SPEAKING PERSONALLY
For as long as I can recall, three interwoven strands have been a part of the fabric of my life. A love of nature, a sense of the mystical, and an appreciation of science. As a child, whenever I was free from studies, and weather permitting (or even otherwise), you would find me in the meadows, among the hills, by the seashore. What drew me was as much the peace and magic of nature as an interest in all the other lives going on around me. The sun on early morning dew; the contented clucking of chickens foraging in the farmyard; the swarms of painted, dancing butterflies on the buddleia; the intricate perfection of a spider’s web. I can remember singing out loud with the pure joy of it.
When my mother gave me a small plot of ground to garden, much to her horror, I planted simple wildflowers – dandelions, daisies, and no doubt other more noxious ‘weeds’. Years later, when I had a home of my own, and long before it had become the conservationist ‘thing to do’, I did the same. Now we have an abundant wildlife garden, pond, and wildflower meadow.
One learns much from observing nature. The beauty and the harmony, the cooperation as well as the conflict, insights into the mind and language of other creatures, the amazing world of instinct. Breathtaking happenings, soul-expanding moments, glimpses of other worlds lived alongside one’s own.
As I moved into my teenage years, and began to think about the hidden meaning of life, I realized that my love of nature came from a deeper source, and I began a more inward quest. What is life? What is death? Why do things happen in the way they do?
At Cambridge University, studying biological sciences, for the first time in my life I met like-minded people, and began to read more deeply. It was both a relief and an inspiration to realize that my experience of life had been shared by many more before me. I remember attending a Buddhist lecture at King’s College, and was much impressed by the atmosphere emanating from the monk who gave the talk. He recommended doing at least five minutes meditation every day, but suggested no technique.
In my reading, I came across a technique using a mantra, and tried it out. The results were remarkable, but I knew I needed more guidance. And so, more thinking, more searching, until – not long after – I came to know about a certain spiritual master, Maharaj Charan Singh, in India.
I felt pulled and called beyond all measure. It was not just the spiritual dimension of his teaching. All my life I had been fascinated with India. I knew Rudyard Kipling’s jungle stories backwards and, from a very early age, Jim Corbett’s Maneaters of Kumaon had thrilled me with its atmosphere of the jungle and Indian village life.
And, not long before hearing about Maharaj Ji, the chance reading of a translation of the songs of the Indian mystic, Mirabai, on the back of a record sleeve had unexpectedly set my heart aglow. “My consciousness has expanded to meet the one Lord, and now I care nothing for what the world may say,” sang the Rajasthani princess so long ago.
I received initiation from Maharaj Ji one Saturday in February 1967. The following week, I started my first real job at the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics at Cambridge. Although my degree was in biology, I was helping with the computer side of an applied maths research project. It was my first introduction to computing, which, as time passed, became my profession. There was experimental work, as well as the first use of computers in the classroom. They were pioneering times.
I was now working in a scientific environment, where we discussed and talked about things with each other. In the same department, Stephen Hawking and other well-known personalities were also at the start of their careers. On Stephen’s office door, I recall, was the enigmatic note, “Black holes … are out of sight.” As the years went by, I became increasingly interested in the ongoing dialogue between science and religion, which – in my own mind – I automatically expanded into science and mysticism.
It seemed to me that the universe – inner and outer – was one, and that human perspectives on it were all part of one picture. That being so, the mystical and scientific perceptions of life must be compatible. But it takes time for one’s understanding to mature, and it was not until 1984, when I left the university to run a small business, that I started putting pen to paper, trying to express how the scientific and mystical perspectives on the universe were by no means incompatible.
The result was a series of five books that were published between 1987 and 1992. Rather than adopt a philosophical approach, I did what came naturally to me, and looked at nature. I addressed subtle energy phenomena, observed relationships between the body as described by yogis (from within) and the same body as described by scientific analysis (from without). I looked at the intriguing world of new physics, how everything is just a dance of energy, spun out in space, as mystics have always said. And I returned once more to my love of wildlife – the host of other creatures with whom we share our planet, their lives, their minds, and the manner of their evolution.
And it seemed to me that while the scientist looks at the outer universe with the help of his analytical intellect, the mystic explores the inner universe of the very consciousness that scientists use to perceive the outer world. Both are looking at the same one universe, the only difference being in the perspective and the field of study. And naturally enough, I found that there was no incompatibility between the two seemingly so different worlds. In fact, I came to the conclusion that a study of the inward world of consciousness – which includes the primary tools of science, the mind and intellect – illuminates science in a way that nothing else can.
Concurrently with my scientific studies, I had developed an ever-deepening interest in the world’s spiritual and mystical traditions. This study became more focused when, in 1989, Maharaj Ji asked me to research the origins of Christianity, and to write a book on the original teachings of Jesus. At the same time, I was asked to take on board the organization and rewriting of an extensive glossary of Indian mystical terms.
I set to work with considerable enthusiasm, but then, in June 1990, in an event that to me was entirely unexpected, Maharaj Ji left this world. The sense of loss was almost unbearable, but not long after Maharaj Ji had departed, his successor, Baba Gurinder Singh, called a number of people together, and told us that he wanted to expand the scope of the ‘glossary’ to include all spiritual traditions. I then realized that with his usual undemonstrative foresight, Maharaj Ji had set me up with a lifetime’s work before he left.
For some years, I worked on the two projects side by side – Christian research, and wider research for what became the multivolume A Treasury of Mystic Terms. The fruits of the first project, The Gospel of Jesus, were published in 1995, and the first six volumes comprising Part I of the Treasury in 2003. Part II is presently nearing completion.
Back at the end of the 1980s, after completing the five books on science and mysticism, there had remained in my mind one further book. A more specifically mystical book, which laid out the mystic path as I understood it, and which summarized, in simple language, the relationship between the scientific and mystical traditions. Over the years, the prospective content of this book evolved, until it finally took shape in the present volume.
One Being One is thus a distillation of many years of thought and study, and evolution of understanding. It has brought me back to my personal spiritual roots, to the three strands that have been woven into my life – nature, science, and mysticism. It is from a great love of all three that this book has been written. And with the realization that books are at best only pointers, and not to be taken too seriously, I have tried to write in a simple, light-hearted, as well as occasionally humorous and sometimes lyrical manner.
