I remember, even as a child, being aware of the sweetness of Rabindranath Tagore's songs. I was touched beyond understanding. His words, simple and honest, call out to a natural divinity. Like the poet Yeats experienced, they could stir me to tears. Yet, insights like his often do not come without great pain. In Tagore's early 50s much of his world fell apart. He lost his wife, two children, and father to common illness. Kindled in the fires of grief and longing he wrote Gitanjali, poetic songs from a place of natural stillness and divine inspiration. I still carry Gitanjali in my pocket as I travel.
During my junior year of college, I went with a study abroad program to India. Packing only the essentials; some clothes, a rain-jacket, a worn paperback copy of Tagore's Gitanjali, and little else. I was ready to escape everything familiar and try to learn who I was underneath it all. It took a few months attending classes to learn the language and culture, but soon I broke out. I left the city, navigating dirt roads and dizzying traffic, in search of mystical sources and maybe even answers to burning questions.
After a long day of taking pictures and listening to tour guides at the Buddhist cave-temple, Ellora, in the heart of the Deccan Plateau, my classmate Tom and I got hold of a cheap bottle of rum and began to read Tagore's verses aloud in our hotel room:
What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God, from this overflowing cup of my life?My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own eternal harmony?
With almost literal 'fire in our bellies' and God as our audience, we decided to sneak in and read these words inside the hallowed halls of Ellora. The stars felt distant in the moonless sky and the breeze blew comfortably as we hopped the short, stone fence surrounding the religious site. Standing together, at the mouth of the cave, we disrobed. My skin quivered with life in the sweet, thick Indian air and I was at peace.
Centuries before Ellora became a tourist destination, ochre-robed monks ate, slept and prayed in these now long abandoned rooms carved from the volcanic mountainside. With just my book and a pack of matches, we entered in silence into the complete blackness of the temple caverns. The reverence shared by the millions of worshipers on this very ground for over 1,500 years was palpable. Rough stone walls scraped my hands as I made my way around a corner and deeper into the inner sanctuary. Feeling vulnerable and suddenly aware of my nakedness, I stopped walking and listened. Hearing only the dripping of water from the cave ceiling, I lit a match and read again from Tagore:
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding music to them.
Tom, seeing the light, found me. We traveled together down a narrow corridor and in through a doorway. Another match revealed a small, stone room housing a deep well. "Hello!" I yelled into the black pit. The musical resonance excited me. Whoa, I thought. Tom, thinking the same thing began to chant: Om. Together we beckoned the universal sound to echo from the walls. Om. It was too dark to see your hand in front of your face and in this ocean of black, one holy sound moved through everything. In that moment I knew that we were all and we were nothing. It was one of the great spiritual experiences of my life.
Afterwards, we left the cave and put our clothes back on. Sitting and reflecting on the smooth steps of the temple door, memories flooded my mind. Struggle as I might to hold them, Om and the feeling of total selflessness faded. With only Tagore's words persisting and the idea of God silently listening at the portals of my ears, I took a deep breath and opened my senses to the ambiance of the night. But thoughts arose, pulling me away. I let them go, bringing my attention again and again back to the present moment. It made me laugh. I am helpless to this cycle. Any sense of control is an illusion. Obviously, now. As Tagore says, "It is the constant harmony of chance and determination which makes [existence] eternally new and living."