Steve Klein - All (Baba) Things Considered

Talking About The Truth

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 14:32:00 +0000

Before I send a column to Sheriar Foundation, my wife, Daphne, reads it. Sometimes she says my writing is so convoluted she can't figure out what I'm trying to say. Other times she tells me my point is clear, but it was self-evident to begin with and therefore did not need making.

I think this illustrates something potentially important about a number of different topics -- marriage, conflict resolution, the travails of editing and, possibly, the nature of Truth itself.

I will leave the first three topics, interesting as they may be, for another day, and will take up the last one. I suspect I am not the only one who has had what seems like an illuminating epiphany only to discover, when attempting to communicate it, that your listener says, with their attitude and demeanor, if not in so many words, "So? What's the big deal? Everyone knows that."

I think there are two main reasons for this (apart from the possibility that I'm simply an idiot which I prefer to reject out of hand). When one has an "insight," a glimpse of the Truth, this is usually more of an emotional recognition than an intellectual conclusion. This is what makes it so powerful as well as so surprising. It is not something we have arrived at through a process of deduction. Rather we have "felt" or experienced it as being true. And this is what makes it so hard to share.

Secondly, if you remove the emotional component, you are left with words which, all too often, sound trite because Truth, by its nature, is not original. It may be new to us when we are suddenly in a place where we "have the ears to hear," but the chances are that even then, we will have heard the words before. History is long, Avataric manifestations have been many, and the Truth has been proclaimed since time immemorial.

A glimpse of the Truth overwhelms us, not so much because of the uniqueness of our vision, but because of the depth of our realization. But the verbalization of our experience comes out sounding like a cliche.

Let's say, for example, you travel to India, and you're walking over the fields at Meherabad, and you suddenly get a sense of how ancient this land is, how these hills have witnessed the Lila of countless Avatars and the phrase, "as old as the hills" now strikes you as startlingly powerful, incredibly apt and emotionally evocative. When you try to communicate your sense of wonder about this to someone over the dinner table at the Meher Pilgrim Retreat, instead of sharing your awe, they are more likely to suspect that you've been out in the sun too long.

We all know that Baba has said, "Real happiness lies in making others happy." But when we actually have a glimpse of the psychological truth that selfishness limits our very capacity to experience happiness, it's a whole new ballgame for us. Try to share this insight with another Baba person by exclaiming, "You know Baba was right!" and you will find that they will be hard pressed to understand either your enthusiasm or your sense of wonder.

I think this all goes to explain why it is so difficult, if not actually impossible, to talk about Baba in a way that lets others see the Truth and beauty that we see. Fortunately, we don't have to worry about it, however, as Baba said that it is our job merely to bring His name to another's ears. It's His job to bring it to another's heart.

Excuse Me, Which Way to God?

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Tue, 06 May 2008 12:18:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough (excuse me, Bal Natu) to stay on the Meher Center for a while. It turned out that there were a couple of people there who had attended the '69 darshan in India and, with a little prompting, they regaled us for hours with their stories. As I particularly enjoy hearing Baba stories, I had a blast, but it also got me to thinking. Fewer and fewer people are still alive who met Baba in His physical form. Even my generation--those who got to spend a lot of time with the Mandali in the '70s and '80s--are now "senior" citizens or close to it. And there is a new generation of Baba folks who never got the opportunity to spend much time, if any, with many of the Mandali. Does this portend anything for the future? I used to think that meeting the Mandali and hanging out with them was the next best thing to being able to be with Baba in person. And I wondered how people could possibly get by once the Mandali were gone. I see that there were at least two fundamentally wrong assumptions in that. First, I assumed that if it was important to me to spend time with the Mandali, then it must be important for others as well. Yet I am slowly coming to see--unfortunately (excuse me, Bal Natu) everything I learn comes slowly to me--that just because I needed the Mandali's guidance doesn't mean that others automatically do as well. Just because I like listening to Baba stories, doesn't mean that everyone should, or that it even serves any purpose for others to do so. And secondly, I totally overlooked Baba's ability to do His work on His own, in His way, whether He is physically present or not, or whether His Mandali are alive or not. I have no doubt, and Baba has said this very clearly, that the Avatar works directly through His Mandali as if they are an extension of His physical body. But the Avatar, as the Eternal Perfect Master, has never been confined to just doing His work through His physical form. As the numbers of the Mandali dwindle, as the time people can spend with them evaporates, Baba's ability to touch people's hearts and reduce them to tears (Mani used to call it "melting in His love," not crying) remains unaffected. The same phenomenon occurs at Myrtle Beach. Baba is still palpably present to many, even though it's been 50 years since He was here last in physical form, and quite a few years since Kitty and Elizabeth carried on in His name. Instead of feeling sorry for folks who didn't meet the Mandali, or worrying about how they will find their way, I have come to acknowledge that many have a more intimate inner connection with Baba than I have. The outward form of this connection is not important. It doesn't matter if they don't enjoy listening to Baba stories. It doesn't matter if they don't like meeting in groups or reading the Discourses. It doesn't matter if some of them interpret following Baba's directives in a way I do not, because they are on their own path to and with Baba and that's all that does matter. The Perfect Master, Ramakrishna, used to say that if you wanted to reach a distant city, you couldn't wait until you had a perfect set of directions to begin your journey. If you did that, not only would you never arrive, you would never even leave. The key was to simply start walking and, as you went, to ask for directions. At the beginning, most of the people you asked wouldn't have a clue how to get there and they would send you in lots of wrong directions. If you persevered, however, you would eventually get closer. And, as you got closer, more and more people would actually know the way and be able to give you good directions. We are all starting out from different places, so our paths will all be different. But as long as we are honest enough to admit to ourselves the possibility that we might be temporarily lost, and willing to ask for directions then, eventually, we will be given the right advice and will find God. So I have concluded that I don't need to worry about the future, as I would have known if I had paid attention to the Mandali to begin with. Bal Natu used to avoid ever using the words "fortunate" or "unfortunate." He felt that this showed a lack of faith that everything that happens is determined by Baba's will. There is no question of good or bad luck, there is only His will and the way we react to it. I might be following a long and winding road to His door while others are on the express superhighway, but He is directing it all.

What If A Teaching Moment Never Comes?

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 19:21:00 +0000

One of the things that struck me most forcibly about the mandali was the degree to which they were able to make people feel unconditionally loved. Eruch, especially, seemed to concentrate on making people feel loved and was very reluctant to tell people what they "should" do.

In fact, this used to be a source of friction for some, because there were those around him who used to plead with him to take more of a role in teaching others, or would give him a hard time for not reprimanding those who seemed to need it.

When I asked Eruch about this he said he had a brotherly duty to bring it to people's attention if they were doing something which was grossly displeasing to Baba (actually, he didn't use the qualifier grossly, but I have added it because it seemed to me he tended not to say anything about all the little things we constantly did which displeased Baba, but would speak up only when there were larger issues at stake) but otherwise who was he to speak out.

Although at times I found this frustrating, I also saw how effective it was. Only once a person felt loved, could they accept any advice without feeling defensive or rejected. And Eruch had the patience to wait until the time was "right" before saying anything.

In 1980 a Baba lover wrote and asked Eruch if he could do anything for him. And Eruch wrote back and said that since he asked, would it be possible for him to stand in the queue during Amartithi to take darshan instead of skipping to the front of the line? I was flabbergasted. Eruch, I exclaimed, he's been doing this for 11 years and you're just suggesting now that he take his turn like everyone else? Why didn't you tell him years ago? Because, Eruch said, it's only now that he asked.

But what do I do with this kind of example when it comes to parenting? Who can wait 11 years for the "teachable moment," especially when our foster kids tend to already be teenagers when they come to our house? I think, perhaps, with the sense that I don't have much time to pass on the lessons our kids need to learn before they go off on their own, my natural tendency to "teach" (read: nag, criticize and lecture) is reinforced. Don't I have a duty, I ask myself, to create ethical, or moral guidelines for those in my care? How will they learn right from wrong if I don't teach them? How will they develop compassion and empathy if I don't help them see that the universe is not constructed for their exclusive enjoyment?

As you have probably guessed, this approach is counterproductive. Because our kids are older, paradoxically, they need, to an even greater extent, to be loved and not lectured. They want to feel accepted for who they are, not how they behave. So they become defensive if they sense criticism, they dig in their heels, find justification for their behavior and respond with anger to those who have the temerity to suggest they need to change. In short, they act just like adults.

I really shouldn't be surprised. My own experience with the mandali reinforces my belief that only when we feel completely loved and accepted, and not judged, do we feel free enough to let go of the negative habits we've been holding on to so tightly under the mistaken belief that this was necessary to ensure our sense of identity.

There is a balance here, to be sure, and I'm not suggesting that no ethical guidance ever be offered. The mandali certainly held up an incredibly high standard as to what constituted true obedience but what was so marvelous was the way they could make one (me, anyway) feel completely loved and accepted in spite of my inability to meet their standards. As one who loves to preach and has very little capacity for expressing love, this is a daunting example. But it brings home for me, from a new perspective, the profound wisdom in Baba's words that He did not come to teach, but to awaken.

Stop, You're Both Right!

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 15:38:00 +0000

Decades ago there was a skit on Saturday Night Live concerning an advertisement for a product called, as I remember it, "Clear Coat." One actor gushed, "it's an ice cream topping," while another exclaimed, "It's a floor wax," and they repeated these statements with increasing fervor until an announcer declared, "Stop, you're both right, it's a floor wax AND an ice cream topping."

This skit came to mind as I worked on today's article. Many Baba people see Baba's personal touch in their lives in ways big and small. Some see almost every coincidence as proof of Baba's direct divine intervention. I have always been a bit skeptical of such an approach. For one thing, some of the coincidences seemed so ambiguous, and so devoid of significance that I found myself thinking, "If that's the best Baba can do, then He's not much of an Avatar." Or, "With 6 billion people in the world, is it really likely that Baba made sure the light changed green just in time for you? What about people going the other direction who got the red light?"

It wasn't so much that I didn't think Baba was capable of interceding and changing earthly events in any manner He chose, it's just that I more or less assumed He had more important matters to attend to. And I generally came to believe in what is sometimes called the watchmaker's thesis, namely that Baba, like a watchmaker, had created the universe and wound it up, and was now mostly content to watch it tick away, letting the laws of karma and sanskaras guide events pretty much without the need for external tinkering. Interceding, perhaps, only in important or emergency situations.

But one evening as we were rushing to attend a play that our friends' child was in, the mother said, "Don't worry. Baba will leave us a parking space right in front of the theater so we won't be late." I didn't say anything, content to let events speak for themselves, until we arrived at the theater with a few minutes to spare and saw a parking space only a few yards away (on a street which otherwise seemed devoid of any such spaces.)

This was the sort of thing which didn't ordinarily happen to me. True, a parking space seems insignificant in the larger scheme of things but it also seemed too pointed to entirely dismiss. In the past I had always been reluctant to ask Baba for petty favors, or even to be on the lookout for them as this seemed somehow to shrink Baba from the Avatar to a good luck genie. But now, curious, I began to start actively looking for such intervention and, to my genuine surprise, I found it quite often.

What was going on here? Was Baba really interceding in my life? It occurred to me that this was a little like the shift from Newtonian physics to quantum mechanics. There were general laws, but the more minutely we examined things, the more we saw that other laws were at work as well. Duality (in the sense of either/or) seems to work until you get down to the particulars at which point singularities take over. Life is both a wave and packets of particles; equations can be solved with positive or negative values for time. And, this is perhaps the key point, it's the very act of observation which changes results. When we "look" for Baba's hand in our lives, this actually, in a way I can't pretend to understand, causes it to be there.

It's not that Baba cares about you more than the other 6 billion people. He cares about all of them the most, an impossible contradiction that is only resolved when you delve into the "subatomic" world of Baba particles in your daily life. I suspect, if only I knew more about quantum physics and were smart enough to understand any of it, that I would be able to make a more compelling case for the "quantumness" of the Avatar. But for now, I am content to accept that Baba is both the clockmaker and active participant in the world and that neither role impinges upon the other. And I suspect that this also solves the problem of free will versus predestination. We don't have to worry about it anymore, we can simply say with confidence, "Stop, you're both right."

Multiple Meher Babas

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 14:30:00 +0000

I'm not sure when I realized that there was more than one Meher Baba, but I think the process which produced multiple Babas began the moment I first heard about him. For me, the first Meher Baba was the "Avataric" Baba, the omniscient voice behind the Discourses. This led me to investigate the "historical" Baba who was born in 1894, grew up in Poona (or Pune as it is known today), stopped speaking on July 10, 1925, traveled around India in the Blue Bus and so on.

I found this Baba fascinating but discovered, as I learned about Meher Baba's activities, that the stories which revealed his humor, his personality, and his love were even more captivating and I spent hundreds of hours listening to the mandali and others relate their experiences with Baba. Eventually, I realized that another Baba had emerged, "my" Baba.

My Baba is the Baba I like to imagine when I think about Baba. Obviously this Baba is informed from the other Babas, but they are not identical. And I suspect that every Baba person has their own Baba.

Bal Natu used to say that our relationship with Baba was largely determined by the nature of our personal Baba. So, if we tended to think of Baba as being strict or judgemental, then Baba would relate to us in that manner. Bal used to then say that that was why he preferred to think of Baba not as his mother or father, but as his grandfather / grandmother, because grandparents are even more unconditionally loving and forgiving and accepting than parents.

But how do these different Babas interact? For example, the historical Baba seemed to lay down guidelines for those who would follow him to abstain from drugs, from sex outside of marriage, from getting involved with other masters and so forth.

I have heard some Baba people suggest that some of Baba's guidelines reflected his personal cultural upbringing and context and were not reflective of his omniscience. While it is no doubt true that Baba expressed purely personal individual tastes (and no one suggests that it is divinely ordained that we should all listen to Jim Reeves, or like bhajias - vegetable fritters), how do we decide what was a preference of the "historical" Baba and what was a precept laid down by the "Avataric" Baba?

And does it even matter? Perhaps it's irrelevant because the only important thing is to know what "my" Baba tells me to do. And yet, what if "my" Baba tells me one thing and "your" Baba tells you something else?

Knowing that all of these Babas are (at least to some extent) filtered through individual egos, should we ignore our personal Babas and focus only on the precepts of the "historical" Baba (after we decide which ones reflect the "Avataric" Baba)?

My sense is that as disparate as our personal Babas may be, as egocentric as they might be, as long as we honestly try to follow our Baba, we will be okay. Of course, if "my" Baba were in conflict with the "Avataric" Baba I would want to try to listen very carefully to what my Baba was saying, but I think the saving grace in all this is that if we try to wholeheartedly follow our personal Baba, that is tantamount to accepting Baba at our level. And he has promised that if we do that, he will take us to his level, where all these different Babas become the One without a second, the real Meher Baba.

Holding On, But Losing One's Grip

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Klein) — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 00:26:00 +0000

In the early 70s, when I used to volunteer at the Meher Baba Information Center in Cambridge, Massachusetts, people would often drop in and tell me stories about how wonderful their own masters were. And back then there seemed to be a lot of "Masters" that people were following. (Perhaps there still are and I'm just no longer in the loop--at any rate in rural New Hampshire you don't hear much about other "Masters" these days.) I would try to listen politely, with some semblance of interest, but tended to be skeptical when they recounted the great inner experiences they had had following Guruwhatshisnameananda. And I remember I would feel annoyed when, after asking some questions and learning a little bit about Meher Baba, they would exclaim, "Oh, he's just like my master."

I would think, "No He's not. He's the real thing. He's God in human form. He's the Avatar for Pete's sake. He's not at all like your master." This may have even been the proper reaction because Baba says somewhere (I'm counting on one of you to find the proper reference) that it is good (perhaps even necessary?) that devotees believe their Master is greater than any other, even if the Masters in question are imperfect. There is even the famous anecdote about one of Baba's early disciples who was bitten by a scorpion one night and called on Baba to help him. Getting no relief, he called on Sai Baba, and then Upasni and then Babajan, and then started back with Baba again. When the disciple saw Baba the next day he complained that he had suffered all night long and no one had come to his aid. Baba said he happened to have been in a meeting of the Perfect Masters that previous night and they had heard him call for help. When he called out Baba's name, Baba had gotten up to go to him, but before He could do anything, the man had called on Sai Baba, so Baba sat down and Sai Baba had stood up and so on, all night long. Baba said this illustrated the importance of holding one-pointedly to one's own Master.

The problem is that sometimes, when we think we're holding on to Baba, we are actually only holding on to our beliefs about Baba. I say this because I've noticed that, believing Baba to be the Highest of the High, and therefore accepting His teachings as the most definitive, I tend to take the belief systems of others less seriously. This might be okay but I've noticed that when I do this, I also, in a subtle way, take the other people less seriously too. Instead of empathizing with them with my heart, my mind is making judgements and I end up feeling separation instead of unity. To me, this is a sure tip off that I've lost hold of Baba because it seems clear to me that my "job" as a Baba person is not to judge others, or to correct their beliefs, but to make them feel as loved as Baba would.

Of course, as anyone who knows me even a little can readily attest, I don't do a very good job of this. In fact, many times it seems it is all I can do to be pleasant, much less loving, but I do find that it is a little easier for me when I forget such distinctions as "Baba lover" and "non Baba lover" and "bad Baba lover" and just try to see everyone as an opportunity to get closer to Baba by treating them as Baba would want them to be treated.