With Faith, God is real friend: Phillip Bosloy

With Faith, God is real friend: Phillip Bosloy

(2) BOOK REVIEW by Phillip Bosloy, Ottawa, Canada November 16, 2009

February 2010.“The Road to the Inner World,” by N. S. Purohit, is a book of spiritual parables and personal experiences, encompassing a journey of suffering, uncertainty and trust that transforms and enriches. It is written with candor and insight, remarking on the trials and triumphs, as well as the discovery of the hidden treasures inherent in the life of a seeker. That seeker can come in many forms and walk many different paths; ultimately, desperation and faith, ego-based “love,” or cosmic and divine love lead the way. Elizabeth Gilbert spoke of an antevasin in her book “Eat, Pray, Love.” The author also seems to skirt that “border” of transcendence, playing the role of the “in-betweener.” At first, Purohit steps gingerly across that line of grace, unsure of his momentum. He persistently asks from within, if providence is real, if divine intelligence is active in his life. His words reveal that he has sat with himself in this discomfort and allowed the depths of his being speak for itself. Along the way, those parts of himself that were unknown earlier, or unacceptable to him, while pummeling his thinking, tested his faith until stillness arrived. Like watching the tide, drop-by-drop, he observed the waves of thoughts, allowing them to proceed naturally into the ocean of awareness. Any bystander along the barren, curving shore, is invited to join his wading into these waves, even led by the hand if need be, so that any fear would not overwhelm the wonder of these vital peaks of the inner world.

  This book has a feeling of recompense to it, of a favor returned. Redemption is not its sole purpose. A sharing of freedom and gratitude is utmost, and is as close as a heartbeat. Its style has the plainest of flavors, like an unadorned chapatti, but like the food that brings deep nourishment in its simplicity.

In the chapter entitled “Prayer to the Creator,” Purohit has written, “I do not say you never helped me. You did, not once but times numberless. Many of them were unbelievably big happenings, which cannot be understood with human intellect. But I forgot them. Perhaps you have to keep repeating your unbelievable events in my life

until I finally realize that you are my real friend and helper.” In his way, this book is meant to be an expression of that friend.




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