"You and I are One..."

जय श्री राम

In the Ramayana one finds this - for me as for very many others - deeply moving devotion of Hanuman toward Lord Rama, the love between them of divinity in service to divinity.  Their relationship has so many levels for the Bhakta to grasp, and they are quite suitably all addressed in this most childlike song I once heard from my dear friend Maya in Boulder.

Hanuman, who was of a race of monkey-humans or human monkeys if you will, had been charged to serve Rama in His endeavors and heroic tasks told in this story.  Hanuman himself, varyingly called in hymns "Breath of Ram" and "Son of the Wind", performed enormous deeds of power out of perfect dedication to Rama.  At the end, in the ceremonious celebration and reunion, Ram, or Rama, asked Hanuman what he is, man or monkey.  Hanuman replied, "When I don't know who I am, I am Your servant.  When I know who I am, I am You."

Now the song goes like this, and as I don't have musical notation at my disposal - but have provided a very short video to give the melody, and placed the link below - here are the simple lyrics:

Ram asked,
       "Hanuman, My servant, what do you think of Me?
Ram asked,
       "Hanuman, My servant, what do you think of Me?"



"When I serve You, You are my Master,
when I worship You, You are my Lord -
but You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One.
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One.
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One.
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One."

जय श्री राम





Had someone sung this to me as a child, I would not have had to wait till age 18 to meet Maharajji Baba.
I would have been a child Bhakta from the get-go.  And with that, my self-image growing up would have looked considerably different.

https://youtu.be/liq9ZfqSNfo

***************************

(Then there's this gem out of my earlier years, very sweet and very spot-on - is also on that video)...

Seek The Blessings Of Ram

(Spring HIll Music, outside Boulder - mid-'70s)

Sri Rama is my life and my soul and my treasure.

Wherever He may roam I will follow Him with pleasure.

For the soul of Janaki is Ram.

O the life of Janaki will be forever Ram.

Like a shadow in His radiance I dwell.

Seek the blessings of Ram, Ram (8x) . . . Jai Sri Ram.

Sri Rama is my Lord and His Name is my protection.

His righteousness my strength and His grace is my redemption.

For the soul of Hanuman is Ram.

O the soul of Hanuman will be forever Ram.

In the dust of His lotus feet I dwell.

(Seek the blessings...)

Sri Rama is my Self and my Lord and my companion.

His thought is my command and His glance is my direction.

For the soul of Laksmana is Ram.

O the soul of Laksmana will be forever Ram.

In the thought of Sri Rama's feet I dwell.

(Seek the blessings...)

Sri Rama is our life and His radiance our sceptre.

Wherever He may be, may our hearts be in His shelter.

For the Lord of Ayodya is Ram.

O the Lord of Ayodya will be forever Ram.

May we dwell in the glory of Sri Ram.

(Seek the blessings...)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7FVrL6DXdw

A Love For The Ages

When one hears the Ramayana being given, and after all is said and done:  Ravanna is defeated, his stronghold laid waste, his demon hosts thwarted, Sita rescued, Lord Rama has his throne returned to him, everyone's together and things are right with the world again - then comes the part with Hanuman and his relationship to Rama.  It is the most beautiful of relationships - I know, because whenever I contemplate it, all these decades after that one hearing, my heart is stricken and the tears well up.

One can say, "I love God, I love God above all else and I acknowledge God."  This is well and good, especially when one has taken one's own faith into hand and probed it and pursued it in some depth.  That is the beginning of responsibility and an endless exploration.  The one inherent entrapment which derails the journey is in keeping God "out there" and separate.

One can say, "Moreover, I have found God within myself - or my Self - and I acknowledge that 'I am That'; God my Beloved is within me and I am within God."  That implies taking still more responsibility, and tends in the direction of Knowledge, of Jnana.  As the former example is of great value, so is the latter very significant, however far one comes or is guided.  Alone with this, one may run the risk of a narcissism and most unfortunate delusion.

When one - precisely from and in cognizance of these latter two - arrives at the recognition of God-as-Beloved in the absolute and surrounding Formless, in one's own Form, and in the Form standing before one (not that one ever confuses this with loving "people", but residing fast deep and sovereign in one's love for God, and only thus loving God in the "other," however in darkness that one might be, as one holds God in oneself and over and above oneself, knowing that in all matters God is holding oneself in the timeless Heart of Infinity, one's own Infinity)...when one gets this and values and cultivates this, that really is taking responsibility and that is Bhakti, the way of devotion.  It's nature is conscious, its form is love.



So at the end of the Ramayana, after the most remarkable Bhakta, Hanuman the monkey, has defeated the entire demon host with his mace and burned down Ravanna's city with his flaming tail after they'd set it on fire, helped rescue Sita, fulfilled the tasks in Rama's service - now in Ram's court and before all present he is asked by Lord Rama, who is the embodiment of Divinity for that Age in Hindu Scripture:  "Dear Hanuman, so what are you actually?  Man or ape?"

(Hanuman was known as "the Breath of Ram," and as "Son of the Wind" - this lends significance to what follows.)

Hanuman replies:  "When I don't know who I am, I'm Your servant.  When I know who I am, I'm You."  And they embrace - this is a very important story, which only the heart or a child can understand.  When Rama hails and praises him before all the others there, and offers him anything he wants, he responds:  "Lord save me, save me from the pit of ego!"

A lovely song addressing devotion to Ram, from a group near Boulder back in the '70s, has these lines concerning Hanuman and Ram's brother Laksman - reflecting their respective relationships to Lord Rama:

"Sri Rama is my Lord and His Name is my protection;
His righteousness my strength, and His grace is my redemption.
For the soul of Hanuman is Ram ..."  etc.

and 

"Sri Rama is my Self and my Lord and my companion;
His thought is my command, and His glance is my direction.
For the soul of Laksmana is Ram ..."  etc.

One is oneself in the attitude of Hanuman, or of Laksman, it's not a song about some archaic lore, it's about you - period.  It's about the perfect Relationship.

In my thoughts, I hold my two little granddaughters on my lap at bedtime, and I tell them the story of Ram and of Hanuman, of their feats and their noble destiny.  And then I sing them this little number which also comes from the Boulder of the '70s:

Ram asked Hanuman, "My servant, what do you think of Me?"
Ram asked Hanuman, "My servant, what do you think of Me?"
"When I serve You, You are my Master; when I worshp You are my God;
but You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One;
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One.
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One.
You and I are One, Rama, You and I are One."

His Being Fills My Being

There is no love but in this,

at his feet I receive God's caress,

there is no devotion but in his motion,

 there is no movement but in his dance,

no grace to receive but in his glance.

In his silence is my music,

in his laughter is my prayer,

his Being fills my being,

Neem Karoli Baba:

Embodiment now of Hanuman,

Son of the Wind, Breath of Ram,

Lord of Bhakti,

Maharajji, Maharajji ...

http://hanumandassblog.com/ramcharitmanas-69-how-can-a-human-be-god/
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvLPrWqBjl8
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8vdH9xWrsM&nohtml5=False&spfreload=5
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7H15Ds3rGjQ&nohtml5=False
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GmwXsgVTvG4&nohtml5=False
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8DtuhSocho&nohtml5=False

Being Human

 (According to a report ... the Prophet ... said: “The Day of Judgement will not begin until the Muslims fight the Jews and kill them. A Jew will hide behind a rock or a tree, and the rock or tree will say, ‘O Muslim, O slave of Allah! There is a Jew behind me, come and kill him!’ – except for the gharqad (box thorn), for it is one of the trees of the Jews.”)
(Compare with quite another Message:  "...And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these (singing 'Hosannah') should hold their piece, the stones would immediately cry out."  Lk. 19:40)

If this Jew be an ape, then let me be an Orangutan,

as they are closer to being Human than what we see

passing for God's-own-choice in the form of Islam,

slaughtering and dominating, planning a reach from sea to sea!

Or let me be Hanuman, with Ram's Name in my mouth,

swinging through the demon stronghold, tail afire and with mace

in hand, serving my Lord and the soul of Woman, His Spouse –

striking dead the demon grip which tightens on the Human race!

If this Christian be a pig, then let us all be swine,

for this beloved creature is from God and intelligent –

the blood of innocents let Islam drink, we have another wine,

and far better – bonding us in Love, since the First Advent!

If women be low then let me be low, and if gays be forbidden

let me be that with them; if a single animal's slandered then I;

if "behind every rock or tree a sought Jew be hidden"

I'll remember that “every rock and stone praises God“ and cry

Loudly to the winds that it be carried to all corners:

"Wake up wake up!" find your Divine and praise that,

stand for what is yours, in your own land you're the foreigner;

resist – or else lose your multi-culture – through Islamic fiat.

These loathing all Nature, let them feel the Lion rising in me all the more,

in tireless resistance toward their intentions to crush and dominate

our very souls – not only culture and politic – I will Singh and I will roar,

stand firm in conscious Faith and leave nothing to uncertain fate.

Pregnant With Radiance

The period of mid-1973 to late '74 was particularly formative for me and informed and imbued the rest of my life from there. A student at CU-Boulder, and not much of one at that, I followed Mark Twain's lead and never let my schooling interfere with my education.

It was in this period of my life that I discovered the beloved Swami and many others, and the Bhakti path I was to take, and that I began to massage – and to sing, ceaselessly; it was in this period of my life that I would discover the Dances, and the Sufism which so decidedly established my future, from which place I'm now telling this in retrospect; it was at this juncture in time that I discovered in this way, all the Bringers of light, of Dharma, and discovered Christ, and found my own Teacher out of a marketplace full of 'em - the Coach I'd prayed God to vouchsafe me.

I'd longed to be pregnant with radiance, You may love a certain food but you have to eat lots of it to get fat on it. So it is with light. I wanted to be so full of this love I'd discovered, that I could swallow all the world's darkness and shit out light.

Neither drugs nor grass nor booze played a role in my life. I was stoned however, flat-out stoned on love. The only thing lacking was a dime and maturity – and the latter comes with time, no security. I worked at Ticos, washing dishes with joy and some soap – my pupils were sometimes actually dilated. I'd show up giggling but always on time and fit for work, my supervisor on the cook-line, a Pisces named Jeff, looked me straight into those stoned eyes and asked if I were showing up on the job drunk or on weed. I smiled and assured him, I was drunk on love, just love, patting his arm. That was the period of my wearing a wooly, multi-colored Morrocan jalabea everywhere, my hair grown long, first beard, and passing out roses in the park, washing and massaging feet – anyone's. The only beer I got soused on was Bir Hanumana (strength of Hanuman). My beloved Swami embodied that, and he was pregnant with radiance. All Great Ones are, and I revered them - and I wanted to be pregnant with that radiance.

One fine early Spring mid-morning in '75 I guess, on The Hill just off campus, I walked by Chuck's Grill, which was nearly empty. I only wanted to use Chuck's restroom, which back then was the norm without making a purchase. I just had to do a quick number-one and leave.

On my way to that restroom I noticed this young woman of very unremarkable form and features – let's be honest here, you would have walked right by her. She was neutral and apathetic, also rather dumpy, and that turned out to be because she slouched in the booth where she sat alone, the only customer in the joint.

Because of this slouch, and her pullover sweater, it crossed my Lucy-in-the-sky-with-diamonds optical-perception, that: she might be pregnant. To this day, I don't know what took hold of me - but after I'd left the restroom instead of heading straight for the door leading out, I swung by her booth and with my right hand gently on her shoulder and my left gently on the hump of her belly, on the pullover of course, I asked her with sincere elation and warmth, “When?...“

As in, "when's the date, O mother-to-be?" She did not call the cops, she did not make a scene, she did not say, "WTF – you some kinda goddam smart-ass? Get away from me you freak!" She did not react angrily or even look hurt or burst into tears at this otherwise seemingly insensitive cruelty. The fact was, she was not remotely in the family way, she was just frumpy. She had a gut on her. So?

Not a word passed between us, her eyes registered bewilderment, to which my eyes registered "Oh shit, you're not pregnant?" then, "OMGdess, I fucked up, am I a schlemiel!" I muttered a genuine "sorry, I thought..." but outside of that it went all without words. And then something happened. She got it, and her face brightened up at the idea, and my face brightened up again and for that moment gazing at each other, she had the radiance of someone pregnant with life inside her. So she was in that moment pregnant with radiance.

Then we both laughed, just a sweet, tender, ever so human laugh, shared in love between two total strangers under quite comical circumstances. I collected myself and nodded goodbye, headed for the door. One last look over my shoulder and a wave: that woman watched me from her booth, still smiling and still glowing, sitting a tad straighter there, and I have no recollection of her voice, as not a word had been shared, it was all through the eyes.

These drunken eyes, pregnant with radiance.

Hanuman Springing

No dollars no sense
I haven’t a goddam nickel
I can count on –
this non-cents has got to stop!
Yet there is this love so rich,
at moments unannounced
I do sense such wealth,
Hanuman springing from my chest
swallowing the sun!

Why Do These Tears Fall Suddenly Now

You are as a brother to me,

and it pleases me to love you as one,

you tirelessly post statements, I send you poetry,

both of us are serving Hanuman.

I feel so internally this bond, HD,

why else should this verse interrupt me at prayer!

I know this eternally between two such as we,

I stop at merging, the better to behold your face the more.

Sitting with you alone, on this ancient temple ground,

our inner ear full of the sacred timeless Sound –

our outer ear bombarded by chattering monkeys all around.

I am absorbed as are you; I could embrace,

draw the world into my bosom like Amma –

or a mother hen, as Jesus lamented Jerusalem;

I could outrun horses with Jap Sahib on my lips,

sword at my hip, in the service of Gobind Singh.

On Serving

Just to clarify an oft observed confusion:
when Christ tells us, “the greatest of you is he
who makes himself servant to the rest;”
or when Swami Nityananda instructs, “only who can obey can command;”
or when Neem Karoli Baba tirelessly reminds us, to “love, serve, and remember;”
or when Hanuman replies in the Ramayana, “When I don’t know who I am,
I am Your servant; when I know who I am, I am You” –
the assertion here is this:
Serving makes one sovereign, never servile.
The two are often confused.

Short Memoir of a Singing Masseur and Bhajan-Junkie; Puja

I have never been to India and can hardly be said to have been abroad, but for my seven weeks in Israel and one in Greece at age 21. The world of Dharma came to us, came to me in the House of Sadhana – Khanka, Ashram, by whatever name – under the guidance of my beloved Teacher. I have sung with hardly a let-up for some four decades, variations of Ramnam, of Sufi Zikr, of Bhajans and Mantra innumerable, sung and massaged, sung and massaged. I am still at it.  Much was embodied in the Dances.  We had so many house guests staying or passing through, of unforgettable visage - and I will never forget a single one, not a name nor a face - who'd ever stayed with us in Boulder.

Pir Vilayat, who, having received my foot treatment, told me to now go ahead and work out a full-body massage as I had the feet. I would have anyway, but this sort of feedback from a Sufi Pir, well... And there was Paul Reps, later Murshida Vera Corda, also Reshad Feild - under whom we actually learned and performed Sema, as well as deepening Zikr. I've lost count of how many times Yogi Bhajan spent evenings and taught as guest, or that we visited him. Murshid Hassan from Nablus on the West Bank, came to stay with us three different times, led and gave us the Hadhrat, left us that which I will never lose nor lose touch with. As had they all, as had they all.  Let me not overlook Karmu, little known healer, great in form and spirit and gifts, Murshid Sam had called him the "Black Christ" he'd once composed of in a poem before ever meeting this radiant beautiful guy of humble surroundings and radiant charisma; his stay with us was unforgettable.  And I'm only mentioning half of 'em here.

They all or almost all, had their feet washed and oiled and massaged by me. Tyaga-ji, a lovely yogi traveling through together with a young American named Ram Dass (not that one, just another one), having just returned from being with Mother Krishnabai and leaving with us a gift of dust she'd collected off the feet of the late Papa Ramdas, was one of our guests. He let me also massage his smooth, coffee back as he sat there. He also gave us a precious Hanuman Bhajan which I'll bet my weight in rupees I'm the only one who was there that remembers it now and can still sing it - as I do.

That was the mid- to late '70s, and in '79 we made room for Purshotamdas Jalota-ji, Bhajan-Master, to guest with us, he stayed for a solid month, left to visit others and returned to us because we knew how to host a guest in style. And that meant, he was treated like the most honored of guests, and we sat with him and received his instruction – he was such a natural uncle, we easily called him Papa-ji – whereby we learned so much Bhajan and moreover, his own arrangements, I wish I still had my notes today, as much of the Kabir has escaped me and appears irretrievable. Through this, our established regular usage of Nectar of Chanting (with Guru-Gita and more) was only deepened, the devotion given more scope and dimension.

Among so much else, he taught us the Ram-Bhajan which had been specially composed for Gandhi by his teacher, and which formed the basis and the engine for Gandhi's life and Movement. It was this Ram-Bhajan which got the British Empire outof India, all else was just putting oneself on the line and commitment.  Singing this makes your body feel like a sitting temple into which Ram the Presence of God is actually descending.

Whether I sing in English, Arabic, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Punjabi, Gurmukhi, French, Latin, or Aramaic:    I have never stopped singing since, and still can't quit. So I'm hooked.

Puja

Everything is Puja here, everything is Puja. Every picture in this place is there for a reason, lots and lots of the cats or of the kids all over – even the cats themselves are Puja, Puja-Mausi was my temple-kitty from the start and even Jimmy the tomcat has since been elevated to Puja-Jim. 

The ashes of my parents and their pictures are Puja, the marble headstone for a lost child there on the shelf with flowers and candle and incense and any snapshot of him and the 14^th century Madonna and Child wood-icon on the wall - is Puja. All the Swamis and Sheikhs and Murshids, Dervishes, and Mother T and Mother Krishnabai, and "Madeleine" and Cardinal Galen and two of the gentlemen who all opposed Hitler, and Pope J-P the First who'd been murdered in his bed, and Nityananda and Maharajji, Gandhi and King. And brothers and friends and books in overflowing shelves – everything, everyting is Puja and gets dusted Fridays for Shabbos-Kiddush (also Puja, of course). Puja is Seva and Seva is Puja - so cleaning or cooking is Puja, making someone a sandwich is Puja, feeding the cats. Going to work, paying the bills – Puja. Even Puja is Puja, and that healing & blessing concentration every morning with more names than I can count memorized in my noggin, is Puja as well as Seva. And after all the prayers and concentrations, comes the sacred nectar of Japa in the form of Dhikr-Allah and Ramnam, and Mantras to grease the axles of my beloved Sikh, Christian and Jewish traditions.

Having said this, for no better reason than it occurs to me to share here – the following occurs to me in this light. One evening in the Fall of '81, as I sat on the floor next to Sheikh Muzaffer of the Helveti-Jarrahi Order from Istanbul, visiting his Tekke in NYC, he observed out loud, through his translator, that anyone walking down a country road and spying a lump of dog shit will say, very logically, "Oh, a dog was here." Why then, he continued, doesn't everyone just as obviously look at the wonder of nature all around and observe, "Ahh, God was here!" This earthy, authentic manner of expressing the matter – is Puja.