Mystics, Magic and Four-Legged Sadhus

By Pamela Bloom

For three months, the fall before last, in Tiruvannamali, India, I attended satsang with some of the world’s most prominent advaita vedanta teachers.

But my greatest lessons came from dogs.

One balmy night I remember sitting under a full moon with a satsang friend who was a devoted dog rescuer. In fact her entire Indian sojourn had been consumed by trying to befriend the community’s wild dogs—that is, if friendship meant not just feeding them, but falling into the complex web of canine social intrigue. For example, whenever a pack of dogs started fighting, she’d feel compelled to join in the drama (ostensibly to referee), but her well-intended scoldings seemed only to fan their fangs further. (I later learned that my friend had suffered severe abuse in early childhood and perhaps that had somewhat accounted for her overemotional identification with keeping the peace.)

But when, during a profound late-night chat, the canine soap opera happened again, I just had to say something.

“Sumari,” I said gently, “don’t you see how much these dogs have control of you? You constantly lose your temper in the name of their cause. Yet it only seems to make them madder.”

She looked shocked. She genuinely thought she had been acting nobly. After all, few in the vicinity even cared about Tiru’s wild dogs.

But I had an idea. When the dogs. started up again, why didn’t we try sitting absolutely still and not respond at all? Just to see what would happen.

She looked skeptical.

But we didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough, the dogs started barking again. Out of habit, my friend nearly jumped from her seat but I held her down, gently reminding her she had committed to non-response. At first the dogs, consumed by territorial anger, kept up their nipping and gnarling.

But we didn’t move.

And suddenly—like magic—the sweetest Pure Silence.

In fact, after about a minute the once-jabbering dogs walked away, totally bored. The seemingly magical effect both of us, and if it had slightly threatened my friend’s ego (that is, the ego-idea that her scolding was essential to establishing the peace), the lesson had been well worth it.

Because in that instant both of us learned that refraining from stirring one’s own mind could truly bring about peace—and not just in ourselves, but in others as well. These dogs to whom she had been deeply attuned, had in fact, I believe, felt her consciousness shift in the moment and reflected it back.  Supported by my noninvolved state of mind, she became a witness, rather than a participant in their drama as we together supported their awakening, rather than demanding it.

And starved of neurotic support, the gnarly dogs just wound down and departed.

Of course, anyone who has participated in an awareness practice might immediately recognize a certain resonance to their own meditation experience (although personally, it took me years to discover this). Thoughts arise, thoughts dissolve, and if we get involved in them, like trying to scold wild dogs, we find ourselves smack dab in middle of drama.

But remain a dispassionate, neutral, uninvolved Witness and the anger and the passion, even the ignorance, dissolve.

So goes the Tibetan proverb often quoted by Sogyal Rinpoche, author of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying:

“Water, if you don’t stir it, will become clear; the mind, left unaltered, will find its own natural peace.”

And as the Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh puts it:

“If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace.

Truth is, Tiruvannamali, India, is a place where crazy things happen, and teachings come in all kinds of wrappings. The seat of the ashram and sadhana of Ramana Maharshi, one of India’s greatest all-time saints, Tiru is also the site of Arunachala, one of India’s most sacred mountains. Even a first-time visitor learns that Tiru is a place that magnifies your potential.  If you’re into bliss, you first become more blissful, then certifiably spacey. If you’re hiding a bit of anger, it eventually explodes. In Tiru I went through a tsunami of emotions. In fact every childhood wound I ever had  managed to get triggered. Not on a few days I just wanted to flee.

Until…another dog saved me.

Honestly, before I hung out with my friend, Sumari, I never even “saw” the dogs in Tiru. They looked dirty and scrawny and being a city girl I was afraid of rabies. Then one cute white little fuzz ball stole my tennis shoe right off my porch and we had to dig it out of a ditch late one night. That’s when I really got on the defensive.

So I wasn’t prepared for Ramu to enter my life. Once a wild dog of the streets, this black-and-white mutt had been taken in by a long-term Western resident and was living the good life—for an Indian dog. I first came to recognize Ramu from our early morning walks, when a group of us would traverse around the mountain to a chai shop, where the wonderful spiritual teacher Mooji would hold intimate satsangs. The epitome of an outgoing leader, Ramu would appear on these walks even when his mistress didn’t, trotting out ahead and welcoming other dogs into the group. When Mooji began satsang, Ramu would often sit right in front, posture perfect, tail wagging. I was convinced he was hearing every word.

But one afternoon, I came upon Ramu cowering and sniveling on the “wrong side” of town. He had apparently strayed over a meadow and found himself faced with an unexpected dilemma. A group of territorial mutts had lined themselves up in his path, determined not to let him pass, and they were growling with a viciousness I had never seen, even in India. Proud, happy, energetic Ramu was paralyzed with fright.

Suddenly, words from one of Mooji’s earlier satsangs came rolling back to me. “There are 6 billion ghosts wandering this earth,” he had said, “all believing their own thoughts.”  Suddenly against the backdrop of those words, the scene felt so surreal; with the growling on one side, and Rajmucowering on the other, it seemed as if all of us–the dogs, the other onlookers, me–were just ghost beings, erroneously convinced by our own thoughts that we were solid. In that moment I actually “saw” the transparency of thought—mind jabber meaning nothing.

But fangs are fangs. So I was surprised to hear these words come rolling out of my mouth:

“Okay, Ramu, this is nothing. You’re with me and these dog thoughts don’t scare me. We are going to walk past these ghosts and I’m taking you home.  Just follow.”

The weird thing is, I had never spoken to a dog so directly before. But something strong must have been in my voice because as I started to walk, this dog, with whom I really had had no relationship, jumped up and walked at my heels as if he was stuck to me with glue. Like he was on a leash! Through this valley of shadows we walked, our heads held high, heel to toe, the snarling now behind us, and when I stopped for a minute to talk to someone, Ramu sat right down at my foot, patiently waiting.

He seemed a very trained dog.

Yet when I finally knocked on his owner’s door and explained what had happened, she couldn’t believe it.

“Ramu has never, ever, followed a “heel” command,” she said, laughing through her crying that her dog had survived the ordeal. “We’ve tried to teach him but it never clicked. He’s a street dog that doesn’t know how to heel. I don’t have a clue how he did that.”

And neither did I. But Ramu had certainly made my heart sing. While he may have not known how to heel I became convinced he did know the dharma. After all, we were in Tiru, a place where sinners become saints and dogs become teachers and monks wander into your apartment late at night. In fact, I wouldn’t even be surprised if Ramu turned out to be the reincarnation of some very great being, who was just playing at being a scared little dog facing a phalanx of his own devoted disciples, who themselves were perfectly playing their own fang-bearing parts…

…Just so I … we … could …. let go of  fears, liberate the mind and…learn how to HEEL?

Okay, as I said earlier, Tiru can make anyone go a little crazy….

P.S.

After I wrote this article, I got in touch with Ramu’s mistress to ask for a photo of him and told her to give him my regards. This is what she wrote back:

“I will pass on your message to Ramu. He is such a dear being. He comes home for 3 days and is gone again for 3 days.  He has been spotted in the inner path, at the Sadu pond, often in front of Ramana Ashram, at the temple and even at the feet of Shiva Shakti.  He is certainly a Sadhu.  He even looks like one these days, as he has lost so much weight.  He is not very interested in food and normal dog life.  We have taken him to the animal hospital and have tried to get him healthy, but as soon as he is a little stronger, he leaves again for his wander around Arunachala.  He sometimes comes home and has obviously been attached by a dog pack, but he does not seem to care, nor does it stop him from his wanderings around the mountain.  The life of a Devotee & Sadhu.”