The use of metaphor in spiritual texts continues to fascinate, which, from a writer’s perspective, probably comes as no surprise. Creative writing courses and textbooks continually caution practitioners to be aware of similes and metaphors that are being used, issuing caveats on cliché; overused expressions, like chewing gum that’s been chomped a hundred times before it gets handed to the next person, are devoid of flavour. Yuck.
Therefore when metaphors like the rope and snake turn up in spiritual texts, as a reader there’s need to pause, reflect and consider if anything’s left in the saying worth digesting. Does the imagery feel old, stale and past its sell-by date? Perhaps complacency has crept in with regard to the image being used and a fresh example might be needed that has a little more spice to it. So I’m constantly questioning if the metaphor under the microscope can be freshened up in some way.
There is, however, a counter-point worth mentioning in terms of cliché. If I have no idea of the gum’s original flavour, or no previous experience of gum, how do I know if what I’m chewing is stale and therefore unpalatable?
Such thoughts were prompted by Swami Tadatmananda’s discussion of Bhagavad Gita (Chapter 2, verses 21/22). During this talk he mentions an old metaphor passed down to him by Swami Dayananda in relation to the nature of consciousness and reincarnation. Encountering this metaphor for the first time, as a listener, was like tasting a mouthful of fresh water from a mountain spring. The taste was sharp and refreshing and the particular expression he used created a clear picture in mind that’s been a pleasure to bathe in through subsequent meditation.
It was new to me, hence its vibrancy. From a subjective point of view there was nothing clichéd about his saying, though for people who’ve come across this particular expression many times before it possibly holds appeal like the traction capacity of a worn tyre on a smooth road. For me, this first encounter was gripping and there’s still plenty of chomping time left in the rubber yet!
(Before jumping to conclusions, this blog isn’t going to be about the body likened to a vehicle; a car that gets older and requires maintenance to keep it on the road. At least, not directly.)
Swami Tadatmananda was introducing his class to ideas about consciousness and reincarnation. In order to do this, he employed the metaphoric vehicle of sunlight and water. If we imagine rows of wooden buckets containing water, and looked over a particular bucket’s rim, we’d see the sun reflected on the surface of the water. If we could oversee all the rows, it would appear as though there were many suns, one in each bucket, though in reality, each of the suns in the buckets would really just be images of the one sun shining in the sky.
By comparison, this is the same way consciousness appears in the human mind. Our bodies and minds are like the bucket and the water. The body (bucket) contains the mind (the water) which reflects consciousness (the sun). Consciousness, like the sun, is not many. It is only one, though it appears to us, in our particular buckets, as if this is not the case.
The metaphor can be unpacked further. If the mind is likened to the surface of the water, reflecting the light of consciousness, the reflection is going to appear differently depending upon the state of play of the water in the bucket. If the surface of the water is turbulent, are we likely to see a clear image of the reflected sun, or is the image going to seem somewhat distorted?
Similarly, if the water inside the bucket is pure, the reflection of the sun is likely to be fairly well represented. If the water is murky, the clarity of reflection will be diminished. If the water’s really muddy, the sun may not be seen at all. What a wonderful way of explaining complex phenomena!
This is nice. This is very nice indeed. Put in such a way, it’s possible to start considering the innocence of childhood, or raw state of the water and how the mind can become tarnished when dyes of emotional experience get added to the water. How food can affect the viscosity of the water. How ripples get formed through the dropped weights of experience.
Now, say the wooden bucket is getting old and water starts seeping out. The old bucket can only be patched up so many times before it gives way entirely, so a new bucket is introduced to take its place. The new bucket receives its fill of water and, lo and behold! There’s a sun reflected upon its surface! It’s not a new sun to go with the new bucket. It is simply the same old sun reflecting on a fresh surface.
It seems this metaphor has the capacity to hold a great deal of water, and I’m grateful to Swami Tadatmananda and the lineage of gurus who passed on this pertinent reflection.