Longing for Kirtan (a few thoughts by Jai Uttal)

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When I met my guru, Neem Karoli Baba, in 1971, my life was turned inside

out. I was like an asteroid hurtling through space, suddenly pulled back

into orbit by the gravitational force of the sun. At first I wasn't

interested; I was quite jaded at the ripe old age of 19, having already

had my fill of fake gurus. In fact, finding a guru was the last thing on

my personal agenda. But somehow, way beyond the workings of my mind and

understanding, Maharajji entered my heart and took the form of my

eternal beloved, setting up his permanent encampment there. And the

soundtrack for all of this was Kirtan.

 

Many thousands of years ago, the rishis of India gave us the great

systems of yoga, teachings to bring us to a state of harmony, peace, and

ultimately, mystical union with the Divine. These ancient yogis were

well aware of the multiple layers and components? physical, mental,

emotional, etcetera? that make up the human animal, and they created

practices to bring light to the whole being. Over the millennia, much of

this has been lost. Many of us think of yoga as a set of exercises to

enhance physical beauty and stamina, with an occasional short meditation

thrown in for its calming effects. But this is only a small part of the

picture. What of the heart, the great well of human emotions, that

unruly, sometimes stormy sea of feelings? The primordial seers

recognized these emotions as a vital and sacred part of the human being?

not an obstacle or an accident, rather a great, freeing energy to bring

us to liberation. And they gave us Bhakti yoga to channel that energy

and use it as a bridge to carry us back to the Source. Bhakti roughly

means devotion. However the meaning is not the usual, somewhat narrow

one of submission/ love/servitude, but a relationship with the universe

that is so huge it embraces every color of the emotional spectrum. So in

Bhakti yoga, we keep our minds concentrated on the eternal, but we lead

with our hearts. We sing, we dance, we play music, we write poetry, we

cook, paint, make love and do it all as part of our dialogue with our

eternal beloved. And who is that? Maharajji said: "The best form to

worship God is every form." So, in this lila (play) of Bhakti we have a

cast of thousands, but only one vast universal heart.

 

Kirtan? chanting the many names or mantras of the Gods and Goddesses? is

perhaps the most important technique in Bhakti yoga. Although the

practice itself is very simple, the internal process that it stimulates

is vast and mysterious. Externally, we're just singing repetitive songs

with simple melodies and a few Sanskrit words. We're asked to try to put

our analytical minds to the side (easier said than done), and sing from

our hearts. We're told that whatever emotion we're feeling, even anger,

can be passionately channeled into the song. We're told that it doesn't

matter the slightest bit what our voices sound like. Then the magic

happens. Walls constructed long ago come crumbling down. Wounds that we

never knew were there begin to heal. Long submerged emotions, both joy

and sorrow, come to the surface to be offered up into the chant. And

somehow, effortlessly, we move into a meditative state that creates a

safe, calm haven for the flower of the heart to unfold. Whether or not

we understand the meanings of the words, these chants become vessels to

carry our deepest unspoken prayers to the infinite soul of God.

 

One of the amazing things about Kirtan as a practice is that it welcomes

any mood or emotional condition. We can sing softly, like a mother to

her baby. We can sing sensually, as if to a lover. And we can sing with

the powerful energy of an angry warrior. Our whole being is offered.

Whoever we are at any given time, whether happy or sad, shining with

light or hidden in darkness, our prayers are perfect in the eyes of

unconditional love. Finally, one who embraces the path of Bhakti very

quickly stops doing these practices to get anything or feel anything.

Rather, the Kirtan becomes an outpouring of love and emotion to the

beloved, an unburdening, an offering. I feel, when I sing, my connection

to my guru, my longing to be closer, and my gratitude for His unending

grace. Truly, the essence of Bhakti is surrender, offering our

individual selves to the great ocean of pure consciousness, gently

resting in the loving embrace of the Divine Mother, saying, "Not my

will, but Thy will be done."

-- Jai

 

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