The lectures from Tuiavii from Tivea (IV) - last

[Guest guest]

The severe disease of thinking

(part of this post appeared on the Advaita list)

When the word "spirit" enters the mouth of a Papalagi, his eyes grow big,

round and fixated; he raises his himself, starts breathing heavily and

stretches himself like a warrior who has slain the enemy. Because this

'spirit' is something he is particularly pride on. We aren't speaking from

the vast, powerful Spirit, which the missionary calls "God", from Whom we

are but a needy image, but from the little Spirit, belonging to man, who is

creating his thoughts. When I'm looking from here at the mango tree behind

the church, that isn't Spirit, because I only see it. But when I recognize

that he is bigger than the church from the mission, well, that has to be

Spirit. So I just don't have to see something, but I have to know something

as well. This knowing is what the Papalagi is practicing from sunrise to

sunset. His spirit is always like a filled gun or like an ever active

fishing rod. Therefore he pities our people of the many islands, because we

aren't practicing this knowing. We are poor spirits and dumb like a wild

animal.

It may be true, we are little practicing this knowing, what the Papalagi is

calling 'thinking'. But the question is, which one is dumb; the one

thinking little or the one thinking too much. The Papalagi is thinking

continuously: "my hut is smaller than the palm tree, the palm tree is

bowing from the storm, the storm is speaking with a loud voice." That is

the way of his thinking, be it in his way of course. But he is thinking

about himself too: "I am small. My heart always rejoices when seeing a

girl. How I love it to go to Malaga." And so on...

That is merry and good and may have many hidden uses for the one, loving

this game in his head. But the Papalagi is thinking so much, that thinking

became a habit, necessity, even a compulsion. Ever he has to think. Only

with great difficulty, he manages not to think, and to live with his entire

body. Often, he is living just with his head, while all senses are

completely dormant, although he is going, speaking, eating and laughing.

The thinking process, the thoughts - these are the fruits of thinking -

keep him imprisoned. It is a kind of intoxication from his own thoughts.

When the sun is shining beautifully, he is thinking immediately: "how

beautifully it is shining!" Always he thinks: "how beautifully it is

shining at this moment." That is wrong, fundamentally wrong and foolish.

Because it is better, not to think at all, when it is shining. An

intelligent Samoan stretches his limbs in the warm light and doesn't think

at it. He doesn't absorb the sun just with his head, but also with hands,

feet, thighs, stomach, with all limbs. He lets his skin and limbs think for

themselves, and certainly are they thinking, be it different than the head.

For the Papalagi however, thinking is in many ways like a big chunk of lava

he can't get out of the way. He is thinking in a merry way but doesn't

laugh; he is thinking sadly but doesn't cry. He is hungry but doesn't take

Taro or Palusami. Mostly he is a man, whose senses are living in hostility

with his spirit; a man, split in two. The life of a Papalagi resembles in

many ways to a man, making a journey by boat to Savaii and, leaving the

shore, immediately thinks: "How long will it take before I arrive at

Savaii?" He is thinking, but doesn't see the pleasant scenery through which

the journey is going. Soon, at the left bank, he sees a mountain ridge. As

soon as his eyes capture it, he can't get away from it: "What could be

behind the mountain? Is it a deep or a narrow bay?" By thinking in such a

way, he forgets to sing along with the youngsters, he doesn't hear the

merry jokes of the young women. Hardly the boat is lying in the bay behind

the mountain ridge or he is tortured with a new thought, if a storm will

start before the evening. Yes, if a storm will be coming. At a clear sky he

is looking for dark clouds. He is ever thinking of the storm that possibly

could arrive. The storm doesn't come, and he arrives at Savaii in the

evening, unharmed. But now it is to him, as if he didn't undertake the

journey at all, because always his thoughts were far from his body and

outside of the boat. He could have stayed in his hut in Upolu just as well.

A spirit however, torturing us that way, is a devil and I don't understand

why so many are loving it. The Papalagi loves and honors his spirit and

feeds his spirit with thoughts from his head. He never lets it fast, but at

the same time he isn't troubled when the thoughts are mutually feeding on

each other. He makes a lot of noise with his thoughts and allows them to be

loud as uneducated kids. He behaves as if his thoughts were as exquisite as

flowers, mountains and woods. [...]

He behaves, as if there would be a command that man has to think much. Yes,

that this command would be from God. But when the palm trees and the

mountains are thinking, they don't make such a noise with it. And

certainly, if the palm trees would think as loudly and wild as the

Papalagi, they wouldn't have beautiful green leaves and golden fruits.

(Because it is firm experience, that thinking accelerates aging and makes

ugly). They would fall (from the tree) before they would be ripe. However,

it is more probable that they are thinking very little.

This thinking should make the mind great and high. If someone is thinking

much and fast, in Europe they say such a one is a great mind. Instead of

having compassion with such great minds, they are extraordinarily honored.

The villages make them to their chiefs, and wherever a great mind comes, he

has to think publicly what to all affords pleasure and is admired a lot.

When a great mind dies, there is grieving in the entire country and a lot

of wailing for what has been lost. An image of such a great mind is made in

natural stone and installed before all eyes at the market place. Yes, these

heads of stone are made much bigger than they were in life, so that the

people really admires them and can reflect on the own little mind.

If one asks a Papalagi: why do you think so much? he answers: because I

don't want and am not allowed to stay stupid. Worthless , every Papalagi

who doesn't think; although essentially he is prudent, he doesn't think

much and yet finds his way. However I think, this is just a pretext and the

Papalagi just goes after his urge. That the real purpose of his thinking

is, to find out the forces of the great Spirit. An occupation, he himself

calls eloquently "acknowledge". Acknowledge, that means to have a thing so

clearly before one's eyes, that one is touching it with the nose, yes is

piercing it. This piercing and ransacking is a tasteless and contemptible

desire of the Papalagi. He takes a centipede, pierces it with a little

spear and tears a leg away. How does such a leg, separated from the body,

look like? How was it fixed to the body? he breaks the leg in order to

measure the thickness. That is important, is essential. He removes a

splinter the size of a grain of sand from the leg and lays it under a long

tube with a secret force enabling the eyes to see much more sharply. With

this big and strong eye he ransacks everything, your tears, a shred of the

skin, a hair, everything and everything. He divides all these things, until

he arrives at a point, where there remains nothing to break or to divide.

Although this point is the smallest of the smallest, it is anyhow the most

essential, because it is the entrance, only the great Spirit does possess.

This entry is also denied to the Papalagi, and his best sorceries still

haven't revealed it yet. The great Spirit doesn't have its secrets taken

away. Never. Never did anyone climb a palm tree, higher than that palm tree

his legs surrounded. At the crown he has to turn; the trunk would fail to

climb higher. The great Spirit doesn't love the curiosity of mankind,

therefore he has put big lianas that are without beginning and end.

Therefore anyone, investigating all thoughts, certainly discover, that in

the end he will always remain stupid and will have to leave those answers

he can't give himself to the great Spirit. The most intelligent and

courageous of the Papalagi actually acknowledge this. Nevertheless most

thinking-diseased ones don't desist their passion, and so it comes, that

the thinking leads man on his way so manifoldly astray, as if he would be

going in the jungle where no path has been made yet.

[...]

Serious and disastrous is therefore, that all thoughts, whether good or

bad, immediately are thrown on white mats. "They are printed" says the

Papalagi. That means: what those ill ones are thinking, now also is written

with a machine that is mysterious and miraculous, that has thousand hands

and the strong will of many chiefs. Written not once or twice, but many

times, infinite times, ever the same thoughts. Then, many thought-mats are

pressed together - "books" the Papalagi calls them - and sent to all parts

of the big country. All are infected, to absorb these thoughts. And one is

swallowing these thought-mats like sweet bananas, they are in every hut,

one piles up entire boxes and young and old will be nagging at it like rats

at sugar cane. That is the reason, why so few still can think intelligently

in natural thoughts, like every sincere Samoan has. In the same way as many

thoughts are shoveled into the heads of children as can be. Every day they

are forced to nag their quantity of thought-mats. Only the healthiest

reject these thoughts or let them fall through their spirit like through a

net. But the most overload their head with so many thoughts, that no more

space is left and no more light can enter. This is called: "educate the

spirit" and the remaining condition of such a mess "education", that is

common. Education is called: filling one's head to the brim with knowledge.

The educated one knows the length of palm trees, the weight of a coconut,

the names of all his chiefs and the eras of their wars. He knows the size

of the moon, the stars, and all countries. He knows every river by name,

every animal and every plant. He knows everything and everything. Put a

question to an educated one and he shoots the answer at you before you

close your mouth. His head is ever loaded with ammunition, is ever ready to

fire. Every European dedicates the most beautiful time of his life to make

his head to the fastest gun. He who wants to be exempt from that, is

forced. Every Papalagi has to know, has to think.

The only thing, that all diseased from thinking could cure, forgetting,

slinging away thoughts, isn't practiced: therefore, only very few are able

to do so and most are carrying a burden in the head, making the body heavy,

powerless and weak before its time. Should we, their loving, not thinking

brothers, after everything I told you in genuine truth, really imitate the

Papalagi and learn to think as he does? I say: No! Because we should not

and must not do anything, that doesn't make a stronger body and doesn't

give a greater sense of joy and uplifting. We have to beware from

everything, that could rob us the joy of life, for everything, that darkens

our spirit and takes away its brilliant light, for everything, that will

cause our head to fight our body. The Papalagi proves us by himself, that

thinking is a severe disease, decreasing the value of a man manifold.

Epilogue:

Although I only translated a minor part of the lectures, it will give an

idea. It is clear that Tuiavii is somewhat appalled by Western society and

that was in the beginning of the century; things didn't improve since then.

The clarity of mind he has, the "light in the head" he mentions,

"enlightenment", is natural or default. The conditioning and subsequent

attachment causes one to forget it. So roughly 25 years of life are used to

fill the head, another 25...40 to use its content, and who knows how many

years to clean the resulting mess, only in order to recognize what had been

forgotten all those years. And those getting a glimpse, still addicted to

thinking, often proclaim that to be final through clever thought

constructions. Fortunate is (s)he, whose mind resembles a net, as such a

mind doesn't accumulate conditioning. Fortunate is (s)he, who can give up

the entire mess in one go and fortunate (s)he, who never forgets the Source

at all. What a pity Tuiavii didn't speak to a realized yogi or Zen master.

It could have revealed much more

As the German used in the lectures is from the beginning of this century,

translation into modern English wasn't easy, particularly because neither

English nor German is my native language. I hope there weren't too many

typos and "weird" expressions

Jan