Steps

I walked the thousand and some steps up to the top of Chamundi Hill this morning, and the thought occurred to me about a quarter of the way up, as it often does in yoga practice, “Hey! I don’t have to do this! I can stop anytime I want to.”

But, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually, I arrived at the top, where tourists and tour busses crowded the road and a coconut went for the exorbitant price of 15 rupees, a 50% premium over what you pay for them elsewhere in town.

I won’t congratulate myself too much for the effort, (although I’m accepting a few pats on the back for having ridden my bike there and back), especially not when I compare my stroll up and down to that of the true devotees who dab a mark of color on every single step as they ascend. It’s that sort of commitment to ritual that must necessarily result in transcendence sooner or later, if not well before the pineapple vendor halfway up.

In the Bhaja Govindam of Shankaracharya, seekers are advised to perform all the religious rituals religiously, but without any expectation of good fortune being the result; paradoxically, though, proper performance of the rituals seems to be a sufficient condition for liberation; thus, apparently, having no expectations results in one’s expectations being fulfilled.

In the Saturday evening lecture at the Ramakrishna ashram last night, the Swami Nityasthanandaji Mahara quoted William James (I almost wondered if the ancient Swamiji might have bet the Harvard sage personally) who said, in the Swami’s words, “Human beings can change their lives by changing their attitudes about life and reality.” That’s no doubt the case, but it’s also clear that one reasonably effective way to changes one’s attitudes is by changing one’s behavior.

If I devote myself to the rituals, there’s no doubt, I’ll come to believe in them; (that was Blaise Pascal’s point about in conjunction his famous wager; if I bet on believing in God and then act as if I do, eventually, I will come to authentic belief); and while I didn’t dab a spot of color on each of the thousand-plus steps to the top of Chamundi Hill, I was praying to something by stair number six-hundred or so.