Come Empty Into the Cave of the Heart
The pavillion where we would be holding daily satsang
Floating blossoms lent a festive atmosphere to the opening of our retreat Saturday, a week after our arrival at the ashram, the silent retreat with Devaji began. Spirits were high and there was almost a celebratory atmosphere in the compound. A sign-up sheet for “seva” (selfless service) had gone up, and preparatory jobs included washing all the plastic chairs we would be using during satsang, sweeping and washing the tiled floor of the open-air pavilion where we would be meeting, and sweeping the wide walkway that leads up to the structure. I helped wash the chairs and set them up in semi-circles on the tiers in the pavillion. On the morning of the first satsang, we discovered beautiful crimson and saffron flower blossoms floating in a large concrete basin centrally situated on the walkway in front of the amphitheater. Other bowls of floating blossoms were strategically placed around the grounds. Everything was cleaned and polished and made ready for our entry into this sacred adventure.
For me, it was a relief to settle into silence. I am an introvert by nature, and I welcomed a lengthy period of time where I wouldn''t have to converse or interact with other people. The daily routine was to gather at 9 a.m. for satsang (following the same format as at the public events), break for lunch and then regroup again at about 2 in the afternoon for another session that ended just before dinner.
I found myself going in and out of extreme homesickness during the first few days, something that rarely affects me when I’m traveling. This whole India experience was much more challenging than I had expected. It’s so confounding -- wanting to get away from the familiar then wanting the familiar back when it gets dicey. The thing about this kind of pilgrimage is that as you quiet the mind, suppressed material from the past – outworn conditioning, traumas that haven’t been worked all the way through, anything that no longer serves the individual’s personal and/or soul growth – rise to the surface to be seen and dissolved. Everyone on this pilgrimage would go through such episodes to a greater or lesser degree, but we were more than willing to face these inner demons knowing that the payoff is to taste the inherent beauty and love that lies beyond the psychological mind.
For me, it was a relief to settle into silence. I am an introvert by nature, and I welcomed a lengthy period of time where I wouldn''t have to converse or interact with other people. The daily routine was to gather at 9 a.m. for satsang (following the same format as at the public events), break for lunch and then regroup again at about 2 in the afternoon for another session that ended just before dinner.
I found myself going in and out of extreme homesickness during the first few days, something that rarely affects me when I’m traveling. This whole India experience was much more challenging than I had expected. It’s so confounding -- wanting to get away from the familiar then wanting the familiar back when it gets dicey. The thing about this kind of pilgrimage is that as you quiet the mind, suppressed material from the past – outworn conditioning, traumas that haven’t been worked all the way through, anything that no longer serves the individual’s personal and/or soul growth – rise to the surface to be seen and dissolved. Everyone on this pilgrimage would go through such episodes to a greater or lesser degree, but we were more than willing to face these inner demons knowing that the payoff is to taste the inherent beauty and love that lies beyond the psychological mind.
One of the images of the floor and wall of the beautiful old house Part of my routine when not in satsang was to find time every day to sit and “be” with Arunachala. There was a lovely open spot right behind my little dwelling that afforded a vista of the holy mountain, and I would drag the green plastic chair from my room outside and drink in the view, until, quite naturally, I would sink into meditation.
And, of course, there was also the rooftop vantage point for communing with the mountain. After the first afternoon satsang ended, I meandered to the old house and sat with others in the slanting late-afternoon light, marveling at the swarms of dragonflies darting about overhead. They were a regular feature, but before India, I had never seen more than two dragonflies in one place at one time, so I was awestruck. The dragonfly, of course, is a symbol of transformation, so it only seemed fitting to see them in droves in this setting. I was fascinated with this beautiful old house, enchanted by the faded elegance, the shapes and angles of the staircases, the weathered surface textures, the colors. Some walls looked like they could have been framed as abstract works of art and placed in a museum. I took numerous photographs.
And, of course, there was also the rooftop vantage point for communing with the mountain. After the first afternoon satsang ended, I meandered to the old house and sat with others in the slanting late-afternoon light, marveling at the swarms of dragonflies darting about overhead. They were a regular feature, but before India, I had never seen more than two dragonflies in one place at one time, so I was awestruck. The dragonfly, of course, is a symbol of transformation, so it only seemed fitting to see them in droves in this setting. I was fascinated with this beautiful old house, enchanted by the faded elegance, the shapes and angles of the staircases, the weathered surface textures, the colors. Some walls looked like they could have been framed as abstract works of art and placed in a museum. I took numerous photographs.
Cow pies adorned with flowers left to dry to be used for fuel .The second day, I had a beautiful sitting. I could feel the love inside growing and flowering. After morning satsang, I went into town to pay a 43-rupee debt to a shopkeeper who let me leave her store with a roll of toilet paper I hadn’t paid for because she couldn’t change a 100-rupee bill. In retrospect, it was so little money that I don't know why I didn't just give her the 100-rupee bill and be done with it. En route, I passed by a house with a collection of rocks with cow pies adorned with flowers laid out to dry for fuel. After I paid my bill, I went to “Happiness is My Nature,” a shop that one of the women from our group had recommended. The owner was delightful, and true to the name of his shop. I bought a long white sheer cotton skirt and a white embroidered top for myself, and several decorative pillow covers and a table runner to take home as gifts, spending all of $27. Finally, I went to Ramana Market to get more toilet paper, then took my own tuk-tuk home. I felt a sense of satisfaction to have achieved all this on my own. A funny postscript: When I got back to my room, I discovered I had bought paper towels, not toilet paper. Oh well.
Day 3 was rough. I got up at 5 because I was intending to go on a 6:15 hike with some of the others. Intestinal disturbance dictated otherwise. I stayed in bed, skipping breakfast. The symptoms persisted so I talked to Amrita, who gave me some homeopathic pellets to take as needed. I skipped the meditation, but went for Deva’s monologue and the dialogues, then went back to my room to rest. I skipped lunch and afternoon satsang.
At bedtime I became terribly homesick. I felt like an unwanted child thrust into an unloving world. My response, as per Deva’s instruction, was to simply “be with what is” without any story or interpretation. One of Deva’s frequent dictums is: “How do you know what you want? What you want is ‘what is.’ ” Deva would say that all this was happening by Grace, at the behest of the Beloved for my freedom. In truth, I could make up a million stories to explain what I was feeling, but I really didn’t know what was going on or why I was feeling it so intensely, and there was no way to distract myself here.. I had to face it.
Day 3 was rough. I got up at 5 because I was intending to go on a 6:15 hike with some of the others. Intestinal disturbance dictated otherwise. I stayed in bed, skipping breakfast. The symptoms persisted so I talked to Amrita, who gave me some homeopathic pellets to take as needed. I skipped the meditation, but went for Deva’s monologue and the dialogues, then went back to my room to rest. I skipped lunch and afternoon satsang.
At bedtime I became terribly homesick. I felt like an unwanted child thrust into an unloving world. My response, as per Deva’s instruction, was to simply “be with what is” without any story or interpretation. One of Deva’s frequent dictums is: “How do you know what you want? What you want is ‘what is.’ ” Deva would say that all this was happening by Grace, at the behest of the Beloved for my freedom. In truth, I could make up a million stories to explain what I was feeling, but I really didn’t know what was going on or why I was feeling it so intensely, and there was no way to distract myself here.. I had to face it.
Tiles on a cupola on the rooftop where we would meditate As I was writing about all this in my journal, I realized that as beautiful as my time had been in Ramana’s caves, a part of me had been hoping I would have an experience like that of Miranda Macpherson, a contemporary non-dual teacher with whom I had been studying in the months leading up to my trip to India. While meditating in one of the caves, Miranda, who at the time had an interfaith ministry in the United Kingdom, relates that she received what felt like a direct transmission from Ramana. As she tells it, her mind became completely quiet and out of the silence, these words arose from inside the depth of her being: “Be nothing, do nothing, get nothing, become nothing, seek for nothing, relinquish nothing, be as you are, rest in God.” From that point on, her life was never the same. Within the next year, her marriage dissolved, she left the organization in the UK she had founded, and she started a new life in the United States. As the thought crossed my mind about wanting an experience like Miranda’s, I shook my head and chuckled, somewhat in disbelief at the machinations of the ego mind – never satisfied, always comparing, wanting something more..
I turned to a fresh page in my journal and suddenly, with no mental activity on my part whatsoever, my hand simply started writing these words:
Come empty into the cave of the heart.
Leave your pretty frocks behind,
For there is no need of them here.
Don’t go looking for me in the city,
Even on the holy mountain.
You don’t have to improve yourself for me.
You are so precious just as you are.
Words cannot describe my love for you.
Your purity and and beauty illumine the night sky,
Like fireworks in celebration
Of your very existence.
My hand stopped writing, and I sat there in stunned silence, staring at the words that had poured forth. They had not come from my mind; it had been completely empty. It felt like they were a message from Ramana himself, responding to all the doubts, self-judgment and fears that had been arising in me. I sat in a state of quiet astonishment and gratitude. Some place in me that had always felt unworthy, frightened and insecure, relaxed as I read and reread the message. I knew that the reference to "your purity and beauty," did not refer to my physical form, but to my essential nature., which I was on this quest to discover..
The next day I felt much better. In fact, I had had begun to feel better as soon as those words were written. And, as if to emphasize a point, fireworks were set off all day long. in the area surrounding the ashram.
That day I wrote this poem:
Come empty into the cave of the heart.
Leave your pretty frocks behind,
For there is no need of them here.
Don’t go looking for me in the city,
Even on the holy mountain.
You don’t have to improve yourself for me.
You are so precious just as you are.
Words cannot describe my love for you.
Your purity and and beauty illumine the night sky,
Like fireworks in celebration
Of your very existence.
My hand stopped writing, and I sat there in stunned silence, staring at the words that had poured forth. They had not come from my mind; it had been completely empty. It felt like they were a message from Ramana himself, responding to all the doubts, self-judgment and fears that had been arising in me. I sat in a state of quiet astonishment and gratitude. Some place in me that had always felt unworthy, frightened and insecure, relaxed as I read and reread the message. I knew that the reference to "your purity and beauty," did not refer to my physical form, but to my essential nature., which I was on this quest to discover..
The next day I felt much better. In fact, I had had begun to feel better as soon as those words were written. And, as if to emphasize a point, fireworks were set off all day long. in the area surrounding the ashram.
That day I wrote this poem:
At first
There is sitting in lotus,
Mantra repetition,
Chanting,
Pranayama,
Seva,
Dakshina.
Then the practices fall away,
And there is only
The dance..
There is sitting in lotus,
Mantra repetition,
Chanting,
Pranayama,
Seva,
Dakshina.
Then the practices fall away,
And there is only
The dance..
Next Blog: Love Bath
RSS Feed