Topic: Kabir

[nichi]

How Humble Is God?

God is the tree in the forest that
allows itself to die and will not defend itself in front of those
with the ax, not wanting to cause them
shame.

And God is the Earth that will allow Herself to be deformed by man’s
tools, but She cries, yes, God cries,
but only in front of Her closest ones.
And a beautiful animal is being beaten to death, but nothing can make
God break Her silence to the masses and say,

"Stop, please stop, why are you doing this
to Me?"
How humble is god?
Kabir wept,
when I
knew.

Kabir

[nichi]

He's that rascally kind of yogi
who has no sky or earth,
no hand, foot,
form or shape.
Where there's no market
he sets up shop,
weighs things
and keeps the accounts.
No deeds, no creeds,
no yogic powers,
not even a horn or gourd,
so how can he
go begging?

"I know you
and you know me
and I'm inside of you."

When there isn't a trace
of creation or destruction,
what do you meditate on?
That yogi built a house
brimful of Ram.
He has no healing herbs,
his root-of-life
is Ram.

He looks and looks
at the juggler's tricks,
the magician's sleight-of-hand --
Kabir says, saints, he's made it
to the King's land.


~Kabir~

The Bijak of Kabir
Translated by Linda Hess
Translated by Shukdeo Singh




Kabir is not easily categorized as a Sufi or a Yogi -- he is all of these. He is revered by Muslims, Hindus, and Sikhs. He stands as a unique, saintly, yet very human, bridge between the great traditions that live in India. Kabir says of himself that he is, "at once the child of Allah and Ram."

He was born in Varanasi (Benares), India, probably around the year 1440 (though other accounts place his birth as early as 1398, giving him a total life span of well over 100 years), to Muslim parents. But early in his life Kabir became a disciple of the Hindu bhakti saint Ramananda. It was unusual for a Hindu teacher to accept a Muslim student, but tradition says the young Kabir found a creative way to overcome all objections.

The story is told that on one particlar day of the year, anyone can become a disciple by having a master speak the name of God over him.  It is common for those who live near the Ganges to take their morning bath there in the sacred waters.  The bhakti saint Ramananda took his bath as he did every day, by arising before dawn.  On this special day, Ramananda awoke before dawn and found his customary way down to the steps of the Ganges.  As he was walking down the steps to the waters, a little hand reached out in the predawn morning and grabbed the saint's big toe.  Ramananda taken by surprise and he expressed his shock by calling out the name of God.  Looking down he saw in the early morning light the hand of the young Kabir.  After his bath in the early light he noticed that on the back of the little one's hand was written in Arabic the name Kabir.  He adopted him as son and disciple and brought him back to his ashrama, much to the disturbance of his Hindu students, some of whom left in righteous protest.

It is said that what really made this meeting the most special is that in this case it, was only after Kabir's enlightenment that Ramananda, his teacher, became enlightened.

Not much is known about what sort of spiritual training Kabir may have received. He did not become a sadhu or rununciate. Kabir never abandoned worldly life, choosing instead to live a balanced life of householder and mystic, tradesman and contemplative. Kabir was married, had children, and lived the simple life of a weaver.

Although Kabir labored to bring the often clashing religious cultures of Islam and Hinduism together, he was equally disdainful of professional piety in any form. This earned him the hatred and persecution of the religious authorities in Varanasi. Nearing age 60, he was denounced before the king but, because of his Muslim birth, he was spared execution and, instead, banished from the region.

He subsequently lived a life of exile, traveling through northern India with a group of disciples. In 1518, he died at Maghar near Gorakhpur.

One of the most loved legends associated with Kabir is told of his funeral. Kabir's disciples disputed over his body, the Muslims wanting to claim the body for burial, the Hindus wanting to cremate the body. Kabir appeared to the arguing disciples and told them to lift the burial shroud. When they did so, they found fragrant flowers where the body had rested. The flowers were divided, and the Muslims buried the flowers while the Hindus reverently committed them to fire.

Ivan Granger

[nichi]

Within this earthen vessel are
bowers and groves, and within
it is the Creator:
Within this vessel are the seven oceans
and the unnumbered stars.
The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser
are within;
And within this vessel the Eternal
soundeth, and the spring wells up.
Kabir says: "Listen to me my friend!
My Beloved Lord is within."

--Kabir--

[nichi]

There the whole sky is filled with Sound


The Light of the sun, the moon, and the stars shines bright:
The Melody of love swells forth, and the rhythm of love's detachment
beats the time.
Day and night, the chorus of Music fills the heavens; and Kabir says
"My Beloved One gleams like the lightning flash in the sky."

Do you know how the moments perform their adoration?
Waving its row of lamps, the universe sings in worship day and night,
There are the hidden banner and the secret canopy:
There the Sound of the Unseen Bells is heard.
Kabir says: "There adoration never ceases; there the Lord of the
Universe sitteth on His throne."

The whole world does its works and commits its errors: but few are
the lovers who know the Beloved.
The devout seeker is he who mingles in his heart the double currents
of love and detachment, like the mingling of the streams of Ganges
and Jumna;
In his heart the sacred water flows day and night; and thus the round
of births and deaths is brought to an end.

Behold what wonderful rest is in the Supreme Spirit! and he enjoys
it, who makes himself meet for it.
Held by the cords of love, the swing of the Ocean of Joy sways to and
fro; and a mighty Sound breaks forth in song.
See what a lotus blooms there without water! and Kabir says
"My heart's bee drinks its nectar."

What a wonderful lotus it is, that blooms at the heart of the
spinning wheel of the universe! Only a few pure souls know of its
true delight.
Music is all around it, and there the heart partakes of the joy of
the Infinite Sea.
Kabir says: "Dive thou into that Ocean of sweetness: thus let all
errors of life and of death flee away."

Behold how the thirst of the five senses is quenched there! and the
three forms of misery are no more!
Kabir says: "It is the sport of the Unattainable One: look within,
and behold how the moon-beams of that Hidden One shine in you."

There falls the rhythmic beat of life and death:
Rapture wells forth, and all space is radiant with Light.
There the Unstruck Music is sounded; it is the music of the love of
the three worlds.
There millions of lamps of sun and of moon are burning;
There the drum beats, and the lover swings in play.
There love-songs resound, and Light rains in showers; and the
worshipper is entranced in the taste of the heavenly nectar.
Look upon life and death; there is no separation between them,
The right hand and the left hand are one and the same.
Kabir says: "There the wise man is speechless; for this truth may
never be found in Vedas or in books."

I have had my Seat on the Self-poised One,
I have drunk of the Cup of the Ineffable,
I have found the Key of the Mystery, I have reached the Root of
Union.
Traveling by no track, I have come to the Sorrow less Land: very
easily has the mercy of the great Lord come upon me.
They have sung of Him as infinite and unattainable: but I in my
meditations have seen Him without sight.
That is indeed the sorrowless land, and none know the path that leads
there:
Only he who is on that path has surely transcended all sorrow.
Wonderful is that land of rest, to which no merit can win;
It is the wise who has seen it, it is the wise who has sung of it.
This is the Ultimate Word: but can any express its marvelous savor?
He who has savored it once, he knows what joy it can give.
Kabir says: "Knowing it, the ignorant man becomes wise, and the wise
man becomes speechless and silent,
The worshipper is utterly inebriated, His wisdom and his detachment
are made perfect;
He drinks from the cup of the in-breathings and the out-breathings of
love."

There the whole sky is filled with Sound, and there that Music is
made without fingers and without strings;
There the game of pleasure and pain does not cease.
Kabir says: "If you merge your life in the Ocean of Life, you will
find your life in the Supreme Land of Bliss."

What a frenzy of ecstasy there is in
every hour! and the worshipper is pressing out and drinking the
essence of the hours: he lives in the life of Brahma.
I speak truth, for I have accepted truth in life; I am now attached
to truth, I have swept all tinsel away.
Kabir says: "Thus is the worshipper set free from fear; thus have all
errors of life and of death left him."

There the sky is filled with Music: There it rains nectar:
There the harp-strings jingle, and there the drums beat.
What a secret splendor is there, in the mansion of the sky!
There no mention is made of the rising and the setting of the sun;
In the ocean of manifestation, which is the Light of love, day and
night are felt to be one.
Joy for ever, no sorrow, no struggle! There have I seen joy filled to
the brim,
perfection of joy;
No place for error is there.
Kabir says: "There have I witnessed the sport of One Bliss!"

I have known in my body the sport of the universe: I have escaped
from the error of this world.
The inward and the outward are become as one sky, the Infinite and
the finite are united: I am drunken with the sight of this All!
This Light of Thine fulfils the universe: the lamp of love that burns
on the salver of knowledge.
Kabir says: "There error cannot enter, and the conflict of life and
death is felt no more."

-- Sant Kabir
"Songs of Kabir," translated by Rabindranath Tagore

 

[nichi]

I said to the wanting-creature inside me:
What is this river you want to cross?
There are no travelers on the river-road, and no road.
Do you see anyone moving about on that bank, or nesting?

There is no river at all, and no boat, and no boatman.
There is no tow rope either, and no one to pull it.
There is no ground, no sky, no time, no bank, no ford!

And there is no body, and no mind!
Do you believe there is some place that will make the
soul less thirsty?
In that great absence you will find nothing.

Be strong then, and enter into your own body;
there you have a solid place for your feet.
Think about it carefully!
Don't go off somewhere else!

Kabir says this: just throw away all thoughts of
imaginary things,
and stand firm in that which you are.

~Kabir


If you can..

[nichi]

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?
Talk and talk and the real things get lost.

Talk and talk and things get out of hand.
Why not stop talking and think?

If you meet someone good, listen a little, speak;
If you meet someone bad, clench up like a fist.

Talking with a wise one is a great reward.
Talking with a fool? A waste.

Kabir says: A pot makes noise if it's half full,
But fill it to the brim -- no sound.


~Kabir

[Michael]

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?
Talk and talk and the real things get lost.

Talk and talk and things get out of hand.
Why not stop talking and think?

If you meet someone good, listen a little, speak;
If you meet someone bad, clench up like a fist.

Talking with a wise one is a great reward.
Talking with a fool? A waste.

Kabir says: A pot makes noise if it's half full,
But fill it to the brim -- no sound.


~Kabir

I like that one - and the others, but this one just seems to get through tonight.

[Nichi]

Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put up a swing:
all earth creatures, even the supernovas, sway between these two trees,
and it never winds down.

Angels, animals, humans, insects by the million, also the wheeling sun and moon;
ages go by, and it goes on.

Everything is swinging: heaven, earth, water, fire,
and the secret one slowly growing a body.
Kabir saw that for fifteen seconds, and it made him a servant for life.


~Kabir
Translation Robert Bly

[Nichi]

Chewing slowly

By Kabir
Translated from the Hindi by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

god my darling
do me a favour and kill my mother-in-law
             —Janabai, tr. Arun Kolatkar

Chewing slowly,
Only after I’d eaten
My grandmother,
Mother,
Son-in-law,
Two brothers-in-law,
And father-in-law
(His big family included)
In that order,
And had for dessert
The town’s inhabitants,

Did I find, says Kabir,
The beloved that I’ve become
One with.

Source: Poetry (March 2011).




Translator's Notes: “Chewing slowly”

About Kabir, the facts are few, the legends many. He was born in Benares (now Varanasi) and lived in the fifteenth century, though opinion is divided whether it was in the first or the second half. From his poems we learn that he was a julaha, or weaver, his family perhaps having recently converted to Islam to escape its low status in the Hindu caste system. In several poems, Kabir speaks out against caste, as he does also, with as much vehemence, against Muslim practices:

    If you say you’re a Brahmin
    Born of a mother who’s a Brahmin,
    Was there a special canal
    Through which you were born?

    And if you say you’re a Turk
    And your mother’s a Turk,
    Why weren’t you circumcised
    Before birth?

Kabir’s Muslim birth was something not liked by his Hindu followers, who, beginning around 1600, concocted legends to gloss over this uncomfortable fact. In one of them, he was a foundling, born to a Brahmin widow and raised in a Muslim household. Similarly, there are stories about his death. In the best-known one, after he died both Hindus and Muslims laid claim to his body. A quarrel broke out but when they lifted the shroud they saw instead of the corpse a heap of flowers. The two communities divided the flowers and performed Kabir’s last rites, each according to its custom.

Kabir belonged to the popular devotional movement called bhakti, whose focus is on inward love for the One Deity, in opposition to religious orthodoxies and social hierarchies. Kabir called his god Rama or Hari, who is not to be confused with the Hindu god Rama of the Ramayana.

Many of the bhakti poets came from the bottom of the Hindu caste ladder. Among them you find a cobbler, a tailor, a barber, a boatman, a weaver. One, Janabai (see epigraph to “Chewing slowly”), was a maidservant. They wrote in the vernaculars (Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Marathi, Gujarati) rather than in Sanskrit, the language of the gods and the preserve of Brahmins. Occasionally, eschewing his abrupt debunking manner, Kabir speaks in riddles. These enigmatic poems (see “Brother I’ve seen some” and “How do you”) are called ulatbamsi or “poems in upside-down language,” in which the intention seems to be to force the reader (or listener) into new ways of thinking and seeing. They each end in a revelation, though exactly what has been revealed is open to question.

The Kabir songs have come down to us in essentially three groups of texts. They are the Bijak or “eastern” tradition, the Rajasthani or “western” tradition, and the Punjabi tradition centered around the Adi Granth, the sacred book of the Sikhs. Kabir may never have traveled outside Benares, but his songs certainly did. To further complicate matters, the Rajasthani manuscripts come in different recensions, so the same song can appear in more than one version. As it passed from singer to singer, the song kept changing, as is the case with blues.

Outside the work done by or commissioned by colonial administrators, some of the earliest English translations of Kabir were made by Ezra Pound. They were based on literal versions supplied by one of Rabindranath Tagore’s young Bengali friends, Kali Mohan Ghose, and published in the Modern Review (Calcutta) in June 1913. The following year Tagore brought out his own One Hundred Poems of Kabir, which became the basis of several European- and Asian- language translations of Kabir as well as of Robert Bly’s reworkings. Both Ghose’s literal version and Tagore’s translation were made from Kshiti Mohan Sen’s Kabir compilation of 1910-11. It gave the Hindi originals along with their Bengali paraphrase. In 1945, in one of the Pisan cantos, Pound recalled his London years: “Thus saith Kabir: ‘Politically’ said Rabindranath.”

Subsequent scholarship has shown that of the 341 poems in Sen, only three are in the pre-1700 manuscripts. And even they are likely to have been composed by someone other than Kabir. An authentic Kabir poem, in the thousands attributed to him, may never be found, nor does it matter. If you catch the spirit, anyone can write an authentic Kabir poem. Innumerable anonymous poets have done so in the past and continue to do so even today, adding their voices to his. A researcher in Rajasthan in the nineties looking for Kabir songs in the oral tradition came across one that used a railway metaphor and English words like “engine,” “ticket,” and “line.” Asked how Kabir could have known these words, the singer replied that Kabir, being a seer, knew everything. In “To tonsured monks,” too, Kabir knows everything, including a Jamaican sect and the name of a London publishing house. — Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poemcomment/241230

[Nichi]

Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.

Friend, hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think... and think... while you are alive.
What you call "salvation" belongs to the time
      before death.

If you don't break your ropes while you're alive,
do you think
ghosts will do it after?

The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
just because the body is rotten—
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment
      in the City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next life
      you will have the face of satisfied desire.

So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
believe in the Great Sound!

Kabir says this: When the Guest is being search for,
      it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest
      that does all the work.
Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.

~Kabir
Version by Robert Bly

[Nichi]

I have stilled my restless mind, and my heart is
radiant: for in That-ness I have seen beyond
That-ness, in company I have seen the Comrade
Himself.

Living in bondage, I have set myself free: I have
broken away from the clutch of all narrowness.

Kabir says: "I have attained the unattainable,
and my heart is coloured with the colour of love."

- Kabir


"Songs of Kabir"
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Samuel Weiser, Inc., 1977

[runningstream]

      yeeeeoooos

[Nichi]

Songs of Kabir by Rabindranath Tagore (Online)

[Michael]

While in Varanasi, and reading an amazing book on this city, it talked about Kabir. There are numerous Kabirs, but this one at least is a well documented person who lived in Varanasi. Nonetheless there are many versions of his life. One version describes his battle with Varanasi, or as it was then called, Banaras and Kashi. He despised those who sought to tie down the supreme Spirit to one or another religious dogma. At his death he left Varanasi and died in Magahar.

You should realise how profound this act was. For Hindus, to die in Varanasi is the lifelong dream, the highest end attainable, as death in Kashi brings liberation. His life's mission was that God was available everywhere and to everyone equally. Instead of choosing to die in Kashi, he went to Magahar - a place so impure and disreputable, according to Kashi brahmins, that those who die there are reborn as asses. Kabir said:

My whole life I have wasted in Kashi
But, at the time of death, I have risen and come to Magahar!

We probably should have a whole section on Kabir

[Nichi]

I'm all for it.