The Beatles did it. Others, too, like actor Steven Seagal and singer Ricky Martin. Many have gone in search of some mountain guru who can guide the confused toward wisdom and inner peace and quiet, someone who can send them back down the mountain a bit wiser with a bit more control over their inner turmoil, control that enables them deal with a world in constant turmoil and distracting noise.
When the confused reach the top of the mountain and approach the man on the rock, do they learn some strangely trisyllabic two-letter OM to chant or hum on their way back down to a world of cacophony on the streets of the “rat race” below? Does that parana drown out the deafening noise with inner silence?
Is the trip to Nepal necessary? Can one realize that the OM always lay within them just as it lies within them now? Does one need a guru to say a personal Atman is always connected to an impersonal Brahman, and that the Soul is always capable of dealing with the Brahman as it is, not as it wants it to be?
Are trips up the mountain to visit some Wise One unnecessary? The Brahman is what it is, a Cosmos so encompassing that it is beyond control of that which it contains. Those who climb the mountain in search of wisdom and peace might visit instead the comedian Stephen Wright for insight.
I don’t know Wright personally and have never attended his shows, but I’ve seen him on TV and YouTube standing on stages, higher than his audience, simplifying reality for them by revealing new perspectives, insightful pespectives on life. Like those seeking the Man on the Mountain Rock, the members of the audience look up during their momentary escape from the confusing cacophony of their daily lives, eager to hear what he utters. Wright, rarely disappointing, shares Zen-like visions of the world as he looks down on his audience. No doubt recognizing their confusion and seeming helplessness in negotiating their way through the cacophony of the “rat race” of life, he calmly and wisely says, “I couldn’t fix your brakes, so I made your horn louder.”
Maybe inner silence isn’t the only way to deal with a cacophonous world.
When the confused reach the top of the mountain and approach the man on the rock, do they learn some strangely trisyllabic two-letter OM to chant or hum on their way back down to a world of cacophony on the streets of the “rat race” below? Does that parana drown out the deafening noise with inner silence?
Is the trip to Nepal necessary? Can one realize that the OM always lay within them just as it lies within them now? Does one need a guru to say a personal Atman is always connected to an impersonal Brahman, and that the Soul is always capable of dealing with the Brahman as it is, not as it wants it to be?
Are trips up the mountain to visit some Wise One unnecessary? The Brahman is what it is, a Cosmos so encompassing that it is beyond control of that which it contains. Those who climb the mountain in search of wisdom and peace might visit instead the comedian Stephen Wright for insight.
I don’t know Wright personally and have never attended his shows, but I’ve seen him on TV and YouTube standing on stages, higher than his audience, simplifying reality for them by revealing new perspectives, insightful pespectives on life. Like those seeking the Man on the Mountain Rock, the members of the audience look up during their momentary escape from the confusing cacophony of their daily lives, eager to hear what he utters. Wright, rarely disappointing, shares Zen-like visions of the world as he looks down on his audience. No doubt recognizing their confusion and seeming helplessness in negotiating their way through the cacophony of the “rat race” of life, he calmly and wisely says, “I couldn’t fix your brakes, so I made your horn louder.”
Maybe inner silence isn’t the only way to deal with a cacophonous world.
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