I arrive at my favorite terrace in the fold of the mountains, some distance away from the village. The conditions are perfect. The heavens are ablaze with radiance. The temperature is just right, not too cold, not too humid. I spread my plastic sheet on the ground and situate it so that my head directly faces the big triangle of stars within which Annabel resides. I put on my warm jacket and lay down on the plastic sheet. Now I am home, among the stars, almost being touched by them. In my motionless state, absorbed by their iridescent energy, which is showered on me from all the directions, I am completely surrounded by the stars. I cannot remember this kind of experience earlier — to be surrounded by the stars from all directions.
I have read in one of the Tibetan texts that through some yogic exercises, one can directly consume the energy of the stars. In spite of some efforts, I could not find these exercises. Yet in my own way, I feel and know that I am now being nourished by the stars, by their radiance and energy. There is something intoxicating in this spectacle of the stars pouring their energy in the pores of my body and the recesses of my mind. I feel privileged to be able to inhale this great energy. What if this inhalation is just an illusion of my mind? Well, yes, (I smile to myself) I am sorry for those who have been brainwashed themselves to think so; and who can never experience the ultimate glory of being enfolded by the cosmic energy.
I have already been laying on the ground for several minutes, gently embracing the stars and being embraced by them. Then a shooting star in the vicinity of the big triangle crosses the skies. It welcomes me. And I know that. The time has arrived for another conversation with Annabel. I have been gazing at her for some time, not knowing how to start. Then I tentatively begin.
H.S. How is it out there? How are you?
A. It is always the same. And I am always the same.
(I don’t know what to say next. But I persevere.)
H.S. And how am I?
A. You are always changing. Such is the condition of your earthly existence.
H.S. So who is better off? You in your regal permanence or myself in my fleeting change-ness, but amidst freedom and creativity?
A. The first part of the question is silly. But the second part of the question is interesting. You are imperfect in your continuous change and striving. But you possess freedom and creativity. And what is the price of these is a great question.
H.S. Would you prefer to change your state of being with mine?
A. Another silly question.
H.S. I didn’t mean to be silly. I only meant to tease you a little.
A. (sternly) The stars are not tease-able.
H.S. (I was straightened up by this reprimand and thought to myself: well, yes but perhaps they are adorable. Annabel read my thoughts and responded.)
A. Perhaps they are adorable, but not in the human sentimental way.
H.S. How right you are. What would I be in the human world without this immensity of the stars and their energy, which, I know is reverberating in all my cells and in every atom of my brain. This admiration for the stellar realms is what makes you adorable.
A. Now you are making sense.
H.S. But tell me why you, from the realm of your imperturbable perfection ever bother to talk to us, to take interest in us, and to guide us here and there?
A. Because we cannot think and articulate the state of our existence in the way you can do it — consciously and deliberately.
H.S. So we are your articulators, heralds of consciousness — of the cosmos, as it unfolds in ever more forceful and deliberate manner.
A. Something like that. But don’t be too conceited and puffed up. You are nothing without us. We are quintessentially part and parcel of your energy and your entire being. We are cosmically one. We have already established this in earlier dialogues. We, the stars, need human consciousness to know where we are and who we are. We need human consciousness to know (consciously) our destiny. This is why we are helping you. And ‘helping’ is not the right term. More adequate way would be to say this is why we are participating in your project.
H.S. Partly because we are participating in your project?
A. Yes!
H.S. It is a funny business, these cosmic connections.
A. Yes, but you should not call it ‘funny.’ Funny it is not, but wonderful it is.
H.S. This is really what I meant — it is wonderful, but opaque and mysterious. I have noticed in our earlier dialogues that you cannot help us in our articulations but you can recognize them, once they have occurred — as a part of your unfolding, so to speak.
A. Yes, it is something like that. If we could articulate, and express our articulations in some kind of language, we would not have needed you — humans — as our articulators and antennae. We could perhaps even express all these matters more deeply and concisely. But we do not have the power of your articulation.
H.S. And you don’t have our creativity and our endless imagination — to express the various realms in so many ways — until we become overwhelmed and confused with the sheer variety of understandings.
A. That may also be the case.
H.S. Let me narrow my focus. Originally I asked you the question: how am I? You have watched my unfoldings and my articulations. I really meant to ask you some more searching and personal questions. How have I done? And which direction should I go?
A. This you know yourself — more or less. You have not gone deep enough in your meditation. You have not succeeded in creating a deeper space for your continuous meditation. And somehow, you have not had enough courage to transcend further. Transcendence is an endless quest.
H.S. I know, I know. The normal circumstances of life are so jittery, so un-quiet, so un-peaceful. I have to escape to remote places, where I can find an external peace. Only then can I find the right circumstances to practice my deep meditation. One such place is Greece and the village of Theologos, at the edge of which I am talking to you. Another such place are the Himalayan Hills where, in the midst of total tranquility and while surrounded by the grandeur of the Himalayas one can find new dimensions of one’s existence.
A. But peace is ultimately the inner peace. You must find it inside yourself.
H.S. Yes, but external circumstances may help or may hamper and ultimately incapacitate you. It is not without a reason that the illustrious ones were escaping into the desert or some other places of seclusion — to arrive at the Great Peace.
A. Is transcendence also a matter of peace?
H.S. No, it is mainly the matter of courage, of getting out of yourself this inner substance, which is sitting there. I don’t think I lack courage. But perhaps I don’t have enough of it. This kind of courage (that is) which is piercing through all the walls, and, which is a bit mad. This touch of madness is exemplified by the Great Lights, which have succeeded. Our present times are characterized by the complete lack of courage. People are conditioned to be spineless poodles, obedient ciphers, who only consume.
A. And you want to be burning with fire.
H.S. Yes, I don’t want to be ordinary because it is a kiss of death — while you are alive. I want to be divinely mad. But not ordinarily mad. Ordinary madness has destroyed many inspired and ascending minds. I also want to be divinely lucid. For this kind of lucidity may be a vehicle of transcendence. What I find around myself is the drabness of the mind and the drabness of aspirations. In this climate, transcendence is denied and sneered at.
A. But what prevents you to be transcendent in your personal life?
H.S. Actually nothing. Yet, one does not live and think in a vacuum. I do not say that I feel like a rat in a cage. I do my act of transcending. I tear apart the box in which they have tried to put me.
A. And so what is the problem? Where is the problem?
H.S. Well, yes, I see too many excellent and worthy minds, which have succumbed to the chains and “settled” — to live in a consumptive slavery. On another plane, I see too many great beings who were devoured by the flames and perished — either being unjustly persecuted or by burning out within.
A. So what do you want to be? A Jesus? A Buddha? A Lau Tzu?
H.S. An interesting question. Do I dare to answer it? No, I don’t want to be a Jesus. Among my brightest students, there were two who wanted to match Jesus — at different times, of course, not together. I watched their quest from excellence to divinity and then to madness until they found themselves in the lunatic asylum. I stood by them, carefully observing their painful decline and then slow and wobbly recovery. The present Western culture claims to be derived from the teachings of Jesus. But it has become so confused by its amnesia that whoever claims to be an incarnation of Jesus is likely to be put behind bars.
A. It is hard to believe that. How strange is the dialectics of love — from sheer admiration to sheer exploitation. But what about the Buddha?
H.S. Well, he has not been persecuted by his own people. He did accomplish a wonderful peace and equanimity. He radiated this peace (just as much as Jesus’ presence radiated love). Yet, there were three assassination attempts on his life. He died rather tired at the age of 80 — not by natural death actually; but by being inadvertently poisoned by mushrooms. He did not create any church. But left behind 800 enlightened arhats.
A. It is not quite clear what you are trying to convey to me.
H.S. Perhaps that one cannot be a New Jesus, a New Buddha, a New Lau Tzu. They were the figures and the sources of energy uniquely exemplifying their times. We can only be their followers and the epigones. Perhaps nowadays only the epigones, while our soul desperately thirsts for a new spiritual energy to appease its eternal craving.
A. This may be so. But still, the spiritual resources of humanity are enormous. You did not mention anything about Lau Tzu. Do you not find him admirable?
H.S. Yes, I do. He was such a free soul, so noble and benign and so beautifully enigmatic in the depth of his teaching. When his time was coming up, he somehow orchestrated his departure and his future. He was traveling on his yak (some say donkey) eastward, towards the great Tibetan planes. He knew that he could be stopped by the guard on the border. And he was. The guard recognized him — not by his misdemeanors but because of his wisdom — and told him that he could not cross the border unless he wrote up his teaching, his philosophy. Lau Tzu complied. For thirty days he was writing down his story, which became the immortal poem and philosophical treatise expressing the Taoist philosophy. His mission accomplished, he mounted his yak and went East. Without any disciples or students accompanying him. Ultimately he became dissolved in the mist of the Himalayan Mountains. What a fitting end for such a peaceful and sublime philosopher.
A. It is a nice story. But tell me, are you a Taoist?
H.S. Well, no. But actually we are all Taoists, including you.
A. You have caught me off guard with your remark. Is Taoism such a deep philosophy that it includes even us, the stars?
H.S. And why not? Is it not deep and fathomless enough?
A. Now, tell me where are you with your own philosophy and your aspirations.
H.S. You tell me. I told you where I am not — yet.
A. I see. So you want me to help you.
H.S. You have already helped by listening to my peregrinations.
A. So where do we go from here?
H.S. You would say upward, to further transcendence.
A. I certainly would.
H.S. Transcendence is such a nice term; nay, such a powerful idea. You hold onto it and you are being carried forward and upward.
A. For you — is transcendence the end in itself, this divine process, which carries you furthered and further?
H.S. I hope not the end in itself but only an instrument, a vehicle, which will carry me to this land of bliss, within which, like Lau Tzu, I will be united with the Himalayan mist of eternal being, light and all-knowing.
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