Chidananda's Mind-Loka

The wild geese

Chidananda Burke — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 13:54:04

October’s wind-swept days have come,
the air turned chill, the trees all bare.
From waters off Jamaica Bay
through early morning’s mist and fog,
the long-necked geese are taking flight.
Their darkened beaks like shadows
rend the skies, their mournful cries
recalling autumns now long past
and summers that could never last.
In this time of changing seasons,
of swirling leaves and muffled rain
that gently grays the muted dawn –
   a piercing stillness –
and my Master too was gone.
Like migrant geese that fly away
in answer to some silent call,
he parted for a distant world,
    a sunlit clime,
just leaving winter far behind.

The snow falls deep in endless drifts
   heavy, wide and full;
soon buries all in whitest grief.
Time slows, then stops as life grows still –
and nothing moves or ever will.
My lips freeze shut, my throat turns numb;
my eyes in glaze like frosted glass.
Inside this changeless world of ice,
this glacial world, this frozen vast,
my heart becomes the deepest well,
   the darkest empty – cold and damp;
and like a narrow stairway steep
where dimming light is never caught,
my spirit sinks to blackest thought.
This winter surely shall not pass.

Outside my life the days go on;
the earth acquires a softer hue.
Brooks once frozen winter still
    bestir with life.
Sprouting saplings, sweet young grass
    reach up for light.
Leaf-green laughter bursts like shoots –
   golden faces lifted sunward.
Thrilling to the rush of spring,
even the sky begins to sing.
But here in the dark the coldness remains;
here in my heart the snow is forever.
Aloof from the world, away from sight,
I dream the sleep of arctic night.

In months or years I cannot say,
when through my mind the seasons pass
and autumn there returns at last,
this winter dream will finally end.
That day when all the trees are bare,
their leaves full blown across the lake,
something fierce in me shall break
wild and sudden free.
With a sharp but soundless thunder cry,
like the white-throat geese I too shall fly
through soaring blue of endless sky
to that shining world beyond the sun,
all calm and bright,
where my Master sits on his throne of light
and life eternal is calling me.

Revised

Oct. 11, 2007

SPIRITUAL ODYSSEY THROUGH MONGOLIA

Chidananda Burke — Sun, 27 May 2007 00:07:44

A SPIRITUAL ODYSSEY THROUGH MONGOLIA

The Mongolian steppes stretch as far as the eye can see – right to the edge of the sky: hard-packed dirt and shale punctuated by small shrubs and feathergrass. Here and there, a lone ger – the round nomadic tent – with dung smoke rising through its roof hole toward a pale sun!

Just a few weeks earlier, frozen stallions galloped across the white plains and giant snowflakes, like pounding hooves, tumbled from the sky. But now it was early spring, just before the rains, when rivers still ran dry and half-starved animals wandered the dusty plains. Caught in the gap between seasons, lost between the emptiness of the land and the bright, unchanging stillness of the sky, life in the steppes seemed to hang suspended – trembling with readiness.

And then that fateful call was heard – carried by the fierce winds blowing in from the Gobi desert – that a high monk had come to their land, a great Buddha-like soul who had descended from Heaven to raise the ‘horse spirit’ of the nation. From the far-off mountains and distant valleys, they collected their white stallions and drove them to gathering points beneath the blue of the sky.

And for two days the great spiritual figure, who had crossed oceans and continents to reach these tiny spots, lifted the horses into the air – using a modified calf-raise machine to raise a wooden platform, on which the animals stood. When all was done, Indian spiritual Master Sri Chinmoy had lifted 58 white horses, symbolizing what the nomadic people believed was the “wind horse” of their country – its inner strength or spiritual essence.

One of the nomadic riders presented Sri Chinmoy with a white racing stallion – a most precious and sacred gift from a Mongolian nomad – as well as a white mare. Sri Chinmoy immediately composed a song about it, called “O King of the Horses,” which his students sang on the empty steppes, their voices lost in the wind.

The 75-year-old spiritual Master also lifted with one arm some of the youngest and oldest souls in the country – little children as well as centenarians over 100 years of age. Jargal Dolgor, wearing her finest rubber boots and del, the traditional robe-like dress, said afterwards, “Sri Chinmoy is not an ordinary man. He is a monk. I am feeling very good, very happy inside now.” The 104-year-old woman received the “Lifting up the World with a Oneness-Heart” medallion but was too frail to mount the stairs to the overhead lifting platform to be lifted. She said Sri Chinmoy’s students from America and Europe – who had accompanied their teacher to Mongolia – were the first Westerners she had ever seen in her lifetime.

Sri Chinmoy came to this central Asian country, he said, to serve the heart and the life of the Mongolian people, and their President, Nambaryn Enkhbayar, presented him with his nation’s ‘Medal of Friendship.’ Sri Chinmoy came as a brother and a friend, but he swept through the land like a warrior, a 21st century Chingiss Khaan. In 10 short days – from May 14-24 – he conquered the minds and hearts of an entire people.

Mongolians encountered on the street said they regarded him as their own teacher. The Director of the Choijin Lama Temple Museum, where the 75-year-old spiritual leader meditated before the statues of Mother Kali and Lord Buddha, called Sri Chinmoy “the teacher of my heart.” The host of Morning Guest, after interviewing him for national TV, asked Sri Chinmoy to consider himself and his crew “your followers and keep us in your heart.”

The people of Mongolia were like the wild ponies ranging over the steppes – ribs protruding, half-starved from the long winter. They were spiritually famished, and this Indian teacher was like the spring rain that sent sweet grass shooting up from the dusty plains and brought new hope and light to a people still recovering from the cold winter of Communism. Sri Chinmoy came to this country with nothing but his inner simplicity, his spiritual depth and his meditative grandeur. For this parched land, it was like a great rainstorm, and wherever the drops fell, the dry Mongolian desert blossomed with flowers and trees – with art, music and spirituality.

Great flocks of birds filled the meditation hall in his Ulaan Baatar hotel from the hundreds of bird drawings he completed each day. His luminous Jharna Kala paintings gave the city’s “Art” Gallery a subtle, ethereal beauty not previously seen in this rough land. The Vice Chairman of the Union of Mongolian Artists, which sponsored the Master’s art exhibit, presented him with the Union’s highest award – the first time ever to a foreigner. “Many artists have come up to me and thanked me for bring your art to Mongolia,” he told the spiritual leader. “This gallery will always be open for you.”

Music seemed to fill the air wherever Sri Chinmoy walked. He composed more than 50 Bengali and several English songs in Mongolia, and his World Harmony Concert at the Ulaan Bataar Palace brought a soaring musical consciousness to a country where music is as integral to life as the wind and sun. The famous Mongolian composer N. Jantsannorov introduced the Concert.

In the tradition of the great Buddha figures of the past, the spiritual leader delivered two major talks during his stay. His poetry lecture at the Government Palace was introduced by MP Gandhi Tugusjargal, who described the experience as “one of the most precious moments in my life.” Afterwards, Dr. G. Mend-Ooyo, President of the Mongolian Academy of Culture and Poetry, presented Sri Chinmoy with the Academy’s ‘Pegasus’ Award. “May your…genius soar like the legendary winged horse in the eternal sky covering the four corners of the globe,” the Award proclaimed. At a later meeting, the Mongolian poet presented the spiritual teacher with a copy of his newly published Nomadic Lyrics, “dedicated to my dear friend and brother Sri Chinmoy.”

Sri Chinmoy’s lecture on art at the State Academic Theatre of Drama was opened by the Rector of the Mongolian University of Culture and Arts, who presented the Master with his University’s cap and mantle, along with an Honorary Doctorate Degree “for his great contribution to the development of human peace and enlightenment.”

The spiritual leader also made several presentations of his own. He offered the U Thant Peace Award, plus an original painting, to President Enkhbayar when he came to visit the Master’s art exhibit. He also presented the “Lifting up the World with a Oneness-Heart” medallion to several cultural and political luminaries.

Even the brightest of times must come to an end, and Sri Chinmoy left Mongolia shortly after midnight on May 25. When his plane flew off into the cold night, vanishing among the stars, this Indian spiritual teacher left behind a special brilliance that shall forever light up the vast Mongolian steppes. “I shall never forget my visit to your country and the boundless love and compassion that you and your people have showered upon me,” he told President Enkhbayar just before leaving. Mongolia, too, will always remember this Indian Master whose love and simplicity found an eternal home in the Mongolian heart.

# # #

and before the flowers of eden

Chidananda Burke — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 06:17:39

and before the flowers of eden

and before the flowers of eden
fields ablaze with golden firebuds
bursting pistils bright with pollen
planets ringed with fiery insects
hornets diving burning meadows
sunlight flowing dense as lava

in the brightness before the flowers of eden
glowing shapes just flaming skyward
roaring grasses, rivers of sun
an incandescence of bees, humming
   like waterfalls
ecstatic songbirds plunging, gorging
   in splendor,
throats exploding with light,
      symphonies of fire
       ...

Intimations of dawn.
The empty meadow waiting, stirring
   with fullness
a vague readiness
the luminous pregnancy of being.
Intuitions of a new race:
thoughts falling like rain
   on the flowers of eden.

originally published in Now, Vol 1, slightly revised Oct. 05

The birthing

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 12 Jan 2007 13:54:31

The birthing

Before the call of birth,
my mind like a hawk sits perched
on the tree of thoughts unborn,
its branches bare and shorn,
abandoned, gnarled, forlorn.
It stands on a windless hill
in a sky ever hazy bright
in empty stillness-light.
The hawk from dreamless time
just watches the river below
where soon it too will go,
back to the life of flow.

Closer now the river roar,
rush of life from deepest core,
driving forward fierce and blind,
drawing in my drowning mind.
Then the sudden crash of sight,
deafening flash of brightest light,
milk just flowing sweet like pain,
softest breasts all gently lain.
Beaked and angry lips now living
curving toward their swollen giving
thirsting, cruel – unforgiving.

originally published in Now, Vol 2, - revised Dec. 2006

A curiosity of being

Chidananda Burke — Thu, 11 Jan 2007 13:18:59

..parsed-literal:

A curiosity of being

And the sun dropped like a flame
   to an empty sky,
exploring the endless darkness
with the pale light of dawn.
In that shining stillness,
giant mountains still new from creation
rose from the planet surface.
In the slowness of time,
the dimness of wakening,
they sensed the ambient brightness,
   their granite hands
holding the blueness of the sky
in cupped astonishment.

From this curiosity of being,
this vague encounter between density
   and airiness,
the first thought, insubstantial, floated to earth.
Where it touched the soil
wild grasses sprang up,
meadows filled with flowers, faces,
   fields of nations,
pale birches, dark ferns and races,
staring up at the spreading light,
gazing in awe at the mountain height
   far above.

From this curiosity of being,
this vague encounter between mind
   and mystery,
the first prayer rose to the sky
   circling like a bird.
In the slowness of time,
more came, then endless waves –
great formations, migrations,
vast flights of understanding,
spiraling eddies of light
   vanishing into stars
that lit the mind of night.
And God, in His curiosity of being,
   looked down,
touching the earth with astonished hands.

originally published in Panorama April 2001, slightly revised 2005

The night swans

Chidananda Burke — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 15:27:29

The night swans

Soon night will come and more,
glide past my face with calm beauty
   like swans on a lake,
a faint presence against the darkening shore.
With a silent flutter of wings
a rush of memories fills the wood:
silver moons like birds startled to the sky
   and far below
where once the tree house stood,
   stand I.
But now the pines cast shadows
   green upon my lungs
and in the silence I can hear
the slow, rhythmic breathing
   of night
and faint hooves of deer.
Soon I’ll merge with the stillness,
  join the shadows,
sink into the dark, rich soil
   by water's edge.
Yes, I think death will come like that,
like a soft cry from heaven:
six white swans
emerging
from the dusk
on a calm, still lake...
and I shall make seven.

originally published in Swans along the Sunlit Path, slightly revised Oct. 2005

Six Days of Pain...and Grandeur

Chidananda Burke — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 15:34:23

Her face was puffy and blistered, her feet so swollen she could barely walk. And she was suffering from a bad cold and cough. But none of that mattered to Ishita Dam-Widder, who declared with a big grin, "I've never been happier in my life."

The 38-year-old personnel manager at Madal Bal Zurich had just completed her first Sri Chinmoy Six-Day Race.

"I feel like a newborn baby! All I'm going to do now is eat and sleep - just what a baby does."

From April 28-May 4 she had been running and walking virtually non-stop around a one-mile loop in Flushing Meadow Park, Queens, averaging about 52 miles a day.

"It was like a physical and spiritual transformation," she said. "Because you're moving all the time and things are going faster -- even the digestion -- the body is throwing off its poisons and getting purified.

"And because things are moving faster on the inner plane also, if you're in a good consciousness you can make enormous spiritual progress. It's like living a whole lifetime in six days.

"When you're running a race like this, the trees and sky seem so beautiful, so alive. Even colors look brighter and more intense. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but other runners said they had similar experiences. I think that because you are purer inside, you see more purity outside.

"And I was so happy when I was running. I didn't think it would be this great. At one point I felt this could be my whole life. Of course, the body won't allow that, but I was ready to go on running forever."

One of the nice things about this kind of race, she said, was the peace of mind she experienced. "Everything was there: food, clothing, medical help -- all my needs were taken care of. I have so many mental problems at work, but during the race I had nothing to worry about except running.

"I saw Guru twice. I was happy to see him, but it wasn't really necessary because I constantly felt his spiritual presence. They kept the light on in his gazebo, and I could see it from way off; so I felt he was always there.

"He's always with us inwardly, but it's only at times like this -- when you think about nothing but the basics -- that you recognize this so strongly.

"I felt a strong connection with my inner self during the race. I started out with the idea of going to sleep at mid¬night and waking up at four. But each night something got me up earlier. The mind says you need the sleep, but the inner being says get up and run.

"I don't think I slept more than a few hours during the whole six days. If you had told me in advance that I would be sleeping only 10 or 11 hours in six days, I never would have signed up for the race."

Of course there was pain, she said. In the beginning, her stomach hurt and her face was very swollen. Later on, when her feet began to swell, she wrapped them in cabbage -- which drew out the inflammation -- and had to run in oversized shoes.

"I was often sick as a child, so I'm used to body pain. With each difficulty, I told myself, 'This is just another new challenge, an experience that will come, then go.'

"Each time I had a serious problem there was always somebody to solve it - either one of the runners who had gone through the same difficulty, or the medical people. They told me, 'Oh yes, everybody has that. It's normal.' So it didn't bother me, because I knew it would disappear.

"Nobody can run a multi-day race and not go through pain. But when the race ends you forget all the suffering and remember only the good things."

One of the good things she remembers is her new understanding of her spiritual teacher's philosophy.

"When you see so many runners from different countries coming together to do the same thing, you begin to understand Sri Chinmoy's vision of a oneness-world-family.

"In everyday life we don't see the common goal we share with everyone because the world is too big and contains too much variety. But the race reduces our world to a small scale, and it's very apparent that we're all running the same loop. For me, this was a first step toward growing into the consciousness of a oneness-world-family."

Ishita began the race with no expectations. "I've run the Sri Chinmoy 47-miler many times, and each time I wanted to exceed my previous time. But in this race I didn't have even one expectation -- except to do my best, avoid serious injury and try to stay happy. Those were my only goals. I didn't compete, not even with myself. I just wanted to run; I just wanted to be.

"For 10 months I was looking forward to the race. I had such an inner feeling of wanting to do it. Now that it's over, I feel I really achieved some¬thing. You get so much more than you give. And if you don't spoil it, you're able to keep the things that you achieved.

"My first night in a normal bed I felt so sad that it was over. I wanted to go back and continue running. I can't explain it, but even when I was sleeping, in my mind I was still running."

reprinted from Anahata Nada, newsletter of the Sri Chinmoy Centre

The Incredible Stillness of the Long-Distance Runner

Chidananda Burke — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 15:22:47

Running an 'ultra' or multi-day race is like traveling to another dimension, with its own sense of time and space — a world buffeted by intense and volatile emotional weather — where most of the running is done inside.

For 38-year-old Abichal, who completed the Sri Chinmoy 700-miler for the first time this year, an 'ultra' is like a retreat into a monastery.

"It's a gradual descent into yourself. You slowly sink into a peaceful energy field where normal mental activity is shut down, everything is focused and life is very simple.

"At the same time, things below the surface come up that you're normally able to ignore. Since you're not distracted by everyday life, you have to deal with them, and it's a chance for real inner progress. But it gets pretty intense, especially when you're going through so much physical pain."

Namitabha, 35, who completed the Sri Chinmoy 3,100-miler this past summer, explained that the mind is one of the biggest problems in these races. "The mind says, 'I've been running for five hours and now I need a break,' or 'It's too hot, so I better rest.' And the thought of running for 50 days straight is enough to drive the mind crazy.

"But if I keep on going, after a while the mind just surrenders to the experience, the body adapts and everything becomes like a river. Then I feel I can run forever."

Dipali, 41, who has run about a dozen 'ultras' over the past nine years and holds the women's six-day world record, agrees. "But I've learned how to shut up the mind, to go beyond the exhaustion, beyond the blisters and stomach problems," she said. "I've learned to run from my heart."

The Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team sponsors six and 10-day races each spring...a simultaneous 700-mile, 1,000-mile and 1,300-mile race every fall...and a 3,100-mile race over the summer.

"There's a big difference between running a 1,300-mile race and running the 3,100-miler," explained Suprabha, 43, who is the only woman to have done both.

"In the 1,300-mile event, you get just a couple of hours' rest a night and can fall asleep while running. Many times I'd wake up on the course and find my feet parked on the turn-around cone, and a couple of times I almost ran into the river.

"The 3,100-mile race is structured so you get at least six hours' rest nightly, since the body couldn't keep running that far without it. Since I'm not struggling so much with exhaustion, I can remain more peaceful and meditative.

"In an 'ultra' there's a feeling of timelessness — like entering some kind of infinity. You try to stay in the heart and also stay in motion — so the quietness you feel inside and the forward movement of the race somehow come together. It's like being inside a stillness that's always moving forward. It gives you a sense of what the soul must feel as it journeys through eternal time."

How does a long-distance runner keep going? "By going deep inside!" Suprabha declared. "Sometimes novice runners think they can barrel through an 'ultra' on sheer physical strength. But they either burn out or learn to draw on their inner qualities."

Sasha Djordjevic (Angicar), 28, explained it in terms of "going to the edge -which means not sleeping the extra couple of hours that your body is crying for, not spending two hours in medical although your legs are killing you. Most of all, you've got to have faith in yourself and God."

He recalled an experience he had during a 700-mile race "when I was extremely weak mentally and physically and feeling completely alone. I was in so much pain that all I wanted to do was quit; but quit¬ting wasn't an option for me. I knew I couldn't finish the race on my own, but help from God seemed millions of miles away. At one point I just said, 'God, if You really love me, why are You making me suffer so much?'

"Then, amazingly, I actually got an answer. It was a kind of a thought in my head that told me, 'How can I, who love you so much, make you suffer?' Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I felt an overwhelming sense of God's Love. It was like not being on earth. For the next couple of miles I was just crying the whole way.

"Another time, on the next to last day of the 1,000-miler, my handlers forgot to wake me up and I lost three hours, equivalent to about 12 miles of running. I was already pushing my limit, and the idea of making up that kind of mileage so late in the game was inconceivable. So I was just sitting there depressed and hopeless, thinking I had let my Guru down and was a total loser.

"Then I remembered the story from the Ramayana when Lord Rama asked Hanuman to bring him a special medicinal herb to save his dying brother. Since the plant grew hundreds of miles away, Hanuman knew it would be impossible to bring the medicine in time — no matter how fast he ran. But he had such love and devotion for Rama that he suddenly found himself flying, and he actually did bring the medicine in time.

"I said to myself, 'If Hanuman had enough devotion to fly, the least I can do is run. So the last 36 hours of the race I ran like any¬thing, not sleeping at all, and on the last day of the race I covered an incredible 86 miles — almost 20 miles more than I had done on the first day. I finished the race with 53 minutes to spare!

"I always have this image of myself as Arjuna and my spiritual Master as Krishna. So during the race I asked a friend to bring me a victory conch that I could blow at the end. I kept the conch in my tent, and when I was feeling weak and depressed, I sat in the tent and blew it a little bit. But after completing the 1,000 miles, I really blew it.

"Somebody who has an experience like this can never forget it. You go through hell and, with your Master's help, finally reach the goal. The feeling of joy is unimaginable!

"Running a 1,000-mile race is like condensing your entire spiritual life into a single 15-day period. You're just not the same person afterwards. Life's daily challenges seem minuscule compared to what you've already been through.

"Ultra-running is not about being a runner, but about being a spiritual seeker — about being brave, about getting closer to your Master, about making progress. There's nothing like it in the world."

reprinted from Anahata Nada, newsletter of the Sri Chinmoy Centre (August-November 1999)

Touching the Crown of a Turquoise Goddess

Chidananda Burke — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 14:54:28

"It's like setting foot on a god or goddess. You have to tread responsibly on this great, powerful being."

Jowan was talking about his recent ascent of Cho Oyu, which means "The Turquoise Goddess" in Tibetan. Rising 8,201 meters into the air between Nepal and Tibet, just 20 miles from Mt. Everest, it's the sixth highest mountain in the world.

The 24-year-old climber, accompanied by Anugata, 43, reached the summit on May 6 on his second attempt. Another member of their team, Udar, had made the summit two days earlier. All three are students of Sri Chinmoy.

"On our first try, we ran out of gas at 7,900 meters," Jowan said. "After hours and hours of walking uphill, with very little oxygen, I was starting to get dizzy and lose motor skills. One of the other guys had already turned back; the other two were going ahead. I sat there for a half hour eating candy bars, trying to decide what to do.

"Going back meant returning not to the interim camp we had set out from earlier that day, but all the way down to the base camp — almost a mile and a half below — because you can't recover at higher altitudes. So I wasn't jumping at the prospect of making this climb again.

"But it was already late afternoon, which would have meant returning from the summit in the dark, and I felt it would be unwise to continue. Also, I saw that Udar had barely moved the whole time I was sitting there; he was still close enough to talk to. So I decided to come down."

Anugata, a more experienced climber, turned back shortly afterwards. "I've been an athlete all my life and know my body well. You have to know when to say, 'If I don't turn around now, I won't have enough energy to get back.'

"It's like diving. You take a deep breath and look at the bottom so far down, and you know you won't have enough air to make it all the way down and back again.

"Some people are ambitious; they care only about making the summit. But that's only half the journey; not coming back means failing."

Udar, the third team member, also eventually decided to return.

After a few days at base camp, Udar and another climber struck out for the summit again along a different route. Jowan and Anugata left two days later.

"Each day we moved up to a higher temporary camp. While en route to camp 2, Udar radioed to us that he and his friend had made it. But we still had a long way to go," Jowan said.

"When we reached camp 3, around 4 p.m., I was not feeling well at all. I had stomach problems and was very weak. We had eight hours to rest before our midnight departure for the summit, and I spent almost the whole time boiling and drinking water.

"By midnight I was feeling a little better, but still was not in a good space. There was one dangerous section when we were going up a 60-degree slope of hard snow; it was like climbing a very steep roof.

"I had left my ice axe behind to save weight, so I had to focus all my attention on each step, moving one foot or ski pole at a time. It was a long way down and I couldn't make a mistake.

"But if I kept up my concentration and went slowly I knew I could maintain my balance and do fine."

Anugata also found the going difficult, particularly a section of loose rock that had to be traversed after this steep snow climb.

"With so little oxygen getting into the lungs because of the altitude, 20 yards can seem like a mile. It doesn't look like you have far to go, but the body isn't responding.

"And sometimes you find yourself having long daydreams; then you come out of it and remember, 'Oh yeah, I've got to keep going.'

"Climbing is 50 percent mental. When things look bad and I'm really exhausted, I try to stay in the moment — not allowing the mind to extrapolate into the future or think how far I have to go. I just burrow into the moment and deal with the present."

After about eight and a half hours of hard climbing, with the worst of it behind them, they found the slopes leading to the summit relatively easy. At the top, they took a few photos and briefly enjoyed the view.

"But after 10 minutes it was time to return to business — the business of getting back," Jowan said. "Most mountaineering accidents happen on the way down. So you can't start enjoying yourself or feeling complacent."

The descent to camp 3 took only three hours. "It was around noon, and I was feeling strong and wanted to continue on to camp 2, but Anugata was in no rush to get down. So I went on ahead, leaving him there. He joined up with me later," Jowan explained.

"Although we're members of a team, we go at our own pace and it's not unusual for one guy to go on alone. All the climbers are in such a weakened condition that you can't really expect help from the others; you have to be self-sufficient."

It wasn't until they were back at base camp that the excitement really set in. "I felt so powerful inside — not in the ego sense but in the sense that I was full," Jowan said. "I felt like I had gained the power and purity of the mountain. It was like having a thousand meditations."

For Anugata also, mountaineering is as much a spiritual journey as a physical one.

"You feel that your spirit goes out and makes contact. There's a tangible feeling that you are here, but also out there — in the whole expanse. It's like a fish who has just swum out of the fish bowl into the vast ocean.

"I feel that the mountains are entities, and it's a privilege to be in their presence. It's not scary, since they don't mind the presence of a human being if he has humility and if he appreciates them as living beings.

"But if someone is not aware of their inner reality and wants to conquer the mountain, then the mountain may show its displeasure."

Pausing for a moment, Anugata pointed at the sky. "When you're back at base camp, the summit is like that cloud. You look at this cloud in the sky and just can't believe you went all the way up there and back. It's like a miracle."

reprinted from Anahata Nada, newsletter of the Sri Chinmoy Centre

Aquarium

Chidananda Burke — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 14:36:47

Aquarium

Like crustaceans,
our minds entombed in bone,
we scrape the muddy bottom deep
   this ocean murk of time,
pulled by currents yet unknown.
The distant stars give but a glimpse
the golden stillness far above,
where hazy suns will float like birds
   forever calm in silent splendor.
Our minds reach for that lucent brightness
with fragile, brittle, thin ideas
like tiny pincers – teeth that break
then tumbling, spinning, spiral down
to form the porous the reefs of thought
that frame our hopes, our lives, our ways.
And so unseen, unsure, unfound,
we crawl these crumbling ridges notched,
claws just waving feebly in the air,
until a time beyond all days
a hand comes down to grab our shell
and lift us through the sea of time
   far above the dark of life
to the shining dawn that’s pulsing bright –
our minds now sudden glorious free,
dripping grandeur, drinking light.

originally published in Aug. 2002 Panorama, revised Dec. 2006

the river Volga

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 13:38:46

the river Volga

 The river Volga flows through my mind,
 following the curve of my childhood
    to a happiness long forgotten.
The birch and linden along its bank
   turn the water a slow deep green.
Church domes gleaming in the sun
float above the forest like giant water lilies.
The gray wood houses
with the stillness of another time
   stand mutely by the shore,
while in the distance, ringing with promise,
 the city Yaroslavl and more.

At this curve of the river my mind remains fixed:
the Volga in early summer
when day lasts nearly forever and tomorrow is like today,
where time like the Volga does not move
but only widens to a distant bank,
   deepens to a different shore,
where the air vibrates with soft golden light
and the sky sings like a bird in flight,
when all that exists is the river of childhood
   flowing without end,
and the city Yaroslavl, beating like my heart,
always around the bend.

How in this timeless world where nothing changes,
how in this sunlit world so perfect and clear,
did age, like a slow-circling hawk,
a mere speck in the sky,
   so sudden appear?
Hope blooms green as the linden,
but youth alone looks out on endless time,
like the great forests stretching across Russia,
like the warm, bright stillness of a northern evening
   with the whole summer yet before me,
like the Volga that never moves
but only widens through our tears,
   going on without an end,
while its currents carry us secretly down the years
to the city Yaroslavl waiting around the bend.

With such slow familiarity
the river Volga winds through my thoughts,
bringing back a happiness long forgotten.
I could lose myself here – return to the beginning,
to the Russia I’ll always love,
to that quiet river flowing towards the sun,
   the calm stillness along its banks,
the golden sunlight lingering on its shore,
   that state of  brightness
where time seems to stop and day has no end,
to the childhood that stretches forever
   and will never return,
to the city Yaroslavl, behind me now,
which I shall never see again.

originally published in Panorama in 2004, slightly revised 2005

Fitness Guru for Body and Spirit

Chidananda Burke — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 14:50:10

This is a general article about Sri Chinmoy’s weightlifting, written in 1988.

One of the most unusual athletes of our time is a 67-year-old strongman who lifts elephants and airplanes to promote world peace. Indian-born Sri Chinmoy is a spiritual teacher who took up weightlifting in the mid-1980s to show how spirit, or inner strength, can produce astonishing outer stamina. Now, after a nine-year break, this sportsman has returned to the gym -- proving that the spirit is still alive...and that heart-power can defeat old age.

When he first became a weightlifting guru at the age of 54, Sri Chinmoy was already another kind of teacher -- a teacher of meditation to a few thousand students in the U.S. and overseas -- as well as a poet, artist and composer. His weightlifting, like his other activities, was part of the "curriculum" he has been promoting all his life: the importance of spiritual and physical fitness.

He promotes his message not by preaching but by doing, and he teaches mainly through personal example. "If I can write inspirational poems or create something beautiful and soulful as an artist or composer, then it will inspire others to go higher and deeper. My weightlifting also is meant to encourage people to bring forward their inner capacities so they can live a more divine life. If I can inspire someone, and if that person inspires someone else, then we can have a better and brighter world."

Sri Chinmoy feels that real fitness, even in body, stems from the inner man. "There are countless people on earth who do not believe in the inner strength or inner life. They feel that the outer life is everything. I do not agree with them," he says. "There is an inner life; there is spirit, and my ability to lift heavy weights proves that it can work in matter as well. I am doing these lifts with the physical body, but the power is coming from an inner source, from my prayer and meditation. My prayer and meditation are like friends, and they help me."

Whether it's his "friends," as he calls them, or just plain determination, something gives this 145-pound fitness guru the ability to hoist 31,000-pound jet planes with his calf muscles and lift hundreds of pounds with one arm. "Sri Chinmoy is a prime example that we can do things we thought were impossible," says eight-time 'Mr. Olympia' Lee Haney. Bodybuilding champion Bill Pearl, a former 'Mr. Universe,' is also impressed. "Sri Chinmoy is on a fantastic track because he shows the relationship between the body, mind and spirit. Ninety-nine percent of the world is absolutely physically incapable of doing what he has done."

A track and field star in his youth, Sri Chinmoy practiced sprinting and, later, marathon running during much of his adulthood. In the summer of 1985, after a knee injury banned him from the track, he got inspired to enter the entirely new field of weightlifting. From the day he first lifted a 40-pound dumbbell with one arm, he immersed himself in the sport -- reading every bodybuilding book he could lay his hands on, watching countless weightlifting videos and endlessly training. He rapidly progressed to heavier weights and, two years later, was setting records in the one-arm lift and standing calf raise.

The following year he began lifting well-known personalities above his head with one arm, using a specially-built platform, in a program he called Lifting Up the World with a Oneness-Heart. "I was trying with my capacity to encourage and inspire people in various walks of life who have inspired others in sports, in literature, in science and in politics. I lifted them up to show my deepest appreciation for their achievements."

Then his interest in weightlifting waned and, as he neared the age of 60, he focused more attention on his work for peace, holding discussions with such luminaries as Mikhail Gorbachev and Mother Teresa and offering peace concerts in many countries. Impressed by his work, which include the founding of a global peace run, a number of government leaders have dedicated their cities, mountains and natural wonders to peace as "Sri Chinmoy Peace-Blossoms," and several nations -- including Canada, Finland, Hungary and Nepal -- officially became "Sri Chinmoy Peace-Blossom Nations."

At a time when his peace activities are bearing fruit, and nearly a decade after he retired from the sport, what's making him return to weightlifting now? "I wanted to see if has anything to do with physical fitness. I found out that it is the mind that makes us feel old. The moment I use my mind, I am 67 years old. The moment I use my heart, I feel that I am 20 years old. So I want to show the world that if we can challenge the mind and go beyond the mind, then the physical body obeys us."

Weightlifting also gives him a platform for demonstrating his philosophy of peace -- his idea that peace can be achieved through the same inner qualities that enable him to lift heavy objects. "It is only because of insecurity that individuals and nations fight with one another. In the depths of their hearts they know they are weak, so outwardly they want to prove that they are strong. But if they can acquire inner strength through prayer and meditation, they feel secure and confident, and they will not feel the necessity of proving anything.

"A few days ago I went to a circus and lifted an elephant. This elephant could easily have destroyed every human being who was there. But just because it knew it was infinitely stronger than I, the elephant remained calm and quiet and allowed me to lift it. Similarly, if a country is really strong, with inner strength, peace and poise, then like an elephant that country will remain peaceful. Again, we have to know that peace is joy and joy is peace. If I am happy, then I will not strike you. I will only shake hands with you and embrace you. Only unhappy people are fighting, dropping bombs and killing one another."

Over the past few months Sri Chinmoy has been lifting everything in sight -- from giant pumpkins to full-sized cars to a group of Harlem gospel singers. In each case his message is the same: "I do not have the muscle mass of a bodybuilder; I do not have the strength of a weightlifter. I am only a truth-seeker and God-lover. Everything I achieve is by virtue of my spiritual life. The inner strength that enables me to lift heavy weights, and the inner peace it brings, is available to anyone."

He recently gave a public weightlifting demonstration at a local New York college, not far from where he lives, performing 33 different feats of strength. It was an event that will remain unique in the annals of sport, showing the limits to which a 67-year-old body can be pushed. Here's a blow-by-blow account. Wearing blue shorts and a white singlet, his head totally shaven, Sri Chinmoy walks barefoot onto the stage and, for a few moments, meditates in front of the audience. The different lifting machines, some geared for overhead lifts, others more traditional standing or seated calf-raise devices, are lined up in semi-circle, and he takes them on one by one.

First comes a 145-pound overhead lift with each arm. Next, he lifts a 300-pound stack, pushing the weights up a metal track 50 times with each arm. By now, his chest is heaving, his lungs gasping for air, and he leans his head against the lifting apparatus. Then he hoists 200 pounds overhead with his right and left arm. Like this he moves from machine to machine.

Meanwhile, off in a corner of the stage, some of Sri Chinmoy's women students, dressed in brightly colored Indian saris, are prayerfully performing a medley of their teacher's songs -- songs about not giving up, songs about the inner life, songs of battle and victory. The music is dynamic and powerful, but also deep like a river, and the singers -- their eyes closed, their hands folded in prayer -- look almost angelic. In Sri Chinmoy's world, body and spirit go side by side.

As the night wears on, the heavy weights exact their toll, and the lifting becomes more difficult. At one point, master of ceremonies Bill Pearl says, "He isn't lifting with his body, but with his heart." The final feat is the most grueling. After lifting almost half a ton, he wants to raise his 145-pound bodyweight with each arm -- simultaneously.

At first it seems it will not happen. His muscles are straining, a strange rumbling sound is coming out of his throat and chest, yet the weight is not budging. The audience is holdings its breath. Finally, ever so slowly, the bar begins to edge upwards along its metal guide and, for a moment that seems suspended in time, a small 67-year-old man is standing with these two enormous weights raised straight in the air. Then his shoulders sag and the weights come crashing down.

The bodybuilding greats witnessing this display are deeply moved. "It's an amazing show of strength for any man, at any age, of any bodyweight," says Bill Pearl. Former 'Mr. Olympia' Frank Zane calls it "totally mind-blowing." Bodybuilding giant Mike Katz, twice Sri Chinmoy's size, grabs him in a huge bear hug. But the evening isn't over. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the athlete for peace becomes a musician of peace and gives an hour-long peace concert, performing on a variety of Eastern and Western instruments. It's after one in the morning when the curtain falls.

Sri Chinmoy is sometimes criticized because he uses specially-modified machines to aid in his lifts. When he raises elephants, for example, he places his shoulders under two bars attached to a platform, where the elephant stands, and then uses the calf muscles of his legs to lift the platform. His one or two-arm overhead lifts are done from a shoulder-high power rack, in which the dumbbell is guided between metal bars.

Critics ask why he doesn't do ordinary military presses and calf-raises, so his feats can be evaluated against traditional standards. But Sri Chinmoy has always been an innovator. "We have to go forward with new ideas. Why should I only follow the old system? Every day science is making new discoveries. If we go on reading the same old book, although it may be an excellent book, it becomes boring. If you add some totally new flowers to a rose garden, they will only add to the beauty of the garden. If a tree has many branches instead of only one or two, then each one will offer new interest and new beauty."

Born in a tiny Indian village in East Bengal, India, Sri Chinmoy lost his parents at an early age and then moved to an ashram, or spiritual community, to live with his older brothers and sisters. Meditation was part of everyday life, and over the next 20 years he became well-versed in spirituality. It was during his meditation that he received the inner message to dedicate his life to bringing forward the best in his fellow man. In 1964 he emigrated to America to pursue that goal.

Since then, he has written hundreds of books of poetry and philosophy, composed thousands of devotional songs and completed large numbers of mystical paintings and miniature bird drawings depicting the freedom of the human soul. But perhaps his most dramatic contribution has been in sports, where he has shown most graphically the unlimited and ageless capacity of the human spirit.

"The physical world that we see with our eyes is not the only world. There is also an inner world, where everything finds its source," he says. "Because of my weightlifting, many people will be inspired to enter into the spiritual life. Again, spiritual people will be inspired to enter into the physical world."

Sri Chinmoy has spent most of his life uplifting body and spirit and now, at the age of 67, is still on the fast track. "I feel that God does not want human beings to retire. God Himself is always doing something new, always transcending His own Infinity and Eternity. Since we all have God within us, we also have to keep going on, going on, going on -- until our last breath."

Sri Chinmoy: Athlete of the Spirit

Chidananda Burke — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 13:50:13

Originally published in Yoga Journal September/October 1983 Issue No. 52

It's one of those crisp November days when fast moving clouds, like sailing ships, tack across the sky, and the autumn foliage snaps in the wind. Off in the distance, through a swirl of leaves, the fast pumping legs of the lead runners drive toward the finish line. One of the runners -- a slender, muscular man in a red ski cap -- sprints to the finish, cheered on by a crowd of 50 or so onlookers. As he comes out of the chute, gulping in air, two young men run over to him with a towel and a folding chair, while his supporters -- many of whom have been in the race themselves -- stand back, watching. Soon he sits down, draping the towel around his head, and the group, closing in around him, grows still and silent.

The sun reflecting off the seated man's face adds a golden hue to his rich brown skin. The sounds of the ten mile race in New York's Central Park, muffled now, seem very distant. Everything is peaceful, still, timeless. After several minutes, the man's eyes soften into the trace of a smile and, placing both hands against his chest, he bows his head. "Come!" he says softly. And in a slow procession they come, one by one, taking a piece of fruit from a box placed near his chair. When the prasad ceremony ends, spiritual master Sri Chinmoy meditates for another minute or two, then bows his head once more. The silent tableau of a moment ago breaks into a kaleidoscope of talk and movement.

This abrupt transition from body to spirit -- or, rather, the integration of an active physical life with deep spirituality -- is part of the unique style of this 52-year-old spiritual master from India. His yoga encompasses not only profound mystical philosophy, but also sports and physical fitness, a full acceptance of ordinary life, a vision for world peace, and a deep involvement in poetry, art and music.

The cornerstone of this yoga is the principle of aspiration -- the urge to transcend, to reach for something higher and more fulfilling. This continual movement toward greater perfection, Sri Chinmoy believes, is the creative and energizing force of the universe -- the electrical current that runs God's "Cosmic Game." Our purpose in life, he teaches, is to plug into this divine current and allow it to guide our lives so we can ultimately transform ourselves and the world.

Sri Chinmoy is not a mere philosopher; he's a living philosophy, for if nothing else, he practices what he preaches. To see him struggling along with his students in a 26-mile marathon, or the 47-mile ultramarathon he holds each year on his birthday, is convincing proof that this master is one with his followers. He first became interested in distance running -- as a sport and also as a mode of spiritual growth -- about five years ago. Since then he has pursued it tenaciously, running 50 or 60 miles a week and urging his students to run, not only outwardly but inwardly. "Try to be a runner and go beyond all that is standing in your way," he tells them. "Be a real runner so that ignorance, limitations and imperfection will all drop far behind you in your Godward race."

Everything Sri Chinmoy does expresses this deeper aspect of things, for he sees all areas of life as opportunities for inner development as well as outer achievement. His international Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team, which now sponsors more than 200 races year, is more than a classy running club. It's one of the flagships of his spiritual vision. Its motto, "Run and become. Become and run. Run to succeed in the outer world. Become to proceed in the inner world," is a call both body and spirit to strive for thing beyond themselves, a "personal best" on the race course and in life well.

In this spirit, some of his followers have embarked on rather extraordinary "runs," literally and figuratively –- running cross-country, for example. Tackling the impossible seems thing to do for many of them. Each August, to honor their teacher’s birthday, about a dozen or so attempt to set world records in everything from jumping jacks to non-stop tennis playing. Several have succeeded.

This athletic view of life, with its constant drive for self-transcendence, finds its consummate expression in Sri Chinmoy himself. During the 18 years he has lived in the U.S., he has written more than 500 books of spiritual poetry, plays, stories and philosophical essays, composed several thousand devotional songs and completed some 140,000 paintings and drawings –- visions, he says, of higher worlds he has experienced in meditation.

As a poet and painter, he is not only a marathoner but also a sprinter. For the sheer joy of it, and as an exercise in concentration, from time to time he likes to see how many works he can complete in a single burst of creativity. During one of these “races,” he painted an astonishing 16,000 paintings in a single day. In another 24-hour period, he wrote 843 poems, published under the title Transcendence-Perfection. His thousands of poems, paintings and songs seem to flow effortlessly from some inner reserve, and Sri Chinmoy himself is the first to acknowledge his debt to a higher power. “Constantly something is coming to the fore and giving me infinite inspiration. My own human existence cannot fathom the divine capacity that God, out of His infinite Bounty, has granted me. But this same capacity God has granted to you and everyone else.”

Sri Chinmoy is back home form Central Park now, sitting on the front porch of his modest wood-frame house in the Jamaica Hills section of New York. The delicate cries of cockatiels, Peking nightingales and mynah birds filter onto the porch from the aviary in his living room, where he keeps 140 birds. A dozen of Sri Chinmoy's followers are seated on the floor, listening to their teacher's words.

"Everything I do is an expression of my inner cry for more truth, more light, more delight. I am not saying this for the sake of boasting. Only I want to tell you that I am not a poet or an artist or a runner. What I am is a seeker and what I do in all my activities, and what I shall always be doing, is aspiring to be a conscious and constant instrument of my Beloved Supreme. And because God Himself is always transcending His own existence reality, we, who are trying to be His conscious instruments, are doing the same."

Through dozens of university lectures, public meditations and concerts each year (always offered free of charge), through meetings with religious and political leaders, and through his work at the United Nations, Sri Chinmoy is carrying this message of self transcendence to seekers around the world.

It's part of a message and vision he first achieved during the 20 years he spent in a south Indian ashram from the ages of 12 to 32. During this period he worked as secretary to the ashram manager and was an active participant in sports, particularly track and field events and soccer. But beyond all else, it was a time of intense spiritual discipline. During those warm tropical nights, while others slept beneath their mosquito nets, Sri Chinmoy spent hours on end sitting cross-legged on his cot, absorbed in meditation.

"You have studied books on God and people have told you that God is in everybody, but this is all mental speculation. It is only when you realize God in your conscious life that you truly know who God is, what He looks like, what He wills. At that time you remain in God's consciousness all the time and speak to Him face to face. This is not mental hallucination or imagination; it is direct reality. And this reality is more authentic than my seeing you right here in front of me.

"But it is not enough to realize God in our own consciousness. We also have to manifest the highest truth here on earth. Otherwise, there will always be a yawning gulf between earth and heaven. Like divine warriors, we must work to transform this earth of ours into a place of joy, peace and delight.”

With this vision, Sri Chinmoy has been offering meditations for peace at the United Nations for the past twelve years, attempting to bring a new inner momentum to the age-old quest for world harmony. Meditating with in rapt silence, are diplomats and staff members from Africa, Asia, La America, Europe and North America.

"It is in the inner world that everything starts," he explains. “The peace that we attempt to grab from the outer world is only a temporary compromise. It is the peace that we bring forward from the inner world, through our prayer and meditation, that lasts.

"The world right now is a battlefield where the soldiers of fear, doubt, anxiety, imperfection and bondage fight against the divine soldiers of simplicity, sincerity, purity, humility and feeling of oneness." Meditation, he feels, strengthens the divine soldiers and creates a climate that, over time will change the world's political consciousness. The journey to peace, like the journey to God, is a marathon covering many spiritual miles.

Sri Chinmoy's contribution is recognized by many in the international community. "Sri Chinmoy's work is far more important than all the conferences in the United Nations," said Ambassador Zenon Rossides of Cyprus. “It's far more important than all the declarations of the Unit Nations." And in 1981 Vice Preside Jorge Illueca of Panama, deep moved by Sri Chinmoy's U.N. work, awarded the spiritual leader nation's highest decoration –- the Grand Cross of the Order of Balboa.

Will life's race ever end and perfection come to this world of ours? This a meaningless question to Sri Chinmoy. "Because our consciousness is evolving, our sense of perfection is all the time going higher. Today's dream will transform itself into tomorrow’s reality. But tomorrow's reality will be meaningless in comparison with what we are aiming at the following day. It is our destiny to change the face reality from bright to brighter to brightest, and from high to higher to highest."

And so, like an eternal runner, Sri Chinmoy is always moving to new horizons, striving for new heights. For this athlete of the spirit, the goal is always ahead.

Sri Chinmoy's Philosophy of the Heart

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 14:15:47

This talk about Sri Chinmoy’s philosophy was delivered in Russia in 2004.

Sri Chinmoy is a philosopher of consciousness, a philosopher of the spirit. In his writings, he describes in considerable detail the evolution of human consciousness, showing how it has emerged from the dim, limited awareness of the animal life to the analytic clarity and intelligence associated with the life of the mind – which represents its current stage of development.

The Strange Birds of Ottawa

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 14:08:23

This article was written several years ago after seeing Sri Chinmoy exhibition of one million bird drawings in Ottawa.

It's like a giant aviary. Hundreds of thousands of birds have found a temporary home here – hovering by the windowsills, clinging to the walls, nesting in the archways and vestibules. Everywhere there's movement – birds sweeping through the air in huge parabolas...tumbling from the ceiling like giant waterfalls...exploding through the halls like shards of light. What was once an empty four-story Heritage building in downtown Ottawa has been converted into one of the most astonishing art galleries ever built.

This exhibition of one million bird drawings by Indian artist Sri Chinmoy is unique in many ways. For one thing, according to the artist, they're not birds at all, but depictions of the human soul in the form of birds. Each bird, in effect, is an impression of immortality, a fragment of divinity that he has snagged with his paint brush and brought down from heaven. But that's not too surprising since Sri Chinmoy is not only an artist but a well-known spiritual teacher and mystic. The million soul-birds are inner visions that have risen up from the depths of his meditation, and with pen and brush he has given them form.

"Each of these birds is a prayer of my heart," he declares. "These prayers I am offering to the highest Absolute Lord Supreme." With a million prayers all converging in one spot, the gallery has become a veritable temple of worship. But there's nothing solemn about these bird-prayers. They literally vibrate with energy. A sense of joy infuses the curve of their wings, every thrust of their beaks, every hesitant kick of their newly discovered legs. If these birds are prayers, what the artist is worshipping is the dynamism and diversity of life itself.

The birds, ranging in size from less than a quarter-inch to three or four feet high, have been drawn with colored pens, acrylic paint, crayon and even magic marker on paper, note pads, rice paper, cloth and foam core. They appear singly and in groups, as notes on sheets of music, as messages on postcards, as vistas inside computer-generated circles. Many of the birds, especially the larger ones, have their own quirks and personalities. Some peer out boldly from their frames, staring at the world with eager curiosity. Some are puffed up like divas or shy and graceful as dancers. Some look puzzled, even bewildered, or joyful, vain, proud, quizzical. Some gaze at the viewer with sadness or compassion; others are self-absorbed, oblivious to the outside world. Some look absolutely dumb; others shimmer with intelligence.

In many of these creatures there's a whimsy or playfulness that is quite delightful. Their tiny eyes seem to be looking in all directions – over their shoulders, around corners, up into the air. Their round bodies are engaged in every imaginable activity – soaring off into the sky, plunging to earth, stretching their legs, smelling the fragrance of a flower, poking their heads into the ground.
Some of the birds are like soul mates, eternally paired; others fly side by side in giant columns – like an entire genealogy of families. Sometimes we'll see a large mother-bird surrounded by hundreds of offspring, as though the nestlings were continuations of the larger one's consciousness – like an explanation or footnote. A single painting will contain different species, as when hundreds of small pen-and-ink birds are zooming around a stationary bird drawn with a magic marker. And some of the larger bird souls are actually made up of thousands of smaller ones, which form its beak and the outline of its body.

Perhaps the most striking works are what one might call the godhead paintings – composed of tens of thousands of tiny, multi-colored birds. The birds themselves are almost too small to be distinguished; there's just an impression of movement, a density of consciousness pulsing from the canvas. From afar, the birds resemble a series of furrowed fields viewed from a great height – countless rows of microscopic souls intersecting and parting over the face of the canvas. Each "field" or section of birds has its own shape, its own color, its own movement. And within each section are other sections – tiny red birds flying their own formation amid the larger pattern of green birds, for example, like different planes of consciousness moving through one another. It's just too complex, too vast, for the human mind to comprehend. There's something transcendental, almost unhuman about it – like the face of God. Sri Chinmoy has somehow managed to create a body of work as awesome as the monoliths of Stonehenge – a universe as mysterious and sacred as anything any artist has ever done.

Gazing at this universe of souls with its infinite variety of shapes, colors and moods gives an almost religious experience. It's as though the artist has somehow managed to evoke in these paintings the beauty, the wonder, even the holiness of the soul's world. This universe of soul-birds, despite its unbelievable complexity, is very simple, highly ordered and extremely beautiful. There's something uplifting about it – a power, a calmness and, above all, a sense of absolute joy that leaves one deeply moved.

This exhibit of one million birds, and particularly these more unusual paintings, are like some orchestral performance from another world. As we listen to the strange, celestial melodies played by countless instruments, the notes blur into a single resonance, so that it seems more like silence than sound. In the depths of this silence, the mind no longer tries to understand; it surrenders to the heart, and the heart – fully awakened – becomes vast and still as the sky. When viewed in this kind of meditative state, the meaning and significance of Sri Chinmoy's soul-birds becomes most apparent.

The artist has entitled his exhibit "One Million Dream-Freedom Peace-Birds" and dedicated them to his mother for her birth centennial. "These birds," he says, "are a new creation – the creation that will sing the song of Immortality in the life of mortality. If we can identify with them as they fly in the sky of boundless freedom and peace, it will remind us that our own soul is also flying in the vast freedom-sky carrying the Message of our Lord Beloved Supreme here, there and everywhere." If we close our eyes, we can almost see these immortal soul-birds, necks outstretched, wings motionless, gliding through our own heart-sky – leaving a trail of hope, beauty and joy that we can forever cherish.

Painting the Universe

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 14:01:13

This is my impression of one of Sri Chinmoy's bird drawings - what we refer to as his Kanu-Yogamaya picture.

When we first see the painting, it is too much to grasp. The eye doesn't know how to take it all in. If we look at the birds one by one, we lose sight of the overall picture. If we focus on the larger colour patterns, the individual birds disappear. It's like trying to "see" the universe with our human faculties. We want to grasp what Guru is expressing, to feel what the painting embodies. But it's almost impossible, just as it's impossible for us to comprehend how the billions of objects and events in the inner and outer world interact with one another. Science makes a gallant effort, but there's just too much that defies human logic. We would have to be God Himself to see the pattern behind life's seemingly random and chaotic events.

But after gazing at the painting for a while, we start to notice that the universe Guru depicts is more comprehensible than it first appeared. Everything is ordered. Each "section" of birds, if I can describe the different groupings this way, has its mission, its own shape, its own colour, its own movement. And within each section are other sections - tiny blue birds flying their own formation amid the larger pattern of red or yellow birds, for example. Different planes of consciousness are weaving in and out of one another - maintaining their discrete identities while, at the same time, participating in the larger pattern of things. Each bird-life is joyful, spontaneous, free; but, taken together, the patterns of consciousness they form are structured and coherent - with an artistic logic and psychic beauty. This universe of birds, despite its complexity, is at bottom very simple, highly ordered and extremely beautiful.

As the eye moves back and forth from the individual birds to the bird patterns, we start to get a simultaneous sense of both realities - like seeing the ocean and its individual drops at the same time. But the birds aren't drops of water. They are living beings, drawn by their creator with enormous love; and this love they express and embody. Each bird, so to speak, is like a distinct heartbeat throbbing with love. And the heart patterns they form, the entire painting in fact, vibrates with intense love.

Observing how the birds function individually and collectively, seeing how the moment of love that each bird represents interacts with the timeless love that the painting itself embodies, we get a glimpse of how Guru himself might "see" or experience the universe - as though Guru in this painting had somehow reduced all of existence to a form the human consciousness could grasp. So that was my experience of the painting.

The Song of Life

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 13:53:44

I wrote this article in May 2005 after Sri Chinmoy completed his 12,000th Bengali song. Since the article is more personal than some of my other writings, I refer to my Master as “Guru,” which is what I normally call Sri Chinmoy. You will see this from time to time in some of my other articles as well – but without this explanation.

Perhaps Guru’s greatest musical achievement lies not in the haunting melodies or poetic grandeur of his songs but in their ability to express the very essence of silence. Many of Guru’s Bengali songs are pure rivers of silence, so quiet and deep that it is nearly impossible to distinguish them from their source. They seem to emerge from a fullness we can only imagine and take on a luminous existence all their own. Long after his songs have ended, the sound fading from our ears, their silence and beauty still resonate in our hearts. His music has become part and parcel of the earth atmosphere – like the cry of birds or rustling of the wind – and it shall forever remain embedded in our natural world.

Guru sometimes speaks of the loka he has waiting for his disciples in Heaven, the world we shall one day see after we leave the body. But when he performs his Bengali songs, we can easily experience this divine loka here on earth. Where Guru’s songs are – there and nowhere else is the real Heaven. As the music flows from his lips or fingers, we can almost see him building his great loka – thread by golden thread, note by glowing note. Entering his music world is like stepping onto the ledge behind a huge waterfall. Nothing exists except the deafening roar of water and swirling, sunlit clouds of mist. Surrounded by the heavenly music pouring down on all sides, immersed in the golden sunlight of Guru’s songs, we find the ordinary world very distant – blurred, subdued, only half real.

Guru calls his paintings Jharna-Kala, Fountain-Art, but his songs also come in an endless flow of creativity. From this Jharna-Giti he has created myriad worlds as bright and varied as his world of birds. If each bird is a flash of lightning, then each song is a veritable explosion, a flaming volcano, a blazing sun. Guru has created 12,000 galaxies of light that will one day illumine the entire darkness-ocean of human existence.

Each of Guru’s songs is a meditation, just as each of his meditations is a song. In fact, Guru’s whole life is a most exquisite song, the greatest song, which God Himself is personally singing. We his students are part of Guru’s life-song. Each one of us is a song that Guru at every moment is painstakingly and lovingly composing. At the same time, we are just a musical phrase, a single note, in the extraordinary song that is Guru’s life. We are celebrating Guru’s unimaginable human creation of 12,000 Bengali songs. But this pales before the untold thousands and millions of songs he is divinely creating in our lives and in the life of humanity through his meditations, his prayers, his poems, his weightlifting and his countless other activities on earth.

My aspiration-heart is deeply grateful for Guru’s Bengali songs. My devotion-life is especially grateful for Guru’s ‘Chidananda’ song – the song of my life. My realization-dream is everlastingly grateful for Guru’s ‘Chinmoy’ song, which is nothing other than God’s golden smile on earth. My soul-reality is eternally grateful for Guru’s supreme Song, the Supreme Himself – His Eternity’s Fullness-Breath, His Immortality’s Consciousness-Life.

The Glory, the Grandeur of the Synthesizer

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 13:48:14

Guru’s esraj has always been my favorite instrument; it almost invariably transports me to a world of peace and light, perhaps even bliss. In the middle of a concert, when I am flooded with its supernal beauty and stillness, the synthesizer can come as a shock. One moment I’m deep inside my heart, sitting by the fire in a warm cabin, so to speak; the next moment I’m standing outside in a torrential rain, the roof and walls collapsed around me.

Guru’s synthesizer music is like a great storm – with fierce bolts of lightning and deafening thunder. Huge trees are being uprooted, entire villages swept away. Surges of consciousness, like tsunami waves, rise towering into the air, then suddenly crash down. Gods and demons grapple for supremacy, colliding like giant mountains forced up by a terrible earthquake, while the very planet shakes and trembles. This is the vital world that Guru deals with every day, and his keyboard music conveys it brilliantly. But it also conveys much more.

When Guru was playing the synthesizer on Father’s Day (2005), I happened to be concentrating on the statue of the dancing Lord Shiva behind his chair. The few times I glanced over at Guru, there seemed to be no connection between the person at the keyboard and the source of these astonishing sounds. Guru was an illusion; the concentration on his face, the movement of his hands, all deception. Whoever or whatever was making the music was not human; nor was the music human. What we were witnessing was something almost unfathomable: the Unknown creating the Unknowable – the impersonal in Guru performing for the impersonal in us.

But Guru never really performs; he does something far more extraordinary. He fashions a world, in the much the same way as the Supreme Himself fashions His own sound-manifestation. Guru’s music erupts from stillness, from nothingness…thunders in grandeur…then abruptly ceases. While Guru is playing, it seems the music can never stop. Suddenly it is no longer there, and all that remains is a deafening silence.

Watching Guru play is almost like witnessing the birth and death of a world – from the instant of creation to the instant it all ends. One moment there is nothing; the next moment a complete world stands before us – with thundering chords, explosive rhythms, sweeping melodies. For a few minutes, we see this world playing out its life: the boat of sound, like a tiny speck surrounded by the infinite ocean…with no horizon in sight. This outburst of music, this boat of time steaming across an empty ocean, is the only sound, the only thing moving in the entire universe. And when the music stops, as eventually it must, the boat sinks back into the ocean, leaving no trace.

This musical interlude we call life, no matter how brief and insignificant in scale, is of supreme importance in the vast scheme of things; and when Guru plays, this is what he reveals. His keyboard performance is more than a portrait of the vital plane, more than a depiction of the inner forces governing our human world. In a very real sense, it is our world. It is a representation of life itself, the musical expression of God’s own sound-life in its myriad forms. What we are listening to is a short excerpt, a few moments, from the dance of life. It can be called music only in the sense that the physical world, the manifestation, is the music played by God the Supreme Musician. It can be called music only metaphorically – in a feeble attempt to express the height and majesty of the ‘sound’ we call God the creation.

The esraj and the synthesizer represent, in a sense, two complementary realities: the world of silence and the world of sound, heaven and earth. The esraj shows us God’s ineffable Silence-Beauty; the synthesizer shows us God’s unfathomable Power and Will. To my Absolute Lord Supreme I am offering this prayer: May my heart eternally remain a devoted child of my Master’s esraj. May my life one day become a worthy instrument of my Master’s synthesizer.

A Cello Concert Remembered

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 13:44:45

This short reflection is about a cello concert Sri Chinmoy gave on Sept. 27, 1996.

Sri Chinmoy’s singing and cello playing absolutely melted my heart Friday night. The music itself, inexpressibly beautiful and subtle, seemed to emanate soundlessly from an instrument that could have been either Sri Chinmoy’s physical body or the cello, or both. When it touched the earth atmosphere, it was nearly impossible to say whether it was music or meditation, since sound and silence were continually flowing into one another. Sri Chinmoy’s music overwhelmed the mind. Like a river, too deep and powerful to resist, it swept everything into its current. It was a night of beauty and silence, expressed through the notes of a cello, a timeless period when all was full, complete and perfect.

13,000 Rivulets of Consciousness

Chidananda Burke — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 13:34:38

This is excerpted from an article I wrote after Sri Chinmoy completed his 13,000th Bengali song in July 2006.

When Sri Chinmoy sings, his voice seems to fill the whole room, the whole building, the whole world. His song is like a boat that suddenly appears on a vast, empty sea – the boat of sound emerging from the stillness of eternity. As the boat surges ahead, it seems to be the only thing moving, the only sound in the entire universe. And we’re left with the feeling that if the song ever ended, if the boat ever halted, there would be nothing.

As the boat crashes through the surrounding silence, rising and falling according to its own internal rhythm, great waves splash across its bow – moments of time stirred up from the ocean stillness. His songs seem not to unfold in time, but rather, to create time – through their own forward motion; and when the music pauses, time does so as well.

We see this during some of his slow haunting pieces, especially when Sri Chinmoy holds a high note and the boat hangs suspended on the crest of a wave – as still and motionless as the ocean itself. For those of us inside the boat, lost in Sri Chinmoy’s music, it’s as though everything in the world has vanished or come to a halt, including time, and nothing exists except this exquisitely beautiful note, this fullness of sound that seems to go on forever. Then suddenly Sri Chinmoy moves on, the boat lurches forward, and we’re back in the function hall again, listening to his singing.

Sri Chinmoy’s songs take birth in the sublime stillness of his meditative consciousness. His meditation is like a great mystical mountain, whose snow-capped peak looms far above the earth. His songs are like the smallest trickle running down from that mountainous silence to the world below. At its height, the music is static, frozen, unchanging – part of the glacial splendor of God’s Mind. But as it breaks off into rivulets of consciousness and enters the earth plane, it takes on a certain fluidity, a subtlety of mood, a breadth of feeling and emotion associated with human life, and becomes music.

These rivulets of music, of consciousness, imbued with the full range of the composer’s earthly experience, yet still resonating with the grandeur of their source, are the greatest treasures for humanity. By the time they descend to the ordinary world, they have become powerful rivers – like the Amazon or Ganges. Who can even imagine the impact these 13,000 rivers will have as they flow down from heavenly planes, bringing God’s own Sound-Consciousness to the aspiring humanity!

There will assuredly come a time in the near or distant future when Sri Chinmoy’s rivers of song will flow through every man’s lips, when this great Master’s immortal music-height and mankind’s soaring aspiration-flight will join together to transform this suffering world of ours into an oasis of supernal beauty, everlasting peace and crowning fulfillment.

The Consciousness of Lions

Chidananda Burke — Mon, 25 Dec 2006 15:41:45

This is an edited version of an article I wrote about one of Sri Chinmoy’s unusual lifts during his Nov. 13, 2004 weightlifting demonstration.

For years they had stood at the entrance to the temple, two 1000-pound stone lions, eyes blank, like sentinels of heaven. Passing between them, one could almost feel their power. With their massive physical presence and forceful inner presence, they seemed to straddle two worlds – half-alive and half not-alive.

Then one day they appeared at a great indoor arena, the auditorium of York College in Queens, where Sri Chinmoy planned his Nov. 13 weightlifting demonstration. That day, the auditorium would become the scene of heroic contests and deeds, where the denseness of matter would confront the openness of spirit.

By all accounts it promised to be an unforgettable event...