Sumangali.org: In The Spirit Of Serendipity

I am no stranger to the inspirations of nature. The loyalty of dogs, the industry of bees, the humility of grass; do they not far surpass our own?

Today I read an article in The Independent about the incredible selflessness of ants.

Researchers put planks of wood along the feeding route of a colony of army ants, with different sized holes drilled at intervals. The sizes of the ants varied from 2-10mm. Bristol University biologist Dr Scott Powell noticed:

“When the ants bump into a hole they cannot cross, they edge their way around it and then spread their legs and wobble back and forth to check their fit… If they are too big, then they carry on and another ant will come along and measure itself in the same way. This carries on until an appropriately sized ant plugs the hole.”

The ants acting as living plugs may stay in place for hours at a time while thousands of their teammates walk across their backs to fetch food.

If that’s not amazing then I don’t know what is.

Spiritual Ant Quotes:

“An ant on the move does more than a dozing ox.”
—Lao Tzu

“Even Kings and emperors with heaps of wealth and vast dominion cannot compare with an ant filled with the love of God.”
—Guru Nanak

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways, and be wise; Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.”
—The Bible, Proverbs 6:6-8

“Ant, my ant,
In you my heart beholds
The glory of the Supreme.
Tiniest in size, you house the dream
Of the Omnipotent.
To me you are extremely important,
Because you represent
One extremity of God,
His message of smallness;
In another word, His greatness.”
—Sri Chinmoy

An interesting article called A Commute To Inner Peace by Trushar Barot caught my eye earlier this month at BBC.co.uk. It’s about meditating while commuting to work; making the most of time seemingly wasted, waiting for the bus, or even sitting at the wheel in a traffic jam. Tim Malnick, founder of Meditation at Work says:

“A lot of people think it’s all about sitting down cross-legged and closing your eyes. But if you look at the meditation traditions from the East, they clearly demonstrate the importance of transferring this state of mind into all your daily activity. It’s about becoming more aware of the environment around you and feeling comfortable with it.”

Trushar Barot tries it out while getting the bus, and notes:

“My heart-rate drops almost instantly, but jolts on hearing the dulcet tones of 50 Cent, which a kindly school boy at the back is treating his fellow travellers to. Too much of a coward to ask him to lower the volume, I realise this is the perfect test of my meditation techniques.”

This typically British response to outer irritation made me laugh, as I have responded in exactly that way (i.e. avoided responding outwardly) so many times on public transport, and have instead turned to my 21-year history of regular meditation practice in order to deal with it.

Perhaps the greatest test, and one of my most valuable meditation experiences, came to me when I was a teen living in a very crowded house. The guy in the room next door listened to a particular kind of music (that brings me out in cold sweat now if I ever hear it) struggling through distorted speakers, sometimes 24 hours a day. It was not just my British reserve that stopped me from saying anything; he was actually very dangerous. I had no choice but to deal with it. After 2 days and nights of no sleep with this rasping and pounding rattling my nerves and brain, I had to meditate my way to sanity. Were it not for my desperate necessity I may not have realised firsthand how powerful meditation can be. For about three hours I practised, and finally the peace came. Nothing could disturb me then. I was not less aware, but more aware in a wider sense where that sound was as insignificant as an ant. I slept like a baby.

There are lots of ways to meditate. As Tim Malnick so rightly said, we can bring meditation into our daily lives. I try to do that when I’m doing simple tasks, as well as… well yes just sitting cross-legged a couple of times a day purely for meditation. For the last ten years I’ve been following the teachings of Sri Chinmoy. In his own words:

“If we are practical in the inner life, if we are doing the right thing in the inner world, we will not be bound by anything, because we will have inner awareness. One who has inner awareness has free access to infinite Truth and everlasting Joy, and he will be able to control his outer life.”
—Sri Chinmoy
from SriChinmoyLibrary.com

Image: Kedar Misani at Sri Chinmoy Centre Gallery

I first became acquainted with the Ramayana when someone lent me a translation many years ago, written in rhyming couplets. It was originally written in rhyming couplets, but in Sanskrit, by the sage Valmiki.

I wish I had taken note of the translator, as I have never found a more charming version. The beauty of the writing alone made tears obscure my view of the pages. The story itself is in turns intensely moving and jaw-droppingly thrilling, studded with spiritual lessons which have endured their journey through time. The heart it warms is broken on the next page, and on the next made whole again. Passages of the sweetest purest devotion sit beside almost shocking displays of heroism.

Rama was a virtuous and spiritually evolved Indian prince, forced into exile by his jealous stepmother so her younger son might take the throne. Luckily that son was quite spiritually evolved himself and wouldn’t take the throne from its rightful heir, but that didn’t stop Rama dutifully doing time in the forest.

Rama was accompanied by his wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana. Much of the story revolves around the abduction of Sita by Ravana, the monstrous king of Lanka (now Sri Lanka). In order to rescue Sita, Rama built a bridge of stone from India, with the help of an army of monkeys led by his greatest devotee Hanuman (the monkey god pictured at his feet).

There are many beautiful stories surrounding the building of the bridge. Some say Hanuman wrote the name of Rama on each stone before it was laid, and that his devotion gave the bridge its strength. Some say a spider carried tiny pebbles on its back to add to the cause. Rama was delighted with the spider because it was using its full capacity, however small. Some say the gods made the stones float, others say the gods held them steady so the army could cross. There are so many versions of the story from so many countries. In one Hanuman uses his tail as a bridge, as he had magical powers allowing him to change his size.

About five years ago NASA released pictures from space which show very clearly a bridge across the gulf between India and Sri Lanka. (They’ve named it Adam’s Bridge, but whatever). This finding has sparked much controversy over the age of the bridge, and whether it is man-made or natural. It has been in the news recently because its protection by devotees of Rama is holding up a proposed ferry crossing.

I am not about to chip in to the debate, as I know nothing of geology. As with Stonehenge and other prehistoric structures, we will probably never know the truth. What I do know is the thrill I got today when I first saw the pictures! As there is no concrete evidence either way, I am holding my fond belief that this is the remains of a legend.

You can see the pictures here.

The Ramayana formed a blockbusting 78-episode TV Series in 1980s India which brought the whole country to a standstill every time an episode came out. I’ve watched the whole thing twice, and the sequel Luv Kush about Rama’s sons. It’s very dated and the effects are like something out of a 60s B-movie, but the devotional lessons shine through victoriously. Put away your Hollywood-honed sensitivities and it is deeply inspiring.

The Ramayana was also the backdrop for the 1995 film A Little Princess. Okay I know it’s a soppy film but I secretly love it. Don’t hold it against me, and definitely don’t tell anybody.

Thanks to Rathin at SriChinmoyInspirationGroup for inspiring this post.

Browsing through GoodNewsNetwork today I found this article about shipping container housing. “Inexpensive and abundant, old shipping containers are turning into good looking affordable housing,” so it claims.

Further research brought me to similar programmes around the world, including the UK’s Container City. The second development (pictured) comprises 22 studios over 5 floors and took a mere 8 days to install, plus it comes with the fuzzy feel-good factor of recycling on a gargantuan scale.

I laughed at the predictability of this item standing out amongst the rest, as I myself am currently trying to resolve the Affordable Living Conundrum. Increasingly challenging in the UK, and yet more so in the ancient and picturesque city of York, which seems to have adopted me or at least to have captured my heart. Thank God I was born into a family of engineers. They are all happily chipping in with ideas for space-saving contraptions, involving the use of ropes, pulleys and ladders. The surveyor described my chosen property as a “small bedsit” — as if the word bedsit needed to be further minimised — but we prefer the agent’s “studio apartment” which sounds much less ’80s, and reminds me much less of Marc Almond.

As all this is taking place in Yorkshire I am often reminded of the classic Monty Python sketch, The Four Yorkshiremen (“There were a hundred and fifty of us living in t’ shoebox in t’ middle o’ road.”), which you can view or read courtesy of Richard Pettinger here. It makes any accommodation, especially so much as a shipping container, or even a bedsit, seem like “luxury.”

If you’re more interested in living outside the box than in one (but still with the fuzzy feel-good factor), you’d better go to Inspiration4everyone.com, where you can find some jolly handy tips.

If you missed (as I did) the National Worm Charming Championships on Sunday, and you have a soft spot for silly British sports, don’t worry, there’s still time to train for the Olimpicks. If you don’t (as I don’t) fancy the competitive Shin Kicking, there’s “the traditional sackrace where the sack is tied round the neck. Straw bales provide handicaps and water is spread liberally.”

…or you could maybe just practise your Worm Charming after all.

You might think this (highly entertaining) article in the Independent on Sunday would make me a little sheepish about being British, but as eccentricity is simply part of our heritage, I may as well just celebrate it. Stiff upper lip? Not in my back yard.

As Cole Moreton writes, the worm charming takes place:

‘in the “secret field” that hosts the event (it’s always the same one, so there’s no secret at all). When a whistle blows they will have 15 minutes to get worms out of a square yard of turf by doing anything but digging. The judge, Big John Skuse, used to cheat so much (worms in his watering can, trouser legs and hat) that they put him in charge. He farms worms for a living - and sells bins in which they munch through household waste, turning it into rich fertiliser. “Being right next to Totnes [New Age capital of the West] we’ve got no shortage of crystal huggers and yoghurt weavers who think they’ll win by giving the ground an Indian head massage,” says Big John.’

Um… beats cheating though right, John? Are the ancient elixirs more effective then? Or the didgeridoos?

There’s another chance to pick up some tips on the 30th of June at the World Worm Charming Championships in Cheshire (with rules in 30 languages, including Tibetan, so no excuses for cheating there).

If you don’t fancy your chances, you could try your hand at Cheese Rolling (in Gloucestershire), Rolling Pin Throwing (… hmm… also in Gloucestershire) or there’s always the Pea Shooting (in Cambridgeshire). Nettle Eating (in Dorset) then? What about Snail Racing (in Norfolk)? Or if you’re slightly more energetic you could try a spot of Fruit Chasing at the Orange Race (in memory of Sir Francis Drake… aha, that’s in Totnes).

Cole Moreton’s article continues:

‘“We are eccentric,” says Dr Lesley Prince, social psychologist… “It is part of the British national identity.”

Yes, but why? And isn’t this an English rather than British thing, really?’

Well… not really, Cole. Haggis Hurling could surely only happen in Scotland? And is the World Bog Snorkelling Championship not held in Wales each year?

I’m sure it’s not even just a British thing though, right? Surely other countries have strange sports… right? What about Extreme Ironing? That’s global.

Following on from my last post, here is a poem on the same theme. Although I have not read all the poems ever written, I dare say this is one of the greatest in all history. It will not gain anything from my words though, so I shall leave you here to spend a few moments with it peacefully…

“Who”

“In the blue of the sky, in the green of the forest,
Whose is the hand that has painted the glow?
When the winds were asleep in the womb of the ether,
Who was it roused them and bade them to blow?

He is lost in the heart, in the cavern of Nature,
He is found in the brain where He builds up the thought:
In the pattern and bloom of the flowers He is woven,
In the luminous net of the stars He is caught.

In the strength of a man, in the beauty of woman,
In the laugh of a boy, in the blush of a girl;
The hand that sent Jupiter spinning through heaven,
Spends all its cunning to fashion a curl.

There are His works and His veils and His shadows;
But where is He then? by what name is He known?
Is He Brahma or Vishnu? a man or a woman?
Bodies or bodiless? twin or alone?

We have love for a boy who is dark and resplendent,
A woman is lord of us, naked and fierce.
We have seen Him a-muse on the snow of the mountains,
We have watched Him at work in the heart of the spheres.

We will tell the whole world of His ways and His cunning;
He has rapture of torture and passion and pain;
He delights in our sorrow and drives us to weeping,
Then lures with His joy and His beauty again.

All music is only the sound of His laughter,
All beauty the smile of His passionate bliss;
Our lives are His heart-beats, our rapture the bridal
Of Radha and Krishna, our love is their kiss.

He is strength that is loud in the blare of the trumpets,
And He rides in the car and He strikes in the spears;
He slays without stint and is full of compassion;
He wars for the world and its ultimate years.

In the sweep of the worlds, in the surge of the ages,
Ineffable, mighty, majestic and pure,
Beyond the last pinnacle seized by the thinker
He is throned in His seats that for ever endure.

The Master of man and his infinite Lover,
He is close to our hearts, had we vision to see;
We are blind with our pride and the pomp of our passions,
We are bound in our thoughts where we hold ourselves free.

It is He in the sun who is ageless and deathless,
And into the midnight His shadow is thrown;
When darkness was blind and engulfed within darkness,
He was seated within it immense and alone.”

—Sri Aurobindo

I found this image yesterday on Flickr.com. Not only is it an exquisite shot (one of many exquisite shots by Maureen F), but I find it symbolic. The entire sun is clasped by a tiny fragile petal.

It reminds me of one of my favourite pieces of poetry:

“And truly, I reiterate, . . nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim:
And,–glancing on my own thin, veined wrist,–
In such a little tremour of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes…”
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning
From Book Seven of Aurora Leigh

…which reminds me that God is everywhere, equally in the tiniest, most fragile detail, as in the mightiest force. Somehow that is greatly comforting, although it means He is really all alone… but somehow that’s comforting too… which reminds me of a song by my meditation teacher:

“In atom and in pollen and in human frames
my life abides.
All beauty am I, immutable am I.
I drink my ambrosia all alone.“
—Sri Chinmoy
Translation of Anute Renute

Today Maureen F has put a caption to her latest masterpiece:

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Food for thought…