Effacing Separation

With Musharaff, the Calcutta tailor.

Looking back, I realize the Big Question I have been meditating on sprang from a Times of India article, "Sever Connections, Overcome Illusions," published Nov. 30, 2007, the day before I arrived in Bangalore this time.

The writer, Dr. Deepak M. Ranade, a consultant neurosurgeon, wrote that our senses, “Trick the brain into believing the separate existence of all that it sees, feels and hears.” He further asserts that out of this misconception, we come to believe in the, “deceptive trilogy of the seer, the seen and the process of seeing.”

With many cultural barriers and social constructs falling away these past few months, I am feeling more and more related to everyone and everything. As I’ve noted in early blog entries, the distinction of stranger is gone. The perception that there is still a Me and a Them has remained, and I have considered it a sign of sanity!

Yet, on the streets of Calcutta this weekend, seeing a solitary tiny girl jumping rope, I clearly experienced her joy, I felt the “I and she” line get blurry. Though January is not a season of precipitation, there had been a cold, relentless rain for more than two days. Getting outside on the wet pavement with a jump rope was a perfect way to celebrate the sun’s return, and I felt, physically, a singing out.

The three part distinction: “1- I… 2-see… 3-something,” has been a consuming image I’ve wanted to shake. Separation has such a falseness about it, like a wall between me and the sun, I want to jump up or look around it, to see and feel the sun.

Later on Jump Rope Morning, I sat inside a white marble Catholic Church and watched a young boy leading the choir, while playing the electric keyboard. Each time he made eye contact with a singer, he grinned broadly. I did, too. The zing of the smile ran through my body. My body? The seer felt what the seen felt?!

Dr. Ranade explained in his deliciously challenging Times of India column that the only way perception can perceive itself is by “effacing itself completely.” In my 55 years, the only time I have ever read the word effacing was in this phrase, “s/he was a self-effacing person.” Effacing or to efface means, “To rub or wipe out, obliterate, erase or do away with.”

While the ego may fear such harsh treatment, the idea of eliminating the distinction the observer and the observed thrills me. To judge or devalue someone or something when we are One seems like the ultimate in self abuse.
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Traveling to Calcutta by plane with my friend Sujata, we had several agendas. One was to meet her son’s choice of a wife and the girl’s extended family. While the marriage is not the traditional arranged one organized by the parents, both sets of parents still have a key role in blessing the union, and agreeing to assist in the various ceremonies, including an engagement party and the formal wedding.

Two, we had some temples we wanted to meditate in, on the Ganges River, the Mother of all Rivers in India. The rain greeted us upon our arrival, and never let up. A friend said after noting this was our fourth city in a month where the rains have met us, that drizzle is a sign, “good people are on a good mission.” What a nice way to regard our wet and muddy pants, jackets, shawls and feet. The third reason for our trip was to meet a great tailor, who we hoped would make us some lovely outfits, including a suit from a sari Suja had given me.

In the first temple of Ramakrishna, we were privileged to spend time in the residence of the late yogi, and to meditate at the foot of his bed. On a sunny day, the crowds would have been overwhelming. Here, we had the room to ourselves.

Seated in the quiet, with the gray shroud pulled over the Ganges and the temple, I found my mind wandering to the Seer, Seeing, Seen tricotomy I have been mulling over. A clear distinction popped up within, “It just the Divine experiencing itself. And All is Divine.”

Aha! The brain might be trying to fool me into believing the Me and Them distinction, but I heard differently. Like a child resisting the directive to share my toys, the first instinct might be selfish, to see my Self as separate. We must Share is the earliest lesson, leading to We are One.

Ramakrishna lived in the 1800s, and there are many wonderful stories of his childhood and life as a living saint in India. As age six, he was eating rice outdoors when watching a black cloud, heavy with rain in the sky. Soon, the whole sky was black with clouds, and a flock of white cranes passed across. Staring intently at this beauty, little Ramakrishna swooned, passed out and fell on the ground, overtaken by beauty.

As a man, Ramakrishna spent 12 years worshipping the Divine in all the religious traditions. He learned about Hindus, Muslims and Christians, and practiced their ways. The little children’s book I got at the temple bookstore, Ramakrishna for Children by Swami Vishwashrayananda, says it so sweetly, “He learned God is One; different religions only call Him by different names and think of Him in different forms. The doctrines and the paths may be different but the goal is the same. There are as many doctrines as there are paths,” but One Truth (I add).
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Meeting Nitya Jain, the bride to be, and her family, was an honor. As the only non family member in present, I saw my hosts had long ago dropped the distinction of Us and Them. Watching Siddu, the groom to be, train his eyes on Nitya wherever she moved, I realized I was part of a very precious moment. Being in the presence of Love, tender new love, is not unlike seeing a smiling baby in the airport. Our hearts lift, our lungs fill, we are One.

Reflecting on the concept of family members approving a marriage, I saw the flaws. Judging a relationship? Evaluating a bride? I knew it wasn’t my job, but was it the duty of the family? Nearly 30 years old, two successful professionals, clearly smitten with one another….what could we add?

John Selby writes in his book, Seven Masters, One Path, about Jesus’ and Buddha’s teachings on judgment. “Jesus and Buddha recommend that we function in judgment mode as little as possible, so as to be fully engaged with the world rather than lost in thought.” Selby reminds us so clearly, “We can’t experience reality and also judge it at the same time!”

So if we know we don’t wish to be in judgment, where are we? In acceptance? And if we wish to move beyond acceptance, where are we? We are Being.
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Saturday morning I was introduced to Musharaff, a 26 year old tailor, who came to the house. He was dressed in a muffler and vest; the outdoors was blustery and wet.

I learned both his parents were dead, and that he was taught the trade by his father. Musharaff cares for his brothers and also his own family.

During our appointment, Siddu (the groom to be) went out into the rain, and was instructed to take an umbrella at the door. Only later did we realize the umbrella Siddu took was Musharaff’s! After being unable to find another umbrella in the house (even the cook had loaned hers out) I handed Musharaff some money and asked him to please buy a good umbrella for himself, it would be my honor to treat him. We looked at each other with delight! What a great solution!

Less than 10 hours later, that new umbrella and Musharaff poked back into the house. He had finished three complicated pieces of clothing for me, in a day! I was so touched and he was so pleased. We beamed at one another. I felt the pleasure of the moment, a mutual experience, within me.

Over and over, Calcutta showed me Oneness, though my brain continued to work hard at fooling me into separateness.
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How many of us like to begin our days with some time of quiet and inspiration? Seated with a cup of coffee, staring out the window? Reading a devotional or having some time of meditation? In our hosts’ home, the matriarch, Sitamani, begins her day reading her prayers. She told me that she has entered her 89th year, and she has had good luck and bad luck. The bad luck is her son died of a heart attack. The good luck, her daughter in law cares for her like a mother, not a mother in law. Again, I saw the folly in labeling or creating distance between us.

Sitamani’s world is small. She told me she walks between the dining room, her bedroom, the bathroom, the puja room (chapel) and living room. Most of her day is spent seated on a couch in her bedroom. I asked her if she would read to me, and she commenced to read a section of her scriptures that listed 1000 names for God. As she read, I heard how much strength she required in her breath to continue the chanting. I wanted her little feet, wrapped in socks with toes, wiggling along with the verses.

Haven’t I seen my husband’s feet do that? My son’s when he was small? Do all feet do that when we are reading something we love? Energy in motion, the Universal Consciousness Dancing to the Song of Celebration?
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A TV commercial on the airplane monitor kept repeating the word, Santush. I learned it means peacefulness, contentment, to be satisfied. Calcutta was a Santush time, despite the rain, and dirt and wearying nature of travel.

At baggage claim in Bangalore late Sunday night, we faced a sea of people searching for their suitcases. Suja was exhausted, dulled by cold medicine. I plunged into the standing room only crowd, in search of our bags.

Within minutes, I was laughing. It was ridiculous! Hilarious! No one could see the conveyor belt, we were packed so tightly. Tired, cranky, all wanting the same thing: “Gimme My Bag so I can get to My House, My Bed, My Family, My Toilet!”

Surely, baggage claim is the ultimate example of Oneness! Santush!