SACRED JOURNEY OF THE PEACEFUL WARRIOR

  I served, and discovered that service was joy.

  —Rabindranath Tagore

  AS WE WOUND OUR WAY DOWN into the forest, I asked, “What exactly happened to me back there … leaping that chasm … and then under the falls?”

  Limping upward, Mama Chia responded, “For you, as well as for many others, the third floor remains an arena of battle. Cluttered with issues of discipline, commitment, will, and self-restraint, that level of awareness represents a ‘finishing school’ for the Basic Self.

  “Until you clear the issues at this level and attain a secure foundation of self-mastery, your life will reflect a constant struggle to bridge the chasm between knowing what to do and actually doing it. The warrior has mastered the Basic Self—trained it—so that wants and needs are the same, no longer in opposition.

  “In leaping the chasm, you showed a strong will; otherwise, you would have fallen into the abyss.”

  “What would have happened then?”

  “A long climb back,” she said, smiling.

  “Was Sachi really there?”

  “In your mind, yes—I believe she represents the daughter you left waiting for you back in Ohio.”

  Pangs of regret, responsibility, and love washed over me as Holly’s little face appeared in my mind. “I should be getting home to see her.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “But will you bring her a whole father, or a man with unfinished business?”

  Again Soc’s words resounded inside me: “Once begun … better finish.”

  “Have you finished here yet?” Mama Chia asked, reading my thoughts.

  “I still don’t understand what happened to me under that waterfall—”

  She cut me off. “You made a tremendous jump across that chasm. But an even greater leap awaits you.”

  “To the fourth floor?”

  “Yes—into the heart.”

  “Into the heart,” I repeated. “Sounds kind of sentimental.”

  “Sentiment has nothing to do with it,” she said. “It’s a matter of physics—metaphysics. And you can make this leap, Dan. But it will take great courage, and great love. These qualities are coming alive in you. It all begins with a longing, as you’ve described.” She paused, then added, “I know you better than you know yourself, Dan. All your adventures are nothing more, and nothing less, than Spirit searching for Itself. Your Higher Self, filled with love, waits for you with infinite patience. That meeting is so close. I only hope I live to see—” she caught herself and stopped in midsentence.

  “What was that? What did you say?”

  Mama Chia looked as if she were about to speak, but only resumed her limping gait, and continued talking where she left off. “You’ll meet your Higher Self the moment your awareness rises out of the sea of personal concerns, into the heart. You don’t have to climb the mountains of Tibet, you see, for the kingdom of heaven is within,” she reminded me. “In and up—the heart and above—it’s all there.”

  “What about the floors above?”

  “I’ve told you—one step at a time. Find the heart, first; then the higher floors will take care of themselves, but you’ll be too busy loving and serving to care.”

  “I don’t know if I’m cut out to play ‘Saint Dan.’” I grinned at her. “For one thing, I like cookies too much.”

  “Well,” Mama Chia replied, smiling. “When you leap into the heart, you’ll truly love cookies. I know I do!” She laughed, but said nothing more for a while, as if to let all she had said sink in, the way a gardener lets water seep down deep, toward the roots.

  I looked up and around; clouds passed over the midday sun. Mama Chia’s words had reached in and touched someplace deep inside me. We continued walking, in silence, until more questions arose in my mind.

  “Mama Chia, I’ve seen people who have unusual powers or abilities. Does that mean they are on the higher floors?”

  “People sometimes have gifts due to the work they have done in past embodiments. But most often—unless they’ve cleared all the debris below—they only have a ‘temporary pass’ to the upper floors to contact those points of energy and see through those windows.”

  “How about spiritual masters?”

  “The awareness of a genuine master is present at birth, but may remain latent—even through periods of inner turmoil and confusion—until it blossoms rapidly, catalyzed by an event or teacher. Great masters can access the higher floors—indeed, they manifest great love, energy, clarity, wisdom, charisma, compassion, sensitivity, and power—but if they haven’t also mastered the lower floors, they end up absconding with the money or sleeping with their students.”

  “I’d sure like to experience those upper floors.”

  “Certain mystical techniques and substances have been known for centuries to provide glimpses of the upper floors. These are best treated as sacred, rather than recreational, activities; they can be useful as ‘previews of coming attractions.’

  “Many well-intentioned, lonely, bored, or desperate people generate spiritual experiences through a variety of techniques,” she continued. “But then what? What have they got? They return to their normal states more depressed than ever.

  “Spirit is always here, always with us, around us, inside us. But there are no shortcuts to this realization. Mystical practices generate heightened awareness, but if experiences aren’t grounded in a responsible life in this dimension, they lead nowhere.” She said, following a turn in the path.

  “Those who seek to escape the world through spiritual experiences are barking up the wrong tree, because their search only intensifies the sense of dilemma that motivated the search in the first place.

  “The desire to rise above the boredom, fleshiness, and morality of this world is natural and understandable. But those who practice self-involved techniques to distract themselves from the dilemmas of daily life are going to ascend the ladder only to find out it’s leaning against the wrong wall.

  “You meet the Higher Self not by imagining colored lights or doing lovely visualizations, but by accepting its will—by becoming the Higher Self. This process cannot be forced; it happens of its own accord.

  “Daily life is your training ground,” she continued. “Spirit gives you everything you need, here and now. You evolve not by seeking to go elsewhere, but by paying attention to, and embracing, what’s right in front of you. Only then can you take the next step on whatever floor you are working.

  “And then,” she said, stopping and facing me, “when the lower floors are clear, something very subtle and exciting occurs: Your motives make a rare and dramatic shift from seeking happiness to creating it.

  “Ultimately, it comes down to service. Jesus said, ‘Whoever would be the greatest among you is the servant of all.’ This, Dan, is the way to the heart, the path up the inner mountain. And mark my words: One day you will serve others not out of self-interest or guilt or social conscience, but because there’s nothing else you’d rather do. It will feel as simple and pleasurable as seeing a wonderful film that makes you feel happy and wanting to share it with others.”

  “I don’t know if I’m capable of making service the center of my life. It still sounds like a burden.”

  “Of course it does,” she replied, “because you are still seeing it from the third floor. But from the fourth-floor window, from the eyes of the heart, convenience, personal comfort, and satisfaction are no longer the center of your existence. You will look forward to getting up each day just to help another soul, another part of your Self.”

  Mama Chia stopped talking as a rainsquall made our footing treacherous. Stepping over twisted roots, it was hard to walk and talk at the same time. I concentrated on my mud-caked sneakers beating a squishing cadence on the wet earth and thought about what she had told me. We sloshed down through the rain that saturated the forest, passing several small but scenic waterfalls along this narrow, slippery path.

  Later, when the path widened, Mama Chia glanced back at my concerned expression
and said, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Dan. Accept where you are. Trust your Higher Self. It has been calling to you since you were a child. It brought you to Socrates, and to me. Accept yourself and just serve. Serve out of duty until you can serve out of love—without attachment to the results.

  “And when you’d be content to spend a hundred lifetimes—or an eternity—serving others, you no longer need to practice a way, because you’ve become the Way. Through service, ‘you,’ the Conscious Self, evolve into a Higher Self, even while in human form.”

  “How will I know when this happens?” I asked her.

  “You won’t. You’ll be too ecstatic to notice. As the ego dissolves into the arms of God, the mind dissolves into the will of God. No longer trying to control your life or make it work out in a particular way, you stop living and start being lived. You merge with a larger purpose—you become the Way by getting out of the way.”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. “It sounds impossible.”

  “When has that stopped you before?” she asked.

  “You’ve got a point,” I said, smiling.

  “When Joseph de Veuster was a boy,” she added, “if someone had told him he would spend his adult life ministering to lepers on the island of Molokai, he might have thought that impossible, too. But Joseph became Father Damien, and when the lepers were abandoned here to languish and die, he found his calling, and served them for the rest of his life. And look at Mother Teresa, and Mahatma Gandhi, and—”

  “And look at you,” I interjected.

  We passed down into the rain forest, down toward my cabin, and a needed rest. The tree roots and rocks gave way to grass, leaves, and damp red earth. We were both weary, and we traveled in silence. I concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, keeping my tongue on the roof of my mouth, allowing my Basic Self to circulate and balance the energies that flowed through me. I inhaled not only air, but light and energy and spirit.

  I became aware of birdsong, and the ever-present trickle and rushing of streams and waterfalls—runoff from the rain showers—drew me once again into the beauty and mystery of Molokai. But the nagging issue of service, certainly a weak link in the chain of my life, kept rising to the surface of my mind, pressing me.

  “Mama Chia,” I said, breaking our silence, “when you mentioned Father Damien or Mother Teresa, I realize how far I am from anything like that. The idea of working with lepers and serving the poor just doesn’t appeal to me at this point in my life, though I know it would be a good thing to do.”

  Without turning around, she answered. “Most of humanity joins in your sentiments. Good deeds are done for many motives: On the first floor, you only find self-service; on the second floor, service always has strings attached; on the third floor, it is motivated by duty and responsibility. I say again: True service begins at the fourth level, when awareness resides in the heart.”

  We walked on into the afternoon, stopping once to pick some mangoes. My hunger only slightly appeased, I felt glad for the remaining nuts from Mama Chia’s pack. She just nibbled, content with her meager fare.

  “Keep eating like this,” I said, “and you’ll soon be slim as a model.”

  “A model what?”

  “A model saint,” I said.

  Mama Chia shook her head but said nothing.

  As we resumed the final leg of our downward hike, I asked Mama Chia, “How am I ever going to make that leap you talk about? After all, I have a job, a family to support, and other commitments. I can’t just go around giving things away, spending all my time volunteering.”

  “Whoever suggested you should? And where have you gotten all these ideas?” she asked. “Maybe from the same place I did.” Slowing her pace, she added, “When I was young, ideals didn’t come any higher. I was going for the Holy Grail, and that was that. Not a day passed that I didn’t feel guilty reading books and studying and attending films—while other children were starving in other parts of the world. I vowed that I would help those less fortunate than I.

  “During my travels, my ideals suffered a rude jolt. I had saved some money to give to the poor and, as soon as I got off the train, a child approached me. She was beautiful—neat and clean, with shining teeth in spite of her poverty. She begged politely, and I was happy to give her a coin. Her eyes lit up.

  “Then three more children ran up and, smiling graciously, I gave each of them a coin as well. Then I was surrounded by fifteen children, and that was just the start. Everywhere, there were more children begging. I soon ran out of coins. I gave away my carrying bag and an umbrella; I gave away nearly everything but the clothes I was wearing and my air tickets. Soon, if this kept up, I would be begging, too. It had to stop somewhere; I had to learn how to say no without hardening my heart. It was painful for me, but necessary. I had not taken vows of poverty—and neither have you.

  “Yes, this world needs more compassion. But we all have different callings. Some people work in the stock market, others in the prisons. Some live in luxury, while others are homeless. Some people deliberate on what type of imported marble to place in their indoor pools, while others starve on the streets as Christmas shoppers pass by. Does this make villains of the rich or saints of the poor? I think not. Complex karmas are at work. Each of us plays our role. Each of us is born into life circumstances to challenge us and allow us to evolve. A beggar in this life may have been wealthy in another life. Inequity has always existed, and until the awareness of humanity rises at least to the third floor, it will continue.

  “Over time, I have come to accept my guilt about being comfortable and having enough to eat,” she explained. “Otherwise, how can we take a bite of food while others starve?”

  “How do you deal with these feelings?” I asked.

  “The question itself reveals your awakening heart,” she said. “The way I deal with such feelings is I act with kindness to the people in my immediate surroundings. I accept the role I have been given, and I suggest you do the same. It is all right for a peaceful warrior to make good money, doing what he or she loves, serving other people. All three elements are important. It is all right to hurt, to love, to be happy, in spite of the difficulties of this world.

  “Find your own balance. Do what you can, but take time to laugh and enjoy life. Yet, at the same time, know that as your consciousness rises up into the tower of life, your lifestyle naturally changes. Your needs simplify; your priorities—how you spend your time and money and energy—all change.”

  “I have high ideals, too—I want to get closer to them. I want to change.”

  “The first step to change, as I expect Socrates showed you, is accepting your reality right now. Honoring your process. Compassionate self-awareness leads to change; harsh self-criticism only holds the patterns in place, creating a stubborn and defensive Basic Self. Be gentle with yourself as you would with a child. Be gentle but firm. Give yourself the space to grow. But remember that the timing is in God’s hands, not yours.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Dark Clouds on a Sunny Day

  Here are the tears of things; mortality touches the heart.

  —Virgil, The Aeneid

  I HAD ABSORBED ALL I COULD. My mind and heart felt rested, but not my feet—I was running on empty, carried downhill more by momentum than by any reserves of energy. Again it struck me as incredible that this elderly woman could have traveled all these miles, limping every step of the way.

  When we were nearing home, Mama Chia led me onto another trail than the one I’d remembered. A few minutes later, we came to a small cabin next to a cascading stream. As we approached from above, I could see a Japanese rock garden with one large rock—an island in a sea of raked gravel—with a bonsai tree arching up in perfect balance with the whole. Above it lay another terraced garden with vegetables and flowers.

  The cabin itself stood up off the ground on stilts. “We sometimes get a lot of water,” she explained without my asking, as we went up three log steps and inside. The decor was perfect M
ama Chia: a long, low futon couch, green carpeting like the forest leaves, a few paintings on the walls, and some zafus—meditation cushions—and assorted pillows.

  “Can I make you some iced tea?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Need any help?”

  She smiled. “While this is tea for two, it doesn’t take two to make tea. The bathroom’s over there.” She pointed to my left as she headed into the kitchen area. “Make yourself at home. Spin a record on the turntable if you want.”

  Coming out of the bathroom, I looked for the record player and found an old windup model, an antique.

  When she brought out the tea, and some fresh papaya slices, Mama Chia seemed so peaceful—at home in her environment—as if she’d been here all the time instead of taking me on a grueling cross-country hike.

  When we finished our tea, I cleared our plates and washed them. She said, “We’re only about a mile from your cabin. You could use a rest, I imagine.”