The Newsletters
Goddess of Peace, Goddess of Forgiveness, Goddess of Unconditional Love, Kwan Yin is a bodhisattva of compassion, refusing to enter Nirvana until all sentient beings reach enlightenment.
Her name means “She Who Hears the Cries of the World,” and she is depicted in over a hundred poses. Sometimes she is shown pouring a vase of healing love upon the earth, or bestowing the Pearl of Wisdom. Other times, she carries a book, the Lotus Sutra, or displays a hundred helping arms.
Known variously as Kuan Yin, Quan Yin, Kwan Yin, Kwonnen, Guanyin and other variations, She is worshipped in China, Tibet and other Buddhist countries. She has been worshipped and beloved by more devotees than any other goddess in history.
There is a very interesting phenomenon related to the notion of left-sidedness, right-sidedness and being in the centre. In many ways progress – natural growth – develops from left to right, and from right to centre. A new-born baby is a left-sided creature in that he or she is dependent for survival on others. Later, the young child is concerned entirely with himself or herself. There is no other viewpoint; everything is seen, needed, felt, explored, as an individual. Nothing else matters. Later again, the child starts to become conscious of other people’s needs, begins to see alternative points of view, starts making plans, starts moving into the right. Some adolescents don’t fully make this transition. They stay withdrawn, secretive, uncommunicative.
The same progress is typical of the seekers of truth. We tend to begin in the left, withdrawing from the rat-race to feel things through, longing for patterns, answers. Exploration, study and experiment will take us into the right. And, if we are lucky and make the right discoveries – such as, in our day and age, the grace of Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi – we arrive in the centre with the possibility of attaining Divine knowledge, perception and joy.
The painter, Picasso, is an interesting example. After his apprentice years spent copying great artists, he became famous for sad, left-sided, blue and rose paintings. Then he moved into the right, exploring cubism and collage and painting harshly-coloured abstracts, before settling, through an interest in neoclassicism, into a balance where he gained his self-realisation.
Brian Bell
I happened to see a documentary on Martin Luther King. It showed the last speech he gave before he was assassinated. That speech was said to be the most powerful speech he ever gave. The last paragraph interested me the most. During the last paragraph, as he was giving his speech, Martin Luther’s voice was very strong and shaky. And at the end of the speech he lost his balance and had to be held by his supporters. Martin Luther knew that he was going to be killed the next day. It seems the Divine had revealed the plans to him. But he was also shown the Kingdom of God. This is the last paragraph of his speech:
Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountain top. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
Meghraj, Canada
One night in the early eighties on the outskirts of the English city of Bedford, a young motorcyclist had a very nasty accident. The St John’s ambulance men arrived and took him to the hospital where the doctor who examined him was surprised to find that very little was wrong with him. While being examined the young man told the doctor that after the accident, while he was lying on the side of the road, a car pulled up and a lady with long black hair, wearing a long white gown, got out, walked to him and passed her hand along him, a few inches above his body. Then she smiled, returned to the car, and left.
The doctor said it was an interesting story and the young man should tell it to the journalist whom he’d noticed in the hospital foyer. Well, the young man did, but while he was telling the journalist about his experience he saw a poster on the hospital noticeboard. It was for a Sahaja Yoga Public Program, and on that poster was a picture of Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, the founder of Sahaja Yoga. Astonished, the young man identified this lady, Shri Mataji, as the person who had come to him after his accident. The journalist realised he had a good piece of news for his paper, especially as Shri Mataji, at the time of the accident, was, in fact, at the Bedford Town Hall talking to seekers. I know. I was there. Sitting in the gallery. Listening to Shri Mataji outlining the nature of the spirit and offering self-realisation.
Well, the story was published on the front page, with pictures. Letters to the editor followed, and a long article by a Sahaja Yogi attempted to explain how Shri Mataji could be addressing a crowded hall and attending to a young accident victim some miles away, at the same time.
A couple of months later Shri Mataji was in America. A Los Angeles radio interview had been arranged, and while She waited Shri Mataji talked to Tracey, an American Sahaja Yogi, and me about the Bedford Boy and his accident. At one point Tracey, with rather more nerve than I had, asked Shri Mataji if She was conscious of being in two places at once – at the program and with the young man.
Shri Mataji didn’t answer immediately, but when She did She said that Divinity was like radio, always transmitting, but whether the transmitted message was picked up or not, depended on the quality of the radio receiver.
“The Bedford Boy,” She said, “must be a good receiver.”
Brian Bell