That in which there is no appearance of maya (illusion),
In which there are no effects of maya (delusion),
In which there is neither knowledge nor ignorance,
In which there is neither Lord (Isvara) nor individual (jiva),
In which there is neither reality nor unreality,
And in which there is not the least appearance of the world–
Ever abide in Bliss, without a trace of a concept (sankalpa),
In That itself as That itself.
The sky was gloomy, nearly like dusk due the marauding dark clouds and pouring heavy rains this morning.
My colleagues complained about the weather as I imagine most would but I bit my tongue as I wanted nothing more but to be under the covers in my bed left alone armed with a cup of tea and a book whilst care freely swirling in and out of sleep with the windows open listening to the heavy downpour. I don’t listen to any music while I read except the music of the rain, thunder, howling winds, waving branches and rustling leaves.
Regardless, I hadn’t much of a choice at this point except to hope that the “bad” weather perseveres until my lunch hour where I could escape to my car, which I ensure to park under tree shade not only to avoid the heat but to fully experience the music of the rain.
Sure enough it did.
At 11am, I scurried to the kitchen to tuck away a few morsels of food and disappeared out of the office through the rain and into my car.
I was chuffed that I could get forty minutes of rain and solitude but I hadn’t a book. I had, however, Nome’s Song of Ribhu audiobook. Nome’s calm yet resounding voice, I believe, was fitting for reading the Gita.
I put on the first disc and reclined my chair, eyes half closed feeling nothing more than the cool breeze and the light spattering of rain. As soon as Zia Mohiuddin Dagar’s vina started playing, I was instantaneously transported into the dream world and very rapidly into deep sleep only to be startled back to being half awake by Nome’s voice. “I” was oscillating between being awake, dreaming and deep sleep by merely grasping on to the thin thread of Nome reading the Ribhu.
Could it have been a momentary discarding of the”I” and an acknowledgement of That Itself?
Anything momentary cannot be real hence this too is to be discarded.
I have always liked Nome.