the same language, the same words

To learn the Buddha Way is to learn one’s self.
To learn one’s self is to forget one’s self.
(Dogen-zenji)

There are a couple of ways of interpreting the story of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11. One is that the infraction of the migrating people was that they built this tower trying to reach heaven. In a way it is the same “sin” as Eve and Adam––they were trying to take heaven by storm, trying to reach heaven by their own power. And the Lord punishes them for that by confusing their language so that they can no longer understand each other. Another way is to think of it in terms of the Hebrews’ ongoing evolution of understanding who God is––maybe they weren’t doing anything so bad, but this God, understood more in the image of a human being, was jealous of their progress and tried to stop them because he was afraid of them being too powerful, a god more akin to the Greek or Roman gods than to the God of love.

Either way, I love the fact that it is said that before this time, “the whole world spoke the same language, using the same words.” There is a primordial unity. It’s an intuition I stumbled upon years ago first in music. At some point I got the suspicion that it was “all the same music, that it all came from the same place.” This is when I started getting fascinated with essentially vocal music, realizing how many cultures had a chant form as the basis of their sacred music––and later added to that the other basic element, rhythm––and decided that if we would discover that root we could find a universal music. That in some way paved the way for an easy acceptance of the perennial philosophy, the sanatana dharma, the universal wisdom, a belief that there was a common core to the world’s spiritual traditions, a common root to the spiritual experience, and if we were to discover that common core, that one language, those same words, we could find each other, learn from each other and help each other along the way too.

With either interpretation of the story, we need to fast forward and find how this division is healed by the Gospel, in the Acts of the Apostles: when the Spirit comes at Pentecost, and the apostles begin to preach, the whole crowd understands, each in his own language, each in her own tongue. Now maybe we are being taught that the diversity was not such a bad thing after all––just another necessary step in the evolution of consciousness; or we are being taught the Gospel is its own version of the perennial philosophy and cuts right through the language and cultural differences and can speak all those different languages. Either way, the diversity is being reverenced. The Spirit speaks all these languages and recognizes in them her own voice, the primordial unity. And the Spirit calls us to the new unity beyond all the words. And above and below those words, of course, is the silence, the apophatic depth of the divine, the silent bija mantra of the sahasraha chakra at the crown of the head where the Spirit's flame appeared.

And so the ministers of the Gospel should be able to speak those different languages, an language of inculturation outside of Western European cultural expression, Roman law, Greek philosophy and Gregorian chant––each in her own language, each in his own tongue. As the documents of Vatican II say about music––in mission lands “their music should be held in proper esteem… in adapting worship to their native genius”––so for all things: their painting, their language, their rituals, their philosophy, each in his own language, each in her own tongue. Not to re-discover the original primordial unity, but to work toward that new unity, the new earth, the mystical unity that lies ahead, that respects the differences and allows others to reach the divine by means of that language.

That’s the good news. The bad news, or at least the difficult part of the good news, is contained in Jesus’ own version of the perennial philosophy in the Gospel. Exactly what Adam and Eve and the people of Babel get accused of––trying to grasp after heaven on their own power––is what St. Paul, in the most lucid description of Jesus’ way, tells us Jesus did not do, and that this is the mind we should have: Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at, but emptied himself, took the form of a slave… And it was therefore that he was raised on high and given the name above every other name.” And so Jesus himself says (Mk 8:34) that if we want to save our lives we will lose them, and if we lose our lives we will save them. Or, as Dogen-zenji expressed it, “To learn oneself is to forget oneself.” No matter what spiritual path one takes, it is only through this death, emptying ourselves, the journey beyond the small self, the false self, beyond the ego, that we once again find the new unity, the unitive way of the mystics.

penang, malaysia

Hardly one among thousands strives to realize Me; of those striving Yogis, some rare ones, devoting themselves exclusively to Me, know me in reality. (Bhagavad Gita 7:3)

17 feb, 2009

Catching up…

I led a meditation retreat for the WCCM Malaysia up at Genting Highlands over the weekend. It was held at probably the most beautiful retreat house I have ever seen (outside of Mission San Antonio, of course). It is Jesuit owned Maranatha House, situated in at gate community in the middle of a forest preserve. Apparently there was some issue about getting permits to build a retreat house there, since it is mainly a residential area, so the Jebbies told the local commissioners that it was a residence for the bishop. When they inspected it the commissioners remarked, “Well, the bishop sure needs a lot of bathrooms!” It does only hold 30 in double occupancy rooms with shared baths so we were small in number. They have designed the place very eco-friendly, and all the beautiful hardwood floors are made from trees that were felled clearing land for the construction of the place. It is hemmed on every side by old growth rain forest, and there is a waterfall and a pond and all kinds of wildlife, including iguanas, macacas (sp?) and wild singing birds of all stripes. It all went quite well.

Then since we had come hours to kill, Pat and Joe, my same hosts from last year, took me to see a Sri Subramaniaswamy Temple, a cave temple near Kuala Lampur. You climb 250 stairs to get up to it, and at the foot of the staircase there is a large golden Shiva as tall as the staircase. Malaysia is still in the aftermath of a huge Hindu festival called Thaipusan, so the place was mobbed with people, incredibly loud music playing and the air was redolent with smoke of incense and offerings, hawkers selling chotkies and south Indian sweets, all the world like being in Trichy. We whiled away another hour or so in a tea stall, Joe wanting me to sample as many typical Malaysia treats as possible. They sure feed me well here.

Then a long bus ride up to Ipoh where I was met at the bus stand by a group of folks that I had met last year who whisked me right away off to dinner and then settled me in again with the Redemptorist community, where I had stayed last year. I had no work there, I merely wanted to stop by and see all the folks again since it was on my way to the next stop. I was somewhat afraid that I might be an imposition to them, and would have been just as happy to sit at the house and do my laundry and catch up with some reading, but they all seemed all too eager to hang out with me too.

The next morning a group of kids, all but one of whom I had met last year, most of them musicians, came and fetched me just after nine We, in various configurations, spent the next 10 hours together. They were all 17 and 18, and had just finished secondary school, and are all waiting for the finals marks from exams to determine what their future will be. They remembered my favorite kopitiam-coffeehouse and even what kind of tea I liked, so we went there first. Then shopping for a few things I needed, then off across town to visit another cave temple, this time a Buddhist shrine that also included a statuary garden and a pond of tortoises, some of them pretty big. The kids told me that they also don’t get much chance to hang out together so they were all enjoying each others’ company as well, with lots of little stops at tea stands and juice stalls along the way. They were also very funny. (Notice the small statues above their heads in this picture below.)

Then after lunch we went to an old tin mine that had been flooded and turned into a nature preserve with a lagoon around which we got a boat ride. I was pretty impressed by how much the kids were enjoying all this and hanging around all day with a rather low-key monk instead of a shopping mall or the cinema. After a brief stop to let me do internet at another kopitiam, and 5:30 Mass, we finally sat down to play some music. They are fascinated mostly with American oldies, and I was like a human jukebox. They didn’t want hear much of “Compassionate and Wise” or anything else original. They wanted Beatles ("Yesterday"), Glen Campbell ("Rhinestone Cowboy," I kid you not...) and, especially, the Eagles. They love the Eagles. And their all-time favorite song is “Hotel California,” even though they were struggling with the words. But I won the day with my rendition of “Desperado,” which they made me do twice.

Anyway, we had so much fun. Then the grown ups came and picked me up for dinner again. I am quite touched by the fact that I had not overestimated the bond that we had pretty formed last year, and they want me to come and stay longer next year. I kept protesting that I hadn't even done anything for them this year, but they didn't mind.

Two of the Redemptorists had to come here to Penang yesterday for a meeting right across the street from where I am staying, I they gave me a lift. As always, it is the conversations along the way that really make up the bulk of my memories of these trips, and I had a good visit with Fr. Eugene about Bede and Eckhart Tolle, and the future of religious life. Last night what I thought was a pretty well attended concert in town (around 300 people). There was some commotion before hand between the woman in charge of the facility and Serena who organized the event, and we were still setting up at 8:05 for the 8:00 concert, but all went well. I had asked (demanded?) that only the smaller fans be used and that the large fans be turned off because they were so loud. Some of the folks were a little annoyed at me for this, but we made it.

There was one funny incident. The retired Roman Catholic bishop was there, and it happened to be his 31st anniversary of ordination, which Serena told me about, asking me to do something special. At the end of the concert, also per her instructions, I asked the crowd if there were any questions they would like to ask or comments to make. The bishop himself stood up at one point and said that the concert had been like a prayer service to him but that the applause had made it seem like a performance. So, turning to the crowd, he said that people should not clap in church, including at the liturgy itself. I thanked him and then said, “Incidentally, this is the bishop’s anniversary of ordination, and Bishop, we’d like to honor you for that.” At which point the people broke into thunderous applause.

Which I thought was very funny.

the golden rule

Tzu-king asked,
“Is there a single word which can be a guide to conduct throughout one’s life?’
The Master said, “It is perhaps: Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.” (Analects of Confucius)



friday, 12 feb, 09

The spirit of Swami Satyananda is still alive here, especially among the older folks. They all still speak of his vision in similar words, that for him the central focus needed to be on spirituality. But along with that finding the truth that all religions share was a focus of his from his youngest days. And so a great focus on the Golden Rule, “Do not do unto others what you yourself would not want done to you,” and more recently the Global Ethic as pioneered by Hans Kung. Swami-ji decided that he had to do something proactive as well. Hence, with the encouragement and help of Mother Mangalam, he started this orphanage in 1952. It does boil down to Jesus’ own teaching about the greatest commandment, which is really two: Love the Lord your God with all your strength––spirituality; and love your neighbor as yourself.

That reminds me, how impressed I was by President Obama’s remarks at National Prayer Breakfast February 6th, and I wanted to reprint them in full here.

There is no doubt that the very nature of faith means that some of our beliefs will never be the same. We read from different texts. We follow different edicts. We subscribe to different accounts of how we came to be here and where we’re going next – and some subscribe to no faith at all.

But no matter what we choose to believe, let us remember that there is no religion whose central tenet is hate. There is no God who condones taking the life of an innocent human being. This much we know.

We know too that whatever our differences, there is one law that binds all great religions together. Jesus told us to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” The Torah commands, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow.” In Islam, there is a hadith that reads, “None of you truly believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.” And the same is true for Buddhists and Hindus; for followers of Confucius and for humanists. It is, of course, the Golden Rule – the call to love one another; to understand one another; to treat with dignity and respect those with whom we share a brief moment on this Earth.

It is an ancient rule; a simple rule; but also one of the most challenging. For it asks each of us to take some measure of responsibility for the well-being of people we may not know or worship with or agree with on every issue. Sometimes, it asks us to reconcile with bitter enemies or resolve ancient hatreds. And that requires a living, breathing, active faith. It requires us not only to believe, but to do – to give something of ourselves for the benefit of others and the betterment of our world.

In this way, the particular faith that motivates each of us can promote a greater good for all of us. Instead of driving us apart, our varied beliefs can bring us together to feed the hungry and comfort the afflicted; to make peace where there is strife and rebuild what has broken; to lift up those who have fallen on hard times.

* * *

I’m leaving today for a retreat with the WCCM in Genting Highlands. I’m leaving just in time: Mother has been spoiling me rotten. She keeps sending women up with more and more things for me to eat. (As if on sue, as I was typing that, a woman showed up at my door with a tin of tea made with roasted and boiled cumin seeds and curry leaves––“good for digestion and the liver,” the accompanying note says, and a contained of some kind of brilliant purple exotic tropical fruit.) She has been a marvelous host, and this has been a very good stay for me, especially since I have been able to get in touch in a deep way again with India’s immense contribution to me in terms of practical spirituality, both through the ambiance, the time for prayer and meditation, and all the reading that I have been able to do here.

Here’s the full quote from Sri Aurobindo that I cited on Tuesday, that I have found very affirming, and is sure to turn into a conference at some point:

An ordinary person who wishes to reach God through knowledge must undergo an elaborate training. One must begin by becoming absolutely pure, one must thoroughly cleanse the body, the heart and the intellect, one must get oneself a new heart and be born again; for only the twice born can understand or teach the (scriptures). When one has done this, one need four things before succeeding: the Sruti or recorded revelation, the Sacred Teacher, the practice of Yoga and the Grace of God.

Alhamdullilah!

The drink sent down by unseen hands,
we drank our share, alhamdullilah!
The table set to welcome the guest,
has fed us too, alhamdulillah!
Kabir Helminski

thurs, 11 feb, 09

The musical performance and dialogue went pretty well last night, but there was an “incident.” I have learned a song of Kabir Helminski’s named “The Drink Sent Down” that I have been wanting to sing. Kabir does not give the exact source for it but it is from a collection of songs (illahis) that he explains in the liner notes to the accompanying CD are mostly translations of ancient Turkish Sufi songs, I believe. It seemed apropos even if still a little risky to sing it in an overwhelmingly Muslim country such as this. I’ve been practicing it a lot. It includes a refrain that the assembly sings over and over again like a dhikr beneath the verses––“Alhamdullilah,” which means “Praise is due to God,” and also includes the refrain, “la ilaha illa Allah,” the first part of the Ash Shahadah–– “the witness”: la ilaha illa Allah wa Muhammad rasul Allah––“There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet.” This is what gets repeated in the daily muezzin’s call to prayer five times a day and on innumerable other occasions. I had asked Farid last week if it was okay to sing this song as a non-Muslim and he had said, yes, no problem. But I was still a little cautious, mainly because there has been the issue here in Malaysia of the government trying to forbid Christians from using the name “Allah,” although it is the word for “God” in the native Malay as well as other indigenous local languages.

Anyway, the Pure Life Society and the Inter-Faith Spiritual Fellowship seemed like a safe place to try it. As a matter of fact it went quite well except for one little thing. Amir, one of the members of the board whom I had met the previous evening, raised his hand after the song and said very nicely, “It was very beautiful but just one thing: it is ‘Al-ham’ not ‘Al-am.’ Other than that it was very beautiful.” Apparently I had not accented that “h” enough. I thanked him, but then another man near Amir stood up and said, “I am sorry but as a Muslim I must tell you I am very offended!” He then proceeded to scold me at length pretty harshly for that same mispronunciation, that it had changed the meaning of the words, and I should have known better. Needless to say, by the time he was finished I was mortified. But then a woman raised her voice and took the second man to task, saying that she was probably the only native born Arabic speaking Muslim in the room, and that she was not offended, she understood what I was saying and that this was not a sound easy for an English speaker to make (the guttural “h”), and that she was delighted that I had made the gesture of learning a song from Islam in this day and age of so much violence. Most of the crowd then cheered her. Then she and the gentleman got into a bit of a row, mainly about pronunciation, until the crowd again raised its voice and wanted to proceed.

I was by this time soaked with sweat. When everyone got quiet I first apologized to the gentleman and thanked him for correcting my pronunciation. I tried to make a little joke about the fact that I sing in different languages and quite often both my Latin and Sanskrit sound like bad Italian. But then I said there are two lessons that we can all learn from this concerning inter-faith dialogue: first of all, that this is what it is all about, learning how to speak with each other and correct each others’ mistakes; and secondly, that we each need to really do our homework when it comes to another’s tradition. Then I proceeded to sing “Hidden In My Silence.”

The ironic thing is that I thought I had done my homework about that phrase, to make sure that I knew the exact translation of it (“All praise is due to God.”), as well as knowing what the ash shahadah was. So, if anyone ever again accuses me of being too scrupulous about these kinds of things, I shall relate this story.

Afterward, quite a few people came up and apologized for the incident. Particularly another Muslim man in the crowd came up and apologized, “also on behalf of all Muslims.” I was very touched by this, because I thought I was really in the wrong, that I had not really done my homework well enough. I am glad that doing the song itself is not a problem, and that now I know how to pronounce it better. The folks bought many CDs and overall were thrilled that I was bringing songs from so many traditions and texts together, and I had many good conversations with them all. This was also the reaction in Singapore, and so it seems that this is an overwhelmingly good track, singing from Universal Wisdom. These of course are two countries that where the different faiths really do have to live together, not like America with its overwhelmingly Christian majority or even India with its Hindu majority.

Some of the staff members were still talking about the incident at lunch today. One of the gentleman said to me, “That was just divine intervention that that woman was there, because we would never had said anything. We usually just let things like that go.”

Alhamdullilah!

pure life

We need four things before we can succeed in reaching God through knowledge: the Sruti or recorded revelation, the Sacred Teacher, the practice of Yoga and the Grace of God. (Sri Aurobindo)





Tues, 10 Feb, 2009, Kuala Lampur, Malaysia

I took a coach up from Singapore today. I am told that it is such as hassle to fly from Singapore to Kuala Lampur that they have started these pretty luxurious bus lines now. This one was so: a double-decker bus, the lower deck being all lounge chairs, a meal served, a movie playing (whether wanted or not). And there were only three of us on this particular luxury liner built for around 40.

I am now at the Pure Life Society, guest of Mother Mangalam. How to explain this place? It was founded by Swami Satyananda, a Malaysian-born Tamil Indian, who was born in 1906. He had a Roman Catholic education (interesting to note that he would later write a what he called a “catechism” if the Indian religion), entered government service at 17, and spent ten years studying yoga, during which time he met some sannyasis of the Ramakrishna order. He first embarked on a career as an educator, both in regular schools and adult education programs, and was active in social, cultural and religious movements. Then in 1937 he joined the Ramakrishna Order, after which he studied Sanskrit and Indian philosophy. In 1940 he was sent to Singapore (when it was still part of Malay) as the head of the RK schools there, and studied and lectured particularly on comparative religions, and also did lots of work in education and social reform. He parted amicably with the RK order, mutually deciding that he was on his own path. He continued to live as a monk but was heavily involved in social work, education, pacifist conferences and inter-religious dialogue. He was greatly respected and decorated by local government leaders. As a matter of fact his book “Influence of Indian Culture on Malaya” was at one time the recommended text book for the Malayan Civil Service Examination. He joined the Indian Relief Committee after WWII and in 1950 established this place, the Shuddha Samaj–Pure Life Society, which includes an orphanage, a school, an adult education center, the Temple of the Universal Spirit, and a printery which issues a magazine called Dharma. In 1960 he suffered a terrible car accident from which he never fully recovered and he died a year later. Since then this place has been under the guidance of his closest disciple, Mangalam, affectionately known as “Mother.”

It is also Swami Satyananda who taught Father John Main how to meditate when Fr. John was stationed here in KL as part of the English Civil Service, which would later bear fruit as the seed of the World Community for Christian Meditation, for whom I have done considerable work and who have been such good friends to me. I am here in Malaysia to do a retreat for the WCCM this weekend and a concert next week in Penang, but am first spending four days here at Mother Mangalam’s invitation, and taking part in an interfaith event tomorrow night sponsored by the Inter-Faith Spiritual Fellowship of the Pure Life Society.

The sweetest part of the whole thing is that I am staying in the Swami’s old hut, a few steps below the Temple of the Universal Spirit. As is often the case in India, it has been turned into a kind of museum and shrine, with articles of his clothing and some of his books and autographs. Apparently no one has ever stayed here before but Mother had the idea that it might be nice for me to do so since they are so crowded in their other guest spaces. I must say, I feel as close to India––even achingly so––as possible here. Besides the oppressively humid weather, the hut is very much like a cell in the ashram, cement floor and noisy fan above, the bathroom consisting of a squatting toilet and buckets for a bath (I don’t mind, I assure you––don’t take that as a complaint). My actual living space is in a room on the side, but the big space that was swami-ji’s living space is open to my use as well; it is where Mother has placed my eating supplies. In this room where I am staying I am surrounded by photos of all my old friends: Ramakrishna, Vivekananda, Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, Ramanamaharshi and Ramalinga Swami. I feel a certain affinity to Swami Satyananda for a bunch of silly reasons: his amicable parting from the Ramakrishna Order, for one, and the fact that he wore a white “habit” that resembles the Camaldolese habit instead of the typical khavi. I’m counting on his darshan, and blissfully just got up from laying on my cot reading Aurobindo’s translations of the Upanishads feeling very much at home, a home I always forget until I am in it again.

There is no great virtue in keeping your discipline in your cell.
But there is if you also keep it when you come out of your cell.
Abba Serenius

wed, 10 feb, 09

I can’t tell you how beautiful these first few hours have been here. On request of Mr. Moorthi, who is my immediate host and the executive secretary of the Inter-Faith Spiritual Fellowship here at Pure Life, I attended the beginning of the meeting of the same last evening, just staying long enough to offer the opening prayer, and then headed back to my cell. I was so excited just to be in a real live monk’s cell! For the second night now I slept a full night’s sleep. I still woke up well before dawn, and sat at the front door of the hut sipping my tea and catching the last of the cool night breeze. Then just as I finished singing my morning mantras and was about to dive into my books to do my readings, a muzzien started the azan from a nearby minaret, followed by another and another all around me. The chanting continued for quite a while––I assume chanting from the Qur’an––as I chanted my psalms and read my other readings and settled into a period of meditation.

Even now, after working for a few hours on an article that I need to send off, I went and sat in meditation in front of Swami-ji’s larger than life-size portrait in the adjoining room, and as I did, I could distinctly hear planes flying overhead, that beautiful koel bird welcoming me home, the rush of traffic below this hill and the sounds of kids playing on their recess from the school next door––and I know that exterior silence is only an aid. It’s ultimately that interior silence that we are trying to cultivate.

I brought along a book called “In the Heart of the Desert” (wouldn’t that make a nice name for an album?) by John Chryssavgis on the spirituality of the desert fathers and mothers, and I read yesterday on the bus that:

The desert is a place of spiritual revolution, not of personal retreat.
It is a place of inner protest, not outward peace.
It is a place of deep encounter, not of superficial escape.
It is a place of repentance, not recuperation.
Living in the desert does not mean living without people;
it means living for God.
The desert [is]… always more than a place.
It is a way.

I am flooded with memories of Shantivanam, of teaching classes at the formation house, of midday prayer with the boys, of sitting on the verandah of Abhishiktananda’s hut, of breakfast at Mary Louise’s, of conversations with MC, of long walks down the Kavery in the fierce midday sun. Somehow there, here, it all seems so simple. It’s that simplicity that I try to remember and foster in my cabin at Corralitos, when I visit New Camaldoli, when I am staying with the friars in Singapore, riding on a bus or a plane. Chryssavgis writes that the reality of the cell should spill over into the reality of our life: “The boundaries of the cell are gradually expanded to include every moment of our life and every detail of our world.” But it really takes work and years of discipline for the silence to take root in our heart and stay there. My own spiritual director is always telling me to make sure that I have “X” days (days crossed off on my calendar) when I am on the road, too, not just when I get home. As John Cassian says about “constant prayer,” we stop with some regularity in the day to renew our prayer because “it is not given to us to pray as we ought.” So we stop when and if we can some days of our lives to get back to that Sabbath rest that is meant to be the source of our strength. It’s good when these trips are as much pilgrimages as they are working junkets.

sikh hospitality

Listen, my heart!
Let your love be that of the lotus for the pool.
Though the ripples shake the lotus and torment it,
It flowers and loves even more the waters.
Let your love be that of the fish for the water
Without which they perish.
(from the writings of Guru Nanak)

8 feb 2009

Yesterday we had the event that I had been really looking forward to, the Faith and Music event sponsored by the Community Development Council. Our friend Farid was the organizer but it was held at the Central Sikh Gurdwara. We were all invited to lunch beforehand. They serve hundreds of people a vegetarian meal for free every Sunday. A lot of the foreign workers, especially Indians come for it. (According to the teaching of their gurus, no one can be turned away from the pangat––the community kitchen. "It is here that the high and low, the rich and poor, the learned and the igonorant, the kings and paupers, all share the food sitting in common.... The institution of the langar––common kitchen is instrumental in creating social equality," they write in their pamphlet.) Leonard and I showed up first, but soon on our heels my friends Joyce and Richard, with Dominic and Andrea; then other of Farid’s young associates and interns, and other of the invited participants.

The program began in earnest in the Sikh’s auditorium upstairs a little after 2 PM. I was first and allotted a full half and hour to set the stage and atmosphere for the event. I stuck to my usual material, the Gregorian Benedictus Es and Abhishiktananda’s Namo Janitre, then “There is A Light” and “Awakening,” “Streams of Living Water,” “Lead Me from Death Into Life” and “Compassionate and Wise”––all short versions for the most part––since they all have good stories behind them. There were some Indian Hindus there who were going to perform later in the program. As always I felt a little shy about singing the Sanskrit in front of them, but they joined in and afterward told me that they liked it a lot.

The traditional Sikh Ensemble from the Gurmat Sangeet Academy, which is housed right there at the Gurdwar, performed a traditional Sikh kirtan next. I think that they were everyone’s favorite performers. They had a large ensemble playing all traditional instruments, performing a long kirtan in the typical Indian way, with a long alap-intro at the beginning led by their music master teacher. The text they sang was from their holy book the Gurbani, which includes poetry of Nanak and the early Sikh gurus as well as Indian rishis that went before. The text was: Fareed, the path is muddy and the house to my Beloved is so far away.

Then came this family of Hindus, including the youngest participant, Ayush, who was all of four years old. They are members of the Chinmaya Mission which was founded by H.H Swami Chinmayananda, who “blazed a trail across India and the world, revitalizing the study of the ancient Vedic texts and making their elusive and highly subtle principles accessible” to all people last century. They sang some Vedic chants and then a kirtan of their own. I suddenly noticed, during the singing of the kirtan, the words “Guatama Buddha.” And then sure enough, the next verse was about Allah, and the next about Yeshu.


Then came young Master Chung of the Taoist Federation Youth Group. He chanted three Taoist scriptural texts from us accompanied by a wooden fish, with good explanations of the training of young Taoist priests. He also slipped in the piece of information that there are three things that a Taoist priest may never interrupt, no matter what: meditating, eating or chanting. So, he told us, if you ever try to talk to a Taoist priest while they are meditating, eating or chanting and they don’t respond to you, please don’t think they are rude.



By then we were well behind schedule. Virtually no one had stuck to the 8 minute Fareed had requested. He and Aaron, one of his co-workers went up and treated us to a few short pieces of music. Farid played a song on a small reed instrument from Hawii called a zuphon, that sounded very much like a clarinet, and then sang it as well. Then Aaron first chanted a surah from the Qur'an. And, in keeping with the idea that I had presented of learning from traditions and being able to sing each others’ traditions, he then sang the old Christian hymn “Abide With Me,” explaining to us that his father’s side of the family had been Catholic, and he himself had grown up with a lot of appreciation for Christianity, and this hymn especially remained dear to him. I found it very moving that that is what he would choose to perform.




Last, two girls from an evangelical Christian church, one with a guitar, came up and did contemporary Christian song. It was quite different from anything we had heard thus far, but they performed it quite well. I was particularly impressed by the kind of gritty style of playing coming out of the diminutive guitarist.

Three young people from the CDC then led us in a discussion and dialogue exercise for a little less than an hour. And then we stood around and talked for another hour or so amidst the cacophony of the ongoing activities of the Gurdwara. Our host for the day, a tall very gracious young Sikh named Gurpreet, took my friends and me up to visit the Gurmat Sangeet Academy upstairs, where “Master-ji” was giving lessons but interrupted them to give us an explanation of all the traditional instruments that were housed there. Then there was quite an exchange of cards and CDs and thoughts about doing this again next year. Farid and Aaron and I really want to stay in touch, and even talked about some possible projects together, maybe in India or the Holy Land or even in California. Very exciting.

We were all so impressed with the Sikhs’ hospitality. In this day and age the Sikhs seem like a real beacon of hope in the midst of the religious fervor that is so often misdirected in this part of the world. The Sikh sect is originally composed of Hindus who, under the inspiration of Islam, adopted monotheism and rejected the caste system. (That, I found out, is why many of them are named Singh––they adopted a surname that was unrelated to the caste system.) Their initial impulse at least was based on recognizing that the fundamental religious truths of both religions were harmonious and easily reconcilable. And their sacred writings are so profoundly mystical and yet devotional at the same time, with that same kind of intimate reverence that one finds so often in India literature. Here is something form Radhakrishnan’s introduction Selections from the Sacred Writings of the Sikhs––the Gurbani––which includes poetry of Nanak and the early Sikh gurus as well as Indian rishis that went before but already carried the spirit:

The Sikh Gurus transcend the opposition between the personal and the impersonal, between the transcendent and the immanent. God is not an abstraction, but an actuality. [God] is truth, formless nirguna, absolute, eternal, infinite, beyond human comprehension. He is yet revealed through creation and through grace to anyone who seeks him with devotion. [God] is given to us as a Presence in worship. The ideas we form of Him are intellectualizations of that presence. A great Muslim saint observed: ‘Who beholds me formulates it not and who formulates me beholds me not. [One] who beholds meand then formulates me is veiled from me by the formulation.’ It is the vice of theology to define rather than to express, to formulate rather than to image or symbolize the indefinable.

Here is the part I like best:

Silence is the only adequate expression of that which envelops and embraces us. No word, however noble, no symbol, however significant, con communicate the ineffable experience of being absorbed in the dazzling light of the Divine. Light is the primal symbol we use, of a consciousness ineffably beyond the power of the human mind to define or limit. The inveiled radiance of the sun would be darkness to the eye that strives to look into it. We can know it only by reflection, for we are ourselves part of its infinite awareness.

In other news: besides getting myself settled in "road mode" and doing preparations for upcoming work while staying here under the usual warm hospitality of the friars of St Mary's: Thursday I had a great hike out in the rain forest with Richard and Joyce and their friend Dominic which ended with a meal at the most stridently vegetarian restaurant I have ever experienced (extra pix on the Picasa website); Friday Leonrad took me to hot (Bikram) yoga from which I am still sore, and a visit to the Temple of the Tooth, where there what is said to be a relic of the Buddha––a tooth––enshrined; Friday I did a talk for this parish on "The Inner Meaning of the Liturgy," amazingly well attended for a Friday night, but I have have grown to expect that from Singapore; Saturday an all day workshop on music with the musicians of this parish, about 70 in all, which was a lot of work but very well recieved and ultimately a lot of fun. Today Leonard is taking me hiking again (they are making sure I keep exercising) and I am to have lunch and some meditation time with a yoga teacher from Thailand that we met the other day. And, of course, prepping for my trip to Malaysia tomorrow. The work has begin in earnest.

Wishing you peace.

from singapore

Truly, those who have attained to faith in this Word,
as well as those who follow the Jewish faith,
and the Sabians and the Christians––
all who have faith in God and the Final Day and do righteous deeds––
no fear need they have, and neither shall they grieve.
Qur’an 5:69

Wed. 4 Feb, 2009

Greetings from Singapore. An uneventful 20-hour trip over, with a short stop in Seoul, Korea. My friend Leonard bravely waiting for me at 1 AM to whisk me over to the friary at St. Mary of the Angels where I have stayed so many times now.

Leonard does like to fill up my days when I am here but I managed to keep the first morning to myself. I now have made this trip enough times to remember that my body is going to be stiff and swollen from the trip, though I am never sure what causes that. My hands and feet are puffy from the change of climate, and back especially is stiff and tight, from the plane trip, I guess. Just knowing that makes me take better care of myself the first days now, lots of fluids and forcing myself to do some asanas knowing full well it will be like bending a 2 X 4.

Leonard picked me up at noon and we headed off to meet Farid. I had met him two years back at the Islamic Harmony Center here in Singapore. He has now organized an inter-faith event for this Sunday that I am participating in. Actually he organizes a series of inter-faith events such as this, every one with a different theme. This particular one is called “Music in Faith-Traditions: an alternative route to the soul, an interfaith experience.” We went to a wonderful “Chinese fusion” vegan restaurant. (Farid is a committed vegetarian, something I think is rather unusual for a Muslim.) He greeted me like an old friend, and has apparently been following my doings on our web site. I found out more about him. He started out working for “Outward Bound,” the wilderness experience for young people, which was, he says, started in England. (I thought it was founded in the States.) He now teaches at a local college about body consciousness, relaxation and health, I think he said; and he also works for the local government on the inter-faith council. They are pretty serious about that here in Singapore, which is good if not obvious: it is such a melting pot of Hindus, Muslims, Taoists, Buddhists, Christians, and Sikhs.

Farid took us over to a place called the Istana Kampong Glam, which was formerly the palace of the Sultan of Jahore, a city right across the water in Malaysia, and is currently the Malay Heritage Center complete with a museum and shops. We visited an artist who does very a modern style of batik, and then right next store a ceramicist, both of whom were very gracious and talkative about their work. (Chris and Debi, if you are reading, this would be a good place to stop on your world tour for Red Egg Gallery.)

Then we went over to the Masjid Sultan, which is considered Singapore’s premier Mosque. It’s history is like a snapshot of Singapore in the last century, tied in with Sultan Hussian Shah, the ruler of Temasek (the former name of Singapore) and Sir Stamford Raffles of the East India Company. The current building was begun in 1924. I brought with me this time a copy of The Light of Dawn, Camille Helminski’s selections and renderings of the Holy Qur’an. After the Sangha’s study of Islam this past year and my recent wonderful visit with Kabir and Camille at their Threshold Society meeting, I have grown increasingly fascinated by Islam, and this trip is going to give me a little more opportunity to interaction with Muslims. It’s a particularly sensitive interaction, I know, and southeast Asia Islam has a little different character than Arabic.

I am really excited about Farid’s event on Sunday. It is being held at the Sikh Centre, next to the Sikh Gudwara here in Singapore. I am the “headliner,” and so will sing and talk for about half an hour, and then a muzzein will sing the azan, that beautiful Muslim call to prayer, and do a recitation of a short Qur'anic Verse in Arabic. After that another Muslim group will be singing the Naat––Muslim praises to Prophet Mohammad) a capella in Urdu. (That’s interesting because the last song I wrote was “Hidden In My Silnce,” a setting of a poem on the 19th century Islamic Indian poet Ghalib, who also wrote in Urdu. Look up the video of that song on YouTube!) Then there will be some contemporary music sung in Malay language about the theme of love in Islam, followed by Baha’i recitation. The part of the program that everyone seems to be the most excited about is Taoist Prayer Chant that will be done by Master Chung Wei Yi, who is all of 25 years old. Farid said that there will be a Hindu group there as well doing some kirtans and the program will end with music by the hosts of the event, the traditional Sikh Ensemble from the Gurmat Sangeet Academy performing the traditional Sikh kirtans. There will be some Buddhists attending the event and Farid is yet hoping they will perform something as well.

I suppose my remarks will set the tone for the event––they have over-stated my reputation, I think––but I am not sure yet what I am going to say. My tendency is to let the music speak for itself. I almost wish I could go last, and sum it all up by drawing a little from each tradition. Farid is also hoping for what he called an “interfaith jam” at the end, while being sensitive to folks who would not be comfortable singing certain words or names of God. We shall see…

For now, today I am going over to give a talk (on something or other) to the Franciscan novices, and then going trekking with a couple of young friends I met here last time, Richard and Joyce Koh. Real work starts on Friday night and Saturday when I will be doing a workshop on liturgy and music for the Franciscan parish here. I haven’t done much teaching about liturgy here or at home these past few years, but John Wong, ofm, who has hosted me so many times put in a special request since he is the one in charge music here at this huge parish, so how could I refuse? Coming off a visit to the North American Academy of Liturgy in Baltimore, a week of composing with the Collegeville Composers Group and the Composers Forum in Saint Louis, I might just have something to say. I might actually have too much to say––the problem may be organizing and synthesizing it in digestible chunks.

There was so much preparation for this trip, the longest and most complicated one that I have made yet. I was groaning under the weight of it just a few weeks ago and mourning leaving my beloved kutir in Corralitos, but now that I am here I am looking forward to whatever adventures await. It does seem odd to be in Asia and not be on my way to India. The feel of the tropical air and the call of the koel bird, not to mention the many Indian faces here in Singapore, tug at my heart a little, but it was not meant to be this time. Though I must say I’m already looking forward to the trip there in 2010 for Abhishiktananda’s centenary.