inflicted upon me, I accepted the usual explanation:

“Wrong thoughts and wrong actions beget painful reactions.”

For those who practice meditation, the interval between cause and effect is usually short.

As a spiritualist. I’ve learned to see every problem as an opportunity for growth. I’ve learned to stop what I’m doing when I make any mistake and focus on the source of the error within me.

Over the last few months my analysis deepened. Behind every personal difficulty, I found not only some previous mistake, but more importantly I found the absence of Cosmic ideation. Whenever I forgot Guru or God for more than a few moments, I hurt someone or hurt myself.

During these last months, every time I made even the slightest mistake, I noticed 1 had forgotten my mantra. 67 Each mistake helped alert me to my uncontrolled ego-centered thoughts.

So, what happened today? While busy in the yoga center, running from one activity to another, I was joyously singing Baba Nam Kevalam. At one point, I dashed into the bathroom to wash a few clothes. After wetting and soaping my clothes, while still singing, I started pounding my soaped shirt in the sink. I didn’t know that the sink had not yet been fully installed. Suddenly, it tipped over and fell on the floor. As the basin broke, a big piece dove into my bare foot.

7 The constant internal repetition of one’s personal mantra is one of the essenti al Tantric practices, it helps to calm the mind of the aspirant and eventually helps to ensconce him or her in continuous Cosmic ideation.

The noise alarmed two or three of the Margis, who thrust the door open.

They found me lying on the floor, stunned. Blood gushed out of my foot.

The cause of my shock was not, however, what it appeared. While they fussed over my injury, I hardly paid attention to it. Rather, I muttered, “I can’t understand…” I couldn’t grasp how I could make such a blunder even though I was singing Baba Nam Kevalam. Suffering may happen while one is in Cosmic ideation, but careless mistakes cannot.

It doesn’t figure… I thought.

Then a flash. I jumped up, almost slipping in the pool of blood. “I’ve got it!” I blurted out. The Margis’ eyes bulged as they stared at me, thinking I’d gone nuts. Crazy or not, I had the answer: Though I’d chanted spiritual words, 1 hadn’t been aware of their meaning. It had only been a jolly tune for me, without any feeling. My thoughts had simply raced, immersed in me—only me.

A psychic implosion! Feeling alone is the key to harmony. Actions and words may be sublime, but if the feeling behind them moves in another direction, there’s no value. Though many times I heard or read such philosophy, this simple careless accident was the clear proof.

No need to engage in complex psychological interpersonal mind-games. No need to fret over conflicts between a thousand do’s and don’ts. Only remember: Him. The one and only Answer.

Even at the hospital, as the doctor completed sewing the stitches, I contemplated His grace. When the moment of truth arrived, i.e. the time for paying the bill, I said, “Considering that I’m a monk, any discount?”

The doctor paused, then said, “I hope you learned a lesson from this accident. Will you be more careful next time ?”

“Definitely, Baba,” I said. I felt like Baba was speaking through the doctor.

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “It’s free, sir.”

I looked at what shall surely remain a nasty scar, and thought, “My little beauty, may you serve as a constant reminder, like a string permanently tied on my finger.”

Warsaw, Poland. I am the first worker to visit this country. Though I’ve been here only a few days, I received the following surprising comment from a newly interested person: “I like Ananda Marga very much, Dada.

I’m sure many Poles will have the same feeling as me. I predict that within a few years, thousands of people will be practicing meditation in this country.”

Their interest in parapsychology is far beyond what I imagined before coming here.

Nevertheless, the common person’s knowledge of spiritual terminology appears shockingly limited. A typical communication-hitch occurred last evening when I spoke with a few young people. The concept of God arose in my talk.

“What is God?” one of them asked.

“Well, how do you define it?” I replied.

“I have idea not. I know this word not.”

I was surprised. His English was not perfect, but at least he should have known the word.

“Does anyone here understand the word God?”

They all shook their heads.

“God is the endless energy, the beginning, the end, the purpose, the mind of our minds. All the religions talk about God….”

“Oh!” One of them interrupted me. “The thing of church, you mean?”

“Well, that’s one way of defining it.” I said, laughing. It was both very funny and very unfunny.

Budapest, Hungary. Last night I wanted to go to a graveyard to do my kapalika meditation. The young artist who was my host guided me to the nearest cemetery, and left me there unceremoniously a little after midnight.

When I entered, I was astonished to see tombstone upon tombstone. There were so many thousands of them that they leaned against each other. They careened in every conceivable direction, bordered by waist-high grass.

Even in the daytime I would have found it difficult to make my way to the center of the tangle. Many stones were cracked or covered by moss. Even for an experienced graveyarder like me, it was spooky on this cloud-covered night.

Since I was keen to withdraw my mind from these surroundings, my concentration peaked more quickly than usual.

In the morning, during a Spartan breakfast, I asked, “Are all the graveyards in Hungary so small and crowded like the one I went to last night?”

“Oh, that one is special,” the artist said. “It was for Jews.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Was?”

“When Jews couldn’t move their homes.”

He meant the ghetto.

“They couldn’t go outside their area, but they still had babies. They still died. More and more and more. And no place to go.” “And now where are they?” “A lot went to Israel. And a lot died. A lot.”

Cosmic confidence

Belgrade, Yugoslavia. After a successful three-week tour in Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, I arrived last night in a communist country where I can wear my uniform. I breathe a relative freedom here in Yugoslavia which was absent in those other regimes which suffer under the heavy hand of their Overlord.

There, I find the people believe in socialist theory, but despise the dictatorial presence of the Soviet army, and the strangle-hold maintained by the Soviets over their education, international trade, spirituality, culture and mass media.

My decision to risk wearing my uniform in Yugoslavia was influenced by a comment Baba made some time ago, that Tito’s government would not obstruct Ananda Marga.

I stepped out of the train in Belgrade without an address or phone number.

As usual in this situation, I went to a crowded section of the city, arriving around 11:00 p.m.

No doubt I was an eye-catcher. Many people stopped to inquire if I needed anything, but no one had any extra space in which I could stay. Several people offered to pay for a hotel room, but I politely refused.

One of the couples spoke to me in fluent English. “We wish we could help you. It’s so late, and soon no one will be here. But we have no room.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “At the right moment someone will come along. I’m dead sure. Really don’t worry. It’s just a tiny test for me.” As they walked away, they looked back anxiously.

Five minutes later, they returned. The young lady said, “Your extraordinary confidence inspired us. So we came back.”

“We decided to stand here until you find a lodging,” the man said. “We’ll also help you in asking people passing by.”

“Thanks,” I said.

As we stood there waiting for the right person, they asked about meditation and yoga. Eventually one of their friends came. Fie had a spare room, and we all went there. By the end of the evening we already had the base for our new meditation unit.

And so it goes. Everywhere.