Happy Easter 🐇🐰🐣.
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The resurrection is a description of how the universe self-corrects, life always reasserting itself even when forces of death and darkness have temporarily prevailed. Like a tiny flower growing through cracks in broken cement, peace of mind emerging at last after periods of deep grief, or people continuing to fall in love despite the ravages of war, love always gets the final say. To lean on the resurrection is simply to recognize what's true; that if happiness hasn't arrived yet, then the story isn't over.
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Marianne Williamson, The Alchemy of Easter
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Photo by Lindentree Photography ❤️💕
"Guruji"
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The syllable gu means shadows
The syllable ru, he who disperses them,
Because of the power to disperse darkness
the guru is thus named.
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Advayataraka Upanishad .
All that a guru can tell you is: 'My dear Sir, you are quite mistaken about yourself. You are not the person you take yourself to be.'
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Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj .
For years before I learned Vedic meditation I sought a spiritual path that could work for me. One of the things that held me back was an unwillingness to put my faith in a teacher. Any teacher. So many in the '60s and '70s had been shown to have feet of clay, taking advantage of students for money or sex or both. I didn't want to be taken for a ride. So I stumbled forward, reading books, trying things on my own. Even going to India the first few times consisted mostly of reading books and trying on my own to still my mind. .
I did take one meditation class in the early '80s. It was with a Buddhist monk from Thailand. Every Tuesday night for eight weeks in West Los Angeles. There were 30 or 40 students. He showed us how to breathe, how to place attention at various places in the body. One night he went around the room, and with each person he asked a question, made a comment and/or touched them, gently, and person after person broke out in sobbing or laughter, releasing stresses in an experience of freedom. It was beautiful. From my place in the back of the room I watched with awe, gratitude, anticipation and a bit of trepidation, because at that time I believed I was not worthy of anything loving and kind. I believed I was different than others, I felt separate and apart from, and I was afraid I would somehow miss what the others were experiencing. Still, I held out hope. .
Finally, with just a couple of us left to go, he came to me. Stepping in front of me, his hands folded, he looked at me, quizzically, for the longest time. The room fell silent. And then he said, "Why are you here?" This was not a question he'd asked anyone else. "I'm here to learn meditation," I said.
He shook his head, smiling, and said, "No. Why are you here?" "Uh, because... I... I want to learn how to meditate?" (Continued in comments)
