Sumangali.org: In The Spirit Of Serendipity

It’s been hot in England. That’s newsworthy enough, but you know how we Brits love to talk about the weather. It seems like summer is just around the corner, (perhaps somewhere in Spain or Portugal). The tulips are big as goblets, the birds compose new rhapsodies until bedtime, and new-mown lawns send out their familiar green perfume, which itself acts like a happy pheremone on me. All these triggers lay forgotten in my mind through winter, as they always do, to be rediscovered like a perennial gift each year, never losing their thrill.

Another sure sign of summer is the flight of hot air balloons in the morning. The long roar followed by soft silence tells me they are coming near, and I rush to the window to find them in the sky. I have never flown in one, but so love to watch them, strangely fast and graceful for their imposing dimensions.

I lived in Bristol for a few years, and always looked forward to the annual Balloon Fiesta. Up to 100 balloons gather together from around the world, in all their fantastic colours and shapes: there a flying mobile phone is not out of place next to a floating dog, a fire extinguisher a similar size to an entire inflatable cathedral. At night they stay tethered to the ground with lit flames for a beautiful “balloon glow”. In the early morning and at dusk they mount the sky in flurries. To see them closely and in numbers is to witness not only their true size, but their unique charm.

Now that we have more reliable methods of flight, the hot air balloon has been reduced almost to a novelty; largely the plaything of champagne breakfasters and the mouthpiece of corporate advertisers. In 1783, however, hot air ballooning was a more serious, and a much more dangerous affair. An intrepid (probably unsuspecting) sheep, duck and rooster were the first passengers. Following their survival of 15 minutes in the air, the Montgolfier brothers took off from Paris two months later, not only staying up for 20 minutes, but also, like the farm animals, staying alive. Human flight (with any notable degree of success) was born. [source]

That which flies is not necessarily light in weight though, as any jumbo jet will tell you. Last year my meditation teacher Sri Chinmoy (then aged 75), lifted some hot air balloons, seated with one arm overhead. They are not so buoyant beneath their natural habitat of sky. A 140-foot tall rabbit weighed in at 369 pounds (167.4 kg), followed by a multi-coloured 90-foot balloon at 397 pounds (including the pilot and basket).

Speaking of Sri Chinmoy’s one-arm seated lifts of a 575 pound (260.8 kg) dumbbell a few days earlier, longtime registrar of the British Amateur Weightlifters Association Jim Smith commented: “Sri Chinmoy is giving back to people the importance of having the mind, body and spirit together. No other human being on earth has ever lifted over 3 times their own body weight, even with two hands and while standing!”

Up until Sri Chinmoy’s passing last year, age 76, he strove to inspire people to transcend their limitations through sports and meditation. He was also a prolific writer. Here is one of his many uplifting aphorisms:

You do not have to fly
To the blue-vast sky.
The blue-vast sky will enter into you
If you turn your mind into
a silence-home.

—Sri Chinmoy
From Twenty-Seven Thousand Aspiration-Plants, Part 211

You can find our more about Sri Chinmoy’s weightlifting feats, and see some video clips, at Sri Chinmoy TV

By far my greatest fear when I was younger was one of deep water. I suppose as fears go that’s quite a rational one. It was perpetuated by Jaws—a movie surely unavoidable by anyone alive in the late 1970s. At the time, Jaws served as confirmation that fear of the sea was absolutely justified and almost constituted common sense. Those who ventured beyond the shallow end of a pool I crowned in my mind as heroes, and as veritable demigods those who would dive head first from a board. Those who would wade out far enough to lose their footing in the ocean however, I labeled as reckless dolts who did not properly value the life they had been given.

When harboured and reinforced for twenty years, even the most rational fear can reach irrational proportions and formidable strength. It seemed God had to carefully engineer an opportunity for its final dismantling, starting with a phone call from a friend—out of the blue so to speak. My friend had planned and paid for a scuba diving holiday in the Caribbean with a partner who had since gone off in a huff about something, so would I go instead? Many excuses came to mind, but you can imagine that none of them would be very convincing faced with such an offer. I accepted, viewing it gravely as a service, and nervously hoping more specific and robust excuses would present themselves when faced with the ocean itself.

It was with much trepidation and considerable self-transcendence that I completed my training and gained my diving license, graduating from the shallow end to the deep end of a pool somewhere in Alabama, then to the murkier regions of a former quarry. I would use up my air in half the time of my peers due to my anxiety, but by that time I had resolved to face The Deep once and for all, and I would not be deterred by any amount of cajoling.

I had to be pushed off the boat on my first adventure in the open sea. With all that outer paraphernalia and inner baggage, the physical and mental strength to do it myself had to be developed over time. I was enraptured though, from the very first moment. The harsh sun, the growl and fumes of the boat engine, the nauseous movement of the waves, the weight of the equipment, were all replaced by purity and gentleness on the other side of the ocean’s skin. Fear turned to awe as I entered a world where I did not belong, but which had ample room to house me. How humbling to be at the mercy of such a body of vastness, floating in a medium of which the human body is largely composed, but which alone would not sustain it for more than a few seconds. Up to then such tranquility was unknown to me, but seemed a perfect natural state. My breathing became slower even than it was on land, and I used less air then even than my peers.

There was no sound then except that breath: the husky drawing in, and the chink of exhalation, releasing plumes of amorphous bubbles. Colours were completely new; their hue and luminosity changed constantly, with a freedom alien to the flat shades known to land. Freedom of movement in all directions was also new and brought boundless fun, though my own mammalian efforts took me nowhere in comparison to the sleek agility of sea creatures. Stillness was a favourite practice, controlling the posture and breath to hover inches from the seabed. Movement without effort was the crowning joy, drifting with the tide over coral gardens, tiny fish hovering and darting, as would bees over blooms.

The creatures seemed to look on us as bumbling enigmas. They showed no irritation by our presence, neither fear, as they knew any lazy flinch of theirs would easily outsmart us. Some were notoriously intelligent, and many seemed positively hospitable, even taking time from apparently busy schedules to play games. The beauty, power, and harmony of that vast and strange environment have etched themselves on my mind and heart. I can still see a flock of eagle rays emerging into view, their massive wings forming slow, graceful arcs suspended in a saline cathedral. I can still catch the cheeky glance of grouper snatching chunks of raw fish from my pocket. I can still feel the specific majesty of depths beyond 100ft. I’d have imagined the form of a shark in those depths would have caused me to expire from sheer fright a few weeks before. In reality its beauty disarmed me, and I saw only the grace and efficiency of movement. The perfection of that creation brought tears to my eyes. In The Deep, to my surprise, I seemed to meet the Creator in myriad beguiling guises.

I have visited other oceans since, but I no longer hanker for sub-aquatic charms. Perhaps it is the growing sense that such peace and beauty are in-built, requiring only the key of meditation for their discovery. An ever-deepening Deep seems accessible without need of a license or expensive airfares, without the use of weights, wetsuits, and cumbersome canisters, and without the job of conquering fear.

Image: Prashphutita Greco at Sri Chinmoy Centre Galleries

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.

Sri Chinmoy recently visited Thailand during his annual harmony and humanitarian travels, and decided to lift some elephants while he was there.

A champion decathlete in his youth, Sri Chinmoy later took up weightlifting, and is still weightlifting at age 75. His aim is not to compete with others, but simply to inspire others to transcend their boundaries. In his own words:

“I am a man of prayer and meditation. I feel inspiration is of paramount importance. If I can inspire someone, and if that person also can inspire me, then we can do many good things for the betterment of this world.”

The elephant is the symbol of Thailand, and certainly a symbol of strength, so it seemed the most appropriate way for Sri Chinmoy to honour the country and to offer his goodwill. He started with 3 baby elephants, the heaviest being 1,074 pounds (including apparatus). Next came mature elephants from over 4,000 pounds to the heaviest elephant he has ever lifted: a 8,046 pound female carrying a mahout (8,622 pounds including apparatus). The park’s owner said:

“This lift by Sri Chinmoy is the reason my wife and I started the elephant camp 12 years ago, because he is showing that we can succeed at anything that is good for life on this planet.”

According to British weightlifting expert Jim Smith, this last lift is one of the heaviest calf raises ever recorded. You can read the full story at SriChinmoyCentre.org

Ashrita Furman—who holds the Guinness World Record for holding the most Guinness World Records—was also there, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to attempt the most squat thrusts in a minute, but of course on the back of an elephant. You can read all about it at Ashrita.com.

Elephant, my elephant,
You are strength,
Reality’s strength.
Your solid strength
And conscious willingness
Can and shall lead the world
To Infinity’s endless length.
—Sri Chinmoy, Animal Kingdom

In recent years Sri Chinmoy has honoured thousands of people in his Lifting Up The World With A Oneness-Heart programme. In September last year he had a 3-day weightlifting celebration, during which he lifted airplanes, huge boulders, a car, a giant pumpkin and 2002 World’s Strongest Man Hugo Girard of Canada: a total weight of 111,524 pounds. “The most amazing feats of strength” 5-time Mr.Universe and fitness expert Bill Pearl had ever seen. You can view clips at SriChinmoy.tv. You can read more about Sri Chinmoy’s sporting life at SriChinmoyCentre.org

Image source: Projjwal Pohland