These Amazing Joseph Stories

   For years I have been fascinated with the stories of Joseph and his brothers in the last section of Genesis, and even wrote out a little booklet about it. The mystics see Joseph and Tamar as the biblical male and female personifications of the infinite depth (sefirah) of Yesod, the Foundation, the illumined sage, one of ten fruits on the Tree of Life, which may explain why Tamar’s story in Genesis appears right in the midst of the Joseph tales.       

   Early commentators say Tamar is the daughter of Shem, son of Noah, who lived 600 years before and after the flood and even became Mechizedek, high priest of God who blessed Abraham after he rescued Lot and everyone else at that time.

   Tamar and Judah are destined to be the partners and parents of the Davidic lineage, and Tamar seems to know it. Judah was one of the cruel ringleaders in getting rid of Joseph, the favored son with the portentious dreams. But when he saw the terrible grief his father was experiencing over the death of his 17 year-old son with the amazing aura (coat of many colors, even before his father gave him the jacket), Judah moved away, married and had three sons, two of whom died before his eyes, which was his karma on seeing his father’s grief over the loss of a child.

   Judah was in line to become the top banana after Joseph’s disappearance and apparent death. He had the robe and the bowl of our lineage, which after his wife died he gave to Tamar, disguised then as a fertility prostitute before the sheep shearing. (This is our lineage: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Tamar.) But Tamar brings Judah around. “She is more righteous than I,” he declares, and they never stopped knowing and loving each other after that (according to a translation of the Hebrew Reb Zalman Schachter told me).

    Tamar gets Judah to do t’shuvah (repent, return) which prepares him later to offer himself in slavery to the Egyptian Prime Minister to save Benjamin’s life. According to the Q’ran, not just Judah but each brother comes forward and offers himself in slavery to save Benjamin, the next “favorite” son, but this time they redeemed themselves completely, which is why Joseph never revealed himself earlier either to them or to his father; he saves their souls.

   When he was young, like you and me, Joseph sensed he was blessed, gifted, special and even set himself above his brothers who were not so obviously gifted. He was not yet mature enough not to set himself above others. That humility and maturity came to him in slavery and prison. But this week he reveals himself and tells his brothers, don’t blame yourselves. It was God who who brought me here to save many lives, to feed all the people and the nations all around during this famine; it’s all God’s doling. Yes, cream rises.

   When Joseph was in the pit, early commentators says Ruben came back during the night with a donkey and a rope to rescue his little brother, but Joseph told him, no, this is my fate and I have to go with it, and Ruben despaired.

   This is just to give you another hit on these amazing Joseph stories.

 

Tales of a Gracious Sage

Chrysanthemums  1970 One cold and rainy winter night in New York City, I took a couple subways, walked through the rain to a big church where Swami Satchidananda was speaking, and went inside. I was a hippie Yogi living in the West Village. I had heard this Yoga master speak a few times at the Universalist Church on the upper West Side and had briefly met him in person during a Peace Festival in Canada. I could tell this man knew, and I wanted to learn more about that.
     There were about 150 of us in the large sanctuary-chapel. Some were his devotees who wore white and sat near the front. The Swami was seated cross-legged in a comfortable cushioned chair completely encircled by flower blossoms. It was quite beautiful. “You people who came here tonight through this weather,” he said, “you’ll get the teachings.”
     After his talk so many people came forward and crowded around him, his devotees formed a protective circle, but he reached across and greeted everyone individually, one at a time. I found myself near the side of his chair. Someone offered him a lovely bouquet of wild chrysanthemums. He accepted them, reached over, handed them to me and indicated I could give a blossom or so to devotees who came forward.
     At the end of the evening after everyone had gone, there was still a sprig of these flowers in my hand, which I took home and put in a little vase above my bed and they stayed alive for weeks and weeks -- and weeks.


Be Clear and Straight  1971 Before we had an Ashram, I was on the Yogaville planning committee. We came up with a motto and a goal. I was in charge of getting lots of round pins made that we could wear on our shirts and blouses with Let’s Will Yogaville printed on them: These we would distribute to be worn by those who were taking on this intention. Gurudev told me, “Make the letters clear and straight.”

Over the years I’ve taken his guidance -- make your letters clear and straight -- also to mean: Make your words clear and straight. Make your sentences clear and straight. Make your conversations clear and straight. And make the teachings clear and straight.


Sing a New Song   1976  As a writer and editor, I listened carefully to the things Sri Gurudev said to us about how to write. “Don’t just collect the writings of others and string them together for an article or a book,” he said. “Use your own experiences, your own interpretation. This is your contribution.”

In the psalms the shepherd David says, we are each called to “sing a new song” unto God.


Completion   1978  A number of us were traveling on a pilgrimage to holy places in India with Sri Gurudev. We’d been visiting holy temples and sites where great saints had lived and taught. Recently we’d visited the village and ashram of a local, much beloved guru who was the spiritual head of the whole town. He had sat and talked with our Gurudev and showed where his leg was hurting. Gurudev held our host’s leg and stroked it gently. The sage gave us each a treasure, a white top cloth that we could wear as we chose or carry folded over one shoulder. I really loved it.
     So thickly populated was this land that everywhere we went in India there were people. Even in the countryside and on rural roadsides there were always people around. But one occasion was different. Soon after our visit with the local sage, we were driving across south India not far from where Gurudev was raised as a child. He stopped our cars and beckoned for us to get out and walk with him silently across a dry, wide barren expanse of open land and rocks. As far as the eye could see, not a soul was anywhere in sight in all directions. We traversed flat dry ground of rocks and stony hollows for some time. Gurudev led us to the edge of a deep crevice or pit in the earth. Looking down into the steep well of jutting stones, all we could see far below was the harsh bottom of the pit. Gurudev then told us a story from his youth.
     A local man had disappeared from the community for some time and could not be found. If he was alive, his family had been abandoned. If dead, no one knew and there was no completion, no funeral – just worry and alarm.
     As youths, Gurudev and a friend had chosen to go exploring – far beyond the safe areas their parents had given them permission to go. After some time they had come to this very place, and there down at the bottom of this pit they had found the body of the missing man.
     He pointed where the body had been lying. I leaned forward and looked down over the edge. At just that moment a slight wind arose and lifted the folded top cloth off my shoulders. I reached out, but missed it as it floated and fell before our eyes -- straight down to the bottom of the pit where Gurudev was pointing. It was a gift from a holy man. As I considered climbing down, Gurudev said, “Leave it.” And that’s just what we did.


Zen Master Zen Students  1980 I accompanied Sri Gurudev on a visit to the Providence, R.I. Zen Center of the late, ever ebullient Korean Zen master, Rev. Seung Sahn. In traditional robes of a Zen monk, his American disciples, heads and chins clean-shaven, listened attentively to Sri Gurudev’s talk. Afterwards they approached him and, curious about his long hair and beard, said: “You’re a monk, are you not? Why don’t you cut your hair?”
     He sliced the fingers of his right hand across the fingers of his left. “I could cut my fingers all the same length too,” he replied.
  There were no more questions.

There are many ways and styles of carriage one may take on as a stand for what one believes and does.


The Dali Lama came to the United States on a short visit and was scheduled to speak in Boston one evening. He and Sri Gurudev in their common interfaith services over the years had crossed paths often and become friends. Gurudev took a few of us along to Boston to meet him that evening.
     At that time, the Communist Chinese government was not pleased with the respect and admiration showered on the Dalai Lama around the globe, and there was always concern for his safety, even in America. I noticed that when the Dali Lama stepped back for a moment to change his top cloth or robe, seemingly out of nowhere a dozen tall, very strong Tibetan monks materialized and encircled him protectively. At the end of the evening Gurudev introduced us, and the Dali Lama gave us each a white scarf.
     Dalai Lama means “wish-fulfilling gem” and refers to the heart of compassion.

Later that night I dreamed of Tibetan Yogis rising up out of the ocean under a moonlit sky


A Gift from God   1986 Over a long period of time I was editing the Living Gita for publication. Finally, I turned it in to Prakash Capen, who at that time headed the Publications Department. A few days later, Sri Gurudev called me and asked if my part of the writing and editing of the book was completed.
   “Yes, I think so,” I said hesitantly, wondering if I’d missed something.
   “Are you sure?” he continued.
   I couldn’t think of anything else. “Yes,” I said.
    Two days later he had Publications send me a check for a several thousand dollars – which was quite a surprise. I’d done the whole job over the years as Karma Yoga, as a service to the community. He waited until my part was complete so all my efforts were without expectation of financial reward. He helped me make a clean offering.
   I called him. “I can’t accept this, Gurudev.”
   “Yes, you can,” he said. “You’re householder; you have to earn money for your family. You can accept it.”
   That night at a Saturday satsang, a gathering of the community and guests to hear the timeless teachings, Gurudev told us that when God gives you a gift, don’t question it: “Am I really worthy of this or not?” A gift from God – you accept it immediately, he said.
  
No questions asked. No justification. Amazing grace, like the old song goes.


How to Increase Your Faith   1987. We visited with Congressman “L.F.” Paine and his wife Susan at their Nelson County home high in the foothills of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Someone there told a story that Gurudev liked and passed along to everyone later that evening during a Saturday night satsang.
     A man was jogging along through the forest and not watching carefully where he was going. Suddenly he tumbled over the edge of high cliff. As he plummeted down, he grasped onto a protruding root, and there he hung 15 feet below the cliff’s upper surface. Looking down, way far below he saw jagged rocks waiting to impale him when he lost the strength to hold on any longer.
     At wit’s end, he looked up and called out desperately, “Is there anyone up there?”
     After several long seconds of silence, he heard a voice say clearly: “I’m here.”
    “Who are you?” the suspended man called up.
    “The Lord your God,” was the reply.
    “O Lord, pull me up, pull me up!” he cried.
    “Let go of the root, my son.” 
    A long, long silence … then: “Is there anyone else up there?”
 
Gurudev laughed and laughed at us. That night he talked about faith, active belief, about the mustard seed and the mountain. With genuine faith, no larger than a little mustard seed – you can move a huge mountain, he told us. When he was young he used a daily affirmation and declaration, he said, that increased his own faith: “It’s all Your word. It’s all Your deed. It’s all Your name. It’s all for good.”
Dad  1989  It was Father’s Day at the Virginia Ashram. I had been invited to give a short talk before Sri Gurudev’s satsang – a sharing of the wisdom. My dad had passed away a year before and I missed him a lot. I told some stories of things I learned from my father when I was growing up, and then stories of things I’d learned from my spiritual father, from Sri Gurudev over the years.
     After Gurudev’s talk later that evening he came over, put his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “Your father was here tonight,” he said.


The Last Words   July 20, 2002.  I went to a Guru-Poornima weekend celebration at the Virginia Ashram, a full moon time when disciples and devotees traditionally honor their guru – and the ultimate guru also, the “remover of ignorance.” I didn’t realize this would be the last time I’d see my beloved Gurudev alive. A few weeks later, while visiting with devotees in India, he left his body rather suddenly and entered Maha-Samadhi, supreme consciousness. Even though that July morning at Yogaville, his every word was being taped and filmed, I was still in the habit of taking notes as he spoke. These are the last words I heard my teacher say:

          “The gurus are everywhere
          When the moon is full the mind is fully open
          This is Guru Poornima  [Enlightening Fullness]

          “You learn from everybody and everything
          If you’re ready to hear

          “Give all your fruits to others, and pray:
          Make me a good listener!

          “Take lessons from everyone and everything in life.”


Torn to Pieces  “Even the pious avoid a perfect saint,” said Rumi, the wonderful 13^th century mystic poet. “Someone that surrendered and free is a lion,” the Sufi master continued. “Try to be friends with one and you’ll be torn to pieces instantly. In fact, you’ll become a lion. If you want to stay a cow, then stay away.”
       After Gurudev had left his body, I dreamed one morning I was in his house talking with him. I told him the mistake I made was trying to get close to him through Shanti.
     “You used another’s friendship to be my friend?” he remarked.
     “Yes,” I admitted. Then we hugged.
His children came running, a boy and a girl. “Father, someone is buying our house.” We noticed that the roof needed some support. He looked over at me for assistance. Quickly I called a few people. “Friends, can you spare a few moments to help us shore up this roof?” People came right over and we shored the roof laughing. (It took us awhile to let go each other, so closely were we bonded.)
     Half-waking from this dream, I remembered Rumi saying, if you try to be friends with a lion, you’ll be torn to pieces. Someone asked: “Did you try to be friends with a lion?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Are you a lion now yourself?”
    “I don’t know, but I have been torn to pieces.”


Always Here   When I was a child my parents sometimes would take me to a synagogue or Temple for High Holiday services and on other occasions. Near the end of each service I noticed there was always a prayer people would say to remember a beloved relation who had left this world. The mourners would stand and recite, almost like a mantra, certain phrases in Aramaic, a form of early Hebrew. When I looked over at the translation in English I saw it was almost all praises of God for one sublime quality after another. I was curious why grieving people would be praising God, and I wondered also how long before I too would have to stand mourning for someone I loved.
     Forty years passed. My dad died. I went to a service, wrapped myself under a big tallis or prayers shawl and for the first time stood up for the mourners’ prayer. That ancient Aramaic seemed to take us all beyond time and space, for lo -- there standing right next to me was Dad – also repeating these praises of God. He looked over and smiled. It seemed I could reach right over and embrace him.
     After that, as the months and years passed, whenever I was at a Jewish service, I would stand with the mourners and remember relatives and friends, sages and saints, martyrs and children who’d passed on before. And sure enough, there they all were – right beside me.
     A week or two after Sri Gurudev entered Maha-Samadhi, I found my way to a service and near the end stood under a big prayer shawl. It felt like I was inside a little tent. As the ancient prayer was recited, I thought of Gurudev and looked around, but I couldn’t see him; I couldn’t find him -- anywhere.
     Then I heard a familiar voice saying: “Prahaladan, I’m right here.”
     “Where, where?’”
     “Inside you. I’m always here now.”

Many of Sri Gurudev’s devotees report a similar experience.

Blue Ridge Mountain Journal: THIS STRANGE JOURNEY

May 29 Driving along a country road on a late spring day 
O' the smell of honeysuckle, and look --
A great flock overhead, many birds flying,
How auspicious

Beginning to ascend the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge
Now I'm out and climbing humpback mountain just before sunset
I see a burning bush blowing in the sun and wind
The roar of the branches on this gold afternoon.
Mose covers his face. "Hey, you got the wrong guy."

Rumi says: Consider what the prophets have done
Abraham wore fire as an anklet
Moses spoke to the sea
David molded iron
Solomon rode the wind.

Rabbi Shefa says: We're all meant to be prophets
So birth the expression of what you are.

Forget the future, says Rumi.
The miracle of Jesus is himself
Not what he said or did.

And here's the honeysuckle goddess now.
"Come visit me," she says, and takes me in her arms.

June 6   A wandering Aramean was my father
An acrobat, a star athlete at the Academy
A Commodore of sixteen destroyers, a mighty warrior
who dearly loved his wife and sons.
Fair winds and a following sea, Dad.

Don't be timid, says Rumi. Load the ship and set out
No one knows for certain if the vessel will sink or reach the harbor.
Just don't be one of those merchants who won't risk the ocean.
This is much more important than making money.
This is your connection to God!

July 16  It's sunset in the Piedmont valley.  I see the now moon rising above the Blue Ridge. I'm on my way to the ashram, to the Nataraj site to talk with Shiva. Now I'm on a hilltop overlooking the Lotus temple. Overhead, streaks of red-blue and purple clouds look like a big flying serpent with outstretched wings. There's no one else here. Think I'll just turn on my boom box and play some Tibetan Buddhist chants as I circle the Dancing Shiva shrine. O' I love that oval Shiva lingam inside the glass. Looks like the stone that Jacob poured oil on when he awoke from his dreams and said: "Sure, God is in this place and I didn't know it. This is none other than the supreme abode and gateway to heaven."

   “Use prayer to connect to the mystery,” says Shefa.

It's dark now. I'm leaning on the knee of a sculpture of my guru and praying. There's a light approaching. Shiva's talking and I'm listening.

             About marriage, don't simply seek the best partner for yourself. Better
                seek one for whom you will be the best partner.
             About passing along the dharma, just set'm up and I’ll come through.
             About money, be honest and keep good records.

                          Rumi: Rise up nimbly and go on your strange journey.
                                   The stream knows it can't stay on the mountain
                                   There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
                                    Let the beauty you love be what you do.

                                                                   * * *

                                                              Prahaladan
(with thanks to Jelaluddin Rumi, his translator Professor Coleman Barks and Rabbi Shefa Gold.)

Be Who You Are

Selections from Vayeshlach  Genesis 32.4 – 36.42

Jacob learns his brother, Esau is coming to meet him with 400 men Yakov is frightened and prays.  Deliver me from the hand of my brother

I fear he may strike me down, the mothers and children also

You said: Return to your native land; I’m dealing bountifully with you 

Whose person are you and where are you going? Yakov is alone

A high being wrestles with him thru the night and says: Let me go Dawn’s breaking. Jacob says, not until you bless me. What’s your name?

Yis-ra-El because you strive and prevail. Call this place Peni-El

Seeing divinity face-to-face. The sun rises. Esau comes with 400  

Yacob prostrates. Esau runs and embraces him. Yisra-El says

Seeing your face is seeing the face of God. Please accept my offerings God is favoring me. I have everything. Just let us continue as friends

Jacob goes to Sukkoth and Shechem buys open land, sets up tents there And erects an altar naming it El Elohey YisraEl, God is Israel’s Lord

Dinah goes out to visit local girls. The local chief’s son Shechem sees her, Seduces her and rapes her. Jacob learns Dinah was abused

His sons return. Learning what happened they are shocked and outraged

Shimon and Levi take their swords, enter the city at night, kill Shechem, his father and all the men. God tells Jacob, go to Beth El

Make an altar there to the one who appeared when you fled from Esau

Jacob tell his family, get rid of your false idols and purify yourselves

They all come to the land of Canaan. Jacob builds an altar there

And names the place the God of Beth El. God appears to Jacob again

And blesses him saying, your name is not only Jacob, but also Yis-ra-El

I am God Almighty, be fruitful and increase

Jacob set up a pillar there and offers a libation

As they are moving from Beth El, Rachel begins to give birth

In extremely difficult labor. The midwife says, don’t be afraid

Rachel breathes her last and is buried on the road to Bethlehem

Jacob sets up a monument on her grave – to this very day

Jacob returns to his father Isaac in Hebron

Old and in the fullness of his years, Isaac lives to 180

Breathes his last, dies and is gathered to his people

His sons Esau and Jacob bury him (in the cave of Machpelah)   Gen. 35.29

n  from the Torah Gita