Guru and Ganeśa—these two are almost always the first to be remembered and worshiped at the beginning of any worthwhile venture in the Vedanta tradition. Guru, because it is the teacher who launches the student on the spiritual journey and provides guidance along the way. Ganeśa, because he is the destroyer of all obstacles (vighna-hartā).
Meditation practices often involve the process of merging. The effect is merged into the source or the cause. The relationship between a cause and its effect is something of a mystery. We know that the cause precedes its effect, but how are the two related? They are not identical (a seed is different from a tree obviously), but nor are they so different as to be entirely independent of each other (it’s from a seed that the tree emerges, not from a stone). The effect, the wise say, is nothing but its cause in a different form. If the seed evolves into a tree, the tree was somehow involved inside the seed.
What kind of merging is expected to occur in meditation? It is often recommended that, during the visualization process, the form of the Guru be merged into that of the “chosen ideal” (iṣṭa). When the meditator merges the Guru into the Iṣṭa, the Iṣṭa alone remains visible in the heart. The two—Guru and Iṣṭa—are not different. As Sri Ramakrishna often reminded his disciples: “There is only one Guru, and that is Satchidānanda. He alone is the Teacher” (Gospel, 141).
What role does the merging of the Guru play in a meditation practice? How are the Guru, the Iṣṭa, and Satchidānanda or God, related to one another?
The Supreme Being, who transcends everything and defies description, may seem beyond reach to many. For our benefit and out of compassion, God takes (as it were) a form and a name, and becomes our Iṣṭa. Does this really happen? We don’t know, hence the phrase “as it were.” What we do know with total certainty is that the Iṣṭa’s form is experienced in meditation. It is experienced as more real than the world we see around us. It’s an experience that infuses meditation with its transformative power, flooding the heart with peace, joy and wisdom. Swami Vivekananda employed the phrase cid-ghana-kāya to explain the phenomenon. Meaning, if pure consciousness were to be densely packed inside a form, it would be the spiritual body of the Iṣṭa, making it easier to visualize the transcendent reality.
But even this may appear to be somewhat out of reach, being supremely subtle and seemingly separated from us by both space and time. Again, out of compassion and for our benefit, the Iṣṭa (as it were) becomes even more tangible in the form of the Guru, a contemporary presence whose reality is beyond doubt, who is easy enough to perceive, and with whom we can interact.
The practice of meditation follows a simple journey from the visible to the invisible, taking us from a form (first, of the Guru, and then, of the Iṣṭa) to beyond all forms; from a name (of the Iṣṭa) to beyond all names; and from a sound (of the mantra) to beyond all sounds. All forms, names and sounds disappear when we are strong enough to encounter the spirit as spirit.
We go beyond forms when we stop clinging to our own form. We go beyond names when we stop identifying ourselves with any name. We go beyond words when we don’t need any to express ourselves. But we may not be there yet. As long as I am a “person” and see myself as one, the most natural way for me is to pray to a Personal God and meditate on a Personal God. To reject God’s “personality” while clinging to my own personality, and hoping to experience the Impersonal while being a person myself, can only lead to failure, if not also to a misguided sense of seeking something “higher.”
The “merging” process helps us go from the tangible form (of the guru) to the subtle form (of the Iṣṭa). The Iṣṭa is the embodiment of love, purity and perfection. The more the mind dwells on the Iṣṭa and the more it remains immersed in the Iṣṭa, the purer the mind becomes. A pure mind is a transparent mind. Such a mind becomes capable of seeing subtler truths. It becomes, in the words of the Kaṭhopaniṣad (1.3.12), sūkṣmadarśī. We are reminded of Sri Ramakrishna’s words:
“God is directly perceived by the mind, but not by this ordinary mind. It is the pure mind that perceives God, and at that time this ordinary mind does not function. A mind that has the slightest trace of attachment to the world cannot be called pure. When all the impurities of the mind are removed, you may call that Pure Mind or Pure Ātman” (Gospel, 687).
Through a sustained practice done with faith, sincerity and devotion, day after day, month after month, year after year, the mind eventually becomes fully transparent. It is then that the form of the Iṣṭa “melts” into the formless, the name disappears into the nameless, the sound of the mantra merges into the wordless sound of ॐ
What happens when forms are transcended, when ideas disappear, when words are no longer needed? What happens when space (deśa), time (kāla) and causality (nimitta) no longer exist? In the realm where language, ideas, forms, and words are absent, no one can (and no one needs to) answer those questions, no one can (and no one needs to) describe what happens then, but everyone must (and everyone can) experience it on their own. The question is not whether it is possible—it most certainly is!
The question is, do I really want it? If I do want it, am I really trying hard enough? Considering that none of us knows how much time we have before we take our last breath, no effort is ever going to be “enough.”
All we can do is to give it our best shot, the very best, holding nothing back—then there is a real chance that that may be enough!