Paul Brunton - Ramana Maharshi

[Guest guest]

Forty years (written in 1971) have passed since I walked into his abode

and saw the Maharshi half-reclining, half-sitting on a tiger skin

covered couch. After such a long period most memories of

the past become somewhat faded, if they do not lose their

existence altogether. But I can truthfully declare that, in his

case, nothing of the kind has happened. On the contrary, his

face, expression, figure and surroundings are as vivid now as

they were then. What is even more important to me is that - at

least during my daily periods of meditation - the feeling of his

radiant presence is as actual and as immediate today as it was on

that first day.

 

So powerful an impression could not have been made,

nor continued through the numerous vicissitudes of an

incarnation which has taken me around the world, if the

Maharshi had been an ordinary yogi - much less an ordinary

man. I have met dozens of yogis, in their Eastern and Western

varieties, and many exceptional persons. Whatever status is

assigned to him by his followers, or whatever indifference is

shown to him by others, my own position is independent and

unbiassed. It is based upon our private talks in those early days

when such things were still possible, before fame brought

crowds; upon observations of, and conversations with, those

who were around him; upon his historical record; and finally

upon my own personal experiences, whatever they are worth.

Upon all this evidence one fact is incontrovertibly clear -

that he was a pure channel for a Higher Power.

 

This capacity of his to put his own self-consciousness aside

and to let himself be suffused by this Power, is not to be

confounded with what is commonly called in the West,

spiritualistic mediumship. For no spirit of a departed person ever

spoke through him: on the contrary, the silence which fell upon

us at such times was both extraordinary and exquisite. No physical

phenomena of an occult kind was ever witnessed then; nothing

at all happened outwardly. But those who were not steeped too

far in materialism to recognise what was happening within him

and within themselves at the time, or those who were not

congealed too stiffly in suspicion or criticism to be passive and

sensitive intuitively, felt a distinct and strange change in the mental

atmosphere. It was uplifting and inspiring; for the time being it

pushed them out of their little selves, even if only partially.

 

This change came every day, and mostly during the evening

periods when the Maharshi fell into a deep contemplation. No

one dared to speak then and all conversations were brought to

an end. A grave sacredness permeated the entire scene and

evoked homage, reverence, even awe. But before the sun’s

departure brought about this remarkable transformation, and

for most of the day, the Maharshi behaved, ate and spoke like a

perfectly normal human being.

 

That there was some kind of a participation in a worldless

divine play during those evenings - each to the extent of his

own response - was the feeling with which some of us arose

when it all ended. That the Maharshi was the principal actor

was true enough on the visible plane. But there was something

more .

 

In his own teachings Sri Ramana Maharshi often quoted,

whether in association or confirmation, the writings of the first

Acharya Shankara, who lived more than a thousand years ago.

He considered them unquestionably authoritative. He even

translated some of them from one Indian language to another.

 

In the temple of Chingleput I interviewed His Holiness

the Shankaracharya of Kamakoti Peetam, a linear successor of

the first Guru. When the meeting was concluded but before I

left, I took the chance to ask a personal question. A disciple of

the Maharshi had come to me and wanted to take me to his

Guru. None of those I asked could tell me anything about him,

nor had even heard of him. I was undecided whether to make

the journey or not.

 

His Holiness immediately urged me to go, and promised

satisfaction. He is still alive and still active in the religious world

of Southern India.

 

Sometimes, as I looked at the figure of Ramana Maharshi

on the couch, I wondered if he would ever come to England. If

so, how would he be dressed, how would he behave in those

teeming London streets, how would he eat, live and work? But

he was uninterested in travelling and so he never came, not in

the physical body: what did come was his spirit and mind, which

have awakened sufficient interest among the English.

 

Again and again he gave us this teaching, that the real

Maharshi was not the body which people saw; it was the inner

being. Those who never made the journey to India during his

life time may take comfort in this thought that it is possible to

invoke his presence wherever they are, and to feel its reality in

the heart.

Paul Brunton

 

(The Mountain Path)