Japa, or the chanting of the names of God or the Divine, is a central spiritual practice for me. In fact, as time goes by, it becomes even more important for me as I try to spend more time chanting than not!
With Japa in mind I climbed yesterday to the crest of the sand dune on which our current hermitage is situated, to spend a while with the sea and the dunefield flowers, the birds, and as I planned to be doing some chanting, also with those unseen aspects of the Divine that I would be addressing with my words.
As seems to be happening quite often these days when I immerse myself in the beauty that is to be found all around me, all that is to be seen and experienced ‘up there’ as it’s come to be called, a poem wrote itself about yesterday’s particular excursion and experience.
I share it with you now in the hope you will enjoy reading it; thank you for reading it!
Perched upon the crest of a sand dune, I chant the names of the Lord Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Hare Rama Hare Rama
I am still; the Lord’s names vibrate in my mind. But Varuna’s energy washes saltwater back and forth in the middle distance. Sea waves manifest from depths unknown. Sea waves dissolve on the shore in the middle distance.
Now, in the near distance, near to me where I rest and chant on sacred ground, flowers with yellow heads, purple heads, wave in the wind as if ecstatically dancing to a holy Kirtan gifted them by the wind.
These myriad jewels in the dunefield join me in my japa. Or is it that I merge with their sacred dances?
It’s neither, and yet it’s both: The beautiful blooms are me, and I am them. We are the One, Chanting and dancing the names of the One.
As I sauntered along the shores of the Ganges River in Rishikesh several years ago, I was given a gift.
In the High Holy Lands Where Magic Sometimes Happens
As I ambled, headed upstream in a relaxed kind of mood on that sandy riverbank, I happened to glance down. There, right at my foot I noticed a small shell. Flat with the stereotypical fan shape so many shells have, and a about a centimetre across. I picked it up.
At that moment I sensed that this little shell was a gift from the river to me. Still, I had to wonder how it got there, a seashell on the sandy banks of a freshwater river with it’s source not too far from where I stood, just a bit higher up in the Himalayas – the highest mountain range on the surface of the planet.
One possibility is that this shell originated in the sea that once existed in the lands above, where the Himalayas now stand. Mind you, I’ve only ever heard of the fossils of sea creatures being found in that region.
Another possibility suggested to me at the time, is that some other traveller having picked up the shell on a beach somewhere other on their travels, kept it with them till they arrived at this sacred place.
Then, perhaps as an offering that traveller – fellow pilgrim?- let that shell go into the waters of Maa Ganga.
Of course it doesen’t matter in the least which – if either – of these scenarios reflect what actually happened. Somehow this little shell travelled from an ocean somewhere (and somewhen!) to this precise spot on the banks of the Ganga to be discovered, to be gifted to me.
I received that offering, now a gift from the river to me, with a deep and prayerful thank you, and a sense of the sacredness of that moment and of that place.
And, today, the journey made by that little shell, has come to a kind of full circle. This morning I released it to Varuna, to the sea here on the Pacific Coast at the beach over the dunes from the hermitage.
That initial giving and receiving took place about eight years ago now and I have that little shell with me ever since.
First I wore it around my neck attached to a mala (prayer beads) made of Rudraksha seeds I used for chanting mantra.
After that, it migrated to another mala – this one made of beads of black volcanic rock, perhaps very fitting given the little shell’s possibly ancient origins.
Then, one day about a year or so ago, that little shell developed a crack and then shattered into several little pieces.
Still, I treasured those remains, those fragment I kept with my other ‘holy bits and pieces’. Then, after a while, I began to get the sense that I was going to have to return this little shell to the sea from where it had come.
I knew, though, that it would have to be the right place, a place I was drawn or led to. So, time passed, we travelled to several different hermitages for about a year.
Then, two days ago, we moved here. To a cozy hermitage on the side of a sand dune, just across a bridge from and on the outskirts of a little seaside town on the Pacific Coast of Australia.
It’s one of those spots where the elevation, distance, and whatever else by nature’s arrangement, all combine in just the right way to allow a vast view that takes the eyes to the curve of Earth herself; the horizon isn’t flat here, it’s a sweeping giant curve. Add to this the equally dramatic view offered by the dome of the sky.
The coast is beautiful here. Not that it’s not special in so many places, but there is something here that speaks to me.
At the top of the dune just beside the hermitage there is an extremely convenient bench seat overlooking the beauty of the ocean.
And it just felt right: here is the place that seeks the return of the remains of that little shell, by now reduced to a couple of small fragments.
So, after a time sitting and contemplating at the above-mentioned convenient seat, I walked down the dune to the beach, and then to the water’s edge. In a mood of prayer, with the edge of the incoming waves lapping at my feet.
After first consigning to the water a shell native to this shore, to show the way to my little shell, I thought of the journey that little shell and I had undertaken together. Then I thought of how far and for how long that little shell had travelled so far on its own journey.
Then I returned what was left of that little shell to the sea from which it had come. And I watched it carried by the waves returning from the sands of the land to waters of the endless ocean.
PS See the Lava Rock Mala? Well, it too has changed form in recent times. It is now no longer a full length neck mala; it has evolved to become a compact and convenient pocket Mala for what you might say is ‘everyday use.
Tirtha. There is much varied, detailed and fascinating information about this word on its Wikipedia entry. While I invite you to click the link and head over there to read what is truly a riveting story, for this post I wanted to focus on the word’s actual meaning, especially the metaphoric meanings it has acquired.
Tirtha is a Sanskrit word meaning ford, as in a place one fords or crosses a river, stream or other body of water. Over time, however places of religious pilgrimage began to be called Tirthas. This evolved because so many holy sites were on or near rivers or lakes, or were the water bodies themselves, or were located nearby.
Sacred sites, and places of pilgrimage often inspire in people a sense of leaving the ordinary material existence of their day to day lives, and entering a kind of other world, the world of the spiritual or non-material. This experience, which we might call spiritual or religious , is something people remember as being very special, even transformational; for them it speaks of a connection, even briefly, with the divine in the form or in the presence of that place or site.
Perfect example of a Tirtha as a literal crossing place that is also an ancient sacred site. Mother Ganga at Rishikesh in India
And after many years – centuries and millennia very often – the energies from sometimes countless pilgrims and their prayers, devotion, love and mere presence, accumulate and begin to permeate the atmosphere in that place as well as the very ground and sacred objects there.
To me this notion is reminiscent of the concept of thin places as described in Celtic Spirituality (though the concept by the same or other names exists for many cultures around the world. Sorry I’m not providing any links: there are so many!).
Some would say they are places where Heaven and Earth meet. Places where the boundary between the mundane world and that ‘somewhere else’ of the transcendent, is especially thin, and where crossing over, or connecting with that transcendent may be possible, or made easier than at other places.
Of course, as I’ve written in at least one previous post, I feel that we are always standing upon sacred ground; all things are sacred or holy. At the same time, I have, like so many others, experienced what seem to be very real connections to or mergings with something transcendent, something ‘spiritual’ as we like to call it, at specific sites or location.
A few of these places of my own transcendent experiences have been churches, temples, and other historically recognised sacred places. However, I would say that most of my own experiences have been at unexpected places, places where the ‘transcendent’ has been for me alone at that moment.
The Campaspe River after the floods receded
One such place for me happens to be a river called the Campaspe. It was here that the ashes of two fellow hermit pilgrims of the feline persuasion found their rest.
As I stood on the muddy bank of that river, and made my offering, I sensed that feeling I describe above; that feeling of oneness with or connection to the river, to that place. As those two little creatures whom I loved (and love now) and who are made of the same stuff as me, were returning to some kind of essential or foundational state, we were there and connected with them as they continued on their journey.
I knew then for sure the sacredness of that place, the thinness of the boundaries there. While then I didn’t yet know the word, the Campaspe River had for me became a Tirtha.
DEDICATED TO:
Shanti and Lofi. Two beautiful beings and fellow hermits and pilgrims on the journey with us. With us in our hearts and now off carrying on with their own adventures and pilgrimages.
Right at the front of my Bhagavad Gita (the only book aside from the notebook I’m writing this in, that I personally own), I have recorded and inserted sayings and various words , that are important to me. Among those things is a statement I first heard many many years ago, that is common among the First Nations’ peoples of this country:
I [We] stand always on sacred ground and beneath sacred skies.
It is not an affirmation of ownership or possession. It is, instead, an affirmation of belonging to the land, to nature. It is a prayer of thanks, and it is a declaration of the knowledge of unity with the rest of the natural world, that is the hallmark and foundation for Indigenous cultures throughout the world and through time.
I’ve valued – treasured – this sentiment for a very long time – probably from even before I first heard it, which was so long ago as to be lost to memory. Perhaps I always knew it because I’ve somehow always thought this idea was a fundamental truth concerning my existence as a being living on this planet.
Well, now I have heard another statement that for me makes a perfect compliment for this one. The other day, during a lecture, my teacher mentioned that in his student days a fellow student said:
Wherever you are, you are walking through Ishwara
(Ishwara being her preferred name for the divine – for all that is.)
There is a feeling or sense of ‘belonging’, of awe and wonder when we attempt to immerse ourselves in what we term the natural world.
Once again I immediately felt the bell of Truth ringing clearly through this statement. Yes, I thought, everything is divine – including our own selves – so of course it follows that wherever we go, whatever we do, we are always in the divine.
You’ve probably read a number of times me quoting my teacher quoting his teacher:
Emphasis very much on only. Meaning of course, that it’s not that God is within us, or that we are within God; we are not surrounded by God; and it’s not that God ‘sits in our hearts’. The reality (for my teacher’s teacher) was that all that is, everywhere, everything, every thought, every word and deed, everything there is, is the divine.
Another way to describe the divine or God, that appeals to me is that Ishwara (also my own preferred name for the Divine) is in reality the natural order of the universe as dictated by the laws of nature. Those laws of nature, the rules that govern how the universe works, are also Ishwara, as are all that is manifest or in existence as a consequence of the workings of those laws.
In other words, the Divine is the sum total of what some would call the entirety of creation.***
For the hermits a sacred site. Part of a grove we named The Sentinels. A place of experience of unity and oneness of creation
For me this an enormously comforting and reassuring concept. Of course, for me at least, it is also an extremely difficult one to wrap my head around. But here’s a small summary of what I think I’ve grasped so far.
Ishwara – the Divine – is all there is; everything. Also divine is the natural order of the Universe as governed by the laws of nature. These laws are neither good or bad – there is no duality. They are neutral.
You and I, as one more entity among who knows how many others, act as we do and are subject to the laws of nature, just like everything else. We can’t change or influence those laws; we can only live our lives as they unfold.
To quote from Desiderata: No doubt the Universe is unfolding as it should
And, well, then things just work out as they do. While we can’t change the laws of nature, or bend the universe to always suit our liking, it is also true to say that every action we take, every thought we think, every word we utter, even our very presence as a living being in our time and place, do indeed contribute to ‘how things work out’. Another way of saying this is to say, we do our bit, and the universe does its bit and what happens, well, happens.
For me, this is not at all as simple or as straightforward as it sounds. Naturally we see ourselves as individual selves, as entities on our own. After all, to state the obvious, we live and operate in a material (dualistic) world. So automatically we see ourselves as individuals living in, but always separate from all the other individual entities, as well as being disconnected from the world itself.
It is part of human nature (for the most part) to long for connection; there is so often a drive within us pushing us to create family, enter relationships, feel we belong to a community or communities, and for many but not all, there is the almost instinctive urge to seek connection with the rest of nature.
Many forms, One reality
We often think of these longings as goals to achieve, as something outside of ourselves to attain, to reach for. Consequently, so very often we tend to focus our attention outwards, towards other people, or material things.
But, instead, all these inclinations, desires and longings are simply our Self (note the capital?) endeavoring to open itself to discovering (or rediscovering?) that which already exists: our oneness with, and our non-separation, and non-difference from, The All That Is.
Peace and Love from Paul the Hermit
FOOTNOTE
***Just a few thoughts about naming, or giving labels to the Universe and its laws. Obviously it’s a personal choice for each of us what we choose to call that creation. Then, on the other hand, we don’t have to call it anything at all. For me personally it is very difficult, even near impossible to not name it. By naming the creation, I don’t think I am attributing the manifestation of the Universe to some distant entity living in some heavenly abode (as my teacher likes to say). Rather I am acknowledging the intelligence and order, beauty, complexity of all that is and how it all works, as its own reality. At the same time, I am learning to understand that I as my true nature am not separate from the rest of creation, and I feel the need to have a name towards which I am able to focus my thanks and my reverence.
Remember that old Bee Gees‘ song Words? It’s about one person offering all they have to another. Well, the one doing the offering must have been a writer because, while the song’s a love story, it’s words that are the big thing on offer here:
It’s only words, and words are all I have To take your heart away
Well, as this is a blog, words are the way it hopes to reach your heart. Actually, the posts also include photos and sometimes other art, but the main vehicle used here is words.
So, with that in mind I have a couple of words to offer you today. Well, one word and its opposite. Have a look at this sentence from Thomas Merton:
If Irish monks affirmed his Celtic spirit in their mastery of cataphatic contemplation of the wonders of divinity in nature, Buddhist monks evoked his Zen mind and drew him into the apophatic path of formless ’emptiness’…
As sentences go (though this is obviously only part of a sentence) this has to rank pretty close to the top for length and denseness.
Kataphatic. What a word! Of course I had to look it up; I’d never heard the word before (this post is a rewrite from notes written a while ago that I never got around to posting.), and even though the sentence seems to suggest the meaning, I was still curious.
Looking at Wikipedia – where they spell it with a ‘C’ like Merton, as well as with a ‘K’- I learned that cataphatic is an adjective that describes an approach to theology that uses ‘positive terminology to describe or refer to the divine (God, Truth, Dharma, Spirit. You know what I mean: the divine).
Apophatic, as you probably figured out already, is when one uses ‘negative terminology to indicate what it is believed the divine is not’. A process of negation or we could say you get to what the divine is by a process of elimination.
Pretty simple concept really, but with a couple of big words to label it, and a lot of words to define it. No, don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the meaning and origin of the words and all the rest. Mainly because I don’t know and I’m not especially interested anyway in all that technical stuff.
I simply resonated with the word, and the concept. Cataphatic made me think of Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews singing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in Mary Poppins. But let’s not go there: this is a serious blog after all. Except to say there’s more to that word than you might imagine.
Putting aside the aesthetic appeal of the word for a minute, let’s contemplate a while on cataphatic, and it’s opposite, apothatic.
To begin thinking about these two words, it’s necessary to acknowledge the existence of the divine. We can call it God, if we like. Or Dharma, Truth, Spirit, Love, Beauty.
As the quote suggests, a cataphatic approach, ideology, theology, or whatever we call it, ascribes names and forms to the divine, as well as describing where and in what the divine may reside.
Whereas apothatic, again as the quote suggests, does not ascribe names and forms to the divine. Instead it seeks to discover what or who god is or isn’t by a process of negation as described already.
For a long time I labelled myself as a Humanist. I had decided that this physical body is all there is; the physical or material universe is all there is, and that there is no ‘god’ separate from us or who has special powers to affect our lives. No God at all in fact.
In the Grove of the Sentinals
But, all that while, I just knew that there was something else, something more than just the physical. And over time, I came to the knowledge that there is indeed more than the simply phsical universe (including we humans).
I’ve thought about it a lot over the years and I came to the conclusion not that many years ago, that I had simply been afraid to name or define that something more. It would have meant admitting to myself that something more really did exist.
That is to say, I was scared of taking the cataphatic approach – and I’d never even heard the word.
Well brothers and sisters, I saw the light. The truth was revealed to me. And what is that truth? Well, to put it simply, I wasn’t scared anymore. Not of names and forms, and not of what I couldn’t see.
Now I could take both the Catophatic and the Apothatic approach: that the something else I had actually always known just was, really is, and can have a name and form, or not. The divine is not an omniscient being or any kind of being at all; As I’m very fond of saying, the divine (or truth, God, Dharma) simply is. And it’s all there is.
Some of you might know that I am really quite fond of the Indian deity, Ganesha . Do I believe that a man with the head of an elephant actually exists or ever existed?. Of course not. Do I actually think that he resides in the lovely painted icon that sits by my bed? Well, obviously not.
But do I believe that there is a spark or aspect or attribute in all life, in you and me, in nature, in (scary word time) creation, that we can tap into to help us overcome obstacles? Or that we can access when we begin new ventures of whatever kind, or when we need strength to face challenges? Yes, I do. Very definitely.
And do I believe in a blue boy called Krishna who lived in India 5000 years ago and spent his time playing in the fields with the village cows and his friends, entertaining them with his flute? Again, of course not. Does he live in the other beautiful icon by my bed? The answer is obvious: no.
But do I chant the Hare Krishna mantra in an effort to come closer to the divine that is… well, that just is? Yes, again, very definitely.
Words. It’s all only words. Only words? Only??
In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God. (from the opening of the Gospel of John)
As a self-described Hermit Pilgrim, I aspire always to live a contemplative and secluded life, as far apart from wordly concerns as I can manage. At the same time, I am a pilgrim, in both the sense of the internal journey of the Self as I study and meditate, as well as in the world itself: I move from one living space to another – one temporary hermitage to another- as I feel directed or led.
In the last several years I’ve noticed how often I seem to find myself in one more temporary hermitage that ‘just happens’ to be located right next door or across the road from a sports-ground, or what’s often called ‘a local oval’.
At least three times in recent years, that I can recall. And it is so at the moment. This time the hermitage is in a suburb of a mid-size city (by Australian standards) that in reality is more a low-key and small seaside town on a peninsular.
Anyway, just as with those other occasions, I have been grateful for the oval across the road: It makes for an ideal Kora.
Kora is a Tibetan words that means the act of walking around or circumamabulating a sacred place or object.
A monk on the Kora around the home and temple of the Dalai Lama in the Indian Himalayas
Tibetan Buddhists do Kora as a form of pilgrimage and walking meditation. It is a devotional practice and it is said to have transformative powers.
Of course Buddhists are not alone in practising this kind of circumamabulation (from the Latin circum (around) and ambulare (to walk).): Muslims circle seven times around the Kaaba in Mecca as the final stage of Hajj .
Many religious traditions consider Mount Kailish in Tibet a sacred place and circling it on foot, even once, is considered by some to be the equivalant of one complete lifetime.
In south India there is another sacred hill called Mount Arunachala. Each year millions of pilgrims walk around its base, which takes a couple of days. In India, the word pradakshina is used to describe such circular acts of devotion and pilgrimage.
And the list goes on: as I said many if not most religious traditions have a practice of walking around sacred sites or places as acts of pilgrimage or devotion.
So, what has any of this have to do with me walking around local ovals or sports grounds and calling what I do a Kora? Well, my intentions are similar to those other pilgrims but perhaps more humble. Let me explain.
Not being a sports-oriented person (not into competition and team sports at all really) I can’t comment too much on the idea that a sportsground is sacred ground because of the sports played there.
I do acknowledge and understand how it is that so many people do in fact consider the games played there as sacred activity with winnings and losings and full of heroic deeds. This indeed makes these places sacred sites.
Then there is the fact that many such grounds are named in memory of local people who have been prominent in the community. And, as is the case with the oval over the road from the current hermitage, ovals do actually become sites of memory.
This one, called Lynn Oval hosts several memorials at its periphery: there are tributes to miners who have died in accidents in local mines.
And there is a lovely statue of a guide (service dog for people who have vision impairments) dog called Tessa who is famous in the area for helping to raise a lot of money for more guide dogs.
Lastly but, for me, probably the most significant ‘evidence’ for a local oval being sacred ground is that it, well it just is. Just as all ground is sacred. An affirmation borrowed from First Nations’ Peoples says it all very nicely:
We stand always on sacred ground and beneath sacred skies.
In other words, everthing, everytwhere is sacred. All the rest, the memorials, the games played, they are not what makes the ground sacred, they are the things that people layer onto the space as a way of acknowledging the inherent sacredness.
And that is how it is for me. It’s not me walking around the oval chanting mantra (or at other times ‘just thinking’) that makes it sacred ground, despite being sacred acts in their own right.
I mentioned earlier an alternative word for Kora, pradakshina. This comes from the Sanskrit for ‘to the right’, because traditionally the idea was to always circle the sacred site or object clockwise, so the sacred object remains on one’s right.
Obvioiusly there isn’t much to see on the middle of the oval as I walk around the boundary fence (it’s about 400 to 500 meters by the way). Mind you, the other day a flock of pigeons were feeding in the centre while I walked. Then, at another oval, in another town, there would often be a lone Ibis sitting almost in the centre. It’s all sacred.
This idea of centre has me realising that the whole point for me of walking around ovals chanting my mantra, is the reach mycentre. The temple I’m circumamabulating is me; I’m the container so to speak, for the Consciousness which pervades and actually is all there is.
Peace and Love
Holy Wanderer: A Saddhu performs pradakshina around a shrine to Shiva in Rishikesh India
PS: I’ve written another post, also related to Kora. Please feel free to visit that post here
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 