We are all aware that some objects have more power over us than others. If I ask you to describe a room that you are familiar with but are not in at this minute - your bedroom, say - then you will provide, probably, a fairly good description. If I then ask you to go into the room and look around and compare your description or drawing or plan with what is actually there, you will realise that there are some things in the room that you have omitted completely and some that you have misperceived. You might get some surprises.

We tend to create around ourselves an environment that, in some sense, speaks to us. My room is full of books and objects to which I have a sentimental attachment, either because they remind me of something from the past or they seem to me to have a particular beauty, or for some other reason. In fact, the reason is not always apparent, even to myself. Why is this or that object special?

It is not just individual objects, but whole constellations. When we are out in nature, different places have different atmospheres. A particular glade or corner or opening, each place has its voice. In arranging the objects in one’s room one is composing such a world. Children make dens in this way. Rooms that have evolved and grown under the influence of the person who inhabits them have much more voice in this sense than ones that have been designed or copied from a magazine.

Developing a spiritual life involves tuning in to these voices. To read some supposedly spiritual manuals one would think that spirituality is about gaining such a tight control of one’s mind that one is not affected by anything. In my view and experience, the opposite is true. It is important to develop sensitivity to the powers around one and the subtle influences in one’s surroundings.

In ancient times, these subtle influences were understood to be the working of devas. They were divine voices speaking to us. Learning to live in a world in which such enchantment was everywhere was generally recognised to be the nature of a spiritual life. To be spiritual was to be in touch with these spirits. Sometimes spirits entered into one, but that was rare and not the main point. it was not the spirit in oneself that mattered so much as being in tune with the radiance that envelops everything.

The cultural influence that is sometimes called Modernism or “the Enlightenment” that is associated with the rise of science in the nineteenth century has involved a substantial disenchantment of the world. In the earlier paradigm, everything was, in one way or another, alive. This is called animism - everything being animated by an “anima” or soul. In the new paradigm we are invited to believe that most of what is around us is dead and functions, if at all, only in a purely mechanical way. In the extreme form of this approach, even “alive” things - like ourselves - are also regarded as only being mechanisms.

The mechanical paradigm has some advantages, it must be said. It enables some mechanical things to be done well and this accounts for much of the success of modern medicine. However, there is a lot to be said for the earlier paradigm too.

It is a challenge, in modern times, to recover some of that earlier way: to cultivate our sensitivity to tune in rather than tune out.

Of course, even the most modern of people is still affected by a beautiful sunset or a clearing in the forest where orchids are peeping. The ability to contact the devas has not been entirely lost. What can we do to resuscitate this atrophied faculty?

The current craze for mindfulness, if used in a certain way, could help. To be still, watch and listen plays a part. Such psychological methods as focussing can also help.

For some, drawing and other forms of representational art help them to connect. Writing poetry can be especially powerful in helping one to pay attention to rather than ignore tones and feelings.

One has to be willing to step, at least a little, out of the world of reductionism and into a different metaphysic. When buddha talked to devas - which he did often - he was inhabiting life in a different way from ourselves. Or, we could even say, he was inhabiting a different world.

In that world there were innumerable devas, “devas who dwell in the fragrance of the root-wood, heart-wood, pith, bark, sap, leaves, flowers and scents”, devas “embodied in cool-clouds, hot-clouds, clouds of thunder, wind and rain” (Saibaba p.33).

In the Buddhist text collection called the  Anguttara Nikaya we are told that recollecting and befriending devas is a means to cleanse away defilements and elements of viciousness from the heart. How is this? We can see, perhaps, that the correct attitude toward the devas is one of friendship. it is not so much a matter of worship - the right objects of worship are wisdom, compassion, faith, and so on. Toward the devas it pays to have an attitude of benevolence and friendship and equally to ask that they have such an attitude to us. When we cultivate in this way we not only have a richer experience of life, we also learn to be at home in the world amidst all its teeming powers.

One might think that this is all rather esoteric, but it only seems that way because our culture has moved so far away from the old way of experiencing. My mother talked to the plants in the garden and she was a very good gardener. She lived in a spirit of love and co-operation with the forces around her. To overcome the alienation that is so rife in modern life, do we need to learn to, once again, talk not just to the flowers, but also to the wind and the rain, the earth and the sky, rivers, roads, rapids and ravines, grass and snails, earth, water, air and fire, and not feel embarassed to do so?


Reference
V.V.S. Saibaba 1947 Faith and Devotion in Theravada Buddhism. Print world, New Delhi. ISBN 8124603294.