HOW I BECAME A HINDU - My Discovery of Vedic Dharma By David Frawley -2

HOW I BECAME A HINDU

My Discovery of Vedic Dharma

By

David Frawley

(Pandit Vamadeva Shastry)

Another subject of fascination was geography.

From a young age I played with the globe and

loved to look over maps of the world, memorizing

the countries, their terrain and their cities. I

realized that we lived on a large planet composed

of many lands with diverse religions and cultures,

most of which I was taught little about in school. I

was particularly interested in distant and exotic

places, as if they contained some key to humanity

that I was searching for. I didn’t see any need to

get the entire world to follow the same religion.

For such reasons at the young age of fourteen I

suddenly decided of my own accord to stop going

to church on Sundays.

At first I just pretended to go and then went

somewhere else, like taking a walk in the park.

Soon my parent knew that I was no longer

interested in the church and gradually accepted it.

In fact I led what became a family movement away

from the Catholic Church. But at the time I still felt

some guilt about the matter. I was not attending

church but I had not left its influence entirely

behind me either. At the age of fifteen I had a

remarkable schoolteacher who taught a class on

ancient history that opened my eyes about the

ancient world. The class focused on ancient Egypt,

which I found to be utterly fascinating. Out of the

enthusiasm so generated I memorized the entire

list of the pharaohs of Egypt and would recite them

with pride.

I could sense in ancient Egypt a monumental

spiritual culture with great inner power and magic.

I imagined living at that time, which seemed much

more interesting than the modern world in which I

was trapped. This began my fascination with

ancient cultures that eventually led me to the

Vedas. I sensed that the ancients had a better

connection to the universe than we moderns and

that their lives had a higher meaning. I gradually

studied the ancient history of other lands,

particularly ancient Persia, which also had a

special pull for me. Clearly the American focus of

our education left out most of humanity both in

time and space.

Intellectual Awakening and the Counterculture

About the age of sixteen I underwent a major

intellectual awakening. It came as a powerful

experience that radically changed my thoughts and

perception. Initially it was quite disturbing and

disorienting. While some sort of intellectual

ferment had been developing in me for several

years, this one resulted in a profound break from

the authorities and ideas of my childhood and the

vestiges of my American education. It initiated a

series of studies that encompassed western

intellectual thought and first brought me in contact

with eastern spirituality. It marked an important

transition in my life.

At this time I began to write a philosophical type of

poetry, which I kept secretly to myself. I lost

interest in science and mathematics that had been

my main mental pursuits. My interest in Europe

became stronger but moved from its history to its

thought and culture. America began to seem a

rather provincial country, devoid of sophistication

or culture.I looked briefly into rationalist

philosophers like Kant, Hegel or Bertrand Russell

but was not drawn to them. I found them too

dominated by a dry reason that seemed devoid of

life and creativity. My mind had a certain

emotional or artistic urge and was not content with

mere logic or science.

The existentialists at first stimulated me with their

deep questions about consciousness and

perception. I began to think about consciousness

and how it works. They were rather depressing as

well. Emptiness, despair and suicide were ideas I

could relate to as part of growing up in a world

without meaning, but I was not so morbid in

temperament as to be swallowed up by them.

Existentialism eventually seemed to me to be a

rather dry and hopeless affair.

The existentialists had no solution to the dilemma

of existence that they so eloquently pointed out.

The atheist existentialists generally took refuge in

Communism. The theistic ones returned to the

church with an irrational leap of faith. But the

problem of our inherent nothingness was not

something that they had any real method to solve.

The example of the existentialists showed me that

the intellect by itself, however rational or cunning,

could not arrive at any ultimate truth. A higher

consciousness was required for that. The intellect

gets caught in endless doubts and ends in nihilism

or agnosticism.

Excessive thinking weakens the emotions and saps

the will. It didn’t take me long to realize that the

existentialists were not going anywhere. The

German existential philosopher Heidegger,

however, connected me with the concept of Being,

which seemed to be the greatest insight in

existentialism, though generally I found his

philosophy to be too complex and verbose. With

the idea of Pure Being I felt on a firm ground and

knew that a greater truth and peace enveloped the

universe, but that the intellect was probably not the

right vehicle to understand it.

Once in high school I openly challenged a priest

who was giving a talk at the school auditorium

criticizing the existentialists. He used the ignorance

of his audience to plant negative ideas about these

thinkers so that the students would not fall under

their influence. I realized that we should speak out

on these issues and not simply be silent or such

distortions would go unchallenged. My remarks

created a lot of commotion and the priest was

shaken. I learned that speaking out can have a

strong impact on people.

I became involved in the American counterculture

about the same time, hanging out with the local

hippies and intellectuals in downtown Denver

cafes, spending evenings and weekends there.

While I read a lot on my own, getting books from

our large public library, I also dialogued

extensively with various local intellectuals, striking

up new friendships. Several college teachers and

area poets helped direct me to new thinkers and

writers, including those from Asia. We had various

intellectual groups and contacts, generally of an

informal nature, that met and freely discussed

various artistic and philosophical topics.

I became a counterculture figure in my local high

school, which was quite large as it was centered in

the downtown region. I lost interest in my school

studies that seemed very narrow in their ideas.

While I came to school with many books to study,

most had little to do with the actual classes that I

was taking. Yet because of my intellectual habits

the teachers tolerated my eccentricity. I became a

counterculture figure in my local high school,

which was quite large as it was centered in the

downtown region. I lost interest in my school

studies that seemed very narrow in their ideas.

While I came to school with many books to study,

most had little to do with the actual classes that I

was taking.

Yet because of my intellectual habits the teachers

tolerated my eccentricity. My revolt was not

simply youthful emotion but had an intellectual

thrust, which they found hard to refute. They

created a special class for me and for another such

intellectual student to address our deeper interests.

But we also found this class to be boring. Like the

Marxists, whom I would later sympathize with

during the anti-war movement, I felt a revolt

against the bourgeoisie, specifically the American

middle class. I would walk through the array of

tract homes in the city and feel what a meaningless

life it was, so standardized and mechanical,

without any real thinking or creativity. It seemed

that everyone was involved in a pursuit of material

gain that went nowhere, except to mediocrity. This

was not so much a political as an intellectual

revolt, though it eventually developed political

ramifications.

I revolted against American culture or rather

against the lack of it. What had my country really

added to civilization apart from mass production

and technological inventions? What had it

produced in terms of poetry, art, philosophy or

literature? I became a kind of expatriate. I wouldn’t

read or study American authors except for

Thoreau. I sympathized with writers like Henry

Miller who abandoned the United States for

Europe. I felt that American culture was a

diminution of a greater European culture for which

I had a greater affinity.

Mystical Poetry and Discovery of Eastern

Spirituality Throughout this intellectual revolt I

never lost sight of a higher reality. I fancied myself

to be a "mystical atheist" because though I rejected

the Biblical idea of a personal God I did recognize

an impersonal consciousness or pure being behind

the universe. I also remember reading Herman

Hesse’s Journey to the East. I learned that there

were great spiritual and mystical traditions in the

East that perhaps still existed. I began my own

journey to the East. Meanwhile I also studied

European poetry and art. I particularly enjoyed the

French symbolist poets like Rimbaud and

Mallarme who had a mystic vision.

The German mystic poet Rilke, however, was my

favorite and best epitomized what I thought real

poetry should be. Poetry had a depth and

ambiguity that philosophy could not reach. I

realized that it was a better vehicle to reflect this

mysterious universe in which we live. I examined

twentieth century European artistic movements

like the Surrealists and Dadaists as well. While I

enjoyed their images and ideas I felt that their style

of expression had become crude. I preferred

something more classical in art. The modern art of

the machine, the newspaper or the mass media

seemed vulgar. I could not relate to the

degradation found in modern art, particularly

what transpired after World War II.

I also found that rather than breaking through into

a higher perception such artists generally remained

trapped in hedonism or got caught in drugs,

neurosis, or suicide. They hadn’t found a way out

either, though perhaps they could look over the

walls that confine us. My own poetry became more

imagistic, reflecting a symbolist base like that of

Rilke or Rimbaud. Images of the dawn and the

night, the sun, wind and fire arose in mind like

primordial forces, with vague images of ancient

Gods. These poems also had eastern affinities that I

was gradually discovering.

They were images of an internal landscape that

itself was a doorway into the universe of

consciousness and the cosmic powers. Many of

these images I would later find in the poetry of Sri

Aurobindo and in the Rig Veda. In my poetic

writings I could sense a feminine archetype or

muse guiding and inspiring me. An inherent sense

of the Goddess existed inside of me, which took

shape in my poems. She was the Divine power

hidden in the beauty of nature, which reflected a

secret power of consciousness and life. This would

later connect me with the Goddess traditions of

India.

About the same time I began to study eastern texts

from Lao Tzu to the Upanishads, which were

readily available at the time. I discovered the Hare

Krishna, TM and other eastern groups that were

visible in this large western city where I lived.

While a more European ethos dominated my mind

the eastern view was not far behind and getting

closer.

I began to see in these eastern teachings the

answers to the questions that western intellectuals

had failed to achieve. More importantly, they had

methods to reach higher states of consciousness,

while the intellectual tradition of the West could

only conceptualize about it. I remember once

walking down the street and realizing that the sky

was Krishna. I intuitively felt that such deities

reflected cosmic realities, windows on the

universe. I realized that there was a spiritual

current in Europe in spite of the church, and that it

not only used Christian symbols in a spiritual

context but retained older pagan symbols and

contacts with the eastern world.

The alchemical tradition was universal and

extended even to China. I discovered that symbols

were not only poetic images but had a

psychological power, an appeal to the collective

unconscious, and that they took us in the direction

of the ancient Gods and Goddesses. I found the

idea of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva as the three

great forces of creation, preservation and

destruction in the universe to be make sense.

Psychology was another interesting topic that I

discovered, including Freud’s ideas on sex, which

helped liberate me from my Catholic background,

but I felt that he had not understood the deeper

levels of the mind and its creative process. Then I

encountered the works of Carl Jung on psychology

and alchemy, which brought on another revelation.

I spent my summer after high school in 1968 not

preparing for college but going through Jung’s

esoteric works on Psychology and Alchemy. The

images that he pointed out – the sun and the lion,

the phoenix and the cauldron - were much like the

poetic images that I was working with. They

brought me in contact with older European

mystical traditions.

This led me to a discovery of the Renaissance and

its art and philosophy, which I examined in some

depth. But it seemed that the Renaissance went the

wrong way. It started off as a mystical awakening

with Marsilio Ficino and a translation of hermetic

works, but soon got caught in realism and

materialism. The West had moved away from the

rigidity of the church but only to the other extreme

of materialism, not to a real discovery of the Spirit

that could reconcile both true religion and true

science. Out of curiosity from my Catholic

background, I looked into Thomas Aquinas and

Catholic philosophy as well. It seemed rather dry

and dogmatic and had little mysticism in it.

The teachings of mystical Christianity through the

teachings of Meister Eckhart made more sense and

I moved on to these. For a while I tried to get back

into Christianity outside of the pale of the church,

perhaps out of some personal nostalgia. But it

quickly became clear to me that the mystical

Christian tradition consisted of incomplete

teachings or isolated individuals, a tradition that

had been crushed before it could flower. The law of

karma and the process of rebirth that I had learned

about through eastern philosophy made more

sense to me than such Christian teachings.

After reading a number of different scriptures and

spiritual texts from all over the world, the

Christian fixation on Jesus seemed almost neurotic.

It was clear to me that there have been many great

sages throughout history and Jesus, however great,

was only one of many and that his teachings were

not the best preserved either. I failed to see what

was so unique about him or what his teachings had

that could not be found with more clarity

elsewhere. The mystic feeling I once had in

Christianity was now entirely transferred to the

East.

The Anti-War Movement

In 1969 I began taking classes at a local university.

In particular I remember a class in "Cosmology and

Metaphysics." It was very disappointing. It was

mainly about science and had no real cosmology,

much less metaphysics. The professor was also

quite disappointing. I asked him about all the

world problems and what could be done to solve

them. He said that humanity would be unlikely to

survive another thirty-five years and there was

nothing that anyone could do about it. He was

content to be a professor and watch it all unfold.

This caused a certain activist trend in my nature to

revolt. I wanted to do something. I wasn’t content

to live in an intellectual ivory tower and watch the

world fall apart. Such motivation led me to the

anti-war movement, though I already had an

earlier interest in civil rights, which were both

prominent at the time. I became involved in the

anti-war movement and participated in several

anti-war protests. The movement in Colorado

wasn’t large and so I quickly became a visible

leader and helped organize several protests. The

movement in Colorado wasn’t large and so I

quickly became a visible leader and helped

organize several protests.

I was a member of SDS (Students for a Democratic

Society) that was the largest student anti-war

group and was connected to revolutionary groups

of a communist and anarchist bent. I attended SDS

national conventions in Austin, Texas and in

Chicago, Illinois in 1969.

Hundreds of students gathered at these and

discussed a wide variety of issues but mainly about

how to start a revolution in the United States,

which we all felt was a necessity. However, the

SDS split in late 1969 between old socialist groups

and new radical militants. The socialists wanted to

appeal to the working class and tried to appear

straight and conservative. I found their approach

quite unappealing. At one point I considered

joining the more militant groups, but was held

back by my pacifistic nature. The anarchist

approach most agreed with my individualistic

nature, so I joined an anarchist group, but they

were clearly a small minority that no one took

seriously.

Along with my intellectual and political friends I

started to regard the hippie movement as rather

superficial, anti-intellectual and hedonistic. The

fun-loving, drug-taking way of life seemed rather

shallow during such a crisis of war and

exploitation. The fun-loving, drug-taking way of

life seemed rather shallow during such a crisis of

war and exploitation. I wasn’t content merely

seeking enjoyment but was looking for some

higher goal, whether political, intellectual or

spiritual. At the same time I continued with my

spiritual and philosophical studies.

With my poetic and mystical background, I soon

found all such political groups to be too outward in

mentality. I decided that the spiritual life was

better and returned to poetry and meditation as

my main activity. I never returned to political

involvement in America through I did preserve a

strongly leftist, anti-bourgeoisie and anti -

establishment mentality for many years, which to a

great extent still remains with me.

SPIRITUAL PATHS AND DISCOVERY

OF THE VEDAS

Discovery of the Inner Paths

At the beginning of 1970 in Denver I found a local

guru who introduced me to many spiritual

teachings. While in retrospect he was limited in his

insights, he did serve as a catalyst to connect me

with the spiritual path. Through the encounter

with various spiritual teachings that he initiated, I

took to the yogic path as my main pursuit in life.

He made me familiar with a broad array of

mystical teachings: Hindu, Buddhist, Theosophist

and Sufi. It included everything from occult

teachings of Alice Bailey to Zen, and a prominent

place for the teachings of Gurdjieff. I learned that a

core of inner teachings existed behind the outer

religious traditions of the world, an esoteric

approach beyond their exoteric forms.

A number of such American teachers and arose at

this time, as well as teachers from India coming to

the West. A major counterculture interest in India,

Yoga and gurus began. The group that I was

involved with was one of the few in the Denver

area and so offered an alternative way of life than

either my family or the counterculture, which was

quite appealing at the time.

The teacher’s approach was highly eclectic. He

considered himself to be universal in views and

would take the truth, he said, wherever he found

it, which was a compelling idea. But his approach

was tainted with a need to become a guru without

ever having completed the disciplines that he was

studying.

Eventually he wrote letters to spiritual

organizations all over the world asking them to

become his disciples because he felt that he alone

understood how to put all the different traditions

together. Not surprisingly none of them took him

up on his offer. This was my first contact with

spiritual hubris, which I learned was not

uncommon, particularly among self-proclaimed

western gurus.

The spiritual path has a strong appeal not only for

the soul but also for the ego, which can gain its

greatest power through it. We can become the guru

and gain an uncritical adulation before we have

reached our goal, which then puts an end to our

search. Perhaps being exposed to spiritual egoism

at a young age helped me become aware of the

problem and avoid its pitfalls.

I realized that spiritual practices can have side

effects and even organized mystical traditions can

have their excesses. At first I found the teacher’s

eclectic approach to be interesting, moving on a

weekly basis from one teaching or tradition to

another. His approach was quite dramatic, exciting

and novel, with ever-new ideas and bizarre stories.

But after not long I realized such an approach was

doomed to be superficial. How could one learn,

much less practice all these teachings that reflected

centuries of culture and the work of diverse people

and which could not all be appropriate for you as

an individual? While one should respect a

diversity of spiritual paths, life requires choices

and we must eventually follow a specific path,

though hopefully one that is broad in nature.

At this time I discovered the Upanishads, in which

I found great inspiration and became my favorite

book. It led me to various Vedantic texts. I soon

studied the works of Shankaracharya, which I

avidly read in translation, particularly his shorter

works like Vivekachudamani. Of the different

teachings that I contacted Vedanta struck the

deepest cord. I remember once climbing a hill by

Denver with a friend. When we got to the top, I

had the feeling that I was immortal, that the Self in

me was not limited by birth and death and had

lived many lives before. Such Vedantic insights

seemed natural, but the friend who was with me at

the time didn’t understand what I was talking

about.

Of the different teachings that I contacted Vedanta

struck the deepest cord. I remember once climbing

a hill by Denver with a friend. When we got to the

top, I had the feeling that I was immortal, that the

Self in me was not limited by birth and death and

had lived many lives before.

Such Vedantic insights seemed natural, but the

friend who was with me at the time didn’t

understand what I was talking about. With my

philosophical bent of mind I also studied several

Buddhist Sutras, especially the Lankavatara, which

I found to be intellectually profound. The Buddhist

Sutras helped serve as a bridge between the

existentialism that I had studied earlier and eastern

meditation traditions.

As I encountered these teachings at a young age

before my mind had become fixed, I had the

benefit of an almost eastern education to

complement my western studies.

First Yoga Practices

My study of eastern traditions was not merely

intellectual but involved experimenting with yogic

and meditational practices. I began practicing

intense pranayama, mantra and meditation

teachings in the summer of 1970. These mainly

came from the Kriya Yoga tradition, which I

contacted in several ways. I found that the

techniques worked powerfully to create energy at a

subtle level.

I could feel the prana moving through the nadis,

with some experiences of the chakras, and a

general widening of consciousness beyond the

ordinary sense of time and space. Mantra practices

had a particularly powerful effect upon me. I felt

that I had been some old Hindu yogi in a previous

life, though in retrospect there was probably much

fantasy in my approach.

Another benefit from the pranayama was that it

almost eliminated the allergies that I had suffered

from for years. It cleared and cleaned my nervous

system. I learned that yogic practices can heal both

body and mind.

I remember walking down the streets late at night

in Denver where I lived, feeling the primordial

being inherent even in inanimate things in the

streets, the houses, and the plants. I could feel the

spirit or Purusha enchained in matter, gradually

striving emerge through the human being.

Consciousness was the basis of existence and had

no boundaries. No group, idea or organization

could claim it. Yet the emergence of consciousness

in the human being and our body made of clay is

slow, difficult and painful, though glorious in its

eventual triumphs.

I realized that it would be a long journey,

particularly in such a materialistic culture that was

asleep to all higher aspirations.

Buddhism and Vedanta: Becoming a Vedantin

In early 1972 a friend and I moved to California to

explore the spiritual groups and communities that

were more common there. We visited a whole

array of India groups: the Ramakrishna-Vedanta

center, Self-Realization-Fellowship (SRF), an

Aurobindo center, the Krishnamurti foundation

and several other gurus and their ashrams, which

all taught me something.

We also visited Buddhist centers, including

Japanese, Chinese, Tibetan and Theravadin

traditions. The direct approaches and the

connection with nature in Chan and Zen were very

appealing. The Tibetans with their deities and

Tantric Yoga practices appeared much like

Hinduism. I felt a special affinity with Taoism and

its connection with nature and found a good

Chinese teacher to guide me in its study.

Taoism is a religion free of dogma, close to the

Earth, one with nature and not seeking converts. It

was tolerant, open and non-judgmental, free of any

sense of sin or moralism. I studied Taoism and the

I Chingin some detail for several years, though

more as a secondary path, which eventually led me

to pursue Traditional Chinese medicine as well.

I was even once ordained as a Taoist priest.

However, my philosophical mind drew me more to

Buddhism and Vedanta. For a while I went back

and forth between Buddhist and Vedantic

perspectives. The intellectuality of Buddhism

appealed to me, while the idealism of Vedanta was

equally impelling.

Buddhist logic had a subtlety that went beyond

words and the Buddhist understanding of the

mind had a depth that was extraordinary,

dwarfing that of Western psychology. But Vedanta

had a sense of Pure Being and Consciousness that

was more in harmony with my deeper mystical

urges. It reflected the soul and its perennial

aspiration for the Divine that seemed obvious to

me.

I felt the need of a cosmic creator such as

Buddhism did not have. It was not the old

monotheistic tyrant with his heaven and hell, but

the wise and loving Divine Father and Mother,

such as in the Hindu figures of Shiva and Parvati. I

also found the existence of the Atman or higher

Self to be self-evident. That all is the Self appeared

to be the most self-evident truth of existence.

The Buddhist non-ego approach made sense as a

rejection of the lower or false Self but I saw no

need to dismiss the Self altogether as many

Buddhists do. I couldn’t understand why

Buddhism, which after all arose in India, rejected

Atman, Brahman or Ishwara, or why they couldn’t

accept the Upanishads as valid or complete

teachings. Besides the Vedantic view was quite

open and not dogmatic.

It seemed that Buddhism had taken certain

Vedantic ideas and reformulated them, turning

Brahman into the Dharmakaya, Atman into

Bodhichitta, and God or Ishvara into Buddha. So,

however much I admired Buddhism, I saw no need

to become a Buddhist apart from Vedanta. The

result was that I became a Vedantin and accepted it

as my life’s philosophy, which has remained so

ever since. I found it easy to integrate Buddhist

insights into this Vedantic mold.

This shift from a general exploration of the world’s

different spiritual paths to a specific following of

Vedanta was another important stage in my

development. I no longer tried to study everything,

much less felt that I had to practice everything.

Ramana Maharshi, the Ultimate Sage

At first it seemed that Vedanta did not have quite

the intellectual sophistication of Buddhism and its

direct mind teachings. Then I discovered Advaita

Vedanta texts like Avadhuta Gita and Ashtavakra

Samhita that had this as well. But more

importantly I learned of a teacher who had the

most enlightened teaching that I had seen

anywhere.

In the teachings of the Advaitic sage Ramana

Maharshi I discovered a Vedanta that was alive

and intellectually sophisticated, yet spiritually

profound and experiential. Ramana Maharshi was

like the quintessential sage, who perfectly

understood all the workings of the mind as well as

the consciousness beyond it. I felt an immediate

pull from his picture from my first encounter with

it. Ramana has remained as a kind of spiritual

father and as the ultimate model for

enlightenment. I also corresponded with his

ashram in India and studied their magazine, the

Mountain Path, which I would later write articles

for.

Self-knowledge is the essence of all spiritual paths

and the basis of Vedanta, whose main motto is

Know Thyself. Ramana embodied this path of Selfknowledge

completely and lived it fully. With him

Vedanta became a living presence, a radiant flame

that persisted throughout all time and space.

Ramana embodied this path of Self-knowledge

completely and lived it fully. With him Vedanta

became a living presence, a radiant flame that

persisted throughout all time and space. At the

same time Ramana was not trapped in tradition or

ceremony, mere book learning or dry ritual. His

Advaita was simple, direct and modern, as well as

faithful to the highest realization. It was quite

adaptable and open to each individual.

I felt perfectly at home with it. Ramana’s influence

combined with that of the Ramakrishna order, the

Upanishads and Shankaracharya became the basis

of my Vedantic path. I also studied other important

Advaitic texts and tried to develop an informed

view of the tradition. In terms of my practices I

switched to Jnana Yoga, the Yoga of knowledge or

Self-inquiry approach, such as taught by Ramana,

with some influence of J. Krishnamurti.

Such meditation approaches were both calming

and deepening. Though I examined the main yoga

teachers and spiritual groups in the West, I didn’t

find a teacher among them that I could specifically

follow. With my individualistic nature I avoided

the more popular and faddish movements. But I

did develop a strong sense of commitment to

tradition.

Sufism

In my examination of the world’s spiritual

traditions I looked into Sufism, starting through

the teachings of Gurdjieff, who had major

connections with them. My initial impression was

that the Sufis had a high level mystical tradition,

equal to those of the Hindus and Buddhists, and

more sophisticated than the Christian mystics.

The Sufis spoke of self-knowledge and selfrealization

and the unity of all religions. However,

I soon noticed an intolerance and regimentation

among the Sufis that became progressively

disturbing to me.

Claims that the Sufis created Advaita Vedanta in

India or were responsible for Zen in Japan seemed

quite exaggerated.

The Sufis emphasized a kind of conformity or

group work that did not appeal to my

individualistic nature. They also used Biblical

terms that reminded me of Christianity and its

dogma. Their God seemed too personal and too

emotional. I preferred the more detached and

impersonal pure consciousness of dharmic

traditions.

I had occasional contacts with various Sufis

through the years. I visited several of their centers

and spoke with them on many topics. Many

American born Sufis viewed Sufism in a yogic

way. Their connection is more to Rumi than to

Mohammed. But the Sufis that I met who had

strong overseas connections were different.

They saw Islam as better than the dharmic

traditions of the East and insisted that one become

an orthodox Muslim before becoming a Sufi. This

caused me to lose interest in the Sufi path.

Discovery of the Vedas/ Sri Aurobindo

Among the spiritual teachers whose writings I

studied, most notable in terms of my own thought

and expression, was Sri Aurobindo. Aurobindo

possessed an intellectual breadth that was

unparalleled by any author I had ever read. One

could swim in the field of his mind like a whale in

the open sea and never encounter any limits.

He dwarfed the Western intellectuals that I studied

and even the Western mystics. Relative to Indian

teachers, his teaching was clear, modern, liberal

and poetic, not tainted by caste, authority or

dogma. Aurobindo’s vision encompassed the past,

revealing the mysteries of the ancient world that I

had long sought. But it showed the way to the

future as well, with a balanced and universal

vision of humanity for all time.

Aurobindo synthesized the great traditions of

India and transformed them into something of

global relevance, pioneering a New Age of

consciousness. He clearly understood western

culture, both its intellectual heights and its

spiritual limitations.

He could reflect what was valuable in western

literature and philosophy, while also being a

devastating critic of the western mind and its

attachment to outer forms and material realities. I

studied a number of Aurobindo’s works, notably

the Life Divine, which unraveled all the secrets of

the philosophies of India from Vedanta to

Samkhya, Yoga and Tantra.

In it I noted the various verses from the Rig Veda

that he used to open the chapters. I found these to

be quite profound and mysterious and wanted to

learn more of the Vedas. In looking through the

titles of Sri Aurobindo a book called Hymns to the

Mystic Fire, which was hymns to Agni from the

Rig Veda, struck a cord with my poetic vision.

It led me to another book Secret of the Veda, which

more specifically explained the Vedic teaching and

opened up the Vedic vision for me. Secret of the

Veda became a key work in my life, which I read

many times. I remember one particular instance in

which I was taking a bus from Colorado to Canada

where I was visiting friends, reading the book late

at night. It must have been spring of 1971. A Vedic

epiphany dawned on me.

I could sense the march of Vedic dawns unfolding

a continual evolution of consciousness in the

universe. I could feel the Vedic wisdom

permeating all of nature, unfolding the secrets of

birth and death, the days and nights of the soul.

The Veda was present at the core of our being like

an inextinguishable flame and carried the spiritual

aspiration of our species.

It was sad to contemplate how far we had fallen –

that culturally we had closed the doors on these

ancient dawns and become mired in a dark night

of greed and arrogance.At that time I became a

Vedic person, not simply a Vedantin. While

becoming a Vedantin was the first level of my

inner change, becoming Vedic was the second

stage.

These two transitions overlapped to a great degree.

I followed the Vedas in the context of Vedanta. But

later a more specific Vedic vision emerged and

came to dominate over the Vedantic view. It

brought a wider and more integral Vedanta and

one that connected with poetry and mantra.

After a more thorough study of Vedanta I soon

learned that few Vedantins study the Vedas or see

in them the depth of wisdom that Aurobindo did

and which seemed so natural to me. Becoming a

Vedic person took me to another place than most

Vedantins, who mainly reject the Vedas as only of

ritualistic value. I saw the Vedas as adding a

symbolic or mantric level of knowledge to

Vedanta.

Eventually this dimension of Vedic mantras

became more interesting than Vedantic logic or

inquiry. It was like entering into another time,

another state of mind, a different language and a

different humanity. The philosophical side of my

mind gradually receded in favor of a Vedic mantric

approach.

I had to break through my attachment to the

sophisticated philosophical dialectic of Vedanta

and Buddhism in order to appreciate the primeval

images of the older Vedas. This was perhaps as

difficult and radical a change as moving from a

western intellectual view to that of yogic

spirituality. It was also one in which I found myself

even more alone.

From 1976 through 1980 I corresponded with the

great woman saint of India, Sri Anandamayi Ma. I

had decided to write her as a friend of mine had

recently done so and received a reply. To my

surprise a letter came back from her within a few

months.

Swamis Atmananda and Nirvananda helped with

my communications. I planned to visit Ma in India

but somehow could not get the resources together

to bring it about. I also wrote a few articles for their

magazine Ananda Varta. Contact with Ma inspired

me more into a Vedantic and Hindu mold. Her

energy would come in waves, almost like an

electrical force, encouraging me to deeper

practices.

Ma’s energy opened up devotional potentials for

me, not merely for the Goddess but also for Shiva

and Rama. I began to look into Bhakti Yoga,

chanting and devotional meditation. Images of

Hindu deities appeared in my mind.

 

Om Tat Sat
                                                        
(Continued...) 

(My humble Thankfulness to Brahmasree David Frawley (Pandit Vamadeva Shastry)  for the collection)