From Subud to You-Bud
By
Reynold Ruslan Feldman
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. . . Subud is you, and you are Subud. . . . (Bapak
Muhammad Subuh)
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood
as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish
things. (1 Corinthians 13:11; Webster’s Bible Translation)
To channel Varindra, our late
long-time World Subud chair, “Well?” I can just see him quizzically raising his
eyebrows as if to ask, "So what happened? Has Subud really become you? I'm
not so sure." Bapak, the founder of our spiritual practice, died 25 years
ago, but we, his spiritual children and heirs, have been slow to take over and
make the family business our own.
Having just spent five months
living in the Rungan Sari Subud community in Indonesian Central Borneo, I am
more convinced than ever that Subud has somehow gotten trapped in a time
warp—mid-1980s Java. Bapak himself was careful to update the organizational
rules and regs whenever he felt it necessary. As a result Subud went from no
waiting period to three months for candidate members, from long skirts for
ladies to whatever (“Just no bikinis!”), from 18 to 17 as the minimum age for
membership, from men and women sitting apart to sitting together for talks,
from no regions and zones to regions and zones, from no enterprises to
enterprises, from no wings to wings, etc. Since his death, however, our
watchword has been—“Listen to Bapak” and cleave to all the last things he said.
Ibu Rahayu has been nothing if not the dutiful Javanese daughter in this
regard, carefully curating Bapak’s memory and counseling us consistently that
we forget his advice at our peril—and Subud’s.
A chief symbol of this
frozen-in-time status is Bapak’s bedroom at Rahayu’s house in Pamulang,
Jakarta. My wife, Cedar, and I were able to visit there in mid-January for a
“Sabtu-Wage” evening in the pendopo (the large, enclosed Javanese
gazebo). For those of you who don’t know what a Sabtu-Wage is, sabtu is
the Indonesian for Saturday, while wage is one of the five (!) Javanese
days of the week. A form of Javanese fortune-telling is based on examining the
combination of the Western and Javanese days of the week when someone is born
to predict a person’s character and life events. Mini-birthdays are also
celebrated on that intersection of days. Bapak happened to be born on
Saturday-Wage. That combination, occurring roughly every six weeks, is the
occasion for Friday-night celebrations at Subud houses all over Indonesia. If
you happen to be in Jakarta, you hitch a ride through the teeming streets of
South Jakarta to Ibu’s housing complex in the suburb of Pamulang. At the Rungan
Sari Subud Complex, Central Borneo, it’s easier: You just walk to the Latihan
Hall.
Anyway, Bapak’s room— It was
the place he spent most of the last year of his life. Apparently nothing has
been changed there since he left it for his final trip to the hospital the
night of June 22/23, 1987. The only exception is the fresh cut flowers replaced
daily. The room itself is a faded naval gray-green. Paint here and there is
chipped. An old-fashioned big-box TV dominates the room. The visual impact, at
least on me, was drab and depressing. The place cried out for redecorating. Yet
when I visited the room this trip, after latihan and a video of a Bapak talk, a
number of mainly Subud sisters, including Westerners, were kneeling on the
floor, imbibing the spiritual vibes they believed inhabited the space. It was
not so much a room as a mausoleum.
It hit me later, though the
idea had been slowly forming over the last few years, that Subud itself has
become a mausoleum, a memory house dedicated to the wonderful, insightful human
being who pioneered our spiritual path, now elevated to wali status, our
saint, determining the heft and girth of our spirituality from beyond the
grave. No wonder Subud is not growing, I thought. As a bright Dayak woman, a
friend of and collaborator with Subud members in Central Borneo, told me later
in Kalimantan, “I’ve been attracted by Subud but haven’t yet joined because, as
far as I can tell, it’s a kejawen” (a Javanese spiritual practice based
on the ideas and charismatic personality of a local saint, usually a mixture of
Hindu, Buddhist, and Muslim elements just like Javanese culture itself).
Now in my 52nd year
of our spiritual practice, I’m convinced that if Subud is to reach “all
mankind,” in that old-fashioned term of Bapak’s English translators, it will
have to be de-Javanized. “Listening to Bapak” will have to be replaced by
listening to that still, small voice within as we each develop the ears to hear
and the will to follow it. Bapak’s gift to us was the Subud spiritual exercise,
which has the capacity to sharpen our inner hearing and strengthen our will to
put that guidance into daily practice. After all, Subud, he told us, was us,
and we [for better or worse] were Subud. If doing Subud were a matter of simply
listening to Bapak and following his advice, rather than our own receiving,
then doing the exercise would be a vain practice and a waste of time. We’d
simply be members of a new Javanese religion called Subuhism.
Non-Subud persons everywhere
confuse Bapak’s name with that of our organization. This error is
understandable enough. After all, Subuh and Subud differ by only
one letter. We Subud members know better of course, at least intellectually. Subuh
is our founder’s name. It’s the Indonesianized Arabic for the pre-dawn Muslim
prayer. Subud, on the other hand, is one of those acronyms the
Indonesians love so much based on the initial letters or letter of susila,
budhi, and dharma. Yet in our hearts or at least our behavior, we
tend to make the same mistake: Subud is Bapak and Bapak is Subud. Pak Subud,
not Subuh!
I was fortunate to have
experienced Bapak many times in person, on several occasions one-on-one. Having
learned Indonesian early in my Subud life, I could converse with him as well as
understand his talks to a great extent in the original. He was, and is, the
most impressive human being I have met in my nearly 73 years of living. Yet I
have also come to understand him as our training wheels, so to speak, in Subud.
As a former Roman Catholic, I am familiar with the comforts of a clear,
unwavering set of rules and regulations. As spiritual adults, however, there
comes a time when our training wheels must come off and we make that scary but
necessary transition to riding a two-wheeler.
In Subud that means, in my
view, reliance on our personal relationship with the Great Life Force, or God,
developed through many life experiences but clearly intensified for most of us
through our Subud practice. Doing so, moreover, should have implications for
the language we use about that practice and some of the rules (though I know
that we’re not supposed to have any) like the three-month candidacy period, separation
by gender in the exercise, lack of personal interaction around our spiritual
development (the implicit attitude is that Subud is an individualistic practice
between the person and the Great Life Force), critical attitude toward
non-heterosexual human beings, our constant quoting of Bapak (I’m a huge
offender here), the use of theistic language, and even the initial requirement
to believe in God or have the wish to.
Bapak tells the story in his
autobiography of the big folio volume that mystically plopped down on his table
days or weeks after his direct opening from Upstairs. It gave him all kinds of
guidance, even answering his questions in the form of videos emerging on an
opened page. Then one night, without warning, the book disappeared into his chest.
From then on, he recounted, he had only to get quiet and look inside for
guidance and answers to his own or others’ questions. No need for outside
consultation.
Bapak died the early morning
of June 23, 1987. As I write these words, it’s the evening of August 4, 2012, a
quarter of a century and more than a generation later. High time, I think, for
us Subud members to follow suit and not keep looking for answers to our
questions about "right living" in the thousands of pages of Bapak’s
talks. No— As spiritual adults, we must begin perusing the pages of the book we
have each been blessed to receive within ourselves over the months, years, and
decades of following our wonderfully simple, dogma-free, and efficacious
spiritual exercise. Do I mean never to read Bapak’s advice or avail ourselves
of an audio or video of his talks? Not at all. Rather, it’s all about
understanding that we and Bapak share the same Source, and learning that as
spiritual adults our first recourse must be It directly, as in our spiritual
exercise, and not It through him.
If not, not only will Bapak’s
mission to the world have been in vain, but we as his helpers and heirs will
bear the primary responsibility for this failure. Thanks to Bapak, we have
received a miraculous gift. It’s time for us to grow up spiritually, begin
standing on our own two feet, and do our part in effecting a global spiritual
renaissance needed even more today than when Bapak left us.