Deva Prem is an international singing artist who performs with her husband, Miten. They are well-known and loved in New Age circles; they are followers of Osho, the Indian mystic, and now, of Amma and Bhagavan in the Oneness Movement. Deva Prem has sung ancient Indian mantras since she was a child, and knows untold numbers of them. When she sings, she sounds almost somnambulistic, as though it would be a greater effort to be silent. Indeed, her singing is silence. It would be difficult to be more relaxed, I think, and still carry the tone. Yet she carries it with grace and ease, and you know the tone is safe in her mouth because it has nowhere to fall.

This is not about singing; it’s about living. There are those who live as though … their lives depend upon it. Like stranded cats, they cling to the top branches of their trees, suspended mid-air, feverishly drinking in the sweets and bitters, and calling loudly for help to the passing breeze, which quickly forgets them. And there are those who have released their hold and fallen down through the branches, sustaining a few scratches here and there, finding themselves among the roots, cradled and secure. So what was all the fuss about? Cats fall so majestically.

I have carried a question through my life which has always addled my brain: “What’s the only right thing to do, right now?” It may be based on the primordial belief, hard to uproot, that there is a God out there somewhere who waits to see if I get it right or wrong. Thinking back to how long this question has plagued me, memories arise. More recently: “Should I go back to school for a master’s degree?” But if I do, I might miss something better, one never knows. In high school I agonized over what to do with my free time; none of my choices looked worthy enough, somehow. And even at eight years old, I remember my friend and me asking each other plaintively, “What do you want to do?” Lost we were, even as children.

Sometimes I need so much downtime. It is truly essential, and yet, given the precious leisure that I crave in an otherwise busy life, I often don’t know what to do with it when it comes. Many ideas run through my head, all the little tasks I never have time for, as I meander around, picking things up and putting them down, moving in a direction and turning around again. And to escape the boredom and uncertainty, there’s always the TV, a faithful servant standing at the ready, willing to take me to the peaceful place of oblivion, forgetting, soothing me with the impression that I’m living, albeit vicariously, through Dr. Phil, The Dog Whisperer, and Life With Raymond.

I got very angry at myself the other day, inordinately so, I realized, and traced the feeling back to the belief that I wasn’t using my time productively. I remember a friend from long ago, a German lady, who spoke frequently of the virtues of being “gainfully employed.” Does God have a German lineage? I wondered. I’m aware of a split between being and doing, as though they could be separated. Where do we get these ideas?

Then I remember (oh yeah…) to go to that place inside that holds the answers. I sit still and listen, and what bubble up are things I’ve known for years, that bear repeating again and again:

-It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it.
-Excuse me, what are you talking about?
-Just do it.
-Do what?
-Anything. It doesn’t matter. But do it with your whole self. Don’t abandon yourself. Be total, present, and do it, whatever it is.

Oh yeah, I remember, now. Osho said do it with your “totality,” whether it is writing a book, interacting with your children, or smoking a cigarette.

-Smoking a cigarette?
-Oh, that’s the other thing: Don’t judge yourself.

You’ll never stop yourself from doing anything by feeling guilty. Short of hurting someone, just do whatever it is, completely, totally, and freely. Love yourself doing it, and savor every minute of it. Did you know that obsessions arise out of resistance, an incomplete experience? Fascinating. When you experience something completely, you don’t need to keep going back to it.

It takes courage to follow this advice, and it helps to be a little bit crazy. After all, you’re flying in the face of everything you’ve ever learned about what-not-to-do. Eckart Tolle asks, “Do I want the present moment to be my friend or my enemy?” Bill Harris says, “Let whatever’s happening be OK,” and Byron Katie adds, “I’m a lover of what is, not because I’m a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.”

And my favorite guru of all time, Winnie the Pooh, has this to say:

It’s all there in front of you,
But if you try too hard to see it,
You’ll only become Confused.

This has been a “sometimes” experience. Following a period of heightened anxiety, I watch my mind fall into a place of peace and contentment. In this place, the smallest things give me pleasure: the slow, revolving motion of the ceiling fan and the breeze against my skin; the purr of my car engine while I’m cruising down the road; the tinkling sound of my cell phone when it rings; my knee - I look at it with fascination, as though I’ve never seen it before. (Byron Katie talks extensively about this phenomenon.) This place in my mind is as clear and spacious as the sky. This place is the answer to the question, “What’s the only right thing to do, right now?” From this perspective I can’t make a mistake. Everything I do is right.

More and more, lately, I find myself choosing this place. And I watch with interest when I choose to move back into the old habit of anxiety and angst. I can actually see myself going there. And, lately, as though in a waking dream, I can decide to change my course and return to the serenity of Now.

Chicken Little was wrong. The sky isn’t falling. I’m falling into the sky … up or down, whatever … into the cerulean blue sky of a new mentality, a new consciousness.

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