Our Holy Mother the Earth (as an aspect of Prayer) 2022

The subject today is Our Holy Mother the Earth as an aspect of Prayer.

When we say the grace before eating, that was given to us by Mr Gurdjieff:

Let us imbibe this gift of Nature in the devout hope it may redound to Her glory.

We are praying to Our Holy Mother the Earth that we will use this life-giving energy to work on ourselves.

The Earth is on a much higher spiritual level than man, and Abdullah says that the spiritual part of the Earth can answer your prayers and help you. And if a man read about these ideas and then went into the mountains to live alone, trying to learn from inside himself, his first teacher would be the Holy Mother Earth.

Ramana Maharshi said that his guru was Arunachala mountain. He left home at age 16 to meditate there and remained there his whole life.

Prentice Mulford is another whose teacher was the Earth. He had a love of the mountains, the rocks and trees and he explains that as this planet ripens spiritually, all material things upon it participate in that development.

Abdullah tells us that if we truly understood that we were a part of the Earth we would have a sense of affinity with all other people, with the sea, forests, and the whole of creation, and we would try to serve everyone around us, which is another form of prayer.

He says:

The Earth is God, the Sun is God, the billions of stars and galaxies are God… going up to a level which no-one could understand; we can have no comprehension of the Treasury of Light, the Source.

The billions of humans are a physical part of Earth but within each there is also an individual spark of the great light, which takes our existence into another realm altogether.

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The first story today is called The Caterpillar, from Mrs Tweedie’s book “Daughter of Fire”:

The sun rose through the luminous mist driving up from the valleys below Kausani. One could just see the Himalayas, dimly, amongst swiftly billowing clouds, like in a grey-blue dream. It was lovely after a night of rain. The sun was warm. I enjoyed my cup of tea seated on my doorstep. And then I saw him: He was large, close to 10 centimeters long, very hairy, very thick, a caterpillar of the most beautiful reddish brown. He was walking purposefully on the ledge of the wall behind me, advancing surprisingly swiftly.

He was going and going, and from time to time he was lifting the front part of the body, checking if he could climb up. But the whitewashed wall was too smooth; he could find no hold.

He reached the pillar near the veranda steps and tried to climb up, but without success. I understood that there was an urge in him to go up, perhaps to pupate somewhere and be safe over winter. In spring he will be a butterfly. Our garden was full of them, fluttering about in the sunshine.

I took a folded newspaper and made him go on it and put him on a stone heap thinking that he will easily find a place there in a crack to settle, where he can be safe from the crows. But he went again towards the wall and began to try to climb it unsuccessfully, falling back again and again. Such an urge to go upwards… How can I help you?

What about the tall cypress pine? It is so old and has so many nooks and crannies to hide in the bark. There is a chance that a bird may get hold of him if he is foolish enough to expose himself, still, it is worth trying, though his urge seemed to make him oblivious of any danger.

Once more I used my newspaper and took him to the tree. The very moment he got the feeling of the bark beneath his feet, as if glad, as if relieved, steadily and rhythmically he began to climb upwards. I could feel the urge, the relief. I felt his hurry; up and up he went; he must be tired. His movements were slower than before. I hoped that he would have the strength not to let the bark go, to cling to it. 5 metres, 10 metres. He was still going.

There was, in between the two large branches, a crack, a hollow; that would be a good hiding place. But he ignored it; he was still going up. And suddenly it occurred to me that he was a symbol of spiritual life… Caterpillars we are. One day we will all be butterflies. But in order to become a butterfly we have to go higher and higher to be able to transform ourselves somewhere in the darkness, in a secret hiding place. We have to go up higher and higher in spite of the dangers lurking around — danger of death, of falling down, of being killed, devoured by our passions and temptations.  

My neck was aching, watching him, so high he was now, still walking upwards. By now he got hold of a small, thin branch hanging near the trunk, and he marched steadily on it. Probably, it was easier, his little feet could clasp it firmly. He was walking so high that I could hardly see him amongst the shifting light and shade of the branches. He was still walking up. Such an urge, such perseverance… Then he turned a corner and was lost from my view.

Good luck. May you be successful in your tremendous urge… What is this powerful instinct beyond your control which drives you on?

We are brothers, little caterpillar, you and I.

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Abdullah says that the very act of making a struggle in this Work is a form of prayer.

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The second story is called Kabir’s Light, and it too is taken from Mrs Tweedie’s book:

A traveller from Afghanistan journeyed far to visit Kabir. Kabir was not at home, only his wife was there. “He is out, said the wife, he left to go to a funeral only five minutes ago. If you hurry you can still catch him at the funeral.”

“How will I recognise him?” the visitor asked.

“You will see, said the wife, that each of the people at the funeral will have a light above their heads, and once the body is burned, the lights above their heads will dim or go out. But the light above Kabir’s head will remain bright. Then you will know this is he, and you can talk to him.

The man did as suggested and found the wife’s advice to be reliable. After the body was burned and the funeral-goers began to disperse, the lights above their heads either dimmed or went out, but he could still see a bright light over an old man’s head, so he knew that must be Kabir Sahib. The visitor was then able to speak to Kabir and ask all the questions he wanted to ask.

Then he asked one last question. “Please tell me why it is that the light over everybody’s head dimmed or went out, but yours remained bright?”

Kabir replied, “It is because a funeral makes men aware of their mortality and that prompts them to think about God, and when you remember God there is a light above your head. But when they leave the funeral, they soon forget God, and think only of daily life.”

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Abdullah says that for many years before silence becomes possible one must endeavour to pray continuously in a mental fashion. This prayer can be directed to the heart or the solar plexus, but its main purpose is to eventually fill one up and still the mind until we arrive at a silence, which is itself also a form of prayer and an understanding of God.

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