One Of The Greatest Living Teachers
One of the greatest teachers in this world is one's own death.
To live oblivious to that can really undermine one's humanity and creative potential. Contemplating your someday-adios to this planet can be like a golden rain, as can the great poetry of say Rumi & Hafiz, and to some, Walt Whitman & Mary Oliver.
Don't let that roll off you; it can truly nourish the roots of your cells, and so help unfurl your wings, and let them taste more of the Sun! A great clarity can come to one doing that. A great distillation of your involvements and values can happen. A greater perspective one can gain for the better— and resolutions; and seeing more of the magic of this earth and all upon it, and one’s life. And a more loving, compassionate way you might then treat yourself— and others; and have a greater thanks for what you already have— aka: you can boogie more! And be a sweeter munchkin.
I can be fascinated with common things in life— looking at a bird on a limb, or sometimes just thinking I might be walking into the post office today. Or down the aisle of a store— can become something of an illumined, in-wonder experience, in my mind, for a few moments.
Or sometimes thinking: I could be talking to so-and-so this afternoon. And I will want to listen to them so deeply, no matter what they say. A wonderful line of Hafiz comes to mind, a rendering of mine, when Hafiz says:
How do I listen to others? As if everyone were my
beloved Master — speaking to me his cherished
last words.
—Hafiz
If one was on their death bed, or practiced that in mind at times, wouldn't so many of the concerns one had about the world be seen very differently, or not at all? Maybe that is a much truer perception of them. What is really the soul of life, and the reason for its existence— we should most give our heart’s attention to?
***
It must have been around 40 years ago now, when I was living in India, that I asked an old man I knew— his name was Pendu. He had spent his life with Meher Baba since a child; he and Meher Baba were actually first cousins. I considered Pendu a living teacher to me for what I thought were good reasons and experiences with him.
One day, when he and I were all alone on a veranda where he often sat, I said to him: "Pendu, do you know what it will be like when you die?"
Pendu, who could be a person of very few words, like an old Zen master, cryptically replied: “Go lay down."
And then I said, “Pendu, I don't think you heard me. I was asking if you knew what it would be like when you died?”
And then he said, "Aren't you really asking what it will be like when you die!"
"Yes."
And then the old Zen master said, "How many times do I have to tell you! Go lay down.”
At the place where I was with him that day, called Meherazad, where he had lived with Meher Baba for some 20 years before Meher Baba died, there were a couple of day rest-rooms— where visitors from around the world could take naps, when visitors were allowed there, a couple days out of the week. So I trotted off to one that was maybe some 40 or so feet from where Pendu often sat, and was sitting that day.
So I go in there and lay down, and in a minute or two doze off— for maybe just five minutes it seemed. But just before I wake— or just as I am waking, I have the most remarkable experience, which was:
I was an astounding, magnificent, luminous sovereignty. And I so deeply felt— all, all I could ever, ever want was to just be with myself. And that I could explore this Divine Light— as my own being forever.
So I walk out of this resting room where I was. I am just stepping out of it — and have yet to say one word. And Pendu, who often was very soft spoken and did not at all like to project his voice or speak loudly, says to me — loudly — and with a great laugh: “Not so bad, hey!”
I feel Pendu was on such a level that he gave me that experience. Pendu was also the first of two living teachers I have had who indicated to me I might have something in my destiny to do with writing — before I ever thought that!
When one day sitting with him, as I often had over many years (of times in India), just out of the total blue — he hands me a very old, unusual pen he had, and said: "Write something that will help the world."
Well, I have tried. And I keep that pen close! And something else of his … I so value, that actually lays across my computer as I write.
*** Footnote: After writing this, I said to my agent, who edits and posts all my blog entries here, and mans this website: “I really like the title to this, and the opening line, and can't believe I could be the first person to have said this.”
In searching it online, I came across an article in Lion's Roar, the Buddhist magazine, titled: “Death: The Greatest Teacher,” by Judy Lief.
Who isn't thirsty in a day? Ahhh, the golden rain!
And who does not need to fly! There are words
from heaven that can help. We can write!
—Hafiz