THIRTEEN

Distinguish Between the Divine and the Ungodly

–1–

Rooted in the hearts of many Hindus is the belief that if you die in the sacred town of Varanasi, on the bank of the Ganges, you will attain release from the cycle of rebirth in this world. Every year, thousands make their way to this town to spend their final days.

Varanasi has three guesthouses for the dying. One of these is Kashi Labh Mukti Bhawan, established in 1908. Its manager, Bhairav Nath Shukla, has witnessed over 12,000 deaths in his forty-four years at Mukti Bhawan.³²

Shukla observed that at the end of their life, the guesthouse residents often regretted decisions they had made driven by their lower qualities, impelled by what Krishna describes as “the wealth of the ungodly”. Krishna lists six qualities that injure us: hypocrisy, vanity, egotism, anger, harshness and absence of wisdom.³³ The last of these, absence of wisdom, is the gold in which every ungodly jewel is set.³⁴

Ungodly qualities are so familiar and near to us that we usually fail to see them in ourselves.

Shukla remembers the day that Shri Ram Sagar Mishra, a Sanskrit scholar, arrived at Mukti Bhavan. The oldest of six brothers, Mishra used to be closest to the youngest, but an ugly argument between the two had led to a wall being built to partition the family home.

Mishra was sure he would pass away on the sixteenth day from his arrival. On the fourteenth day he said, “Ask my estranged brother of forty years to come see me. This bitterness makes my heart heavy. I’m anxious to resolve every conflict.”

Shukla arranged for a letter to be sent. On the sixteenth day, the youngest brother arrived. Mishra held his hand and begged him for forgiveness. He asked him to take down the wall dividing the house. The brothers wept and mid-sentence, Mishra stopped speaking. His face became calm. He was gone in a moment.

Shukla has seen this story replay in many forms over the past forty-four years. “People carry so much baggage throughout their lives, unnecessarily, only wanting to drop it at the very end of their journey,” he says.

The heavy baggage we carry is the wealth of the ungodly. It’s everything that has sprung from our own hypocrisy, vanity, egotism, anger, harshness and absence of wisdom.

Shukla explains that near the end of life many residents of Mukti Bhawan learn to appreciate the simple things, such as the chirping of birds, the fragrance of jasmine in the garden, or the soulful devotional songs Mukti Bhavan plays three times a day.

This isn’t true for everyone, though. Those who are too critical or too proud struggle to find joy in small things, their minds too preoccupied. They remain caught up, shouldering this heavy burden of the ungodly, even at the very end of life.

We’re truly rich and fortunate when we possess a large treasury of the heart, not a large treasury of the ego. The wealth of the gods and goddesses is a precious cache of unearthly qualities: fearlessness, purity of heart, discipline, non-violence, truthfulness, avoiding anger, non-attachment, tranquillity, compassion, kindness, humility, vitality, patience, and much more.³⁵

Shukla recommends cultivating helpful habits to house helpful values. And this, he says, happens over time, with practice: “It’s like building a muscle; you have to keep at it every day.”

Until we consistently work towards being giving, truthful or kind every single time we’re challenged, we can’t expect to have attained that jewel-like quality.

Many people donate or perform charitable acts towards the end of their life, Shukla observed. This is because death is hard on them. In their suffering, they begin to empathize with others’ suffering. What if we could develop these qualities not at the end of our life, when we’re frail and bedridden, but when we’re at the height of our energy and vitality?

Culturing these helpful qualities—amassing this type of capital, “the wealth of the gods”—is a form of yoga, Krishna explains to Arjuna. We tend to focus on accumulating money and material assets throughout our life. In doing so, we may easily and unwittingly spend a lifetime amassing the wealth of the ungodly, and find ourselves carrying a heavy burden all through life, right to death’s door.

We’re born into this world naked, without anything; and we’ll leave this world empty-handed. There’s nothing at all we can take with us. All we have is the potential of a divinely inspired life. By practising kindness and the other qualities of the gods, we’ll be able to exit this world peacefully and gracefully.

–2–

After fourteen years of marriage, Claude’s wife Amber left him for a yoga instructor. Claude plunged into a dark night of the soul.

During their marriage, Claude had wanted children, but Amber had been distinctly unenthusiastic. Within a few months of meeting her new yoga instructor, they had moved to San Francisco and Amber found herself expecting a baby.

Most people would have been filled with bitterness and fury, but Claude’s response surprised me: he never spoke ill of Amber. If Claude’s friends began disparaging her, he refused to join in. Instead, he deliberately chose to remain respectful of her, even though his world had been thrown into turmoil.

The dark night of the soul is the perfect time to develop kindness and compassion, both towards oneself and towards others, despite the pain.

Claude carried a lot of pain. But he refused to linger in self-pity, taking ownership of his life. He contemplated and acknowledged the mistakes he had made in the relationship, and how he might have contributed to the break-up. This took courage and strength.

There were still unresolved legal issues between Claude and Amber, including a third-party court case relating to their previous business together. Amber had taken the better half of their joint property portfolio, but Claude didn’t look for payback. Instead, he helped Amber settle the case, without her knowing.

Divorces and break-ups can become bitter, drawn out disputes, with both parties intent on destroying each other. They easily elicit the worst in us, our “ungodly” side.

Claude was deeply interested in Bhakti-yoga, the yoga of sacred love. He studied the Bhagavad Gita often and sought to culture divine qualities, such as non-violence, avoiding anger, never maligning others, compassion, kindness, humility, and the absence of malice.³⁶

Claude’s teacher had taught him the wisdom of trees. Yes, trees. A tree doesn’t take it personally if we don’t bow down in gratitude for the oxygen it provides. It gives whatever it has to others—its shade, its flowers, its fruits—without concern about receiving anything in return. It braves the scorching afternoon heat and torrential rains without complaining, offering shelter to those in need. And if someone arrives with an axe to cut it down, it remains free from malice and the desire for revenge.³⁷

By meditating on the nature of a tree, we can develop the qualities of tolerance and generosity. Claude wanted to emulate a tree, not an axe.

–3–

We passed a pack of twelve dogs facing each other in a large circle. It looked like a meeting. I had never seen dogs do that before.

Two of the dogs, both male, began barking loudly at each other, while the others watched and listened. Eventually, one of the two surrendered and left. The barking ceased.

Witnessing this, I recalled a passage in the Mahabharata where Arjuna’s grandfather, the wise Bhishma, likens someone who speaks ill of another behind their back to a cur.³⁸ I knew from personal experience that if you face a hostile street dog in India, it will retreat; but as soon as you turn your back to it, the feral canine will begin barking fiercely.

Still, I couldn’t quite understand Bhishma’s words. I was walking on the seashore with my teacher, so I asked him.

“A dog has higher qualities than someone who criticizes others,” my teacher replied. “When a dog sees another dog it doesn’t like, it begins to bark loudly. But once that other dog has left, the first dog will stop barking. Humans are just the opposite: when someone we don’t like enters the room, we’re silent and polite; but as soon as that person leaves, we begin ‘barking’ loudly. And we continue criticizing that person for many days, at every opportunity.”

I laughed. Unlike a dog, we rarely criticize others to their face; usually, we do so only when they’re not around. When a dog shows its dislike of another dog, there’s at least honesty and integrity in its barking.

Also, a dog lets go of its malice easily. We carry ours with us for many days, sometimes even years.

“What should we do if someone does something that really bothers us?” I ventured.

“If you’re troubled by someone, it’s a blessing. It means Krishna wants to teach you a special lesson. When we point a finger at someone, we should look at our own hand: our index finger is pointing at that person, but notice, three of our other fingers are pointing back at us.

“So, if you’re disturbed by the qualities of others, look deeply at your own heart. Is that quality in you? Why are you so disturbed by it?”³⁹

We tend to project unacknowledged aspects of ourselves on to others. When we’re “triggered” and find ourselves criticizing others, it often reveals parts of ourselves we disown or reject.

My teacher continued, “When we judge or criticize someone, we build a bridge from their heart to our own heart, and all the faults of that person, real or imagined, cross over that bridge, taking root in our own heart. So, we should try to see the good qualities of others.”

I imagined creating a bridge that allowed only the divine qualities to enter my heart. Since that day, I have been making a conscious effort to look for and appreciate the virtues of others. This has become an important part of my yoga practice.

–4–

One day a wise yoga teacher went to the Ganges to bathe. On the riverbank were a group of family members arguing loudly. The teacher observed them for a few moments and then turned to his students: “Why do people who are angry shout at each other?”

The students thought about it for a while. “We lose our cool, so we raise our voices,” one student offered.

“But why would we need to shout at a person sitting right next to us? We might as well say whatever it is we have to say softly.”

A few other students offered their suggestions, but none satisfied the group.

“When two people are angry with each other,” the teacher explained, “the distance between their hearts increases. Therefore, the angrier they are, the louder they must shout to cover the growing distance between them.

“When two people truly love each other, they don’t shout. They speak to each other softly. What happens when two people are especially close? They whisper. They may even understand each other without having to speak at all. There’s no longer a gap between their hearts.

“Anger creates the greatest gulf between two hearts. An angry heart is a treacherous place from which to speak or act. Anger, Krishna tells Arjuna, is one of the three passages to a tormented existence, one of the three gateways of Tamas that destroy the self.”⁴⁰

The teacher turned to his students: “So whenever you disagree with each other, be careful never to create distance between your hearts. Remember, words have power. They can make a person laugh or cry; they can inspire or destroy. Like sharp arrows, our words—once released—can never be recalled, so take great care with them.

“Krishna defines discipline of speech as speaking words that don’t disturb others and that are true, kind and helpful.⁴¹ So whenever we have a pressing urge to speak, we can first ask ourselves: ‘Will my words disturb others? Are they true? Are they kind? Are they helpful?’ If our words don’t pass these four ‘gates’, then it’s better to exercise restraint by remaining silent.

“Use words to reduce the distance between your heart and the hearts of others, not to enlarge it. Otherwise, you may find one day that the distance between your hearts is so great that you can never find your way back.”

–5–

An elderly master and his young apprentice, journeying on foot together to Mathura, came upon a wide, shallow river. The apprentice helped his teacher into the water, and they began to wade across carefully.

The teacher noticed a scorpion struggling in the water. He picked up the creature in his cupped palms to save it from drowning.

No sooner had the scorpion come out of the water that it promptly stung the teacher with its quivering, arched tail. An unbearable burning pain shot up the teacher’s arm, and he immediately let go of the nasty arachnid.

Despite his agony, the teacher picked up the drowning scorpion from the water and began wading towards the bank; and again, the scorpion stung the old man.

The apprentice looked on aghast. “Teacher, put it down! Don’t bother trying to save such a treacherous creature; it’ll only sting you again. Just let it die!”

The teacher ignored his apprentice and took the scorpion to dry land. As he approached the bank, the scorpion stung the teacher a third time, before crawling into the undergrowth.

“Teacher, why didn’t you just let it drown? That wretched creature nearly killed you,” the apprentice cried.

“You’re right. But this creature was simply following its nature. Just as a scorpion’s nature is to sting, my nature is to show compassion and kindness to all beings. If the scorpion didn’t abandon its nature, even when it risked losing its life, why should I abandon mine?”

When I first heard this story in a temple monastery in India, I reflected that we’re sometimes faced with individuals and situations that feel toxic. These are our “scorpions”. It’s easy to react with anger, resentment, hatred and violence. It’s easy to become venomous too. It takes true courage to respond with kindness, compassion, understanding and grace. If we’re cultivating our divine or godly qualities, if this is part of our yoga practice, then even when faced with difficulty and pain, we can respond kindly.

If we can maintain our higher nature even during times of pain and misfortune, such as during a dark night of the soul, then the divine qualities we’re culturing will have become an immovable, ineffaceable part of us. They can never be taken from us.

–6–

I got what I wanted today, and I’ll get what I want tomorrow. All this belongs to me, and in the future my wealth will increase further. I’ve killed one enemy, and I’ll kill the others too. I’m the lord; I’m the enjoyer. I’m successful, powerful and happy. I’m wealthy and from a good family. Who else is there like me? I’ll do some rituals and charitable giving, and then I’ll celebrate.⁴²

If we replace “kill” with “destroy”, these might easily be the personal thoughts of a company CEO or politician today. They’re Krishna’s description of the ungodly mindset, written thousands of years ago.

Even outside the arena of competitive capitalism or politics, we may find ourselves thinking in similar terms: “I got what I wanted today, and I’ll get what I want tomorrow.”

It’s tempting to believe we carry only the divine within us; but in the dark night of the soul, our dark side emerges. We’re faced with parts of ourselves we may have never seen before, and which we don’t wish to see or acknowledge.

“Divine” and “ungodly” refer simply to our higher and lower impulses, qualities that help us and qualities that harm us. We’ve all witnessed these two sides within ourselves. We may wish to conceal, ignore or banish our ungodly qualities. But it’s in darkness that these qualities thrive. They prefer not to be seen. To ignore or banish them only makes them stronger.

As soon we shine a light on our lower impulses by acknowledging them, they lose much of their hold on us. By actively seeking refuge in the divine qualities, such as kindness, compassion and truth, the army of the dark retreats.

The ungodly qualities can’t remain in the presence of the divine qualities. Hate can’t tolerate the presence of love. Arrogance can’t sit alongside humility. Falsehood can’t live in the company of truth. One of the two must leave the room.

One morning, my teacher explained this principle in a way I could easily understand. Pointing to an empty jug nearby, he asked me how I would extract all the air it contained.

A young, inventive teenager, I imagined first sealing the mouth of the jug carefully. I would then need to somehow create a vacuum in the vessel, by drawing the air out through suction. It wouldn’t be easy.

My teacher laughed affectionately. The easiest way, of course, is just to fill the jug with water, he explained. By filling the vessel with water, we automatically remove all the air. Likewise, the easiest way to empty our life of negative forces is to fill our life with the positive, vitalizing waters of the divine qualities, especially love and kindness.

If we fill our world with love and kindness, we leave no room for hatred and unkindness. If we fill our world with gratitude, we leave no room for want.

Some people try very hard to empty their world of all negativity. But emptiness (like a vacuum) is an artificial state. It’s impossible for us, while we’re alive, to have no thoughts or emotions at all; and if we focus continuously on removing toxic qualities, we may simply end up enlarging them. Therefore, the way to guard ourselves from unhelpful thoughts and states is to focus on creating vibrant, helpful ones.

I’m struck by this truth every time I think about everything I’m deeply thankful for. This generates immense vitality and abundance. When we focus on the things we’re truly grateful for, we find that what we’re grateful for keeps increasing in our life. The divine qualities are said to be unlimited states of being: the more we cultivate them, the more they grow, without limit.

Halfway through the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna tells Arjuna a secret: one who lives her life from her divine nature lives her life as an offering of love. Krishna calls such a person a mahatma, “one whose self is extraordinary”.⁴³ All the divine qualities blossom naturally in a heart that overflows with love.

–7–

One way to collect “the wealth of the gods” is through asana, or yoga postures.⁴⁴ As well as being physical exercises, yoga poses are vehicles to cultivate self-awareness and develop the divine qualities, by awakening dormant aspects of our being.

There’s a bridge between our posture and our consciousness. At the beginning of the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna, overcome by grief, describes his physical symptoms: failing limbs, parched mouth, tremors, hairs standing on end, burning skin, and an inability to stand steadily.⁴⁵ Arjuna’s posture mirrors his state of consciousness.

In yoga, asanas are dynamic poses that allow us to know and feel where our consciousness rests. Every asana is not only a physical posture, but also a posture of consciousness. It’s therefore important to engage our breath and our awareness in our practice of asana. The deeper we enter into a yoga pose, the more it offers us.

There are 8.4 million possible asanas, according to one yoga text, as many as there are forms of life. Of these, 84 are preeminent, of which 32 are especially useful.⁴⁶ Beyond mere physical exercises, these asanas can manifest the divine qualities that lie dormant within us. For example, the Tree Pose (Vrikshasana) helps us develop the highest qualities of trees: strength, balance, flexibility, tolerance, generosity and grace.

The Warrior Pose (Virabhadrasana) inspires us to become a “yoga warrior” like Arjuna. We can summon the attributes of the warrior when we feel disconnected from our mission and purpose, when we feel conflicted internally, or when we feel lost or stuck, like Arjuna. This yoga posture reconnects us with the power of the self.

The Lotus Pose (Padmasana) brings out our “lotus potential”. Through the Lotus Pose (and the Half-Lotus Pose), we develop the divine qualities expressed by the lotus: rootedness, tranquillity, softness, openness and the ability to rise above life’s tribulations.

One of the many Sanskrit words for “lotus” is pankajam, “that which is born out of the mud”. Like the lotus, we can blossom not only despite the muck of everyday life, but out of it, including the dark night of the soul. Out of the ordinary muck of life we can manifest something truly extraordinary.

This transformation, represented by the lotus, is the essence of the “yoga of despair”.