Standing Before My Master

Maybe you have summoned up the courage to ask the Master a question that has been occupying your mind and burning in your heart. Or maybe you have no questions or could never dream of actually speaking to your Master. I know I have fallen into all these categories at some time or another.

Last summer I had an opportunity to ask Baba Ji a question for the first time. After not seeing him for almost two years and being in the midst of a pandemic, being in his presence felt like a gift wrapped in grace.

This was a new experience for me, and my mind took over the entire situation. Even before asking my question, I thought I knew what and how he would answer. And I wondered: Was I worthy of this opportunity? How would I speak to him – address him? Where would I look? What voice would I use? How would he see me?

My question became almost irrelevant in the midst of my mind’s feverish gymnastics; my heart beat faster and my breath felt shallower just thinking about standing in front of him.

When it was finally my turn, I’m not sure what words tumbled out of my mouth, but he got what I was saying, and his answer was not the one I was expecting. I don’t remember much, except that he reminded me to be grateful. It felt as if time itself stood still. I was a wreck, not knowing how to respond or what to think. Afterward, dazed and confused, my mind ached for understanding, for some compartment in which to place the experience. I wanted to reassure myself that what had just happened was meaningful. What was the Master trying to tell me? What was he showing me?

Looking back now, I realize that this intellectual mind cannot grasp what the Master is – he is unfathomable. How could I, in that short, tiny moment know anything of his greatness? I see that I need to stop analyzing my experience, something Baba Ji constantly reminds us of. I also need to give up looking for results. I see that by craving a particular outcome or feeling that aligns with my preconceived notions and limited perspective, I will probably miss something more subtle.

We can tie these lessons back to our meditation practice. As Baba Ji says, just do it. We need to stop analyzing what happens during meditation and stop expecting results. Easier said than done, I know. A clear mind filled with simran is likely more receptive – both in meditation and for truly listening to what the Master says.

I see now that the Master is not what we think he is. And he will shake us out of who we think we are and what we think we know and leave us scratching our heads, more confused than ever. The key seems to be to stop our thinking minds with simran and then just wait and be.

If we could empty ourselves and still our minds, which is the objective of simran, we would be open and receptive to the Shabd, to his love, to the stream of light and sound we are told comes with the practice of bhajan. Mostly with the letting go of the endless thoughts and scenarios our minds create, we would be so still that we would see and feel the Master’s grace everywhere, not only when we are blessed to be in his physical presence.

The Master is all love. He is an endless source of constant giving. It is we who have put up the barriers of our egos and our minds. We hold on to limited beliefs, and the world casts its spell of illusion, preventing us from seeing clearly. As the author of the book Sufi Talks: Teachings of an American Sufi Sheikh says, quoting the Prophet Mohammed: “God points out: ‘There are seventy thousand veils between you and Me, but there are no veils between Me and you.’”

The Master comes to tear down these veils, to bring us out of our darkness and into his light. Slowly but surely, he draws us out of our limited selves. As we begin to question our so-called knowledge, we realize how little we really know about spirituality and how blindsided we are by our intellects. Then we have no choice but to surrender in humility.

Standing in front of my Master that day nearly a year ago brings a lifetime of lessons and insights with it, but something tells me that I urgently need to practise what he teaches – to live the path and then to leave everything else in his hands.

I will never forget the mercy and kindness I saw in his eyes that day. I’m still not totally sure what happened as I stood before him, but I have a feeling that it will carry me through all my days.

It reminds me of a few lines of poetry written by a satsangi:

If you fall in love with a King…
If your eyes should rest in his eyes, then for the rest of your life,
You will be searching every face for his light.

Also, I have newfound respect, compassion and kinship for those dear souls who stand up to ask him a question!