What makes me do Vedanta’s Four Basic Practices (sādhana-catuṣṭaya) is my longing to be free. The journey from bondage (bandha) to freedom (mokṣa) is said to occur in three steps, but sometimes in only two, in rare cases even one, depending on the fitness (adhikāra) of the student. The Four Basic Practices initiate the process of fitness. The more adept I get at the Four Basic Practices, the more fit I become and the fewer the steps I need in order to be free.
Those who have perfected themselves in the Four Basic Practices belong to the category of the magnificent. They are considered the best (uttama) among the students. Those who are still struggling, still failing most of the time, are the mediocre ones, somewhat uncharitably called the lowest (kaniṣṭha) among the students. The rest are the middlings, located somewhere in the middle (madhyama), failing at times and succeeding at other times but doggedly keeping up the practice.
How many steps I need to reach freedom depends largely on what kind of student I am—mediocre, middling, or magnificent. My status is not carved in stone. If I am mediocre at present, it doesn’t mean that is how I’ll remain for ever. I can improve and raise myself to be among the magnificent if I continue undeterred with the Four Basic Practices with dedication, determination and perseverance.
So what are these steps to freedom?
Step 1: “Hearing” (śravaṇa)
The first step is to know the truth—the truth of my present bondage and the way to get out of it. In ancient times this literally occurred through hearing. There were no books then and the student had to go to a teacher and hear the teachings. Hearing remains a key method of learning even today. When we read books, in our heads we “hear” the words on the paper. We are now also used to getting knowledge through lectures and conversations, audiobooks and podcasts. When we think about what we have heard, we also hear ourselves and often have extended conversations with ourselves.
Hearing is an art. It requires discernment. If we give the same attention to every sound around us, it may be fun for a while, but soon enough we’ll get tired or bored if we don’t also go crazy. We instinctively tune out some of the sounds in order to focus on what really matters. Sometimes we cannot do it well. While doing chanting (japa) of a mantra, for instance, we are expected to filter out all sounds except the sound of the mantra. Distracted by our own inner chatter, we often fail to do so, effectively killing the japa-practice. When we listen to the words of the teacher, or of a scripture, we are expected to hear only that, and nothing else. It is no easy matter, but that’s why even hearing needs to be practiced well.
There is one other thing we need to know and it is about access. Only those who are really close to the family are granted access to every part of one’s home. Others may come only up to the room where guests are received. Likewise in the matter of hearing, only that which is really vital to me should be given access to the deepest core of my being. All other sounds deserve only limited access, so I can deal with them appropriately and get them out of my mind when they are no longer needed. The words of the scripture and the teacher are a different story. They need to be granted total access. Those precious words are to be taken in, deep inside us, to be pondered over in the sacred silence of the heart.
The knowledge received from the teacher is of two types—one is related to doing, and the other is related to being. The instruction regarding doing generally begins with teaching the student how to pray. Traditionally, the first prayer taught to the student is the Gāyatrī, a powerful prayer to awaken one’s latent power of spiritual intuition (dhī). But there are other prayers as well, either spontaneous, self-composed or from existing texts. Doing mantra-japa is also an act of prayer. When done with heartfelt sincerity and devotion, prayer combines in it all the elements of the Four Basic Practices. It is prayer that cleanses the heart and makes it ready to receive the teaching.
The teacher’s instructions regarding being primarily point to the student’s true identity. Who I really am is described in different ways. Theistically, my true nature takes the form of a relationship with the Divine. In personal terms, God is my eternal father or mother, and I am God’s child. I may also see God as my master, my friend, or my beloved. With a heart filled with parental love, it is possible to see God even as my child. There is no limit to the ways in which I can relate to God.
In most cases, the bonding is established not with “God” in a generic sense but more specifically with the Divine associated with a name (nāma) and a form (rūpa). In Sanskrit, this favored form through which the Divine becomes accessible is called iṣṭa-devatā. The journey is often described as one from the tangible to the intangible—from form to beyond form, from name to beyond name. It is a practical approach, taking support when we need it and outgrowing the need for it when we are strong and able.
Philosophically, my relationship with God is similar to that between a part (aṁśa) and the whole (aṁśi). The intensity of my love and the clarity of my perception keep reducing the distance that separates me from God. As we come closer to each other, a point is reached when God and I are no longer two but one. The relationship reaches its zenith in unity. How amazing that it was the one Being all along who for a while appeared as two! Such is the nondual experience described in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (1.4.10): “I am the Infinite One” (ahaṁ brahmāsmi). There cannot be two infinities. Whatever exists is one. The existence of the “many” may well be a myth.
The teacher’s instruction (as in Taittirīya Upaniṣad, 2.1.3) may be as simple as pointing out the ultimate Being to be “real, conscious and infinite” (satyaṁ jñānaṁ anantaṁ). Perhaps the teacher may also instruct the student to do a simple experiment, such as placing a pinch of salt in a glass of water. The next day—we read in the Chāndogya Upaniṣad (6.13.1-3)—the student is asked to bring the salt which was placed in the water. It is naturally dissolved by then, so the salt is not visible. The teacher tells the student to sip the water from the top, from the middle, and from the bottom of the glass. Finding the water salty throughout, the student says that, although not visible, the salt is present everywhere in the water. The teacher then points out that, exactly in the same way, although not visible, Being not only is present everywhere and in everyone but is also the self of everything that exists.
तत् सत्यं, स आत्मा, तत् त्वं असि ।
Tat satyaṁ, sa ātmā, tat tvaṁ asi.
“That is the truth. That is the self. You are that.”
Hearing these words, the student is expected to look within and find out who exactly “that” (tat) is. Discovering “that” and its relation to “me” is the crux of spiritual life. How long the discovery will take is directly related to how fit the student is. When the right answer flashes in the heart, the student encounters the ineffable Being who is both “transcendent and immanent.” This life-changing experience “cuts asunder the knots of the heart, dispels all doubts, and eliminates karmas” (Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad, 2.2.8).
All of this happens right away as soon as the teaching is heard in the case of those who are perfected in the Four Basic Practices. Merely hearing the teacher express the truth is enough for these magnificent students to wake up from the sleep of ignorance into the light of the Infinite. Blessed are those who are free and blessed is the moment they wake up! Such occasions are special and sacred but also rare, and such students are also extremely rare.
For everyone else, the hearing of the teaching leads not to spiritual freedom but to doubts and questions. That makes it necessary to move to step 2.
from Vedanta Blog - Vedanta Society https://ift.tt/Gnkedh3
