The Light of the Lunatic Yogi’s Eyeballs


The Yogi’s Eternal Light

I wrote a little fable to celebrate the release of Black Belt Yoga. Here it is, and if you like it, visit Yogata.org and look at the blogs for other stories. 

Once upon a time there was a Yogi. Now this Yogi was a bit of a fanatic. On one hand, this was good, as it drove him to become superior in technique and advanced as a spiritual being. On the other hand,it wasn’t so good, as it drove him to do things that were, shall we say…ill-advised?

One day he was sitting in a cave meditating. The cave was bare, nothing but a few cavemen on the side wall sticking spears in an animal that was not around much anymore.  And, of course, his rug.

Don't be afraid to be yourself!

Don’t be afraid to be yourself!

His original prayer rug that he had bought a couple of hundred years previous, when he was but a child of 80 or 90. Truth, it was the last, expensive purchase he had ever made.

To gird his loins he depended upon the courtesy of passing pilgrims to toss him a hankie, or be offended by his omnipotent but dangling state.

So he sat in the cave, buttocks immune to feeling by virtue of two hundred years of resting them on his threadbare rug, conversing with whatever spirits happened to stumble upon his cave.

And, not to embellish this situation, but his cave was hidden deep in woods that had overgrown the attempt of any machete anywhere.

So he was sitting there, open to the universe, and an idea suddenly came upon him.

What if he opened his eyes, actually stopped his current meditation (only ten years along, day and night, no holidays, no time off for good behavior) and opened his eyes, and stared holes into the cave wall.

After all, he hadn’t been outside for a number of years, depending upon a trickle of drops of water that dampened the cave wall opposite the cavemen, and the fall of seasonal berries from a bush standing sentry just outside the mouth of his cave, and…why not?

Call it a picture window, call it a telescope to the infinite (or microscope, or whatever), he would actually be able to see outside without moving, and thus become that much more independent of the outer world. Now that was a great idea if ever there was one!

So our overly faithful Yogi opened his eyes and fixed his gaze upon the far wall.

In the darkness of the earth, he stared. His inner light bored outward, and the rocks began to tremble under his assault.

Weeks passed, then months. He grew ever more fierce in the emitting of his eternal light source, and the rocks trembled ever more.

Years passed, and one day, a single bit of pebble, not much more than a mote, cracked under the pressure of his eternal gaze. It…wafted into nothingness, was transferred into the infinite, ceased to be as hard universe, and came to be the soft nothingness of the eternal spirit that permeates and has construction of this universe.

More years passed, and more motes of rock shivered and shimmied…and then ceased to exist as if from their very imagining.

Berries trickled across the floor occasionally, and our fanatical Yogi lessened his staring meditation only long enough to scoop the errant berries into his mouth. To drink, he merrily moistened his lips and sucked the moisture off them.

More years, more hard staring, more eternal light, and, in the end, after many decades, the last bit of rock wafted into non-existence, and light slammed into the cave.

After so many years of meditating, after so many years in the darkness, the touch of light was a physical assault unimaginable.

The harsh light of the sun burned through our Yogi’s eyes, scorched the retina, blasted back up the nerves, atom bombed the brain, and…the Yogi was burned from this plane of existence.

Scorched into nothingness.

Withered.

No more.

The spirit, freed from the grasp of shrinking but still clinging flesh, bounced around the cave for a while, then drifted into rock, was caught in mountain for a couple of millennium, and, finally, burst onto the surface of planet earth, found a baby body, and was born.

If you are ever in an overgrown jungle, somewhere on the spiritual side of the world, hidden from the staunch temples that stand for a few thousand years and then degrade unto dust, or are simply made into shopping malls If you happen upon a berry bush that is weak and fragile, its berries no longer being offered for human consumption and that berry bush no longer having reason for existence. If you look behind that berry bush you will see a hole…not much more than a rabbit tunnel…and if you crawl into that hole and wiggle your way down a few yards, around a turn and down a few more yards, over the corpse of berries that have rolled there over the years, you will come to a cave.

If you are in that situation and circumstance, look around, for on the left wall you will see, about three feet above the floor of the cave, the exact height the eyes of an ancient and meditating yogi would be, two holes.

Look into these holes, search for sunlight, and hope that the outer earth hasn’t shifted and covered this one yogi’s testament to the fragility of the universe.

If you like this little tale, pop on over to http://yogata.org. There are a few more yoga fables listed in the blog.

zen martial arts

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