Sunday, September 10, 2006
The Mystic and Society
When you have a deep kundalini awakening, it is like being struck by lightning. You may survive the experience, but you will never be the same. Your whole life—your thoughts, your feelings, your reactions to the world about you—will be changed forever. You have become a different person, somebody who has “secret knowledge,” whose life is no longer that of the group at large.
You are now a mystic, in the fullest sense of the word. A mystic is by definition someone who stands outside the established beliefs and traditions, perhaps a wild seeker clearing her own path, claiming her own truth. True, some mystics have been embedded in powerful religious institutions, and often they were not welcomed by their “superiors.” St. John of the Cross, one of the most renowned mystics of all time, was imprisoned for his wayward beliefs. Sweet Teresa of Avila was rebuked by those in charge for her errant visions and what she referred to as her “raptures.”
Christianity, oftentimes, is now a fairly innocuous version of what was once a vibrant truth. It has been (frequently) tamed, watered down in many cases, so as not to disturb or offend. Congregations don’t want to be made uneasy by uncomfortable truths. Rituals too often are mechanical repetition of once vital ceremonies. Churches, as someone remarked, are often mere mausoleums, repositories for the dead concepts of the past. As another asked, would Christ today be a Christian? Would he recognize the “mega churches”, or the T. V. advertisements for programs on “how to become a Christian millionaire”?
There are, of course, other, more radical versions of “Christianity,” reactionaries and fundamentalists who seem to have abandoned reason for hysteria, devoting themselves to anger and denunciation of those who (in their view) defy “God’s law,” (their interpretation of Scripture.)
Even Rumi, beloved mystic poet of an earlier era, is still held to be suspect by governmental authorities in the Middle East. Turkey, which sponsored the translations of many of his works by an eminent scholar, recently refused to underwrite the final volume in this series, sensing that it was too great a threat to established religion.
In the far East, mystics have sometimes had an easier time, sometimes not. The Taoists (“The path is the goal”) stand in direct contradiction to the Confucians (“Do it according to rule and book.) Buddha said, “Be a light unto yourselves,” but modern Buddhism insists that you should join a sangha (recognized group of practitioners) and follow the dharma (traditional teachings.) (Some more liberal Buddhists give these a wider interpretation—offering the notion that the sangha embraces all believers and the dharma is more akin to universal moral truth.)
In India, there seems to be limitless variety and expression of spirituality, from calm domestic household and temple practice, to the wild saddhus who run about naked and refuse to conform in any way to what “polite society” dictates. Their devotion is extreme, but not really a useful model for most of us. (Here is the conundrum: the “outsider” rejecting the “even more outsider.”)
Where do you draw the line? Once authority is rejected for subjective experience, how can we be sure that irrationality won’t take over, and belief and behavior run amuck? This is the familiar argument of the traditionalists, those who hold power in the "establishment." The answer, I think, is that we trust ourselves to listen to our own inner guides, who will, if we heed their counsel, lead us to the right path and guide us on the way. What is a better guide than the whispered truth of one's own heart? Why would "god" not reside there as well as in the outer forms of convention? Who should we trust if not ourselves?
The mystic, however, is not really interested in someone else’s notions of propriety in thought or action. The mystic stands “outside the door,” finding his/her way, convinced that her own is a “self-validating experience.” The mystic is tied to god by a thread so strong that it cannot be cut or broken, no matter what the outer circumstance.
Whatever else it does, kundlalini will convince even the skeptics that there is indeed something more powerful, more real, more loving than any of us might imagine. T. S. Eliot said, "Humankind can bear only a little reality." How much reality are we prepared to know?
You are now a mystic, in the fullest sense of the word. A mystic is by definition someone who stands outside the established beliefs and traditions, perhaps a wild seeker clearing her own path, claiming her own truth. True, some mystics have been embedded in powerful religious institutions, and often they were not welcomed by their “superiors.” St. John of the Cross, one of the most renowned mystics of all time, was imprisoned for his wayward beliefs. Sweet Teresa of Avila was rebuked by those in charge for her errant visions and what she referred to as her “raptures.”
Christianity, oftentimes, is now a fairly innocuous version of what was once a vibrant truth. It has been (frequently) tamed, watered down in many cases, so as not to disturb or offend. Congregations don’t want to be made uneasy by uncomfortable truths. Rituals too often are mechanical repetition of once vital ceremonies. Churches, as someone remarked, are often mere mausoleums, repositories for the dead concepts of the past. As another asked, would Christ today be a Christian? Would he recognize the “mega churches”, or the T. V. advertisements for programs on “how to become a Christian millionaire”?
There are, of course, other, more radical versions of “Christianity,” reactionaries and fundamentalists who seem to have abandoned reason for hysteria, devoting themselves to anger and denunciation of those who (in their view) defy “God’s law,” (their interpretation of Scripture.)
Even Rumi, beloved mystic poet of an earlier era, is still held to be suspect by governmental authorities in the Middle East. Turkey, which sponsored the translations of many of his works by an eminent scholar, recently refused to underwrite the final volume in this series, sensing that it was too great a threat to established religion.
In the far East, mystics have sometimes had an easier time, sometimes not. The Taoists (“The path is the goal”) stand in direct contradiction to the Confucians (“Do it according to rule and book.) Buddha said, “Be a light unto yourselves,” but modern Buddhism insists that you should join a sangha (recognized group of practitioners) and follow the dharma (traditional teachings.) (Some more liberal Buddhists give these a wider interpretation—offering the notion that the sangha embraces all believers and the dharma is more akin to universal moral truth.)
In India, there seems to be limitless variety and expression of spirituality, from calm domestic household and temple practice, to the wild saddhus who run about naked and refuse to conform in any way to what “polite society” dictates. Their devotion is extreme, but not really a useful model for most of us. (Here is the conundrum: the “outsider” rejecting the “even more outsider.”)
Where do you draw the line? Once authority is rejected for subjective experience, how can we be sure that irrationality won’t take over, and belief and behavior run amuck? This is the familiar argument of the traditionalists, those who hold power in the "establishment." The answer, I think, is that we trust ourselves to listen to our own inner guides, who will, if we heed their counsel, lead us to the right path and guide us on the way. What is a better guide than the whispered truth of one's own heart? Why would "god" not reside there as well as in the outer forms of convention? Who should we trust if not ourselves?
The mystic, however, is not really interested in someone else’s notions of propriety in thought or action. The mystic stands “outside the door,” finding his/her way, convinced that her own is a “self-validating experience.” The mystic is tied to god by a thread so strong that it cannot be cut or broken, no matter what the outer circumstance.
Whatever else it does, kundlalini will convince even the skeptics that there is indeed something more powerful, more real, more loving than any of us might imagine. T. S. Eliot said, "Humankind can bear only a little reality." How much reality are we prepared to know?
