‘At the beginning of my journey, I was naïve. I didn’t yet know that answers vanish as one continues to travel, that there is only further complexity, that there are still more interrelationships and more questions.’ - Kaplan
The above quote came from a qualitative methods book that I don’t own, and something that I’d gone through some five years ago. I don’t think I’d be able to find the quote again. I don’t know whether the above is a good place to start from for what I have in mind. But it’s been put up there, and I’ll take it from there/here/wherever. I’ve been re-reading a chapter titled “Come to God” from an MSS. I’ll sit on the name of the author (for reasons of my own). I’m re-reading it very slowly this time around (having read it once a week for the last three weeks I think it has been) – but there is one bit from the first bit of the chapter, which is eventually going to point out the direction in which this current post is going to travel. In and out the post shall go afterwards, up and down, spirals and chutes – but for now let me root myself and ground myself.
“…it is the most shocking of lies or the very height of ignorance to claim that the concept of God was born only out of fear. Love, overflowing, all-embracing, pure, blissful love that cleanses and exalts the human soul and destroys fear has always been one of the great motivators too, along with man’s vaulting romantic imagination: witness the religious poetry and music and art of any old civilization, ours included.”
So this post is indeed about God, and about spirituality, and about the “is-ness” of “romantic imagination”. I’ve been getting muddled in my head again lately, I’ve been noticing. Muddled not in a bad way or a perverse way or a destructive way, as has happened so often in the past – but in just a vague and distracted way, and have been getting somewhat lost in the mazes of my mind. Getting odd bits of work done. Just the bits that must be done, and letting the rest be swept around by the rains (of which we’ve been having plenty), sun, and wind (both of which have been here in sudden unexpected bursts). But let me get back to what I want to write about today.
I’m feeling quite quiet in my head, even though there’s The Rolling Stones and Led Zepplin and The Who playing on the internet radio. But inside there’s a blue washed tranquility. And I’m wondering where to start from.
“…Down the ages, down the dawn of centuries and the burst of bursting and stillborn stars, I sensed love. Through the stillness, through the cracks of darkness, through infinite zones of light and space, I saw love. A love that shook through wind and water, earth and fire; a love that scared me, thrilled me, drove me down to the pits of earth shattering insanity — shrieking and cruel, and then threw me with wild abandon into worlds, which beat my richest fantasies into pulp, I felt love. And it’s that love, which made me come back to life — the iridescent shade of an eternal romance that never gave up — that gave me life over and over and yet over again…. So is there an end to life or is it all a series of beginnings? Is it the eternal circle, or a series of spirals? Is it the ‘om’, the crescent, the cross, the star, or the sphinx’s riddle? Is it a laugh or is it a game — endless and infinite? Or is it truly love? A love that is fiercely consuming, and even frightening in its obsession; a love so expansive that it stretches the ripples of angst, out and away like a smoothened fresh sheet washed by the first spring sun..”
The above is what God means to me. It's something I wrote, a little over 5 years ago, not really realising what I was writing. Maybe I should end my post here for the funny thing is that I’ve had the sense of God and spirituality, and thought about the two, and argued about the two (with other “real” human beings, with my selves, with my fimhs), been irritated by the two, been befuddled, been indifferent, and just “let them be” – that now after being strangely excited at the prospect of writing about these two elements – I find myself experiencing an absurd peace, and do not really experience any strong urges to even say anything or write anything more. But the “writer” in me is no less stubborn, and insists on clicking away. So I’ll let my “writer self” take the floor…
I was enthralled by the idea of the “Other” as a child. One of my earliest memories of my self is at 3 or thereabouts, and a "longing for the beyond”. I didn’t think in those terms – but what I experienced was a 'certain something" that wasn’t a part of the everyday world as I knew it; an everyday world, which for the most part was comprised of being cuddled and told stories (and very rarely being scolded) by my parents, playing and being taken care of by my brother, and sometimes eating singaras and pantuyas with great relish. I still remember lying in bed on a summer afternoon having the thought that “life” and "some part of me" lay somewhere else – although I greatly enjoyed my everyday life…
I remember at 5 or thereabouts when I first started playing the “Who am I” game. Bits and pieces of my given identity would fall off me. At this point in time, my family and I were living in England, in a sleepy and lovely town called Scunthorpe. I would sit in the garden, and I still remember the intense yet easy concentration with which I would start pondering on who I was. And I would be drawn into this delicious web – a black liquid pool where given bits of my identity would break off me – I wasn’t just my parents’ “daughter”, I wasn’t just my brother’s “sister”, I wasn’t just a “friend" to Manjuri, Guddi, Ratul, and Kingshuk….but who was I? And then just as I would get closer and closer to cracking this amazing puzzle, which kept me entertained for hours – wham – the “real” world would come crashing back in. The wind would be blowing through the sun, the hospital across the road would rise into my vision, a sleepy bus would go hooting by, the flowers would be nodding, and the clouds would go racing overhead. And I would blink, and go inside to bother mum about something or nothing.
At home there was a picture of Goddess Kali on the wall of my dad’s study. The picture was high up on the wall. And I was a midget at four/five (and never really did grow much taller). The picture didn’t seem to be very clear to me. Mum used to pray with an incense stick, every morning in front of that picture on the wall, which had an innocuous brown frame and was probably not more than 10 inches in length and 7inches across. Dad used to pray as well – but I don’t remember him having a specific time for praying. I don’t remember how old I was exactly – but one day I remember standing on top of the bed scrutinizing the painting. Goddess Kali didn’t disturb me much – even though she had her garland of human heads around her neck, even though she had numerous hands with one holding a recently clopped-off head, even though she had her red tongue exposed, even though she was pretty much nude, even though she seemed to be standing with one foot on top of a man who was lying in her path, even though she had what seemed to be a humongous sword in one of her many hands (with what no doubt she had chopped off the human heads left, right, and centre). I don’t remember whether I had asked my parents anything. All I remember is that I was quite comfortable with My own “God” in my head, and of course Jesus I adored – but Goddess Kali and I; while I shook hands with her in my head – I had no intentions of praying to her or talking with her or having running conversations with her in the mirror or otherwise, as I did with all my other "Gods"…all I remember thinking is that “Jesus…she sure does need to calm down a bit…”
At school in England, we had of course regular prayer and “mass” in the morning. I don’t remember any longer whether at St. Augustine we had a short prayer service every day and a longer one every friday or whether it was indeed an elaborate affair every day of the week. But I do remember that some days prayer was a long affair, and I thoroughly loved it – every moment of it. Even at 5, I was a joker. All the Catholic students would drop one round wafer (the “holy bread” substitute) into a big bowl. Later on after service, each student would walk up to the dais to the priest, and the student would either open his mouth to receive the wafer or she would hold out her hand and receive the wafer in her hand. I was fascinated with and by the wafer. Everyday before morning assembly, I would half-joke about dropping one extra wafer into the bowl. I really wanted to try out a wafer, but apparently one didn’t “do” that unless one was a Catholic. Oh well. I never did throw in that extra wafer in all the four and a half years that I went to St. Augustine. But still I loved assembly no less. The best part was singing the choir songs. I knew all the songs, and didn’t really need the book that all students had. Although I had my favourites, I loved each song – now, sadly enough I don’t remember any of the songs. Not even the tune, leave alone the lyrics remain in my head…and then of course there were the Nativity plays that we acted out during Christmas. As I’ve “reported” on another post – I ended up being one of the Wise Men in the last year that I was in St. Augustine, and I had a grand robe of royal Blue, a crown on my pretty head of hair, carried a box (of what I do not remember…)…and followed the Star to Bethlehem. The costumes and the props apparently had been used year after year in the school. The box, as far as I remember was an old, heavy, engraved wooden box…but it jolly well may not have been as grand as I see it being in my head after all these years......
Hmm…but where is this all going? Well, nowhere really. I remember bonding with Jesus very early on. I used to have merry and sometimes solemn conversations with him. God though was more of a distant figure at that point. Someone whom I used to go running to if I were mortally scared of “something” or “really” didn’t understand something or just wanted to be cuddled, and Jesus was just fooling around…or indeed didn’t seem to know much more than I did (or just wasn't telling me what he knew)!Then I would climb into God’s lap (He did indeed sit on a throne, and He did indeed have a purple robe that He’d bring out every now and again – simply because He knew that it amused me and made me happy).
That apart I had merry conversations with Lucifer as well. Lucifer was my “naughty” God. He was a prankster with whom I had fun, and would goof around…and every now and then we would do something wrong and terrible, and both of us would end up feeling horribly guilty, and then promise ourselves that “picking” up something that did not belong to us – “Gulp” – was simply not worth it ever; “snatching” something out of some else’s pocket simply wasn’t “done” (quite apart from the sudden shout that the otherwise calm Someone emitted on finding a nosey little hand making a “grab” at her pocket), that while letting go on a high spinning merry-go-round was great fun, that the fun didn’t last for long. And that “the head” actually hurt once one was thrown onto the concrete after flying through the air, and that knees, elbows, and the face tended to get fairly bloody, while the head didn’t – although the latter seemed to “hurt” more…
So there I was by 8 very happy with Jesus, God, and Lucifer. (It was round about the same time that my family and I returned home to India). I knew JGL were in me, outside me, everywhere I was, and always with me. Yes, sure – my faith, belief, and call-it-whatever-you-will was very much culturally rooted and very much related to what I had experienced while growing up. Although I don’t know why I used to play the “Who Am I” game nor why I had felt an immediate bond with Lucifer (maybe it has something to do with the red birthmark in the shape of a '6' on my right foot!)– a bond that was and is as strong as the one that I have with My God, my current FIMH, and The Absolute, and of course with Jesus, The Buddha, and Krishna, and my old fimhs. And yes indeed. This bond, this connection, this belief, this experience with JGL and The Others – which is deeply personal (as anyone who “believes” will know) – was and is born out of love. An overflowing, overwhelming, and sometimes even a coldly rational and analytical love….it indeed was and is an all-embracing love. Complete and absolute.
I have wondered and wondered why sociologists have forever talked about “fear” as being the prime motivator (and in fact the “only” motivator) of religion, and the belief in God. Emile Durkheim, one of the classical theorists in Sociology said the same in the 1900s – and it seems that the sociologists of the 2000s have not been able to move away from the emotion of “fear”. To me it seems that the Western world is forecefully still much attached to the enticing web of the Enlightenment - the period when religion and science and "other forms of knowing" were split up for pressing reasons. There is a gradual and slow change that I can spot some glimpses of - but only time I guess will tell which way the pendulum will swing. As for the East, as for India - who knows. I have no idea what people believe as a country, as a Land, and as a collective which gave rise to some of the most enlightened philosophies and spiritual teachings since the Birth of Human Civilization. Indeed I don't even think that we "do" believe in anything as a collective.
And then of course, these days we have utterly moronic individuals like Richard Dawkins – who have not the sense nor the imagination nor the sensibility, and therefore go around blaring out the same idea of "Religion stinks", and such people make me cringe with embarrassment. That a human being, any human being (with such a wonderful accent), and a ‘scientist’ at that can be such an absolute fool, so full of prejudice, and be such a disgrace to the human race.
The other associated “progression” that I’ve noticed within sociological circles is that there is much talk today about the “Culture of Fear”, about the aspect of “fear” in our everyday lives. There are tonnes of literature for those interested (within the frameworks of Critical theory in the main). In popular circles there are “Fahrenheit 9/11” and “Bowling for Columbine” – a couple of the most famous "Moore movies", where Michael Moore pokes and prods at the “culture of fear” that’s been promoted over and across the United States through the centuries. While the studies and the articles and the books that I’ve browsed through on “Fear” are no doubt interesting at a level, what I find thoroughly amusing is that social scientists cannot bring themselves to explore the element of “Love”. They have no idea where or how to begin. Why, I wonder is it easier to talk about “fear” or write papers on “fear”, and why I wonder is there the strange reluctance to explore what “Love” means to different people, or what effect “Love” has on "different" worlds or on a Self in interaction with the world? Some odd years ago, the best psychologists and neuro-scientists could do was to carry out some experiments regarding the "biology" of love. As terribly interesting and almost capricious as the series was - and I remember seeing the two part series, which was telecast on National Geographic - it didn't even come close to 'really" exploring the emotion.
And then of course there are the ones who take up some other “religion” like Marxism or Leninism, or Leftism in one form or the other, and who will snootily and gratuitously disparage those who do have a deep spiritual sensitivity in them. And then there are some who are so enchanted and stuck to their own sense of “born-again” Christianity/Hinduism/Any-ism that they foolishly sneer at Others and call these “Others” “inferior” because apparently since these “Others” are in the process of stitching and creating (in some sense) their own quilt of spirituality with carefully gathered "teachings" over ages, and across spaces and more, these “Others” are "too weak” to follow religion as it has been laid down by the word of GOD in The Bible or in some religious text or the other. According to these Born-Agains – religious texts are to be taken whole and un-mutilated and never questioned nor interpreted even (!) by anyone. If I do – then “I just don’t get it”, according to these Sneer-ers. But the Sneer-ers themselves of course do interpret – but they interpret exactly as God wanted of them!
This is all for now. My post is by no means complete or anywhere near completion…but I will write by and by…More shall follow soon – for my stubborn Writer-Self if for No One else!
