<3 Hridayam 108
Lucy Cornelssen aka Satyamayi aka Lucy Ma
one book still missing (two actually) -
1935 Eine unbequeme Frau
1942 Baum in Gottes Garten
1942 Mutter sein
1947 Der Wiedergeborene
1948 Karin Segewalt (missing in the (photo)
1949 Die Wandlung
1960 Sri Ramana Maharshi - Leben und Werk (Satyamayi)
1973 Das Antlitz des Schweigens
1996 Die Schlange im Seil
1979 Hunting the I (missing in the photo)
Lucy Cornelssen
By Joan Greenblatt
A True Mystic
There are a few individuals who come into this world, live a remote, almost obscure life, yet radiate a special presence. They are like a little lantern on a worn path that, if one stumbles across, lights one’s way. Lucy Cornelssen was one such lantern. She was a true mystic, born with an intense inner calling, the gift of compassion, and a smile that melted one’s heart.
We met her when she was in her mid-eighties and knew her well into her nineties. Lucy spent her last decade living in a small, one-room, thatched-roofed cottage at the foot of the sacred hill, Arunachala, in the South Indian town of Tiruvannamalai. She possessed the rare quality of grace and resignation and permeated the space around her with the magic of inner silence.
Her outer life was nondescript. In her later years she rarely left the cottage, yet she was always an inspiration to be with. At least once a week over a period of several years, my husband and I would visit her modest cottage. Often we would simply sit quietly together, with the silence broken by stories from Indian lore or pieces from the colorful quilt of her life. The most memorable scenes were of her young days as a German mother taking refuge from World War II in the depths of the Black Forest of Southern Germany. It was during these years, living like Thoreau, that awakened her sense of “living in the moment,” of becoming truly quiet. It was here that she listened to the sounds of nature and the rain tapping on the roof—she simply became one with nature. In the forest, Lucy learned the art of waiting without expectation and living one day at a time.
Through her mother, she came to learn of Indian art and philosophy. One day when entering a room in her Mother’s house, her eyes fell upon a bronze figure of Nataraja, the Hindu diety Shiva, in its dancing aspect. Immediately she felt a previous or karmic connection and became unconscious to the outer world. From that time on, she lived as one who felt the presence of Shiva in her heart.
As a trained journalist, Lucy Ma (as she was affectionately called) translated the Talks with Ramana Maharshi into German. Her translation became widely read by those interested in the teachings of this great sage. This attraction to Ramana grew into a deep mystical relationship with the Arunachala Hill, for this sacred hill is considered to be the physical manifestation of Shiva himself. To Lucy Ma, Arunachala was not merely a hill of red boulder and stone but the living presence of Shiva, a place that radiates silence and peace, turning one’s mind toward the Self.
While her philosophical outlook was resolutely non-dualistic, her devotion to Shiva was deeply interwoven into her nature, revealing a beautiful balance of head and heart. Lucy Ma loved stories, especially allegorical ones, and would always see the teachings within them rather than the theory. Often she would entertain us from her endless source of stories, and each story seemed to be appropriate for us at that moment. When she sensed we were taking events around us too seriously, she would often tell us a story to put us back on track. One of her favorites was about a King who asked the spiritual teachers of his land to give him something which would make him happy when he was sad and sad when he was happy. After much deliberation they presented him with a ring on which was inscribed the saying: “This too shall pass.”
The last time we saw her we knew it would be our last. She was eating very little then, and we knew she would effortlessly slip away in a silent, graceful manner like a butterfly whose purpose has been fulfilled through metamorphosis. She stood at the entrance to her small cottage waving and smiling radiantly. I turned to look just before entering the main road and saw her gazing at the peak of her beloved Arunachala.
For a number of years, while living in the United States, we had a regular correspondence. Even though she became frailer and found writing difficult, she continued. Lucy Ma’s last letter to us was written a few weeks before her passing, in 1990, and contained a very pointed and strong admonition to be at peace with whatever life brings, that the secret of true peace lies in acceptance and letting go. For Lucy Ma these were not mere words but a living testimony of her life.
Lucy Cornelssen aka Satyamayi aka Lucy Ma
one book still missing (two actually) -
1935 Eine unbequeme Frau
1942 Baum in Gottes Garten
1942 Mutter sein
1947 Der Wiedergeborene
1948 Karin Segewalt (missing in the (photo)
1949 Die Wandlung
1960 Sri Ramana Maharshi - Leben und Werk (Satyamayi)
1973 Das Antlitz des Schweigens
1996 Die Schlange im Seil
1979 Hunting the I (missing in the photo)
Lucy Cornelssen
By Joan Greenblatt
A True Mystic
There are a few individuals who come into this world, live a remote, almost obscure life, yet radiate a special presence. They are like a little lantern on a worn path that, if one stumbles across, lights one’s way. Lucy Cornelssen was one such lantern. She was a true mystic, born with an intense inner calling, the gift of compassion, and a smile that melted one’s heart.
We met her when she was in her mid-eighties and knew her well into her nineties. Lucy spent her last decade living in a small, one-room, thatched-roofed cottage at the foot of the sacred hill, Arunachala, in the South Indian town of Tiruvannamalai. She possessed the rare quality of grace and resignation and permeated the space around her with the magic of inner silence.
Her outer life was nondescript. In her later years she rarely left the cottage, yet she was always an inspiration to be with. At least once a week over a period of several years, my husband and I would visit her modest cottage. Often we would simply sit quietly together, with the silence broken by stories from Indian lore or pieces from the colorful quilt of her life. The most memorable scenes were of her young days as a German mother taking refuge from World War II in the depths of the Black Forest of Southern Germany. It was during these years, living like Thoreau, that awakened her sense of “living in the moment,” of becoming truly quiet. It was here that she listened to the sounds of nature and the rain tapping on the roof—she simply became one with nature. In the forest, Lucy learned the art of waiting without expectation and living one day at a time.
Through her mother, she came to learn of Indian art and philosophy. One day when entering a room in her Mother’s house, her eyes fell upon a bronze figure of Nataraja, the Hindu diety Shiva, in its dancing aspect. Immediately she felt a previous or karmic connection and became unconscious to the outer world. From that time on, she lived as one who felt the presence of Shiva in her heart.
As a trained journalist, Lucy Ma (as she was affectionately called) translated the Talks with Ramana Maharshi into German. Her translation became widely read by those interested in the teachings of this great sage. This attraction to Ramana grew into a deep mystical relationship with the Arunachala Hill, for this sacred hill is considered to be the physical manifestation of Shiva himself. To Lucy Ma, Arunachala was not merely a hill of red boulder and stone but the living presence of Shiva, a place that radiates silence and peace, turning one’s mind toward the Self.
While her philosophical outlook was resolutely non-dualistic, her devotion to Shiva was deeply interwoven into her nature, revealing a beautiful balance of head and heart. Lucy Ma loved stories, especially allegorical ones, and would always see the teachings within them rather than the theory. Often she would entertain us from her endless source of stories, and each story seemed to be appropriate for us at that moment. When she sensed we were taking events around us too seriously, she would often tell us a story to put us back on track. One of her favorites was about a King who asked the spiritual teachers of his land to give him something which would make him happy when he was sad and sad when he was happy. After much deliberation they presented him with a ring on which was inscribed the saying: “This too shall pass.”
The last time we saw her we knew it would be our last. She was eating very little then, and we knew she would effortlessly slip away in a silent, graceful manner like a butterfly whose purpose has been fulfilled through metamorphosis. She stood at the entrance to her small cottage waving and smiling radiantly. I turned to look just before entering the main road and saw her gazing at the peak of her beloved Arunachala.
For a number of years, while living in the United States, we had a regular correspondence. Even though she became frailer and found writing difficult, she continued. Lucy Ma’s last letter to us was written a few weeks before her passing, in 1990, and contained a very pointed and strong admonition to be at peace with whatever life brings, that the secret of true peace lies in acceptance and letting go. For Lucy Ma these were not mere words but a living testimony of her life.