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The mantra ‘Aum’ (or Om as it is often spelt) is generally regarded as the mother of all meditation matras. The word itself defies English translation; it is the sound of the mantra itself that it is important, and is held to be the seed-sound from which the ebbs and flows of creation spring, and thus to chant the mantra is to gradually enter into the mysteries of the universe. For thousands of years, yogis and ascetics have chanted this mantra as their sole spiritual practice, and many have attained the ultimate goal of meditation - enlightenment or God-realisation - by doing so. Indeed, some of these sages have reached the stage where when they stopped chanting, they could hear the mantra being generated spontaneously in the inmost recesses of their hearts.

I first encountered the mantra Aum when attending meditation classes run by the Dublin Sri Chinmoy Centre. Even though I liked the classes very much and was inspired to ask Sri Chinmoy could I become a student of his, I never have really explored the mantra ‘Aum’ at all in the four-odd years between then and now, as I seemed to make more progress with silent meditation, singinging longer mantric songs, and the English (though no less powerful for that) mantra ‘Supreme’. However I was at a meditation class last night at which my friend Martin, originally from Graz in Austria but on a lengthy soujourn in Dublin, was talking about ‘Aum’ and he mentioned a specific exercise using japa (constant repetition of a mantra) to purify the being which Sri Chinmoy once recommended:

“The best way to repeat a mantra to attain purity quickly is to ascend by steps. You all know the significance of AUM, the sacred name of God. Today, repeat five hundred times ‘AUM,’ ‘Supreme,’ or whatever mantra your Master has given you. Then tomorrow, repeat it six hundred times; the day after tomorrow, seven hundred; and so on, until you reach twelve hundred in one week’s time. Then begin descending each day until you reach five hundred again. In this way you can climb up the tree and climb down the tree.”

“When you do japa, do not prolong your chanting too much. If you prolong the syllable AUM, you won’t have the time to chant five hundred or six hundred times. Just say the syllable in a normal but soulful way so that you will get the vibration.”

So I became inspired to try this for a month - that’s two up-and-down cycles of mantras. I began my first 500 aums this morning, and the practice definitely does fill you with plenty of energy for the day ahead. Let’s see how we progress….

I came across a very interesting world clock counter on poodwaddle.com, (thanks to Joy Bringer at zaadz for finding it) showing world population increases, births, deaths and a whole bunch of other stuff. You can show increases on a yearly, weekly and daily basis - mot to mention the ‘now’ button, upon pressing which all the counters start off from zero. Within the first twenty seconds, there are 90 births and 41 deaths - including a couple of cases of heart disease, a traffic accident and a suicide - 27 marriages and 6 divorces. 8 hectares of forest have been cut down, 33 cars manufactured, 73 bicycles, and 58 computers.

It would be nice to see some of the more depressing stats here balanced out with statistics like number of smiles given, number of kindnesses performed (and so forth), but I suppose goodness has always been much less amenable to measurement than its counterpart. Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s old maxim comes to mind: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye….”

The most striking thing, for me at any rate, was going to the ‘daily’ button and looking at the number of deaths. It is only 1 pm here, and already 82,000 people have shuffled off the mortal coil today, replaced by almost 200,000 new souls eagerly embarking on their new world-adventure. In this age of standing out from the crowd, there is something very levelling about one being placed in the daily ‘outbox’ of the world along with over eighty thousand people you never met. For a few minutes, I looked in mute wonder at the game of birth and death being played out before my eyes; somewhere in these figures an invisible hand beckoned me, and fed my inner yearning to dig beyond the figures and find the meaning behind it all.

Hmm. Let’s face it, the amount of films out there that try to deliver high spiritual truth the audience can be counted on the fingers of one hand. (In fact, at the moment I’m struggling to count them on the fingers of one finger) So of course - we have to settle for the next best thing, which is: movies that don’t make me go to bed afterwards and have bad dreams about being hunted down by the CIA, or some variant thereof.

I just watched Oceans 13 - I do like that whole Oceans series; most action stories nowadays are relying on increasingly ruthless and sadistic villians to keep the suspense screws tightening, but instead the focus in these films is on always the ingenuity of the scheme, and the bonhomie between the cast, you almost even feel all the good and bad guys could sit down together over sushi and reminisce about it all afterwards. Another film I also like very much is Star Trek: Insurrection. “An appealing millennial throwback to the hippie dream that is part and parcel of Star Trek’s utopian ethos.”, wrote the reviewer in the New York Times. I always liked the utopian ethos of Star Trek, everyone getting along and all that. I never liked those sci-fi film where the future is just as messed up as the present is. Plus I’d watch paint dry if Patrick Stewart were painting it. In days gone by, I used to imagine myself directing King Lear with him in the lead role. What else? Ah, yes. Close your eyes and don’t laugh: Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. There, I said it. I think because it’s just good storytelling, and good storytelling warms the heart. And some of it is extremely funny, like the bit where (at a time when the Arabs were like the Silicon Valley of the Middle Ages) the Moorish guy played by Morgan Freeman gives the technologically-backward Kev a little telescope to see the approaching enemy, and then the camera pans back to see Kev fearfully holding out his sword as if trying to prod the soldiers he sees in the telescope; Morgan then snatches the scope from him in despair and wonders aloud how these fools ever captured Jerusalem. Oh, wait, there’s actually a spiritual bit in this, where the little kid asks Morgan did God paint him, and Morgan says yes, because Allah loves wondrous variety. So there. I’ve kind of always had a soft spot for Kevin Costner, I have to admit, some of the films he’s done have had a very idealistic core.

(hmm, I believe the blog falls a little short of the comprehansive listing that the title might have suggested, but it appears these days you have to couch the title of your post in the words “the most..(insert something) Ever!!!” to get any attention, so who am I to disagree?).

My Lord says to me,
“My child, be not a beggar of what I have.
Be a chooser of Who I am.”

- Sri Chinmoy

(Photo taken by Prabhakar Street; the route of the marathon referred to in the previous blog entry made its way around this lake. I guess this picture was taken around 6.30am, shortly before race start. I wonder if she ran it.)

Giuseppe from Austria sent this to me today with the caption “return of the zombie” that forms the title of this post. This is my finish at the Self Transcendence Marathon in Rockland State Park in New York, which took place on August 25th. Basically, I looked up at the clock, decided 3:06 wasn’t going to turn into 3:07 anytime soon, and slowed down to a walk two metres before the finish line.

It looks like I had a pretty tough race; I did. (In fact, I decided not to publish some of my mid-race pictures in order to preserve the delicate aesthetic balance on this site.) Some of the toughness was actually quite a nice spiritual experience - you somehow realise that a lot of the pain is just you fighting and resisting and complaining inside, and as soon as you give all that up and just surrender to the experience, things get a whole lot better. I remember Suprabha Beckjord, one of the foremost women’s ultrarunners in the world and the only person to complete every edition of the world’s longest race, the 3100 mile Self-Transcendence Race, saying how ultrarunning “was a first-hand experience of God’s Grace and Compassion”. True that. It’s something you can very tangibly feel, when you let go of all the mental baggage; something reeling you in like a fisherman towards the finish line, something ‘closer to you than your own neck vein’, as the Koran would put it. In daily life, we live in the mental world, where all of these ideas - the soul, God, bliss - float around, capable neither of being proved nor disproved. It’s only when you take the plunge and do something outside the realm of the mind that some direct experience of these things can make itself available to you.

Ok, I believe I have some explaining to do…

I am in New York at the moment, with my teacher Sri Chinmoy, meditating and generally learning more about myself and the world. Saturday night meditation functions with my teacher are invariably given over to spiritual plays, and various groups take their turn to go on and perform. One of the newest groups is directed by Canadian Udar Robinson, and has gained quite a reputation over the past year or so for the quality of their plays: Sri Chinmoy gave them the name Udar: the Unbounded Troupe. There is a core of five people in the group, but they often need guest actors if there are many parts, and they are often in especial need of people willing to die quickly and without fuss. And that is where I came in.

Last Saturday, the play was a retelling of the ancient Mahabharata story of Drona and Drupada. As a child, Drona and Drupada were best friends, and Drupada (who was a prince) promised Drona (who was not) half his kingdom when he grew up. Of course, time and politics intervened, and Drona found himself out on his ear when he went to ask for his half, so naturally knives were sharpened in revenge. My job was to rush on stage to where King Drupada was holding court, announce that Drona’s army was making mincemeat of us, and then die (no better way to reinforce the point that Drona was making mincemeat of us.)

So my clothes were supposed to be all bloodied from battle, and I had these arrows stuck in my back. And I had a bottle of ketchup mixed with water. I was thinking about tipping the ketchup over myself just as I entered stage, but Dinesha also suggested I could take some ketchup in my mouth, and then when I said my first words it would all come out! Beside me in the photo is the king’s minister, played by Budhsamudra, who was shortly to suffer from a mild dose of stage death himself.

Note to self: Next time I die, I will try to die in a position where I can actually see what is going on in the rest of the play. Also, if I am dying on a gritty surface, I will try not to land ketchup side down.

Big thank you: Salil for taking these photos. He is actually one of the core group of five in the play, and was supposed to play the mighty Bhima, warrior of warriors, but unfortunately he came down with a most un-Bhimalike sniffly cold, and retired to bed whilst we were rehearsing all cuddled up with his teddy bear, who he fondly refers to as Cuddles. (All of this is said in the knowledge that Salil is too much of a gentleman to sue me for outright libel).

They do not sell your statues in the shops, O Mother.
Buddha, Ganesh, Lakshmi, all in vogue,
adorning lobbies of comfortable houses,
prosperity to those who already have,
a scent of spirituality to mask the rot

but you, Mother, are not in fashion.
no marketing niche for you,
no category
the analytic mind sees you coming,
scythe gleaming in the sun
to once and for all
cleave the Real from the unreal
it drops everything
and flees

Mother, we talk amongst ourselves
about how life is suffering
life is unfair
sometimes I imagine
that when I get to the soul’s world
I can write God a strongly worded letter
demanding immediate and radical changes
to the Cosmic Game
before I agree to come back down again

but you,
you are just having the time of your life,
are you not?

and those who come to know your dance
can see it everywhere

I bet that was you
with your arms around your long-suffering servant
as the car gracefully pirouettes through the air
with him in it
I see you taunting the forces of death
just try
i dare you
i double triple dare you
touch him
go on
cross that line
and see what happens

I bet that was you
coasting inland
atop a chariot of tidal waves
gathering souls to yourself
like a blackjack dealer in Vegas
ready to spread them out again
on freshly-watered soils

I bet that was you
standing on top of the crossbar in 1988
when Charlie Redmond took that penalty
and you were laughing your head off

I bet that was you
dancing with a fury
and a speed
that makes you seem everywhere at once
stampeding through opposing armies
like a Nebraska linebacker
as tanks shatter through walls
as men pierce through boys
and the game gathers pace

And I know that is you
standing behind your chosen sons
the great Masters
who like the Buddha
will not move
will not sleep
until your six billion children
one by one
awaken
rub their eyes
and wonder why it took so long
to truly live

your dearest, dearest, dearest sons
dearer to you than your own Life
yet you strap them to the leaden harness of a human body
as they hold their nose and take the plunge
immersed and alone in the sea of ignorance
but you stand beside their bed
as they lie hooked up to the machine of maya
you hold their hands
as they siphon the ingratitude and begrudgery of the world
out through their very bones
Oh Mother, often I marvel how they can stay on earth for so long
and when I do
in the silence
then
I sense the starlit footprints of Your Compassion.

Mother, the PR department have been on to me
they say you are giving God a bad name
you are not projecting the right image
they have given me a 492-page manual on politically correct etiquette for cosmic gods
they want you to study it
they want you to put some clothes on
and behave yourself
maybe then, they say, they’ll even be able to sell your statues in the shops
but their stilted ideas about compassion
bind and blind compassion itself
because the more I discover you
I see your naked sword is indistinguishable from your cooling touch
your reaping is indistinguishable from your sowing
that the hour of death is as much your Compassion
as the hour of birth
and that the entire universe
is but a one-act play
of your Love

.