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Excerpts from the book:
Guru and Disciple
 by Swami Abishiktananda
'There is no question that the most effective way of approach to what is within is to go by the "inward path". Even so the path vanishes, once the goal is reached. When you travel by the inward road, this "inwardness" is still an idea, and every idea implies duality and distinction. Its effect is inevitably to distance me from my goal, since it still distinguishes between the "I" which seeks and the "self" which is sought. So long as I distinguish within me the I which is within, I am not yet truly "within"... When at last that has been realized, then that which seeks and that which is sought vanish together-or, more precisely, what has vanished is the perception of them as different and separated. Nothing remains but self, being, pure jyoti, undivided and infinite light, essential light, the glory of Being, the inherent radiance of self, the vision in the self of Being in itself, the fullness of all joy, the bliss of the one who IS (the Be-ing).


'The final task in the spiritual quest is to resolve this ultimate distinction, that between the goal and the path, between the goal and him who is moving towards it. We have to overcome the dread which seizes the one who is in search of the self when he arrives at what seems to him, from his point of view, the last bend in the, road. He then realizes that he must henceforth renounce finally and irrevocably everything in which until then it had seemed to him that he had his existence, his being, his idea of himself, and his self-awareness linked to that idea of himself. In the abyss of his heart, into which he feels himself irresistibly drawn, there is no longer anything anywhere to which he could cling and save himself from falling, no solid ground on which he could set his foot, no fresh air with which he could recover his breath. There is only the akasha, the infinite space in which there are no longer any distinguishable points of reference, which is not limited by any horizon, which is everywhere the same; it is no longer even an environment in which one could keep his place-rather, it has carried off into its boundless infinity and solitude the one who tried to keep his place in it… As the Upanishads often say, we have relentlessly to cut that "last knot of the heart", hridaya-granthi, that attachment which binds the Self to temporal and material conditioning and prevents it from attaining its nature as supremely free.' This was precisely the most characteristic teaching of Ramana Maharshi: It is the very thought of the I, of the I as distinct from the self, even if only provisionally accepted, that has to be relentlessly pursued, in order to make it flee from the light and finally disappear, just as a thief, when caught in the act, takes to his heels and runs away at top speed - as Gnanananda, following Ramana, liked to repeat.

'This does not of course mean that we should pursue this idea with another idea - that would merely be to play the game of this specious and fleeting I. It is not a question of trying to persuade oneself that differences do not exist, that no one is ever bound by anything, that the atman is the inner dimension of every being. All that is merely a matter of thought and imagination. When we take that line, it is like walking indefinitely round and round the mountain, instead of taking the steep path which alone will lead to the summit. The popular manuals of Vedanta often advise the sadhaka to think: "I am the eternal, the non-born, the non-dual, unlimited awareness, infinite bliss." But all that is quite beside the point; indeed, it is absolutely false at the level of awareness which the sadhaka has reached. Setting aside any idea of the "I', he should be reaching towards the intuition of the eternal, the non-born and the rest, and no idea will ever lead to this intuition. Reflection will never yield this truth, add yet only this truth gives salvation. The truth cannot come from outside or from within through mental effort. It quite simply springs up from the depth of one's being. It is the dawning of Light in the Glory of Being arising in the heart'.

'However that is only perceived as dawning in the moment of experiencing it; for, in the very experience of this dawn it becomes clear that there never was and never will be the dawning of Being, either in the Self or in beings. In the Self, as indeed in everything, at every point of space and at every point of time, and equally beyond space and beyond time, Being simply IS. The sun too only rises for those who go to meet it'.

The sun has reached its zenith,
it will never again set or rise,
all alone it stands at the centre of all...
It has never set and never risen
for him who knows...
Night is the same as day in the world of Brahman,
light unending...
Between this world and the other
the atman is the dam, the bridge which leads to immortality,
but nothing from this world crosses over it,
neither death nor evil nor good nor sorrow,
nor anything that is transitory... (Chandogya Upanishad, 3.11; 8.4)

'The direct method of realising this is the practice of dhyana, based on the faith in the guru, in deeper and deeper silence of mind and the senses'. 'I have to abandon the thought that it is "I" who experiences the Self and has the darshana of the atman'. 'I have to abandon the thought that it is "I" who have the joy of seeing and possessing God'. 'There is no longer a joy of his own for anyone who has come to the vision of being and who contemplates the inner light. For there is no more an. "I" to enjoy and rejoice in - or equally to suffer from - anything whatever. There is only a single joy, the Joy of Being, the joy of Being in Itself, "God all in all" in himself.' One day Gnanananda summed all this up for Vanya in a verse of his own:

When I entered into Thy depth,
Oh! what happened to me?
Oh! what happened to Thee?
When I entered into Thy depth,
there remained no longer either Thou or I!

6) On Guru

There were certainly a good many aspects of Sri Gnanananda's style of life which Vanya found hard to understand. His idea of the true jnani was naturally derived from Ramana Maharishi, whose darshana he had once or twice during the last year of his life. In those days Ramana usually sat without moving on his couch, apparently indifferent to what was happening around him, enveloped in a kind of liturgical atmosphere. Gnanananda, on the other hand seemed incapable of remaining still. He concerned himself directly - too directly, in Vanya's opinion - with the construction work that was going on at that time in the ashram. He allowed people to chatter as much as they liked in his presence, and gave every sign of being interested in what they said. There were also plenty of other things which jarred on our European sadhu. Moreover, not all the visitors were as favourably impressed as he was. There were some who thought they could discern on the guru's face at least a trace of satisfaction when a car turned in and stopped at the gate, especially if someone with a white face got down from it. Others also criticized him for accepting without protest the various legends about his age, his past life, and so on.

Nevertheless, whatever may have been the thoughts at opportune or inopportune moments which passed through Vanya's head, even so when he came, morning and evening, to pay his respects to the Master, and above all when, alone with him, he listened to his words, he could not help feeling convinced that this man was truly the guru of whom he had for so long dreamed, the one who would enable him to clear the crest, if only he was ready to surrender himself to him with unquestioning faith. It was as if they were communicating with each other at a very deep level. The guru's words aroused echoes within him as no other man's words had ever done. It was as if, deep in Vanya's heart, profound secrets were then coming into view, secrets which seemed to be buried in hitherto undiscovered depths. What the guru said vibrated throughout his whole being and set off overtones which were quite wonderful.

In addition, Gnanananda's whole personality radiated a wonderfully pure and tender love, a love which was totally given to each and yet was the same for all. So the joy of feeling loved by him carried with it a high degree of detachment; for we all dream of being loved with a distinct and preferential love. But his love enveloped each one at the same time as if uniquely. You felt that for him all distinction, bheda, was annulled and had vanished. In each disciple it was as if he directly perceived his truest personality, the Self alone, the atman.

All this will doubtless seem pure paradox to those who do not know the secret of his highest wisdom, jnana, and even more to those - European and Indian alike - whose minds are cluttered up with readymade ideas of which they are naively proud. No philosophy indeed will ever succeed in explaining or understanding the continued existence of personality at the very heart of the experience of non-duality or in the non-reflex awareness of being and the self. Indian jnanis themselves, being prisoners of their own mental categories, will often deny it theoretically in the expressions they use. However, their whole life, and especially the gift of their disinterested love, clearly shows that the personality - or whatever else it is called - has lost nothing essential in attaining to the absolute. Deeper than any awareness that he may have of it, the jnani marvelously reflects in himself, as in a mirror that nothing any longer can dull, the very mystery of being, the mystery of himself, the mystery of God; and the Spirit, now given free play, realizes through him in the world the secret works known to him alone. Many times Vanya questioned Gnanananda about the role of the guru. But his replies always referred only to the definitive guru, the one who appears at the moment of the darshana of the atman, of the guru who is the very light which shines from the atman when it is finally discovered. 'The guru is akhanda, indivisible. He is advaita, non-dual. It is only this guru that can make you take the plunge; he appears and is manifested only at the moment when you do plunge. The other kind is the guru-murti, the guru in a visible form, the one who can only show the way.' And that is why disciples never got what they wanted when they asked the guru for the kind of help that would spare them the need for personal effort. The self is only visible to the self, and the true guru is only 'yourself' within your own self. Vanya one day asked Gnanananda, to whom one could or should communicate this teaching on dhyana.

'Certainly not to everyone,' the Swami replied. 'You have to start from the beginning: prayer, ritual worship, japa or continual repetition of the divine name - in a word, bhakti. You can only introduce people to the royal road of dhyana when they are capable of it. 'Yes indeed,' said Vanya: 'but my question is just this: Who are capable of it? What are the signs by which you can recognize those who should be invited to commit themselves to that path?' 'The shopkeeper must be able to recognize the things he is selling. If he cannot distinguish pepper corns from mustard seeds, or rice from millet, what is the use of his having a shop? Both salesman and customer would be bound to suffer. It is the same with the guru. He must be capable of discerning what is suitable for each disciple. If not, why does he meddle in such things?'

 
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