What I'm Reading: Book 13, Sai Baba

Sri Sathya Sai Baba was a controversial Indian guru, and I dove into Sai Baba: The Holy Man and the Psychiatrist knowing about that. I recently found this book at Open Books & Prison Book Project, and it reminded me of a friend from thirty-five years ago. She was a Sai Baba devotee who traveled to India to see him. She had photos of him everywhere and spoke lovingly of him, and I wanted what she had, but something held me back from becoming a Sai Baba devotee. Like her, I wanted to be in love with my spiritual practice so much that nothing else mattered - and I still do. But I had to find my own path.

I appreciate the author, an American psychiatrist named Samuel H. Sandweiss, who tells of his travels to India to see Sai Baba, and describes his very human experience of devotion with openness and candor.

How true that, "Even though at present we know little about the various factors and mechanisms involved in a spiritual transformation, it is almost enough to be aware that such a phenomenon exists at all. Knowing that many people have undergone or been witness to this extraordinary experience can bring joy, and the strength to continue." 

"Engaging our mind constantly with God will tame it and bring it under control. When I was able to detach the mind from my struggle, and it became stilled and centered in the task of just being aware of my breathing, I felt great calm and relief." This is the benefit meditation offers me. I have learned to lay down the questions and fears, step back, and breathe. The reprieve may last moments or hours, and sometimes it transforms into peace, even joy.

This revelation from Sandweiss seems to be what the devotee experience is all about. "There is so much love in the world! Never had I felt this exquisite experience so deeply. Baba showed me in an instant what years of psychiatry had not: the means for igniting this love. Such deep love is born from the devotional yearning for, the sometimes suffering journey toward, the divine."

Sandweiss doesn't sugarcoat the difficulties of visiting India. But, "Despite the discomfort, most found Prasanthi Nilayam (the main ashram of Sai Baba) a special place with strong spiritual vibrations. Statues of gods, pictures of Baba, and the constant cleaning of sacred areas around the temple contribute to an atmosphere of silence charged with holiness." 

This charged atmosphere fuels many of us who seek out holy places like Sedona in Arizona, India, and beautiful  churches all over the world. In The Existence of Pity, I write about La Ermita, the Colombian church Josie visits with Blanca. Josie also finds solace in Washington DC's National Cathedral in Courage Without Grace.

This may be why so many are seekers: Sai Baba says, "Do not tell me that you do not care for that bliss, that you are satisfied with the delusion and are not willing to undergo the rigors of sleeplessness. Your basic nature, believe me, abhors this dull, dreary routine of eating, drinking and sleeping. It seeks something which it knows it has lost - santhi, inward contentment. It seeks liberation from bondage to the trivial and the temporary. Everyone craves for it in his heart of hearts. And it is available only in one shop: contemplation of the Highest Self, the basis of all this appearance."

But how to find santhi on a day-to-day basis? Sai Baba says, "Keep the name of the Lord always on your lips and you will find that all thoughts of envy and hatred will disappear from you hearts. Let every moment be a bhajan (a devotional song). Avoid all lesser talk. Know the purpose of bhajan and devote yourself wholeheartedly to it."

Sandweiss explains, "Baba directs people to keep conscious contact with whatever experience they have of God and to meditate on that experience as much as they can. One may engage in the meditation formally, sitting quietly by oneself and trying to make contact with the light within... or one may practice constant repetition of one of the names of God so that God is on the tongue at all times. And Baba also teaches that one should relate to every life situation as if it is God, with the same sense of responsibility, devotion and love. Thus our daily activity will become a devotional service and our life an act of worship." 

"Bhakthi or devotion is the only path for reaching the divine destination. Bhakthi is the only panacea for all the ill of this world. Bhakthi is the only method of making you realize the truth." 

If one is not singing bhajans, Sai Baba recommends something that does not come naturally to me: "Practice silence. For the voice of God can be heard in the region of the heart only when the tongue is still... Silence is the speech of the spiritual seeker. Soft sweet speech is the expression of genuine love." I remember my friend from long ago was a quiet soul. Since she was not the kind to join social media I have been unable to find her, but maybe our paths will cross again. Sai Baba died in 2011, but he still has many followers, and I wonder if my friend is one of them. I glean wisdom from his words, but continue on my own path, seeking my truth.

A Hurricane of Love at La Ermita

Built in 1678,  the small Catholic church called La Ermita (The Hermitage) was a simple structure on the Rio Cali. When an earthquake destroyed it in 1925, rebuilding it to it's current beauty took from 1930 to 1942. Now you'll find images of La Ermita in every montage, collage, or homage to the city of Cali. It's the jewel of Cali's crown.

This neo-gothic church is inspired by the Ulm Cathedral, Germany, although it's a miniature of the giant original.

On a visit to Colombia with my family two years ago, we stopped at the church and my daughter and I stepped inside while a service was in progress. We only stayed a few moments -- to breathe in the atmosphere and to feast our eyes on the beauty -- and in those few moments, the words of the kind priest pulled me in. "Let us offer the world a hurricane of love," he said. I've been through hurricanes. That's a lot of love.

La Ermita plays a pivotal role in my novel, The Existence of Pity. Here's an excerpt.

All my life, I had seen La Ermita in passing, and I had studied the gray and white spires that were so ornate they looked as thought they belonged in Europe. I smiled at La Ermita's elaborate steeple, which reached toward heaven, not one bit sorry for its extravagance.

"Venga, mona, we don't have all day," Blanca said, pulling me inside the sanctuary. "I still have work to do when we get home."

Photos by Chris Zokan

She opened one of the heavy doors, and the beauty of the church stole my breath. I took two steps in, admiring the stained-glass windows, the large statues, and the altars. Our Baptist church was nowhere near as beautiful. In our church, simple rows of wooden pews faced a pulpit and a pool to baptize those who wanted to be born again. In La Ermita, I could feel the presence of something greater than myself something that had been there long before me and would remain long after I was gone. Our church had love, but in the Catholic church was... majesty.  

Want to read more? Click on the cover of The Existence of Pity for your own copy.

Colombia 8: La Ermita at Last!

Dad, Dan and I see the city today. I need to go, I want to go -- but most of yesterday was spent away from Mom and it would be nice to stay home. I would enjoy the relaxed pace of this paradise. The cook and the nurse are so entertaining as they go about the day, discussing this and that, teasing each other, and dancing to music on the radio. But I won't have this chance again. I will sit with Mom on the veranda later.
I kiss her goodbye and this time she seems grief-stricken, as though we will never meet again. It's so unsettling I almost stay behind, but Dad assures me that as soon as we drive out of the huge gate of the home she will have forgotten again.
At least she is in good hands; this is my mantra.
I look ahead to memories that are about to come to life. I have three places I want to see: La Ermita, our house in Miraflores, and the seminary. I freely admit I'm downright childish about my list, and I will regret my demanding attitude, but I've come a really long way to be here. Lucky for me, the others aren't as "exigente" and the driver humors me. Dan, my Harley-riding brother, is mostly interested in the astounding risks the scooters and motorcycles take, zipping among the cars and buses.
After the obligatory stop at the statue of Belalcazar, we look for our old house in Miraflores, a middle-class neighborhood tucked into the Andean hills of Cali. We don't remember the address for the house but manage to find it anyway, and when I see the black metal door, balcony, patch of grass, and big windows, the memories come in a flood: reading on the porch, catching the school bus, playing with our dog Goldie, entertaining grandparents, waking up to late-night serenades for neighbors. Part of me wants to see who lives there now, but we don't even get out of the car.
We drive along Rio Cali and park downtown to walk through Cali's crowded streets, and I'm surprisingly unafraid. It's as it was over thirty years before, only now the many street vendors are selling yellow jerseys for Colombia's soccer team. Colombia is one of 32 teams to play for the FIFA World Cup, and the country is enjoying the anticipation of the games to come. I will regret not buying a jersey, but I keep our group moving; I'm on a mission to see the iconic La Ermita.
I've been working on a novel, "The Existence of Pity," and La Ermita plays a role. Having never been inside it when I lived in Cali, I fell in love with the old Catholic church on the internet. Now I'm nervous. Will it meet my high expectations?
When I finally catch a glimpse of La Ermita, it is as beautiful and otherworldly as I hoped it would be. I run ahead of the others and try the door, but it's locked. I go to the front entrance, but it won't open either. I'm disappointed, but still glad to be here, taking in the white and gray Gothic spires, amazing against the blue sky.  La Ermita is more perfect than I dared hope. We take pictures and move on.
As we walk to Plaza Caycedo, we see a young woman selling Panini. This is the official sticker book and stickers for the World Cup.  Groups of adults and children gather all over town to trade the stickers to fill up their books, talking about the great Colombian team that could finally win that cup. I want to join in, so I buy my own book. A woman with short white hair starts up a conversation with me, but she's eyeing the bottle of Coca-Cola I'm holding. It seems she wants the rest of my Coke, so I offer it to her. She gratefully accepts, and finishes the drink I had started. I am definitely far from home.   
Back in the car, we take the scenic route to the seminary. By the time we get there, we only have time to drive by, but I am content. I've honored past memories, made new connections, and am ready for some lulo and pandebono with Mom. I will sit beside her on the veranda and tell her all about our day as many times as she wants to hear it. I won't regret that.
http://www.fifa.com/worldcup/news/y=2014/m=8/news=rodriguez-it-s-a-dream-come-true-2418837.html