From Pilgrim of the Heart - Krishna Das

"In the Bhagavad Gita, which is the most well known of all Indian texts, Bhagavad Gita means, “Song of God” and the story is that a great battle is about to be fought. The hero, the greatest of all the good guys, asks his charioteer, who happens to be God, Krishna, to drive him up to this hill on the battlefield as the dawn is breaking on the first day of the battle, so he can see what is going on.

So, Krishna drives his friend and warrior, Arjuna, up to the top of this hill and they look out over the scene. Arjuna cannot believe what he sees – in both armies are his friends, his teachers, his family members. In both armies are people he loves and respects and he is going to be asked to slaughter all these people. These people represent our personal history, in some way. In order to find the love that lies within us, at one point in the journey we have to turn our backs on everything that appears to be outside us. It is only temporary, but at some point the pain and the suffering that we feel at not having what we want in life, ultimately ourselves, is just too great and we have to turn away.

This chapter of the BG, the first, is called, The Yoga of the Desolation of Arjuna. Despair is an absolute prerequisite for turning within. Yes, we have the faith now, we know that it exists, but where does it exist? Where can we find it? The problem is our habits and the way we live our lives/ We're still looking for it out there -- in this relationship. In this thing or that thing.

When Buddha came out of the jungle after his enlightenment, he spoke about four things – The Four Noble Truths. And the first thing he said was the First Noble Truth,  the Truth of Suffering, dukkha. Now dukkha doesn't just mean suffering, it means the unsatisfactory nature of stuff. We cannot get satisfaction from things. We can get pleasure. But when that passes, we have pain. And when that passes we have pleasure, again.

Neither one of those things is satisfying in a deep way. But we're in this position at this point in our lives, and at that point in my life I was in this position that I still wanted all this stuff. I did not have a good relationship. I did not know how to get what I needed and what I wanted. I was all tied up in knots, completely frustrated. Angry.

So, Arjuna is up there on this hill and he looks out at the battle he has to fight, it is his duty and dharma to fight this fight, and he drops his bow and he falls to his knees, and he says, “I will not fight. I can't fight.”

At this point, Krishna smiles and looks at his friend. Krishna knows -- he knows what will happen. And he sees his friend's predicament and he smiles out of love and also out of knowing that it is inevitable, that this battle must be fought. He starts to talk to Arjuna to convince him to do his duty and to fight this fight. But at this point, it's like when we were trying to convince our self to meditate or do asanas or chanting because we think it's good for us. We don't do it too well if we think it's good for us. The deeper our understanding becomes, the deeper our faith becomes, these things no longer become good to us, they become our way of being good to ourselves. And our way of feeding our own hearts.

As much as we love ourselves, that's how much we can love another being. No more. If we don't know how to be good to ourselves, how can we be good to someone else? We'd like to think we could be, but you know how relationships go,

We see that love outside ourselves, and so we look for it outside of ourselves. We see it in the eyes of a beautiful person or someone we love. As long as we think it's outside, we keep trying to find it and when we never find it and never can possess it, the despair arises. For most people, the despair does not lead to happiness, it leads to more despair. But if, at some point in our lives, if that light has gone on for that minute, and we've seen what's possible, eventually we'll turn toward that more fully as time goes on. It's natural. We want to be happy. How to do it?"

Transcribed rom the marvelous 3 cd talk, Pilgrim of the Heart by Krishna Das, best known for his fantastic chanting. This set features him talking about his journey. It is, quite simply, the most centering and motivating talk I've ever heard or read. I hope it hits you the same way. Please look for it – it is on Sounds True.

What Remains?

Visual Silence

One of the walls of the Rothko Chapel,
each of which show panels of his works,
surrounding the visitor.

From the Rothko Chapel's site, "The Rothko Chapel, founded by Houston philanthropists John and Dominique de Menil, was dedicated in 1971 as an intimate sanctuary available to people of every belief. A tranquil meditative environment inspired by the mural canvases of Russian born American painter Mark Rothko (1903-1970)...."

If there is a Silent Center, I'd have to suggest the remarkable Rothko Chapel in Houston, Texas. I've been going there since 1971, even before I moved back to Houston a few years ago. Now, it is a monthly or twice a month trip from here, down one bus and a short walk through the Montrose area, always nice, to the Chapel itself.

It is a relatively small building, smaller than one might expect, and houses on all sides of the one room area several of the mural works of Mark Rothko, who developed and chose the specific paintings that were included. Ironically, he never actually saw the results, committing suicide before the doors opened.

On Today's visit, a remarkably tall older man and his far shorter wife were stepping out as I was arriving to go in, and he was barking a bit like a bull dog and saying, "I wish somebody would have been here to EXPLAIN that thing to me...." I suspect a number of people leave the museum/chapel voicing similar concerns.

The best I can offer is in the words of a critic who said the paintings were "Visual Silence." When a person first walks in from the brightness of the outside world, what appears to hang on the walls around him or her are large black canvases of paint. ("No wonder the guy killed himself!" others have been heard to say.) One can take their place on one of the lower benches or, if that's not quite right, on the meditation cushions that are there as well.

As the eyes readjust to being indoors, however, what first appeared to be nothing but black paint on a canvas, change and become more revealing. There are colors, some a deep, dark red which begin to be seen as the eyes (and brain) adjust. Textures become apparent. It is not much different than the world appears when one plops down for meditation, the brain chattering like a mad monkey, the temperature feeling either too hot or too cold, the occasional noise from outside the walls of the room -- a car horn or a bird or a dog bark. But, in meditation, just as one doesn't hang onto the sound or the weather or the thoughts --- or, in this case, the first impression of black paint -- one naturally goes deeper, quietly and naturally. The birds outside chirping become part of what is going on, not an interruption. The paintings, in tandem with the eyes, deepen in the same way. That does not mean they become even more intensely black in color. Just the opposite. The mind begins to get out of the way and to quiet down, either in meditation or in looking at the art on the wall in front of you. What you see is not "nothing" but, rather, everything. What you are doing is seeing what is really there, not your concept about what is there -- a flat black stretch of canvas.

Previously unnoticed gradations of shade and color now become clearer. Still the mind continues to calm and rest in the silence as thoughts beat a hasty retreat, or at least slip out the back door, unnoticed. At some times, the room at the Rothko Chapel is like a Quaker Meeting in terms of being full of a Silence that is tangible, although one's immediate impression is that the situation is true -- not localized between your ears, but in and outside the body.

The very very shot hallway leading into the Chapel which has a small table where books are available. Not just any book. Nothing about Rothko or the museum history -- but spiritual works like the Upanishads, Bhagavad Gita, Holy Bible, Koran and others. They are not for sale. They are there to be picked up at one's choice, to quietly leaf through and read and reflect in the silence that ensues.

Some people, like the gentleman I mentioned earlier, just don't get it. That's fine. They leave with the same baggage they came in with. Others, though, leave far lighter when they slip away than they were when they first came in from the world outside. For some, like myself, 30 minutes or an hour of sitting there is a kind of reorientation and redirection, to one beyond words.

You Are The Sky