Life, Liberation and the Distribution of Happiness: Lady Liberty Sings the Blues - Neela Bhattacharya Saxena

The Chinese have a saying: “May you live in interesting times.” Apparently it is not meant as a blessing but as a curse! Yet the wisdom of I Ching recognizes that blessings and curses are two sides of the same coin.  The Yin and the Yang are the shady and sunny sides of the magic mountain of life.  Once a certain saturation point arrives, the Yang fish turns into the Yin fish as they eternally play the game of hide and seek, challenging humans to find that fine and elusive balance between polarities. While the world processes what just hit the United Sates, some are musing whether we are on the cusp of something truly radical.  Perhaps Lady Liberty is singing the blues pointing to the fire in her outstretched arms- commemorating a death / heralding the birth of a new being. 

Emma Lazarus wrote in her poem “The New Colossus” about “A mighty woman with a torch” who is supposed to be the “Mother of Exiles” who welcomes all the downtrodden, crying out the famous lines etched on that iconic Statue adorning the port of entry: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” Lady Liberty has been mute when that idealism got thrown out in the New York harbor.  The Golden Door has been wide open for those who pay cold hard cash, while the wretched cannot find refuge here. 

The American experiment did produce something unprecedented in world history where the Jeffersonian dictum of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” steered many toward a life that was denied to them in a world where one’s birth determined one’s destiny. The American Dream was coined in an age of European revolutions when the top-heavy power of monarchy and church was overturned to give the common man some semblance of power over their lives. Jefferson’s “All Men Are Created Equal” slogan galvanized the multitudes to try their luck at something utterly new. 

While the dream of persecuted Europeans was built upon the ashes of native civilizations and partially executed by slave labor, it created a melting pot where warring factions of Christians could live together under common bonds. Europe’s emigrants fled their homes and villages. Their skin color helped them mask their ethnic identity, at least in public places, to avoid discrimination by the Anglo American population. These early migrants could hide their Irish or Italian -ness, but America’s dream continued to expand as world wars and colonial adventures brought strange new people onto its shores. 

Soon the nation became a powerhouse and more diverse, but by the late 20^th century American Dream had mainly turned to mere consumerism. A house in the suburbs with a “white” picket fence to keep the undesirables out became the symbol of that dream. Labor, civil rights and women’s movements continued to fight for equal opportunity for all -- leading to a black family gracing the White House.  Visceral reactions set in as they threatened entrenched interests. Paul Krugman prophetically wrote in 2002 in “The Sons also Rise” that “Inherited status is making a comeback,” but he could not have imagined the reality of 2016. Today the country seems to accept reality showmanship, life styles of the rich and famous, tax evasion, xenophobia, and abysmal sexism as legitimate and desirable qualities in its leaders.

A segment of American populace seems to be ready to give up hard won rights to authoritarianism. Some people are proclaiming hail to the CEO of the united states of unrest, others are seriously indignant and ready for battle, but some of us may want to pause.  As a teacher of literature and history of ideas I am intrigued by an ancient idea: clinamen or unpredictable swerve of atoms that Lucretius spoke of in On the Nature of Things. Science too recognizes the unpredictability and uncertainty of how the fundamental units of life will behave. Stephen Greenblatt resurrects Lucretius in The Swerve: How the World Became Modern. It may do some magic with our current situation. After all Lucretius invokes Venus in the beginning that awakens the sleeping senses of all creatures and Mars, the warring god falls asleep on Venus’ lap.  Is it possible that this strange new America is a portal?      

                                                     

We know something has been rotting in the body politic for quite some time; perhaps the cleansing times have arrived for the Leviathan. Hobbes was right; men love liberty and dominion over others. This of course contradicts the idea of liberty for all. Funny that Lady Liberty is a woman and the state of nature as well as materiality are often feminized. Given the radical dualism of western ideologies, destruction of everything “material” including the earth in the name of disembodied divinities or scientific reductionism are inevitable.  Modernity and cultural imperialism have convinced a large number of people around the world that destroying our habitat for short term gains is acceptable. 

Pursuit of happiness as consumption via mindless extraction and industry are driving us to the point of extinction. Standing Rock protesters included people from every corner of the world who recognize we cannot go on this way. However, extremes also unleash other energies.  While wholesale corporatization has led to monopolies and the mechanization of life, globalization and technological advances have also created a strange democracy of ideas.  Awakening of life energies and depth intelligence that the Buddha and Yogis speak of are also arising. Western goddesses of Liberty, Mercy and Justice may need the cleansing force of a Kali. When the image below had shown up in New York, I was startled because I was putting the finishing touches on my book Absent Mother God of the West: A Kali lover’s Journey into Christianity and Judaism.  When recently my friend Hope shared this article by a scholar healer, I was deeply moved. http://www.rebellesociety.com/2016/11/18/veradechalambert-kali/

Perhaps Hobbes’s material man needs a profound awakening of consciousness ala other ways of being.  Life’s pulsating reality is forgotten in the pursuit of wealth.  Liberty has turned to libertinism and liberty for a few at the expense of most. Pursuit of happiness became mainly a pursuit, a chase under an economy that manufactures restless desires.  Living in a mentally constructed reality some people imagine the golden pot at the end of the rainbow. We do not enjoy the rainbow in hot pursuit of the golden pot, always beyond reach. It’s time for a benevolent takeover of America’s famous dictum.  Perhaps powerful countries can learn more from small countries like Bhutan where Gross National Happiness is more important than GNP and other indexes.

There has been a misperception that Indic ways of liberation known as moksha and nirvana are merely religious and life denying ideas to be practiced by old and the tired ready for death. Fortunately those who are practicing Yoga, mindfulness and various other forms of meditation realize they are nothing like that. Change is the flavor of life. Realize anitya (impermanence) said the Buddha and do not grasp as it is like trying to capture water in your fist. At this point in our collective history if we long for liberation from our unconscious fears and learn to actually taste life, we can share and distribute happiness for the benefit of all.

 The return of the ancients is an interesting phenomena.  The Buddha and Yoga are hip these days; so are Lucretius and the I Ching. All of these Stand under the Mother Principle. Let Lady Liberty burn the old. We can get out of our mental morass and actually come alive for Lady Justice and Goddess of Mercy -Lady Portia. They are needed to help us fight without anger and bitterness. The Yang fish has exhausted himself; let the Yin fish turn the dharma wheel. It is time that mothers and grandmothers of the tribe of humans take over. They hereby declare null and void the relentless pursuit of happiness and change the famous dictum to Life, Liberation and the Distribution of Happiness.

Animal Rhythm of Life and Death: Cherishing Bastet’s Fragrant Cosmos - Neela Bhattacharya Saxena

Once upon a time, two young sisters were keenly observing a bug in Sunamganj, a small town in Sylhet. That critter was called kumari poka, virgin bug! They both watch the bug build a mud house. They see her fly away over and over again and come back with tiny bits of soft clay. The older sister, more adventurous and curious, prompts the younger and they follow the critter.  They see her collect the clay from the small moist pile emitted by an earth worm. They witness the recycling world of Nature. Both girls pleased to solve the mystery run away to play. India was undivided then, and what is now Bangladesh, was still my mother’s home; older sister of this drama, my mashi, and the younger, my mom, who recalls the event with great delight.

My nonagenarian mother often remembers the lush land, green spaces, rivers, orchards and the people but mostly her carefree world punctuated by beautiful rituals, songs, floods, turtles and snakes. It was a fragrant world of gods and goddesses, of coexistence of animals and humans. Wiki informs me the bug my mom enjoyed watching was probably a form of mud dauber, a wasp. I prefer the name, Virgin Bug! Wiki says, the females build the nest and hunt spiders for their young. Shapes of the nests vary, including one like an organ pipe. Through my mother’s child eyes, I see the Virgin building her nest bit by bit to give birth and to raise her young, soon to fly away.  A bug working so hard for a transient existence.

In my backyard as I followed our aged and ailing cat Kivi’s rhythms, of going inside and outside, of life to death, I witnessed an entire universe of critters creating the most magnificent sensuous drama.  I saw a little black snake with golden stripes look at me with great intensity. It shows itself suddenly as I walk bare feet on soft green grass, ruminating. I see it entwined near the water spout for the garden hose or slithering away alongside my flower patch or basking on a stone, reminding me of James Hillman’s black serpent. My son assures me, it is harmless, garter or gardener’s snake, although Wiki says it does have some venom. Thinking about serpent energy, I would sit on my stone seat, and Kivi would come, smell and caress the grass, touch the cool earth with her paws. She would then find a hiding spot in the woods and vanish for hours.

Suddenly a woodchuck passes as I watch from my kitchen. I see a bird pick a bug and feed another bird, same size as her, not her baby.  Yellow, brown, blue, black, red birds with magnificent designer feathers chirp away as they pick seeds from our feeder. Hawks, eagles circle above as I lie looking at the blue dappled sky. Our resident rabbit is happy hopping near our backyard hut. I recall a set of massive turkey vultures show up once, making a lot of noise that attracted my attention to their feathery display. Even a fox like creature had visited that patch of land.

Our cottonwood tree fills the yard with white soft materials, waiting to be woven into the beauty of existence. I marvel how little I, a bookworm since childhood, know of the world of animals, birds, bugs, their profound bond with each other and the most delightful cosmos. They know in their bones the beauty, grace and rhythm of the Great Mother’s universe. Nature, a PBS TV program, can produce both delight and despair as you see the vanishing world of our magnificent animal species. But recently I saw a show called "India’s Wandering Lions" that provided comfort. How amazing to see people and lions in Gujrat hang around each other without any animosity and in apparent cooperation to survive! 

Lions remind me of Sekhmet, a deity similar to and coextensive with Bastet. I have seen magnificent sculptures of Sekhmet in museums but Bastet has been very real in our cats.  A Durga and Kali loving woman like me finds fierce animals most enchanting.  Old cultures have a deeply sacred connection with the animal world, but Bastet with her relationship with fragrant alabaster jars intrigues me. I smooth the grey fur of Kivi as she licks her muddy paws from wandering into the stream between the trees, and I wonder about ancient Egypt and their feline goddesses.

Worshipped at least since the 3^rd millennium BCE, Bastet has many names and forms. A protector goddess, she is the milder form of Sekhmet. One form, of course, is that of a woman with a cat’s head, the goddess of joy, dance, family and love. Herodotus gives a detailed description of the festivals held in the city of her other name, Bubastis whom the Greek historian connects with his own Artemis, the goddess of animals and vegetation.  

But why is this cat goddess associated with an ointment/alabaster jar? I thought that image appears in a Biblical tale and is connected with the figure of, until recently rather maligned, Mary, the Magdalene. Most deities have an external manifestation as well as an internal meaning only available to the initiate. I suspect a continuum of the Egyptian mysteries with mystical Judaism and esoteric Christianity where Magdalene is a supreme figure. The cosmic form of Sekhmet-Bas-Ra represents an all-encompassing divinity within the Anunian Theurgy according to Mutata Ashby, the author of The Kemetic Tree of Life: Ancient Egyptian Metaphysics and Cosmology for Higher Consciousness.

The serpent on Sekhmet’s head is a reminder of transformation of consciousness. Human, animal, divine synergy is present in all cultures that teach that transformation. Legend has it that Kanthak, the horse that led Siddhartha into the starkness of reality away from the pleasure dome of his father’s palace, died of a broken heart when Gautama left to seek the roots of suffering.  Epona is a horse goddess in the Celtic world who leads the souls in their afterlife.  Our Kivi revealed the mystery of life and death in ways that no book ever could. Her green eyes had sparkled with profound tenderness as she would curl up against me and would remind me of the gentleness of Green Tara.  

When we had to put Kivi to rest, a howling emptiness filled our hearts and those woods. Her sister Kimmy bid her farewell; our heartbreaking silence might have communicated the end time. Her green eyes had turned to stone in death; her body like soft clay. Her ashes will return to the stream and be recycled by the Virgin Mother. The Buddha who knew the starkness of reality tells Subhuti in the Diamond Sutra that what is known as the highest teachings are not the highest. “All composed things are like a dream, a phantom, a drop of dew, a flash of lightning.” What does this diamond truth, the Vajra realization mean? One must drop all intellectual posturing for the emptiness of the Vajra to work its way into the hardened skull that is under its intellectual ego.

Mud houses of our lives are just a flash of lightening, an ephemeral, fragile and most gorgeous show. It is the Great Mother’s Maya, the lila that fills us with the intensity of joys and sorrows. Kivi showed us that one can’t be a detached witness but participate in the pulsating rhythm that is life that includes birth and death. Moisture descended upon us like the tears of Kuan Yin after weeks of dryness. Soft rain falls soundlessly, a delicate aroma permeates the air, and wind is chiming its song across the newly leafy trees of young East Coast summer. Mystery of death unfolded in great intensity and Kali, my pregnant nothingness, had received our Kivi back in her womb. 

Volcanic Alchemy and Signposts of Ancient "Indosphere": A Passage to Indonesia

Every step down was precarious. Moonlight was ethereal and a few shimmering flashlights would illumine only a small stone step.  Burning sulphur blinded and gagged if you took that oppressive mask off your face.  Do not worry, that rumbling sound was the roar of the volcano behind us, our guide Rafiq had assured us! We walked down one step at a time, not quite sure where and for what, especially after a long uphill hike in the middle of the night.  It was a dark and strangely quiet moment. Then flashed before us that dazzling blue flame. 

Out of nonexistence arose existence, and danced. The flame vanished and returned again momentarily illuminating the dark night of the planet. As morning light dawned, revealing the magnificent surroundings, the flame could no longer be seen. A gem like green lake and the brilliant blue fire deep in the volcanic crater; colors of divinity and ephemeral beauty as palpable as life itself. These visions could alchemically transmute the viewer into a spectacular specter.

We were at Ijen Crater in Banyuwangi, Indonesia at the eastern edge of Java. This tale is of an encounter with a primeval landscape where volcanic islands speak a language that can be heard in the pulsating rhythm of our bodies. This is also the tale of a journey into the ancient “Indosphere,” a term that denotes influences of Indic languages and culture in Southeast Asia.  Here signposts from an older world speak volumes to a traveler who feels at home in its strangeness.  I sing here of my passage to Indonesia.

The plane turned and dipped towards the runway, mountains raised their heads above the clouds; I beheld the volcanic tops of the archipelago.  I was on my way to Yogyakarta, Indonesia from Kolkata via Singapore.  Somehow I was going to be a part of the 2015 Sakyadhita (Daughter of the Buddha) conference, a conference that I did not know of just a few months ago.  I was going to speak of Prajnaparamita, Mother of all the Buddhas, goddess of the perfection of transcendental wisdom whose exquisite murti was carved by East Javanese sculptors in the 14^th century when Tantric Buddhism held sway in the royal court there. 

Sitting on the plane, I could visualize the landscape that Atisha Dipankar Srijnana, the 11^th century Vajrayani Buddhist sage, must have traversed centuries ago when visiting the islands of Sumatra and Java.  He may have boarded a ship on the port of Tamralipta, today’s Tamluk in Medinipur district in West Bengal.  This ancient space was referenced in the Mahabharata and has been continuously inhabited since the 3^rd century BCE. Tamluk has the site of a thousand year old Kali temple called Devi Borgobhima or Bheemakali. Kali is Kapalini here. Legend has it that the temple housed the Buddhist Tara! Here Shakta, Vaishnava, Buddhist as well as Bengali and Oriya traditions mingled, dissolving all identities into the womb of the Mother.

His journey by water was precarious and long.  Atisha may have bathed in the rivers Rupnarayana and Subarnarekha. Was he also fond of hilsa fish from those rivers as today’s Bengalis are? Tibetan Buddhists are very familiar with Atisha’s journeys and their chroniclers speak of his learning the Tonglen meditation from Dharmarakshita in Sumatra. This form of meditation is widely taught by teachers like Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo who is the president of Sakyadhita organization. She was the reason for my trip who led us through this meditation at the conference.

Travelling comfortably by air on the wings of modernity, I could not stop thinking what it would have been like for Atisha, a child of Bengal, to have made numerous journeys that ended in his death in Tibet. In India I had the great fortune to speak with Khyapababa, my guru, and descendant of Atisha.  Baba had led me through the text of Prajnaparamita and told the story of his ancestral village, Vajrayogini, where Atisha was born.  Baba spoke of hearing about Tibetan manuscripts in their home that were lost to history as the partition of India broke an ancient continuity.  The 1971 bombings in the war that created Bangladesh destroyed even more sites.

I spoke of my natal family’s history and its lost layers in Sylhet in my April 2014 blog. This triggered another pang of strong emotions as I recognized the enormity of these losses.  However life and history like Ijen's blue flame are fleeting; Shakyamuni Buddha knew this well.  But sometimes ancient signposts reveal themselves. A recent excavation in Munshiganj unearthed what might have been the Vihara of Atisha.  Bikrampur was the capital of Pala dynasty, and Buddhist India’s signposts can be seen in vast areas beyond today’s national borders.

As part of my BA, I studied Ancient History at Allahabad University.  This course explored what is called vrihattar Bharat or greater India.  Scholars speak of an “Indosphere” that carry the markers of Indic traditions, languages and cultures. This mingled with the Chinese “Sinosphere” and indigenous Southeast Asian cultures to create unique civilizations.  As soon as I landed in Yogyakarta, those signposts spoke to me.  I stayed at Griya Prasada that recreated the entire Ramayana in its design and decorations. Surrounded by “Hanoman” and “Ayodya” I could see the active volcano, Mount Merapi, emitting a windswept, smoky cloud.  Culture and volcanoes! A vital juxtaposition to begin my Indonesian travels.

Today’s Buddhist world of women revealed itself at this conference. In an open air space with soft green canopies of banana plants was also visited by a serpent during a talk! The Sakyadhita conference opened with Bhikkhuni processions that included Buddhist women from around the world in multicolored robes. The Srivijaya Javanese dance almost recreated an ancient court.  Historians speak of Pala dynasty’s connections with Srivijaya, a stronghold of Vajrayana Buddhism. Gamelan music created a spectacular “sama” of Sufi Islam that is beautifully integrated in Hindu, Buddhist and other indigenous aspects of this archipelago.  I read that a Singhasri king Kertangara called himself Shivabuddha.  A conference participant told me about Shiva Buddha temples in his village.

Then I met my Bangladeshi sisters; Sramani Gautami and her young novices stood out. I was thrilled to hear about her sangha. Today in Chittagong she is bravely fighting the local monks’ prejudices against women’s ordinations.  She invited me to visit her and offered to show me archaeological sites that so far I have only heard of.  I received a beautiful Ektara from her and my soul yearned to break into songs that are embedded in my very DNA. For a moment I participated in a Tara dance ensemble of Prema Dasara that led to visions of an ancient time and space.    

Flames of history extinguish sooner or later but sometime they just transmute into other forms. Before leaving Yogyakarta, my husband and I sat spellbound watching a Ramayana ballet performed at Candi Prambanan, a 9^th century Hindu temple and UNESCO World Heritage Site. The exquisite and delicate Balinese performance accompanied by Gamelan music revealed how a mythic tale can be transformed by another culture's tradition. Many of the women dancers wore flame decorations on their head as they enacted Sita’s trials and tribulations.   

Borobudur was also built in the 9th  century. It is the world's largest Buddhist stupa and shaped in the form of a Tantric mandala.  As we climbed the many steps we took in the black beauty of the temple surrounded by a primeval landscape. Countless Buddhas sat inside their stony stupas meditating on the impermanence of all that exists. However two volcanoes bookended Borobudur as if to protect this all too human attempt to capture in sturdy stone that which is ephemeral.  Our guide explained that Borobudur, engulfed in volcanic ash, lay hidden for centuries.  As recently as 2010, the temple was again inundated by Mount Merapi's eruption.

We stopped at a totally deserted but magnificent Mendut, another 9^th century temple.  Apparently there were a series of temples that were built, celebrated, forgotten and covered over by ash, vegetation and time.  This temple was striking with a triangular ceiling and imposing figures of Buddha Vairochana, Avalokiteshwara and Vajrapani within its womb space.  Exquisite carvings on its walls spoke of a different reality. They included remains of an eight armed goddess, perhaps Tara and a beautiful Hariti.

By the time we reached Bali, I felt as if we were time traveling.  Nothing could have prepared me for the sites, structures and beauty of this enchanted island.  Our guide told me the names of empty stone altars; Tugus and Padmas with offerings dotted every nook and corner. It seemed to me that Balinese worship “emptiness” that can stand for any religion or none at all- Buddhist, Hindu, Daoist or Islamic! Among the many temples, I was taken in by the almost 2000 year old Mother Temple, Pura Besakih nestled in the bosom of another volcanic mountain.  I felt very much at home there with its gentle priestess.

As we made our way back home via other lands, we heard that Bali’s Denpasar airport was shut down; Mount Raung, a volcano in Banyuwangi, had erupted, spewing ash all around. Rafiq was not kidding when he told us that the rumbling we heard while descending into the belly of Ijen was the sound of that volcano. But these were regular events, nothing too dramatic. How people live so peacefully and gently in the presence of these fiery mountains in this ancient land, people who have avoided cultural eruptions although lately some troubling elements have been creeping in.

The Sakyadhita conference, dedicated to compassion and action, had found a welcome venue blessed by the Mother Principle. Tara and Prajnaparamita encompass this country that preserves layers of human history connected with lands far away. Travelers like Atisha and many Sufi fakirs made their way to these islands participating in this beautiful hybrid culture. Our Muslim guide in Banyuwangi told us that women are the only ones who plant rice because they represent Shri and are auspicious. It is perhaps the magic of this alchemy that transmutes volcanic ash into stupas, mosques and temples of an incredible Indonesia.