If my life was ruled by ‘clock’ time (which generally speaking it is in spite of my many protests and despite my continuing meditation and other practices designed to assist in developing a sense of being fully present thereby enabling one to truly live in the here and now), I would be telling you now that there’s been a long gap between posts and that this has occurred because two and A half months ago I had a stroke and I didn’t leave the hospital untill less than a fortnight ago.
But there’s been no ‘gap’, the posts will carry on flowing along (or not) of their own accord; and while it is true that my brain and heart colluded in an action that has for now resulted in some damage to other bits of my body, the simple reality is that life has gone on doing what life does, and I AM still here, with perhaps a little more of a clue to the ‘how to live in the here and now’ as well as the whole ‘I AM THAT I AM and not the body’ mysteries.
Obviously, I’m not into swapping ‘You think your hospital stay was bad? Well let me tell you … .’ stories. Now I think about it, there are quite a few of the good, uplifting, kindness and compassion, decency and respect variety a couple of which I might write about if they decide they want to be shared.
But for now (when else is there?) I am here (where else is there?) trying to flow in the life I share with my partner hermit in our new (for us) hermitage just over the other side of the village Main Road.
What I want to talk about today, what I’d like to share, isn’t new. By that I mean the ideas are well known in the world – and they’ve even occured to me from time to time.
But, today, the thought seems new. Clearer and more obvious somehow. Perhaps when a little bit of knowledge finally ‘sinks in’, and is fully realised for what it is, then maybe that’s the beginnings of wisdom. Or an enlightenment. Perhaps we can say simply that a profound insight was had.
The thoughts I’m talking about concern prayer. More specifically the thoughts were prompted by my experience this morning chanting mantra – in this case, the Hare Krishna Maha Mantra, my mainstay you might call it; My main focus of devotion and meditation.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare
As so often happens, as I chanted today, I found myself thinking other thoughts, following mental stories invented as they went. I carried on chanting, but I was thinking other stuff at the same time.
I stopped the mental recitation of the mantra so I could focus on the emerging thoughts.
Yes, it’s true I was, chanting but it was merely at ‘lip level’ as I’ve heard it described. My intention may well have been to focus my full attention on the words of the mantra, on my means of devotion, and the repeating of God’s names. But clearly my mind had other plans as it wandered and skipped around on other paths.
I guess it’s a problem for anyone who prays in whatever form the prayer takes; it’s very easy to be distracted my experience tells me. I’ve read that people may have chanted a mantra for decades – twenty or more years – and feel that they still can’t ‘get it’, that while the intention is there and strong, they just can’t seem to fully immerse themselves in the mantra. Nothing of it reaches the heart. It’s a lonely feeling, I know.
They, like me quite often, will feel frustrated, empty, and as if their devotion is not devotion at all but simply a mouthing of supposedly holy words. Just an exercise, another spiritual practice to simply get through. Some, give up.
That’s why I stopped chanting this morning: I felt the insight coming on. That new revelation that’s hardly new at all.
Here it is then, the insight. If I become aware that my mind is straying and the mantra is being recited rote fashion, then so long as I gently bring my attention back to the words of the mantra, then in fact, all is well.
My teacher, Swami Tadatmananda has said when speaking about meditation, that the very act of bringing the mind, our attention back to the object of meditation when we notice it’s wanderings, is in itself an integral component of the meditation itself.
So, if I’m chanting and my mind begins to jump about, and I notice those mental antics and bring my focus back to the words of the mantra, then in truth, in the reality of the thing, I’ve actually not ceased my chanting at all. There hasn’t been any interruption.
As I said, it’s not a new idea; it’s not my own idea. But it feels new, it feels as if it’s an idea meant for me.
Intention, effort, resolve, persistence (or is it perseverance?) – and love. The only other necessity is that I continue chanting, both in that moment of supposed interruption and generally in my life.
In other words, if it feels like I’m only mouthing words that aren’t reaching my heart, don’t worry.
There are many blessings that come with the living of the hermit life. And I am especially blessed as I am not a ‘hermit alone’ – I share my life, the Hermitage, and my spiritual practice with another hermit. We are partner hermits.
One component of that spiritual practice is our times spent together reading a few verses from the Bhagavad Gita. We pursue our own personal studies, but sometimes one or the other of us will share an especially resonant verse, or an insight or thoughts.
This morning my partner hermit told me, in a casual almost by the way manner, that she’d just read a verse that spoke about not disturbing others, and not letting ourselves be disturbed by others.
At first, I had no memory at all of this verse; I just couldn’t place it. Which might sound a little worrisome, given I’ve been studying this text for seven or eight years.
So, it wasn’t till she gave me chapter and verse and I looked it up for myself, that it finally clicked into place. Of course I knew this verse, but it had slipped from conscious memory.
And that surprised me: this verse seems to me to be speaking to a key concept in the teaching of the text as a whole, as well as to my personal aspirations. Surely, I would think, it should be, what’s the expression? Top of mind?
He [sic] who disturbs no one, and who is never perturbed by anyone, who is unattached to happiness, impatience, fear, and anxiety is dear to Me.
Bhagavad Gita 12:15
This verse is full of meaning for me. It’s like a one-stop how to lesson in avoiding the personal suffering that’s brought about through attachments. Mind you, once again I can’t help wondering after years of study, and with how much this verse resonates for me, why I had such a hard time remembering even seeing it before.
I suspect the power of the ego and the mind have a lot to do with it. Ego – along with its master, the mind – love attachments to the world, to anything really. I guess they are always doing their best to keep me attached to my compulsions and aversions.
Imagine though, not being disturbed by anything – or anyone – and me actually not doing anything that disturbs anyone or anything?
Not just people and other living entities in my immediate physical environment, but out there in the wider world – in the Universe even.
It’s about vibes isn’t it? What vibrations am I putting out into the world? Are they vibrations and waves of love, peace, compassion, detachment, equinimity? Or at they vibes of discord, dislike, anger and sorrow over the stuff I can’t control?
And just think what it would be like if I weren’t so attached to the idea that my happiness depends on getting pleasure or ‘results’ from worldly things, activities based on the senses? Imagine really understanding that the only true and real and lasting happiness and satisfaction can only come come from within my Self?
This doesn’t mean at all that I can’t be happy, or can’t have fun or enjoyment. It is merely saying that, if I can accept whatever comes to me in life without clinging to the things I want, or running away from the things or situations I don’t want, then there will be less suffering.
Ego is jumping in now and wants me to note that, while I may in fact be on the path to detachment and freedom, I’m not far along enough yet to escape its clutches. Anyway, moving right along.
Impatience, fear, and anxiety are tricky presences in the attachment arena. I’m even less far along the path to letting go of these stubborn attachments. But, again, at least I’m on the path.
And what is that path? Where’s it going? Well (paradox alert), on the path in this instance is another way of saying I’ve not realised fully that I am already at the path’s destination. I just think I have a long way to go.
Swami Ramdas (1884-1963) Courtesy Wikipedia
I think Swami Ramdas said: ‘When you set foot upon the path, you have reached the destination.’ I think!
That’s the ‘dear to me’ bit of the verse explained. The ‘me’ in this phrase represents the aspired to full realisation that I am free, liberation or enlightenment some call it. It’s a place, or state of mind in which I move through the world with peace, calm and equilibrium, where nothing disturbs me, and I disturb no one.
That state of liberation doesn’t mean I have given up, or will have to give up, all desires for things I want, nor will I have escaped the things I have aversions to. It simply means I will no longer be driven by those desires and aversions, I will no longer be attached.
It means, too, that I will no longer be concerned in an attached way, to who says or does what to whom, when, where, why or whatever. At that stage I will be in the world, but not of it.
Of course, I am a hermit; you would think it’s easy for me being secluded from the world (well it’s not total seclusion). If only that were true.
I still have the clingings, cravings, and aversions; I’m even attached to the clingings and the aversions.
The one desire, the one I permit myself to cling to, is the desire to free from all other attachments, the attachments that cause so much suffering.
As long at I have that desire guiding my life, then I will be satisfied, when I can be, knowing that one day I will fully realise that I’m already free, unattached, liberated and happy.
There’s a song I wish I could remember the name of, or at least who sings it, but there’s a line in the lyrics that, says something like ‘I don’t want to go searching for what I already have.’ That’s me!
Sharing our prayers this morning, the hermits each reciting a prayer to the other so each can pray, and talking about the oneness of life (prompted by one of the shared prayers), the dependence of one species upon another.
As we reflected on that idea – of interdependence – it occured to me that perhaps, there might be a problem in how we as humans, interpret its meaning. We can maybe call it a kind of paradox, but we’ll get to that in a bit.
Our dependence – as humans beings – on so many other species is actually a well known, and I hope increasingly accepted, reality. For food, for shelter, for water, air to breathe. Everything.
In any case, an aspect of this interdendcence idea that struck me as perhaps missing, that I’ve not really heard before (I haven’t researched this; just winging it thought and contemplation wise) is this; If, say, bees disappeared, or all trees were cut down, would humans survive? Definitely not.
On the other hand, let’s say that in an instant or even over time, all humans on Earth disappeared. What would happen to all the other living beings? All the bugs, the fishes, the animals of all kinds, trees, grasses – all the living beings?
It seems to me that all those other species, all those beings of all kinds, would not only survive, they would most likely thrive.
Actually, now I think about it, I remember during the COVID lockdowns, people in various places around the world were amazed at the return of birds to usually busy polluted cities, and how the air seemed fresher in some places when in ‘normal times’ it was getting hard to breathe. And beaches and rivers looked a bit cleaner than usual.
Fewer people commuting; fewer planes flying; less goods being transported on congested roads; less waste going into rivers and the oceans. Seems life on Earth was doing better when we (humans) were out of the picture, even for a short while.
Which is to say, humans may not be necessary for the survival of planet Earth and the other life that lives here. Putting it very simply: We go, they thrive; They go, we go too.
But, my thought train races along its newly discovered track here, what if I’m wrong? What if I’m looking at the whole issue on just a superficial level? What if all I am seeing is the gross material level of the whole question? What if I’m missing the real point of it all?
Well it seems to me that on that purely physical, surface level, my theory (borrowed as it may be perhaps) might be right, the irony true: we go, they thrive; they go, we all go; they stay, we all get to stay.
But who are ‘they‘? Who are ‘we‘? For me it’s clear that we are not all simply and only our physical bodies and our minds living here in the material world; that’s all temporary and comes and goes. No, there has to be more to it than that.
Which is what I end up coming back to so very often: there is only one. No separation; no you and me; them or us. Just one. Without a second. Only Consciousness.
I think the best thing to do, just to be on the safe side is to look after each other – regardless of the particular body we happen to be inhabiting at the moment.
Recently I came across the story of Abba Arsenius – one of the early Christian desert fathers. I’d originally written about him a year ago in what became a short series of posts.
Coming across him and his story again prompted me to revisit those posts – the first of which you can read here – and I reread them again, though as if for the first time. Anyway, here’s a short recap before we move on.
Arsenius was a high ranking official for the Roman Empire, working for many years as a tutor to the sons of the Emperor.
Over time he grew tired of the glamour lifestyle, the politics, corruption and court intrigues, and looked for a way to free himself from the whole material trap he was in.
So he prayed, ceaselessly, the story goes. He prayed for salvation, for freedom.
And, in time the answer, according to the story came in just a few words:
Flee, be silent, and pray always.
And he did. Flee I mean. He headed for the Egyptian deserts which is where he found that silence, and the space, peace, and calm to fulfil his desire to be praying constantly. And, with some comings and goings, ups and downs, he stayed for the rest of his life.
Now, while Arsenius and his story are fascinating (in fact now I’ve rediscovered him, I’m going to look around for a biography or something so I can learn more), what I want to think about here is something I wrote in the first of those previous posts, and how it ties in with our decision (almost a year ago now) to stay in this one place for the present.
For these Hermit Pilgrims ‘fleeing from the world’ has meant a nomadic lifestyle, few possessions and material needs, a hermit life where our engagement or entanglement with the world is kept to a minimum, and in which we feel less of a pressure to conform, to ‘be shaped’ by the world around us.
The notion of staying in this one place – as fully now and in the present as we can be – is actually paradoxically a fleeing of its own kind. The world of Samsara, the material world ‘out there’ continues to become less and less appealing to these Hermit Pilgrims.
Alongside this growing detachment to the world (as well as the loss of desire to move about in the world geographically speaking), is the deepening realisation that the real and true pilgrimage is within, through and to our own mind and heart.
Complimenting all this, is the growing contentment we are experiencing in this actual place, this hermitage of ours that we are creating on a daily basis. More and more it feels to be the exact place in which that inner pilgrimage is to continue.
Does this mean we have given up on that ‘nomadic lifestyle’? No, not at all. Or, more accurately, we are not niether giving up or not giving up. The present is all there is and we don’t – can’t – know anything beyond that. As the saying goes, What can we say about tomorrow?
This is my second attempt to start this post. In the first try I just couldn’t see or feel my voice, myself. Right away, as I began making notes, I launched into and quickly became bogged down, in a wordy, overly complex rational discussion.
It seemed more suited to some kind of academic essay (not that I am remotely qualified to write such essays) than a note from the heart of a hermit contemplating from deep within his cell.
So, here I am beginning again. This time I hope I’ll find a little more of me in what I write, perhaps discern something a little more authentically heartfelt.
This post emerged from my desire to share with you a little about a small item that helps me as I chant my mantra. My mind seems to switch into strong wandering mode when I try to settle into Japa or chanting mantra mode.
So, I have a small card, made from a cereal box and measuring about 15×7.5 centimetres, decorated with lovely colour pencil designs, with the mantra written in pen. Oh, it’s covered in plastic for protection and longevity, and was given to me as a gift.
Having it in hand or close by when chanting allows me to focus on the words if my mind wanders. I read them slowly, mindfully and I find it puts my chanting back on track – until the next wandering thoughts announce their presence!
Actually we have a couple of similar cards scattered around the Hermitage. One lives on the window ledge above the kitchen sink, and always acts as a timely reminder to make even the washing of dishes an opportunity for prayer.
The View from the Kitchen Sink
Having my card acts as more than a prompter to me to remember and focus; it acts as a kind of tool for contemplation: when looking at the mantra written there, I often sense the meaning of the words, the importance and place of them. I don’t call this mind wandering, this is contemplation and I welcome it.
While on this level, my card can be viewed as a mere ‘prompt’, there are some who would – and do – say that the card, and the very words written on it, are in fact, much more than being simply physical stuff.
They would say that the card, and especially the words are literally, factually, and in truth the Divine (in this case in the form of Krishna). Just as some traditions maintain that ordinary bread is transformed through ritual, into the actual body and blood of their God who was once made human.
Not mine. I’ve had this as a file for ages, and love it. I think it was originally the size of a visiting card
For much of my life I dismissed such notions as mere fantasy, the products of literal interpretations accepted as dogma through blind faith. I’ve even in the past used the word nonsense to describe and dismiss such superstitions.
Nowadays though (and here comes the but, the however, the on the other hand) I’ve come to a slightly different view of the idea. Is my little card literally a piece of cereal box, decorated with nice coloured pencil work, with words written on it? Obviously it is. Of course it is a material thing existing in a material world.
Is the statue of a deity or saint in a church or temple a lump of stone, wood, metal, or other physical material? Again, it’s obviously a material thing with a material existence . Just as communion bread and wine are baked in a bakery, and brewed in a winery.
So, is my card, along with these other examples, merely a stand in, a symbol, a represention of the Divine?
No, I don’t think so.
Over recent times, my instinct, my heart, senses that, in truth, there is only God, only the Divine, only the Absolute Reality, what we can call existence, or being, itself. It seems to me that this Absolute Reality is everything, is everywhere; there can be nothing else.
One without a second, I’ve heard it described. It’s why, I think, we can look at a flower, a tree, the ocean, a person, or some other material object and be able to in awe remark ‘this is divine’. Or how when we hear birds singing in a nearby tree (or on a neighbour’s roof as I can now as I type this) we may have a sense that we have actually had an encounter with the Divine.
Lately I’ve become bored, uninterested, even irritated, with dogma (my own or that of others) and my constant striving for rational and logical answers. My heart tells me – it feels – that the Divine is all there is.
You, me, all that is visible, and all that is invisible, is all there is, one unity. No, not even a unity: that implies the union of one thing with another.
One without a second. Yes, that says it all for me. Those four words, now I think about it, really do encapsulate all there is.
Including my own heartfelt aspiration to fully realise this Truth in the heart and soul of Self.
I’m not complaining, nor am I bemoaning my lot, when I say that for much of the time I feel totally and absolutely exhausted.
Well, there might be the odd time when I might feel ‘just a bit tired’, but generally speaking, I’d say that exhaustion is closer to what I mean.
But, then, this morning, as I pottered around in the kitchen, making tea, putting dishes away while I waited for water to boil, I had, what I can only describe as a sudden awakening of a sense that this – the perception of permanent and total exhaustion – might not be completely true.
I sensed, in a kind of wordless insight, that – at least in this instance – it wasn’t exhaustion I felt overwhelmed by. Perhaps, there are at least fleeting moments when I am actually relaxed and I’ve simply mistaken that feeling for fatigue, not having had enough experience of being relaxed to know the difference.
The same slow movements: mindfulness and relaxed, or tiredness?
The same slow and considered speech (and thought): again, slow and mindful, or fatigue?
Even the overwhelming sadness and melancholy that often goes hand in hand with exhaustion might be something else: perhaps it is in reality a slowing down (though it often feels far from slow, more like a racing) of the mind, combined with a state of intense inner contemplation, mistaken for sadness or whatever.
After all, the meditation I practise, the ‘just sitting’ times of quiet restful contemplation, the study of texts meant to be ‘road maps’ to inner peace, calm, and liberation, all are claimed to produce, just that mindfulness, contentment, and inner peace that I am describing.
So, how to know? How can I discern the difference? Am I absolutely and totally exhausted, consumed by melancholy and the horror thoughts that go with it?
Or am I relaxed and calm, having slowed both body and mind, and in a state of inner enquiry (contemplation) that’s ridding my mind of the horror thoughts and the sadnesses?
Thinking about it now, when I ask myself these questions, it seems to me that I am questioning what I’m experiencing as opposed to states of being as such.
And experiences are never permanent, they are always in flux, changing. New ones come, old ones go. Then more and more come and go. That is, I guess, what being alive does.
Next I’m thinking, if I truly were in a relaxed, calm state of non-suffering, wouldn’t I actually know it, and therefore have no need to ask?
Mmm; maybe. Still another thought just occured to me. Perhaps what happened, as I pottered in he kitchen was a kind a surprise reaction, or rather a reaction to a surprise. My mind – heart, soul, whatever – was so shocked by that feeling of being relaxed, content, happy even, that it simply had to pose the question out of disbelief.
Meaning, as I ramble on in my usual overly wordy way, that what happened was I noticed a change in my state of being; for that moment I was not exhausted, sad, suffering. Perhaps – for that moment – I had entered a state of relaxation and freedom from suffering.
Let it be, I say. Stop the words; give up the analysis. Let the experiences come and go. It might be that, if I can allow those changes in states of being to be just as they are, then they’ll have a chance to develop, to evolve, perhaps even to make the changes permanent!
Scribbling let it be just now, put in my mind the Beatles song of that name, especially one small snippet of the lyric, a chorus really. Even a mantra (now there’s a thought):
Let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
With love and peace
Who is whispering the words of wisdom? And when and where?
When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Mary. The Divine Mother
Jai Maa
Paul the Hermit
PS I was 16 when Let It Be was released by the Beatles. I loved it at first hearing (didn’t everyone?) and I love it now. It meant a lot then, even more now. Thank you very much for the music.
O Lord, I take refuge in You. You are my sole guide, my master. Show me the right path and I shall follow it.
This is a prayer I like very much. It appeared one day in a previous incarnation of this notebook, then migrated to my prayer book. Its origins are lost in the mists of forgetfullness.
In any case, I like it – a lot. In a big picture kind of way it encapsulates much about the way I aspire to live my life; what I aspire to devote my life and energies to.
The prayer is addressed to the ‘Lord’ – to the Divine; to the Absolute Reality of (to borrow a favourite phrase) Life, the Universe, and Everything. Some will call this God, some think of it as the creator. For me it is simply Lord: all that is existence.
And it is there that I aspire to take refuge. I seek shelter in the knowledge of the rightness and order of the universe. Not an easy task when I think about the state of life ‘on the ground’ on our home planet; how the horrors can be almost impossible to grasp, to understand, and to keep from despairing over.
But a contented state of refuge, of safety, security, and even happiness, may be found, I sense, by a cooperation with what we might call the flow of the river of life.
And if I am to discover for myself that refuge, then there really is only one choice: to accept that flow of the river of life as my only guide to how to live, what to do, how to be.
Not surprisingly I struggle with the idea of cooperating with and accepting the often crazy and random nature of that flow of my life as my ‘sole guide’; how much harder is it to accept that very river as my master?
Again, if I ever want to be happy, if I ever hope to be free from suffering and attachments to those things that cause me to suffer, then I must accept and cooperate with the reality: the river of life is the master whether I like it or not. I may as well accept it.
Which absolutely and I hope obviously, does not mean I’m a fatalist, or that I am resigned to just let the currents toss me about willy nilly. No, not at all.
My deep sense (yet another site for other struggles) that the solution to suffering does indeed lie in an acceptance of the reality of the flow of life as it’s happening moment to moment.
By not resisting life and what it presents to me, I aspire to arrive at a state of acceptance where I might contentedly and freely ask what is my role here? What is the universe asking me to do?
If I can listen, and actually hear with the ear of my heart, then I might be able to discern the path, which if followed, will free me from suffering .
Then I shall be going with the flow, following the path of least resistence, and I’ll be contributing to my own smooth (well, smoother at least) ride through life.
Yesterday I went a little further afield than usual on my (theoretically) regular walk. We have two lakes within walking distance to the hermitage, and it was to one of these I ventured yesterday. I say further afield because I did in fact end up walking further than I’d planned..
The lake is called Budgewoi, and is really more a huge lagoon and part of a system called Tuggerah Lakes. I walked along part of the lakeside path and it was a lovely, quiet, and peaceful outing.
The foreshore has been covered in grass and other landscaping, but there are clumps (I call them groves, but not sure if that’s the right name or not. Groves does sound a lot better than ‘clumps’ though) of trees dotted along the way. Some of these standing ones appear to be old indeed.
Many of these groves line the shore and many attracted my attention and my camera’s eye. The poem I share today speaks of an encounter with a small grove of three. Small grove, but large and ancient trees.
Initially, I paused at these trees because the composition of the scene caught my eye, and my heart soon followed as I reflected, and listened to these old neighbours.
Please accept my small sharing of this effort to put down in words my experience there.
Namaste
OLD NEIGHBOURS
Were the words spoken? Certainly they were heard by one with, sometimes, the ears to hear.
Roots running deep, nourished by ancient Life; branches reaching to the gods of the sky. ‘We been neighbours long time’. As of one voice, or so I heard, these three standing ones, sharing a lakeside home place besides which I paused, in golden light.
Old neighbours – together lived and together shared the times of plenty, and the times of trial; endured the inundation of the waters, and the years when the waters withdrew, and all that came between.
Witness to the comings and goings of the winged ones; of the four legged; of the two legged, these standing ones – these tree people – have stood resolute. Prevailing always.
My pausing is but a fleeting thing spent reflecting in their shade and space. Yet a moment of pause can have no measure. Not for neighbours and their two legged friends.
It’s often advised by spiritual teachers and leaders, by Gurus, and other religious people, that a vital factor in the success of any spiritual endeavour or quest, is that the seeker or devotee is able to share the association of other, fellow devotees.
It is important, they say, that the seeker keep company with fellow travellers on the same or similar paths.
So, how does that work for a hermit? How does the seeker committed to living a secluded life, separated physically from others, find this association with those like himself pursuing a spirituality oriented life, a life of devotion, prayer, contemplation, and service?
Well, this hermit can’t speak for hermits generally; he can only tell you how it is from his personal perspective. So, how do I manage to obtain association with fellow travellers on my path to the Divine?
Firstly, I am blessed to share my hermitage and my life with my partner hermit, as I have done for virtually the whole of my adult life.
And my partner is very much a fellow traveller on the path of commitment to the hermit life, to a life of prayer, devotion, service, and contemplation.
This makes me think of something purportedly said by the Lord Jesus:
For where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them
Matt 18:20
In other words, when the two hermits are gathered in the name of the Divine, which is really all the time, then there is the Divine.
Of course, everything, all beings, all things, are the Divine. And, as if in confirmation of just that idea, something interesting happened. Out of curiosity, without any deeper thinking than that, I looked up Chapter 18 Verse 20 in my Bhagavad Gita. It was just for fun, but I ended up getting a nice surprise:
The knowledge by which the undivided supreme being is seen in all entities, though it is divided into numerous forms, is situated in the mode of goodness.
Bhagavad Gita 18:20
Supreme being, universal consciousness, the Christ, God, the Divine. Many names, one essence.
Even so, at times we feel alone, sometimes lonely.And isolated from others on the path of the Divine. So, what do I do to have this association with other devotees, with fellow travellers?
I make enquiries into the lives – both historical and contemporary – of others who have followed or are following a genuinely spiritual path and life. I watch online videos, I read books, as well as I subscribe to a few online newsletters which I discover by investigating websites I’m led to in some way. All these provide so much opportunity for association, for connection, and for learning.
Such explorations, are at the very least, informative: I can see – or read – for myself the evidence that I am not alone and never have been, in my commitment to the Divine and a spiritual life.
They are inspiring and encouraging: I’m not alone! I can do it! And often I get ideas, clues, on how I might deepen my practice, improve my service, love more.
I love the hermit life
In a sense such stories – in visual or in word form – ‘keep me company’. As I said a couple of times already (sorry!) I’m not alone. And I can smile, perhaps nod my head in agreement (or shake it in disagreement) with a comment or observation from one of my fellow devotees on the screen, or on the page. I guess in a way, it gives me a sense of belonging or connection.
Some might say that encountering people or experience via a video or book, is vicarious at best. But I wonder about that actually: Remember my fondness for the Ripple Effect? For my strong feeling for sending out good vibrations?
And, what did Jesus say about when two or three gather? He never mentioned that it was necessary for those two or three to be sharing the same physical space.
Life’s lonely; we all know that, and to encounter like-minded, or like-hearted people sharing a similar path to mine, is more than a prayer answered. It’s a life affirming, love affirming, blessing.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 