Nara commentates …
First called is Svante, a
little five year old sannyas aspirant,
and subodhi, his mother.
Ramakrishna tells him to shut his eyes
which he does, instantly, with
full obedience, tight and
very still, the little pouches straining
to do just right.
His knees are held by
two chubby-small intentful hands.
We all look
with breathless stillness
surrounding an open rose as the
little swami emerges,
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Last seven days were work but nights kept leading me to the milk mountains. Full moon i.e the sharad purnima of October, kept revealing magic on one condition. That I must not close my eyes.
If I observe a graph of my inner self, it has been nothing less than hydrogen working its way towards the biggest star. Slowly but so intense, that being a writer becomes a curse because I cannot explain it.
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In Omkareshwar, a few years ago, on the banks of the river Narmada. A register found me; a life of a french yogi documented in images glued on its thin white pages. It was a real treat. Because they were not mere photographs, but codes, Sri Yantras, ancient symbols designated to regions, verses of socrates and most interestingly, it had the night sky. He was a singer, an illustrator. He may still be alive. And this is going to be our quest, together.
As it looked. A visual autobiography of a Yogi if i may say; and someone who loved and prayed to the mother Kali.
Ever since then, I had been imagining to work on this journey of a Photo book that has life of all the water in it. That can elevate one’s being; that over the years, has seen me in a quest to find Babaji. While it took me to many a gurus, their homes, ashrams, while walking in the forests or along the Indian rivers finding this elderly french Yogi.
Time is less.
In next two years, as i will travel, I will try to compile the conversations, old and new. And in front of you all. Because these are the most choicest ones that were held between a guru and a disciple. And a compilation for myself so that i know, and so that you as my family shall also know and may become the ones to see this book grow rightly as a universal messenger through Images, symbols and conversations.
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Also Read: A day with the Yog maya
I was on the road to Nashala. Trees had looped me in. I was high on it, on a curve as the sound started appearing in front as if it was my heart pulping. It happened in the night, somewhere in the forest.
Ramakrishna was naming someone: This will be your new name: Ma Deva Aikanta
Deva means divine, aikanta means aloneness. Self- knowledge is possible only in deep aloneness. Ordinarily whatever we know about ourselves is the opinion of others. They say “You are good” and we think we are good. They say “you are beautiful” and we think we are beautiful. They say you are bad or ugly . . . . . whatsoever people say about us we go on collecting. That becomes our self identity. It is utterly false because no one else can know you, can know who you are, except you yourself. Whatsoever they know are only aspects, and those aspects are very superficial. Whatsoever they know are only momentary moods; they cannot penetrate your center. Not even your lover can penetrate to the very core of your being. There you are utterly alone, and only there will you come to know who you are.
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If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
And I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About me and importantly;
As a Traveller, my lessons from ten years on the Road before you coarse on your own Road to Nara.
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