Y'dig?

An experience is what it is, by definition, beyond words. Of course, we all try to tell our friends about seeing a movie, reading a book, listening to music, but in our hearts we know it doesn’t work. If you’re a man and woman explains to you what it’s like to have a baby, even though you understand all the words, you know, no one has to tell you, that what you’ve got from the explanation is merely a hint here and there, no more, you do not get what it’s like to suffer the pains of actually having a child.

Pity then the poor music journalist, or the guy who gets to review new music releases, or the guy who gets to tell you what a new movie is like – and, it has to be said, some of them rise magnificently to the task. But even, at their brilliant best, what you get as a reader/listener, is a flavor, a hint, a taste, of what’s on offer. And of course, things go awry. I remember reading a review in the Melody Maker, then the prime source of the latest in rock music. It said, if you’re down to your last 37 shillings and 6 pence, rush out and buy the latest album by …..  I was, and I did, and the result was a massive letdown, I barely listened once to the drivel I’d forked out my last two quid for. I can no longer remember the offending artists or the name of the album, but I stuck the Melody Maker review to it to remind me not to do it again.

In those far off, upbeat, positive, upbeat days of the 60s, I was always up for the copy line on a book “this book will change your life”. And sometimes it did. I was desperate for the changes promised and of course, most  were inevitably disappointing, never as great or as massive as I was open to, dying for. Once, in Liverpool, while waiting to get the midnight boat to Belfast, I bought a new book, in hardcover, a massive investment from one who was a paperback man to his bootstraps, a book that  had this promise somewhere in the accompanying puff.  It was Catch 22, and I read it on the overnight sea trip, sitting in the steerage lounge, while my fellow passengers boozed, sang and eventually paid for their pleasures as the boat hit rough water off the Isle of Man. Catch 22 took me to a different place, out of the maelstrom of unpleasantness I was sitting in, Guinness bottles rolling back and forth, moans of sea-sickness and upset stomach, as the ship pitched and turned. I was fairly oblivious to most of it and arrived in Belfast at 6 am the next day, bleary eyed and happy, having read the book from cover to cover in one sitting. Did it change my life? A wee bit.

When the disillusionment of the 70s set in, such advertising ploys were by then seen as merely cynical.  Worse, dodgy gurus appeared, offering profound spiritual change, but who turned out to be more interested in wanting to sleep with their disciples, to bleed them of their money, to sell them spiritual snake oil, or worse, implant in them a malevolent psychic entity subtly disguised as initially pleasurable, something that over time, would do immense psychic harm to their hosts.

In my case, I had to wait many long years for the change I sought. It was in 1990 that I went along to Hammersmith Town Hall and experienced the joy of real Kundalini awakening, that introduction to the divine deep within myself  that changed my life forever, that informed every living, breathing, sentient moment that followed.

I’ve just read an account by my old friend John Noyce, who’s been attending a Health Fair in Melbourne and it set me thinking along these lines. He said, “it’s an interesting challenge to explain meditation in non-technical terms and then help people get into meditation whilst raising their Kundalini, all in just a few minutes – and all to a background of shamanic drumming, Chinese masseurs touting for business. (3 of them got their realisation eventually), etc!  My brief mention of ‘non-reaction’ as a meditation technique seemed to make sense to the first few so I kept using it, together with defining yoga as ‘union with the Creator’ which seemed to focus people’s attention very rapidly.”

For me, I’ve found it better to stop explaining, but to each his own, if it works for you, go for it. But it seems to me that if the object is experience, of helping people who are seeking that profound spiritual happening  of deep meditation, giving them an explanation first will be as helpful as gilding a lily. Why bother? Worse, as soon as you start explaining, they’re bound to start thinking, even if it’s only along the lines of “Do I agree or disagree with what this person is saying?” And if they’re thinking “This guy’s talking trash” or “I just don’t understand this”, then you’ve really got an uphill struggle.

Given these things happen in a busy, noisy place, like a street fair or an indoor Health Fair, and time is of of the essence, now I just say something along the lines of “This is an experience so let’s just try it and if you have any questions by all means ask them when we’ve finished”.

I’d recommend avoiding the sort of thing that happened in a New Age Fair a few years ago. A very correct businessman came on to our stand, sat in a chair and a woman helped raise his Kundalini and get him into deep meditation. He was stunned, hugely impressed by the experience of mental silence. He later said something along the lines of “Wow, that was one of the most amazing experiences of my life”. Instead of just smiling, and either saying nothing or a simple, “Great. I’m really pleased too,” the woman said, “Yes, and just think you’ve spent many lifetimes waiting for this very moment!” The guy looked at her with astonishment and utter incredulity, leaped out his chair, and ran from the stand like an Olympic sprinter doing the 100 meter dash.

Even the stupid can appear wise when they shut up. (Advice I confess, I am not always adept at taking myself).