OM IS THE WORD
Om
In the beginning was the Word
Om
And the Word was with God
Om
And the Word was God
Om
And the Word is God
Om Om Om
Om
The object is the Word
Om
The subject is the Word
Om
Om
The observed is the Word
Om
The observer is th Word
Om
Om
The Word is the Word
Om
There is only the Word
Om
It is as it is – the Word
Om Om Om
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.
Today I have a story to share. It’s one of those stories in which one little random (as if!) event or occurence leads to another, then another. Like life really – one thing leading to another.
When I think about it, this small sharing is very much like many of the other stories I’ve shared: about my prayer life; about realisations and revelations I encounter along the way.
(note from inner editor: Please try to ignore him going on and on like this. You know what he’s like don’t you? You’d think he might find some shorter way to say something so simple wouldn’t you? Something like, that’s why the blog’s called Notes from the Hermit’s Cave and leave it at that. He really should just get out of the way and let me get on with the writing)
Ignoring that little interruption, I will begin our story. Yesterday morning. I was in the very act of opening my Bhagavad Gita to get to some of my inserted prayers, when without thought I turned towards the back of the little book, landing on the second to last page.
On these facing pages I have a treasured image of Lakshmi and on the facing page I have copied a mantra to her that I particularly like and sometimes chant.
Smiling to myself, I thought that, today (as in yesterday) I would spend a little time with Lakshmi.
For me personally, Lakshmi represents the eventual realisation of my aspiration to complete Self Knowledge, the final realisation of the oneness of all things in one absolute reality. For me that says freedom, liberation, Moksha some call it.
So she – who is one more manifestation of the Divine Feminine and the Divine Mother – represents for me that state of peace, bliss, harmony, as well as a perfect balance in both my internal and external lives.
Sometimes when I feel in need of a little extra courage, some piece of missing knowledge, or perhaps I’m feeling the need to persevere with something or other just a bit longer, I’ll think of Maa Lakshmi, and often recite her mantra.
Really, for me, it’s simply a kind of way to remind myself that the courage, knowledge, perseverance, already exist within me. No need to go looking elsewhere.
I’ve read somewhere that many people appreciate Lakshmi’s fickleness. You never know what she’ll do, what’s actually going to happen.
Which obviously is a way of saying that thinking of Lakshmi can remind you (or me in this instance) that life is like that: it’s all ups and downs, it’s unpredictable in that it gives us things or situations we don’t want, while also frustratingly not always giving us what we do want.
In other words, Lakshmi reminds me that, whatever happens in my life, regardless of my opinions or wishes on the matter, is happening exactly as things are supposed to be. Of course it’s not really ‘fickleness’ is it? That’s just how we see it sometimes as we seem to impose our own human changeability on the Absolute Reality which is just the way it is, no duality!
Anyway, before that pesky inner editor makes another pop-up appearance, let’s move on wth the story.
So, a ‘little time with Lakshmi’ has turned into a perfect illustration of life working out as it does, and not necessarily according to our little momentary expectations or desires. That planned ‘little time’ has morphed into, so far, a full day and a half.
Back to yesterday morning then: I chanted the Lakshmi mantra, then decided to listen to a recording of the mantra I have so I could contemplate what She means to me.
Right away I discovered that the music file was corrupted, and that sent me on a several hour long quest to find a replacement. Suffice it to say that there are what seemed like an infinite choice of candidates to choose from.
But, even after those few hours, I’d failed to find a version that satisfied all my requirements: it had to be a relaxing, clear chant I could ‘sing along to’; it had to be free of bells, whistles, and other superfluous adornments. Above all, it had to feel right.
As I went forward with this quest, I did in fact come across and listen to several lovely versions of the mantra, that while not quite right for my purposes, I did think might make for good and happy general listening.
These – or the links thereto – I emailed to myself and to my hermit partner. I then put the search aside, thinking that the right mantra will eventually turn up.
Not too long after this, I heard coming from the direction of my hermit partner, a truly magnetic and beautiful version of the Lakshmi mantra. You can find the mantra here
‘Where did you find that?’ I asked wonderingly.
‘You sent it to me,’ was the incredulous and puzzled reply.
Really? I honestly had no memory of hearing that particular version, and I still have no idea about it. In any case, once it was forwarded back to me, I set about listening to the mantra through my earbuds.
Blown away, would be one way to describe my reaction. Probably more accurate to say that listening to that twenty something minutes of beautiful music blew me not away, but inwards; completely and utterly to inner depths rarely experienced. Another full story all its own if truth be told. Perhaps another time.
The serendipitous turning to Lakshmi in my little Bhagavad Gita was yesterday morning. And the poem was written this morning as we listened to the mantra itself. A listening, I might add, that has only just now ended as other things required attention. Several hours, in other words, of exposure to beauty itself.
Anyway, my dear friends, what I share now is my response to that listening experience. Or to put it more accurately, the poem that follows is my response to my response.
Hearing the Song of the Universe, is the name of the poem. And it is an absolutely suitable and appropriate title I think.
May you also hear that song.
HEARING THE SONG OF THE UNIVERSE
Om Shree Maha Laxmi Namah.
The beauty of the words, the blessings of the melody,
infuse me with a mood prayerful.
Inner resonance has my Self reverberating
with the rhythm.
With the drumbeats accompanying the voices of angels.
Like raindrops dripping from eaves
after the storm has passed.
Words of praise for Maa Laxmi
meld with the hypnotic wind
emerging from the flute.
Wood and wind,
and angelic voices.
Together they sing.
They sing the song of the Universe.
Tears well at the corners
of the eyes of the worshipping monk.
‘Let it all go.’
The encouraging words
of the Beloved enter the heart of the monk.
Yet, the tears do not fall.
No, not yet.
In the meantime, the monk breathes.
Thinking about the idea of making all I do, all actions I take, everything I say, write, even think, a prayer, I’ve been wondering if I’ve written about it before on this blog. Of course I have (I think!) but I thought rather than actually check, I’d simply write about it again
Well, not write in a post about it exactly; more like share with you a poem on that theme I wrote yesterday. It’s kind of whimsical, kind of not. It’s like a ‘list poem’ actually. You’ll see!
I know I’ve shared the following quote from Oglala holy man Black Elk, in the past. But please allow me to reshare it here because it’s very much related to the peom I am sharing with you here and it is something I myself use as a prayer:
Let every step you take upon Mother Earth be as a prayer.
Now, the poem, which I hope adds weight to that prayer:
IT’S ALL PRAYER
This morning, I thought,
I’d like to write a prayer.
But, I haven’t yet – and it soon be sunset.
Been too busy.
I cooked breakfast – made tea too;
I read Bhagavad Gita – and discussed what was read;
I chanted the Lord’s names;
then visited the temple;
And chanted some more – sat in silence too.
I made lunch – and made more tea too.
And then?
I went shopping.
Oh, almost forgot: I went for a walk.
And now?
My dear Lord …
As a hermit, I am a pilgrim, dependent on a pure faith that I am exactly where God would have me be. I am here, and it is now.
I forget in which of his books I read this, but it’s a prayer written by Thomas Merton shortly after he’d finally moved into his hermitage full time. The ‘I am here, and it is now’ I added, though of course it’s also borrowed.
It’s a prayer, an affirmation, I recite at least once a day. And, like Merton, I aspire to that ‘pure faith’. Faith is a strange thing: it may grow and develop and then it does indeed support me in my intentions and living, not to mention the comfort it provides..
But, all of a sudden it can just flow away, leaving me adrift, bereft, and not sure of anything.
I am a pilgrim, it’s true. But as Bhajan (a bhajan is a sacred song, a hymn) singer Krishna Das sings:
I am a pilgrim/the road’s so long.
And sometimes it seems a lot longer than this particular pilgrim would like. Still, as they say, how long’s a piece of string? And it’s rougher than I’d like as well. but again how rough is rough? Layers of meaning in that word longer.
Yes, I am a hermit, and my mind’s not the same, as Jackson VanHorn sings. Same as what? Whose mind is mine different from? Is my mind somehow not that same as it once was? True though: my mind is hardly ever the same.Here’s the whole chorus as it spoke to me:
Yes I am a hermit
My mind is not the same
Yes I am a hermit and ecstacy’s
my game.
For this hermit, ecstacy is not a stage experienced all that often. Mind you, there are fleeting moments, but like the pilgrim road, there are long distances to be trod between one of those moments and the next.
And as for Tim Moore claiming he’s
‘… sittin’ peacefully on Hermit Rock’?
Well, yes the rock – the hermitage – has much potential for peacefulness; a peace expereienced quite often actually. It’s a sacred space
But, as in any way of living, any way of being, peace comes and peace goes. And when it goes, it can seem like it never existed, and that ‘sittin’ peacefully’ is, and always will be a fantasy never to be realised or made real.
It’s about equinimity
That’s something else I heard today. Well, there’s not a lot of equinimity in this hermit pilgrim today. Seems, then, that there needs to be some shifting of perspective; some peace needs to be restored
My Lord Ishvara
Deep withn the still centre of my being
May I find peace.
Silently withing the quiet of the grove
May I share peace.
Gently and powerfully in the wider circle of humankind
May I radiate peace.
Om Tat Sat
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti
Afterword:
A few hours have passed since I made these notes; I have regained a little balance, but still thought it was important to publish this post.
Thank you for your patience
Love and peace
Paul the hermit
The Lion Sleeps Tonight. That’s the song name I always think of. Sometimes you might hear it called Wimoweh. While it’s the song’s Zulu title, it’s actually not a real word: it references a mishearing (and subsequent recording by a group in the early ’50s) of Uyimube (the original chorus) which is Zulu for you are a lion.
In any case, I feel like I’ve known the song all my life. I suppose I have: it was a smash hit when I was seven or eight years old. It’s been one of those songs that have stuck, become a constant presence, to be hummed occasionally, to be sung even less frequently, heard rarely, but loved and familiar.
Anyway, recently (in March I think) my affection for the song surfaced. I was thinking about something my partner hermit had said about creativity and suddenly the melody to The Lion Sleeps Tonight came into mind.
That melody, and my memory of the lyrics then became integral to the poem I wrote to express some of my thoughts about my partner hermit’s statement. It helped me say what I had to say.
I hope you like it – the song – Listen to the Tokens doing their version from 1961; check out the lyrics too. It’s a happy song, a reassuring song of safety and love.
With that I humbly offer my poem. Enjoy
THE HERMITS SLEEP TONIGHT
A creative way to start the day.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
In Samsara’s jungle there is a village, a suburban village.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Near the village – no, in the village
the hermits sleep tonight.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
The walled enclosure,
their very own paradise,
like a castle keep,
keeps them safe.
A peaceful way, a peaceful way.
Hush my sisters; hush my brothers.
No need to fear the jungle.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Day breaks; Surya rises.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Sleeping hermits gather, to break the fast.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Fast broken, sacred tea imbibed.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way
The hermits begin, begin their day of prayer.
A creative way to start the day.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Namaste and Greetings
Welcome to another poetic sharing post. There have been a few lately haven’t there? I had thought that once I had the new page Poems of Devotion up and running that I would only feature one every now and again in its own post.
However the one I feel inclined to share with you today is slightly different. Well, not really: it’s still a devotional piece, but for some reason feels a little other than that.
For a start, it’s set in a café and features the thoughts of a hermit monk (me), and is about what’s going on in that space at that moment. As well as what’s in his mind and heart. Oh yes, almost forgot: the action takes place on Election Day.
So, what is it that makes me feel this poem is ‘still devotional but slightly other’? Well, aside from the setting, timing, and so on I just described, I sense that, in its words, in its composition, the hermit has sought to record (through the poem) that moment in the café as the reaching out to all those fellow beings sharing the space, to recognise, and to celebrate the divine in them all.
May that intention shine through to you too, dear reader
THE HERMITS HAVE COFFEE ON ELECTION DAY
I feel like I’m sitting
in a Hopper painting.
Just off the village green
at a coffee shop, in the Toukley Mall.
There are people; aren’t there always?
Coming and going.
This one catching gossip; that one seeking connection;
One or two heads down, backs bent
over newspapers assimilating myriad tales of woe.
It’s election day.
Of little interest to the hermits,
out of the hermitage for coffee.
A treat that comes at a cost.
Voices – of people and of headlines –
speak, some even shout,
of worldly things. To us not real.
Leaves me hollow.
That’s the vibe,
the feeling inside
– And that’s not real either.
Namaste and greetings
It’s been just over a week now since the new page on the blog went live. I have to say that it’s been very satisfying setting it up, then uploading some of my devotional poems.
Actually, it was while uploading one yesterday that I thought, I’ll feature this one in its own post. I did mention that I would like to continue this occasional practice.
There’s not too much to say about this particular poem really – best to leave it to speak for itself. I’m only introducing it like this because I wanted to include a Wikipedia link that might help clarity a couple of the terms and some of the details mentioned in the poem.
The poem speaks about the concept of Viakuntha, which as you’ll see is the supreme heaven for some Indian traditions. The link leads to an interesting and short read, well worth the time I think.
The myth of Vaikuntha was a trigger for this poem, as was the meaning of the word itself. Is it a real place? Who knows. Fact and truth don’t always agree, and as for me, I don’t think about the question.
Myth has been the way we humans have always used to tell our story. To try to sort out the big questions: where are we from? Who are we? Where are we going? All the ‘big questions’ are addressed by mythologies from every culture – every family, country, you name it – on Earth.
In any case I think that my poem came about as a result of my own contemplation on the story, on those big questions, on Self really.
I hope you will visit my Poems of Devotion page. I’m still adding poems to the page, and of course, with grace, I will continue to write.
Now, please enjoy reading my poem, and I hope it’s a nice experience for you.
Love and Peace
Paul the hermit
OUT BEYOND CAPRICORN & DEEP WITHIN EACH HEART
Vaikuntha: Without anxiety.
Is there such a place? Free from worry?
Out there, they say, beyond Capricorn.
There’ll you’ll find the highest heaven,
the abode of God.
No need to look to the stars:
Vaikuntha is here. Vaikuntha is now.
Within and without you.
Vaikuntha is indeed beyond;
beyond the material world,
beyond the realm of bodies and minds;
beyond the illusions of places and spaces.
Atma – Universal Consciousness – you and me,
that’s Vaikuntha.
You and me, all there is. No anxiety
Have you seen the new page on the blog? It’s called Poems of Devotion (no prizes for guessing what’s on that page).
You are warmly invited to head over there to read and enjoy a poem. Or perhaps two, or seven! The choice is yours.
The page, as you already guessed, seeing right through the extremely obscure title, is dedicated solely to devotional poems I have composed. Many have been written in recent times, though there are some which are, well, no longer the new kids on the block (get it? New kids on the block? New page on the blog? Oh, okay, never mind).
I hope to continue my occasional practice of featuring a poem in a post (perhaps with its story or some other commentary). But, in time, all my devotional poetic pieces will be on the new page.
You are very welcome to visit the page, Poems of Devotion, to read, to contemplate, and if you so wish, copy anything you find there for your own reflections or to share with others.
I’m grateful that I have come somehow to compose these poems of praise and love. I call it a gift of grace that has been granted me. It is a gift I now ask that I may share with you.
Thank you
Paul the hermit
Today’s post opens with what I think is called an oxymoron (funny word that)
No need to repeat here that I am a hermit; there you go, I repeated it, but it’s true nonetheless: I am a hermit. The oxymoron bit comes in when I make another obvious statement to the effect of, as a hermit I very much prefer to spend the vast majority of my time right here where I am right now: in our hermitage.
This has become even more the case since our community decided to ‘settle down’ for a while in the one spot.
Obviously, just like everyone else, we have shopping and other chores that need to be done. Then there’s the occasional visit to the Doctor, and even the dreaded dentist, that will call me away from my safe-haven.
And that’s even before I mention walking for fresh air, exercise, and simple enjoyment. Or pursuing my Contemplative Photography practise. Both activities take me out and about, but usually not too far or for too long, from the Hermitage.
In any case, both these welcome (and absolutely necessary) pastimes have me mostly on my own, being quiet with heart, mind, and eyes open, or simply contemplating ‘stuff’.
No, it’s nore the occasions when I’m having to interact with people, or when there are crowds. Some might call me over-sensitive, but that label would only apply on my outgoing and gregarious days.
While that was intended as a little ironic humour, I must insist (internal editor speaking here) that I add that oftentimes said outgoingness and gregarious demeanor is an act, a cover for anxiety, and usually ends up making me feel worse anyway.
Although I guess you could also say that I’m allergic to the world and its ways, there are the occasional times when I want to, not so much ‘be around people’, as feeling the need to be somewhere where some life is going on around me. Not hectic life, as I’ve said, more like people going quietly about their business, doggies walking and playing with their humans, maybe people sitting chatting to friends. I guess you know the kind of thing.
The hermit gods blessed us in placing us in a hermitage which we love more and more, literally five minutes walk to a low-key, friendly indoor/outdoor café overlooking the village green with it’s big tree in the middle, and its nice lawns where the above-mentioned not so hectic life with it’s chatting, sitting, and relaxing people, and its doggies leading their humans in games and walks goes on. The coffee is okay too.
Except. People can be friendly, which in itself ,of course, is a lovely lovely thing, but as I’ve been telling you, I’m not really very good with people in those kinds of situations. Keep a low profile, is my ongoing advice to me.
The poem I share today was composed as I sat in the sun on a recent visit to that coffee shop. This visit prompted me to try to describe something – in poetic form and in ‘real time’ – of what I’ve been sharing with you here. No, what it actually describes is my strategy on that occasion for keeping said low profile.
This poem also holds a timely reminder that arrived with, what I can only think of as divinely inspired timing.
My eyes are cast down – not downcast.
The brim of my hat pulled low.
As good, I hope,
as a Do Not Disturb sign.
For a hermit, out of his cell,
the cell must be reconstructed.
He is his cell.
Eyes focused on these words revealed;
hat brim, the walls.
A chime resounds, but it does not disturb,
for I know for what it tolls:
Chant Hare Krishna, it calls to me.
So, these words must conclude;
words of praise now commence.
Hare Krishna.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 