Menoculayshunal; Life Lessons

In another place, another time, the situation that arose around the departure of Rekha may well have played out differently in my emotions. However, this took place during the most intense learning period of my life. All the academia before it was singularly different. Colleges and universities cocoon one. Despite appearances, the cocoon of an ashram actually results in a whole-life experience. I came to clearly see how general academia does, in fact, shield one from reality somewhat. How it is that some become ensconced in ivory towers. How it is that some take such deep refuge in 'intellect' as to lose touch with the wholeness, the roundness of full human experience.

The Vedanta course students, every one of us, had university backgrounds; minimum BAs/BScs, through Masters and PhDs (of those, we had one astrophysicist, two mathematicians and a philosopher). Several of us were from medical careers, several more from teaching and community working. There were nurses, scientists and IT geeks. We were all granted entry because of our intellectual ability. 

Not that alone, however. For those few (particularly of the elders among us) who wished to expound on intellectual grounds, and intellectual grounds alone, there were subtle (and occasionally less so) prods from the acharya to broaden the view... to understand that intellectualisation of experiential situations is hazardous and counterproductive. Certainly, there is a human tendency to want to know the what, where, when, how and why of things. We seek to justify and, in some - even many- cases, eradicate the emotional state that arises within us. We can be prone to using our intellectualism as a defence and, indeed, as an attack mechanism. If talking on any particular subject, we can posit ever-more convoluted arguments and 'hair-splitting' to the stage where the original point is completely lost. We seek knowledge for knowledge's sake and can lose contact with the purpose of knowledge in the first place... a tool with which to live a better life.

Another critical difference between regular university and submersive learning, such as on an ashram, is how everyday life is lived. In uni, our lives are kept, for the most part, separate from the academic part. There is study, and there is eat, sleep, play. On the ashram, the eat, sleep and play are an integrative part of the study - and the study directly informs how each of those other parts is exercised.

So, life happens, but at uni, we deal with it the way we have always dealt with it, and that can be informed by all sorts of things but most likely will arise from family practices, existing experiences and societal influences. There is definitely a societal influence on the ashram, but that influence is driven by the philosophy everyone there has surrendered pre-existing habits to adopt. It is also true that the influence is that of Indian society generally. My learning curve in that regard also grew exponentially as a result of Rekha's presence and departure. There were cogs at work of which I had no cognition! There was an aftermath sense of having been 'managed.' I hold no umbrage for that. In some respects, despite the emotional cost at the time, I am grateful that things were taken out of my hands. 

The regret I have is that, despite treading very carefully, I fell into the very trap I was attempting to prevent my co-student, Krishna-bhai, from tumbling into. I let compassion fall into passion, capital 'ell' Love became attached, little love. The result was a distraction for myself and others on the ashram. Even more, it was interfering with the natural order of things. Pariah dogs know their place. Radha's life was not necessarily improved by my taking her daughter's future in an unexpected direction, and Rekha's life ... well, who knows? It's life in the raw which, in our intensely urbanised condition now, most of us are several notches removed from and thus always tend to want to 'correct.' I was wrong. I was not in a position to keep Rekha and make the move meaningful. The result was pain for me, her and her mother. I had learned that what might, to some, look charitable, as a rescue, can in fact be damaging and interfering. 

The pain I was feeling was the ego. It had taken a blow. The rescuer had turned into the perpetrator. The intellectual progress in Vedanta is determined by how much we overcome our ego selves. Also by how much we overcome the river of thoughts that is generally referred to as the mind. Both of these are reined in by the buddhi - the intellect as the monitor. The governor is the chitta - the connection which knows our physical selves are temporary, that there is a universal part to our existence and our purpose in life is to reconnect with that. I had a lot of work to do on myself to quell the aching ego, the rushing mind centred on a little white, four-legged, wriggly critter. 

The mark was pretty indelible, though. It is not an insignificant part of why, on graduating, I refused the opportunity to take the robes for full-time induction in the Chinmaya family. However, that alone would not have prevented me. Other things arose...