A meeting With A Sage

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Message: 18

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 21:32:46 -0000

" adithya_comming " <adithya_comming

Meeting with a sage.

 

Pin-drop silence prevails throughout the long hall. The Sage

remains perfectly still, motionless, quite undisturbed at our

arrival. A swarthy disciple sits on the floor at the other side of

the divan. He breaks into the quietude by beginning to pull at a

rope which works a punkah fan made of plaited khaki. The fan

is fixed to a wooden beam and suspended immediately above

the Sage's head. I listen to its rhythmic purring, the while I look

full into the eyes of the seated figure in the hope of catching his

notice. They are dark brown, medium sized and wide open.

 

 

If he is aware of my presence, he betrays no hint, gives no sign.

His body is supernaturally quiet, as steady as a statue. Not once

does he catch my gaze for his eyes continue to look into remote

space, and infinitely remote it seems. I find this scene strangely

reminiscent. Where have I seen its like? I rummage through the

portrait gallery of memory and find the picture of the Sage Who

Never Speaks, that recluse whom I visited in his isolated cottage

near Madras, that man whose body seemed cut from stone, so

motionless it was. There is a curious similarity in this unfamiliar

stillness of body which I now behold in the Maharshi.

 

 

It is an ancient theory of mine that one can take the inventory

of a man's soul from his eyes. But before those of the Maharshi

I hesitate, puzzled and baffled.

 

 

 

~ Paul Brunton [The Maharshi and His Message]

 

< http://www.arunachala.org/Downloads/Books/maharshi-and-his-

message.pdf >

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______________________

______________________

 

Message: 19

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 21:37:22 -0000

" adithya_comming " <adithya_comming

Re: Meeting with a sage.

 

GuruRatings , " adithya_comming "

<adithya_comming> wrote:

>

 

 

[...]

 

 

> It is an ancient theory of mine that one can take the inventory

> of a man's soul from his eyes. But before those of the Maharshi

> I hesitate, puzzled and baffled.

 

 

The minutes creep by with unutterable slowness. First they

mount up to a half-hour by the hermitage clock which hangs on

a wall; this too passes by and becomes a whole hour. Yet no one

dares to speak. I reach a point of visual concentration where I

have forgotten the existence of all save this silent figure on the

couch. My offering of fruit remains unregarded on the small

carved table which stands before him.

 

 

My guide has given me no warning that his Master will receive

me as I had been received by the Sage Who Never Speaks. It has

come upon me abruptly, this strange reception characterised by

complete indifference. The first thought which would come into

the mind of any European, " Is this man merely posing for the benefit

of his devotees? " crosses my mind once or twice, but I soon rule it

out. He is certainly in a trance condition, though my guide has not

informed me that his Master indulges in trances. The next thought

which occupies my mind, " Is this state of mystical contemplation

nothing more than meaningless vacancy? " has a longer sway, but I

let it go for the simple reason that I cannot answer it.

 

 

There is something in this man which holds my attention

as steel filings are held by a magnet. I cannot turn my gaze

away from him. My initial bewilderment, my perplexity at being

totally ignored, slowly fade away as this strange fascination

begins to grip me more firmly. But it is not till the second

hour of the uncommon scene that I become aware of a silent,

resistless change which is taking place within my mind. One

by one, the questions which I prepared in the train with such

meticulous accuracy drop away. For it does not now seem to

matter whether they are asked or not, and it does not matter

whether I solve the problems which have hitherto troubled

me. I know only that a steady river of quietness seems to be

flowing near me; that a great peace is penetrating the inner

reaches of my being, and that my thought-tortured brain is

beginning to arrive at some rest.

 

 

How small seem those questions which I have asked myself

with such frequency? How petty grows the panorama of the last

years! I perceive with sudden clarity that intellect creates its own

problems and then makes itself miserable trying to solve them.

This is indeed a novel concept to enter the mind of one who has

hitherto placed such high value upon intellect.

 

 

I surrender myself to the steadily deepening sense of restfulness

until two hours have passed. The passage of time now provokes

no irritation, because I feel that the chains of mind-made

problems are being broken and thrown away. And then, little by

little, a new question takes the field of consciousness.

" Does this man, the Maharshi, emanate the perfume of

spiritual peace as the flower emanates fragrance from its petals? "

 

 

I do not consider myself a competent person to apprehend

spirituality, but I have personal reactions to other people. The

dawning suspicion that the mysterious peace which has arisen

within me must be attributed to the geographical situation in

which I am now placed, is my reaction to the personality of the

Maharshi. I begin to wonder whether, by some radioactivity of

the soul, some unknown telepathic process, the stillness which

invades the troubled waters of my own soul really comes from

him. Yet he remains completely impassive completely unaware

of my very existence, it seems.

 

 

~ Paul Brunton [The Maharshi and His Message]

 

< http://www.arunachala.org/Downloads/Books/maharshi-and-his-

message.pdf >