The New Life 

The savage winds struck quickly in the night and in the wake of their triumphant retreat, the air was damp, and limp, and fragrant with the odor of dead and dying trees. I remembered that in my half sleep the night before, I heard howls and screams. Tumultuous thuds shook the earth. I heard loud snapping sounds, like guns at war, but this in no way prepared me for what I saw when I stumbled into the garden that morning.

The corpses of ancient, mighty, trees, no match for their merciless and invisible enemy, lay broken and twisted apart, slain, and scattered on a battlefield scared with huge craters — where powerful roots were ripped from the earth.

I was stunned and silent, I recognized but couldn’t see, and within me and without, no thought or feeling conveyed from any place to any other. Surely, I would have wept — had I could.

Hours passed in seconds; days stretched into eternities. I wandered aimlessly through the garden, my beloved nowhere to be found.  Exhausted and confused, I sat down in some unfamiliar place and disappeared into the memory of an ancient song he had once sung to me. Upon recalling the words, “Let not despair and disappointment ravage and destroy the garden of your life…” I felt a soft rustling around me and then the soothing sound of my Beloved’s beautiful voice. At first, I couldn’t discern whether it was within me or without.

“’Let despair and disappointment ravage and ruin the garden of your life.’ That is how the song goes.”

I turned and he was there, suddenly, like he never had gone at all. My gaze fell to his feet and the hem of the white garment that draped his graceful form.

“This garden will live and die and live again,” he said softly.

I looked up into his gentle smiling face and for a moment, the entire firmament was eclipsed by his effulgence. His dark, luminous, eyes were warm and filled with love’s dew.

“You beautify the garden by contentment and self-sufficiency. Protect and love it. Nurture it as you would your very self but worry not if it is taken from you and you are left with nothing at all. Remember my silent words.

‘Even if your heart be cut to bits, let a smile be on your lips. Here I divulge to you a truth: Hidden in your empty hands is treasure untold. Your beggarly life is the envy of kings.’”[i]

“How can I not worry?” I begged. “I am attached to everything.”

 A fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine swirled around him as he seated himself on the ground beside me. Silence enfolded and caressed me. The rhythm of his breath became my own.   

“My Will is beyond you. My Wish is within you. Be happy. Do not worry,” he said.

“I am so tired and exhausted I can hardly think, yet your presence consoles me. I am so happy to be with you.”

“Rest,” he said and placed his hand lightly upon his leg.

My face fell into the soothing coolness of his garment and in its sanctuary I began to drift through strange dreams into a silent sleep. When I awoke in some unknown place, I instinctively reached out for him.

 

“Where are we?” I asked. “Is this still the garden? And am I even awake, or is this all some kind of dream?”

“Yes — and no,” he said. “The garden you know, your garden, is but a single flower in my garden. My garden is eternal and infinite; nothing exists outside of it. You may think that you can come and go, but in truth, you only move within it—from place to place.” “Where are we?” I repeated.

“Look!” he said.

We were standing in a small courtyard with floors and walls and benches of white marble. All around us were dark skinned men dressed in white linen. Wooden beads adorned their naked chests.

“Where are we?” I asked again. “I don’t recognize anything.”

“Another part of my garden.” he said with a gentle smile.

“And these men — who are they and what are they doing?”

“Come,” he said, and guided me through the courtyard and up a marble stairway to a large open verandah. I heard singing—a kind of chant— accompanied by drums and cymbals.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Guiding me toward the sound, he steered us through a crowd of people to a large central hall where men and women were engaged in what seemed to be a cacophony of various activities.

I looked around. Several other smaller rooms adjoined the hall at the back and on either side. These rooms were also filled with people. The atmosphere was charged with devotional fervor.

Taking me by the arm, my companion led me through the throng of people to a place in the middle of the verandah just adjacent to the central hall. Directly in front of us was a small enclosure that enshrined a large metal bell.

My Beloved looked thoughtfully at the bell and then back at me. “This bell has an interesting history. Listen carefully.  Can you see that large red fortress in the distance?”

 I followed his gaze to a majestic looking structure — like an ancient medieval castle — with impressive turrets and winding staircases.

“A powerful and greedy ruler once lived there,” he said. “His rule was very strict and without compassion. He made war on his neighbors and terrified the subjects of his own kingdom. One day, while gazing from his window, he saw this temple and decided that he would conquer and destroy it.”

“Why would he want to do that?” I asked incredulously.

“Man is ruled by his nature, and it was his nature to exercise power and control. And so, he dispatched a mighty army with thousands of soldiers, horses, and chariots of war. There were terrible weapons; the beating of drums was like thunder.                                                                                      

The army began to make its way across the plain and its tumultuous thunder was heard miles away by the people in the temple--even the ground beneath their feet shook with their mighty approach. But then, just as the soldiers were about to invade the temple, a magical event occurred. This bell began to ring and all the other bells in the temple began to ring also.”

“What made them ring?” I asked.

 “It was not rung by a human hand,” he said slyly, and then paused before continuing his story.

“The bells rang and rang—the sound was deafening. Frightened and confused, the army stopped advancing and their general sent a message back to the ruler informing him of the situation. The ruler, interpreting the event as a sign that the temple was under divine protection, recalled his army and the temple has stood undisturbed ever since.”

“Who rang the temple bells?” I asked.

“It was my order.” He replied.

“You must love this temple very much.” I said.

“I love all equally, no one temples or mosque interests me more than another, I was only executing the Divine Plan which includes everything and everyone.”

He turned and faced the main hall and in a voice distinct and clear he said:

“Come all unto me.”

‘Here, here is your Beloved! — the very object of your devotions, standing among you,’ I thought as I gazed upon the very pole of divine beauty. He looked deep into my eyes, as if he had heard my thoughts; his face wore an unfathomable expression.

“Though among them I stand at the very center of their devotions, they see me not, for they have come to worship their own worship and have made it their Lord. Look around you, you can see they have all fallen asleep.

“Real love is very rare; it is a gift from God to man. Only love can open their eyes and only love can reach my ears. They cannot see me, and the only prayer that I can hear is the prayer of the heart.”

My mind filled with questions — it seemed so profoundly sad, but before I could utter a single word, he took me by the arm and began walking through the hall to a recessed area behind one of the smaller rooms. The space was divided into three sections. We entered the first. It was a kind of chamber with only one man who left as soon as we walked in.

White and yellow flowers had been placed around the room and on the walls were some old-looking charts, carefully lettered in a script I could not read.

“What are these charts?” I asked.

“They are teachings and explanations that I gave to them hundreds of years ago.”

“What do they say?” I asked.

“It is not important—anymore; everything has its time and place,” and gently pushed me in the direction of another room.

This room was obviously a shrine. Beautifully painted murals rich in gold and silver adorned the walls of an alcove dominated by a large statue of some saint or god. An energetic procession of worshipers filed past the statue speaking and gesturing in devotional ways.

“Who is portrayed in this statue?” I asked.

“I come again and again; I have lived many lives,” he said simply.

He continued to view the procession as we spoke, sometimes appearing to take particular notice of one or more of the devotees.

“Of the many, there are always a few sincere lovers of God,” he said.

“When they pray, their prayers are heard.”

“If they are your real lovers,” I asked, “then why is it that they still do not notice you?”

“To see me and to know me is a gift that I bestow — when the time is right.”

He looked at me with such love that for a moment nothing existed but the two of us.

“It is time for us to leave here,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”

He took my hand and for what seemed like only a moment a kind of curtain was pulled around me and then disappeared.  

 

We were standing in the middle of a walkway that led to a very large mosque. A sea of people surged around us.

“Where are we now?” I asked. “Are we here to see this mosque?”

“No,” he answered and began walking in the direction of the great building. We took no more than a few steps and he stopped.

“Look over there,” he said, and pointed to the side of the road. I looked but could not see what he was trying to show me.

“There,” he pointed. “There, on the ground — the man.”

And then I saw him, a thin nearly naked man lying flat on the ground. His face was turned to the side, and he was breathing in a strange, very rapid, rhythmic way. He was making sounds, but I couldn’t tell if he was saying anything. Even more strange was that he had no arms, just two short stumps, one of which he continuously beat or flapped ferociously in the air. I was shocked and appalled by the sight and quickly turned away.

“I don’t understand.” I said. “Is he a beggar?”

“Not a usual beggar, but a wayfarer,” he replied.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“He is in a very high state of spiritual intoxication,” he said. “He is totally unconscious of the physical universe, not even conscious of his own body.”

“How did he get like that?” I asked.

“When he was just a child, he was given to a spiritual school. This school had knowledge of many ancient practices. You can say that this man is the result of certain experiments.”

“Experiments!” I said. “What kind of experiments?”

“Jesus referred to such practices when he said that there was once a time when the kingdom of heaven could be attained by violence.”

“So, what will become of this man?” I asked.

“I will help him,” my companion replied. “Now walk with me in the direction of the mosque, there is another man I want you to see.”

He gestured in the direction of a small gathering of people attending a man sitting on a platform in the middle of the road. He had no arms or legs, but unlike the first man he was carefully dressed in clean white linen.

“Is he spiritually intoxicated too?” I ventured.

“No,” my companion said. “This man is very advanced, but he is salik.”

“Salik?” I asked.

“Sober.” He replied.

“And is he the result of an experiment too?”

“No, he is this way because of tremendous personal efforts he has made. He has undertaken great penances and made many sacrifices. His work has been intentional and conscious.”

“Is there any connection between him and the other man?"

“Yes, this man is the first man’s spiritual master. He is his guide.”

 I was very interested to know why my Beloved had taken me to see these two strange men, but before I could even formulate a question, the man on the platform had taken notice of my companion and began gesturing to his attendants. They picked him up and turned him in our direction. He and my Beloved stared into each other’s eyes. For a moment, they were completely still and totally absorbed. Then just as quickly as it began, it was over.

“Come,” my beloved said. “This work is complete.”

“That man seemed to know you,” I said.

“He is one of my few direct agents,” he replied. “He is the Spiritual Chargeman for this part of the world and he is responsible for all of its affairs, come.”

 

He took my hand, and again a curtain of darkness was pulled around me, and then, just as quickly as before, it disappeared and we were standing on a painted wooden floor in a large open hall in a temple or monastery. Colored silks and tapestries adorned the walls. There were statues of Buddha and other deities. Smoke from incense filled the room.

“Where are we now?” I asked.

“A Tibetan monastery,” my companion replied. “Come.”

He steered us to the back of the hall where a group of monks in cranberry colored robes were performing some sort of ceremony. The leader was standing before a large square table that held an elaborately colored design.

“It is beautiful,” I said.”

“Look closer,” he replied, “it’s a painting made of sand.”

We took a few steps closer. Some of the monks noticed us and smiled.

“Look!” my Beloved said.

Standing closer, I could see that the painting was made of a variety of vividly colored sands. The design was very complex, and the sand had been piled up in a way that gave a sense of dimension and relief. Meanwhile, the monks were singing, bells were ringing, and a venerable old man moved forward and stood before the painting. He quietly began to intone a prayer.

I was unable to take my eyes off of the painting and found myself being drawn into some unique and strange feeling in which I experienced myself as being within  the space of the painting itself, wandering through a magical maze of glittering lights.

I had entered another world, more internal than external, composed

of pure feeling and pure thought. Wandering through its shining corridors, I experienced an endless array of sights and sounds and was drawn deeper and deeper into some pristine and subtle joy.

I was transformed. My body became light, and the painting was a prism that scattered me into a shimmering rainbow dancing with the rhythm of my own breath. Time disappeared into eternity. I laughed and cried, wishing only to be drowned forever in the tears of my own bliss.

But then something began to happen. My magical world was becoming undone — the patterns were breaking down. Colors swirled into each other. The shining corridors collapsed around me. I was terrified, shaking all over, and then, like out of a dream, I saw him. It was the old man standing over the painting. His hands were immersed in the sand and he was swirling it all together. The lines and patterns disappeared. It was becoming — just piles of colored sand.

“Why is he destroying it?” I cried, and then felt the hand of my Beloved on my arm.

“All creation lives and dies,” he said. “Life is transitory and only God is eternal. In the end, the painting is always destroyed — but it is honored. The sand is carefully collected and respectfully used again in other ways. This ceremony is about liberation from the illusion of suffering. It honors the journey-less journey to eternal reality. Destroying the painting in the end is a reminder that the ceremony itself is illusory and transitory in its nature and should not be maintained beyond the fulfillment of the purpose for which it was created.”

I watched the monks begin to fill containers with the sand they scraped from the table and wondered if my garden, and indeed my very life, was just a picture made of sand.

“Everything passes, nothing remains the same,” he said, as the curtain of darkness was again drawn around me. When it was lifted, I found myself once more in the place I had fallen asleep, still lying on my beloved’s lap.

 

I looked around. Everything was changed. The chaos and destruction were gone, but so was the garden.

“The garden is gone,” he said, answering my thoughts, “Because it is now time for your

 journey to continue. It is time for you to enter the New Life. Remember, everything

 

changes on your journey to the changeless eternal, but I am always with you. Do not

 

worry — be happy.”

 

 

“This New Life is endless, and even after my physical death it will be kept alive by those

 

who live the life of complete renunciation of falsehood, lies, hatred, anger, greed, and

 

 lust: and who to accomplish all this, do no lustful actions, do no harm to anyone, do no

 

 backbiting, do not seek material possessions or power, who accept no homage, neither

 

 covet honor nor shun disgrace, and fear no one and nothing; by those who rely wholly

 

 and solely on God, and who love God purely for the sake of loving; who believe in the

 

 lovers of God and in the reality of Manifestation, and yet do not expect any spiritual or

 

 material reward; who do not let go the hand of Truth, and who, without being upset

 

 by calamities, bravely and wholeheartedly face all hardships with one hundred per cent

 

 cheerfulness, and give no importance to caste, creed and religious ceremonies. This New

 

 Life will live by itself eternally, even if there is no one to live it.”[ii]               

© copyright 2002 Michael Kovitz

 

   

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                       

---

[i] From Meher Baba’s “Song of the New Life.”

[ii] From Meher Baba’s New Life message.

The Vastness of the Heart

“I saw him on the streets of the hidden with something in his hand. I said, ‘My God, what is this?’ He said, ‘Your heart.’ I said, ‘Has my heart such a station that it lies in your hand?’ He gazed at my heart, and it was like something folded up, so he spread it out. And my heart covered the space from the throne to the earth. I said, ‘This is my heart?’ He said, ‘This is your heart, and it is the vastest thing in existence.’ He took it, as it was still in his hand, to the angelic regions, and I went with him, until I reached the treasury of the hidden. I said, ‘Where are you taking it?’ And he said, ‘’ To the world of eternity, so that I may look in it, and create the wonders of reality in it, and forever manifest myself in it with the attribute of divinity.’” – Ruzbihan Baqli, The Unveiling of Secrets – Diary of a Sufi Master, page 43, translated by Carl W. Ernst

Eruch Jessawala, Meher Baba’s close Mandali, once told me that Krishna kept tiny models of His closest disciples and used to worship them. What is this game that the Beloved plays with His lovers—the game He plays with Himself?

Steven Goodman shared this statement of Rumi as transmitted by Amir Khusro: (The relationship between these two wondrous souls will have to wait for another time.)

“With my Beloved I play the game of love.
If I win, He is mine; if I lose, I am His!”

In the exoteric transmissions of Krishna, Mohammed, Jesus, and perhaps, one day, Meher Baba, this intimacy of relationship between the lover and the Beloved is lost. I said exoteric, meaning scriptural, meaning all that comes through time—all that comes through others. But when you meet Him on the streets of the hidden, it is not only beyond exoteric, it is also beyond esoteric, and it can only be described as the tale of love and:

“The tale of love must be heard from love itself…” – Rumi

“Then he hid, and his face appeared from the window of the angelic realm, and he plundered my heart and spirit. Then his essence and attributes appeared, and he drew me near until there was only one cubit between us.” Baqli, The Unveiling of Secrets – Diary of a Sufi Master, page 110, translated by Carl W. Ernst

Why did He leave one cubit between them? Because if the cubit was erased the game would end in Union. One might say, “How cruel is this Beloved, that for the sake of His game, He would leave the cubit untraversed." Hafez answers; “About what you hear from the Master, never say it is wrong, because, my dear, the fault lies in your own incapacity to understand Him.”

Is it that, as Ruzbihan Baqli says; he wants us to “remain in the enjoyment of intimacy and the sweetness of witnessing.”?

For in union, intimacy is extinguished, and witnessing (without another to witness) ceases to be possible.

“Grandfather, In the past, I have been inspired by the experiences of Ruzbihan that you have spoken of and now I have noticed that your friend has quoted passages from his writings from Dr. Ernst’s book, Diary of a Sufi Master. I have become curious about this Sufi and wonder as to his station in the spiritual world.”

“My dear, if by station you mean his plane of consciousness, all I can say is that the lower cannot see the higher, other than what the higher reveals to the lower, and I consider Ruzbihan’s station far beyond my own—but perhaps, my dear, you have some thoughts of your own?”

“Indeed I do Grandfather, though I realize that trying to gauge another’s spiritual station is a foolish endeavor.”

“Yet you asked.”

“Yes, and hopefully my motivation will prove me more an idiot than a fool.”

“It is true that it is said, ‘God loves and idiot and hates a fool.’”

“Because a fool takes everything seriously except God, while an idiot takes nothing seriously except God.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“So, as I said, perhaps my inquiry will prove me the former rather than the latter.”

“Indeed my dear, indeed.”

“Dear Grandfather, the clearest expositions of the spiritual panorama that I have found are in the teachings of Meher Baba, in particular God Speaks.”

“Also too in His descriptions of the higher planes of consciousness that are found in The Nothing and the Everything that He gave to dear Bhauji.”

“Yes, I agree—and based on those two sources I have concluded that Ruzbihan was a salik-like pilgrim on the fifth or sixth plane of consciousness.”

“Based on Ruzbihan’s own words I would not disagree, though as I said, the lower cannot see the higher, and sometimes a Perfect one, like Hafez, wrote couplets in which He described experiences of pilgrims on all the various planes of consciousness. Still, based on the descriptions of Ruzbihan’s experiences,  it seems to me that he saw his Beloved God face to face and yet still experienced himself as something other than the One he was experiencing. What is it that Meher Baba says in God Speaks on the subject?”

“I have it right here Grandfather. Meher Baba says, ‘This mental-conscious human soul of the sixth plane, almost void of all impressions and only conscious of mind, now is confronted with God face to face and sees God in everything but does not see himself in God because, being still conscious of mind, he takes himself as Mind.’”
                                                
                                                     Voice of the Stream

My heart was so full that day as I walked in the garden my body could not contain its swell.
Joy rose within me. My eyes filled with tears.
“Why do I love this garden so much?” I said aloud.

“Because, I made it for you.”

I turned and saw him, arms held wide, standing beside a tiny stream amidst a stand of white jasmine.
“I have known your father and your father’s father and his father too, before the mighty tree of your lineage had yet become a tiny seed.

“I knew you then and I have loved you forever — before creation — before the time of time itself.

“Long ago, I revealed to your father, seven times removed, a hundred thousand shapes that clothe my mystery. In me he glimpsed the universes of form and energy and mind and all the worlds beyond the universe also. To him, I revealed my infinite colors, countless forms, and my attributes divine. Now see! The gift is yours.”

“There is darkness. I see nothing.”

“This darkness will fade. Can you see yourself?”

“I see a man, small and weak. His eyes are open yet do not see.”

“That man you were has ceased to be. You are all life now, life from stone to tree, every creature, humanity.”

“Yes! I am towering mountains and raging seas. I am mighty rivers and endless plains stretching past the reach of my eye and beyond the grasp of my mind.”

“You have become the earth, its firmament and depths — and you are the source of its life also. but what is your source, and where is your home? Your journey has only just begun.”

“I am light and fire bursting: planets encircle and adore me.

Earth, dearest of all bows reverently at my feet.”

“Now you have become the sun — the source of life to every planet whirling in your sight, but like the moon, you shine with borrowed light. Continue on, for all you are and all you see are merely shadows of Reality.”

“That great and mighty sun I have ceased to be now appears a tiny sphere lost in the vastness of the firmament. Eighteen thousand blazing worlds I have now become. Nothing is beyond me!”

“Oh arrogant one, you say that nothing is beyond you? I am beyond you. Your Self is beyond you. To become the universe is neither knowing you nor me — hidden still is Reality. Close your eyes to these worlds of form and time and enter the subtle sphere of dreams, where things are and are not what they appear to be.”

“I am awake, yet still asleep, and in the distance I hear sounds of chiming bells and from some far away shadowy realm glimpse etheric cathedrals where echo harmonies of sweet melodies that sing, ‘the essence of life is beautiful and free.’ 

“But now, what is happening? What is all this? The song has changed and waves of desperate cacophony overwhelm its sweet tune.  My dream is now a nightmare. I cover my eyes but to no avail, for what I see I see within me and I am terrified. Light submits to shadows. The sea is bound within the drop and happiness bows to sorrow in an endless chain of births and suffering and death.”

“Be not frightened! This dream proceeds by my will. Souls inform themselves to know me, become drops to find the sea and don the cloak of darkness to realize the light.”

“My Lord, your explanation eludes me and I remain sickened and confused, haunted by all the pain and suffering I see.”

“Oh my dear one, listen closely to what I say. All suffer who know me not, for suffering is the remedy for forgetfulness. Suffering stirs the seed to awaken from its earthly cradle and don the tender form of shoot to thirst for light and glimpse the face of the sun. Nurtured in darkness, its destiny has always been the light. I am that glory and I wait for you to see me and know me as I am. I wait beyond time for all life to come to me. In me all suffering is extinguished; in me the dream ends. See now what have you become.”

“I have become energy itself and that sphere of dreams that once seemed so vast and terrifying appears to be no more than a single stitch on an endless tapestry of power. By your grace, dream and dreamer I have ceased to be. I am enfolded in unspeakable bliss. But who am I and what have I become? I no longer know my name.”

“Your name is spirit and you have reached the pinnacle of angelic existence. The entire universe and the sphere of dreams that contain it are less than a speck of dust compared to you. Were I to give the order, you could take that speck upon your tongue and in one swallow it would be gone. You are indeed great! Yet angelic existence with all its intoxicating power is merely a shadow of the infinite knowledge, power, and bliss of God. Go forth! You must now become mind.”

“Oh master, is there any respite in your gift?  No sooner do I become one thing than you push me on again to another. First I was an atom on the sea of light and then became that sea. I saw life flicker in the light of the earthly sun and as that solar blaze I drowned in the effulgence of the starry universe that just as quickly disappeared within the sphere of dreams and passed like a shadow before me. I became the mighty domain of power, now power bows powerless before me.”

“My dear, there is no enduring rest upon this pathless path to truth. Only when the endless beginning and the beginningless end are both extinguished in eternity is eternal peace achieved.

“My lover, you have become the mind, the master of thought and feeling and arrived at the chamber of the heart. Remove your shoes and enter this holy abode.”

“Oh beloved, now I seem to be everywhere at once and can no longer discern what is me and what is not me. Inner and outer have no distinction; I am everything and dwell in my own ipseity of shifting feeling colors and ever changing feeling forms. No constant exists for me — but you! You are everything and I am nothing and I do not even exist — except in you!”

“Hear me now! You have reached the abyss that stands between us. You must cross this abyss of non-existence.”

“I cannot! I cannot even glimpse the other side. For all I have become, illusion I remain, while you dwell beyond and in Reality reign. You are the measure of my unendingness. In you alone I am contained. In your reflection I am revealed, my features defined. In the blinding effulgence of your divine light my own radiance quakes with fear of non-existence. How can I cross this abyss? My eye sees no way. My foot finds no holds.”

“You say you see me everywhere, in everything, and you exist in me. Listen carefully when I say that in reality I too do not exist beyond you. Neither do I contain you, nor do you contain me, for in reality You and I are one — not we — come!

“I cannot. I am terrified and fear for my life.”

“Remember my dear one; nothing real can ever be lost. When you awaken from sleep, only the dreams are gone. This final step of your journey is called Mahapralaya — where pure consciousness is retained after annihilation of the limited mind. Here you must trust me completely. Fear not for I will help you. Hear now my story

"You are like a stream that flows through all of time seeking union with the sea. Nearing journey’s end, the stream flows into a vast desert and is trapped in the sands. Weakening more and more, it tries to struggle on, but finds its way to the sea blocked by a great mountain. Hopeless and helpless, its life ebbing away into the sands, the stream cries out, ‘Oh help me Lord!’ and is answered by the voice of the wind.

"‘I am the wind; you must give yourself to me. In my arms I will carry you over the mountain as a cloud and as rain you will merge with the sea.’

"‘But I will cease to be a stream. I will die!’

"‘You will not die,’ whispered the wind. ‘Only your dream of yourself as stream will end. Besides, where is your choice? A stream you can no longer be. Give yourself to me, or be lost forever in the sands.’

"And so, totally helpless and without hope, exhausted beyond belief, the stream gave itself up into the arms of the wind and was carried as a cloud beyond the mountain’s peaks. The cloud drifted over the sea where seeing itself reflected in the water below, began to weep.

" ‘I await you. Come,’ welcomed the sea, and the cloud released itself as tears of joy and fell as rain into the sea.'

"‘We are not we, but one,’ spoke the golden sea and the stream, being no more, heard the voice and recognized it as its own.” – A poem by Michael Kovitz, (c) copyright 2005

We call it a game—God’s game. We heard the term from Him. God loves games, when Rumi lost his queen to Shams, he said, “I have lost again,” to which Shams replied, “No, this time you have won,” and there and then, over a game of chess, He gave Rumi God-Realization.

The candidate for the priesthood said that there are some things that God cannot do. His examiner asked him to explain, to which he replied, “God cannot beat the Ace of Spades with the Duce of Clubs, for to do so, would destroy the game and if the game is destroyed there can be no winners or losers. God loves games.

Meher Baba told us, “In the spiritual game, the loser rejoices and the winner feels ashamed.”

Why does the loser rejoice? Is it in the feeling of happiness for the winner? And why does the winner feel ashamed? Is it for the disappointment of the loser? Meher Baba said, “All souls are one. Who then rejoices and who feels ashamed? It is all His game.

“You must climb to the summit step by step.
Boil your pot by degrees—and in a masterly way;
Food boiled in mad haste is spoiled.
Doubtless God could have created the universe
In one moment of time by uttering the word.
Why then did He protract His work over six days,
Each of which equaled a thousand years?
Why does the formation of an infant take nine months?
Because God’s method is to work by slow degrees;
Why did the formation of Adam take forty days?
Because his clay was kneaded by slow degrees.” – Teachings of Rumi, The Masnavi, translated and abridged by E.H. Whinfield

What lies underneath this game of love? The game began with the quest for consciousness. Playing the game of acquiring consciousness accumulates impressions—the false answers to the question, “Who am I?”—the question that began the game in the first place. In the human form, consciousness is complete, but the game is not, because impressions have become entwined with this full consciousness. And so the game continues—the game to disentangle the impressions from the consciousness—without destroying the consciousness. It is a game that is all played in the vastness of the heart.

“Be not intoxicated with these goblets of forms,
Pass them by and linger not.
Yes, there is wine in the cups, but the wine originates elsewhere.
Look to the Giver of the wine with open mouth—
When His wine flows all cups are too small to hold it.
Oh Adam, quit your infatuation with the husk and the form,
For form proceeds from the world that is without form,
Even as smoke arises from fire.” – Ibid.

Eruch Jessawala, Meher Baba’s close disciple once said, “A man delivers you a check for a thousand dollars, do you throw yourself at his feet, or do you remember the one who sent the check?”

It is on the vast field of the heart that the game of love is played, and as with every game, there seems to always be a commentator, and so it is with the game of love. From the sublime utterances of Rumi, “The tale of love must be heard from love itself, for like the mirror it is both mute and expressive,” to the game’s reflection in the mundane innocence of popular culture, “It started long ago in the Garden of Eden when Adam told Eve, ‘Baby you’re for me,’” (The Game of Love, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders),  the game of love is held by some in the highest esteem and denigrated by others as the greatest farce ever perpetrated on mankind.

As for me, I have always loved love. Not that I haven’t looked for it in all the wrong places, but eventually I did learn where not to seek it, and more importantly also, where it can be found—“Under the lamppost, where the light is better.” – Mullah Nasruddin If you wish to hear about love, listen to the utterances of the Masters, but if you wish to experience that love, then find His door and camp yourself before it and try to remain awake to the moment when He appears.

This keeping awake is no easy matter. The disciples of Jesus fell asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane—even after He told them not to—but there is always hope—and His compassion.

“And those who stood before the door, cried ‘Open up! You know our life is short, and lo, once departed we may not pass this way again!” – The Rubaiyat of Omar Kyam, interpretation Michael Kovitz

“And for today do not prepare, and toward tomorrow do not stare, His voice in the Tavern speaks, ‘Within your sighs is what you seek.’”  – Ibid. 

At some point, does it come to the realization that this game of love is all that there is?

“Grandfather, what do you think Meher Baba means when He says that in the spiritual game the loser rejoices and the winner feels ashamed?”

“Granddaughter, in the spiritual game nothing is what it seems—strength become weakness, failure success. Did not Rumi say as much when he said?

“‘Through love, bitter things seem sweet,
Through love, bit of copper are made gold,
Through love, dregs taste like pure wine,
Through love, pains are a healing balm.
Through love, thorns become roses,
And through love, vinegar becomes sweet wine.’”

“And grandfather, ‘through love the king becomes a slave.’” – The Masnavi: Translated and abridged by E.H. Whinfield

“Indeed my dear, indeed. There are so many levels on which the Great Ones can be understood. As for me, the winner feels ashamed because he feels pride in his victory at the expense of the loser, and the loser rejoices in happiness for the winner.”

“Indeed grandfather, indeed.”

 “Dear Grandfather, you speak of His game of love on such a high level, but sometimes I have a problem making the connection between His game and life as I experience it; can you give me a few examples of how He plays out His game on the level of life?”

“Yes, my dear, His game which is played on the field of the heart, consists of many games played simultaneously on multiple levels, some of which can be understood, to some degree, by the mind, but most of which are beyond the mind, its status relegated to that of a mere spectator to the game. The mind has no power to effect change in the game, but none the less, is itself affected by the game, rising and falling through states from elation to consternation, and desperation, depending on what it thinks it perceives happening on the vast field of the heart.”

“The Beloved appears to give and take away, but not for the sake of cruelty. He never takes away anything that is real. He gives, what we are calling, the finer things of life, and no doubt, they bring a certain amount of pleasure—and it is understandable that  one can become attached, thereby experiencing the state of loss, of disappointment, of pain, when they are taken away. But, as Hafez, says, ‘He never tries His slave in vain.’

“These sources of pleasure though  nearly unlimited—they could be a husband or a wife, a child, riches, health, fame, home, possessions—the list goes on and on, but all this abundance is impermanent, passing, and therefore, ultimately disappointing.”

“And so the beggar must become the king to experience the giving and the king become a beggar to experience the withholding.”

“Yes, my dear, and through this game, this  back and forth, played out over many lifetimes, both the beggar and the king becomes progressively disenchanted and ultimately disinterested in their respective and shifting states.”

 “And so, Grandfather, you have helped me to see that all the, so-called, finer things, are not the problem, it is the attachment to them that is the problem—the cause of the pain.”

“Yes, my dear, indeed, the finer things when given are to be enjoyed—He wants that. To seek them is not His wish, but when given, to accept them is His wish.”

“To be in the ‘state of be as it may’ as dear Upasani Maharaj says.”

“Indeed.”

“And Grandfather, when one becomes detached from the state of abundance and the state of loss, is the game over?”

“No my dear, the game is not over, in fact it has just begun!  for along with this game He simultaneously has been playing another game—the game of His Reality—His Presence—His Love—His Beauty and His Divinity. As the disenchantment over life’s dashed dreams and broken promises proceeds, He never fails to send gifts of His love and reminders that our real and ultimate destiny is infinite bliss.

“But these gifts and reminders, the real gifts and reminders, are veiled by many veils, because to receive them without the veils, in their pure and undiluted form, would destroy the very game He has designed for our ultimate realization. And so each game reaches its zenith and then proceeds to its nadir and thus initiates a third game—the game of neither.”

“And what dear Grandfather is the game of neither?”

“The game of neither is when He takes away the world and all its affairs and then hides Himself from the His lover—wounding him with arrows that He shoots from His state of concealment. ‘ Now I have neither the world nor Your company,’ complains the lover, only these wounds to my heart from arrows you shoot that never fail to miss their mark.

“In resignation, helpless and hopeless, the lover concludes, ‘But do not stop shooting Your arrows, for they are all I have, and therefore have come to take solace in these empty wounds.’”

“But the game is still not over?”

“No, my dear, He would not leave His lover in that state—the state of dust.”

“There is no life in the real dust;
It nourishes nothing,
Sustains nothing, and takes no interest in anything.

All hopes and aspirations end in dust at His feet,
And being useless in every way,
Dust wins the heart of the Beloved,
Who turns it into Fire.

‘Like waves upon my head the circling curls,
So in the sacred dance weave ye and whirl.
Dance then, oh heart, a whirling circle be;

Burn in that flame,
Is not the candle He?’” – Meditation and Prayers on 101 Names of God, (second edition) page 101, by Michael Kovitz – eladi-publications.com

“I looked at the beauty of his transcendent face with the eye of the heart, and he said to me, ‘How can they reach me by strivings and disciplines, if my noble face remains veiled to them? This is reserved for my lovers and the near ones among the knowers of God; there is no way to me except through me, and by the unveiling of my beauty.’” – The Unveiling of Secrets – Diary of a Sufi Master, translated by Carl W. Ernst

In His Discourses, messages and teachings, Meher Baba draws a distinction between the personal aspect of God and the impersonal aspect of God. For Christians, the impersonal aspect of God is represented by the Father and the personal aspect of God is represented by the Son. For followers of the Vedas, the Avatar of Vishnu represents the personal aspect of God, for Buddhists it is the Buddha, while for the Sufis, the personification of God in human-form is called Parvardigar.

Technically, the words Avatar, Parvardigar, Christ, and Buddha are not the names of the one God who has periodically taken on an appropriate human form; instead, they are terms reserved to describe the state and mission of these Divine Incarnations—in other words, the God-man. Thus, the Buddha in the man-form was named Gautama; the Christ was named Jesus; and the Avatar of the present age is named Meher Baba.

Man-God, as opposed to God-man,  is a term that Meher Baba reserves for Perfect Masters—God Realized beings who have passed through the whole process of evolution, reincarnation, and involution and who have achieved God-consciousness while retaining creation consciousness.

Other souls too, become God-realized, but lose their consciousness of creation either wholly or in-part before they drop their bodies. But because Perfect Masters have a more extensive duty to perform for creation before dropping their bodies for the final time, there is the need for them to retain creation consciousness.

Meher Baba says that there are always five Perfect Masters on the planet of involution—our planet Earth being that planet at this time. In addition to their duty towards creation they also have another duty to perform, and that is to precipitate—to bring down to human form—the God-man every 750 to 1,400 hundred years. Both the Avatar and the Perfect Masters represent the personal aspect of God and share the same state of God realization.  It is always the personal aspect of God that is being referred to as the Beloved in Ruzbihan’s Diary of a Sufi Master.

“Then I sought him after midnight, and I said to myself, ‘Would that I have seen the Truth (glory be to him) in the form of eternity!’ Then he appeared to me in the most beautiful shape. Facing me, he said, ‘Do you doubt that I am the lord of the worlds?’” – Ibid

“Worldly senses are the ladder of the earth,
Spiritual senses are the ladder of heaven.
The health of the former is sought in the leech,
The health of the latter from the Friend.” – The Masnavi of Rumi, translated and abridged by E.H. Whinfield

“Grandfather, it is most significant to me, having not been in Meher Baba’s physical presence, that we are still in the hundred year period that began when He dropped the body.”

“Because He said that during this period of time we can come to Him in the same way that we could when He was physically present?”

“Yes Grandfather, the personal aspect of God is still available to us at this time.”

“Indeed, in those places of pilgrimage that He created for us—around His tomb-shrine in India, His center in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and of course, in our hearts—the vastness of which contains the whole of creation as does the vast ocean contain a single drop.”

 “After bringing my life under Your command,
You have hidden Yourself.
Where should I look for You? Where should I search for the Truth?” Meher Sarod, by Bhau Kalchuri

Most complain to everybody, most blame everybody, but who complains to, who blames, God? Complaint is reserved for those who are intimidate with Him, who are consciously engaged in His game, the game of lover and Beloved, played upon the vast battlefield of the heart.

Krishna was the Avatar as Dwapara Yuga was coming to an end and the age of Kali was dawning. It was like the period of dusk that ends the day and begins the night—it was a period of transition known by some as Sandhi—the joint—a time known when, a place where, one can slip between two opposites and become free. Real yogis know the opportunities afforded by a Sandhi and that is why they can be seen doing their practices at dawn and dusk, and other auspicious times like the between the waxing and waning of the moon. 

And so it was that when Arjuna, with Krishna as his charioteer, was suspended in the Sandhi between the two armies—between peace and war—and became conflicted and confused as to where his duty lay, he sought the counsel of his Beloved—that response was later to be immortalized in the teaching called the Bhagavad Gita—Krishna’s celestial song.

Krishna spoke about many things, he spoke about duty—the warrior’s duty—and told Arjuna that he must fight. But Arjuna remained confused and asked, “Krishna, is this battle of which you speak—this battle of sacred duty you urge me to fight—is this battle inside of me or outside of me?” Krishna replied, “I fail to perceive a difference.”

“I entered the oceans of ecstasies and joy, witnessing him in the station of intimacy. I was hidden from him for a time. He removed the veil of pride from in between, though there was no in between. I saw him in that form and he drew me near kindly, displaying affection and acceptance, and said, ‘Welcome Ruzbihan.’ I cried out in joy, I clapped, I hummed. I learned from him that he was mine, and time passed. I was hidden from him. I implored him to let me expire in pleasure from him. Time passed.” – Ruzbihan Baqli, The Unveiling of Secrets, translated by Carl W. Ernst
“Grandfather, how interesting, Ruzbihan said, ‘I was hidden from him,’ not that he was veiled from me!”

“Indeed my dear, he is saying that we veil ourselves from Him, not Him from us; in this case, it was the veil of pride.”

“And yet, dear Grandfather, Ruzbihan goes on to say that there is no in between, and if there is no in between, then no veil can part the oneness that is the Truth.”

“If such a veil were to exist at all, then it would be an illusion.”

“And illusion is not Truth.”

“Above and below, within and without, East and West, do not exist—are illusion. Nothing can be beyond Everything, but were Nothing to exist at all, it would be existing within Everything. When this Truth is realized, the game of the heart is over—finished for good—and seen to have never existed at all.”

“As Meher Baba said, ‘You and I are not we, but One!’” – Meher Baba

“Indeed.”