A Practice to Reality

The relationship between a master and a disciple is serendipitous according the limitation of the mind. What draws a student to his master has stories steeped in myth and reality both conjuring up myriad visions of infinite possibilities. Possibilities we yearn given how life can reduce itself to a drivel. Ever the thirst for new experiences may drive the economic realities of our world but such a world is bereft of any solace or succor for the injured, scared and those suffering. A master appears with the student as the witness. The master points, the student chances upon a vision that changes all.

The mind projects different realities of this vision, dropping on and picking another. It tries to hold it but alas the hold burns. It tries to hold but it its painful its too cold. The student continues to look with only an intuition. That vision that arresting vision. The vision that halts the machinations of the mind. The student steadfast practices the practice. To begin with the mind joins in the bonhomie of the vision. Seconds every call for practice but then with time it starts doubting. Questions the intent, strikes the very heart of the being. Seduces, entices, stirres things up lest that it looses sway, lest that it is reduced to a secondary role. What if the throne is usurped. Initially the mind resorts to projections, of pleasure then fear but to no avail to the steadfast. But when that falls short it strikes from behind apparently speaking for the self. The very self so thinks the Student. Confused, the intuition is called into question. The long standing hatred of the mind to things "not understood" finally has its revenge.

The student struggles from the aftermath. A faith gone a bit awry. The master or a charlatan. The doubt is now a womb of resentment. "I can do better" so are the thoughts that crosses the mind. The mind revels in the intoxication of victory. "I am good at this, I am now a master. I deserve a following. I should have a school, a temple of the God - Me,..." and the tyranny holds sway. The student struggles and plods on however. The machination hasn't put a stop, the practice continues. The mind sees the grip loosen it doesn't understand. A victory or a premature jubiliation? The fort has been compromised.

 "What is this? This shouldn't be allowed, Treason!". The mind runs out of plots to corner, the student sees light. The light, the vision that had the drama unfold, the student thus realizes. The master was not the charlatan. The master had but no choice but to share, the student too never had the choice but to witness. The master and the student merge, the projections of the mind are cut and the Id uprooted. The practice remains with no practitioner. The practice that is true that which is so. Simply without an enamor. The stench is now replaced by the perfume of being- a quite mind.