Tuesday, May 11, 2004
India and the Ayuhauscadero, Part One
The writer of this account is a successful businessman and a very serious seeker on the spiritual path. He is also a very dear friend of mine. This experience took place quite recently, and I am delighted that he has agreed to let me post his narrative on this site. (Dorothy)
Authors note: For obvious reasons, I have omitted my name from this piece, and changed the name of my wife. The ashram, and all other experiences described are as I remember them
The Beginnings
I remember the first time I recognized God was talking to me.
I was thirteen, and my parents had sent me to Israel for one of those all-good-Jewish-boys-visit-the-Holy-Land trips. Sitting on a hot and smelly bus, crammed in with the rest of my jaded peers, I shuttled from ancient Jewish monument to important historical sight. Fresh from my bar mitzvah, I found that, in truth, Judaism was little more than a painful obligation.
Religion represented nothing to me other than a failed promise. My rabbi, a famous modern Jewish figure, had told me that Judaism was this rich, moist chocolate cake--gooey and delicious. It was supposedly filled with mystery and depth. My traditional Hebrew school education made sure I never got that meal. Instead I was served a freeze-dried version of my faith, devoid of any real taste or delight. My religious training was boring, rote, and sadly disconnected from anything meaningful. I did not respond well. My rabbi tells me I am one of the worst students he has ever had. Surprisingly, I am quite proud.
The only time I detected passion like this in Hebrew school was during the monthly lessons on the holocaust. The lectures consistently drummed, "it's us versus them." At the time, I assumed this is what religion was all about. It was disappointing and, in truth, consistent with the experience of my other Jewish friends. I was disconnected from spirit and barren of any understanding regarding my place in the world of mystery. In the dry cake of that experience, however, lay a small light of hope. At thirteen, I was yearning. I didn't know where or what that meant, but I did know one thing: I wanted more. In the most unexpected way, this desire was fully met on one spectacular afternoon in Israel.
It is Friday late afternoon, just before Sabbath, and I am at the Wailing Wall. Not knowing what to do, I close my eyes and listen to the dahvening, the ritualized prayers of the devout. The intensity of this singing starts to carry me along. As the sound deepens, I feel myself taken further and further into someplace I've never been. I hear an old man start to sing the Shema, the most sacred of Jewish prayers.
Just then, like magic, to my right I hear church bells ringing clear and unadulterated. Then I hear to my left, one of the daily calls to Mecca from a minaret, piercing and resolute. It is stunning. In no other place, no other city in the world, could this happen. Jerusalem. I am breathless. I have never forgotten that event and the three sounds working in consort changed my view of the world forever.
It was my first mystical moment. With it an important notion came into my head. This idea has served as a guiding principle ever since, one that in my core belief system, fueled by this first spiritual experience, has been driving my search for spiritual connection ever since. It was what initially piqued my interest in UCS.
It is this: You don't have to do anything. Just wait. Trust. Breathe. You are not alone, because we are all one. As Hindu's say, "All paths lead to God."
A friend says, "If you believe that everything has meaning, then it's a short leap to everything has being. And if you believe that everything has being then it's a short leap to everything has something to teach us." This notion of commonality, that we are more similar than different became the lens with which I went to India.
I was, however, unprepared for what I was to experience.
Authors note: For obvious reasons, I have omitted my name from this piece, and changed the name of my wife. The ashram, and all other experiences described are as I remember them
The Beginnings
I remember the first time I recognized God was talking to me.
I was thirteen, and my parents had sent me to Israel for one of those all-good-Jewish-boys-visit-the-Holy-Land trips. Sitting on a hot and smelly bus, crammed in with the rest of my jaded peers, I shuttled from ancient Jewish monument to important historical sight. Fresh from my bar mitzvah, I found that, in truth, Judaism was little more than a painful obligation.
Religion represented nothing to me other than a failed promise. My rabbi, a famous modern Jewish figure, had told me that Judaism was this rich, moist chocolate cake--gooey and delicious. It was supposedly filled with mystery and depth. My traditional Hebrew school education made sure I never got that meal. Instead I was served a freeze-dried version of my faith, devoid of any real taste or delight. My religious training was boring, rote, and sadly disconnected from anything meaningful. I did not respond well. My rabbi tells me I am one of the worst students he has ever had. Surprisingly, I am quite proud.
The only time I detected passion like this in Hebrew school was during the monthly lessons on the holocaust. The lectures consistently drummed, "it's us versus them." At the time, I assumed this is what religion was all about. It was disappointing and, in truth, consistent with the experience of my other Jewish friends. I was disconnected from spirit and barren of any understanding regarding my place in the world of mystery. In the dry cake of that experience, however, lay a small light of hope. At thirteen, I was yearning. I didn't know where or what that meant, but I did know one thing: I wanted more. In the most unexpected way, this desire was fully met on one spectacular afternoon in Israel.
It is Friday late afternoon, just before Sabbath, and I am at the Wailing Wall. Not knowing what to do, I close my eyes and listen to the dahvening, the ritualized prayers of the devout. The intensity of this singing starts to carry me along. As the sound deepens, I feel myself taken further and further into someplace I've never been. I hear an old man start to sing the Shema, the most sacred of Jewish prayers.
Just then, like magic, to my right I hear church bells ringing clear and unadulterated. Then I hear to my left, one of the daily calls to Mecca from a minaret, piercing and resolute. It is stunning. In no other place, no other city in the world, could this happen. Jerusalem. I am breathless. I have never forgotten that event and the three sounds working in consort changed my view of the world forever.
It was my first mystical moment. With it an important notion came into my head. This idea has served as a guiding principle ever since, one that in my core belief system, fueled by this first spiritual experience, has been driving my search for spiritual connection ever since. It was what initially piqued my interest in UCS.
It is this: You don't have to do anything. Just wait. Trust. Breathe. You are not alone, because we are all one. As Hindu's say, "All paths lead to God."
A friend says, "If you believe that everything has meaning, then it's a short leap to everything has being. And if you believe that everything has being then it's a short leap to everything has something to teach us." This notion of commonality, that we are more similar than different became the lens with which I went to India.
I was, however, unprepared for what I was to experience.
