|
There are many aspects by which a language can be said as sacred
and how we use it. If a language is used to discover the sacredness,
purity and spirituality of life, it becomes a sacred language. Whether
or not a language is sacred is determined by who is using it. This in
turn has a great deal to do with whether a language is being used
consciously or unconsciously, whether we use language as an instrument
to accomplish our real purpose in life, that is, wake up and find out
who we are; or we are unconsciously programmed by language, to maintain
patterns of a struggle for individual survival established by previous
generations.
People are always at the effect of the unconscious operation of any
language. Suppose a group of people listen to some very simple Sanskrit
sounds, sung in a rhythmic sequence, and then individually duplicate the
sounds, based upon what they heard many times. Everybody will think that
in "my turn" that there is little space left to actually listen and
enjoy the sounds. This overriding preoccupation with getting it right is
accompanied by an endless barrage of strategies, evaluations,
comparisons, judgments, expectations, hopes, rationalizations and fears
of consequences. By writing down this list of what everyone was
thinking, the unconscious operation of language becomes visible. Most
people are not aware they are thinking all this until they see the
language of it written on a flip chart.
But this is just peeling away the first layer. There's a still
deeper layer of the unconscious operation of language where we have
predefined who we are, based on whether or not we get it right.
We are given every opportunity to simply have a good time,
improvise, play with sounds. But instead we choose to take it as a test
of survival. In other words, it's more important to prove our capacity
to survive than it is to have a good time. The hidden unconscious
language that we base our lives upon, dictates to us that we must get it
right or we will be dominated by others, and that threatens our safety,
our well being and ultimately our survival. The first sign of a
non-sacred, survival language is that it refers to "getting it right" as
"smart", as "success" etc. Such a language defines a person by the way
he/she performs in a particular circumstance. The person is always at
the effect of the language. If I get it right, I'm smart. If I get it
wrong, I'm stupid.
The problems and conflicts that occur with a survival language are
myriad. To be happy, one must get it right all the time. And his primary
motivation for doing so is to prove that he is brilliant so others won't
control him .. The problem with "getting better" is that he becomes
programmed to always be getting better, but it's never good enough.
Getting better is an endless proposition. This survival model of
language has conflict and suffering woven into its very fabric.
This particular phenomenon is defined in the Yoga Sutras as avidyaa,
the fundamental lack of awareness which is the root klesha, or subtle
cause of all suffering. The definition of avidyaa is:
anitya-ashuci-duhkha-anaatmasu nitya-shuci-sukha-aatma-khyaatir avidyaa
"Avidyaa (ignorance) is an identity with a self which is not the
self; with happiness in what is actually suffering; with purity in what
is really impurity; and permanence in what is really impermanent."
Avidyaa perfectly describes the nature of a survival language. A
survival language is steeped in avidyaa. As long as who I am, is defined
by such a language, I remain the victim of an endless vicious circle.
The question is -- why would we choose a language which keeps us in
perpetual self-judgement. The fact is that we never chose the language.
It has always been around, and as children, we were given no other
options. As long as we do not consciously redesign the way we use
language, we remain at the effect of the past, conditioned by the very
language of the past to repeat the patterns of the past, again and
again.
As long as this survival model of language is in effect, it seems
virtually impossible for people to learn Sanskrit. This is to a large
degree due to the fact that Sanskrit is a perfect model of a sacred
language, and a sacred language cannot be learned by means of a survival
language.
This is not to say that English or any other language could not be
used as a sacred language. In fact, it has to be, to begin the study of
Sanskrit. Conversely, Sanskrit could be used in a survival mode. It's
just that in the design of most languages, there is very little
safeguard against them being used as survival languages. And in the
design of Sanskrit, there is every conceivable feature built in to keep
it operating as a sacred language.
The single most outstanding difference between a sacred and a
survival language is the definition, orientation and usage in the
language of the word "I". "I" or its equivalent is the source of
language. Without I, there is no you, he, she or it. The evolution of
the word "I" into a complex language is a process of creation. In the
development of a sacred language, the process is a conscious one;
language is an emanation, a creation, an instrument of "I". In a
survival language, "I" is an effect of the cultural patterns already
unconsciously established by the language. In Sanskrit, even the sounds
which make the word for "I" are consciously selected. AHAM. "A" is the
first spoken sound, as well as the first sound of the Sanskrit alphabet.
It can be discovered by breathing, in and with the mouth slightly open,
releasing the breath with sound that requires the minimal effort. It
naturally arises in the throat before the articulation of all other
sounds. "HA" is the last letter of the Sanskrit alphabet. After all the
systematic patterns created by the movement of the tongue and lips have
produced in perfect order all the other letters of the alphabet, the
final sound is "HA". It also is the only consonant sound that moves by
the power of the breath alone, and the only consonant in exact proximity
to "A" . The final letter "M" is the very last sound produced in the
mouth, because it occurs due to the closing of the lips. In Sanskrit,
AHAM is the beginning, the breath of life which brings forth creation,
and the end. And this is expressed not just symbolically by the letters
A-H-A-M, but physically, based on their location in the mouth.
The other most important attribute of a sacred language is that
each of its individual sounds are regarded as sacred. Anyone can feel
this by getting relaxed and repeating the AHAM, over and over, and while
doing so, feeling a complete all-encompassing expression of self. Then,
becoming silent, continue to feel "A" as the inhalation and HAM as the
exhalation. "A" is the only sound which is truly internal. "HAM" is the
most complete expression possible, arising directly from "A", and
closing after passing through all the positions of all other existing
sounds. The design of a sacred language is such that the sounds
perfectly express the vibrational essence of that which they describe.
In this way, words establish knowledge and understanding directly.
The next stage of establishing a sacred language is an intimacy
with the other sounds of the language, becoming familiar with their
exact location, savoring their delicacy, feeling their force and power,
and the unique way they vibrate the body and atmosphere. This is simply
a matter of enjoying sound without inhibition, as we did when we were
children. In the process of learning the Sanskrit alphabet, one
discovers that all sounds are encompassed in "AHAM". As other words are
created, the sounds which compose them become the means by which "I-AHAM"
establish my relationship of unity with, rather than separateness from,
all existence.
Important characteristic of a sacred language is that the purpose
for which it's being used is discovering one's own true nature. Sanskrit
is so highly developed and refined as a tool for serving this purpose
that even the task of learning the language seems "difficult" -- unless
the motive for learning is aligned with the function of the language,
that is, to know oneself. When Sanskrit is approached with the humility
and one-pointedness that is the trademark of a genuine search for truth,
it becomes revealed. There arises a simple joy in all aspects of its
study. Singing the alphabet is especially inspiring even when one has
become proficient. Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati, although a master of
Sanskrit, with more than 60 years of study behind him, and his speech
impaired by a stroke, still seems to find his greatest delight in
leading a group of students through the alphabet. Perhaps, this says a
much as anything about the nature of a sacred language.
We seldom hear anyone over seven years of age singing the English
alphabet. Its not that these sounds aren't enjoyable to sing. We do not
have the same relation to the English language that adults and children
alike who have learned Sanskrit have with it. That relation is a sacred
one, based on the energy conveyed through sound, a love for the unique
characteristics of each sound in engaging the mind, body, the breath,
vocal resonance, the mouth, tongue and lips.
Because of the simplicity of life in ancient times, there was an
acute awareness that all changes in life took place as a result of
changes in language. As new discoveries occurred in language, there was
an immediate and very noticeable shift in human beings' interactions and
in the way that they perceived their environment. The evolution of human
awareness was inextricably linked to the development of language. It was
natural that more and more attention should be given to its development
as the single most important factor in changing the quality of human
life. This eventually gave way to discoveries whose magnitude is
inconceivable to us in modern times, where language tends to be taken
for granted.
The discovery, development and refinement of Sanskrit must have
taken place over millennia. Although Sanskrit along with its great power
to elevate human consciousness to sublime heights, is often attributed
to a divine source, we can also hypothesize that its properties were
discoveries that took place as a result of human beings actively and
intensively engaging in the discovery of their own divine nature. The
most significant question that must have arisen to the ancients was how
to continue optimizing the human instrument, the body and mind, as a
vehicle for the expansion of awareness and happiness. Knowing that the
operation of the instrument depends entirely on the language with which
it is programmed, they worked on the refinement of language software.
They scrutinized and experimented with the vocal instrument and the
structure of the mouth and then selected only those sounds which had the
greatest clarity, purity and power of resonance. They then organized
these sounds in such a way that they could mutually enhance and brighten
one another, and build upon each other's resonance. They explored the
factor of breath in creating sound, and discovered that by minimizing
the breath with certain sounds and maximizing it with others, the
language would induce in the instrument a state of relaxed alertness
that could keep it operating efficiently and tirelessly for long periods
of time, while expanding and building prana-energy. And as they did
this, they became happier.
Furthermore, by coordinating the factors of purity of sound,
enhanced resonance and breath, there also developed an awareness of the
entire body as a resonating chamber through which sound could be
transmitted. With increased vibratory power, the concept of the body as
solid matter gradually became replaced by one of the body as the center
of an energy field. In the process of transmitting sound energy, they
observed subtle changes in the field and found they could expand it by
following the sound waves. They had discovered that language has the
capacity to convert the body and mind into pure energy. They began to
feel joy.
It was further discovered that certain combinations of sounds would
enhance the expansion of the field more than others, and this was
experimented with, until sound combinations which could bring about this
effect universally were revealed. Their joy expanded. These particular
combinations became useful words for describing as well as feeling the
state of consciousness they induced. In this way the breadth and depth
of all that exists was explored. They looked and listened and
experienced changes in the energy field, to see how the language could
be further refined, what new distinctions could be made. Eventually,
they fathomed creation and found their own identity at the very source
of it all. Their bliss was boundless. When they spoke with one another
in this language they established love and harmony.
Over millennia, Sanskrit was refined as an instrument of Yoga. By
500 B.C. it had reached a point where it was perfected, and ready to be
laid down formally. The genius Panini was born for that purpose. So
masterful, concise and comprehensive was his great work, Ashtadhyayi in
formulating the Sanskrit language, that to this day, two and a half
millennia later, no one has been able to improve upon his original work.
For 25 centuries, the language has not only survived intact, but thrived
through the love of countless enlightened sages, yogis and scholars,
basically unmodified. Just imagine a language thriving with little
change for 2500 years. In each century there have been spiritual
geniuses, who immersed themselves in the blissful and timeless joy of
Sanskrit. Many have elaborated or commented on Panini's original work,
but none have changed it or replaced it. Yoga has thrived side by side
with Sanskrit, but through all the practice, experimentation and
discovery that has taken place in that science, there has been little
need to develop new language or modify the old language in order to
measure or inspire progress. Sanskrit had been perfected by 500 B.C. as
a tool for defining the ultimate pinnacle of human aspiration.
Questions tend to come up as to why Sanskrit has not been used more
as a popular language, or why we are not now utilizing it more widely.
The primary obstacle, as I see it, is that we have had difficulty in
accessing Sanskrit in the way that it is designed to be used. Because of
the strong belief we hold that we are our body/mind, our primary concern
is what is going to happen to us individually. We see the possibility of
change, being happy in the future. And we try to choose and do those
things which will most certainly secure our future happiness or
enlightenment. This equation is almost universally interpreted as
"getting more and getting better". The approach never works for learning
Sanskrit, or for being happy.
The motivation for learning Sanskrit is the enchantment,
inspiration, peace and deep sense of spiritual connection felt when
listening to it. Or it may have been a pure childlike enjoyment in
duplicating those sounds. Most people would have no difficulty learning
Sanskrit, if they simply remained in the mode of what motivated them in
the first place, their enjoyment. But something else usually happens.
The desire to learn Sanskrit starts to be perceived as a future goal,
which, when and if achieved, will represent the securing of the
happiness which generated the desire to learn it in the first place. The
goal is usually accompanied by an expectation of mastering a certain
amount of material within a certain period of time. The problem here is
the old conditioning, all past memories of happiness, present or future,
being thwarted by difficulties and interruptions. Greatest among these
memories is the loss of the simple joy of being a child and the pure
direct perception of life we all experienced in our childhood.
The nature of a sacred language such as Sanskrit is the direct way
that it models life, or accesses through the purity of its sound and
rhythms, the perfection and beauty of life that we all experienced as
children. On our first exposure to Sanskrit, we reconnect with that
purity and joy, and then with the desire to secure that again in our
lives, decide that we must learn the language. On a very deep level,
it's a decision to nourish our spirit, and reestablish our oneness with
life. But it also at the same time brings us face to face with our
existential pain, the entire sum of our conditioning, all that has kept
us in a state of feeling alone and separate for the greater part of a
lifetime, as well as our repeated failure in attempting to regain that
happiness.
Once the task of learning the language is conceived, the criteria
for achievement are unconsciously measured. Success is determined by
comparing what one has managed to learn with what remains to be known
and how much others know. Success also depends on the mastery of a
certain quantity of information in a certain period of time. The
universal question asked at the beginning, is "How long will it take me
to learn it?" But the Sanskrit language is so vast and distinctly
different from other languages and other learning tasks, that from the
very outset, it becomes apparent that it is going to be very difficult
to achieve the expected success in the expected period of time. In
addition, there are many Indian speakers and scholars, one could never
even hope to catch up with. This inevitably brings the conclusion
"Proficiency is further away than I had believed." Along with this
assessment -- automatically arise the words "too difficult". Sanskrit is
too difficult.
But the problem is not really the perceived difficulty based on the
amount of information that exists in the Sanskrit language. The fact
that there is more information actually represents more enjoyment. If
one were offered a large collection of the greatest music of all time
accompanied by a continuous flow of increasingly majestic and panoramic
visions, one would not be disappointed because it would take too long to
listen to. In other words, discouragement about being able to learn
Sanskrit has absolutely nothing to do with Sanskrit. Sanskrit is an
enjoyable experience at all stages. Working with Sanskrit increases and
develops energy and clarity of mind. There are seemingly an infinite
variety of euphonic sound combinations and rhythmic patterns to be
enjoyed. Experiencing them expands the capacity of the mind to operate
as the cosmic computer it is designed to be.
The only real problem that arises with regard to learning Sanskrit
is forgetting why one decided to learn it in the first place -- to feel
the joy and purity one felt as a child. When the real purpose is
forgotten, we automatically default to concerns about success and
failure based on past programming. It is only in regard to this that the
idea "too difficult" can arise. Once "too difficult" takes root, the
usual result is giving up, because one's image of oneself being
proficient, seems too difficult to attain within the time limitations
calculated as a factor in producing the necessary satisfaction.
Although such resignation is based on the fact of long-standing
pain, it is not the truth. The truth is the original inspiration, the
joy, the play, the heightened awareness. If Sanskrit seems too
difficult, it's doing its job perfectly. A sacred language must teach us
to discover where the energy of being flows, and it becomes easy.
The obvious solution is to have no expectations whatsoever with
regard to time or quantities of information. This is an approach which
serves our original purpose -- to enter into that timeless dimension. If
concerns come up or it seems to be getting difficult, it's merely an
indication that we've forgotten our real purpose. The moment the idea of
getting or adding "more" arises, we lose the direct absorption, the
enjoyment, the sense of play. This is direct bio-feedback
Sanskrit is a play, a dance of energy in the eternal now. It,
modeling life, is perfectly designed to take us beyond our expectations,
our self images, our programming. But we must be ready to be in the role
of a perpetual learner, a student of life, of the ancient, eternal
wisdom, miraculously encoded in this sacred language. If we believe that
by learning a sacred language, we will gain knowledge and power, then we
look to a future goal which is by definition opposed to our true nature.
The power of a sacred language is to immediately mirror this back, as if
to say, NO ACCESS. A sacred language, is one which guides us to our own
true nature, and every time we derail ourselves, reminds us in some way
that we're missing out on its real nourishment. If we are going to
engage, it must be with our total being, one pointed awareness, free
from the distraction of where it might bring us, or rather, we might
take it in the future.
Sanskrit is the living heritage of great rishis who walked this
earth thousands of years ago. It presents us with an awesome
responsibility and a lifelong challenge, while it inspires us to remain
fully engaged in exploring what's possible for a human being. Learning
Sanskrit is an opportunity to know directly for ourselves what the
rishis discovered long ago. Most important, when approached as a sacred
language, it makes us happy.
From the perspective of Yoga, all life ultimately merges into
samadhi. It could be said that samadhi is the essence of yoga, In the
Yoga Sutras, samadhi is defined, "tad
evaathamaatraanirbhaasam-svaruupa-shuunyam iva samaadhih" that
(consciousness, engaged in sustained focus upon a single object),
reflecting the object alone, as if empty of its own nature, is samadhi.
Everyone has had the experience of samadhi, whether in childhood, or
some deeply absorbing experience, such as listening to music. It's a
period when our usual identity disappears because our habitual use of
language has been discontinued.
Many teachers used to say "the body is a prison only when you
cannot come and go as you please". The experience of samadhi is the
freedom to come and go. Without samadhi we live in a prison of language,
whose walls consist of words, whose bars and locked doors are the
meanings and significance we unknowingly give to those words.
Unknowingly, because the meanings were never consciously selected. They
were programmed into us by prior generations. For example, when people
make a mistake, they tend to feel stupid or embarrassed. But whoever
(aside from lexicographers) really defined for themselves what a
"mistake" is? The great sage Shankara (in the famous Bhajagovindam)
wrote:
satsangatve nissangatvam nissangatve nirmohatvam |
nirmohatve nishchalatatvam nishchalatattvam jiivanmuktiH ||
In a state of satsanga, good company, (comes) non-attachment; in
non-attachment, a state beyond confusion; in truth beyond confusion,
motionlessness; in motionlessness, living freedom.
The verse could be used as a model of the necessary conditions for
making the shift from being at the effect of language to being at the
source of it. It all begins with satsanga, good company. The best
example of this that I know of is a group of people who have come
together to learn Sanskrit. It seems that on some level, perhaps
unconsciously, a person who has decided to learn Sanskrit, has decided
in some way to use this sacred language for that which it was designed
-- to be free. It is remarkably easy for such a group of people to
change their relation to language, to put themselves at the source of
language and then select and use language in a way that gives them
access to Sanskrit, with ease and enjoyment. Without the mutual
agreement of the group, satsanga, good company, it would be highly
unlikely that the shift could ever take place. We grew up in a world
where a mistake was a bad thing, enough so that most people would not
risk making one. This led to massive withdrawal. Though people remained
in a group, they were not really part of the group. In truth, fear
dominated nearly all groups. Natural unity was shattered. The satsanga
was lost. Groups were ineffective. Alone, individuals were powerless.
Everyone was hopelessly at the effect of the language of right/wrong and
smart/stupid. In effect, a "group" could have been defined as a "body of
people which has come together to determine who is worthy and who is
unworthy."
Fortunately, the Sanskrit language has given us the word "satsanga",
which could be defined as "a body of people who have come together (sanga)
to ascertain reality (sat)." The fundamental agreement of such a group,
such as the one which has come together to learn Sanskrit, is that "I"
am prior to language. I use language to direct my attention to a full
appreciation of the beautiful sounds of the Sanskrit language, their
harmonies and their organization, as well as the truths expressed
through the language. The language that makes this possible is the
language of yoga, another gift of Sanskrit. The satsanga agrees upon
abhyaasa the selecting and sustained attention upon a single focal
point, for example, listening to the sounds of the Sanskrit language.
It's also agreed that there's nothing "wrong" with being off the point.
Becoming aware that I am off point, without satsanga -- I might worry
about what I missed that others got, I might worry about being left
behind -- "others are succeeding where I fail." But in satsanga where
the language of yoga has been agreed upon, there is vairaagya or
non-attachment, "the full awareness of my own mastery to not-attach
myself to habitual experience and simply return to the point, and even
acknowledge 'I missed something -- could it be repeated?'". For the
satsanga, if anyone missed anything, it's an opportunity for it to be
reviewed and clarified and enjoyed again by everyone. It sounds too good
to be true. Yet it happens exactly this way by shifting our relationship
to language. This would not be possible without satsanga.
In the state of satsanga (satsangatve) comes non-attachment (nissangatvam).
There is no more attachment to being right, and concurrently the fear of
being wrong. The real satisfaction derived from the wholeness of group
unity, the much greater capacity of the group to focus together, enjoy
sound together, appreciate the beauty of Sanskrit together, all make the
prior condition of being at the effect of words such as right/wrong or
smart /stupid or success/failure seem totally irrelevant. Through
satsanga, there's a complete shift in our relation to language -- we see
through the prison walls.
In non-attachment (nissangatve), there comes a state beyond
confusion (nirmohatvam). I'm no longer holding myself back because of
the fear of consequences. I am feeling my oneness with the group. It's
safe to put myself into it. There is no conflict over wanting
acceptance, while fearing rejection. My confusion over whether to
participate or not - will I be rejected if I do it wrong or isolated if
I do it right -- is gone. The illusion, and the confusion (moha) of
being separate from others dissolves. The truth that we are one emerges.
When we move as one, we go beyond success and failure and access our
natural ability to perfectly reflect whatever we perceive -- samadhi.
In the state beyond confusion (nirmohatve), is motionlessness (nishcalitatvam).
This happens in the Sanskrit satsanga. In the absence of striving to be
better, fearing getting worse, the old language that raced through our
mind stops. The mind becomes still, sensitive. A state of listening is
present, samÙdhi, in which we feel the nuances of Sanskrit, its power,
and the subtle way it resonates in the heart of our being, like ancient
and eternal music. There's no more struggle to learn, to gain and
accumulate knowledge. The words of Sanskrit, through their sound
vibration are like waves of pure energy, which we enjoy as if watching a
performance taking place inside us -- while their meanings describe our
own fathomless perfection, as the seer of all, ancient, eternal.
In motionlessness (nishcalitatve), living freedom (jiivanmukti),
The prison walls, even the memory that they were ever there, has
dissolved. From beginning to end, from the first attempt to learn
Sanskrit to the direct experience of the meaning of its ancient words of
truth and power, Sanskrit generates and establishes an entirely
different relationship with language. It's the proper relationship, the
true one, establishing our real unity, freedom from the bondage of the
past illusions. It keeps us savoring the timeless enjoyment of the
universe of sound, and a perfect creation.
By studying this sacred language only, the soul of India can
be understood and a good example among foreigners, we can say, is Max
Muller a German Scholar.
|
