What next?
Bai ji returned to her round of the room, assistant in tow—now she was to reveal— nectar technique. Nectar, ahhh, sounds juicy—lip smacking— this should be interesting. I may have thought. Actually, I’m sounding a bit wry this morning, as I write and recall this rather distant episode which occurred nearly twenty-five years ago in my youth.
Bai ji returned to her round of the room, assistant in tow—now she was to reveal— nectar technique. Nectar, ahhh, sounds juicy—lip smacking— this should be interesting. I may have thought. Actually, I’m sounding a bit wry this morning, as I write and recall this rather distant episode which occurred nearly twenty-five years ago in my youth.
(Let me take a moment here to explain something. I am now 63. The above text, and what is to follow below, was written by me in the year 2000, at the age of 45, with reference to my twentieth year. My year of sabbatical from UVA. The year 1974-5. The year between my sophomore and junior years of college. This piece of writing is taken from an unfinished, handwritten work, with no record of the time or the place where I was when it was written. I have no memory of writing this unusual memoir of my twentieth year. Not only is it handwritten in increasingly smaller and smaller script— there are no indentations for paragraphs, and no margins left or right, above or below. It is a peculiar— tiny, densely compacted, yet neatly legible longhand, upon white unlined typing paper, evenly, and levelly single-line spaced, handwritten with a ballpoint pen in black ink— original, one of a kind document then. It appears to me— almost a form of automatic writing. I have no other written record quite like this of my life. I have never been a diarist. So, this is not a diary. Or something copied from an earlier diary, or, record-keeping journal. It is almost as though I was desperate to record this time in my life before I could no longer remember it. The single line above which states that I am recalling an “episode which occurred nearly twenty-five years ago” is the only clue I have as to when the work was written. If it is correct, it would mean that it was written in New Hampshire when I was working sixteen-plus hours a day as a bread baker. The strange work goes on for nearly two hundred densely scribbled pages. I found it in an old, beat up typing paper box at the bottom of a large plastic storage tub. Apparently, this bit of writing survived the bon fire which destroyed most of my early work. For the purposes of these Confession, I have titled the piece in its entirety— Me Myself and The Lord of the Universe. It appears that the original had no title, and, no accompanying explanation. I am assuming it was a very rough draft, written at odd hours, in a hurry. For purposes yet unknown. I have been introducing fragments of it above in these Confessions. When doing so, I am attempting to keep to the original punctuation and writing as much as possible. However. I have introduced
indented paragraphs, and made other slight changes to the document in order to help the reader with the otherwise jumbled flow of hastily recorded highly personal information.)
Uhhh. Push those dusty, crunchy locust husks aside. Would you?
Yes, those. They’re clinging to the dendritic branches of that golden rain tree over there.
Thank you so much.
Now. Dragonwell tea, please.
And… action… roll em!!
. . ….. . . . . . . . . .
Recently I read a line in the Bible at the opening of Christ’s so-called “Sermon on the Mount” (in Mathew?) in which Christ says: “The pure of heart shall see God”. I think it would be no exaggeration to say that on October 4, 1975, sitting there in that serene, tidy satsang hall, waiting patiently to be shown the four techniques of meditation, that I was essentially free from guile. That is to say. I was, if only for a moment… I was truly simple, childlike, open, un-judging.
I could have “put a pebble in my shoe”… like the line from Godspell that robust, red-haired gal in my knowledge initiation group sang so well. What was her name? I’ll think of it. She was a darling crimson flame. Anyway, the line goes: “I’ll put a pebble in my shoe and watch me walk. I can walk and walk.” Like that. O. She sent shivers up my spine every time she sang that one! She was trained at Julliard.
Those were different, more innocent perhaps, times. We had: Hair, The Age of Aquarius, Godspell, Jesus Christ Super Star, Tommy… We had some pretty darn “spiritual stuff” going on back then. Much of it might appear sappy and ridiculous in the current “age of assassins”—the age of chronic pseudo-adult irony.
I don’t mean this to sound as though I was a “young starry-eyed” idealist fool who had cast all discernment to the wind! Quite to the contrary! I have always retained my good, healthy skeptic’s genes. Perhaps it was the utter guilelessness of bai ji, Sister Sulakshana—the
kindly initiator—that put me at my ease. Perhaps it was my complete familiarity, that is, my comfort with the soothing physical surroundings as I have described. Perhaps it was a subtle— dare I say it? What?!
A genuine naivety, innocence,— the childlike, trusting, wholesome, familial character of almost everyone I encountered at the Divine Shelter of Guru Maharaj ji?
No. That seems a bit much. Sincerity. That word again. Sincerity and trust are words that come to mind. In the place of my own sincerity, that is, within my own heart, if only for one day then— I trusted. I trusted the elegant Indian woman whom we called “bai ji”. I trusted the life-size photograph of the teenage guru with the bad tie on the altar at the front center of the room. I trusted the bloody universe, whomever, whatever— to deliver on its promise. It’s promise of enlightenment.
I felt trust, that is all. So.
Nectar technique requires the upward, backward… infolding or turning of the sense of taste. One is supposed to reverse one’s point of awareness, as in the first two techniques already mentioned (light and music). To realign one’s focus inwardly, away from the “known” world of familiar visual-aural-taste sensation.
Whereas, music technique and light technique were two of the Four Techniques which required that one sit in formal meditation—that is, sitting in a quiet, darkened room, preferably free from distraction, preferably wide awake, un-judging… and, in a lotus, or, cross-legged, erect posture at best! Whereas, that is to say, music and light techniques require undivided, full attention— a fully alert—totally undistracted awareness. It was said that nectar technique, while it could be practiced in formal meditation, and in fact usually was… practiced simultaneously, in concert with the other techniques…
Nectar technique, or, what we simply called—Nectar. Nectar, as one of the two remaining techniques to be revealed. The other being called: Holy Name— which could indeed, and should be, practiced constantly, that is, more precisely— any time one remembered to do so, or, felt comfortable doing so.
Oh. Trying to explain these simple, but subtle… truly liberating techniques will drive me nuts! Like anything. It all seems so complicated and impossible at first. But. Once you got the hang of it…
So. Nectar technique was considered, like Holy Name technique yet to come,— as a kind of constant reminder, to remember…
To remember what!?
A genuine naivety, innocence,— the childlike, trusting, wholesome, familial character of almost everyone I encountered at the Divine Shelter of Guru Maharaj ji?
No. That seems a bit much. Sincerity. That word again. Sincerity and trust are words that come to mind. In the place of my own sincerity, that is, within my own heart, if only for one day then— I trusted. I trusted the elegant Indian woman whom we called “bai ji”. I trusted the life-size photograph of the teenage guru with the bad tie on the altar at the front center of the room. I trusted the bloody universe, whomever, whatever— to deliver on its promise. It’s promise of enlightenment.
I felt trust, that is all. So.
Nectar technique requires the upward, backward… infolding or turning of the sense of taste. One is supposed to reverse one’s point of awareness, as in the first two techniques already mentioned (light and music). To realign one’s focus inwardly, away from the “known” world of familiar visual-aural-taste sensation.
Whereas, music technique and light technique were two of the Four Techniques which required that one sit in formal meditation—that is, sitting in a quiet, darkened room, preferably free from distraction, preferably wide awake, un-judging… and, in a lotus, or, cross-legged, erect posture at best! Whereas, that is to say, music and light techniques require undivided, full attention— a fully alert—totally undistracted awareness. It was said that nectar technique, while it could be practiced in formal meditation, and in fact usually was… practiced simultaneously, in concert with the other techniques…
Nectar technique, or, what we simply called—Nectar. Nectar, as one of the two remaining techniques to be revealed. The other being called: Holy Name— which could indeed, and should be, practiced constantly, that is, more precisely— any time one remembered to do so, or, felt comfortable doing so.
Oh. Trying to explain these simple, but subtle… truly liberating techniques will drive me nuts! Like anything. It all seems so complicated and impossible at first. But. Once you got the hang of it…
So. Nectar technique was considered, like Holy Name technique yet to come,— as a kind of constant reminder, to remember…
To remember what!?
Ah. That’s easy. To remember to stay centered in the body, in the awareness— and not to wander too far out onto the periphery of the ever-chattering mind.
“You see”, Bai ji was saying, “the human mind is like a rogue elephant who roams far and wide. This elephant is hungry. Its hunger grows bigger and bigger. This elephant mind can find nothing in this world to satisfy it. So, the mind goes on and on. It searches high and low for something good to eat. It whines. It gets frustrated. It gets angry! But, alas. For the poor starving mind— there is never any food anywhere that can ultimately satisfy it. The mind just eats and eats and eats— words, thoughts, ideas… This elephant mind—well. It eventually gets to be just like that pesky dog who always wants a treat, a bone, something; or, like a hungry ghost whose mouth is just too small. Eating eating eating… the mind can never stop hungering”…
“Have you noticed this, dear aspirants? Let me tell you. This is a real sickness we humans have. This mad rogue elephant mind that can not stop hungering! So. That is why we offer the mind— the tongue. Yes. Yes. We feed the mind the tongue. Our own tongue!”
“So. Let’s do it together now. Force your own tongue upward, backward, and inward toward the back of your throat. That’s right. Curl your tongue backward and try to reach to the seventh heaven! Haha! Deliver the mad elephant’s trunk in all silence to the seat of the Glorious SatPurush!”
“How does that feel? It’s good. No? Let the mind pig out on your own tongue! It is a very satisfying meal for the mind. Yes? No? No No. You don’t have to push too hard. Gradually, gradually… you’ll get there. If it starts to hurt. And it will. When the tongue muscles get exhausted. Then. Just stop. Pause. Take a break. Then start to apply the technique again”.
“Isn’t it a marvelous meal for the mind! The ancient yogis among us are said to love this simple technique! They ride this perfect technique all the way to the bright doors of Sach Khand, the Kingdom of the SatPurush!”
“So wonderful it is! You see. Even better than sucking your thumbs! Haha! It forces silence upon a person. And just as a person attempting to swallow his own tongue must become silent. So should the mind. Here mind… come here you bad little elephant. Come to mother. Here you go my child. Now. Eat your tongue! And shut up”!!
“Be still, my little herd of hungry elephants… hahaha!!”
“OK. Now. Sometimes when practicing this technique one may taste sweetness. Please, do not be alarmed. This is what the ancient yogis call nectar of the gods, ambrosia. It is a very soul satisfying flavor. Yes. Just
“You see”, Bai ji was saying, “the human mind is like a rogue elephant who roams far and wide. This elephant is hungry. Its hunger grows bigger and bigger. This elephant mind can find nothing in this world to satisfy it. So, the mind goes on and on. It searches high and low for something good to eat. It whines. It gets frustrated. It gets angry! But, alas. For the poor starving mind— there is never any food anywhere that can ultimately satisfy it. The mind just eats and eats and eats— words, thoughts, ideas… This elephant mind—well. It eventually gets to be just like that pesky dog who always wants a treat, a bone, something; or, like a hungry ghost whose mouth is just too small. Eating eating eating… the mind can never stop hungering”…
“Have you noticed this, dear aspirants? Let me tell you. This is a real sickness we humans have. This mad rogue elephant mind that can not stop hungering! So. That is why we offer the mind— the tongue. Yes. Yes. We feed the mind the tongue. Our own tongue!”
“So. Let’s do it together now. Force your own tongue upward, backward, and inward toward the back of your throat. That’s right. Curl your tongue backward and try to reach to the seventh heaven! Haha! Deliver the mad elephant’s trunk in all silence to the seat of the Glorious SatPurush!”
“How does that feel? It’s good. No? Let the mind pig out on your own tongue! It is a very satisfying meal for the mind. Yes? No? No No. You don’t have to push too hard. Gradually, gradually… you’ll get there. If it starts to hurt. And it will. When the tongue muscles get exhausted. Then. Just stop. Pause. Take a break. Then start to apply the technique again”.
“Isn’t it a marvelous meal for the mind! The ancient yogis among us are said to love this simple technique! They ride this perfect technique all the way to the bright doors of Sach Khand, the Kingdom of the SatPurush!”
“So wonderful it is! You see. Even better than sucking your thumbs! Haha! It forces silence upon a person. And just as a person attempting to swallow his own tongue must become silent. So should the mind. Here mind… come here you bad little elephant. Come to mother. Here you go my child. Now. Eat your tongue! And shut up”!!
“Be still, my little herd of hungry elephants… hahaha!!”
“OK. Now. Sometimes when practicing this technique one may taste sweetness. Please, do not be alarmed. This is what the ancient yogis call nectar of the gods, ambrosia. It is a very soul satisfying flavor. Yes. Just
a slight hint of honey. Perhaps. But. It can turn on like a faucet!! Glub glub glub. Yes. One may drown in its blissful sweetness!! But, not to worry. The Great Ones are said to be able to nourish themselves on this sweetness, upon this inherent nectar, and thereby sustain their physical bodies for indefinite periods of time during extended meditation and fasting”.
“Just try it. Apply the technique. Don’t expect to taste the holy nectar immediately, don’t expect a flow of blissful nectar every time you try this technique— just do it when you want to, when you remember to. It will help to tether the willful, hungry, seeking, searching, angry mind. OK. We all try the technique again”.
“Now. All together. MMMMMmmmmmm… Good for you. Yes”!?
Nectar technique was an odd one to me, then, as it is now. As I applied the ancient, time-tested technique back on that day, I do not remember tasting anything remotely like “nectar”. Perhaps, a very faint hint of post nasal drip honey? But. I do quite distinctly remember smelling… roses.
That’s right. It was as though someone had just walked into the room carrying a most bodacious bouquet of four-and-ninety roses!! Suddenly, out of nowhere. I was smelling the delightful, deliciously sweet aroma of roses. As the undeniable fragrance wafted into my nostrils, I perked up. I looked furtively around the satsang hall while still practicing nectar technique. I was actually looking for the source of the delightful smell— it must be coming from an open window, I thought.
But. No windows had been opened wide enough to account for the sudden appearance of this truly intoxicating fragrance. No doors had been opened. No drapes had been drawn. No one new had entered the room who might be wearing this heady perfume. My eyes darted left and right. I scanned the faces of the other aspirants. No one seemed to be noticing anything… different. Everyone was dutifully silent.
At this point, I was practically swooning with the heavenly scent of a hall filled with roses!! I was becoming giddy with delight. I was glad that I had the nectar technique, which was something like biting one’s own tongue. Or, surely I would have burst out into embarrassing peals of uncontrollable laughter. No that that is a bad thing. It’s just that… well.
No one had mentioned roses. Bai ji hadn’t said. Shove your tongue upward into the back of your mouth and you’re going to smell the exquisite, overwhelming, intoxicating fragrance of a million bloody roses!!
“Just try it. Apply the technique. Don’t expect to taste the holy nectar immediately, don’t expect a flow of blissful nectar every time you try this technique— just do it when you want to, when you remember to. It will help to tether the willful, hungry, seeking, searching, angry mind. OK. We all try the technique again”.
“Now. All together. MMMMMmmmmmm… Good for you. Yes”!?
Nectar technique was an odd one to me, then, as it is now. As I applied the ancient, time-tested technique back on that day, I do not remember tasting anything remotely like “nectar”. Perhaps, a very faint hint of post nasal drip honey? But. I do quite distinctly remember smelling… roses.
That’s right. It was as though someone had just walked into the room carrying a most bodacious bouquet of four-and-ninety roses!! Suddenly, out of nowhere. I was smelling the delightful, deliciously sweet aroma of roses. As the undeniable fragrance wafted into my nostrils, I perked up. I looked furtively around the satsang hall while still practicing nectar technique. I was actually looking for the source of the delightful smell— it must be coming from an open window, I thought.
But. No windows had been opened wide enough to account for the sudden appearance of this truly intoxicating fragrance. No doors had been opened. No drapes had been drawn. No one new had entered the room who might be wearing this heady perfume. My eyes darted left and right. I scanned the faces of the other aspirants. No one seemed to be noticing anything… different. Everyone was dutifully silent.
At this point, I was practically swooning with the heavenly scent of a hall filled with roses!! I was becoming giddy with delight. I was glad that I had the nectar technique, which was something like biting one’s own tongue. Or, surely I would have burst out into embarrassing peals of uncontrollable laughter. No that that is a bad thing. It’s just that… well.
No one had mentioned roses. Bai ji hadn’t said. Shove your tongue upward into the back of your mouth and you’re going to smell the exquisite, overwhelming, intoxicating fragrance of a million bloody roses!!
……. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .. .
Oh dear. Our tea has gotten cold. And. We haven’t had any breakfast.
Joyce!! That’s the saucy white chick with the frizzy lion’s mane of flaming Scarlett O’Hara 70’s Afro… B I G H A I R !!! and the pitch perfect Freddy Mercury worthy black diva voice!!! She coulda held her own with Bette and Barbara.
Joyce!! That’s the saucy white chick with the frizzy lion’s mane of flaming Scarlett O’Hara 70’s Afro… B I G H A I R !!! and the pitch perfect Freddy Mercury worthy black diva voice!!! She coulda held her own with Bette and Barbara.
Yo, girl!! I mean, sister. Sista Joyce. We should have made it when we had the chance. I do so luv a combustive bush! Don’t blush now.
Dang. I’m sure the universe must have forgiven us for that little kiss we stole down there in the basement on the waterbed at the Marion Street premie house in Denver, CO back in ‘75 when we was suppose to be… meditatin, prayin n servin… the Lord of the Universe… the teenager satguru… twenty-four-and-seven. Maybe Sista Estha even forgave us by now.
Lordy lordy…
Why, lookee here. The entire “hypo-christian” party done forgave Massa Brett fo’ his li’l misdemeanor rape episode.
Surely we bees fo’givin.
Could ya just sing me a few bars o…
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Can you take me with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth
Where are you going?
Far beyond where the horizon lies
Where are you going?
Can you take me with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth
Where are you going?
Far beyond where the horizon lies
(By My Side, Godspell, 1973)
