The Delight of Dirt

The Bhagavata Purana: In Krishna’s Mouth

“One day, when He was a little older, Balarâma and the other kids of the neighborhood came to tell His mother: 'Krishna has eaten dirt!'

Yas'odâ, anxious about His well-being, chided Krishna, took Him by the hand and looked worried into His mouth to inspect Him.  She said:  'Why, You unruly boy, did You secretly eat dirt?  What are Your older brother and all Your playmates saying?'

'Not true at all mummy, I did not eat any dirt.  If you think it is true, then look right here into My mouth!'

'Is that so?  Then open wide!' she told Him, and He, the Supreme Personality, the Lord whose opulences are unlimited, in His pastime of acting like a human child, opened His mouth. 

Within His mouth she saw the entire universe with all beings moving and not moving, the sky in all directions, the mountains, the continents, the oceans, the surface of the earth, the blowing wind, the fire, the moon and the stars.”

As a child I used to play in a tiny secret gap between our shed and fence.  I used to sweep the dirt with leaves and talk to my ‘other family’.  It’s hard to remember everyone in my ‘other family’, but my ‘other father’ was a Kenyan man who rode elephants, and would visit me through the picture (of an elephant) on the top-pocket of my favourite short-sleeved beige shirt.  I used to tell my three siblings bedtime stories about my ‘other family’ when we all shared a room together in our bunk beds.  One of my ‘other siblings’ was called ‘Moon Cookies’, and we ran a family shop.

I wish I remembered more.  Indeed, I think the main task of a good education is to remember stuff like that.  Not facts, dates, and critical points (they can be easily found), but rather, who we were before we became survival machines.  You could say, I am pro re-membering, more than remembering these days.

But I have pieced together enough clues to suggest that I could see whole worlds in tiny snickets of dirt, and speak to distant ancestors through a little pocket on my shirt. 

What you see is what you get. 

And the problem with our very clever survival machinery is that we are wired with a highly sensitive Negative Bias.  Which makes total sense from an evolutionary point-of-view.  We need to be hyper-vigilant to threats, because, threats, are, well, threatening.  In other words, our survival largely depends on scanning for danger.  And we’re very good at it.  We perceive threats everywhere.  No wonder we’re all so paranoid, anxious and cautious.  And our very clever neuroscientists have shown this through their magical brain scanner machines:  negative messaging registers and changes our brains immediately, whereas positive messaging floats-on-by without any visible trace on the brain scanner, unless, interestingly, we engage in some form of contemplation.  Indeed, it takes around twelve seconds of active-contemplation to receive and register the positive messaging in an embodied way (which seems to be the way we have to do things around here, on planet earth – bloody bodies!).  The imagery that tends to be used in communicating this neurological dynamic to folk like me is:  Negative messaging is experienced like Velcro and Positive messaging is experienced like Teflon (non-stick pan).

This might help explain why our newsfeeds and algorithms are geared towards the negative.  The opportunity is too great.  The attraction is so powerful.  The need is completely fundamental. 

But that does not mean that the messaging is true.

What you see is what you get.

Anyone who has dabbled in the dark arts of daydreaming, imagination, contemplation, prayer, psychedelia, and sleep-deprivation, will know that things are way weirder than they seem.  Simple, mundane elements like water and earth are experienced as mystical, magical, and mind-blowing entities.  Anything, and everything, seems awake with energy, life, and idiosyncrasy.  Basic gestures, movements, and textures are fizzing with strangeness, otherness, and mystery.  How strange it is to be anything at all.

I wonder if that is why Christ said that even ‘the stones will cry out.’ 

(I have definitely had some deep-and-meaningful chats with a few good stones.  In fact, I nearly bought a Mobile Stone (contract free) from an excellent Mobile Stone Provider at Glastonbury.  He was a very happy looking hippie sitting on a pile of Mobile Stones, encouraging the fine folk of Avalon to cast aside their Nokia Bricks.  Legend.)

Which brings me to another legend, Krishna, who I was introduced to by my favourite English Psychedelic rock band, Kula Shaker.  I’m sure I will do a whole series of posts on the wisdom, mysticism, and magic of Kula Shaker, so I will resist the temptation to say more on this connection for now.  Anyway, I grew up being told, from within my own religious tradition, that The Incarnation (God in Flesh) was a completely unique feature of our faith.  In fact, this doctrine (and with it, The Name of Jesus) was treated a lot like a Top Trump amongst competing worldviews and philosophies: we win, we have Jesus!  We know God, because we have Jesus!  Yes, yes, that’s all very interesting, but do you KNOW JESUS!  Funnily enough, I remember the phrase Top Trump being used in my own religious instruction.

Now, tempting as it is to get into another feverish fandom of mine, Christology, I will only say this:  The Incarnation is not exclusively Christian.  Christians weren’t even first to the finish line (if we must speak in terms of winners, losers, and Top Trumps).  Within the Sanatana Dharma, Krishna (and others before him) is perceived as a personal, historical, incarnation of God.  And if anything, my love of Krishna has increased my love of Christ.  When I first read The Bhagavad Gita, I recognised and restored a lot of my Christ experience, encounter, and energy.

I particularly love the stories of Krishna as a child, as told in The Bhagavata Purana.  Krishna is naughty, playful, musical, sensual, and compassionate.  And like Christ, he comes to earth to defeat evil.  But before all that, he likes stealing and eating sweet butter, and playing all manner of pranks with his friends and family.  And of course, he eats dirt!  Yes Krishna!

You see, I have a confession.  When I was a child, I used to pick muddy-pink bubble-gum off the filthy London pavements and pop it in my mouth with utter delight.  It was delicious.  It was a naughty treat.  Not a health-threat.  Not a danger.  A childhood delight.  And there was plenty of it!  Perhaps, if I had opened my mouth and looked in a mirror, I would have seen the whole universe, spinning with infinite love.  But I was far too happy chewing the dirt with a skip and a smile to check for such things.  I was One with The Infinite Sun, as Kula Shaker sing.  I was in love.  Incidentally, they used to call me The Little Urchin (or The Mental) in my family.  You can see why I am drawn to Krishna.

Both Christ and Krishna point to the divinity, mystery, and beauty within the most mundane (or even rejected) aspects of life, whether its dirt, stones, bread, wine, the homeless, cows, prisoners, seeds, or discarded pieces of bubble gum (surely!).

What you see is what you get.

A false idol or kindred spirit

A dodgy deity or divine dancer

Anxiety or freedom

Suffering or meaning

Loss or love

Death or change

Danger or mystery

Disturbance or gift

Absurdity or sanity

Jealousy or insight

Betrayal or blessing

Destruction or creation

Tragedy or beauty

Guilt or grace

Dirt or delight