Ordinary Words and the Word

Have you ever wondered what babies think about or how they think? They don’t have words yet, so what form do their thoughts take? Do they think? Or are they simply conscious, aware, and free from thought? Consider what that would be like, if it is so, and how it might well be an enviable condition.

For as surely as newly learned words spark communication, they also begin to restrict, form, and change the child’s mental workings. Not all of awareness can be reduced to words: we can bring to mind any of the sense organs and realize that the words we have fall far short of expressing our experiences with them. When we look at a garden and take in all of the various tones of leaf colours, we realize that the word “green” only weakly represents that range of the visible colour spectrum. Similarly, there are experiences within our minds, our feelings, our thoughts and our relationships that never fully correspond to our vocabularies.

As the mind learns which aspects of life have words affixed to them, it comes to believe that those aspects which are named have more value and are more deserving of its attention. How many diverse aspects of our consciousness have gone dormant from this limitation by assigning words? How much of real value has been pruned from awareness by never having been mentioned? Perhaps this is part of the process by which our minds begin to forget God. In Spiritual Gems, Maharaj Sawan Singh tells us:

When we came out of the mother’s womb and opened our eyes, we saw the world; when we opened our ears, we heard the voices of the world; when we opened our tongue, we replied to what we heard; and thereby we established our connection with the world and became of this world.

Without words for God’s presence and love, we lose touch and forget. And once we begin the process of forgetting, the momentum is perpetuated by the reinforcement of the outer and by the continued neglect of the inner.

Words are some of the most formative influences on our mentality and psyche. Words effectively or carelessly used, have the power to evoke strong feelings within us, to inspire us to greater heights, or to dash our hopes and aspirations to dreadful depths. Words can touch and reassure or bruise as no other force between two humans. Our primary communication is through words; and the words we use and how we employ them establish and bring to form the connections we make with others. In The Science of the Soul, Maharaj Jagat Singh warns us to use words carefully, consciously:

A wound inflicted on the body with a sharp weapon heals up in time, but not so the wound that the tongue inflicts on the heart of man. Beware of hurting the feelings of any living being. This should be given as much importance as the vows of abstinence from meat, etc., that we take at the time of initiation.

He continues in another letter:

Much physical and spiritual energy is dissipated by talking. Silence is golden. Speak as little as possible. Open your lips only when it is most necessary. And when you must speak, do so in the most kind and gentle manner. Never lose your temper over anything.

In Divine Light, Maharaj Charan Singh continues in the same vein:

Truth is very good and it should always be told in a sweet and pleasant manner. One should not unnecessarily injure the feelings of others. There is already a lot of unpleasantness and worry in this world, and we should try not to add to it. When, by keeping silent, one can avoid hurting another’s feelings, silence is always best.

Given the power of words and the potential damage to both others and ourselves, we are counselled to choose them with care. We do well to give as much attention to what comes out of our mouth as we give to the ingredients of what goes into it when we eat. Our associations with others are not to be treated lightly or in ignorance of their importance. What effect do we want to create within the circle of our closest relationships? Our answer to this question underlines the importance of abiding by the counsel of the Masters and emphasizes the extent of our responsibilities to our families and associates.

We come to understand that we can effect changes in others, in our own perceptions, and in the world when we alter the words we use in our interactions. We have the ability to make those interactions positive or negative. This applies to our familial and social associations and to the thoughts that we entertain. What influences do we allow into our mental sphere? Which words do we repeat to ourselves?

The power of words on our mental and emotional states is common knowledge and is used by many in prayer and affirmations. Likewise, the Master gives us a repetition at initiation to take the place of the usual spinning of the mind. But the power of the simran that he bestows is beyond that of mere substitution. The words themselves are imbued with the power of the Master, and our repetition of them establishes our relationship and our conversation with the Master, linking us inexorably to him.

This interior association with the Master is pivotal to our spiritual life. His direct effect on us is positive and elevating. Our connection to the Master raises us up as a tent is raised by its connection to the centre pole. The connection to the Master that so elevates us is the Shabd-dhun, the Word. This is what religions refer to with their use of terms such as Word of God, Logos, Tao, Nam, or the Voice within. Many of these names echo an understanding of an inner sound. There is no scriptural word, no text, no murmured prayer or song, no name of God that is whispered, written, called or in any way outwardly conveyed that confers salvation to the soul. Some traditions prohibit speaking the name of God, perhaps from an original understanding that one cannot utter the true Name, the true Word. True Word is Shabd or Nam, the active power of God.

Yet, this is how language betrays us. How many millions of seekers after God, lovers aflame with yearning, have sunk their hopes in prayers, chants, song, and reading, believing that they were dealing in the currency of Nam?

How much do our limited mental vocabularies limit our ability to perceive? How much do our limited perceptions then in turn limit our ability to understand? There is a story of a rustic villager giving shelter to a traveller fresh from the Taj Mahal. The traveller talked of the splendours of that tomb, but the terms were beyond the villager’s understanding. He knew nothing of “marble” or “column” or “tower.” Instead, he asked questions from his own points of reference, “Is this Taj Mahal as big as two huts? Three?” The traveller could only surrender to the villager’s ignorance and abandon his description.

Our spiritual limitations are not only a lack of words, but also a lack of corresponding experience. Masters touch us in whichever way they can, calling out to our most basic human experiences, those of love. They offer us understandings of the divine by couching our relationship with God in the language of known human loves. They speak of the Beloved, the devoted wife, the Father of whom we are all sons and daughters.

We misunderstand; we restrict their meaning or we believe their meaning is restricted and unreal. We reject the very idea of God because we think saints speak of a distant, separate, paternalistic, interventionist being – a “guy in the sky.” Still, we believe in love or an interconnecting energy of life. Masters have often used the words love, energy, and God interchangeably, which merely reflect differences in semantics at our level. In this simple way they show us how the choice of an outer word can confound even our grasp of the Divine.

Nonetheless, these outer words are necessary working limitations: the outer words are required to lead us to the inner Word. The Masters must reach us somehow, and so they use the standard mode of communication – written and spoken words. Soami Ji Maharaj writes in Sar Bachan Poetry:

Whatever is uttered with the tongue
And whatever can be put in writing and read
Is called varnatmak name.

This is the one that points to the melody of Shabd,
But unless given by the Guru, it is totally ineffective …

A disciple starts his practice with varnatmak,
But attains the named One through dhunatmak (Shabd).

The outer words that are given by the Guru are the simran we receive at initiation. The words are not in and of themselves magic; a garden hose in and of itself is useless until it is connected to an active spigot and the water is turned on. The words of simran are that hose; the power of the Guru is the rush of water, put to use in our spiritual life by means of the hose. The value of the simran is that it has association with the inner journey; it connects us to that inner world and has no association with any other mental link. Ultimately the repetition of the simran serves to make the mind still and allow the connection with the Word to be experienced, whereby the inner thirst is quenched - and so our inner growth begins.

Ultimately, both words and the Word are about connection. We have forgotten our source, forgotten what God is like. Our Master uses his words to gently unearth our buried, dormant memory of God and bring it into his light. He prods at our feeble longing, feeds and resuscitates it and then uses it to bring us to him. We follow his words, his books, his satsangs, we repeat his words of simran and ultimately, leave all words, becoming conscious without words, without thought, innocent as babes, wrapped in the Word of his love.

When one finds God in solitude,
  it is a sign that he loves God,
but one who, in the midst of crowds,
  delights in the Beloved’s Presence
  is Loved by God.
_{Sheikh Abol-Hasan, The Soul and A Loaf of Bread, rendered by Vraje Abramian}