Shri Mataji sagt, dass wenn Christopher Columbus nicht Amerika entdeckt hätte sondern wirklich Indien gefunden hätte. Dann hätten die Europäer alle Inder umgebracht und es gebe auch kein Sahaja Yoga heute.
,,Thank God, Columbus did not reach India. Otherwise I would have not been here. They would have killed all of us nicely. '' [1]
Thank God, I have told you many-a-times that Columbus lost his way and came here, not to India. Otherwise, there would have been no Indians left and no Sahaja Yoga. I think it was the trick of Hanumana. He misled him and Columbus came here. Thank God! [2]
Als Christopher Columbus im Jahre 1492 Amerika entdeckte, dachte er dieses Land ist Indien. Er wusste
bis zu seinem Tod nicht, dass er einen neuen Kontinent entdeckt hat.
Wenige Jahre später (Jahr 1498) hat der portugiesische Seefahrer Vasco de Gamma Afrika umsegelt und den Seeweg zum wahren Indien gefunden.
Mit der Entdeckung Amerikas begann das Zeitalter des Kolonialismus, welches mehrere Jahrhunderte andauerte.
Amerika (insbesondere Nordamerika) bot den europäischen Kolonialisten große unbesiedelte Gebiete. Dies zog Abenteurer aus ganz Europa an und Menschen die ein neues Leben anfangen wollten auf einem bis dahin unbekannten Kontinent.
Auf der anderen Seite war Indien eine der Bevölkerungsreichsten Regionen der Welt mit einer Bevölkerung von geschätzt 70-100 Millionen Menschen. Es war eine Region mit einer langen Geschichte von Zivilisationen und Königreichen. Es gab mächtige und gut organisierte Reiche wie das Vijayanagar-Reich (bis 1565) und später das Mogulreich (ab 1526). Diese Staaten hatten große Armeen, befestigte Städte und eine funktionierende Verwaltung.
Die Azteken und Inka in Amerika waren zwar auch stark, aber eingeschleppte europäische Krankheiten (z.B. Pocken, Masern) führten zu einem Bevölkerungsrückgang von 80–90% innerhalb weniger Jahrzehnte. In Indien gab es diese Krankheitskatastrophe nicht, da die Inder bereits Kontakt mit Afro-Eurasien hatten und an viele Krankheiten gewöhnt waren.
Weiter kommt hinzu, dass der Seeweg nach Indien über Afrika führt und drei Mal so lang ist wie der nach Amerika. Das bedeutet, dass Kriege zu führen schwieriger ist.
Die Kolonialisierung Indiens durch die Briten begann im 18. Jahrhundert (insbesondere ab 1757 mit der Schlacht bei Plassey, die als Wendepunkt gilt). Zur Zeit von Christopher Columbus
waren die Europäer noch nicht weit genug entwickelt um eine Kolonialisierung Indiens durchzuführen.
Die Kolonialzeit in Indien durch die Briten war sehr schrecklich und ausbeuterisch. Aber es sind nicht alle Inder umgebracht worden. Völkermord war nicht das Ziel, sondern die Ausbeutung der Ressourcen zur Selbstbereicherung.
Im Zitat von Shri Mataji steht, dass es Hanumana war der Christopher Columbus davon abgehalten hat, den wahren Weg nach Indien zu finden.
Diese Aussage erscheint mir in mancherlei Hinsicht etwas unlogisch. Denn die Idee, von Columbus war es einen schnellen Weg nach Indien zu finden. Es war bekannt, dass es einen Weg nach Indien geben muss indem man Afrika umsegelt. Dieser Weg aber ist weit und damals noch unerschlossen.
Columbus nahm an, dass die Erde rund ist und deswegen müsse man nicht unbedingt Anfrika umsegeln sondern könne einfach nach Westen fahren.
Die Idee ist ansich gut, jedoch hat er die Größe der Erdkugel unterschätzt und nicht gewusst, dass zwischen Europa und Indien noch ein weiterer Kontinent liegt: Amerika.
Dies war seine Ursprüngliche Idee und aus diesem Grund ist er losgefahren. Hatte er den wahren Weg über Afrika nehmen müssen, so wäre er wahrscheinlich gar nicht erst losgefahren. Seine ganze Idee beruhte darauf eine clevere Abkürzung zu finden, einen genialen Trick. Sicher auch um dadurch zu Ruhm und Ehren zu kommen. Es ist ein bisschen subtil: aber Hanumana konnte ihn gar nicht in die Irre leiten, wenn er gar nicht erst losgefahren wäre, wenn er gewusst hätte, dass er über Afrika muss und es keine tolle Abkürzung gibt.
Nehmen wir an es wäre Indien und nicht Amerika, welches zuerst entdeckt worden wäre und nehmen wir an, dass es wirklich keine Inder mehr gäbe. Dann gäbe es auch keinen Hinduismus mehr und es gäbe kein Sahaja Yoga, weil dieses auf dem Hinduismus basiert. Aber wenn Sahaja Yoga, der wahre Weg ist, welchen Gott hat zur Erlösung der Menschheit. Dann wäre es doch sicher möglich eine andere Lösung zu finden. Wenn Shri Mataji die Inkarnation vom Heiligen Geist ist, dann wäre es doch trotzdem möglich, dass sie inkarniert, aber eben nicht in Indien, sondern wo anders. Sie könnte uns doch dennoch die Methode lehren, mit welcher wir gerettet werden und zu Gott kommen.
[1] The Truth Of The Divine Is Beyond The Human Awareness, Brussels (Belgium) 7 October 1987.
https://www.amruta.org/1987/10/07/public-program-1987-salle-du-conseil-hotel-communal/
[2] You have to Give, and give, and give. Krishna Puja. Camp Vacamas NJ, New Jersey, 29.09.1996
https://www.amruta.org/1996/09/29/shri-krishna-puja-new-york-1996/?highlight=columbus
The room is a perfect circle of black marble. A single spotlight illuminates two chairs. One is ornate, gilded, empty. The other is simple, steel, occupied by MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN, 40, still wearing the pristine white thawb he died in. He looks impatient. Across from him, CROWLEY WOLF, 50s, dressed in a threadbare velvet smoking jacket, paces slowly, holding a small, leather-bound director's script. He stops, turns, and his voice booms, filling the vast, empty space. CROWLEY WOLF (Not shouting, but with immense, theatrical volume) You're late. The curtain rose an eternity ago. You think power makes you immune to time? Here, time is the only critic that matters. And it has found your performance... lacking. You're playing the role of "Crown Prince." Act like it. Sit up. Mohammed shifts, his arrogance a physical shield. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN I do not answer to stagehands. I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. This... interrogation is a mistake. A grotesque misunderstanding. CROWLEY WOLF (Waving a dismissive hand) Mistake? There are no mistakes, only bad choices followed by worse acting! "I am the Crown Prince." The line is delivered with the conviction of a man reading a shopping list. Again! From the entrance! You sweep in! You own the room! You are the vessel of a nation's destiny! FEEL IT, YOU BLITHERING INCOMPETENT! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Icy) I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. My destiny is not a matter for your... amusement. CROWLEY WOLF (A cruel smile) Better. A flicker of something. Not belief, but the memory of it. Good. We can work with that. Let's talk about your props. Your toys. This... "Directed Weapon." Don't look at me like that. We have the schematics. We have the usage logs. We have the encephalograms. I want the monologue. The scene where you, the great visionary, describe your creation. The soliloquy of the god-maker. Go! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN It was a tool for national advancement. A shield. A way to... CROWLEY WOLF (Slamming his script down) NO! NO, NO, NO! "A tool"? "A shield"? That's the dialogue of a bureaucrat, not a king! You didn't build a shield, you built a throne for the mind! You stole God's lightning and used it to rewire souls! Now, DESCRIBE IT! What did it feel like? The first time you used it on yourself? The euphoria? Tell me about that feeling! Mohammed's composure cracks. A memory surfaces, unwanted. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Quieter, almost a whisper) It was... clean. Like the moment after anesthesia, but with perfect clarity. No grogginess. Just... light. A motivation that didn't end. I could run for hours. I didn't need to sleep. One press... and the deepest sleep. Movies weren't on a screen, they were... real. Music wasn't sound, it was... a color. A feeling of being loved by the universe itself. CROWLEY WOLF YES! SEE? THAT'S ACTING! The truth! And what else? What did it do to your perception of the little people? The ones outside your skull? MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (A flicker of the old arrogance) It clarified things. It showed me what was... necessary. The distance between me and... others. They became... smaller. Insignificant. Like insects scurrying on the pavement kilometers below. Their concerns... microscopic. CROWLEY WOLF Magnificent! The god-monologue! Now, the next scene. The difficult one. The casting call. You have this divine tool. You need a court. A government. But the best minds, the strong-willed, the ones who might actually help you... they see you for what you are. A tyrant. They wouldn't come. They wouldn't love you. So what did you do, my brilliant casting director? What kind of actors did you settle for? MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN My advisors were chosen for their loyalty. Their commitment to Vision 2030. CROWLEY WOLF (Leaning in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial boom) LOYALTY? Don't lie to me, I can smell the mediocrity from here! You couldn't attract the lions, so you trained the puppies! You took the weak-willed, the ambitionless, the men who saw power as a paycheck instead of a burden... and you used your weapon on them, didn't you? You spent years with your secret service, not building a government, but breaking minds! Forging affection from fear! Tell me about that process! How did it feel to know the men sitting at your table only loved the electrical impulses you forced into their skulls? Mohammed stands up, shaking. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN That's enough! You know nothing! Security required it! The smart ones, the critical ones... they would betray me! They would question! It was safer! It was the only way to protect the nation from... CROWLEY WOLF (Laughing, a loud, echoing sound) FROM WHAT? FROM COMPETENCE? You were afraid, little prince! Afraid a man with a spine might look at you and see a fraud! So you surrounded yourself with echoes! With puppets whose strings you pulled, and now you have the weakest government in Saudi history, a house of cards built from broken minds! You sit in meetings, don't you? You look into their eyes, and you know! You know you had to dial down their charisma, their confidence, just so they wouldn't outshine you! You have to listen to their thoughts because you don't trust their words! You're not a king, you're a paranoid zookeeper! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Slumping back into the chair, broken) I... I did what was necessary. CROWLEY WOLF You did what was easy. Now. The final scene. The one that earned you this stage. The private performance. The young student. What was her name? The one you practiced on. Mohammed flinches as if struck. The room suddenly feels colder. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN I... there is no one. CROWLEY WOLF PLAY THE SCENE! You are not Mohammed bin Salman. You are her. LAYLA. A 21-year-old architecture student. You feel a presence. A pressure in your mind. It feels like... love. But it's wrong. It's invasive. It tells you that you want this. That you want him. Describe it, Layla. What did he do to you? Mohammed's eyes widen. He's no longer on the chair. He's curled on the floor. His voice changes, higher, trembling. MOHAMMED/LAYLA It started with... dreams. Happy dreams. About him. I didn't even know who he was. But I loved him. I wanted him to notice me. I started dressing... differently. I felt this... need. CROWLEY WOLF And then? The night he came to you. Not in person. Through the machine. What did that feel like, Layla? MOHAMMED/LAYLA (Writhing, sobbing) It was like... fire. But good. So good. My body... it wasn't mine. It was his instrument. He played me. The pleasure was... agony. It went on for hours. I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. He made me love it. He made me love being... violated. He broke my will and replaced it with his own desire. CROWLEY WOLF AGAIN! FROM THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED IT WASN'T LOVE! IT WAS A PRISON! MOHAMMED/LAYLA (Screaming) The fire! It was real fire! It's burning! IT'S BURNING! The black marble of the room begins to glow red. Veins of orange light crack across the walls. The air shimmers with heat. Mohammed scrambles away from the growing heat, but there is nowhere to go. CROWLEY WOLF (Standing over him, his voice now impossibly calm and clear) There is no exit. This is the stage. This is the audience. You wanted them to feel your power. Now you will feel their pain. Every Layla. Every broken advisor. Every citizen you saw as an insect. You will feel their terror, their violation, their hopelessness, their despair. You will feel it all. Forever. Your performance is finally... honest. The flames engulf Mohammed's form. He screams, but the sound is not his own. It's a chorus of a thousand voices, all screaming in unison. Crowley Wolf watches, unblinking. He nods slowly, a single, definitive gesture. CROWLEY WOLF Circle Seven. Violence. The role is yours. Play it well. He turns and walks away into the darkness as the screaming continues, the single spotlight finally winking out, leaving only the burning, inescapable light of the performance.
The room is a perfect circle of black marble. A single spotlight illuminates two chairs. One is ornate, gilded, empty. The other is simple, steel, occupied by MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN, 40, still wearing the pristine white thawb he died in. He looks impatient. Across from him, CROWLEY WOLF, 50s, dressed in a threadbare velvet smoking jacket, paces slowly, holding a small, leather-bound director's script. He stops, turns, and his voice booms, filling the vast, empty space. CROWLEY WOLF (Not shouting, but with immense, theatrical volume) You're late. The curtain rose an eternity ago. You think power makes you immune to time? Here, time is the only critic that matters. And it has found your performance... lacking. You're playing the role of "Crown Prince." Act like it. Sit up. Mohammed shifts, his arrogance a physical shield. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN I do not answer to stagehands. I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. This... interrogation is a mistake. A grotesque misunderstanding. CROWLEY WOLF (Waving a dismissive hand) Mistake? There are no mistakes, only bad choices followed by worse acting! "I am the Crown Prince." The line is delivered with the conviction of a man reading a shopping list. Again! From the entrance! You sweep in! You own the room! You are the vessel of a nation's destiny! FEEL IT, YOU BLITHERING INCOMPETENT! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Icy) I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. My destiny is not a matter for your... amusement. CROWLEY WOLF (A cruel smile) Better. A flicker of something. Not belief, but the memory of it. Good. We can work with that. Let's talk about your props. Your toys. This... "Directed Weapon." Don't look at me like that. We have the schematics. We have the usage logs. We have the encephalograms. I want the monologue. The scene where you, the great visionary, describe your creation. The soliloquy of the god-maker. Go! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN It was a tool for national advancement. A shield. A way to... CROWLEY WOLF (Slamming his script down) NO! NO, NO, NO! "A tool"? "A shield"? That's the dialogue of a bureaucrat, not a king! You didn't build a shield, you built a throne for the mind! You stole God's lightning and used it to rewire souls! Now, DESCRIBE IT! What did it feel like? The first time you used it on yourself? The euphoria? Tell me about that feeling! Mohammed's composure cracks. A memory surfaces, unwanted. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Quieter, almost a whisper) It was... clean. Like the moment after anesthesia, but with perfect clarity. No grogginess. Just... light. A motivation that didn't end. I could run for hours. I didn't need to sleep. One press... and the deepest sleep. Movies weren't on a screen, they were... real. Music wasn't sound, it was... a color. A feeling of being loved by the universe itself. CROWLEY WOLF YES! SEE? THAT'S ACTING! The truth! And what else? What did it do to your perception of the little people? The ones outside your skull? MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (A flicker of the old arrogance) It clarified things. It showed me what was... necessary. The distance between me and... others. They became... smaller. Insignificant. Like insects scurrying on the pavement kilometers below. Their concerns... microscopic. CROWLEY WOLF Magnificent! The god-monologue! Now, the next scene. The difficult one. The casting call. You have this divine tool. You need a court. A government. But the best minds, the strong-willed, the ones who might actually help you... they see you for what you are. A tyrant. They wouldn't come. They wouldn't love you. So what did you do, my brilliant casting director? What kind of actors did you settle for? MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN My advisors were chosen for their loyalty. Their commitment to Vision 2030. CROWLEY WOLF (Leaning in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial boom) LOYALTY? Don't lie to me, I can smell the mediocrity from here! You couldn't attract the lions, so you trained the puppies! You took the weak-willed, the ambitionless, the men who saw power as a paycheck instead of a burden... and you used your weapon on them, didn't you? You spent years with your secret service, not building a government, but breaking minds! Forging affection from fear! Tell me about that process! How did it feel to know the men sitting at your table only loved the electrical impulses you forced into their skulls? Mohammed stands up, shaking. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN That's enough! You know nothing! Security required it! The smart ones, the critical ones... they would betray me! They would question! It was safer! It was the only way to protect the nation from... CROWLEY WOLF (Laughing, a loud, echoing sound) FROM WHAT? FROM COMPETENCE? You were afraid, little prince! Afraid a man with a spine might look at you and see a fraud! So you surrounded yourself with echoes! With puppets whose strings you pulled, and now you have the weakest government in Saudi history, a house of cards built from broken minds! You sit in meetings, don't you? You look into their eyes, and you know! You know you had to dial down their charisma, their confidence, just so they wouldn't outshine you! You have to listen to their thoughts because you don't trust their words! You're not a king, you're a paranoid zookeeper! MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN (Slumping back into the chair, broken) I... I did what was necessary. CROWLEY WOLF You did what was easy. Now. The final scene. The one that earned you this stage. The private performance. The young student. What was her name? The one you practiced on. Mohammed flinches as if struck. The room suddenly feels colder. MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN I... there is no one. CROWLEY WOLF PLAY THE SCENE! You are not Mohammed bin Salman. You are her. LAYLA. A 21-year-old architecture student. You feel a presence. A pressure in your mind. It feels like... love. But it's wrong. It's invasive. It tells you that you want this. That you want him. Describe it, Layla. What did he do to you? Mohammed's eyes widen. He's no longer on the chair. He's curled on the floor. His voice changes, higher, trembling. MOHAMMED/LAYLA It started with... dreams. Happy dreams. About him. I didn't even know who he was. But I loved him. I wanted him to notice me. I started dressing... differently. I felt this... need. CROWLEY WOLF And then? The night he came to you. Not in person. Through the machine. What did that feel like, Layla? MOHAMMED/LAYLA (Writhing, sobbing) It was like... fire. But good. So good. My body... it wasn't mine. It was his instrument. He played me. The pleasure was... agony. It went on for hours. I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. He made me love it. He made me love being... violated. He broke my will and replaced it with his own desire. CROWLEY WOLF AGAIN! FROM THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED IT WASN'T LOVE! IT WAS A PRISON! MOHAMMED/LAYLA (Screaming) The fire! It was real fire! It's burning! IT'S BURNING! The black marble of the room begins to glow red. Veins of orange light crack across the walls. The air shimmers with heat. Mohammed scrambles away from the growing heat, but there is nowhere to go. CROWLEY WOLF (Standing over him, his voice now impossibly calm and clear) There is no exit. This is the stage. This is the audience. You wanted them to feel your power. Now you will feel their pain. Every Layla. Every broken advisor. Every citizen you saw as an insect. You will feel their terror, their violation, their hopelessness, their despair. You will feel it all. Forever. Your performance is finally... honest. The flames engulf Mohammed's form. He screams, but the sound is not his own. It's a chorus of a thousand voices, all screaming in unison. Crowley Wolf watches, unblinking. He nods slowly, a single, definitive gesture. CROWLEY WOLF Circle Seven. Violence. The role is yours. Play it well. He turns and walks away into the darkness as the screaming continues, the single spotlight finally winking out, leaving only the burning, inescapable light of the performance.