Some may have wanted to take a peek into my psyche for insight into the fundamental reasons of my present direction into solitude, the underlying impetus of my turn from the dim limelights of outreach. What has made the once almost all-permeating wish to help others subside? Is the bodhisattva now staring at the navel of his own fat belly?

It's not that I have any less a wish to help others in their quest than I had before. To the contrary, with the deepening of an understanding of the human condition, the wish has grown by the day. The poignant question I've had to face is, "Am I any good for the task?" Many have lauded my efforts, many have professed the help received. Yet, what I speak is tinged with theory, and what I speak is fallible, prone to errors uncounted. Let me quote an often heard parable (narrated by Swami Sivananda) with apt emphasis on the core problem.


The fact of the matter is, and it should not come as a surprise to any thinking and observant individual, that I do not have the eyes to see. I have certainly had my share of glimpses of insight into the "sacred city" of the parable — who among earnest practitioners wouldn't have — but it is far from being the sufficient and comprehensive, persistent and mature insight a responsibility in guiding others would call for.

Is that a problem? Would my faith not suffice? Do I have no faith in the path? "Faith is the beginning", they say. Faith is the beginning, yes, and faith is also a process. The path from faith to certainty is a long and arduous journey. Faith is subject to human misestimations, certainty arising from direct perception into paratattva is a divine immutability. "I said it on faith" is the equivalent of saying "I hope it'll be right!". Who, a wise man, would make an earnest commitment on the basis of such half-certainties?

I needn't get into describing the vast web of responsibility giving practical guidance to others weaves. Some assume that responsibility is only taken when initiation is given. No — responsibility is taken with each advice given to a faithful person, and each ill advice will return as a snake to bite you in the heel. Getting 50% right isn't a great consolation, no matter how great the merit of the 50% may be. The other 50% will feel disappointed, let down, mistreated or offended. Even if in their magnanimity they don't, the karma of giving undue advice is upon me.

With the lack of comprehensive insight and experience, the absence of power is evident. It is not the mere content, it is the experiential impact of the message that counts. One is not to inform, one is to transform. Words of value possess an inherent transforming quality, born as they are of reality instead of theory, while words of theory leave men but luke-warm and half-baked, not good for one nor the other. "But isn't something better than nothing?" Yes it is, but it isn't good enough.

With this, some who've met me may have observed, I have consciously abstained from giving definitive personal answers to many questions that would call for realization to justify the definitive tone. I have, rather, modeled my answers as "some say" or "it is written". Sentences beginning with "some say" or "it is written" do not carry the weight that sentences implying or expressly stating "it is, and I am the evidence" do; and again, masquerading book-knowledge as the latter, the mature spring of perceived wisdom oozing from within, is the worst kind of pretense. In the classical Buddhist Patimokkha, the monastic code of 227 rules, dishonesty over one's own internal state was one of the only four unforgivable offences that led to expulsion for life from the monastery.

I have no monastery to disown me, no judge as the vox populi and their broad court of law to effect me. However, I am bound by a sense of internal integrity. It is finally dawning upon me, delusions shred, that I cannot afford to play the game the world would like me to play, that others would like me to play, a game I myself at times fondly played, no matter how much external call there would be for the same.

Please do not mind, then, my resignation from the duties of the world. I am not in a position to convey the substance I perceive ought to be conveyed. The future years will be committed to an internal process. Wrapping myself in a cocoon, burning myself to ashes I shall. Perhaps one day a butterfly will glide across the deep blue sky, perhaps a phoenix will rise and spread its benevolent shine.