PAGE THIRTEEN; ARTICLE TWO; FEATURE

THERE IS AN ANCIENT Chinese curse. Like many things Chinese, it is subtle and enigmatic in its sentiments. ‘May you live in exciting times,’ it says. The full import of this somewhat limp curse can only be appreciated in the light of the exciting times in which we live. As the ever-flowing tide of change sweeps us further and further from the landmass of ancient knowledge and belief, we are lost at sea with no lifeline to explain our existence, no craft to propel us towards the terra firma of understanding, with no hope of ever touching land again. Without the solid earth of belief, understanding and knowledge beneath our feet we are forever at the mercy of the capricious seas, floundering among the rolling waves with nothing on which to get a grip.
Thus it is that we are preparing ourselves for the future. By shrugging off our traditions, by ignoring our instincts, by subscribing to the belief that life is an external experience, by forgetting the source from which we all spring and to which we all return. Never mind that the New Age offers us the only suggestion of hope the world has seen for thousands of years. Still, we approach it as ill-equipped as we could be. For those of us who believe that the New Age represents an opportunity to move towards a world system based on more balanced, meaningful and unifying attitudes, the loss of our ability to access the fundamental knowledge that underwrites life is a major catastrophe. Surely, at this time more than at any other, we should be looking in every direction in an effort to come up with some guidelines for the future? If, as some of us naive dreamers believe, the hope for the New Age rests in increased consciousness, it would seem timely to see if there has ever been a society run on the lines of higher consciousness. If there is a model, however ancient or incomplete, of a society in which life was lived in higher awareness, perhaps we can learn some lessons for application in our own future.
Societies and belief systems begin with individuals. In the West, many of the great spiritual beings who have reiterated the timeless truths that bring meaning to life, have lived their lives on the edges of society, distanced from the idiocies of those who run the world of power, and often persecuted by them. This has been particularly the case with the Semitic religions — Judaism, Christianity and Islam — all of which emphasise the fact that there is a huge gap between God and humanity, which is in some way ‘fallen’ or in a state of sin’. God, the divine creative force in the universe, is transcendent and ‘out there’, whereas the mystics of all religions state unequivocally that God is also ‘in here’ and to be found at the deepest depths of our experience through meditation and prayer. So to proclaim the potential divinity of the human experience has always been a dangerous business in the Semitic societies — remember Jesus, crucified for his declaration of Unity, or Al Hallaj, the great Sufi who was crucified in Baghdad for proclaiming ‘I am the Real’, or Meister Eckhart, the German Dominican excommunicated for teaching the mystical unity with God, or . . .. the list goes on and on.
And in our own times of scientific materialism, when, until very recently, anything smacking of higher consciousness was dismissed as primitive superstition, those servants of the divine process who come with the ancient message of the Truth are often ridiculed or demonised as ‘cults’ by the media — the biggest cult of the lot.
Modern life has seen a great attempt to find freedom in the outer world, the social world. The values of the New World — itself an attempt to find freedom started in the seventeenth century — have defeated that other great attempt at freedom, Communism, and have resulted in our contemporary Global Culture, led and fed by the United States, where material freedom is loudly held to be paramount. But that is merely a ‘phoney freedom’. The real freedom we are talking about, spiritual freedom, entails being consciously connected to the Cosmic Whole, living in God, lovingly and patiently working to further the evolution of the planet, not merely being an isolated individual with no restraints, free to shop endlessly, and generally act without regard for the consequences. In fact, the secular model, or ‘phoney freedom’ contains the seeds of its own destruction. For the more ‘freedom’ an isolated individual has, the more it becomes aware of its own separation and the more it fears death. One solution to this fear is to inflict death on others in the natural and human world, in a skewed attempt to assure our own immortality. History offers us a sorry catalogue of mad despots — Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun, Hitler (Sorry Adolf, you’re always in there), Stalin, Mao Tse Tung, Pol Pot and the rest — who have brutally tried to submit humanity to some
abstract ideal of how to live and what to think. In a less spectacular but more widespread and increasingly pervasive way this cult of the phoney individual orchestrates the extremes of the USA: a country that worships market forces, the predatory and anarchic ‘freedom’ of rampant capitalism, personal property and instant litigation, an air conditioned nightmare in which nationalism has been elevated into a sacred duty and the freedom to own a gun into a sacred right. America, as a consequence, despite (or because of) all its material excesses, is a society riven by greed, anxiety, violence, and increasing numbers of bizarre and dangerous cults.
So, no solutions in the modern secular West. Could the ancient societies offer a model and some practical spiritual disciplines that might be of any use to us?
The Egypt of the Pharaohs obviously had a high degree of spirituality. It was well-ordered and run according to cosmic truths that utilised the astrology of the ancient Babylonian civilisation and the sacred geometry that built the pyramids in ways that we still can’t figure out. Even more remarkably, it was totally peaceful — a highly organised and centralised state that had no army whatsoever. But whatever the glorious past achievements. Egyptian knowledge feels dead, buried too deep in the past to provide much relevance for the present. And, if we look at modern Egypt, we see a secular state riven by fanatical fundamentalist fringe groups who like nothing better than to shoot up busloads of tourists who have come to appreciate their ancient cultural heritage.
Ancient Greece gave us the philosophy and humanism that shaped much of Christianity and Western civilisation; the modern world is partly a legacy of Greek thought. This legacy excelled in reason, the thinking brain of the separate individual, but not in higher, suprarational or spiritual knowledge, the intuitive heart connected to the cosmos at large. The result is that we have built a scientific society that is very clever but not very wise. We all know the consequences of that.
The Mayans, by all accounts, had a very high spiritual civilisation founded on esoteric knowledge — much of it encapsulated in their sacred calendars but it all disappeared under the jungle a long time ago and, whatever rediscoveries there have been (sorry about this, Harrison Ford), are too partial and inconclusive to be of much benefit to our struggling planet today.
What then of the East? China had the legacy of both Taoism and Buddhism, a spiritual cocktail that should have kept itself and the world floating in nirvana for centuries, but a demon


called Mao Tse Tung came along and put an end to all that. Anyone who travels in China today in search of spirituality cannot help but feel the sense of vacuum that exists, like the centre of a bombed out city. But if you dedicatedly spend ten years or more destroying your own spiritual, artistic and social heritage, as the Cultural Revolution did, what can you expect? And, not content with social and spiritual heritage, it extended its evil influence to create the Holocaust that no-one talks about: the total destruction of Tibet. Whatever its faults, Tibet really was a society uniquely dedicated to humanity’s highest purpose: the search for Enlightenment; but even Tibetan wisdom proved powerless in the face of the materialistic might of the People’s Army.
And so we come, as all good seekers eventually must, to India, Mother India. And here, at last, there is a glimmer of light: it is called the Vedic Civilisation.
Historically we know very little about this mysterious civilisation — it left virtually no archaeological remains and no artefacts. The Vedic people seem to have entered India about 2000 BC, from where we don’t know exactly, (though their rituals have much in common with those of ancient Iran, home of the Zoroastrian fire-worshipping religion) and spread across the continent in a series of waves for the next thousand years or so, establishing themselves as the dominant power. Their culture centred around sacred teachings contained in mankind’s oldest record of knowledge — the Vedas, of which there are four: Rig Veda, Sama Veda, Yajur Veda and Atharva Veda. This was an oral tradition of sacred expertise, passed on from father to son, in a priestly class called Brahmins, and was based on three things: sacred chanting in Vedic Sanskrit, the performance of ritualistic fire offerings, called yagyas, and the practice of meditation. Together, they form the oldest forms of religious practice in the world, with a living and continuous tradition dating back 4000 years.
The first word in the Rig Veda is ‘agni’ (fire), and the Vedic religious performance was essentially one of fire worship. The Rishis, the sages who received the Vedas, worshipped fire as the representative of the sun on earth, for life could not exist if it were not for the sun. In Vedic teaching, however, fire signifies not only the sun, but the light of consciousness, the energy of desire, the sense of sight and the ardour of spiritual exercise. The Rishis used fire in their worship because fire is the great purifier, and it is said in India even today that the sadhu — the ascetic holy man — should always keep his sacred fire burning, for it is through the fire that he communicates with the subtle eternal beings that operate beyond the normal range of the senses, and it is through his fire that he is able to see to all corners of the universe. One sect that conscientiously maintains this tradition is the Nagas, or naked sadhus, who have given up everything except their sacred fire. Control of this element is much favoured among such sadhus. Once a Naga who had the ability to create fire by repeating a mantra, came to the town where I was staying in central India. The Indian Rationalist Association called together several eminent scientists to expose him as a fraud. Much to their amazement and annoyance, they could not. So impressed were members of the public that several begged him to teach them the trick. He replied that they would have to come with him to a secluded place in the deep forests and spend twelve years standing on one leg and repeating the mantra. By the end of that time it would be sufficiently energised to work for them. There were no takers.
The purpose of the Vedic yagya is to connect the worshipper with the elemental forces that govern the universe. This connection nourishes both human and the ethereal levels, by inspiring the myriad celestial energies — gods, goddesses and others — to give their blessings for the benefit of humanity and to ensure the safe continuance of the cosmic harmony that sustains and organises life. A yagya can be performed to benefit an individual, a family, a group, a nation or the whole universe; in any case, the Vedas teach that every action affects all of the cosmos, so the beneficial effects of a yagya spread far and wide beyond its immediate object.
Vedic yagyas are immensely complicated theatrical performances that can last for days or weeks at a time. A simplified version, called homa, is more often performed today in India and this can be done by someone with less priestly knowledge than that necessary for a full-blown yagya. I was taught the homa ritual by an old sadhu in Rajastan who lived under a railway arch, had hair thickly matted with cow dung, a heavily lined face, one tooth and eyes that glittered like diamonds. My homa ritual has been a great source of inspiration, although, dear reader, I have not yet won the lottery.
Let us sit in on one of these sacred performances where the


channels between the heavens and the earth are opened so that the Gods can enter the terrestrial sphere to spread their beneficent blessings upon the earth. A large area, perhaps 30 metres square, is cordoned off by a white fence made of bamboo poles and white wood and surmounted by a white awning. Within the main area are others, marked off by poles painted with red powder, and little shrines heaped with fruit and flowers. The area that has been chosen conforms to scriptural requirements in terms of type of surroundings, quality of the earth and so on, and the whole place has been purified by Brahmin priests chanting mantras to ward off any negative influences and to set the stage for what is to come. The yagya is taking place at a time that has been deemed auspicious by professional astrologers, using a system at least as old as that of ancient Babylon, yet which is more comprehensive, including, for example, the precession of the equinoxes, which Western astrology ignores. Without this astrological co-ordination with cosmic rhythms, the power of the performance would be nullified.
Within the innermost area are set various fire pits of different sizes and shapes: round, square, semicircular, one is in the shape of a bird — facing east, west or south. Each one is built up of bricks. The fire altars represent the universe in miniature — the realms of the Gods, the departed ancestors, the presiding spirits — and due to the law of corre-spondences, the close attention paid to this miniature cosmos by the sacrificer can affect the cosmos at large.
‘As above, so below,’ taught the ancient mage Hermes Tristmegistus, and in this law, known to all the ancients, lies the crux of the matter. There is no ultimate difference between the vast universe ‘out there’ and the limited universe of the human being and body, except that the individual believes it to be separate and different. A human being is a microcosm of the universe and the universe is a macrocosm of the human being. Each cosmos affects the other; the universe affects us, moment to moment, and we affect it, for good or ill. The cosmos is the body of the Absolute, the vessel through which the Absolute expresses itself, and everything in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, contains at least a spark of that universal consciousness. It is this law that the Vedic civilisation was built on and which provides an explanation for the fire rituals. Seated by one of the fires is the patron who has sponsored this yagya, which is for world peace and will last for five days. He will play a part in the proceedings, and pay the priests involved with food, gold and some cows. He sits with his wife and son, who, as his immediate family, are there to witness the proceedings and gain some of the karmic benefit, and wears a ceremonial yellow robe and has a freshly shaven head, one of the various ritual purifications he has undergone in the past seventeen days so as to be fit to take part in the ceremony and come into contact with the deities. Today, he has started the day with a ritual bath and a lengthy meditation, but has been spared some of the more demanding preparatory rites attached to some yagyas, such as having to run a chariot race against sixteen other participants, win it, and then with his wife, mount a specially constructed grid or ladder. This post represents the Cosmic ladder that connects earth to the heavens, and links the Gods and humanity; its rungs signify the different

celestial regions and the various psychological states between mundane consciousness and full enlightenment.
Around the fire sit about 20 Vedic priests, each wearing a white dhoti or lungi (the Indian sarong). They are bare-chested with the sacred thread, signifying their status as Brahmins, falling over their chest from the left shoulder. Many wear their hair in the south Indian temple style: the front of the head close shaven, the black coconut-oiled hair hanging long at the back or piled up in a small bun. Various categories of priest are involved here: those who chant the various scriptures and mantras, those who light and tend the fires, those who make the offerings.
Various objects lie around the fires — clay pots and vessels of bamboo to hold the sacred liquids, long wooden ladles, a mortar and pestle to grind, cloth and polythene bags containing the offerings and boards and knives to chop them. Other ritual objects are also involved, such as gold, silver and sacred herbs and grasses. There are long pipes to blow on the flames without contaminating them with human breath and a black antelope horn with which the priests can scratch themselves if they need to, without polluting the hands that are ministering to the deities.
The offerings are of
several kinds. This yagya, which is being performed for world peace, utilises many wholesome substances including ghee (clarified butter), milk, curds, rice cakes, barley, wheat, sesame seeds, dry and fresh fruits, honey, sugar and so on.
At one point a sacred cow appears. A priest takes some ghee in a ladle and puts a piece of gold, covered in sacred , grass into the ladle. Approaching the cow, he gazes closely at her, takes the gold into his hand, and meditates intently for some minutes. Then he, the patron and his wife, follow the cow for six paces and he scoops up some of the earth on which she has trodden. After sprinkling it with holy water, this is offered to the flames.
For days and nights the rituals and the chanting continue until, at last, the Gods have returned to the heavenly realm.
To witness a Vedic yagya is to participate in an event of great beauty and grandeur. The sonorous chanting, which can escalate in an electrifying blend of cross-rhythms, the measured and graceful gestures of the priests, the eloquent crackling of the fire as it hungrily devours the offerings, all contribute to an atmosphere that is solemn yet relaxed, and charged with sacred power and bliss. The rituals are so ancient they are timeless, yet at the same time they constitute the archetypal performance art, a sacrificial act of self-transcendence, where music, drama and religion have not yet been divided into their separate spheres, and movement is itself a ritual of concentrated attention, taking place in surroundings where the Divine is truly made manifest and the Gods come down to earth. ThUntil not long ago, the tradition of Vedic yagyas was dying, preserved only by a few family groups in different parts of the country, but now it looks set to survive thanks to a revival of interest in the last few years both on the part of Indian spiritual teachers and western academics.
Although yagyas are an intimate and intrinsic part of the ancient Vedic culture that continues to be a living tradition in Hindu India, their meaning and power as enshrined in the timeless words of Vedic literature are lost to those who are without the level of consciousness to understand the celestial planes on which the yagyas operate. However, as a reflection of a society based entirely on higher consciousness, perhaps the meaning of the yagyas will be revealed to us all as we come of age in Gracelands.
From the pen of Mr Bliss