Meditation is kindness—not the
superficial kind that originates from the thinking mind, but a profound
kindness so deep that it triggers a process of dissolving. The guards you
didn’t even know were protecting you, stationed in an automated state of
high alert, lay down their weapons of unconscious suspicion. And you begin
to melt. The blockages of icy resistance cannot withstand the warmth
emanating from the soft words of a gentle and kind-hearted noble man like
Shabdanand.
Shabdanand embodies a kind of kindness I have
never encountered before. His unusual kindness is rooted in an ever-present
attentiveness when he listens. Within just ten minutes, you'll feel that you
are very special, yet at the same time, you may experience a sense of
disappearing.
His voice is like a soft, soothing melody, and this voice, full of empathic
compassion, saved the life of a friend of mine. While I was in India in
1995, one of my friends back in Denmark was going through very painful
private events. It was so hard on him that he contemplated suicide. I talked
with him several times by phone from India, trying to dissuade him from his
decision, but with no success. When Shabdanand heard about this, he insisted
on talking to my friend by phone. We went out to the telephone booth outside
the Be Man Temple. My friend did not know Shabdanand, but that did not
matter. After an hour of conversation, my friend was completely free from
any suicidal thoughts. In fact, he was entirely happy again and full of
optimistic thoughts on how to move forward in life.
Such was the power of Shabdanand's attentive kindness.
It was goodness and happiness—not from the strategic mind, but emanating
from beyond the very cells of his being. The Indians call it Sat Chit
Ananda. 'Ananda' means bliss. 'Shabd' refers to the word or sound beyond
the physical. In this sense, Shabdanand was truly Shabd Ananda.
Shabdanand is one of the most
truly humble and beautiful human beings I have ever met. At
the age of 79 (in '96), he was
running up the staircase like a young man, leaving me
breathless in my efforts to keep up with him. He has truly
taken the seven steps to heaven, yet he will still take the
time to drink a cup of chai and share a smile with you at
the bottom of the ladder.
Such taste in that cup of chai!
Shabdanand's
Mother was a great Saint. And he grew up
and lived under the guidance of her spiritual lineage beginning with the
mother's guru
Data Dayal.
I often asked Shabdanand to
share stories from his life. Nothing was better than
listening to him as we sat on plastic chairs in the ashram
courtyard at sunset. One day, he recounted a story about his
mother, whom the Indians refer to as a household saint.
Despite her demanding daily routine as a married, devout
Indian woman, she replaced sleep with deep meditation on her
beloved master’s form, continuing this practice until her
death in her late nineties.
The Heart Knows One morning, when Shabdanand was still a boy, his mother
emerged disturbed from her meditation room, revealing that
she had seen her master, Data Dayal, suffering from a severe
infection in his leg during her meditation. She immediately
prepared for a 300km train journey to visit Data Dayal,
taking Shabdanand with her. They arrived late at night at
Data Dayal’s ashram, where, unusually, Data Dayal was still
awake. Shabdanand's mother, an expert in medicinal herbs
within the Ayurvedic system, had brought a basket filled
with various healing herbs. After prostrating before her
guru, she declared, 'You have three infectious boils on
your right leg, Maharaji! Allow me to treat you!' Data
Dayal willingly surrendered to his devoted disciple’s
capable hands and showed her his leg, which indeed had
exactly three large boils.
After curing Data Dayal, she returned home where she could
once again meditate in peace. Curious about her remarkable
knowledge that transcended physical distance, I asked
Shabdanand how his mother could have known about Data
Dayal’s condition. He replied, 'A loving heart always
knows. The secret of telepathy and clairvoyance lies in the
loving heart.' Intrigued, I then asked what happens when
one person loves another without reciprocation. 'Then
only the loving heart will know, not the other' he said
with a smile.
Here is a video recording of my
very first meeting with Shabdanand:
First meeting in 1995
East is East
and West is West
Spiritual
Teachings of Faqir Baba I
Spiritual
Teachings of Faqir Baba II
Meditation is living every
moment as poetry. However, this poetic state can quickly dry
up, like the skin on old hands. Once, Shabdanand Ji shared
with me:
'Data Dayal told Baba Faqir Chand that his own teachings
were outdated. They could no longer transmit the truth as
times had changed. Because of this, he instructed Faqir to
adapt the teachings to modern times and to his own
experiences.'
What a wonderful statement! Unspoken truth is timeless. But
as soon as you articulate it, your statements are bound to
age with time. The greatness of this lineage lay in its
ability to recognize the time-bound weaknesses of teachings
as soon as they manifested in time and form.
The
Crossing Shabdanand once shared a
personal story that illustrated the unfaltering honesty of
Faqir Baba. As a young man, Shabdanand was attempting to
cross a delta of dry river beds at the foothills of the
Himalayas. Suddenly, immense water masses from a heavy
shower several kilometers away in the mountains rushed into
the river beds, sweeping him off his feet. In terror and
fear, he cried out Faqir Baba's name: 'Help me! Guruji
save me!!' Then, miraculously, Faqir Baba appeared in
the water beside him and dragged Shabdanand to safety.
A month later, Shabdanand visited Faqir Baba's ashram to
personally thank him for saving his life. Faqir Baba
received Shabdanand with great love and affection and
listened attentively to his story. His reply was profound:
'Dear friend, I was not there at the river. I did not save
you. I know nothing about this incident. In fact, what saved
you was your own power, created by your strong belief in
me.'
How fortunate we are to know
that at least a handful of good and super honest human
beings were and are here with us on this planet. And I can assure
you, dear reader, their happiness is as contagious as the
flu during an Indian monsoon. This is, and was, at least my own
experience in the company of these wonderful people.
Let me end this ode to the most wonderful
Mr. Wonderful with a little episode I experienced with him. We were
invited to a family home in Faridabad, but it turned out that the house
was already full of VIP visitors. Moreover, it was unbearably hot, as it
was the end of May just before the rainy season. Hence, Shabdanand and I
decided to sleep under the open sky on the roof of the house. However,
after some time, a swarm of the most nasty mosquitoes found us. I cannot
recall ever being so stung as I was that night.
Shabdanand then said with a sigh and a smile: 'Dear Gunnar! It is God
who sent these mosquitoes to us to remind us that this earthly life is
not our real home'.
