Hunter Valley Vineyards, NSW, Australia
Before going to Cessnock, Hunter Valley, NSW, Australia’s famous wine country, a few weeks ago, somewhere in my mind’s eye, I had a very different impression of what a vineyard would look like. I had imagined the grapevines in the vineyards to be taller than me. The vines would grow and spread out, like they did, in the garden of my childhood home, all over the stone wall, clinging with tiny fingers to the nooks and corners of the uneven rocky surfaces they stumbled upon. The much loved grape leaves, whose shape was etched into my memory, would turn into all the colours of autumn, red, gold, orange, crimson and brown and fall to the ground, into a pool of yellow and orange. There would be purple and golden green bunches of grapes, hanging down from a meshed roof of wires, which would have been build all across the vineyard, to allow for the grapes to grow and hang, without being pecked by the hungry birds, home to the valley.
Those of you who have been to the Hunter, or any where else around the world, would perhaps be able to see how mistaken I was. I myself cannot place why I had this image of a vineyard in my head. Maybe I saw something similar in an old movie or perhaps it was a memory from the 1980’s, when I saw this, somewhere on a trip to Europe, with my family.
The reality of it was surely confronting. The vines were shorter than me. Short trunks, spread their arms like scarecrows, outwards, forever knarled and suspended. Each plant, in each row, perfectly distanced from the other; perfectly erect and tall; never dreaming of stepping out of the orderly lines that it was meant to stand in. Through the heat, the cold, the storms. For life. For ever.
The myth and reality of purification, much like that of a vineyard, comes as a shock to the one who wishes to figure out one for the other. Much like my hazy impressions of the vineyard, my impressions of my purification, at least when I prayed for it, were pleasing to my wide shut eyes. In my idealism, listening to the wonderful stories of spiritual evolution, told in those Friday night lectures of Dr Mohsen Labban, (RIP) in 2006, and marvelling at the different levels of sipirtuality that a mystic arrives at, my excited self imagined it to be a glorious exercise. Free to roam, like the grapevine in my childhood home, I assumed I would spread my knarled fingers and reach out to those nooks and corners that took me from my current spiritual position of level 1 to level 5. And then, lit with some form of fantastical and magical enthusiasm, I saw myself grow to epic proportions, much like Jack’s beanstalk, and reach to the skies, Level 100, in pursuit of my highest self.
This unadulterated vision of my highest purified self, beckoned. And I saw myself, purified. till I became a heart of gold. High in EQ. Full of wise tender love. And the sentience that is needed to cure and bring to peace any aching heart, broken or weary of this world and its attachments.
And, of course, that was not all. The heart hungered for that which would bless me with a generative and creative mind, from which it would be easy to pluck rich ideas, at will, whenever needed, like a bunch of seedless grapes, hanging from the roof of a vineyard of the Muse. Forever perfectly sweet; pure and true.
And, finally, an enlightened soul. The kind that transcends the boundaries of space and time to see beyond them. Into the heart of truth. Without filters. And holds its gaze, without flinching.
Sigh.
I can see now how easy it was to pray for it. There and then. In the House of the Purified.
It had seemed easy then. Just as easy as plucking a bunch of seedless grapes and popping them into my mouth, one by one.
I did not see it then. Or perhaps, was not grateful or aware enough to see that all that is perfectly sweet and pure and true, is so, because it has surrendered itself to the not-so-glorious exercise, of standing day in and day out; perfectly erect and tall; never dreaming of stepping out of the orderly lines that it was meant to stand in. For life. For ever.
I had not anticipated the discipline. The aches and pains that come from stretching one’s self thin, like the arms of a scarecrow. knarled and suspended, across the line.
I had not anticipated the effort it takes to stay standing, through the heat, through the cold, through the storms. Without flinching.
And then I see each one of us, standing tall or bending backwards, in the face of our unique tribulations, trying to do what is needed. Giving it all, our most precious reserves, in order to give life to the purest and sweetest grape.
Sigh.
I see it now.
If I wish to be
A heart of gold
A generative and creative mind
An enlightened soul
Like the grapevines in the vineyard
I need to submit to the glorious exercise and the discipline imposed by the will of a Being higher than myself.
And continue standing, through the heat, the cold and the storms.
Till it’s time to go home.
To the one who is waiting for me to return to Him.
As perfectly sweet, pure and true.