This is a yogic tale I shared during the
Pathways to God Retreat this weekend.
(Which was so wonderful, thank you to those that came)
The group seemed to get a lot from it.
This is Part 1. I beefed it up A LOT for the blog post.
Please Enjoy!
"There is a world out there inside each of us." That was the last thing the yogi ever said to Sarup and the last lesson Sarup would ever need to learn.
Sarup was very aware of this inner world, a rare insight for a child his age, but he would forget it as most children do when the "real" world comes to take its place. His village was named Kal Ganv. It meant Tomorrow Village. It was nestled in the mists at the Northern edge of the Southern Indian Jungles.
The Southern jungles were most famous for the colorful caves that housed great yoga masters. It was the mineral content in the stone and the light that beamed through openings made from the Monsoon rains that lit up these mural caves and turned them into neon prisms.
Mystical places where nature becomes magic nurtures magic in the human soul. As beautiful as that seems real magic terrifies the fearful and tales of the ash-covered holy men and their rainbow caves were shared mostly as warnings amongst the villagers. But, to the daring, they were tales of destiny.
"The forest yogis are tempters of chaos and their lust for knowledge has driven them mad with God." Every time Sarup's mother spoke of the forest men his curiosity spiked. Sarup's mother didn't know that chaos is the womb of new wisdom but he did. Sarup knew those that dwell inside it have learned to breathe a knowledge that is beyond practicality and feel truths that are not contained by comfort and pleasantries.
These yogis are as far from men as man is from beasts but no villager would ever admit it because that would demand honesty too humiliating for the ego to bear. Where most people can only see half the world, the yogis sit with the two faces of the world and know it as one. Yet, despite their notorious reputation, the yogis were still respected and if one ever did come to the village they were tolerated because, after all, they were holy men on sacred missions and only evil would work to prevent a person from connecting to the divine.
One day, in his boredom, Sarup found his way to the village's furthest edge where only the bravest of goats would wander from time to time. The danger of wandering tigers, wolves, and bears was real for the animals as well as the villagers. The forest was a dangerous place and it was right there, in plain sight.
Standing as far as his fear would allow Sarup stared into unreachable possibilities and decided to take one more step towards the adventure of chaos and the unknown.
And then, out of the green came a thin grey man, bearded, wild, and unreal.
As mesmerizing as a tiger Sarup's body froze with adrenaline. He had never seen a man that walked so closely to God, dressed in nature. Dust glittered behind him in the sunlight as it flacked off his stride. His feet were bare and landed like mountains. His skin was thin and taught. His veins were embroidered underneath, thick with pumping vitality. Every inch of this creature was alive! With only a shawl around his waist, Sarup knew he was one with the world and needed no protection, no cover, no shelter to feel safe and at peace.
It is a yogi's supreme confidence that makes people question their intent but their confidence comes from a faith that life is with them, God is protecting them, and what happens is meant to happen. The yogi controls themselves so that they can embrace reality blindly and openly, where kings, generals, priests, and even the villagers only use the little power they have to attempt dominating the world around them.
The worldly, the unholy, the untouched see someone's power and fear it because they assume it will be used against them because that is what they do with theirs. Sarup was too young to be so afraid and saw the yogi with eyes as clear as innocence.
"Muhje bee sath lo," the boy shouted in Hindi. The yogi turned to him, the Sun beaming in his face. He only lifted his brows to widen his eyes. His eyes swallowed the Sun and then spoke. "If I take you I will show you blinding light, boy. Is that what you want?" The embers never blinked. The fact that the yogi stopped and still had not returned to his pilgrimage was a sign that he was willing to take Sarup with him, as Sarup had asked.
Then two hands cupped Sarup's shoulders and tugged him away. His Mother, protecting her son from the influence of fate, hissed through her eyes at the poisonous man who dared to snatch her baby world away and unknowingly locked the door that could've led to Sarup's liberation.
Sarup was a good boy, afterall, obedient to his family and the village. He had a role to play there. His village was his duty, his karma, and he was an integral piece of that puzzle. He was loved and protected. He loved and protected. He was also a boy too young to be his own hero and build a path of his own.
The yogi wobbled his head quickly from right to left in Indian fashion and the Mother's tension melted. "A yogi does not take," he said softly through the wind. His ember eyes had turned to coal. A yogi only receives and gives, the mother knew. He pivoted towards the North and Sarup's heart dropped. "There is a world out there, inside each of us," the mystic-creature said perhaps to himself, perhaps to the mother, perhaps to Sarup. "Muhje sikhao," Sarup yelped.
"I will teach you because anyone who truly seeks this knowledge deserves to know it and anything that prevents it is evil."
"Kab?" Sarup asked.
"When? When you're more than a cub in the mouth of its mother."
Part 2: Coming up next!
