Spiritual journey around Guruvayoor

[Guest guest]

Om Namo Narayanaya

Yesterday was Meenam 1st and as usual our Sunil must be busy finalizing the last touch to our latest Navaneetham that I am looking forward to as usual. But last night I had an urge to visit Guruvayoor, but physically being Seven Seas away, I had to be content with the reading of the following write up (this is not the first time this being posted) from Bhakthapriya. I request all interested members to join me in this journey around and be the sand particle at HIS temple. Let us begin :-

 

"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 theflag-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, thebriefest 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. > ... copyright - Bhaktapriya"

 

Now I am happy after mentally visiting our Bhooloka VaikunTam and never felt tired of reading this again and again.

Om namo Narayanaya

Chandrasekharan

 

"live and let live"

"They alone live who live for others, rest are more dead than alive"

[Guest guest]

HARI AUMAll the physical efforts are directed to the 'mind' and getting to do a 'manasa thirthadanam' is a blessing. It is better than being physically there but mentally elsewhere.To be there with BMI is the yearnings, hope and prayers of every devotee.RegardsBalagopalNARAYANA NARAYANA NARAYANA

 

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[Guest guest]

HARI AUMMental pilgrimage has been a tradition in many cultures. Our own Swami Tapovan Maharajji's 'Himagiri Viharam' and 'Kailas Yatra' are excellent travelogues in this category.Below is about Felix Fabri.... "In the early 1490s, the popular Dominican preacher and pilgrim, Felix Fabri, had achieved a certain fame in the area around his home cloister of Ulm, Germany, as a preacher, a two-time pilgrim to the Holy Land, and the author of written accounts of his journeys. Now the sisters of the Observant reformed women's cloisters of Medingen and Medlingen had asked Fabri to write them directions for a spiritual pilgrimage so that, despite their enclosure, they

too might make a journey to the Holy Land, as a contemplative, devotional exercise. But Fabri feared the task would be too difficult. He had already adapted his pilgrimage experiences for three different audiences: his first pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1480 produced the rhymed, Swabian-German Gereimtes Pilgerb�chlein for his secular patrons; his second, longer journey to Jerusalem...(courtsey:http://muse.jhu.edu/login?uri=/journals/essays_in_medieval_studies/v025/25.beebe.html)RegardsBalagopalNARAYANA NARAYANA

NARAYANA

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[Guest guest]

Dear Mr. Chandra Menon;This is indeed a beautiful piece and propels the reader directly into the Guruvayoor Pradakshinavazhi. In someways, it serves as another celestial chariot that lands us directly in front of the lord of Guruvayoor (as happened with Adi Shankara). It is so spiritually uplifting, touching and intimate that it makes the hair stand on its end. Like you, I too will cherish this email forever and read it slowly, absorbing every phrase, every description and every sentence like divine ambrosia whenever my heart longs to visit Guruvayoor. I can never be satiated with just one read of this essay.Thanks a lot for sharing it with us.Love,Narasimhan Chandra Menon <chandrasmenon2002Guruv <guruvayur >Tue, March 16, 2010 11:41:47 AM[Guruvayur] Spiritual journey around Guruvayoor

 

 

 

 

Om Namo Narayanaya

Yesterday was Meenam 1st and as usual our Sunil must be busy finalizing the last touch to our latest Navaneetham that I am looking forward to as usual. But last night I had an urge to visit Guruvayoor, but physically being Seven Seas away, I had to be content with the reading of the following write up (this is not the first time this being posted) from Bhakthapriya. I request all interested members to join me in this journey around and be the sand particle at HIS temple. Let us begin :-

 

"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 theflag-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, thebriefest 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. > ... copyright - Bhaktapriya"

 

Now I am happy after mentally visiting our Bhooloka VaikunTam and never felt tired of reading this again and again.

Om namo Narayanaya

Chandrasekharan

 

"live and let live"

"They alone live who live for others, rest are more dead than alive"