Maharaji in Jaipur
Maharaji (aka Prem Rawat) spoke to 14,000 people in Jaipur, India on April 15th. Here is a link to the article on the Words of Peace Global website. It's happening, folks.
Photo: Priyanka Mast
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April 29, 2010VIDEO: He Is My Teacher
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April 22, 2010BE YOURSELF!
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April 21, 2010Buying a Book for My Mother
For many years I wanted to buy a book for my mother -- a book that would explain everything... what I hadn't or couldn't explain since I had been old enough to notice my mother wasn't all that happy and, Lord knows, I wanted my mother to be happy and if not "happy" per se, then at least aware of what it was that made me, her son, happy -- the "thing" that, for so many years, she thought was just a phase I was going through and, even worse, some kind of heartless rejection of her and her way of life.
Oy vey...
Yes, I wanted to buy my mother a book that would explain it all -- the whole "New Age thing," the whole "Guru thing," the whole "it's OK that I don't eat your veal parmagiana any more because I'm a vegetarian thing."
Somebody must have written it. Somebody must have noticed the market niche of "mothers over 60 who worry why their high performing sons have gone spiritual."
And so, I went looking for the book. Like some people look for God.
And though I never found it, I did find some reasonable facsimiles -- cleverly titled books displayed by the check out counter, conceived by marketing geniuses who somehow knew my need -- the need a son has to make his mother smile... the book that would keep his mother company during those long, cold nights when her husband was working late and her children were asleep and there was nothing good on TV... the ultimate self-help book that would remove her worries, her doubts, and her exponentially growing fears of thinking her son had gone off the deep end for "receiving Knowledge" from that young boy from India.
I wanted my mother to know how beautiful life was and how simple it could be to experience that beauty. I wanted her to know there was something timeless within her, something beyond the stress of aging and the clipping of coupons.
Maybe it was selfish of me, but I wanted to buy my mother a book that would deliver some proof that love was the name of the game... and that (bite your tongue and spit three times) the act of "receiving Knowledge" from Maharaji was as healthy as chicken soup.
Twelve years ago my mother died from a four-year bout with emphysema.
During my stay with my father after the funeral, I discovered the books I had given my mother for the past 35 years.
Most of them had never been opened. Like some strange mix of Stonehenge rubble, they lay in piles all around... on her night table, on her desk, stuffed behind cookbooks, in the garage. Some, when you opened them, still had that new book crackling sound.
I felt sad she didn't read them. Disappointed. And the kind of resignation teenagers feel when they realize their parents just don't get it.
Looking back, I realize now that no book would have been sufficient to have given my mother.
No. I wanted her to have the experience the books were describing, not the description of the experience. As my teacher, Maharaji, has mentioned many times, if you are thirsty, you need water to drink, not the description of water.
Ultimately, that's what Maharaji's offer is all about: helping people find the water -- the naturally occurring well of well-being inside us all.
It's something my dear, sweet, canasta playing mother would have definitely appreciated.
Photo by Weeping Willow
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April 19, 2010Why Are These People Smiling?
I'll tell you why. They are listening to an extraordinary Teacher talk about the most ancient topic there is to talk about -- but talk about it in the most modern of ways. It's a topic that transcends time, culture, religion, politics, philosophy, or any of the other artificial divisions that separate human beings from each other and themselves. If you are looking for the source of that inner smile, the door is open.
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April 15, 2010I'm High Up in My Poetry Today and Won't Come Down
Okie dokie...
For those of you
who love
devotional poetry,
here is
a selection
from the
promised land
beneath all our feet.
Most
of them are mine
(hey, it's my blog!),
but you'll also find
some goodies from
Rumi, Kabir, Hafiz, and Lao Tzu,
those four wild kings
of the timeless land
beyond borders.
Click here!,
then scroll on down.
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April 09, 2010Three Questions
Some years ago I attended a 5-day conference, in Miami, with Maharaji and 50 other people.
On the first morning, during his opening remarks, Maharaji explained that he wanted everyone at the conference to feel absolutely free to ask their questions whenever they had one. Made perfect sense. After all, we were there to learn.
The first morning passed in a questionless mode for me. Everything Maharaji said was absolutely clear and I was content simply to sit, listen, and enjoy the feeling of being in the room with him.
The afternoon was a different story.
About an hour after lunch, Maharaji said something that baffled me. No kapish. I had a question. But I also had something else -- and that was the fear of asking.
One part of me -- the respectful part -- thought I'd be interrupting him if I raised my hand. Another part -- the educated part -- thought I should already know the answer. Yet another part (hey! how many parts did I have?) didn't want to be the focus of attention.
My right hand twitched, but hung at my side like a slacker. Then I remembered what Maharaji said the day before: "If you have a question, ask."
I raised my hand and asked.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," he replied.
Ouch!
Now it was official. I was a fool, a moron, a complete idiot -- something I'd always suspected, but now had all the proof I needed.
I could feel myself shrinking, slinking back into my chair.
Maharaji answered my question, but I barely heard a word. My mind was out to lunch, but had no idea where the restaurant was. A hundred over-caffeinated PR guys inside me, hell bent on damage control, did their best to save the day, but their efforts were a joke.
I didn't sleep well that night.
The next morning I took my seat with an extra dose of humility and some last-minute effort to gracefully manage my emotional meltdown from the day before.
Thirty minutes into Maharaji's presentation, he said something that made only partial sense to me. I kind of understood it. I mean, I sort of got what he said, but not really.
I had a question.
No way was I going to ask it. No way was I going to reveal yet another questionable side of my questionable self -- not only to Maharaji, but to 50 of my peers, some of whom, I knew, already had their doubts about me.
But then I remembered what Maharaji had said on Day One. "If you have a question, ask."
I raised my hand.
"That," he replied, "is a really good question."
Hallelujah! I was back in the game -- now hanging ten in my semi-comfortable hotel chair, waiting for Maharaji's response to my now, officially-declared, good question.
I barely heard a word he said -- consumed, as I was, by his acknowledgment of my question being "good." I could see he was talking, but I was suddenly deaf. My mind, once more, was out to lunch. OK, maybe not lunch, but out for a meal. Like... maybe breakfast.. or a light snack.
Day Three came quickly.
I woke, took a shower, practiced Knowledge, drank coffee, ate a bagel, and took my seat.
The morning session was smooth as silk. Maharaji spoke, told some jokes, showed some slides -- me enjoying my new found status as a question-free human being.
The afternoon? Don't ask.
An hour into it, I felt an old familiar feeling coming over me. I wouldn't exactly call it cluelessness, but I was clearly in need of a clue.
I took a breath. I raised my hand. I asked.
Maharaji listened. Then he spoke. His response, this time, was neutral. My question wasn't good. My question wasn't stupid. It was just a question.
Three days. Three questions. Three different responses.
Looking back at this conference with Maharaji, the metaphor that comes to mind is one a friend shared with me some years ago.
"Imagine yourself," she said, "as a sword in a stone. It's stuck and won't come out. You pull to the left. You pull to the right. You pull to the left, again. Back and forth, back and forth you go between the extremes: good and bad, up and down, black and white, rich and poor, this and that. With each movement between the extremes, the sword gets looser and looser until it gets loose enough for you to pull from the stone. That's how it works some times -- all this going back and forth, until we're finally free!"
I'm glad I took Maharaji up on his word and asked my questions. In a curious way, I may have learned more from the act of asking than I did from the answers I received. That's one of the cool things about being in relationship with someone like Maharaji. Every interaction is amplified. Every conversation has the potential to reveal something extraordinary.
I'm glad I didn't play it safe with him. I'm glad I didn't hide behind my simulated mask of understanding. Yes, it's a risk to speak up. But a risk to what? Only that self-serving, legend-in-my-own-mind character more concerned with other's opinions of me than the experience of truth.
Did Maharaji know that the three different ways he answered my questions put me through some changes? I doubt it. But it doesn't really matter.
Maharaji is not a mind reader. He is not a psychic. He is not a therapist. He merely holds up a mirror. What we see -- and what we do after we see what we see -- is completely up to us.
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April 06, 2010Inspiring Words from Prem Rawat
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April 05, 2010Think About It, But Not For Too Long
The
world
is
an
illusion,
but
you
have
to
act
as
if
it's
real."
- Krishna
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April 04, 2010Four Days After April Fool's Day
"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool." - William Shakespeare
"For God's sake give me the young man who has brains enough to make a fool of himself!" - Robert Louis Stevenson
"We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance." - Japanese Proverb
"Life is one fool thing after another whereas love is two fool things after each other." - Oscar Wilde
"The fool who persists in his folly is not a fool." - Anonymous
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April 03, 2010The Only Game in Town
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