Many years ago I took over a position of accountant from a man who had only been in the job for several weeks. I wanted to know why he’d been sacked. It seems he’d studied accounting at university for five years and had both a bachelors and a masters degree in business administration … but he did not know how to do the daily bankings. In fact, there was a great number of simple, practical, daily tasks he did not know about.
As A Course in Miracles tells us, words are but symbols of symbols. Words are not experience. Words are not knowing.
Having been both a student and a lecturer at universities, I have known some great intellects who have studied the words of the sages and have degrees in philosophy and theology. They can quote with ease from the Bhagavad Gītā, the Koran, the Bible and many other sacred texts. They can tell me the genealogy of Moses, the eight limbs of Yoga and the story of Mohammed. Yet some of these learned men cannot tell me their experience of God.
Some of these men, of course, have had profound experiences of God – the deep, abiding peace, stillness and oneness that sweetens the soul and brings one home. But some have not.
I have also talked with Maori Kaumatua, Aboriginal Kadaiche men, South African Sangornas and Hopi elders who have read and written few words in their lives and, when asked about God, simply smile and become still. As they do, I feel their experience and realise there are no words for it.
Some time, in the long ago, I was staying in a hostel in Kununurra, in the north of Australia. One of the residents was a particularly obnoxious Maori chap who chain-smoked and swore loudly much of the time. He had a pot belly from too much beer and missing teeth from too many pub brawls.
One day, as I was sitting by the pool, Hone (his name) sat beside me and asked how I was. I braced myself, hoped he’d take his loud, nicotine-stained, beer-smelling self away soon and smiled as pleasantly as I could. He’d recognized me as a fellow Kiwi and wanted to talk about the homeland he’d not seen for too long.
Eventually, the conversation moved on to how this illiterate brawler had been a fisherman in the waters above Australia for nigh on twenty years. He explained how they’d drop one end of the net in the water with a crew member in the water to hold it. The boat would then run out the rest of the net for a mile or so and, eventually, return to the paddling man and trap the fish in the circle of the net.
One fine, calm day it was Hone’s turn and, as he paddled in the water, holding the net as the boat disappeared from his view, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in for no sharks to appear. His non-existent God complied as no sharks appeared. However, what did appear was a killer whale, an orca. Panic-stricken, Hone’s body went rigid as the orca approached. It stopped side-on to him, it’s unblinking eye within arm’s reach.
As he told me this story, tears started down his cheeks for, as he said, he looked into the eye of God. He said this several times. As he looked into that orca’s eye he saw himself, he saw God. That’s the only way he could explain it and, in that moment, his heart and mine, his knowing and mine, connected. As two grown men shed tears and shared the experience of the Eye of God, no words were necessary. No words were possible. None at all.
When we recovered ourselves and others at the pool stopped staring at us, I asked him what had changed for him, since then. Nothing on the outside had changed – he still liked his beer and cigarettes – but something had changed inside him. As he’d looked into that orca eye, a lifetime’s anger and fear dropped away, never to return. He had hurt no one from that moment on and he even started experiencing more and more moments of peace – the smile on his face described that peace more eloquently than any words could. I’ll remember his cheeky and peaceful smile longer than I’ll remember any fine words. Thank you, Hone, for reminding me of God.
And now to Mary Collins' story, continued from the previous blog ...
"Don't move an inch! Stop, right there!" said Ahmed, evenly, stepping over the sprawled bodies. "Hands up! Now!" The tattooed man obeyed instantly. "Now, into the room here or I blow your knees off. Understood?" The man obeyed silently and walked timidly past Ahmed and into the room.
Angus rolled off the human pile and leapt across to pounce upon a pistol he just realised was lying by the felled man.
"Dangerous place, this London town," said Angus as he stood up with the pistol in hand, gingerly pointing it towards the prone man who groaned and leaked blood into the deep carpet. "Mary, can you call for an ambulance or something!" yelled Angus, recovering his composure and senses.
"Well, don't just stand there and stare!" shouted John, helping Sam and Mary up as curious heads appeared at doorways along the corridor. "Help this man here - he's been wounded. Tell the management, someone, and is there a doctor here?" Most heads quickly disappeared behind slammed doors and one man stepped forth.
"I'm a medical officer," he said as he knelt over the prone and groaning man at Angus' feet. Two uniformed hotel staff members appeared at the end of the corridor, with a first aid kit, as Angus left the medical experts to it and returned to the room, shutting the door behind him.
"Do we need the police as well?" asked Ahmed as he motioned the tattooed man to lie on the floor, face down.
"No, no police, believe me!" said Sam, tucking his grimy shirt in. "They could well be behind this … well, protecting those behind this."
"The police? Behind this?" asked Ahmed, alarmed, as he pulled the man's hands behind his back. "Has anyone got anything to tie these hands together, please?" Halee slipped off her tights and handed them to him. He smiled his thanks to her.
"Look, Sam," said Mary, straightening her suit, "I don't know what's going on with you and the police but we can't keep them out of it, can we?"
"Hardly!" said Belinda. "A gun's gone off, a man's lying in a pool of blood, people have been alerted and the ambulance is on its way."
"And what are they going to find when they come in here?" asked Halee. "A Kiwi tart, a Scottish woman dressed as a man, a Pakistani in costume, a scruffy pommy, a Scot and two M?ori guys. Questions might be asked, don't you think?" Everyone laughed at the strange spectacle they realised they would present.
"Well, we can run and keep running or we can stop and face it all, I suppose," said Sam, plonking himself down in a chair with a weary sigh. "Don't know about you lot but I'm quite fed up with running. Quite fed up, I must say."
"Well, my Da says ye can run but ye can never get away," said Angus, kneeling beside Ahmed as he tied the man's hands. "Yer sins will always follow ye."
"Our Da said that?" asked Mary, surprised. "I never knew he said anything wise in his life! But I have to agree - we're going to be surrounded soon and I don't know about you lot but I'm sick of pretending, sick of acting like I'm coping, sick of pushing against the damned wall, sick of, aah, I don't know, everything. I'm too tired to bother, actually." Sam stood to embrace her and she gave in to Sam's embrace. "But I'm not blooming well going to cry though," she said defiantly into Sam's chest.
"I committed a crime," said Ahmed. "I shot a man. I will not run from that. Never."
"But it was in self defence," said Belinda. "He was about to shoot Mary and Sam."
"Yes, Belinda, you may be correct," said Ahmed, smiling. "But I must let the law of this land decide that. Honesty and openness is peace of mind."
"You're absolutely right, Ahmed," said John. "Koia te kaupapa o te rangatiratanga, o te tika, me te maung?rongo o te ao. It is the foundation of freedom, justice, and peace in the world. So, it looks like we're staying so let's get this brother into a chair, a bit more comfortably because he's not going anywhere either!" John, Angus and Ahmed helped the stocky man roll over and get up into a chair. Sam and Mary sat side by side on one bed, Halee and Belinda on the other bed, Angus sat in the other chair while the two remaining men stood beside the seated man whose scared look was soon replaced by an embarrassed one.
"So what you all looking at?" he asked defiantly.
"Maybe you just tell us who you are and what you're doing here bro'," said John.
"Why should I do that? Who the hell …." said the man, who stopped as Ahmed took his pistol from his belt for the second time that morning.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell us exactly who you are and what you're doing here," suggested Ahmed evenly.
"Ah, yeah, I suppose it won't do no harm, pass the time of day," said the man, more nervous than defiant now. "Well, I'm Hemi Ropata and my tribe is Ngati Whakaue from Rotorua. That do?" Ahmed raised his pistol as if to examine it. "Oh yeah, you wanna' know te korero, the story, huh?"
"Yes we do, bro'," said John.
"Jeez, I could do with a smoke," said Hemi.
"Talk first, smoke second," said John.
"Yeah, right, te korero," said Hemi, squirming to make himself more comfortable. "Well, you see, these pakeha, these English people, stole some of our tapu taonga, our sacred pieces - three of them - and we wanted them back, see. We tried the government and the police and all that official shit … oh, sorry ladies, but they did nothing. Just a lot of excuses about, what they call it, official immunity or something."
"Diplomatic immunity," offered Sam.
"Yeah, that's it, diplomatic immunity," said Hemi, smiling at Sam. "So these diplomatic people took our taonga - pounamu, greenstone, from our tupuna, our ancestors - and the elders wanted to keep doing the stupid government thing but a group of us said, 'stuff that,' and so Eru and I, we's volunteered to get the stuff."
"Why you two?" asked John, smiling knowingly.
"Don't move an inch! Stop, right there!" said Ahmed, evenly, stepping over the sprawled bodies. "Hands up! Now!" The tattooed man obeyed instantly. "Now, into the room here or I blow your knees off. Understood?" The man obeyed silently and walked timidly past Ahmed and into the room.
Angus rolled off the human pile and leapt across to pounce upon a pistol he just realised was lying by the felled man.
"Dangerous place, this London town," said Angus as he stood up with the pistol in hand, gingerly pointing it towards the prone man who groaned and leaked blood into the deep carpet. "Mary, can you call for an ambulance or something!" yelled Angus, recovering his composure and senses.
"Well, don't just stand there and stare!" shouted John, helping Sam and Mary up as curious heads appeared at doorways along the corridor. "Help this man here - he's been wounded. Tell the management, someone, and is there a doctor here?" Most heads quickly disappeared behind slammed doors and one man stepped forth.
"I'm a medical officer," he said as he knelt over the prone and groaning man at Angus' feet. Two uniformed hotel staff members appeared at the end of the corridor, with a first aid kit, as Angus left the medical experts to it and returned to the room, shutting the door behind him.
"Do we need the police as well?" asked Ahmed as he motioned the tattooed man to lie on the floor, face down.
"No, no police, believe me!" said Sam, tucking his grimy shirt in. "They could well be behind this … well, protecting those behind this."
"The police? Behind this?" asked Ahmed, alarmed, as he pulled the man's hands behind his back. "Has anyone got anything to tie these hands together, please?" Halee slipped off her tights and handed them to him. He smiled his thanks to her.
"Look, Sam," said Mary, straightening her suit, "I don't know what's going on with you and the police but we can't keep them out of it, can we?"
"Hardly!" said Belinda. "A gun's gone off, a man's lying in a pool of blood, people have been alerted and the ambulance is on its way."
"And what are they going to find when they come in here?" asked Halee. "A Kiwi tart, a Scottish woman dressed as a man, a Pakistani in costume, a scruffy pommy, a Scot and two M?ori guys. Questions might be asked, don't you think?" Everyone laughed at the strange spectacle they realised they would present.
"Well, we can run and keep running or we can stop and face it all, I suppose," said Sam, plonking himself down in a chair with a weary sigh. "Don't know about you lot but I'm quite fed up with running. Quite fed up, I must say."
"Well, my Da says ye can run but ye can never get away," said Angus, kneeling beside Ahmed as he tied the man's hands. "Yer sins will always follow ye."
"Our Da said that?" asked Mary, surprised. "I never knew he said anything wise in his life! But I have to agree - we're going to be surrounded soon and I don't know about you lot but I'm sick of pretending, sick of acting like I'm coping, sick of pushing against the damned wall, sick of, aah, I don't know, everything. I'm too tired to bother, actually." Sam stood to embrace her and she gave in to Sam's embrace. "But I'm not blooming well going to cry though," she said defiantly into Sam's chest.
"I committed a crime," said Ahmed. "I shot a man. I will not run from that. Never."
"But it was in self defence," said Belinda. "He was about to shoot Mary and Sam."
"Yes, Belinda, you may be correct," said Ahmed, smiling. "But I must let the law of this land decide that. Honesty and openness is peace of mind."
"You're absolutely right, Ahmed," said John. "Koia te kaupapa o te rangatiratanga, o te tika, me te maung?rongo o te ao. It is the foundation of freedom, justice, and peace in the world. So, it looks like we're staying so let's get this brother into a chair, a bit more comfortably because he's not going anywhere either!" John, Angus and Ahmed helped the stocky man roll over and get up into a chair. Sam and Mary sat side by side on one bed, Halee and Belinda on the other bed, Angus sat in the other chair while the two remaining men stood beside the seated man whose scared look was soon replaced by an embarrassed one.
"So what you all looking at?" he asked defiantly.
"Maybe you just tell us who you are and what you're doing here bro'," said John.
"Why should I do that? Who the hell …." said the man, who stopped as Ahmed took his pistol from his belt for the second time that morning.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell us exactly who you are and what you're doing here," suggested Ahmed evenly.
"Ah, yeah, I suppose it won't do no harm, pass the time of day," said the man, more nervous than defiant now. "Well, I'm Hemi Ropata and my tribe is Ngati Whakaue from Rotorua. That do?" Ahmed raised his pistol as if to examine it. "Oh yeah, you wanna' know te korero, the story, huh?"
"Yes we do, bro'," said John.
"Jeez, I could do with a smoke," said Hemi.
"Talk first, smoke second," said John.
"Yeah, right, te korero," said Hemi, squirming to make himself more comfortable. "Well, you see, these pakeha, these English people, stole some of our tapu taonga, our sacred pieces - three of them - and we wanted them back, see. We tried the government and the police and all that official shit … oh, sorry ladies, but they did nothing. Just a lot of excuses about, what they call it, official immunity or something."
"Diplomatic immunity," offered Sam.
"Yeah, that's it, diplomatic immunity," said Hemi, smiling at Sam. "So these diplomatic people took our taonga - pounamu, greenstone, from our tupuna, our ancestors - and the elders wanted to keep doing the stupid government thing but a group of us said, 'stuff that,' and so Eru and I, we's volunteered to get the stuff."
"Why you two?" asked John, smiling knowingly.
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