Lucid Dreams

Lucid dreams. I dreamt a song – but right then, I didn’t know I was dreaming – It was a beautiful song, complete in every nuance – infact, at one point I was even recording the song onto my computer, playing it backwards in slow motion, the beat and rythme slowly passing me by. I was excited to hear this new creation – then I wake up, only to realise that this song actually doesn’t exist. I had dreamt it – yet, it was a total song that had manifested in my mind. It quickly left my memory.

I walk outside to have a cigarette, a little dazed, and a raindrop of Herain kisses my hand. I look up, the sky enamoured with clouds. I walk around the corner of my backyard, and two crows take flight into the northerly direction. A start to the day filled with omens I didn’t understand.

Si told me a story about one of his past lives once. He was a devoted yogi, and he came by a spot, and decided he was going to stay. So, he planted a seed, sat in front of it, and began meditating. It happened that there was a village nearby, and the villagers saw this man in meditation with a little sprout behind him. They asked him what he’s doing in front of that plant. He replied, “It’s protecting me.” They burst into tearful laughter, and mocking him, went their way. It soon became that he was a source of great amusement, people taking the opportunity to have a good laugh whenever they passed his way. To add to insult, eventually they even built a whorehouse close to where he sat. Yet, he sat. And the plant grew. The villagers laughed at the sight of a man in front of a plant. The plant soon became a tree, the tree became a giant, and its branches stretched out. The sight was no longer one for amusement.

They began to realise there was something special to this man. And news of him spread. Soon, a great myth about him had developed, and people flocked to see the great saint, and some, if not most, decided to stay. But as people gathered and built huts around him, the yogi could no longer meditate in peace – because he was constantly surrounded by the incessant chatter and gossip of day to life. So, he made a rule – drawing a one mile diameter around him, told the villagers that if they wished to stay close, they cannot set up their huts closer than this one mile. So, it came to pass that this yogi sat under this huge, beautiful tree, with a whole city beginning to congregate an exact one mile diameter around him.

They were simple folk. With pure hearts that devoted itself fiercely to what it believed – as foolish their intentions may be. Once, the yogi spend the entire summer perfecting the inner flame, so that when winter came, he can be warm through the stregnth of his internal fire. And when winter came, the townsfolk flocked to him with gifts of woolly garments and cushions and blankets. He accepted the gifts, and swiftly gave them away to the needy. Infact, there is very little, if none, of what they gave him that he used. This irritated the townsfolk, because it is known in the hearts of men that to give offerings to a great man earns one great merit. For a devotee, to give offerings to his Guru is a right, and one that he cherishes wholeheartedly. Now the Yogi had permitted the townsfolk one day in every month where they can share grievances they had against him. And each month, it would be the same topic, of which they would grudgingly indulge – that he wasn’t giving them the honour of looking after him. He would reply that he needs none of these things. They would indignantly blurt, “Oh Guru, you are testing us!”

Now the yogi had, for many years now, been doing five specific meditations, each was in effect a request to see a God of his desire. All he wanted, was to glimpse one of the Gods he adored, in their full entirety – for simply one moment, and he would have been satisfied. Soon, a child was born to one of the villagers. And as usual, they asked him to name the child. The Yogi looked at the child, saw immense stregnth in him, and named him Arjuna. He was an ordinary kid – filled with childhood mischeiviousness, and played with the other kids, generally mingling in. It also happened that the children loved to play around the yogi, and the townsfolk would chastise their kids for disturbing his meditation, but the Yogi explained that it was peaceful to have them around and he didn’t mind. Soon it came to pass that the townsfolk explained to their kids they cannot go too far out to play, unless, they are in the presence of the yogi. He went from great, respected Guru, to babysitter.

When he turned four, Arjuna walked upto the Yogi, looked him with a definite intent, and said, “Teach me tantra.” The yogi, though a little taken back, wasn’t altogether perturbed, and explained to the child, “Ok, well, if you come here every morning at six, I will teach you.” And Arjuna went back to play. The yogi didn’t think much of the event – no one could expect a child to remember such things. Next morning, sharp at six, there sat Arjuna, waiting for his lessons. And every morning after that, Arjuna would be there. And if the yogi was deep in meditation, then Arjuna would meditate himself while he waited. The yogi soon began to take great joy in training Arjuna, for he learnt swiftly. At the age of eight, to the Yogi’s exclamation, Arjuna levitated – it shocked the yogi so because he hadn’t even taught Arjuna the method of levitation yet.

Soon, the observing villagers, decided to make this event a source of competition, and bid their children to go learn from the yogi. Of course, the yogi presented the same terms, and the children soon waned away back to their games. In the midst of this, one particular child went up to the yogi and explained, “My parents want me to learn from you.” The yogi replied, “Then learn.” The child repled, “But I don’t want to learn.” The yogi replied, “Then don’t.” The child replied, “But my parents will kill me!” So, the Yogi asked him to bring his parents. When they arrived, the yogi explained to him, “Your son cannot learn from me.” The parents fell at his feet, “Oh Guru, we have shamed you!”

“No no, get up,” The yogi told them, “You son cannot learn from me, because he has a teacher even greater than I.” He was talking about ignorance, which is a great teacher indeed, if not the greatest. The townfolk were mesmerised, and hounded him about it, “Pray tell us, O Guru, who is this teacher greater than you? It is not possible. You are Shiva himself. You must be testing us!” And this became the topic of conversation in the monthly meetings for a while, but soon they reverted to the usual topic of the yogi not giving them ample offering chances.

When he turned seventeen, Arjuna became so proficient a Yogi, far surpassing his teacher, that he gained entry into an Ashram regarded as a heavenly abode on Earth – where yogic masters have stayed in meditation spanning milleniums – where there is no sign of death to be found. It was then, that the yogi realised a truth. All through the time he was in the company of his great tree, he had been meditating on one small glimpse of a revered God. And while he was so stilled in this meditation, one of these Gods had been born as a child in his village, grew up learning from him, been in his presence all the while, granted him his boon, and he never saw it till Arjuna had left.

Eventually, the yogi did manage to gain entry, and there he found Arjuna again. Arjuna looked upon the yogi and said but one thing, “It’s not time yet.” The truth came to be, because the yogi one day left the ashram, destined to return some day in the future. Born again through many lifetimes, he became a profound devotee of Krishna, living a life of celibacy, simplicity and deep humility – he speeded his way towards enlightenment. One day, as he was engaged in daily routine of blissful prayer, a Dragon flew at his side, and said to him, “I am looking for a Dragonaid, and am in need of a worthy man.” The Krishna-Bakthi replied, “I wish you well on your search, would you like some blessings?” The Dragon replied, “But I want you to be my Dragonaid.” The Bakthi replied, “I wish you well on your search, would you like some blessings?” So, Dragon went into a penetrative monologue about the compassion and merit and great love of being a Dragonaid and taking part in ridding the world of evil and ignorance. So, the Yogi shrugged and said, “Ok.” Then he added, “But I have two months of meditation retreat left to finish. May I finish it before I join you?” Dragon snapped, “No!” Because Dragon knew that it would only take two months for the Yogi to reach a level of enlightenment where he would have trancended such worldly things. Then Dragon took Si to the Astral planes, and the rest, is history.

While I was with Dragon, he one day had me look up the Ashram on the internet, and printing out all this information, he asked me to read it out loud in front of everyone. The joy that bedazzled me as I read, I can accutely remember. It described in infinite depth, the ambrosial and spiritual nature of this one place that stands as a true testament to the existance of Heaven. No one who leaves the Ashram may ever return, but there was a list there, of people who had left, just a few, who have been granted access to return there, upon their will. A small list, of perhaps twenty or thirty individuals, and I read the names out loud. Si, was one. When I returned to Australia, I looked up the Ashram again – but I couldn’t find any of that information. Yet this is not a technical issue for me. I waste too much time making it a technical issue.

Your very nature is revealed in the stillness of silence. Yet that’s just the start.

Mere suffering exists, no sufferer is found;
The deed is, but no doer of the deed is there;
Nirvana is, but not the man that enters it;
The Path is, but no traveller on it is seen.

– Buddha.

~ by revolutionwithin on March 27, 2009.

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