Trip to Guruvayoor

[Guest guest]

I want to open my mind and talk about Sun and Soorya Namaskaram. When

I say Namaskaram, this is not conveyed instantly to all but goes to

the Moderator who then pass it to all. I rather we all are lucky to

have Sunil as our moderator as I see SUN in Sunil. I, Chandran,

similar to the real Moon and the Earth both needing Sun, am a

satellite in our Group World needing the help our Sunil. I am glad

about Sunil's planned trip to Guruvayoor and wish to accompany him

but due to my limitations am unable to do. I, having gone there many

times, can be there in a moment mentally but not in person. Whenever

I get time I go through a posting that I have saved, which appeared

in our World sometime back and reproducing the same for those who

either not seen it or saved it.

I wish Sunil all the best in his trip and am sure Lord

Guruvayoorappan will bless him to achieve what he aspires for.

I lost my track as I started to open my mind about Sun and Soorya

Namaskaram which I will do later.

Pizhayakilum, Pizhakedakilum, Poruthukolka En Bhagavane.

Guruvayoorappa Saranam.

 

A Day in Guruvayoor.

For centuries hundreds and thousands of devotees have made their way

to Guruvayur temple and sought solace before the Lord, pouring out

their hearts, releasing pent up emotions and expressing their love

for Guruvayurappan as they gave thanks and made offerings for the

blessings He has bestowed upon them. In sublime poetry that will

never be surpassed, the great Melputhur has expressed the depths of

his feelings for the Lord of Guruvayur. Poonthanam, in his own way

has echoed him. There is no dearth of material about people's

feelings for Guruvayurappan since every man and woman who comes

before Him has a reaction that is individual and deeply personal. In

that I am no different. The difficulty however is finding out how to

write about the experience, of finding a new angle, a new insight and

new way of saying what has already been said so many times.

 

All attempts to do this cause doubt and hesitation. Emotions and

feelings about the Lord well up and then subside, deflated by the

knowledge of all those who have preceded me. And then, strangely, it

is in that thought that an idea comes to me; the fact that every

pilgrim, every devotee is like a grain of sand on an endless beach.

Collectively anonymous but still an essential part of the beach.

Suddenly I think of what it is like to make one's pradakshinams, to

go round the temple and if one's thoughts drift off in that direction

to consider the hundreds and millions of feet that have walked before

and yet to come behind. It is sobering, like realizing the smallness

of a grain of sand. And yet, it is in that thought that though I

understand my insignificance, I know that, like the grain of sand

belonging to the beach, I too am part of Guruvayur.

 

It seems these thoughts have taken hold of my mind and in my inner

eye I am again walking around the temple. My feet feel the

smoothness of the stones, the perfection of their angles, and how

they have been cut to turn the corners. For a moment I glance at the

small, incised double square marking the spot where Adi Sankaracharya

landed from his celestial chariot. And so it is that in just a few

moments I have made a whole round and am struggling past the flag-

mast, jostling and straining to catch the sustaining flicker of the

sanctum's lamps. Then, once more, I am making another round.

 

Only now does the thought strike me that every round is the same,

every step a retracing of the previous round and that every time I am

brought back to the same spot. And it is there, by the flag-mast

that I experience the same yearning, a longing for even the briefest

confirmation of the sanctum's divine inhabitant. And yet, for all

this awareness I also know that no two rounds are ever the same. The

starting point that one is brought back to is always different, the

way ahead always changing. It is like the sea, always in motion,

always following the dictates of the tides, the waves endlessly

moving towards and away from the beach. Always the same and always

different.

 

Guruvayur is not a large and sprawling complex and yet it is

extraordinary how it's clearly defined space has so many moods and

seasons. In a single round it can change, the crowds of one round

inexplicably evaporating on the next one. The jostling before the

flag-mast there and gone the next. The rolling bodies of those doing

sayana-pradakshinam blocking the pradakshina-vazhi on one round and

not to be seen on the next one.

 

As I pause and consider these thoughts I understand how often

everything changes. I see how the pre-dawn darkness lifts and the sun

rises and pours it's light down into the temple and then

relentlessly, again like the sea, effortlessly and endlessly bringing

change to that which is unchanging. I watch with my inner-eye,

seeing how as the day begins sunlight fills the temple and how it

later begins to fade away as the day ends. I see the temple filling

up with devotees and suddenly being cleared for seeveli. I see

elephants and musicians accompanying the Lord around His temple.

 

And it is as seeveli occupies my mind that I now look at the

procession more carefully. I watch the elephant taking the Lord

around His universe, I notice the lips of the priest whispering

ancient manthras and observe the ribbon of devotees following behind,

unfolding endlessly as their numbers swell. And I join them, walking

behind the elephant, stunned as always by the sense of connection I

feel. The tiniest grain of sand, the most insignificant of devotees

yet counting my blessings.

 

The day moves on, evening falls and the temple dances into a

different light, emotions welling as all hearts soar during

deepardhana, a rite showing us the Lord and confirming the power of

fire of light even as the world slips into night's darkness. The sun

has made its passage around both the world and the world that is the

temple; devotees have unconsciously echoed it's journey and soon the

day has slipped away.

 

I now move invisibly through the day's concluding rituals, seeing

once more how the thousands of oil lamps around the temple spring

magically alight as eager devotees grab gratefully at the chance of

lighting them. And I recall the personal blessings I have experienced

when it has been my privilege to do the same and how the

concentration of touching the flickering flame to the small thiri

intensifies the mind and reduces one's whole world to lighting one

tiny lamp for the Lord. I watch the Vilakku, the slow majesty of the

five elephants moving in a glow of light, of flaming pandams. I hear

the plaintive nadaswaram and wonder how each night it can be the

same and yet every single night stir the spirit as if for the first

time. And so, almost timidly I come to what has powered the hearts of

all those who visit the temple, nervously taking my thoughts into the

line for darshan, wonder how I can express myself. I feel myself

standing in line, soaked in hot, held in the proximity of those

around me. And, as always I am almost blissfully unaware of their

presence, alone and focusssed in anticipation, waiting for the moment

when, at last, there is a surge forward and I am carried down toward

the Lord.

Suddenly my mind and body are funneling along the dim passage and

then I am finally before the sanctum. Hardly a glimpse, no more than

an impression of brief images, my eyes greedily alighting on the

Lord, on the dark stone, the garlands and jewels, the sea of

flickering lamps.

And it is as these images are being stored in my mind's eye that the

spirit within goes still, the briefest of moments seeming to stretch

for all eternity as, unconsciously. I absorb, drinking like a

thirsty man at an oasis. Then everyday reality returns and the

moment is over and as I move away I gratefully count my blessings.

 

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