Devotion

Written by Nigel Philpot

I started to think about devotion a couple of years ago when I was talking to my ole dharma buddy Paul Morton about Hinduism.

I knew little about Hinduism other than it preceded  Buddhism and seemed to teach a similar message. So Paul took me through a rough tour of the history of Hinduism starting with Krishna, its founder, some 5000 years ago.

Or did it start with Brahma? Well, the world started with Brahma or to put it more accurately, Brahma, it is said, created the world. It is of course a myth but quite a captivating one, that Paul told. Brahma was residing in pure bliss and contentment, perched high up, within the petals of a lotus plant that had a very tall stem. With very little to do it is as if he asked himself “ Well, now what…what next?”  In response to his dilemmna he set about creating the world.

“ So where do the teachings and Hindu scripts come from?” I asked Paul. Not from Brahma it would seem but from his consort Krishna who sang the scriptures at great length in one outburst, accompanied by his flute.

I was struck by the imagery and poetry of it all and as Paul spoke further of the development of Hinduism, I realized how important are story, parable and myth and their ability to convey meaning to the Hindu faith. Paul spoke of his attraction to the religion because of its colour and ritual which still pervades every day Indian life. The religious festivities are a celebration of life and a surrender to it in all its many aspects ; and the surrender is total, public, visible for all to see.. There is no holding back, inhibition or false piety. No division between the sacred and the mundane. Here is all of life.

Having visited India and witnessed some of the festivities at places like Benares, I knew what Paul meant. My mind flashed quickly to our own streets and felt sad that such riotously colourful festivities had no place there. The whole notion is alien to Western culture.

The nearest we have come to it is the Hare Krishna movement in the 70’s and 80’s, strings of shaven headed dovotees snaking down Oxford Street chanting “ Hare Krishna. Krishna. Krishna” and ringing bells as they went. It was at this point that I realized why Hinduism, with its public, extrovert display of religious fervour and devotion has not really caught hold in the UK and conversely why Buddhism with its more cerebral approach was of more appeal to the Western mind. In Buddhism there were numerous texts and concepts we could read and discuss. Yes, these in themselves would not be sufficient: there had to be practice and meditation but we would be spared public celebration. All we need do is look within and find our own salvation. No need to make a song and dance about it! Indeed, it would require long periods of solitary retreat. Rather than celebrate with the kids it was a good excuse to get away from them. Or follow the monastic path and avoid having families altogether!

But there is an important issue here which is to do with spiritual paths and practices and the cultural contexts in which these take place. It is said that there are three types of man/woman and consequently three paths to enlightenment and salvation. And these are: the paths of devotion, intellect and action. Returning to Paul’s potted history of Hinduism, it was interesting to see how the development of these paths, particularly those of devotion and intellect played out. Subsequent to Krishna, Hinduism split into two main schools of thought and approach. These were the Mayavadi school with a more intellectual, drier approach, based on the lofty and higher truth of non-dualism (Advaita) and the Gaudimath school which was more devotional in its approach and grounded in the dualistic (Vaita) realities of life. This school was founded around 1486 AD by Chaitanya who is said to be the last incarnation of Krishna.

The two schools clashed and there was confusion among the people as to which one to follow. Which school held the greater truth and knowledge? Something had to be done, so the two leaders decided to meet for debate to claim their supremacy. But it seems that no debate took place or was necessary. Chaitanya, leader of the Gaudimath school was seated in a very inauspicious location among debris and piles of rubbish surrounded by his followers and awaiting his opponent but such was his prescence that he emitted a glowing radiance that was evident for all to see….including his opposite number and his followers who submitted immediately to him. Their hearts had been opened….they were in ecstacy. The school of devotion (bhakti) had won the day.

It is said that Buddhism arose out of the need to get to the essence of the dharma, the core truth of the teachings and to strip away all the paraphernalia of Gods and Godesses, rituals and ceremonies which had grown up around Hinduism. But in doing so, maybe something important has been lost: the mystery, the magic, the celebratory, the communal – the sense of something bigget and beyond ourselves which we can reach out to and partake in. With Eastern religion coming to the West The emphasis has switched to the individual (no surprise there!) and the responsibility to find our own salvation. Maybe in Indian Hindu culture this notion of the sharply defined separate ego/individual is not so deeply embedded in the consciousness and their cultural and religious life therefore allows easier and more natural access and  expression of the individuals connection with the totality of life.  

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Teignmouth: A September Sunday

Written by Nigel Philpot

It wasn't a very inviting day, overcast and grey. But it was warm and there were quite a few people milling around, on the green and along the front. The pier was busy too, with families ferverently working the machines. Vast fortunes of coppers, 10p and 20p pieces tittered, tantalising on the edge - one more coin and its jackpot? Come on give it a go.

My friend, Ian, and I walked through the arcade and to the end of the pier. We turned and looked back at the sea front. The tide was in and a choppy sea crashed its waves against the sea wall. Behind that, the sleepy but elegant town of  Teignmouth, hotels and flats looking out to sea with façades that looked freshly painted for the season; carefully chosen shades of white, beige and yellow. The church tower stood in the background, rising above them all with an air of superiority and disdain. We took photos, hoping they would capture the atmosphere

Coming off the pier we dropped down to a stretch of beach that was still exposed. Fine grains of wet red sand, mixed with small pebbles. There was something about the sea that puzzled Ian. “What colour would you call that?” he asked. It was a far remove from the crystal clear blue waters often found along this coast – more like a dirty bluish-brown. Ian came up with a more stark description “scummy brown”. The colour was still with him when some time later he recalled how it reminded him of water draining from a septic tank – a distant memory had been invoked.

We took off our shoes and socks, feeling our feet sink in the sand. “Lets do twenty minutes earthing” suggested Ian : allowing the earth's energy to enter our feet and work its way up through our body, connecting more fully with the marine landscape.

And so we walked along the beach and through the incoming water until our way was blocked by by larger waves. We turned back towards the pier, passing a large Labrador frantically digging a hole in the sand and a boy in swimmers and bare chest who had braved the waters. I was reminded of Tagore's lines “ On the seashores of the world, the children play.”    

Back on land we sat on a wall and went through that awkward process of putting shoes and socks back on. Ian said he liked the feeling of the sand between his toes. I couldn't imagine why. We took posy photos of each other looking out to sea and of me trying to climb what appeared to be a miniature, mock lighthouse. A tourist plaque in formed us that it had indeed been a fully operational lighthouse. In the background was the inevitablecrazy golf across the Green and a café selling teas, hot dogs and ice creams. It reminded me of holidays spent in places like these as a child.

Then, looking up, we saw an enormous bird, high up in the sky, winging its way over the headland towards us. As the image came closer, it transformed into a para glider, arms held high, clutching two sets of strings attached to his wings. He sat there comfortably, in his cradle, as if in an armchair at home and glided gracefully towards the green, circling this way and then that, to break his speed, finally coming to ground on the green itself, as any bird would. We marvelled at his skill.  

We walked on and followed the shoreline to the end where it met the mouth of the Teign river estuary and then turned inland following the rivers edge. The locals call this the “back beach” As we looped round we were now at the back of some sea huts that looked out to sea. Here, away from the noise of the crashing sea it was much quieter ; a unexpected peacefulness descended. A long, sleek, ferry chugged its way to the other side of the estuary and we picked our way through boats pitched on the sand, back towards the town. There were still signs of life; pubs and one or two takeaways open, a few people walking the pedestrianised streets.

It was the end of a Sunday and the end of a season. 

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I would welcome comments about my blogs

Lama Zopa and the lobsters

Written by Nigel Philpot

Lama Zopa and Lama Yeshe were a formidable pair, travelling the world spreading their particular form of Tibetan Buddhism. They were both of similar height and stature: Lama Yeshe a fuller figure with a broad radiant smile and Lama Zopa his younger disciple, leaner and more studious in his demeanour but with the occasional wry smile.

They both came to Conishead Priory in the Lake District in the summer of 1979; Lama Yeshe to teach Tantric Buddhism while Lama Zopa was to deliver a course in the graduated path to Enlightenment ( Lam Rim) –the renowned teaching of Lama Tsong Khapa who had condensed all the teachings of the buddha into a shortened form back in the 14^th Century.

On the way to his daily talks, Lama Zopa would walk from his room, surrounded by a small group of people. He moved with a slight stoop, looking up now and again to talk to those who approached him in his path. He seemed to continuously pull and adjust his crimson red robes around him, perhaps drawing comfort from his familiar dress in the face of the many unfamiliar Western faces he was about to encounter.

He would silently shuffle into the room where we waited, mount a rostrum built for the occasion and assume the lotus position in front of his audience. His English was not very good; in fact it was quite broken but, incredibly, that didn’t seem to matter. People hung on his every word, as the importance and depth of what he was saying gradually began to sink in. It is a very strange and wonderful experience when you suddenly realise that an idea or thought that is quite commonplace, can be quite profound at the same time. (Ex?) Maybe it was the simplicity and slow pace of Lama Zopa’s speech that had the effect of making you think very carefully and deeply of what he was saying. The sacredness of life (or of a precious human rebirth as the Tibetans describe it) characterised by incessant change and suffering, followed by eventual death, suddenly took on new meaning. Faced with this unavoidable situation, one began to feel the urgency and need to DO something, to grasp the meaning and the riddle of this human dilemma and to discover an intelligent answer to its apparent futility. The Lam Rim or Graduated Path pointed the way.

Lama Zopa’s disjointed delivery was equally effective in revealing the insensitivity and stupidity of some of our behaviour. In Buddhism the life of all sentient beings, animal or human, is considered precious and a basic tenet of practice is to refrain from doing harm to other sentient beings. With slow, measured words, punctuated by pauses, Lama Zopa took our imaginations to a salubrious restaurant and to a scene where two diners are contemplating a tank of live lobsters brought to their table. His words slowed even further as he took us through the sequence of events that sealed the chosen lobsters fates.

“They take the lobster…..you see….take the lobster..” as he spoke he gestured with his right arm, slowly raising his hand as he gripped the wriggling lobster ; he paused, coughed gently and continued  “ take the lobster and put it” he paused again and began slowly lowering his arm “ put it….in…er…er…put it in.. er..boiling water.”

Yes, I see.

 P.S. sadly Lama Yeshe died of a massive heart attack in 1984 : his disciple continues to travel the world teaching the dharma in his own inimitable way.

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This is the first in a series of pieces I will be posting to this blog. Nigel Philpott