From Mother Rabbit I saw how to bravely protect your children from danger.
For a monk in India there is a choice of two lifestyles: he can live with other monks in a monastery or ashrama; or he can wander alone, begging his food, spending nights in a cave or an empty hut or just under the stars. In the West we have the saying, "A rolling stone gathers no moss." Likewise in India the idea is that by staying on the move one avoids getting re-attached to places and people.
In this way, also, no one family or village will have to help support the monk.
Besides, as a wanderer he has the opportunity to visit new places and make pilgrimage.
The great monk of modern India, Swami Vivekananda, was the chief disciple of Sri Ramakrishna. After about six years of study with him, the disciple lost his teacher when Sri Ramakrishna gave up his body in 1886. Now the young man lived for some time in the first lifestyle: huddled with his brother-disciples in a small run-down house. But before long, the urge to live in the other way grew strong in him, and he left the monastery to go wandering alone like a traditional sannyasin.
This took him over hill and dale, through the roads of towns, sometimes into jungles. One day his path was blocked by a band of monkeys. When he tried to walk through them they shrieked and howled and clutched at his ankles. Swamiji (as we know him) began to run. But it was of no use; all the faster came the monkeys. And they began to bite! A voice came to him, from an old sannyasin a little away, saying, "Face the brutes!" Swamiji turned on them, threatening. The monkeys fell back and ran away.
In later years when the Swami became a world-teacher he would tell this story and say, "That is a lesson for all life--face the terrible, face it boldly. Like the monkeys, the hardships of life fall back when we stop running from them....
Cowards never win victories. We have to fight fear and troubles and ignorance if we expect them to run away from us."
Sometimes on his travels Swami Vivekananda would decide to make things even a little harder for himself. He would stop begging food from door to door and see whether food came of itself. Was there really a God who, unseen, provides for his children? A Divine Mother ever watching over us, caring for our welfare? Testing the Lord like this, he once went without food for five days, before someone was inspired to offer him food.
Someone had given Swamiji a train ticket to South India. It happened there one day that he was nearly exhausted. He had travelled for a couple of days without the money to buy drinking water or food. Getting down at the railway station he was even pushed rudely out of the waiting room. He went out and just sat on the ground for some time. Now, who was this, coming near and greeting him? An unknown man with a water pot in hand and a mat under his arm, came to him and said, "Come, Swamiji, come and take this food I have brought for you, and I am spreading this mat for you to rest on."
"There must be some mistake," said the monk. "I have never seen you before; you may be mistaking me for someone else."
Then the man told him that he had just been sleeping after his noon meal, and dreamed that God came to him, saying: "Get up and prepare some food for this hungry monk," and showing me where you were, he said, "I am pained to see him going without food and drink." The man had thought it was just a dream and so he went back to sleep. But again God appeared, pushed him and repeated the command. He at once got up, cooked some food and carried it with water to the spot pointed out.
Hearing this, Swamiji was dumbfounded. He was stunned to think of the guarding and guidance which had gone on for him behind the scenes. He thanked the man with all his heart, tears streaming down his face. To think that the Lord had given such care and protection!
For a monk in India there is a choice of two lifestyles: he can live with other monks in a monastery or ashrama; or he can wander alone, begging his food, spending nights in a cave or an empty hut or just under the stars. In the West we have the saying, "A rolling stone gathers no moss." Likewise in India the idea is that by staying on the move one avoids getting re-attached to places and people.
In this way, also, no one family or village will have to help support the monk.
Besides, as a wanderer he has the opportunity to visit new places and make pilgrimage.
The great monk of modern India, Swami Vivekananda, was the chief disciple of Sri Ramakrishna. After about six years of study with him, the disciple lost his teacher when Sri Ramakrishna gave up his body in 1886. Now the young man lived for some time in the first lifestyle: huddled with his brother-disciples in a small run-down house. But before long, the urge to live in the other way grew strong in him, and he left the monastery to go wandering alone like a traditional sannyasin.
This took him over hill and dale, through the roads of towns, sometimes into jungles. One day his path was blocked by a band of monkeys. When he tried to walk through them they shrieked and howled and clutched at his ankles. Swamiji (as we know him) began to run. But it was of no use; all the faster came the monkeys. And they began to bite! A voice came to him, from an old sannyasin a little away, saying, "Face the brutes!" Swamiji turned on them, threatening. The monkeys fell back and ran away.
In later years when the Swami became a world-teacher he would tell this story and say, "That is a lesson for all life--face the terrible, face it boldly. Like the monkeys, the hardships of life fall back when we stop running from them....
Cowards never win victories. We have to fight fear and troubles and ignorance if we expect them to run away from us."
Sometimes on his travels Swami Vivekananda would decide to make things even a little harder for himself. He would stop begging food from door to door and see whether food came of itself. Was there really a God who, unseen, provides for his children? A Divine Mother ever watching over us, caring for our welfare? Testing the Lord like this, he once went without food for five days, before someone was inspired to offer him food.
Someone had given Swamiji a train ticket to South India. It happened there one day that he was nearly exhausted. He had travelled for a couple of days without the money to buy drinking water or food. Getting down at the railway station he was even pushed rudely out of the waiting room. He went out and just sat on the ground for some time. Now, who was this, coming near and greeting him? An unknown man with a water pot in hand and a mat under his arm, came to him and said, "Come, Swamiji, come and take this food I have brought for you, and I am spreading this mat for you to rest on."
"There must be some mistake," said the monk. "I have never seen you before; you may be mistaking me for someone else."
Then the man told him that he had just been sleeping after his noon meal, and dreamed that God came to him, saying: "Get up and prepare some food for this hungry monk," and showing me where you were, he said, "I am pained to see him going without food and drink." The man had thought it was just a dream and so he went back to sleep. But again God appeared, pushed him and repeated the command. He at once got up, cooked some food and carried it with water to the spot pointed out.
Hearing this, Swamiji was dumbfounded. He was stunned to think of the guarding and guidance which had gone on for him behind the scenes. He thanked the man with all his heart, tears streaming down his face. To think that the Lord had given such care and protection!
