The Mystic Yogi Revisited

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https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Valley_of_flowers_uttaranchal_full_view.JPG by  Araghu


“Theologians may quarrel, but the mystics of the world speak the same language.”
― Meister Eckhart

Leaving behind ambitions of world and attainments of the world, most of his wealth and property, keeping only the minimum necessary to sustain his remaining years, he became a recluse. When he entered the forests on the mountains and set up his abode there, he became a hermit, a mystic yogi. At first his sleep was disturbed as he tossed and turned through the night, as he resolved the dilemmas and anguish all of us face while in the world for gain, ambition and desire. In time, the tossing and turning subsided. His sleep became as sweet as it was when he was a child. He would wake up early with the same delight that a child wakes up when it is holiday, for every day is a holiday now, each day with its own new magic.

He now enjoyed the flowers of the forests as a child enjoys his colorful toys. A walk through the trees was as joyous as through a carnival parade. The song of birds, the gushing river was the symphony orchestra and the rock band. Mama and Papa were at hand again - Mother Earth and Father Universe.

On a forested hill side, at a point where there is a little level clearing, sits the mystic yogi now. He sits still on soft ground, under the shade of an ancient oak, by the side of a stream of clear water that runs down the hill. He is oblivious to the dance of butterflies that dance about on wild flowers around him. He is oblivious to the sounds of the gurgling stream as it rushes over pebbles and rocks rounded through the ages, or of the chirping of birds that hop from branch to branch. He is free of fear for he knows now none can harm his soul though the temporary body may disintegrate just as his temporary clothes do, free of any desire now since Mama and Papa take care of that, always providing the best, completely at peace. His eyes are closed as he breathes slowly, evenly.

A single word repeats endlessly in his mind – at times Allah, broken into two syllables – Al with his inward breath and ‘lah’ with the outward one, at other times other words - Hare Rama, Mother Mary, Mother Gaia, Ma Sunanda, Naini Mata broken up in four syllables now to synchronize with his inward and outward breath. He is not a Muslim, nor a Hindu or a Christian for he now thinks those classification are for others still in the world. He knows that he could meditate with help of nonsense words too in order to still the mind but he also knows that when he has all but surrendered his self to the universe in meditation, it is the nonsense of the universe that shall come and reside in his being then. Therefore he chooses holy words - words of beauty, goodness and joy.  He believes in the mystic truth of all religions and that the Almighty has an infinite number of names. His mind is still. It observes nothing but its own breathing. It feels nothing besides the Infinite Consciousness that runs through every blade of grass, flower, butterfly or tree on the hillside and beyond. Perhaps he will permit his mind to think, to make a wish, a wish that does not disturb his peace or raise a desire in his heart, a wish that will not return his consciousness to his small finite body.  What will that wish be? Will it come true? Even Papa makes a wish from time to time as he did in the beginning.
"Let there be light."



The present post is a repeat of an earlier one with the same title with extension
http://someitemshave.blogspot.in/2012/10/the-mystic-yogi.html

A general note on forest hermits here: http://nainitalgoddess.blogspot.in/2016/05/guardians-of-forest-and-babaji.html

Last image here is quote added to an 'oil on canvas' work by author described at http://formandcolor.blogspot.com
 

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