Saturday 6 January 2018

My religion, my roots, my path.

My schooling and my adolescence taught me to react against my religion. My village  took me back to a sense of godhood. The goodness of a village where the power behind every act of their unimaginable generosity in the midst of privation is attributed to devudu and dharmam.


"We live in pretty simple times. To the word Religion - any - there are broadly two kinds of reactions. For one kind Religion means Power. Physical, Political, Monetary, Tribal. Tanglible. 

Another kind see it as Supersition. Fanaticism. Blindness. Illiogical, impractical, unscientific. Perhaps, all of us, at some point or the other have swing between these two. Finding words from the either The Power Basket or The Superstitious Basket.

Me too. Been there. Done that. Reacted against rituals. Fought. Seen supersition, dangerous. Witnessed Violence, even worst. 

And then. Rested. Realised. The roots. Of religion - any and every - are throbbing in Innocence, in wonder, in remembrance. Of your own potential. Not as human alone. But as Gods.

The ancient people of India have left us many keys that can open up the door to our own potential, our own freedom. 

For them Freedom did not exist on earth: in kingdoms, in relationships. No. On earth exists a web of mutual responsibilities. Freedom, mukti belongs to another dimension. The timeless. The deathless."

No comments:

Post a Comment