Yeshua by Stan I.S. Law

Author:Stan I.S. Law
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, love, literary, historical fiction, memoir, philosophy, metaphysics, visionary, yeshua, edgar cayce, stan law, essenes, historical jesus, biblical studies
Publisher: Inhousepress

11

The Way of Dharma

It is one thing to learn about the teachings of the Awakened One, quite another to live by His precepts. The next time I saw Yeshûa, some fourteen months later, he’d just completed a year in a Buddhist monastery. The other two months he’d spent travelling which, in itself, he said, was an experience like no other. To look at him, his face, his rusty curls, which by some means he’d managed to keep trimmed, his posture, his demeanour—nothing appeared to have changed. On the other hand, all things were different, as far as he was concerned.

It was a year ago that Almâs had asked him about nirvana. At the time, to the best of my recollection, Yeshûa described it from the point of view of the teachings he’d received in various monasteries he had visited. Although he’d visited them with total commitment to learning, he did not become a follower of Buddha. His commitment was total but only to learning. He maintained his detachment, he said, to develop an objective knowledge of the Gautama’s way, of the method he’d employed to arrive at his personal enlightenment. The concepts he’d conveyed to me later, when he, Sri Singh and I strolled through our garden, did not really come from any particular religion he’d studied. What he’d shared with me, then, were the first seeds of his own personal perception of reality.

“Nirvana,” he said on his return, “is not at all the extinction of all sensations one hears about. It is neither death nor a denial of life. It may be so in some respects, but it is also so much more. The life you deny is not the real life, not the life of atma, it is the duality of perception which keeps you from seeing the truth.”

He glanced around to see if any one of us followed his words. Sri Singh seemed deep in thought, Almâs was staring at him as though seeing what others could not see, my father was dosing off. Poor father. He was a man of action. A few days of rest after two or three years of travel were all he could stand. Now... now he’d earned his peace. Sometimes he would call me to his side and give me instructions, as though we were in the middle of some desert crossing.

“Watch those camels on the back,” he would mumble. “They stray….” And he would leave the sentence unfinished. Perhaps he’d already reached his nirvana. Perhaps he already lived in a reality to which the rest of us had no access.

And then there were, of course, the children. I often wondered if most of them understood more of what Yeshûa said than we did. We, the adults. The youngsters sat, this time a dozen of them, on the floor, cross-legged, two of the older ones attempting to enter the pose of Padmasana. I tried the Lotus Seat a hundred times, only to incur such pain as to take me hours to recover.

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