Teaching Events: How the Guru Dismantled My Illusions

Teaching Events

How the Guru Dismantled My Illusions

Bhaktan

Teaching Events How The Guru Dismantled My Illusions

Teaching Events How The Guru Dismantled My Illusions

Bhaktan

Spirit of Fire Publications MMXX

© William J. Eberle 2020 Spirit of Fire Publications Charlestown, Massachusetts Bhaktan.com LCCN 2019910763 ISBN 9781679582967

For all who would know the Truth directly.

We need to pay ever-closer attention to what we’ve heard lest we drift off.

— Hebrews 2:1

Contents

Introduction xi Who I Was xiii

I. First Encounters 1 II. Initiation 17 III. Dallas 21 IV. Austin 25 V. Pre-Sannyas 27 VI. San Francisco 31 VII. Santa Barbara 49 VIII. Yogaville East 53 IX. Music Mountain 57 X. Married 61 XI. “On My Own” 65 XII. Yogaville Virginia 67 XIII. Vermont 87 XIV. Visits 93 XV. Farewell 97 XVI. A Guru’s Legacy 101 Mahasamadhi 103 Appendix: A. The Guru B. The Gospel C. Hearing God’s Voice D. Glossary

107 109 111 117

Postscript 125

Editor’s Note: This book is a deeply personal recounting by the author of his spiritual journey. The content, so generously shared, centers around the Guru-disciple relationship. This relationship, rooted in ancient traditions, and undertaken by choice, can illuminate a pathway to enlightenment.

“There is a Guru in all of us. The external Guru is there to guide you to go within and recognize that Guru within, who is constantly guiding you. It’s almost like a mirror showing you your face. In the mirror you don’t see your actual face—you see a reflection. Like that, you are the Guru but you have not seen it. The external Guru is there to point out the Guru within you.”

—Swami Satchidananda

I first saw the great spiritual master Dada J. P. Vaswani when he was in his late nineties, a year or two before he passed on.

They wheeled in a little old man in a wheelchair; he was all stooped over.

A disciple read him questions that people had submitted; he answered each one completely, with very few words.

One question was, “When I come to see you, I feel guilty because I feel I am not being true to my Guru. Please help me.”

He slowly raised his ancient head. A heavenly smile came over his face. He said, There is only one Guru. and slowly lowered his head.

Introduction The mind has to be emptied of all attachment, greed, lust, darkness.

For this the Guru has to strike, lovefully, until the ego is annihilated.

— Rumi

Swami Satchidananda was somehow in absolute personal command of every situation I ever saw him in, even if he was just sitting and watching.

There was something like fire around him all the time, which was interesting from a distance. Up close, that fire kindled my being in places that are forever inaccessible to the world and the thinking mind.

His eyes looked into the depths of my being with a ceaseless flow of unconditional love, of total acceptance. It shook my perfectionist mindset to the core.

And that’s probably where the story would have ended had I not come to him determined to attain the highest goal.

As it was, he went to work the instant I laid eyes on him—a Master Surgeon ready, able, and determined to cut the selfimportance out of my heart, a Divine Drill Sergeant sent for final victory over the invisible, invincible Enemy within.

There was no parallel in my experience for either the love or the powerful professionalism. Decades passed before I became open and at ease in his presence.

I arrived at his door with a curious collection of fantasies about life, God, and self. He dismantled them all in a long series of teaching events.

As you will see, these encounters have next to nothing in common with conventional instruction. (His public teachings are available at IntegralYoga.org.)

xi

He left it to us to figure out what he was doing, how he was doing it, and what it was worth. To preserve the flavor, I tried to keep explanation to a minimum.

Swami Satchidananda’s life was a framework for the Truth.

Be it so with us.

Charlestown, Massachusetts March 12, 2020

Note: In keeping with the actual events, many Sanskrit names and terms are used. A glossary may be found in the Appendix.

xii

I

Who I Was

n the spring of 1973 I was twenty-two years old, an athlete and musician, very strong, healthy, fearless, and smart, the only child of a loving, well-to-do widow (my father, a jet pilot, had been killed in the Air Force when I was one). I was always able to control, or at least wreck, any situation I found myself in.

I’d had a close relationship with Jesus and the saints as a child, but by the time I got to my teens it was so thoroughly mixed up with tradition, ritual, and hypocrisy I had to throw it all out and look for the truth somewhere else.

I’d rejected mainstream American culture as too shallow and the ’60s counter-culture as—if possible—even more stupid than the culture.

I’d quit alcohol on my twenty-first birthday; legality took all the fun out of it. Not long after, I quit LSD because it wouldn’t keep me high, pot because I decided I was already stupid enough, and college because I was sick of playing the parrot for talking heads in exchange for a better starting position in the rat race.

I couldn’t understand why my girlfriend had quit me.

I was fresh off half a year alone in my tent with the Upanishads and the Whole Earth Catalog, thinking about what I wanted to do with my life.

Inspired by the Mandukya Upanishad (Glossary, p. 117), I’d set my goal of maintaining consciousness through waking, dreams, and deep sleep by ceaseless confession of the Holy Name.

I was looking for an enlightened Master to guide me. I didn’t care which religion or tradition he or she came from.

xiii

Teaching Events Teaching without words and work without doing are understood by very few.

— Lao Tsu

D

I. First Encounters

uring a visit to my mother Marie in New York City, we saw a poster advertising a Yoga retreat in the window of the Integral Yoga Institute (IYI). My mother had taken classes at the Institute; she strongly suggested I go.

The Swami on the poster seemed to be calling me. I signed up.

In June 1973, with all my possessions in my backpack as usual I hitchhiked to the retreat site, near Monticello in upstate New

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York. My last ride had just dropped me off; I was walking the last couple of miles.

Since I was a day early, I thought I’d look for a place to camp until the retreat started. I saw a promising-looking powerline clearing to the right and followed its cut through the woods. Soon a flock of fifteen or twenty crows appeared and began flying in a circle above me, cawing loudly.

I knew this was some kind of omen, but having no idea of how to read it I walked on. Finding a suitable site I stopped, took off my backpack and began to set up my tent. This threw the crows into a frenzy (I’m not making this up). Cawing at full volume they flew as fast as they could in a circle above me, practically bouncing in the air with agitation.

A little bewildered, I said to myself, Well, I guess I’d better be moving on. I packed up my things, shouldered my pack, and headed for the retreat site. The crows flew off.

—v— At the site I sought out the retreat organizer, Muktan, and volunteered my services; as it turned out, they were much needed.

In an attempt to make it all familiar I threw myself furiously into the work of preparing the camp for the other retreatants.

The retreat was held on the grounds of a summer camp; the campers would be arriving after the retreat.

The main events were held in a converted barn; it had plenty of space for the four hundred retreatants.

On one side of the barn there was a wide ramp formerly used for carting hay onto the main floor. The big old barn doors were wide open; I was standing inside.

I first saw Swami Satchidananda as he slowly approached this doorway.

Two hundred people were lined up on both sides of his course, greeting him with folded hands, giving him flowers and gifts, and bowing to the ground at his feet. I had never seen anything like it.

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3

I watched the scene from the midst of a riot of revelations and emotions: At last, a sane man, someone who is as man should be. The rest of us are obviously quite insane, have been all along. Surely no one will become sane by bowing down to him.

And simultaneously, Oh no. This guy again. My old familiar life [as number one] is over.

Why did I ever ask, “What is reality?” Why did I ever ask, “Who am I?” Why couldn’t I have just led an ordinary life like everyone else and not asked so many questions? If I had known they were going to lead me back to his door I would have avoided them like the plague. Now I’m doomed.

Seemingly oblivious to this avalanche of thoughts and feelings, he entered regally into the hall, flanked and followed by devotees, advancing slowly (so as not to step on anyone).

When he drew up parallel to me, he turned, stood still, and gazed directly at me across the hall.

I can feel his gaze even now, forty-five years later. He gazed into my eyes for what seemed like eternity. My mind went completely still; all thoughts and emotions left.

After what might have been twenty or thirty seconds in this world (considering the circumstances, a very long time), my internal conversation began to slowly come back to life; I began to wonder if he was actually trying to get the attention of someone else near me. I pointed at my chest with an inquiring look, me?

He held my gaze for another few seconds without even the ghost of a response. I began to look around to see if he was looking for someone else; he turned, softly and majestically, and advanced to the front to take a seat for the orientation.

I said to myself, Well, all right then. That’s it. I’m diving in. This time I’m going to finish it.

—v— 4

That night the Swami came back to give a talk. “Stick to one thing, one practice, one teacher, one religion. There is no use running around here and there digging shallow wells and never getting water. If you stick to one thing and do not get the result, come to me. I’ll take off these robes and walk out.”

Now, I know that’s not exactly what he said because I’ve read the transcript. But that’s what went in.

He then proceeded to answer questions that had been previously submitted on cards; mine were also in the stack.

I’d spent a long time crafting my questions; I wanted badly to get his attention and prove to him that I was no neophyte. (In the previous three years, I’d read the principal Upanishads, the Tao Te Ching, ” and the I Ching often enough to have them nearly memorized.)

I definitely got his attention. He read my first question, which contained a quote from the cryptic I Ching. As if puzzled, he asked the audience, “What does this mean?”

Someone said, “It’s from the I Ching, Swamiji.”

“Oh, I see. I Ching ... I Ching ... itching. Somebody is itching,” he said, and scratched his sides like a monkey.

Then he read the rest of my card, “Your firstborn son awaits your recognition.” His face turned serious. “Hmmm ... Who asked this question?”

I listened in abject shame as he scanned the hall in dead silence.

All my fear-of-man issues and embarrassment rose up at once. I searched the floor for a crack big enough to crawl into. I imagined the whole crowd staring at me; I was sure they all knew it was me. I cowered in agony, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t call me out.

The idea of simply standing up and saying, “That was my question,” never crossed my mind.

After what seemed like two or three lifetimes, he muttered, “Hmm. Seems not to be here. Well, next question.”

—v— 5

At the end of the talk the Swami led us in a chant. He chanted a line, Hari OM, Hari OM, Hari Hari Hari OM; we were supposed to repeat after him.

This would have been difficult in any case—his chanting was slightly different on every line—but the task was made much more difficult by the crowd, most of which was ignoring his lead and singing a standard tune.

The chant was followed by a short meditation.

As I looked at him, I saw through some kind of veil into some other plane of existence where he had four arms … a distant memory surfaced … this was the second of three signs that he would give me when we met again. (His name was the first. The third came not long after, when I received initiation.)

Up to that point I had always either worked for what I wanted, stolen it, wheedled it out of someone, or rebelled, saying I didn’t want it anyway. That day was over. I was in his game now, on Satchidananda time.

—v— A few days later the Swami gave a class in the Yoga poses.

Four hundred students spread out on the field in front of the main hall/barn; he directed us through one pose at a time. His instructions were extremely clear and easy to follow; it was also a terrific workout, especially after the shoulder stand where he had us lower our legs slooooowly to the ground.

I came out of the class feeling entirely separate from my body, as the foot feels separate from a loose shoe, as though I were operating my body by remote control. The experience lasted well into the next day.

—v— The retreat ended with talent offerings. I offered to play my harmonica, advising the organizers to put me near the end “because I’m really good.” It went well, but turned out to be another humbling experience: The level of talent in the group was astonishing.

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At the end, I made an offering to him of my collection of specially modified harmonicas; I later saw them in a display case at his ashram among other gifts he had been given. (Over the years, people gave him thousands of gifts of every imaginable kind.)

—v— After the retreat I wanted more, so I traveled to the new Satchidananda Ashram–Yogaville East in the countryside of north­‑eastern Connecticut.

The Ashram was housed in a large Gilded Age “mansion” (in a state of disrepair) on sixty acres; the Swami’s organization had just purchased it from some Catholic monks who had been using it as a monastery. It was to be dedicated that week.

My mindset at the time was back-to-the-land/hippie/student/ vegetarian/spiritual (this was before the New Age had a name); I thought the Ashram would be a nifty place to carry on that kind of lifestyle.

I volunteered my services, saying I was handy with tools.

My first job was to shorten the legs of the altar platform. Not 7

Satchidananda Ashram–Yogaville East

wishing to disturb the peace of the Ashram, which was almost tangible, I found a hand-saw, carried the platform out into the driveway by the front door, and marked the lines.

I was just beginning to saw off the first leg when the Swami himself drove up in a big shiny dark-green Chrysler Imperial, one of the finest luxury cars in America at the time. .

In my world, spiritual people never drove anything—let alone Chrysler Imperials.* The driver door opened. The Swami stepped out, walked up, and looked my project over.

“What are you doing?”

This was the very first thing he said to me. There was no introduction of any kind.

“Well, they asked me to cut down the legs of this altar platform.”

“Hmmm ..... and why are you using that saw?”

“Well, it seemed like the right tool, Swamiji.”

“Are there no power-saws in the Ashram?” *Editor’s note: The car had been used by the singing group the Rascals, who then gifted it to Swami Satchidananda to ease long-distance drives to programs.

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“Well, there are power-saws, but I didn’t want to disturb the peace of the Ashram.”

“Hm! Peace of Ashram. Peace of Ashram! Work does not disturb peace of Ashram. You have a job to do. Do it. Go get a power-saw and finish it. Just do it.”

He turned and entered the building.

And so, with a car and a few words he had damaged my hippie mindset beyond repair.

—v— The Catholic monks had turned the former grand ballroom of the building into a chapel, installing an altar with a communion 9

Bhaktan updating Swami Satchidananda on an outdoor project, early 1970s.

rail at the far end. This room was now to become the satsang (spiritual gathering) and meditation hall.

My next job was to build a new altar on a side of the room that had a better orientation for meditation.

When the altar was finished, the ashram manager, Hari, assigned me the task of removing the old communion rail/kneeler; it was obviously useless for the Ashram’s purposes.

A bit of investigation revealed that this oak structure had been attached through the concrete floor with half-inch threaded rods; the rods were spaced perhaps two feet apart. (In the trades we call this kind of construction “bombproof.”)

The Swami arrived as I was removing the last nut. His displeasure immediately came down on Hari.

“What is this? Who told you to take this rail out?”

Swami Satchidananda was unfailingly kind, courteous, humorous, and graceful with everyone—except his disciples. His dressing down of a disciple is impossible to describe, but here goes: He hardly raised his voice, but his words were delivered with absolute equanimity, undiluted power, and unwavering focus, as though the disciple were not just the only person, but the only 10

thing in the world. There was a total acceptance of the person and, simultaneously, a total rejection of the behavior. The whole event was pushed completely outside any normal human experience by the fact that the issue was (almost always) a non-issue; what he was doing simply made no sense. Yet he himself was the most sane person imaginable. So, the disciple was left with no way to figure out what was going on, nothing to fight against, no weapons to fight with, and no way to escape.)

Hari said, “Well, Swamiji, I just thought“ “You just thought! You just thought! I did not tell you to take this rail out. You people just go around doing whatever you want...” and so on and on and on for a considerable length of time (I can’t possibly reconstruct it all), ending with, “Put it back.”

He walked off. I was standing to one side, witnessing it all smugly, certain from having studied the story of the Tibetan Master Milarepa that as soon as I put the rail back in, it was coming out again. (This is the kind of thing Gurus do to expose and exacerbate the self-importance of their disciples.)

So when Hari turned to me and said, somewhat apologetically, “Well, I guess we have to put it back,” I had no problem putting it back in. But, since I was sure it was coming out again, I put it back with only half the bolts, which left it merely “rock solid,” not “bombproof.”

Sure enough, the next morning Swamiji came in and immediately lit into to Hari. “What is this rail doing here? This rail is useless for an ashram. We have big celebration, many guests coming. This is in the way. You should have known all this. What do you think an ashram manager should be doing? You people just run around here and there doing useless things when what matters is right in front of you ...” and on and on, ending with, “Take it out.”

So I took the entire rail out again, feeling pretty good about my grip on Guru-disciple relations.

—v— The day of the celebration came. It included a ritual in which we worshiped Swamiji Hindu-style, waving incense and lights 11

before him and offering fresh flower-petals* at his feet until they became a sizable mound. I had no taste for this sort of thing but joined in anyway, figuring it was good for my ego.

—v— It was explained to me that something called “initiation” was available, in which a spiritual Master imparts his power to you, like a seed to grow a tree or a bit of culture to make yogurt.

I immediately knew this was something I had to have, so I wrote to Swamiji saying I would neither eat nor drink until I had received initiation. The next day I got a message: “Swamiji would like for you and Sukumar to come and do some work on his house.”

Swamiji greeted us, somewhat distantly it seemed, and explained the job: We were to attach a TV antenna to the brick chimney. (So he not only had a Chrysler Imperial, he also had a house, and—horrors—a TV.)

Swamiji’s house, Yogaville East

*Editor’s note: In this tradition, devotional offerings aren’t made to a human being; bowing down is not about lowering oneself but is reaching out, with humility, to receive the wisdom and blessings that are being offered.

Connecting with one’s devotional heart is a pathway to connecting very powerfully with the awakened heart of the divine, the Guru, the lineage, and one’s own awakened state.

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He gave us a box of scraps of aluminum cable and some clamps, instructing us to use the clamps to connect pieces of cable together and mount the antenna on the side of the chimney. We were to use the shortest pieces first.

We found a ladder, climbed up the gable end to the peak, and made our way across the ridge to the center chimney, carrying the supplies and a few tools.

Up on the roof I told Sukumar, “We ought to just use the long pieces. It would be much cheaper, quicker, and easier than using all these scraps.” I was quite forceful in my attempt to persuade, including something about, “He’ll never know.”

Mild-mannered Sukumar was absolutely immovable. “No. We need to do it exactly as he said.”

I was just beginning to attach the last clamp when there were some noises from the area of the ladder. The Swami’s head appeared at the peak; he climbed up, hitched up his robes, and began striding toward us along the ridge of the steep roof. As he approached, a number of ideas I had about this old man departed, and I thanked my lucky stars that Sukumar had prevailed on the issue of how to do the job.

Now, during the retreat the Swami had explained in painful detail how our tools are instruments of worship and must be treated with respect. For example, when you’re done using a shovel, you should clean it well and put it back in its place with care. Also, a yogi must speak respectfully, with measured words, at all times.

What was needed was “completely new, cultured behavior.”

He took the wrench out of my hand and put the last few turns on the nuts. When he was done, he straightened up and called, “HEY! SHANTI! SHANTI!” Shanti, his secretary, came out of the house and stood on the lawn below where we were working. “Yes, Swamiji?”

“Watch where these fall!” he said, and began pitching the tools and remaining supplies off the roof—along with more of my preconceptions.

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After climbing off the roof, the three of us adjourned to a breezeway between the house and the garage, where Swamiji offered us cookies and milk. I immediately remembered my “solemn vow” not to eat or drink, but felt it would be rude to refuse Swamiji. Reasoning that he probably hadn’t gotten my message anyway, I went for the cookies.

Even now I can feel him looking at me as we stood in his breezeway: It was a look that comprehended every single detail, both on and under the surface, without the slightest trace of judgment or condemnation.

He seemed satisfied that I had taken the cookies. He said, among other things, “Your vows should be for you alone. You should never use a vow to force another person to do something.”

Then he added, “I am giving initiation at the next retreat, this fall.

Come and take initiation then.”

I didn’t know if I could live that long without it, but I accepted his offer, thinking he must know best. (I had unwittingly committed myself to a trip to California.)

—v— I’d heard him say that it was good to make an offering of flowers to a Guru, so back at the Ashram I picked some lilacs from the bushes growing by the side of the driveway and offered them to him. He received them very graciously; I seemed to have touched his heart with my gift. I was relieved, thinking I had finally discovered a form of behavior that worked with him.

—v— I returned to Austin, Texas, where I had been attending the University, with a view to wrapping up my affairs.

I wrote to Swamiji, outlining what I had learned from what he did and thanking him. He wrote back, I am glad to see that you are becoming a good reader of the teachings hidden in seemingly ordinary actions.

I thought, Ordinary actions!

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In my letter I had also asked him about the situation with my girlfriend, Loretta, who had left me as soon as she became pregnant with our child, shattering my heart. Concerning this he wrote, You cannot command the heart, and if her heart is elsewhere, let it be. Instead, live in the golden present, working on yourself to open and expand spiritually. All the rest will be taken care of.

May you continue to grow into God’s formidable tree, healthy and strong, giving its fruits to one and all.

Ever yours in Yoga, —Sat.

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T

II. Initiation

hat fall I hitchhiked from Austin to the retreat in Occidental, California, about seventy miles north of San Francisco.

Paying the retreat fee in advance had cleaned me out. When I signed in, I learned there was an additional eleven-dollar fee for the initiation. As I was beginning to explain to the representative that I absolutely had to have the initiation but didn’t have the money, the person behind me stepped up and paid my fee.

—v— About thirty of us had asked to be initiated. On the night of September 8 (the birthday of Swamiji’s own Guru, Swami Sivananda), we traveled a few miles by bus to a separate building for the initiation.

Once we were seated in rows, Swamiji came in. First, he performed a puja (worship service; some kind of ritual was performed at nearly every major event). He then gave us each a little card on which he had hand-written the mantra (sound formula, divine name) with a fountain pen in green ink. We all were to receive the same mantra.

He said that the initiation could never be lost or even fade; it would remain dormant indefinitely until activated by repetition and contemplation.

He said there was much disagreement around which mantra was the second highest, after OM, but that as far as he was concerned, the one he was giving us was it. (He didn’t say it, but I got a strong sense of I don’t know why I’m giving this mantra to you people, but I have to do what I am told.)

He warned us, “This mantra may be a little hard to get used to.” What an understatement. Before I arrived at his door I had already managed to get another mantra going almost continuously in a matter of a few months; I never did get his mantra going at all.

(Trying to do too many other practices at the same time didn’t help.)

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He mentioned that we might have some kind of experience*; if so, we should meditate on it. Then he taught us the mantra, gave us some instructions on how to repeat it (which I only understood years later when a recording of his repeating a similar mantra came out), and had us repeat it over and over.

Accompanied by the sound of our chanting, he went down the rows laying his hands on each of our heads. Perhaps twenty minutes passed before he worked his way around to me.

When he laid his hands softly on my head, I got a jolt (there is no way to describe it). Then, after a few seconds, light came out from his hands, very slowly, into the top of my head. The light very slowly filled my body downward, replacing every trace of darkness with light. *Author’s Note: If you’ve been initiated by a Master (or in the name of a Master) and feel as though nothing happened, remember: Seeds can be planted at night.

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Perhaps two minutes later, when my entire body was full of light (in other words, the instant the light reached the ends of my toenails), he took his hands off my head and went to the next person.

Now, this experience was so amazing that there are no thoughts, words, or emotions for it.

But even more amazing was his cool, professional approach.

On the one hand, there was no build-up, no fanfare, no show; on the other hand, there was no false humility, self-effacing language, or disclaimer of any kind. He simply came, laid his hands on my head, filled me with light, and moved on to the next person. For him, this was obviously everyday life.

—v— The next morning I woke up early, determined to go straight to work with my new gift of the mantra. As I meditated in my tent I exerted all my might to focus my mind totally on the mantra, refusing to entertain any other thoughts.

After a while something like a curtain in front of me began to lift; I began to, literally, see beyond this world. (This was happening in full waking consciousness.) I redoubled my efforts. With every repetition the curtain lifted a little more and I saw, just on the other side, a pair of feet in sandals, then the bottom few inches of a white robe. (Swamiji usually wore orange, but I knew they were his feet.) I struggled on, trying to lift the curtain all the way, but as I ran out of energy the curtain came slowly back down.

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III. Dallas After the California retreat I decided to hitchhike back to Yogaville East to serve.

Swami Satchidananda didn’t start Integral Yoga the way, for example, Steve Jobs started Apple Computer. His followers created the organization around the man and his teachings (in that order; he used to say, “I have many followers but few swallowers,” (alluding to many of his students who were simply following him, without really imbibing the Yoga teachings and applying them in their lives.) He simply went along with the idea.

By the time I arrived, he had been in the West for seven years or so; there were Integral Yoga Institutes (IYIs) in over a dozen cities.

I stopped at the Dallas IYI for a while and cooked a few meals for the sangha (community of truth-lovers). The director, Satya, and the sangha liked my cooking and invited me to stay on as “kitchen mother.”

It seemed like the thing to do, so I stayed, learning how to cook and serve at Swamiji’s expense.

—v— Not long after my arrival in Dallas I heard God’s voice within for the first time (in the bathroom, of all places). It was something like being stone deaf, then feeling my ears clear out and being able to hear clearly. I rejoiced, saying, I’ve found my Gurudev.

(See Hearing God’s Voice, Appendix p. 111.)

(Years later in a phone conversation I finally got around to thanking him; he referred to this experience as “initiation.”)

Hearing God’s voice and obeying are two entirely different things. As Jesus says, “The servant who knows his Master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what his Master wants will be beaten with many blows.”

Although Swami Satchidananda’s blows were never physical, they were many and not gentle at all. His blows struck me in 21

places I never even knew were there—the way a new exercise reveals muscles and joints you never knew were there. (My being was much bigger—and much more of a mess—than I thought.)

—v— Sri Gurudev (as we, his disciples, called him) came to Dallas. One day during his stay I was repeating my mantra in the meditation room; the presence of God was working on my spiritual emotions to an unusual degree.

I heard Gurudev coming down the stairs and was suddenly thrown into conflict: Should I stay here and press in to what I’m experiencing at the altar—or should I rise and greet the man? After a big struggle I decided to pull myself together and honor the man; I went out to greet Sri Gurudev and make myself available to attend to him. But I questioned my decision until this writing, when I remembered the words of Kabir: I felt the need of a great pilgrimage, so I sat still for three days.

God came to me.

—v— The Dallas IYI hosted a retreat with Gurudev in the Texas Hill Country west of Austin; I was on the staff.

Now, Gurudev usually conducted himself softly, regally, with absolute confidence yet humbly, without putting on any kind of airs. Who he was, was enough. All that ended instantly when he went to work on a disciple. He would think nothing of delivering a humbling teaching to us anytime, anywhere, including on formal occasions in front of thousands of onlookers.

One day as Gurudev was leaving the main hall I met him in the foyer. It was just he and I; the retreatants were in the hall, the people accompanying him were already outside. I humbly asked him to bless my prayer beads. He said, “Bless?!! Bless??!!! Every atom of this room was blessed the moment I walked in!”

Again I was speechless, immobilized.

He took the beads out of my hands, and with intense 22

concentration muttered a number of mantras over them. Then he handed them back to me and walked out.

—v— Gurudev was to be at the Los Angeles IYI for the celebration of his birthday (December 22nd) and of Christmas (the IYIs celebrated the major holidays of all major religions). We drove out from Dallas to the Los Angeles IYI to participate in the festivities.

During one of the gatherings he singled me out in the midst of a group of perhaps a hundred and asked me what my plans were. I explained that I had been studying in college but that I had quit and was now the kitchen mother at the Dallas IYI. “And what were you studying?”

“History, sir.

To the group he said, “That’s his story.”

The group laughed, but I didn’t get the pun until years later.

He advised me go back to college, saying, “You need the piece of paper.” Then he asked, “Where is your family?”

“They are all here, sir: Satya, Visakan, Chitra, and the others.”

“Hmmm...” he said. “Already a sannyasin (monk).” I puzzled over this for years before it came to me that he had ostensibly been asking about my girlfriend and child.

—v—

For the year after this initiation things got very, very hot in my life. Beyond the bare necessities, literally everything I didn’t give away was either lost or stolen.

Every shaky relationship went up in flames. When I told Loretta about my initiation, I instantly knew this was the last straw. As far as she was concerned, our relationship was over, period. (She married a very substantial, good man a year or two later; they legally adopted our son Kris.)

I went to the house where I’d grown up and cleaned out everything I’d left behind.

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R

IV. Austin

eturning to school at the University of Texas, I found a nice little apartment, set up an altar, and began practicing japa (mantra repetition) as hard as I could, working at it for several hours a day.

By the time I was done with a practice session, the entire neighborhood within earshot would invariably be at peace. The dogs stopped barking, the arguments ended, and the loud music was turned off.

—v— I decided to organize a lecture with Sri Gurudev and rented a hall in the Student Union. The day came, and the place was full, including most of the standing room.

Just before the lecture, I went to the men’s room. The door opened and Gurudev came up to use the urinal next to me. More preconceptions vanished; I had been thinking of him as some kind of god who lives on air.

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—v— I got my diploma in record time with my best grades ever. As far as I can tell, I’ve never needed this “piece of paper” except to satisfy my Mother, who had said, “If you finish college I’ll never put another demand on you.” (She kept her word.)

T

V. Pre-Sannyas

oward the end of the first year of my discipleship the intensity of the first phase of Sri Gurudev’s cleanup project seemed to decrease, but I still wanted more, so I took presannyas (pre-monkhood) initiation, receiving the name Brother Bhakta (Living Sacrifice).

I was very disappointed in my Sanskrit name. I thought the path of bhakti (dedication to God) was mushy, suitable only for wimps, and any name that ended in “- a” had to be a girl’s name. ( Jesus straightened me out later. The path of the heart is the path of unwavering focus and irrevocable decision. It takes real guts to walk by faith and to receive the overwhelming love and joy of the Lord. And in relation to him, the shape of my body is meaningless. I’m either his bride, Song of Solomon, or his brother, a son of God, Heb 2:10-12.)

In a rare show of kindness, without my asking he made it a little easier by adjusting the name to the Tamil (South Indian) version, Bhaktan.

Brother Bhaktan (front row, far right) 27

—v— All the candidates had their heads shaved for the pre-sannyas initiation. One evening after satsang, Gurudev was given a pen by one of the devotees. He said, “What is there to write on?”

Nothing was at hand, so I offered him my bald head. I could feel him writing OM on the top of my head. Just to be sure, I asked, “What did you write?”

“OM,” he said, looking at me quizzically.

—v— Soon after the initiation someone asked Sri Gurudev if we could cast his footprints in plaster. He said okay. So I built a wooden frame for the casting; after satsang we mixed up some plaster and oiled his feet.

While we were sitting around waiting for the plaster to set up, someone proposed that we make a cast of his feet. He didn’t like the idea. I didn’t like it either. I said it reminded me of a horror movie in which some disembodied hands appeared and started playing the piano. He said, “Yes. Horrible. Ick,” and shuddered a little—but with a twinkle in his eye.

—v— Sri Gurudev taught that in bowing down and putting your head on a Master’s feet you make a kind of electrical contact through which his spiritual power transfers to you. Pointing upward, he added that for him not to be drained of energy he needed to be holding on to “the Big Feet.”

Now, I knew that in electrical work the contact must be tight in order to make a good connection. So, one day when Sri Gurudev was leaving the main hall, I bowed down and pressed my head against his foot, hard. (Only another Guru can imagine the crazy people he dealt with and the crazy ideas he fielded.) He hopped lightly out of the way with a look of mock surprise and said: “Don’t push too hard with that bald head.”

—v— 28

Remembering my luck with giving him lilacs the previous summer, I again picked some from the bushes at the side of the Ashram driveway and offered them to him. He snorted, “Hmm! So this is your idea of an offering, flowers from my own bushes?”

He took them out of my hand and walked off.

—v— I was told by the leadership that I had to pay off my school debts before I could serve full time. So I moved into the San Antonio, Texas, IYI and got a job. In San Antonio I rubbed nearly everyone the wrong way. One of the main supporters of the Institute confessed that he had complained privately to Sri Gurudev about me, saying, “People don’t seem to like him.”

Gurudev replied, “Tell Bhaktan I like him.”

—v— Speaking to Gurudev on the phone one day, I told him, “I love you, Gurudev.” He turned all soft and mushy and began speaking sweet things in my ear.

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Pleased that I had finally figured out how to manage the man, I told him the same thing in another conversation a few months later. He slammed the receiver down without a word, BAM! (This was in the days before cell phones.)

—v— In another phone conversation, hoping to get another nice reaction I asked, “What is bhakti (devotion)?”

“Read some books.” (Click.) The delivery was harsh. The advice was excellent.

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H

VI. San Francisco

alf a year later my college debt was paid off. In less than two years I had found my Guru, received mantra initiation, and been freed from every debt and obligation. I was fully equipped and free to pursue my goal, continuous japa, without distraction.

I didn’t see the opportunity; to me, it looked like I had nothing to do. So I volunteered to serve in the organization and was assigned to the San Francisco Integral Yoga Institute (SF IYI) under Sister Parvathi (later Swami Karunananda).

Bhaktan (front, left); Sister Parvathi (back row, 2nd from left)

Publicly, we were teaching his Integral Yoga to the flood of people who were suddenly interested in all things Eastern. Behind the scenes, Gurudev was working on his disciples’ egos.

His basic procedure was to put totally incompatible people together and let them work on each other; he might even put the most head-strong (me) under the authority of the most mildmannered (Parvathi). By this system, which he somehow managed both with and without personal input, he began to get down below 31

the surface stuff of my life—my thoughts and emotions—to where I really lived.

At the time I didn’t understand any of this. I firmly believed that the organization needed my help because it was doing things all wrong, and that I was sent as Sri Gurudev’s chosen instrument to save the day.

Of course, no one but me believed this. They constantly complained about “my attitude.” My response was, essentially, If you don’t like my attitude, you can shove it. (They put up with me because I worked hard and had good morals.)

Sri Gurudev undertook the refining of this raw material with ruthless determination. For six years he had me constantly off balance; there was never a normal interaction. I might be blamed for things that someone else had done or that I considered unimportant. Things I threw myself into heart and soul he either ignored or treated as major or minor inconveniences. I might be praised to the skies for things that someone else had done, or that I had done but considered unimportant.

And the tremendous strength of his personality put any possibility of reasoning with him or correcting him out of the question. (To illustrate the force of his personality: Gurudev once was in Rome for an audience with the Pope. As Gurudev walked up to the back of the huge crowd that had gathered in St. Peter’s square to receive the Pope’s blessing, the crowd parted spontaneously to let him through.)

Because of all this, even “normal” interactions had none of the predictable continuity of human life.

—v— While I was still in San Antonio the news had come that Sri Gurudev was to be giving sannyas (monkhood) initiation. He named a few of my intensely dedicated brothers and sisters as possible candidates. As soon as I heard the news, the Spirit spoke very clearly to me and said, You are definitely one of them. (As it turned out, the Spirit was referring to the part of the group that I identified with—people who were very dedicated but just couldn’t 32

cut it as sannyasis. Later, we all quit, one by one. Had I pressed in to get more information, I would have saved myself a lot of pain.)

Disappointed that things were still not as hot as they had been, I applied for sannyas initiation. I was soon to learn the meaning of the words too hot.

—v— That summer, most of the San Francisco IYI members took the Institute van cross-country to Yogaville East for the Guru Poornima (Full Moon of the Guru) celebration, where the sannyas initiation was to take place.

My name didn’t appear on the list of candidates. Nevertheless, I was told to join them for a pre-initiation meeting with Sri Gurudev. At the meeting he said he’d heard complaints about my character and the character of another candidate, and was therefore hesitant to grant us the initiation.

Leaving that topic hanging, he spoke about what was required of his sannyasis. First of all, we were to treat people well, to live to serve them. I couldn’t see myself doing that.

Then he said: “I don’t want sheep.” He spit out the word sheep.

“You must be a dynamite, you must be a lion, an elephant. Kaschit deeraha (very few are that courageous).” I knew I fit this part of the bill perfectly.

He also said, “You must have that implicit faith and obedience.

You must do exactly what you are told. If you fail unknowingly, beyond your capacity, okay. But not on purpose. Simply lay yourself on the operating table. Forget everything.” I was willing to embrace this brand-new concept.

Then he said, “You haven’t really seen me, known me well all these years.” (This was true. Even those who interacted with him on a daily basis felt as though they didn’t know him at all.) “And I’m sure you’re not going to. You will know me only when you raise yourself to a level, because only a snake knows a snake.” (This was a reference to one of his main teachings about saints and masters: Only a snake knows how another snake crawls.) I was most eager to raise myself to that level.

33

And, “Tomorrow you may see me as a completely different person, a fake, a fraud. What then will you do?” I decided then and there that if that happened I would change my plans and study to be a fraud.

I figured I met most of the qualifications (the way I got into college), so later that day I wrote to him, saying I wanted this initiation, and that I had faith in him.

The day before the initiation Sri Gurudev decided to let me in, along with the other candidate about whom he had doubts. (The other fellow was gone in a matter of days; I lasted a little longer.)

The initiation was to take place near the main building, in the middle of the original owners’ serene but somewhat neglected Japanese tea garden; the antique tea house they’d imported from Japan was nearby, a little farther down a small winding path.

The initiation centered on a homa (fire ceremony). (Though fire ceremonies are not uncommon in India, I had never seen or heard of Gurudev performing one until that day.)

34

I built the brick altar for the fire on a bed of sand in the middle of the garden, then gathered a bundle of sticks for the fire and set it next to the altar.

The next morning the candidates filed into the garden in silent procession. We took our places around the altar; with our shaved heads we looked remarkably alike. Then Sri Gurudev came into the garden, sat, and lit the fire. Chanting mantras and Sanskrit prayers I never heard before or since, he symbolically offered our minds, bodies, and karma (fate) into the fire.

I was with him completely. I wanted it all burned. I had no idea what I was signing up for. I’m sure nothing, not even physical death, can put that fire out (Mat. 3:12). My numerous attempts to escape my own ego have merely slowed down the process.

I was given the name Swami Sadananda, “Master of Eternal Joy.” In fact, I was a little child playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothes. (Nearly twenty years were to pass before I even learned what “eternal joy” really means.) For two or three days after this initiation my whole world was just perfect, inside and out.

Swami Sadananda (2nd from the right, back row) during sannyas initiation, 1975.

35

—v— We returned to the San Francisco IYI. This IYI was (and to date still is) housed in a marvelous Victorian building. On the outside it had been stuccoed with consummate skill to look like stone. On the inside it was full of stained and leaded glass, fine paneling, and elaborate moldings. A round tower expanded one room on the southeast corner of each level.

During one of Sri Gurudev’s visits we were sitting comfortably around his feet in one of these rooms, the glorious white living room on the main floor. Sunshine was streaming through the windows; it was a perfect California day. People were coming up to him in a quiet, peaceful, loving way and giving him small gifts of fruit, flowers, sweets, and funny little things; the usual pressure to get near him was entirely absent.

I took a position to the left of Sri Gurudev from which I could observe both him and the scene.

36

In the midst of it all he turned to me and said teasingly, “See, Sadanandaji, all you have to do is treat people well and they will come to you with fruits and flowers.” I thought, Sure. That’s all I need. A lot of silly people bringing me fruits and flowers and bugging me for advice. No. I want samadhi (superconsciousness).

When my job was maintenance man, he had said, “Maintain everybody well,” and back when I was housemother in Dallas, he had said, “Take good care of everybody, Mama.” It was to be a long time before I even began to grasp what he was trying to get across: If you want to see God in and around yourself, see God in and around others. (All others.)

—v— The Yoga/meditation room took up most of the top floor; the tower expanded one corner of this room. On this level the tower had high round windows; a devotee had made a stainedglass yantra (sacred geometric form) to fit one of them. According to the season, the morning sunlight would stream through this yantra into the room at various times and at various angles, casting an exquisite image in light on the floor.

Whenever possible, after Yoga practice I would lie down in deep relaxation in such a way as to have the light of the rising sun come across my body through the yantra. This resulted in a number of truly awesome experiences.

In an open vision (in an open vision you enter another dimension of existence in full waking consciousness) I saw the same yantra in reality. Unlike the things of earth, it radiated its own energy and light in constantly changing, scintillating heavenly colors—the light of the sun is muddy by comparison. No human language has words for this kind of beauty.

In another, the corner of something like a blanket blew off and I found myself resting in Gurudev’s arms, like Lois Lane in the arms of Superman, as he carried me up at tremendous speed through plane upon plane of creation; within a second or two, Sri Gurudev noticed that the blanket had gotten loose and quickly covered me up. I was instantly on the floor of the meditation room again.

37

—v— During my time in San Francisco we again traveled East, this time to attend the retreat in Newport, Rhode Island. It was an interesting experience. My first retreat, just three years before, had been a mind-bending event; this one was just everyday life. Living in the IYI was one long spiritual retreat.

Gurudev seized some opportunities for teaching events at this retreat. One night as he was leaving the hall after his talk it was raining. I put my Yoga mat down across a puddle for him to walk on to his car; my idea was that his shoes would stay dry, and at the same time, he would bless my mat. (It was a backpacking pad; today’s Yoga mat had not yet been invented.) He hesitated, but I firmly gestured him on. After taking a step or two, he stood on my mat under his umbrella talking to someone for a long time— considerably longer than I cared to stand in the rain and wait.

—v— One day during the retreat, Sri Gurudev entered the lobby of the main hall, attended by Jnanam, the retreat organizer; I was the only other one there. (This was very odd because people were always drawn to him—especially at a retreat in his name with four hundred guests plus staff.) I listened as he taught Jnanam a chant:

38

“Guru, Guru japna, aur saab swapna,” [his handwriting opposite page] which means: “Chant ‘Guru Guru;’ all the rest is dream.”

—v— One of Gurudev’s basic teachings was that in order to receive, you have to put yourself below the one you want to receive from.

One evening, still at the retreat, I offered him an orange on the palms of my hands, expecting him to take it from me. Without a word he put his hands, palms down, over my hands, covering the fruit; then, keeping his hands together, he awkwardly twisted my hands (with the fruit) until his hands were under mine, palms up.

The fruit dropped into his hands.

—v— Some time after we had returned to San Francisco I undertook a complete renovation of the main bathroom; during the process we were using Gurudev’s private bath. (We had set aside the best room in the house for him to use during his visits.) I worked day and night to try to finish the job so that Gurudev wouldn’t have to share his bath when he came. I failed. But I did succeed in becoming exhausted and driving myself and everyone else half crazy.

Soon after Sri Gurudev’s arrival we were gathered in the front hall. He turned to me and said, “Do you have your harmonica?”

I pulled it out and began playing a Siva chant. He immediately began dancing, and everyone joined in. I hopped up on a bench to make way for the dancers.

After the dance he began ascending the grand staircase in the front entryway. Pausing dramatically on the first landing, he addressed me in front of everyone, speaking at length: “Don’t push.

The heaven is always there. There is no need to rush. You don’t need to rush to get there. Heaven can wait ...” I began to see that my approach was getting me to heaven, not oneness with God. —v— The San Francisco IYI sangha often took trips down the Coast to be with Sri Gurudev when he visited the other IYIs. On a trip 39

to Los Angeles my friend Rama, a true artist with the camera, presented a stunning slide show of Sri Gurudev and his sangha.

Now, one of Sri Gurudev’s many suggestions was to have a little bag to protect your prayer beads; you would also wear the bag on your hand while repeating the mantra so that the beads would not drag on the floor. There would be a little hole in the bag for the index finger to stick out—the index finger representing the ego, which is best left out of the practice.

In the slide show, one of Rama’s photos was of me posing as a meditator with my little prayer-bead bag, complete with finger sticking out. Sri Gurudev asked, “And what is that finger?”

Feeling proud of my knowledge, I said, “It represents the ego, Gurudev,” totally forgetting that the idea for the bag came from him in the first place.

“Hmmmm...” he said. Seeing what he meant, I was instantly plunged into embarrassment and confusion.

(Sri Gurudev was somehow able to give a thorough dressing down without in any way calling attention to himself. There was never a hint of I’m better than you, or, I know more than you in his corrections—and I never got a feeling that he thought there was anything intrinsically wrong with me or that I was condemned to repeat the behavior. This added immeasurably to the impact.)

Another of the photos in Rama’s slideshow was of Sri Gurudev in his “fiery deity” mode. Seeing him like that we all laughed, nearly all of us having been receiving end, or at least witnesses, of this fire at one time or another. He surprised me by seeming genuinely distressed, pleading, “Don’t laugh at me ...“ It was the only time I saw him display that mood.

—v—

One day in San Francisco, Sri Gurudev was scolding us. “I’m not like Swami Sivananda (his own very famous Guru) who gave out all kinds of practices and just let you pick and choose. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. When I say, ‘I want you in the meditation hall every morning,’ I want you in the meditation hall every morning. I do not say that you should enjoy 40

Swami Satchidananda next to Swami Sivananda (seated), early 1950s.

it. If you enjoyed it, you would have gone very high, long before.”

That last sentence changed my idea of practice.

—v— One night I had a prophetic dream. It had two scenes. In the first I was a tour guide leading a group through a large museum full of displays of events from Jesus’ life. We were in a beautiful, sunny gallery dedicated to Jesus’ greatest victories. At the top of the twostory wall before us was a large portrait of Jesus; an exquisite green jewel hung from a golden chain around his neck. In rows below were forty or fifty 3-foot by 4-foot portraits of the most powerful among the countless demons he had defeated. I said to the group, 41

“See, even the jewel on Jesus’ chest has more power than all these demons put together.”

In the second scene I found myself in a big, gloomy cathedral, listening to Jesus himself deliver the Word. He was exhorting us to abandon our hypocritical, compromising, lukewarm lives and get white-hot for God. His entire personality and speaking style were completely unlike Gurudev’s.

I knew Gurudev as an old man who sat cross-legged to speak; his speaking style was very calm and peaceful, punctuated with thoughtful hmmm’s and pregnant pauses. By contrast, Jesus was a young man who stood to speak; the elevated preacher’s pulpit seemed barely able to contain him as he delivered his message with the utmost burning passion.

Gurudev presented his ideas very softly; you might disagree, but it was hard to get angry with him. Jesus drove every point home with unrelenting force—which was great if you embraced what he was saying. If not, you could only become more and more offended. (I’m a great fan of Christian power preaching; believe me, Jesus has no equal.)

In the cathedral setting, Jesus seemed completely out of place, but that didn’t faze him at all. I could feel the rage of the church leaders rising as he spoke. I thought, It’s no wonder they killed him. (This was before I knew Jesus personally.) But he finished his message without incident and left.

I wandered off into a side alcove with a large stone bowl filled with water for baptizing new members of the church. Who should be standing there but Gurudev! I was so delighted to see him that I immediately threw myself at his feet; he threw himself at my feet and we went tumbling along like two little kids, doing somersaults as we held onto each other’s feet.

We left the cathedral and went out into the sunshine to his car. I headed toward the driver’s seat, but he stepped ahead of me with a reassuring look, so I climbed into the passenger seat. I knew he was taking me to my goal, but I was a little uncomfortable because I’d never spent time alone with him.

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As we were driving along I noticed something out the window; I began to make a comment but stopped myself. He said, “What were you going to say?” I said something like, “Oh, nothing, Gurudev, it was only about the cows in that field over there.”

He seemed genuinely interested, and we engaged in pleasant conversation as we motored on.

—v— One morning I was in Yoga deep relaxation in my room at the SF IYI. Now, I’d done hundreds of deep relaxations before, and I’ve done thousands since without incident. But this time, what seemed like a demonic force pinned me to the floor. I couldn’t move even the tiniest bit, so I couldn’t get the momentum to throw it off.

Even though my body was totally immobilized, I felt no fear.

Mentally, I said to the force: “In the name of Swami S-”and that’s as far as I got before the thing took off. I’ve never seen anything move so fast in my life. So I returned to normal deep relaxation.

(Years later I learned that there’s a natural function that paralyzes the body so it won’t thrash around during dreams; if one stays lucid in the state between waking and dreams, the mind can interpret this paralysis as something demonic. Whatever the explanation, the results are the same.)

—v— Gurudev was scheduled to fly out from the San Francisco Airport; I was in charge of his carry-on suitcase. (We would all get little jobs like this when he was around. He lived in a ceaseless flow of divine prosperity, so this kind of thing was really the only thing we could do for him to express our gratitude for his teachings.)

This bag could be carried by the handle like any other suitcase, but it also had four wheels on the bottom and a leash with which to pull it along like a child’s pull-toy.

The leash was hanging down; it had not been snapped into place. I didn’t know if I should carry it or pull it, so I turned to God within. He said, Carry it, as a sign of respect for the man.

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I had barely made a motion toward the bag when Gurudev turned around, bent over the bag, slowly and ceremoniously extended the leash all the way out on one side. He brought it all the way over the top of the bag in a half circle, snapped the leash into place. Then, he picked up the bag in one hand, looked me square in the eye, and presented it to me as though it were an offering.

You might think that with such clear inner hearing backed by such crystal-clear teaching I would follow that voice implicitly.

Alas, no. I had my own ideas (and the voice of the Lord is usually so soft that it’s easy to not take it seriously.)

+ San Francisco Airport (Bhaktan, back row and left of man with blonde hair)

—v— Sri Gurudev usually spent several months each winter in California. The house (owned by the Integral Yoga organization) was in Santa Barbara high on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. On one of our visits to Santa Barbara I was sent to assist another devotee, Ramdas, in building a deck next to Gurudev’s house.

Ramdas had gone off on an errand; I continued working. It began to rain, just a light sprinkle. Sri Gurudev came out with 44

“La Paz,” the house in Santa Barbara.

an orange poncho and began to unfold it. I thanked him and made as if to take it from him, but he didn’t let me. Without a word, but with the air of a father bursting with pride in his son, he ceremoniously robed me in the poncho.

—v— At the San Francisco airport, a handful of us were enjoying Gurudev’s company as he waited for the boarding announcement.

(This was before TSA security.) Sri Gurudev and a few devotees sat on fixed chairs on one side of an aisle; a few more of us sat opposite. I was in the chair directly across from Sri Gurudev.

A sudden revelation shook me to the core. I said to myself, in awe: This is Siva, the Lord of the universe, sitting across from me on a chair in an airport.

Completely unrelated to the conversation or to any other event at hand, Sri Gurudev suddenly tossed his head back and laughed aloud. Then, still smiling, he leaned forward, put his right hand on my knee, looked me square in the eye, paused, and said, “You got it.”

—v— Another time we were in the San Francisco airport to see Gurudev off; he was to be one of the main dignitaries in the grand 45

opening of a new hotel in Hong Kong belonging to his devotees, the Harilelas.

In a carpeted area off to one side, Sri Gurudev was seated in a chair with his back to a passageway; devotees and disciples were sitting around his feet.

Simultaneously, a number of distinguished-looking people were coming by, apparently taking the same plane to the same event; many stopped briefly on their way, clapping him on the back and making light conversation with him as an equal.

Sri Gurudev was acting in both of these radically different scenes simultaneously with breathtaking skill; I was sitting on the floor at his left knee, admiring the show. At one point he turned and said to me privately, “I feel like a clown in the circus.” It was the only time I heard him say what he felt like.

—v— One night in a dream, a group of perhaps fifteen of us were sitting at a large banquet table; Sri Gurudev was seated at the head. We had each been chosen to receive his entire legacy; he was to pour it out in the form of ashes and sand.

Very large goblets, something like two-gallon brandy snifters, had been placed on the table at each of our places; all we had to do was raise our goblets as he came around. I knew this was far more than just a ritual.

Sri Gurudev began at the far corner of the table, slowly pouring out his legacy to one person at a time. As he worked his way around, I began to get sleepy. I fought it as hard as I could, but got more sleepy, and more sleepy, until finally I was sound asleep with my head on the table.

When I woke up (still in the dream) the room was empty; everyone was gone. Only one thing was left on the table: my goblet in front of me, empty. For the first and only time since I set my heart to realize God in this life my heart was gripped by doubt: I’ve blown my chance. Now I won’t reach my goal...

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Instantly Sri Gurudev appeared at my side. I felt his hand gentle on my right shoulder and looked up at him. He looked me in the eye and said, “Every moment of your life is an opportunity to receive your inheritance from me.”

(At the time I didn’t know that after his passing, Sri Gurudev’s body would be buried in ashes and sand.)

—v— In another dream Gurudev was speaking in public; he was using the most convoluted language to make his point. Afterward I came up to him and suggested a different cosmology in which his point would have been very simple to make. He said, “Yes, but I like to stick to one tradition.”

—v— Things were beginning to go well in San Francisco. The difficult people that Sri Gurudev had put together (I was by no means the only one) were finally learning to not only to live together but even to love one another. I was happy in my work of remodeling the Institute and teaching Yoga on the side. Headquarters decided I should be transferred to Santa Barbara.

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T

of town.

VII. Santa Barbara

he new ashram in Santa Barbara (now defunct) was located on an old lemon and avocado farm just outside

They put me to work in the cottage industry, a falafel stand in town. In San Francisco I had been working day and night renovating, repairing, and maintaining the IYI; without that strong physical work, more of my frustrations surfaced, resulting in even more frequent collisions with people.

One day, Sri Gurudev was leaving the Santa Barbara Airport; we were there to see him off. I happened to have a lot of quarters in my pocket.

Now, Sri Gurudev’s driving skills (and intuition) were legendary—one time he drove through the high Alps for a long time at death-defying speed, using the whole narrow, cliff-hugging, winding road as if it were a racecourse, suddenly slowing down and getting in his own lane seconds before another car appeared around a corner. Another time he drove down California Highway 5 far above the speed limit for a long time, suddenly slowing down multiple times just before the police caught him. Many stories of his driving were in circulation.

As we walked down a hallway, we passed a race-car driving arcade game. He sat down without a word, as if to play. Without a word, I took out one of my quarters and popped it into the machine. He put the gas pedal to the floor, took off at top speed and immediately collided with the back of another car.

He did the same thing with his second car—floor it, crash! and again with the third (and last) car of the game—floor it, crash!

I popped in another quarter. Same thing: Floor it, crash—floor it, crash!—floor it, crash! I popped in another quarter. Same thing.

I was getting a little annoyed. I said, “Gurudev, if you drive that fast you’re always going to run into the car in front of you.”

He treated this comment as a great revelation.

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His face lit up. “Ooooohhhh!” So, with my next quarter he started out very, very slowly and was immediately rear-ended.

Same with the next car, then the next; game over. I popped in another quarter. Same thing. Another quarter. Same thing.

I got tired of feeding him quarters “for nothing,” and was also concerned that he would be late for his plane, so when he looked up expectantly for his next quarter I pretended not to have any more, even though I still had plenty.

He said to the group, “I’ve exhausted his quarters.” At the departure gate I found out that he had a lot of time left, almost an hour. I fingered the quarters in my pocket.

—v— Another time, Sri Gurudev was walking with a group of disciples down a long corridor in the Santa Barbara airport; I decided to walk exactly in his footsteps. I found that although his body seemed to be about the same size as mine, neither his gait nor the placement of his feet suited me.

—v— The OM Tryambakam mantra was one that Sri Gurudev had us chant on nearly every difficult or pivotal occasion. It ended, “May you liberate us from death for the sake of immortality, as the cucumber is liberated from its bondage of the creeper.” I had always wondered about this line.

One day I found myself standing with Sri Gurudev in the cucumber patch in the Santa Barbara ashram garden. I asked, “How does the cucumber get liberated from its bondage of the creeper?” Reaching down, he pretended to pick one, saying, “Well, you just pick it and eat it, like this,” and pretended to nibble it down (munch-munch-munch- munch-munch). “Sometimes you get a bitter one.”

—v— Gurudev often taught that all matter is composed of energy manifesting in three basic ways: sattva (balanced, high energy), rajas (turbulent energy), and tamas (inertia). The yogi maximizes 50

sattva and minimizes the others in everything from work and communication to food and exercise. He would usually explain the subject in some detail.

He had mentioned that the lemon is tamasic and the lime is sattvic. I puzzled over this for some time, wondering if, for example, eating lemons was as bad as eating three-day-old french fries.

One day I found myself with him on the steps outside a building; no one else was around. I seized the opportunity to ask him about it: “How is it that the lemon is considered tamasic?”

He responded by delivering to me, one on one, the same standard teaching (above paragraph) that I had heard him deliver publicly a dozen times—complete, with all the details—looking me straight in the eye. I was really irritated so naturally, he carried it right through to the end, never giving me a chance to clarify my question.

—v— In Santa Barbara my self-importance was assaulted in no less than four ways: I didn’t think much of falafels as a food (too heavy); I thought that if I wanted a job “out there in the world” I could easily get a better one than making falafels; I thought my “great talents” as a carpenter and jack-of-all-trades were being wasted; and, worst of all, we were each making considerably less than minimum wage.

My complaints were long, loud, and obnoxious. I was sent back to Yogaville East as a problem child. Two key ideas were still well above my head: 1) Human life is mainly about relationships, not production, and 2) Sri Gurudev can teach through the sangha at least as well as he can in person.

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VIII. Yogaville East At Yogaville East I was put to work building the new preschool under Ramakrishna. This was the kind of work I wanted to do, and Ramakrishna was well able to teach me. Discouraged as I was, I even became a fairly good ashramite. Ramakrishna commented, “From the stories I heard before you came I thought you were going to be hell on wheels, but you’re not so bad.”

Dedication of the new preschool, mid-1970s.

—v— Whenever Sri Gurudev left a gathering we would line up in two rows, forming an aisle. One person might be simply seeing him off, another might have some personal news or a problem, another a small gift. (He knew each one of us personally and took a deep interest in each of our lives.) These occasions provided many opportunities for teaching events.

At times he might, for example, speak to the person on my right, cross the aisle, speak to a person opposite, then come back and speak to the person on my left—all without the slightest 53

indication that he knew I was standing there, desperately hoping to be noticed.

Several times, after talking to the person on my one side he allowed his gaze to pass straight across my eyes and connect with the person on my other side—without his eyes catching on mine at all, as though I were absolutely transparent or did not even exist. (If you think that’s easy to do, try it.) One time he ignored me so completely I even had a moment’s doubt whether I was there at all.

—v— In a talent show after one of the satsangs I played harmonica; afterward, Gurudev asked for my harmonica and played it himself. I was so convinced that no one could just pick up an instrument and make anything but noise that I didn’t hear any of it. I think I missed something good. (This is my only regret from my entire time with him; I got extra chances to pass all the other tests.)

—v— Sri Gurudev had us chant certain scripture passages, mainly from the Upanishads and Guru Gita, before and after meditations and meetings. I was irritated by the translations, which were rendered in a bizarre semi-foreign language that I call Pandit English. So, while still in Santa Barbara I had written to him suggesting that we should have clear, chantable English translations. During this time, word came down from Sri Gurudev that we should do just that.

Since no one else seemed motivated, I made a translation and discussed it with a review committee. The committee made a couple of minor changes and sent it to Sri Gurudev. He returned it with one or two more minor corrections, and my translation of the chants was adopted—just like that.

(To this day, many of my fellow disciples revere my translations as holy writ; I’ve even had a couple of them fanatically defend my own translations to my face when I’ve pointed out flaws. This has profoundly affected my approach to scripture and religion.)

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—v— One of my jobs at Yogaville East was feeding the massive wood boiler in the basement with four-foot logs; it used about forty cords a winter.

At the time, “energy efficiency” was just beginning to come into the national conversation; I had been studying the subject.

I wrote to Sri Gurudev suggesting that he sell the Institutes and Ashrams and move us all to one location with energy efficient buildings.

The very next day Gurudev called a meeting and announced that we were going to move, and that a search was to begin for a suitable place. Whatever his reason for moving, it was not energyefficiency: The Ashram he eventually built in Virginia is far more expensive in terms of per-capita consumption.

—v— Yogaville East was Sri Gurudev’s main home at the time, so while I was there I listened to him speak many, many times. I had arrived at his door with a good knowledge of the scriptures (p. 5) and had been studying and practicing continuously ever since; at this point, all I needed was the right piece of paper and I could have held a professorship in comparative religion at any university.

I had the knowledge.

Nevertheless, the more he spoke the more perplexed I became.

With consummate skill, he had brought me to a place where all human knowledge is worthless. It was too uncomfortable. I gave up and stopped listening. Like a cow that has eaten its fill, it was time to lie down, chew the cud, and digest.

The biggest thing I had to chew on at the time was the meaning of the word “Swami.” My idea was, One who wanders freely, alone, with no one to answer to but God and his conscience.

I was fairly sure that Sri Gurudev’s idea (at least for me) was for me to think of myself as solely in service of Satchidananda Ashram until I reached the highest goal. That accomplished, he would send me out just as Swami Sivananda had sent him out into the world.

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At the time I lacked both the courage and the wisdom to cross-check any of my ideas with him personally, and I had too many fixed ideas on the subject to hear from the Spirit. So I was left to reason. Again.

I reasoned that if I were to continue as one of his Swamis I would have to adjust my ideas to match what I thought were his; since being a good little ashramite was clearly beyond my capacity, I concluded that I had to quit the Order.

I had made this decision just seconds before and was fixing myself a cup of tea when the executive director came up to me and said, “I just got a call from Swamiji. Karuna (the famous singer Carole King) has donated a large property at Music Mountain in western Connecticut, and Swamiji wants you to go and act as caretaker. We’re giving you a car and an allowance. You’ll be leaving in three days.” I was stunned. Speechless.

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M

IX. Music Mountain

usic Mountain was an idyllic old New England farm, complete with fields bordered by stone walls, forests on hills with huge oaks and maples, and a big eighteenth-century farmhouse—in excellent condition but about as haunted as a house can possibly be.

Fortunately, above the detached garage there was a cozy twobedroom apartment. This became my personal abode. Here I had plenty of time to think about my life.

—v— After some months I called Sri Gurudev to complain that I was not satisfied with my life in the organization.

“What do you want to do?” he replied, with a tone of genuine interest.

“I just want to do your will.”

“Then stay in the Ashram.”

“But even after all these years on the path I don’t seem to be making any progress.”

“Progress?? Progress!!!” he said. “What’s progress? You want to fly like a bird?!!?”

I thought, That would be nice…

—v— One weekend, Sri Gurudev drove across Connecticut from Yogaville East with a coterie of fifty to see if the property would be suitable for the new Ashram. He gave satsang one evening in a big room in the main house.

This room was strangely long and narrow. At one end, Sri Gurudev was seated in one corner and I was seated in the other before a small altar; I was to do an arati (short worship ceremony) before his talk. (Sri Gurudev, at our request, had introduced us to 57

a number of Indian rituals; each had to be performed precisely according to very specific instructions that he suddenly changed from time to time; many disciples regarded the latest version as the definitive, correct version, as though his understanding were evolving.)

After my arati, Sri Gurudev began his talk. Perhaps fifteen minutes into his talk, the cotton wick for the ghee (clarified butter) lamp began to smoke and stink as the ghee ran out. I discreetly (so I thought) transferred some spittle to my fingers, reached over, snuffed it—and immediately sensed trouble. With fingers still on the wick, I turned to Gurudev, took one look at his face, and said aloud, “That was a mistake.”

My candor did not rescue me. “Yes. That was a mistake!” he said. “You American kids just go and do anything you feel like doing and call it worship. You call God, he comes and you spit on him …” and so on and on and on for an amazingly long time, ending with, “Who taught you how to do puja!?!?!”

I did some quick thinking. I can’t say, “Satya,” because she never taught me to do that ... I can’t say, “I learned from books” or “I taught myself,” because I didn’t ... I can’t say, “I learned from you,” because he never taught me to do that—and besides, I’d rather not find out what would happen if I said something like that …

So I said, “Well, sir, I just kind of learned by hook or by crook.”

Now, at this point I had been through countless dressingsdown. I knew for certain, firsthand, that the slightest attempt to shift the blame, reason with him, defend my actions, counterattack, try to escape—or even try to get clear on what he wanted (so as to change my behavior, in order to avoid future rebukes) would instantly make matters worse.

So I was giving him my undivided attention, allowing nothing to rise up—inside or out. I was watching him very, very closely.

When I said ... by hook or by crook, for a fraction of a second he almost burst out laughing. Then, still well within the same second, he regained his composure and went on at a higher volume: “HM! HOOK OR CROOK! HOOK OR CROOK! So this is what you call worship...”

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But that was it. I had seen beyond the surface for the first time. I really liked what I saw. For the first time ever I received my dressing down like a patient receiving a warm sponge bath.

—v— In the peace of Music Mountain I took stock of my life. I decided to start over. I gave up my sannyasin’s robes and my Sanskrit names and returned to my birth-name, Bill. But I found no reason to change my goal or my Guru.

Music Mountain, Canaan, Connecticut.

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A

X. Married

fter a few months the property at Music Mountain was found to be unsuitable for a large ashram, mainly because of the lack of a large water source, and was sold.

Not long after I had first arrived at Music Mountain, the Ashram authorities instructed me to support myself. So at this point I had a car, some skill as a craftsman, a good set of tools, and some savings: Gurudev had set me up in life. I also had no debts, no unfinished business, and no obligations to anyone (he himself didn’t ask, need, or expect as much as a “thank you”). He had set me free as a person.

Here was a second, even better opportunity to go for my goal with no distractions. (The first was after I had paid off my college debt, p. 31.) Again, I didn’t see it. (My next opportunity like this was not to come until forty years later, after the Lord had fulfilled all my desires, as I was finishing this book.)

I almost went back to California to start a new life, but reasoned that since I wanted to remain his disciple no matter what, and the only options he was offering his serious disciples were married life or sannyas, and I had no interest in married life, I must return to sannyas.

So I returned to Yogaville East, gave Gurudev my savings and the car I had bought, and applied to re-enter sannyas. The sannyas committee told me to wait a year, intelligently pointing out that there was nothing to keep me from living as a sannyasin in the meantime.

—v— Before I had met Sri Gurudev, in order to become conscious during the dream state I had practiced cueing myself to look at my hands in dreams, using the technique of Don Juan Matus, Carlos Castaneda’s teacher. I had met with some success.

This success pretty much ended when I met Gurudev— mainly because I switched from cueing myself to look at my hands 61

in my dream to cueing myself to repeating my mantra and, in spite of heroic efforts, I hardly ever thought of my mantra.

But one night at Yogaville East I noticed that I was dreaming (in all the other dream events recounted here I assumed I was in the waking state). I decided to contact Gurudev by turning off my internal dialogue and visualizing his form. (Whatever you visualize like this morphs into the next scene.)

He immediately appeared in the dream-scene. Never in my life have I seen a person so happy to meet another as Gurudev was to see me in those circumstances. He was practically jumping out of his skin. Unfortunately, I soon got distracted and faded back into ordinary dreams.

—v— At Yogaville East I met my future bride, Prema (unconditional divine love). Seeing how intelligent and pretty she was and how well she could cook and that she was Sri Gurudev’s disciple and that her name went perfectly with my old name, Bhaktan, I spent more and more time with her; eventually I got shot by Cupid’s arrow and asked her to marry me. She was kind (or foolish) enough to agree. I called Sri Gurudev.

“Gurudev, Prema and I would like to get married; may we have your blessing?”

“Sure,” he replied at once.

“And may I call myself Bhaktan, your Bhakta?”

“Hm!” This was followed by fifteen or twenty seconds of absolute silence. (Many of his telephone silences ended some time after I began to wonder if we had been disconnected.) “Well, okay, Bhaktan.”

“And sir, would you be kind enough to suggest a date for the marriage ceremony?”

“Hmmmm … how about Jayanthi?”

Jayanthi, Sri Gurudev’s birthday, was six days away! “Okay, Gurudev, I think we can do it.”

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We spent the next week racing around, getting all the papers in order and preparing for the ceremony; we got it all done in time (barely). Prema often jokes that it’s good Sri Gurudev didn’t give her time to think about it.

—v— After our honeymoon, Prema and I lived at Yogaville East for a time.

At a satsang I submitted a question on a card: “In one place in the Yoga Sutras it says, ‘Ignorance [i.e., taking the impermanent as permanent] is the field for the obstacles,’ (II:4); in another place, ‘... ego [i.e., sense of individuality] is their primal cause.’ (II:10) Please explain.”

Paraman interjected, “Good Question.” Gurudev: “Yes. That was Bhaktan.”

Gurudev explained, effortlessly, “This is something like a chicken-and-egg question. Ignorance is the field, and ego is the cause. If either cause or field is absent, there are no obstructing impressions.”

My respect for him went up yet again. I had never known anyone with anything even remotely resembling his level of knowledge and understanding.

—v— Gurudev taught that the orange or ochre robe of a sannyasin represents the color of toasted seeds (the seeds of karma); they look like seeds, but will no longer sprout, multiply, and cause problems.

After another satsang, Prema and I were standing by as he was leaving. With a curious look, he came over and examined my beard. He then reached out very slowly, picked out a single alfalfa sprout, held it up, looked at it closely from all sides, and handed it to me.

—v— As Sri Gurudev was leaving satsang another time, I bowed 63

down to touch his foot. He touched my back on the exact spot that was chronically the most sore.

Now, we all knew—as a matter of fact, not of faith—that he was able to heal any disease, but nothing happened. (He said that in most cases, people were better off solving their own problems, which certainly was true for me.)

—v— One of Gurudev’s disciples, Sudharman, a realtor at the time, found a piece of land for the new ashram in Virginia. I was in the group that was sent down to scout it out.

I didn’t like the intended property at all. I thought it was far too scrubby, hot, and muggy. I wanted them to find a nice place in Vermont, preferably near skiing.

Nevertheless, the Buckingham, Virginia location received Sri Gurudev’s seal of approval. I took the planned move to Virginia as a sign and left Yogaville with Prema to seek my fortune in New Hampshire (nearer to skiing).

Future site of Yogaville (across from the James River) in Buckingham, Virginia.

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W

XI. “On My Own”

e still came back to Yogaville East to visit now and then. At a satsang, Gurudev was making the point that too many people at the Ashram just coast along without doing much work. He called on me to testify. “Bhaktan, now that you are on your own are you not working much more?”

Now, I had in fact worked much harder, with longer hours, for him. Assuming he did not know the facts, and being afraid to spoil his point, I answered, “Well, sir, I get up late and work very late,” and immediately felt guilty for prevaricating.

Nevertheless, on the way out the door he looked me in the eye and said, “I’m so proud of you. You’re finally doing your work.”

I looked straight back into his eyes and thought, knowing that he knew exactly what I was thinking, Thanks a lot. Why not a single hint that I wasn’t doing that in the six years I spent in your service?

—v— Gurudev had a way of drawing out your best—and your worst.

Prema was pregnant with Anna, our first child. After a satsang Sri Gurudev asked me, “Oh, you’re going to bring me a nice baby?”

Still thinking of myself as some kind of half-sannyasin, I said, “It wasn’t my doing, Gurudev.” He instantly seized the opportunity to skewer and roast me in front of everyone. “Oh, so it was not your doing. Hm! You just stepped out of the room and the gentleman came in and did the job for you, is that how it was? You had nothing to do with it...” and so on and on and on, as he alone could. I turned redder and redder…

—v— At another satsang two disciples sang the old gospel song beautifully: He’s sweet, I know; He’s sweet, I know.

Storm clouds may rise; storm winds may blow.

I’ll tell the world wherever I go

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that I’ve found a Savior, and he’s sweet. I know.

Sri Gurudev said, “That’s what. That should be our attitude.

For how many people here does the shoe fit? Hmm?” One person raised her hand at once, but pulled it down when no one else did (including me). We all sat in embarrassed silence for some time before he went on with his talk.

—v— Sri Gurudev came to me in a dream and cleaned my teeth with his finger. He went all through my mouth, cleaning each tooth, the gums, the palate—everything accessible by finger. He missed nothing.

—v— Prema and I began thinking about moving back to be with Gurudev after all. I drove down to Virginia to scope things out.

On the way I had one of my best japa days ever, recording over 5,000 mantra repetitions with a mechanical counter. Soon after I arrived, Gurudev said, “You look good.” It was the only time he commented on my appearance.

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XII. Yogaville Virginia

W

e moved to Yogaville Virginia and built a little house; the community helped with the frame-raising.

One Sunday, my friend Paraman invited me over to see a TV evangelist, Kenneth Copeland. I said, “What could a TV evangelist have to say?” But Paraman said Copeland was really good, plus he was funny. So, out of respect for Paraman I went over to his house and took in a broadcast.

Sure enough, Copeland seemed pretty good, plus he was funny, so the next Sunday I went back to Paraman’s house with Prema to take in another broadcast (we didn’t own a TV). By the third week I got the message: The work is finished in Christ Jesus; receive him and you receive the kingdom of heaven. I asked myself, Why am I knocking myself out trying to make myself into something when the work is finished in him?

After ten years of trying my best to do Yoga regularly, failing, apparently even going backwards, I was desperate enough to try anything. So, even though to me at the time the “Jesus freak” was a species somewhat lower than the worm, I went for it, receiving Jesus as my Lord.

Br. Copeland said fairly often, “The Lord told me [this or that].” I thought to myself, I got that back in Dallas shortly after initiation! I didn’t know you could live by that!

Up to then I had only seen the extremes. Sri Gurudev was on the one extreme: In him there was no difference at all between Self and Spirit. As far as I could tell, everyone else I knew was on the other extreme: completely out of touch with the Spirit.

In church we assumed that if we’re good and go to church and follow Jesus and his teachings, we’ll go to heaven when we die and everything will be fine. In the Ashram we assumed that if we’re good and do Yoga and follow the Guru and his teachings, we’ll be enlightened in some future birth and everything will be fine.

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No one but Gurudev had ever once discussed, let alone demonstrated, hearing and obeying God’s voice—at least while I was around. So I just assumed that this sort of thing was reserved for special beings like enlightened masters, saints, prophets, and angels.

Now, Sri Gurudev had many, many times described the sequence of teachers in life as, “Mata, Pita, Guru, Deva (Mother, Father, Guru, God).”

He had stated, verbatim, “See, I give you all these practices just so you will become totally exhausted and give your lives to God,” and, “My job is to put you in touch with the inner Guru. If I fail in this, I have failed in my mission.” He had even backed up these public teachings with unmistakable direct teachings to me personally (like the “airport bag” teaching event, p. 43–44).

So to me, rededicating my life to Jesus meant that I would essentially change Gurus and live by Jesus’ teachings as recorded in the Bible (instead of trying to be a Hindu) and by the Holy Spirit, whom I had received shortly after initiation but had been ignoring for the past four or five years while trying to use formal Yoga practice to beat myself into the shape I thought I was supposed to be in.

There were four immediate effects of this dedication. First, that very day my orientation in life supernaturally changed from: How much can I earn and get? to How much do I have the courage to receive and give?

Second, I finally had a basis on which to relate to Sri Gurudev.

I never had the slightest problem with him when I approached him by the Holy Spirit, speaking or remaining silent, acting or not acting as prompted by the Spirit.

Third, I had always enjoyed the Gospels, but now the rest of the New Testament suddenly made sense.

Fourth, I had gone far, far too deep into Eastern thought and practice to take the usual way of Christian converts and glibly dismiss five or ten thousand years of Eastern wisdom as “of the Devil.” I had to take the hard way and resolve the apparent conflicts.

I thus found my life’s work (more about this in the next chapter).

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The switch from Satchidananda to Jesus didn’t happen overnight: Swami Satchidananda and his teachings were a very large part of what I had to resolve.

—v— One summer, the roses outside our house were being eaten up by Japanese beetles. Prema, who had received Jesus at the same time as I, commanded the beetles to leave in the name of Jesus, and they did. I offered one of the flowers to Sri Gurudev and told him the story (Prema was too shy). He was delighted and showed it off to everyone.

—v— Prema, little Annie, and I left Yogaville for two years and went back. As soon as he saw me, Gurudev said, “Hmmm. Vacation is over. Time to get back to work.”

—v— We built another house (now known as the Corner House).

(It looked a lot better before the Ashram replaced the clear red cedar siding with cement board.) As an exercise, we tried to build it exactly according to the Holy Spirit’s guidance.

Sri Gurudev was our first guest in the finished house. He walked through, commenting on perhaps twenty items in all: “Oh, this green is so soothing.” “Nice front door.” Only one who had been through the entire exercise of consulting the Spirit for each item could appreciate the precision and completeness of his commentary.

On the way upstairs he paused to take off his shoes. I said, “No need to take off your shoes, Gurudev. We haven’t had a chance to get the floors really clean.”

“But the upstairs is carpeted?”

“No, sir.” Prema and I looked at each other. We’d never thought to ask about the upstairs floor covering.

Sri Gurudev brought gifts. Anna received statuettes of “The Villain of Smurf Village” and his cat. Little Sam seemed to be friendly with everyone in the world except Sri Gurudev, whom he 69

had always shied away from. Gurudev gave him a stuffed puffin bird, which he reluctantly accepted. The puffin soon became one of his two favorite stuffed animals; he named the puffin, Ducks.

Relations between Sam and Gurudev became friendly after that.

I got a wallet with a ten dollar bill. (It slowly turned into a small fortune, but that’s another story.)

On the way out Gurudev and I talked on the wrap-around porch for a few minutes. He said, a little wistfully, “It is like a Malabar house.”

I asked, “Where is Malabar?”

“South India,” he said, giving me a feeling of what it was like to minister in a place where even those closest to you had never heard of your homeland.

The “Corner House.”

—v— After the house was done, I took a job as a hired man for the Ashram. Now, the lower level of Gurudev’s Virginia house contained a garage, shop, and receiving room for guests. The main floor was elevated a full story; on this level, a wrap-around deck presented an open view of the Light Of Truth Universal Shrine (LOTUS,) the LOTUS lake, and the lazy James River in the valley two or three hundred feet below. A 180-degree view stretched out twenty-five miles to the Blue Ridge Mountains.

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Light Of Truth Universal Shrine (LOTUS)

One day I was working on the railing of one of the staircases that ran down from this deck to the lower level. Now, in my building work I was always frustrated by how little I got done in a day and obsessed about working faster.

Immediately after I made a mistake, Gurudev came out the door. He said, “What is this?”

“I made a mistake, Gurudev, and now I’m going to fix it.”

“And why did you make the mistake?”

“Because I was rushing, Gurudev.”

“Hm. So, rushing means twice as much time. Once to do it wrong, then once again to fix it.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned around and went back in.

—v— Sri Gurudev bought an early version of the speaker-phone (he loved gadgets). I had to glue my ear to the receiver and hardly breathe to be able to hear him. During a particularly difficult episode I said, “Gurudev, I can hardly hear you. Please speak louder.” He was not too happy about it, but there were some rustling noises and suddenly he came in loud and clear.

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—v— One evening we were having satsang with Sri Gurudev in the unfinished hall across from the bookstore/reception area of the LOTUS. He was expounding on one of his main themes: “You must not let your mind control you. You must decide what to do.

You must say, ‘This much I will eat. I will go here. I will go there. I will sit here for this long …’”

The light came on. I raised my hand, butting in. “Sir, I have a question.”

“Yes, Bhaktan.”

“When you say ‘you,’ is that what I call, ‘God in me?’”

Sri Gurudev said, “Yes. The real you. God in you. The buddhi.”

“Thank you.” I thought to myself, Great. I’ve been barking up the wrong tree for ten years.

That night I learned—for the first time—that what I was calling me is what he calls the ego or the false identity (“pride” in Christian language); what I call God within or the Holy Spirit he calls me or the True Self. I had been regarding the very thing he was determined to annihilate as central to my success.

I also learned that, had I not asked the question, he probably would have let me bark up the wrong tree for the rest of my life.

Having some idea of what he was talking about, what he was trying to accomplish, and how he operated made discipleship much easier.

—v— The Ashram was set up according to the lifestyle that Gurudev recommended: no smoking, no recreational drugs, celibacy unless in a committed relationship, and no alcohol; vegetarian diet; Yoga poses, and three sitting meditations daily. But only the rules about the vices and vegetarianism were enforced, so only a minority of Ashramites attended the Yoga and meditation sessions regularly.

One evening at satsang Gurudev spoke very highly of those who attended morning meditation (I wasn’t one of them). Thinking 72

they should be honored, I asked him, “Who are they, Gurudev?”

He answered, “Why don’t you go and see?”

I forgot all about this interchange, but a few days later the Holy Spirit said to me, I want you in morning meditation every single day.

I responded, But Lord, you know and I know that I can’t do that. I’ve been working at it as hard as I can for ten years and my personal best is three days in a row. He said, Doesn’t matter. I want you there.

Okay, then how am I going to do it? He gave me two easy, simple things to do that seemed to have little or nothing to do with getting up and going (what they were doesn’t matter—the “magic formula” is listening to God, Appendix p. 112). I was then easily able to do what had been impossible before. Two hundred days later I hadn’t missed a single session.

Now, the second of the Ten Commandments forbids the worship of God through objects; this injunction is echoed in the New Testament. Accordingly, at the end of meditation every morning I would leave before the arati, the waving of the light.

The leadership called me on the carpet for leaving meditation early. I calmly explained that although I had no objection to others worshiping God through external symbols, my religion didn’t allow it.

The authorities took the matter before Gurudev. He said that my leaving meditation before the arati was like getting out of a plane before it lands. I went back to the Holy Spirit for resolution.

He said, Stop going. But what about my beautiful perfect record?

Stop going.

The next morning I left the house to go to meditation anyway.

Now, as a carpenter and expert skier I’m extremely sure-footed.

Nevertheless, I fell down the front steps of our house as soon as I walked out the door. I got up, turned around, and walked back in.

—v— I had a three-wheeler ATV that I drove around with my tools on the back. (I’d bought it cheap—three-wheelers had been banned for being prone to suddenly flipping.)

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One day, I was working at Sri Gurudev’s house again. He came out and said, “May I take it for a drive?”

“Sure!” I said, and unloaded my tools.

Swami Satchidananda clearing land in Yogaville, mid-1980s.

(Gurudev’s ability to operate not only cars but any kind of heavy equipment was legendary; he was also able to swiftly tame any kind of wild animal, even tigers. In an animal shelter, a wild eagle that had been injured and abused sat quietly on his unprotected arm as he stroked its feathers; he untangled dozens of delicate filaments of a plant without so much as bruising a single one; rode a huge wave on an inflatable surf mat—standing up—all the way to the beach and stepped off onto the sand; landed his airplane shortly after takeoff in a tree with no one getting a scratch; arc-welded two thin pieces of sheet metal together— there are many, many stories like this. The experts were in awe of his skills.)

He took off down the very steep hill behind his house on my three-wheeler. After about forty-five minutes I began to wonder what had become of him. After an hour and a quarter he returned.

“Did you like it, Gurudev?”

“No. Too rough. Not good for me. Good for Bhaktan.”

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—v— I had a dream right after one of the Guru Poornima festivals.

Everyone else was off at one of the events, but I was alone at the Ashram garage among racks and racks of delicious cheese sandwiches that no one wanted. Sri Gurudev drove up in his white Jeep and walked into the building. Without a word, he took a sandwich off the shelf and began hand-feeding it to me. I was hit with a tidal wave of joy. He fed me more, and then more and more; I went farther and farther out in joy ... the world faded …

—v— In another dream I encountered Gurudev on the LOTUS road. He said, “Eat more roots.” (So far, I’ve never seriously tried to put this teaching into practice.)

—v— Gurudev would never accept gifts with strings attached— unless he could use the string to help a disciple loosen the strings that held them bound. He had often been offered very large sums of money and turned them down.

After a satsang, prompted by the Spirit, I gave him our tithe, which we had saved up while he was away on a trip—five hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills. When he opened the envelope his face lit up. He held up the wad of bills in front of everyone and flapped it, saying, “This is the real green!”

On another occasion he was departing from the Yogaville airstrip. I gave him our tithe, a smaller amount, this time not prompted by the Spirit. He said, “Hm. I can probably buy myself a newspaper with this.”

—v— Gurudev often spoke of the tongue as a dangerous thing that God intended to be kept behind a rock wall (the teeth) and an air-tight seal (the lips).

The Ashram was planning to build its first dormitory. Gurudev was sitting at a makeshift table in what is now the quadrangle; a 75

representative of the building committee was guiding him through the plans as I looked on. The elevations (front view, no perspective) were on top.

Now, at this time Sri Gurudev had just finished designing and building his own house, the main hall, and the LOTUS with the help of architects, so he obviously knew how to read blueprints.

He also knew how to count. But he also knew how to play the “naive Indian.” He said, “Ah, so it’s two stories.”

The disciple representing the building committee said, counting off the stories, “No, Gurudev, see—it’s three stories.”

“Oh. I see.”

I could see what was going on, but found myself wanting to hold my tongue. (At times, Gurudev had that effect, though it certainly was possible to override the effect and say something— the outcome would not always be good. He could do the same thing to the mind. For example, even though he was a very interesting speaker, I sometimes had to stand in the back during satsang to avoid being put to sleep by a kind of haze generated by my mind/ego.)

So, the Ashram authorities went ahead and built this building—and later, its twin next door—three stories tall. (Three stories cost a little less to build.)

As it turned out, at the time there was no fire equipment in that remote county that would reach the third story; climbing a ladder to paint or do maintenance—especially in the back, where the building is almost four stories tall—is quite scary; and guests don’t like to climb to the third floor.

—v— While doing a job at his house I had to cut a slice off the long edge of a board. He gently took the pencil from my hand, and, holding it firmly, drew a line on the top of the board while running one finger as a guide along the edge. A simple trick, but a good one, and brand-new to me (by this time I had ten years of experience in building). I think of him every time I use it.

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—v— At a satsang, Gurudev was making a point about the power of karma (the law of cause and effect, especially as it applies to human affairs) and the importance of doing good. His illustration was a particularly gruesome story about a sage who, while still a boy, would spear butterflies with needle and thread and fly them around; later in life, this same sage died miserably by being impaled on a post. (I disliked many of the stories he told; the ones I disliked the most he told over and over.)

As Gurudev dragged the story out, I got sick of it and butted in with a question: “Sir, according to the Yoga Sutras, in order for a karma to manifest, a field must be provided. Wouldn’t that sage’s guilt over what he did to the butterflies provide a field for this karma to manifest later on in his life?”

He seemed displeased about his story being spoiled, saying, “Well, we don’t have to get too philosophical about these things.”

Then he added, in such a way that I would surely have missed it if I had not been listening closely: “Of course, faith is the spark that ignites the mountain of cotton fiber called karma.”

—v—

I’d been assigned the task of making a rotating base for the central statue in the All Faiths Hall (lower level of the LOTUS).

Completed base and sculpture in the All Faiths Hall.

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At the request of the artist I had built a couple of mockups.

Sri Gurudev came into the All Faiths Hall with ten or fifteen disciples to see these mockups and immediately lit into me. “What is this? Why did you spend all this time building these expensive models? For this we pay you? This is a big waste of money. Who told you to do this?” and so on and on and on. (As I write, it occurs to me that his ability to go on and on about the smallest thing was miraculous in itself, especially considering his inner state of absolute detachment and unconditional love.)

I simply paid attention to every word without putting up the slightest resistance, inside or out; without making any attempt to shift the blame to the artist, who was standing right there (though I certainly was tempted); and without looking for a way of escape, either within or without.

After a while I began to wonder why he was going on and on in spite of my having obviously passed the test by being completely unruffled and offering no resistance; then, after a while longer, I began to think he might be using me as an example of how to receive a scolding.

We were all on our way out when someone came up beside me and said, “That was very inspiring. I really believe Gurudev was using you as an example of how to receive a scolding.” I knew Swami Satchidananda another fifteen years. It was the last time he ever dressed me down.

About ten years later it began to dawn on me that I could let anyone work on me the same way and get the same benefits and the same results: People rush in ready to fight, find a black hole, stop short and start looking for ways to escape. (If I hold even a trace of judgment on the person, it backfires horribly.) It’s a great way to stay out of trouble, but hasn’t done much for my popularity.

—v— One day I was standing in the gravel driveway in front of Gurudev’s house when the garage door slowly opened. With the help of his maintenance man, Janardhana, he carefully wheeled out a homemade four-foot-high white wooden stand with a large 78

remote control model helicopter sitting on top; lower shelves held a small fuel can, tools, batteries, and assorted parts. The stand seemed to have been made just for the purpose.

This was obviously a display for Janardhana and me, so I stopped work and watched as Sri Gurudev fueled it, got the glow plugs going and fired it up. It coughed to life, then with a great noise and dust the thing began vibrating furiously on the platform.

It looked as though it were going to take off at any second. With a look of the utmost concentration he adjusted this and that. Then he stopped the motor and tinkered with it some more. Then he fired it up again and let it roar as fast as the motor would go.

Fifteen or twenty minutes of this sort of thing passed.

Finally, with a look of complete detachment, he shut it down, put everything neatly away and, with Janardhana’s help, wheeled it all back into the garage. The garage door closed slowly behind him.

Not a word had been spoken. I turned to Janardhana. “Is that it?” Janardhana said, “Oh yes. He’s brought it out lots of times. It never has flown.”

I was flat astonished. I could imagine working on it far into the night every night for days or weeks; I could imagine selling it or giving it away; I could imagine smashing it. But I could not imagine keeping it on a special stand and tinkering with it now

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and then.

The helicopter was me at the time. Looks good, makes lots of noise and dust, but won’t fly. (Many years later, Janardhana told me that Gurudev did get it flying eventually.)

—v— Now, I knew from direct observation over a long period of time that, at least in my body, an excess of dairy products and salt invariably results in a cold. When I was working at Sri Gurudev’s house one day I was fighting off just such a cold. Sri Gurudev came out and offered me some Indian tea with milk—a drink I had always hated, even when healthy. Nevertheless, feeling it would be ungracious to refuse him, I took the drink, waited until he turned his back, then quietly dumped it into one of his plants.

The next instant he was looking at me. I have no idea how; I didn’t see him move, there wasn’t enough time for him to turn around, and my mind didn’t wander off (you never, never let your mind wander when you were around Gurudev). The look in his eye said, You just failed another honesty test.

—v— On the phone I again tried to present my financial problems to him. Get more money, he said, and hung up.

—v— I had read in a book where the famous saint Sri Ramakrishna was quoted as saying, “After two children, husband and wife should live together as brother and sister.” So, once we had our second child, Sam, a doubt began to nag me about this aspect of our lives, especially since I still had lingering concepts of myself as a sannyasin and lingering liberal ideas of saving the planet by reducing overpopulation (that is, by getting rid of all those other people). So I called Sri Gurudev about it.

“Now that Prema and I have had two children, wouldn’t it be better to let sleeping dogs lie and just live together as sister and brother?” He answered, “What is the point of being married then?

If you are going to live like that, you might as well be a sannyasi.

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No. You should enjoy that part of married life.”

—v— During my first three or four years with Sri Gurudev I assumed that some day, when I was ready, he would begin to give me personal instruction on what my purpose in life was, on what and how I should practice, and what my goal should be. The day never came.

Meanwhile, I gleaned what guidance I could from his public lectures. Then, while still in San Francisco, I came across a recording on which he said, “You should answer these questions for yourself every morning and evening: I want this achievement.

To attain this, what should I do? What pitfalls to avoid? What got me here? What am I now doing? What did I come here for?

Am I getting it?”

From these questions I developed a goal statement and reviewed it faithfully mornings and evenings. At this point I had spent countless hours refining my vision, my understanding of what I was up against, and the words of the statement. Over the years, I had mailed at least fifteen iterations of my goal statement to him with no response whatsoever. For all I knew, every single one was lost in the mail.

One day while working at his house I handed him the latest iteration; he received it very graciously. With an air of disposing of unimportant things he gave me a few instructions on the job at hand. Then, with a look of great interest and delight, he raised the envelope containing my goal statement and announced, “I am going inside now to read this.”

—v— Another day at Sri Gurudev’s house I was wondering why he was having me do a particularly strange and useless job. Later he came up to me and said, “See, I invent these projects just so that you can have something to do.” I thought, I have no problem staying busy, knowing that, as usual, he could hear my thoughts as clearly as my voice.

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Bhaktan consulting with Gurudev.

A few days later, the Ashram gave notice that they were soon going to fire me as part of a cost cutting effort. The next time I was working at Sri Gurudev’s house I tried to get him to give me my job back. I explained that, since they were building all these new buildings and in the process paying twice as much money to people far less skilled than me, it made sense to keep me on. His answer was short: “Don’t depend on the Ashram.”

This proved to be a truly excellent piece of advice, but at the time I didn’t like it at all. I thought, looking him square in the eye, 82

Gurus and Ashrams. I’ve had about enough. (I knew who he was, but just couldn’t get past his costume, his humanity.) Nevertheless, I went to work on my own and was immediately making more than twice as much.

—v—

Everyone I know had a different experience with Swami Satchidananda, but we all agree completely on one thing: You could never predict what he was going to do next. His words and actions were all original and fresh. He had no routines, no fixations of any kind that any of us were able to discover.

Nevertheless, I spent a lot of time trying. It was a fascinating but futile exercise. If I guessed he would get in his car, he might stay around and talk for a while. If I were sure a disciple was headed for a scolding, he might be friendly to them or simply ignore them.

He was usually on time for appointments, but he might be early or late for no “good” reason.

Other than the communion rail teaching event (p. 9–11), which was a setup—only once did he actually do what I predicted. (It was a small thing, like, say, at a certain moment coming down from the stage.) The event was accompanied by a strong feeling that he was showing me that he was not predictable in his unpredictability.

After I decided to live by the Holy Spirit I suddenly found myself able to stay in tune with Gurudev, the way birds turn in the air at the same time ( John 3:8), but this didn’t make him any more predictable than the birds. I also noticed that he didn’t seem to do what the Spirit directed instantly; there always seemed to be a brief delay.

—v—

One day I was called to meet with Sri Gurudev to discuss building an arch across the entrance of the road down to the LOTUS. He made several sketches; we discussed ways in which it could be built.

Later on we had a discussion on the phone during which it gradually became clear that he was expecting me to build the arch at my own expense. I said, “Gurudev, you know I have neither the 83

time nor the money to build this thing.” He dropped the topic, but seemed displeased about it.

Not long after his passing I had a dream in which Sri Gurudev and I were walking around together, very chummy and loving.

Then he brought up the idea of my constructing a large built-in shelf unit for him, and it quickly turned into a weird situation in which he tried to persuade me to build the whole thing for him at my expense. I firmly explained that it was his bookshelf and I was going to build it with his money or not at all. After that we were fine again.

—v— In reviewing my personal goals I kept coming across my desire to ski. Since my desire to ski had not diminished in fifteen years, and since skiing was not a conflicting desire to my goal—unless I happened to be living in Virginia—I wrote to Sri Gurudev about moving to Vermont.

The very next day he drove up to our house in his Jeep to personally deliver the answer. (He always looked especially cool when he hopped lightly out of his white Jeep with his long 84

white beard moving softly, wearing his aviator-style reflector sunglasses.) “Your heart is not here. You should go.”

But we had trouble selling our house. After some time, Gurudev himself, without revealing his identity, bought it (at a lower price, of course—he was extremely frugal), which made our leaving possible.

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XIII. Vermont

n a dream Gurudev and I had been enjoying each other’s company to the fullest, very deep in love. Later on in a phone conversation I thanked him for meeting me like that; he received my thanks very graciously.

Now, I had always been curious about how far the consciousness of the man, Swami Satchidananda—the one to whom I was speaking on the phone—extended. So I asked, addressing the man, “When you meet me like that in a dream, are you aware of it?” His mood changed instantly. He admitted, “Of course I am,” and hung up.

—v— I was frustrated that even after long struggle I still wasn’t perfectly regular in Yoga practice. So I got out all of my goal statements from the previous ten years, a pile about two inches thick, looked at each one, and synthesized them all into one new plan. It took all my spare time for a couple of months.

I mailed the new program off with the question, Is this a good approach? For the first time ever I got an answer back on the subject: It is very good. But go slow and steady. If you slip, do not condemn yourself. Get up and walk. May you have success in your goals.

Love and Blessings, Sat. But I ignored Sri Gurudev’s advice and rushed into the new program, adding practice after practice until it got to be too much, and so became even less fit to live with than usual.

One evening Prema earnestly prayed to Sri Gurudev, asking him to do something about me. The phone rang while she was still praying. She picked it up. It was Sri Gurudev himself ! (In all the years before, he had never called either one of us.)

After speaking with Prema for a while, he asked to speak to me. He had much to say, but I heard little because I was thinking I’d heard it all before: “Go easy but not lazy... The heaven is always there… Don’t push too hard...” But he got my attention with, “Peace is the goal; if you disturb peace for the sake of sadhana chart, 87

what good is it?” At the end of the conversation, I asked him about limiting my reading (he only had my attention, not my comprehension). He said, “Just sit comfortably and read what is uplifting.”

—v— In a dream, a few of us were standing around in a park with Sri Gurudev, at the top of a lawn that sloped gently down to a peaceful stream. Close by, a big tree was growing out sideways from the slope, at an angle flat enough to easily walk on; about twenty feet out was a large limb sticking straight up.

My usual way would have been to go out as far out as possible and start bouncing the tree. Gurudev said, “Go out to that limb and come back.” So I walked out, went around the limb, and came back. “Good,” he said.

—v—

After we’d been in Vermont for a few years I stumbled into what eventually became my life’s work, the little book Spirit of Fire. Here’s a summary of how it developed, followed by seven curious ways in which Sri Gurudev’s training made it possible.

After I had returned to Jesus (beginning of Chapter XII), the first thing to do, obviously, was to understand his message and his perspective. Since there are so many crazy ideas about Jesus going around, I went straight to the Bible and subjected it to the same ruthless scrutiny I had given the Eastern Scriptures.

In addition to reading the Bible itself, I listened to teaching tapes over and over. When a teaching sounded wrong (or right), I would stop the tape, look up the citation in one or more of my eight Bibles, dig around in concordances,* and think about the subject until I was at peace with my conclusions.

At this juncture I’d been studying like this for about ten years, typically six hours a day. I knew the Bible and Jesus’ teachings at least as well as any of my teachers, but was still not satisfied. * A concordance is an alphabetical list of words, with citations to the passages where the words are found. With a concordance you can use the Bible as its own commentary and reference work (BibleGateway.com).

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So I decided to return to my original plan, to continuously call on the Name (to repeat my mantra) as an aid for fixing my thought on Jesus until I realized God. (The inner meanings of the mantra Gurudev had given me match the pattern and purpose of Jesus’ ministry on earth exactly.)

To inspire myself I began by researching what the Bible has to say about the benefits of God’s Name. I wrote a fourteenpage essay and showed it to Prema. She said, “Way too long and pompous. Cut it down to one page.”

“One page?!?”

“How about a poem?” It sounded interesting. I took the challenge. Soon after this, some Holy Ghost Christian friends introduced me to the presence of God. They would enter his presence every Wednesday night, without fail, right there in someone’s living room, using nothing but Jesus’ name, praise, and worship. This is what I’d been looking for from childhood! I was almost as impressed with my friends’ resolution as I was with his presence.

After the initial amazement wore off I began to closely observe what was going on in these sessions. First of all, I noticed that his presence seemed to come and go. When we focused our attention on Jesus, his presence seemed to appear; when our attention drifted to the human drama, his presence seemed to evaporate.

Second, I noticed that once his presence appeared, we didn’t need to keep singing or praying to sustain the experience. The awareness of his presence seemed to be enough to keep the connection open (perhaps his presence is the connection).

Third, I found that when the group mind drifted off and the sense of his presence evaporated (for example, during the announcements, or when it was time to leave), I could sustain the experience privately by paying attention to his presence instead of letting my mind drift off to whatever had captured the interest of the group.

These observations led me to conclude that it was not God who was coming and going, it was our attention. Therefore, 89

abiding in his presence should be easy (at least in theory): All we had to do was make his presence our uncontested first priority.

When I tried to introduce my ideas to the group, most of them suddenly found something else to do on Wednesday night.

No argument, no discussion. After meeting for years, the group disintegrated—poof.* So I decided to test my theories on myself. My poem on the benefits of Jesus’ name now became the practical means for focusing on Jesus and entering his presence. I soon discovered that overloading my mind with thoughts of Jesus would invariably cause my thinking process to shut down (no human mind is equipped to process Jesus) and that his presence would invariably appear in the space.

To induce the experience I would sift the Scriptures for fresh insights about Jesus (the person), then turn the insights into rhyming verse. From the very beginning, trying to write like this invariably ended me up in his presence. Once in his presence, the challenge became to craft verses that would consistently cause his presence to appear—and then would consistently enhance the experience of his presence.

Through much trial and error, I figured out that for a verse to work consistently, it had to: 1. be packed with information about Jesus, 2. harmonize with the Scriptures, 3. apply to the present moment, 4. fit the structure, and 5. read as smoothly as prose.

It takes a lot of time to craft a verse to these standards (try it). * This was one of the strangest experiences of my entire life. I puzzled over it for decades—through dozens of similar experiences. The explanation came to me while crafting the final draft of this chapter: The social contract calls for the individual to put the tribe first (to fit in). To put God’s presence first at all times is to unilaterally cancel all social contracts and make yourself an outsider to every human tribe—from the church to the biker gang. So, abiding in his presence is the ultimate taboo. (Visiting once in a while was okay for my group; it’s what made us special.) The group’s breakup was just a natural response to the dread consequences of breaking a taboo. (The rewards far outweigh the cost, p. A-5.)

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I constantly had to find new means of expression; my usual modes of thought and speech rarely fit the structure. This kept me busy thinking about Jesus and his message in fresh ways. The need to harmonize with Scripture (#2) kept me from going off track.

Sri Gurudev’s rigorous training had prepared me very, very well for this. First, I’d had lots of practice interacting with a person who, like Jesus, was perfectly sane, yet whose everyday actions and motivations cannot be understood by the natural human mind This came in handy when I entered the awareness of the presence of the Lord, where all worldly reference points are useless.

Second, Gurudev’s countless dressings-down (most of which were a surprise) had brought me to where I could instantly, at will, drop the need to defend or promote myself, lay down all my thoughts and feelings, and simply be with what is—no matter what was thrown at me. This came in handy when the world began to pull every trick out of the book to get my attention off his presence and onto myself and my little drama.

Third, my first few years of interaction with Swami Satchidananda were like balancing on a log that someone might kick at any moment. This came in handy for going deep into the word of God, where “only the unshakeable may remain.”

Fourth, in Gurudev’s organization I had learned not only to work diligently without expecting rewards (or even approval) but to get the job done whether people liked it or not. This came in handy now that I had unwittingly embarked on a very long journey for which I was to receive next to no support.

Fifth, as a disciple of a Yoga Master I had spent well over ten thousand hours in Yoga practice. This came in handy because I never got sick, and because I had the skill, discipline, and perseverance to go beyond merely studying the Bible to turning the focus of my mind to the person Jesus again and again and again, all day long, day after day.

Sixth, it was obvious to me that Gurudev lived on a plane of existence not only far above me, but far above any Christian I had ever known or even heard of (except for a few of the saints). And 91

he was not a Christian. This came in handy because—alone among my Christian friends—I had no worries about people roasting in hell forever just because they don’t know Jesus. If Satchidananda was on his way to hell, all the Christians I knew were ahead of him. So I felt free to use my time for getting to know Jesus better instead of trying to win converts.

Seventh, Gurudev had never failed to demonstrate a type of ministry that was completely out of my reach. This allowed me to forget about professional ministry and concentrate on putting Jesus’ teachings into practice.

The next phase was spent consciously pressing into the presence of the Lord, day and night—and unconsciously drifting out. I wrote on envelopes, cardboard, scraps of wood on the job site, shower walls — going into and out of his presence a thousand times until one day my whole being was rocked by a revelation: How I feel makes no difference at all.

In the time it took to walk around the wood stove in our basement, with my inner man still reeling, a sea-change occurred: By some kind of divine magic his presence shifted from the background to the foreground of my experience. In other words, from then on I was normally in his presence instead of normally out.

Repeating the mantra began to seem pointless; Jesus had simply handed me the fruit of the practice. (That’s Jesus for you.)

Meanwhile, the project had taken on a life of its own, so I followed it to its completion twenty-eight years later. It became a book crafted entirely in his presence: Spirit of Fire: the Power of Jesus’ Name.

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XIV. Visits

hen we’d been away from the Ashram for about ten years, our daughter Anna went back to take Yoga teacher training. At the same time, our teenage son Sam was there as a Living Yoga Trainee.

After Anna’s course of training, Sri Gurudev asked her, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Vermont, Gurudev.”

“Are they coming to the graduation ceremony?”

“No, Gurudev.”

“Hmmmm.”

Later, after a satsang, Gurudev told Anna, “Your parents should be here. Tell them to come. Now.” Anna called us right away; we immediately packed and made the thirteen-hour drive.

(I was motivated as much by curiosity as devotion: Until that day Gurudev had only given advice and suggestions—not one command.)

We arrived in time for the ceremony. The next day, Sri Gurudev invited my family—Matt, Nick, Sam, Anna, Prema, and me—to join him for a luncheon in the building near his house where he received special guests. I had always been on the grungy working end of ashram life, so at first it felt strange being waited on like one of the important people. But I quickly got used to it.

Swami Dayananda, one of Gurudev’s assistants, was attending.

She brought some damp warm washcloths for our hands. I was so glad to see Gurudev after all those years that I kept on looking at him and grinning. He said, “Why are you looking at me?” and threw his washcloth at me. I caught it easily, washed my hands, and passed it on to Prema.

There was some pleasant conversation. He said, “I’m going to keep Anna.” (An expression of endearment; he never held on to anyone.) Then he said to me, “You should move back.” I guess he 93

saw the horrified look on my face, so he said, “Or at least visit every year.” I guess the horrified look was still there, so he said, “Or every two years at the very least. In any case, I’m going to keep Anna.”

I mentioned that Prema wanted to move back. She denied it, but then Gurudev said, “You could have your old house back. “ Prema said, “That would be tempting.”

I had been working on my epic poem Spirit of Fire for several years (at this point, it still fit easily on one page), sending him draft versions every few months. Also, I had been regularly sending him my sadhana charts (a record of time spent in Yoga practice, not a diary) for the previous twenty years or so. As with the goal statements mentioned in Chapter XII, I had never received the ghost of a response for either the drafts or the charts.

I showed him the latest. He looked the poem over very carefully and said, “Hmmm. Refining and refining.” (This was a great compliment. One of his main teachings is, You were fine, then you got de-fined, and now you have to get re-fined.) After scrutinizing my sadhana chart, he said, “You are the only one who sends his charts regularly.”

Frankly, I didn’t believe him. As a world-famous Guru he had thousands of disciples, and keeping a sadhana chart was one of his most prominent recommendations—he even put a sample chart in the booklet we received at initiation. So I asked Swami Dayananda, about it later. She said, “Yes. You are the only one who has been sending his chart regularly over a long period of time.”

(Later, his long-time secretary and personal assistant, Premanjali confirmed it.) It was very comforting to finally learn that Gurudev had been so interested in the things I’d been sending him.

I had always been obsessed with controlling my diet. After decades of failure, I finally asked the Holy Spirit about it; he said, Don’t worry about it. Eat whatever you like; watch what you say.

Now, I’d eaten with Sri Gurudev in many gatherings before this. He had always eaten very, very lightly; in fact, his ability to completely ignore the finest meal (the same way he could ignore a person, p. 54) was legendary among his disciples. I’d often seen 94

him take just a pinch of food out of an entire banquet and, literally, never even look at the rest. But that day he tucked away a good helping, asked for seconds, and topped it all off with a big dish of ice cream.

On the way out we stopped at a large framed photograph of Gurudev giving the opening address at the Woodstock music festival in 1969. (The photo was taken from behind him; the enormous crowd of young people that he considered his children stretched out before him into the distance.)

I had often thought about how much suffering I might have avoided if I had met him at Woodstock, four years prior to our first meeting. He said, “I was looking for you at Woodstock.”

“I had tickets, but didn’t go.” (The surf was up on Cape Cod.) —v— We made one more visit to Yogaville during Sri Gurudev’s time in the body. He was said to be very old and weak, but when he rose after his talk and recognized my family and me, he gently pushed aside the people who were trying to help him, stepped briskly down the stairs from the stage, and received us very graciously.

One of his teachings was, The best offering you can bring to a Guru is a bundle of sticks. It tells him that you are ready to have it all burned. I had collected my little bundle of sticks and bound them with string. Once he was seated, I offered them into his hands, looked him directly in the eye, and said, “Send the fire.”

Without his saying a word or making even the slightest movement, suddenly a wave of Holy Spirit power came from him that would surely have knocked me flat on the floor if I hadn’t had so much practice at receiving in Christian meetings; this was the same Holy Spirit that I had seen and experienced being released in the name of Jesus countless times. It was the last time I saw Gurudev in this life.

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XV. Farewell One night the following spring, I had a portentous dream. In the first scene I was standing with Gurudev on the steps leading up to a side door of a big stone building like an old high school.

His secretary was delivering the news that someone was leaving the Ashram, in the sense of quitting the training. Only the three of us were present.

Bhaktan to secretary: “She should never withdraw from training.

If she withdraws from training, her purification stops.”

Sri Gurudev to Bhaktan: “What is the purpose of that training?”

B: “The training is for removing all impurities. The Guru is the fire.”

G: “Isn’t the Spirit the fire?”

B: “Yes, the Spirit is the fire, but the Guru, because he is perfectly coordinated with the Spirit, is the Spirit in his effect on those around him.”

G: (Looking me square in the eye): “Am I different from you?”

B: “No. You and I are the same, only you are pure and I’m not. I embrace you as refiner’s fire. I love what you do. I’ve learned to enjoy living in the fire, tossing things in, and seeing them burn up.”

Turning to the secretary I said, “The only legitimate reason for changing Gurus would perhaps be this: If your Guru died, you might seek out another Guru to complete the training.”

Sri Gurudev gave me a very significant look.

The second scene took place in the spacious, glass-enclosed foyer of one of the buildings of an exclusive college. A huge grey marble staircase with a gentle outward curve filled one corner; it led to classrooms and auditoriums above.

Sri Gurudev was standing with a group of devotees about halfway up; the president of the school was standing in the foyer 97

below us, advertising the importance of his work to Sri Gurudev and explaining how he needed to raise a great deal of money.

I answered for Sri Gurudev, sensing his approval: “To get real knowledge, you don’t need buildings and classrooms. In fact, you could come naked to Gurudev and get everything you need. For that matter, you don’t even have to live with a real Guru to learn from him. I’ve been living in Vermont for the past twelve years and he’s been teaching me every day.’

In the third scene, Sri Gurudev was standing in the middle of a large rectangular pantry; doors were open on both ends.

One by one, people were coming through one of the doorways, making contact with him, and going out the other. A few of us were attending.

The thought came to me, This feels like goodbye. I was flooded with love and grief as I understood that the central feature of my life on earth for the previous thirty years was about to be removed.

I slowly transitioned into the waking state with those feelings possessing me.

Then I heard these words in my spirit: Prepare your heart.

I’m leaving soon. This will be a hard time for those who focus on my frame. Do not grieve as the world grieves. Do not look at my dead body. Use this time to seal yourself into my Spirit, into my presence, to make my presence the defining feature of your life.

—v— A few months later I was enjoying a warm summer afternoon at Warren Falls, an extraordinary series of pools and waterfalls in the mountains of Vermont. Many people were there, swimming, diving, enjoying the waterfalls, and sunbathing.

Suddenly I just wanted to be by myself. I went up into a little clearing in the woods; many people should have been coming and going, but I was completely alone. I sensed the weight of the presence of God as never before. I knew my time with Sri Gurudev on earth was at an end.

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I lifted my hands and raised my voice, thanking him for all he had given me. I was engulfed by a wave of joy and sorrow that stretched my soul to the breaking point. That night I got a telephone call: Sri Gurudev had passed on.

—v— Up to that day, the sense of Gurudev’s presence and the presence of Jesus had always been a little different in my experience.

That day they became one.

Memorial sculpture of Swami Satchidananda, Yogaville, Virginia.

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XVI. A Guru’s Legacy Sri Gurudev had left his body while on a teaching trip to India; the body was shipped back to the Ashram in Virginia for burial.

On short notice, well over a thousand people came from all over the globe to show their respects, my family and I among them.

The organization had built a special building, Chidambaram (from the Tamil, meaning Wisdom Atmosphere), to honor Gurudev’s memory. After his passing, his body was to be set in the lotus pose and buried in a concrete tomb in the lower level.

At the time of Sri Gurudev’s passing, this tomb had no top or front; these were to be added after the final interment ceremonies were complete. (Later on, the tomb was to be faced with marble.)

But, unpredictable to the end, Sri Gurudev had passed on in India, and by the time the body got back to America, rigor mortis had set in. The tomb was too narrow for the body to lie in, so it had to be buried standing up.

In a long series of rituals, the body was slowly buried in ashes, sand, and salt; wooden slats were inserted one by one to hold back the fill. The sound of chanting and bells, the light of ghee and camphor lamps, and the scent of incense filled the air.

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Afterward, the front of the tomb was walled in and a second tier added to accommodate Gurudev’s standing form.

Following instructions (Don’t look at my dead body, p. 98), I had skipped these events. Then someone told me that the second tier had been completed and that the concrete top was to be poured the following day. This slab was going to put an immovable lid on a major chapter of my life! I immediately volunteered to help and told a number of people to be sure to be there (the event was unplanned and therefore unannounced). By some kind of divine sleight of hand, I ended up building the form for the top and presiding over the event with my friend Paraman.

Now, Swami Satchidananda’s vision was peace on earth. He devoted his whole life—all day, all night, every day, every night— to this cause. He considered conflict among religions to be the greatest obstacle to world peace; he considered “I-me-mine” to be the greatest obstacle to individual peace. The capping of this tomb marked the very end of his earthly ministry.

The atmosphere of holiness was almost tangible. To the sound of mantra chanting, people climbed up a makeshift ramp, one or two at a time, to fill the last couple of inches in the tomb (above the top of the head) with handfuls of holy ash; some also placed holy objects from around the world.

When the tomb was full, a team that included my daughter Anna mixed the concrete for the top and delivered it to us in buckets. After the top was poured and troweled smooth there was a pause, a deep silence. Then, spontaneously, people began to offer prayers, chants, and songs from many religions and traditions, in languages from around the globe (I heard two songs that were current in Holy Spirit Christianity at the time). No one tried to control things; it all flowed in flawless harmony for a long time and even concluded in unison.

And so, in the end, Swami Satchidananda’s vision was fully realized in miniature. When he went ahead, his presence lingered, a whiff of fragrance in the air …

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Mahasamadhi We heard him draw his final breath; read his certificate of death.

We sealed his body in the vault, banked in ashes, sand, and salt.

We said the things we had to say, sang the songs, and went away.

But we haven’t been misled into thinking he is dead, because his presence, once so strong, is stronger now that he is gone.

— The End

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There is only one Guru.

—Dada J. P. Vaswani

Appendix

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The Guru Genuine Gurus are extremely rare in the East. In the West they’re so rare that very few are even willing to entertain the possibility of their existence.

A genuine Guru is God in the flesh. As Jesus said, “If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen the Father,” and “Anyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher.”

There is only one Guru. He/she comes in all kinds of disguises: king or pauper, saint or rogue, moral or immoral, sane or insane, any, all, some, or none of these. Judging a true Guru by human standards is like using a pocket ruler to measure the sun from earth.

I’ve met fifteen such beings and come to know six of them personally. All of them recognize Jesus as Lord; not one of them subscribes to any of the 33,000 Christian denominations.

None seemed too concerned with what I did with my earthly life—other than, no matter where I go or what I do, to meditate on the Eternal. All day, all night. Every day, every night.

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The Gospel Here are many versions of the Gospel in Scripture. Here are four: 1. The kingdom of heaven is at hand. (The gospel of John the Baptist, Mat 3:2, adopted by Jesus, Mat 4:17). Therefore his presence may be experienced by anyone, anywhere, anytime.

2. We enter his presence, the Most Holy Place, by the blood of Jesus, here and now (not on the basis of our level of success in the self-improvement game). I don’t have to worry about all my sin suddenly getting exposed by the light of his presence.

Jesus’ sacrifice is sufficient and final (Isaiah 52:13 - 53:12, acted out by Jesus in his passion and adopted by Paul, 2 Cor 5:21).

3 Jesus is anointed to make a massive difference in my life on earth (Isaiah 61:1-3, adopted by Jesus, Lk 4:16-20). His anointing flows out of his presence.

4. Jesus and his anointing are the same yesterday, today, and forever (Heb 13:8). In him, past and future are irrelevant

He is the unmanifest, original Word, the First Cause, beyond creation, now; his coming is being prophesied, now;

he is entering Mary’s womb by his Spirit, now; he is being born, now;

he is growing in wisdom, stature, and favor, now;

he is being baptized, anointed by John and the Holy Spirit, now;

he is preaching Good News to the poor, casting out

demons, healing the sick, and raising the dead, now; he is being tortured and put to death, now; he is rising from the dead, now;

he is teaching his disciples, now; 109

he has returned to his seat on the throne, at God’s right hand, now;

he is praying for us as we make his enemies his footstool, now; and he is returning to earth in glory, now.

He never leaves us or forsakes us.

In him, in his presence, I have everything God has and is, now.

All this can be realized, now.

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Hearing God’s Voice Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all [the things of the world] will be given you as well.

—Jesus the Anointed

Before teaching it’s customary to present one’s credentials.

In sorting out what I wanted in life, following the guidance of the Holy Spirit (the inner Guru), and putting him first—very imperfectly—I’ve •

been everywhere I wanted to go, seen everything I wanted to see, and met everyone I wanted to meet (except you, of course);

•

accomplished everything I set out to accomplish. This includes mastering blues harmonica, swimming, skiing, Yoga poses and breathing, Yoga teaching, carpentry, house design, home building, leading small groups, and writing;

•

helped Prema, my beautiful and faithful wife of forty years, raise our four very intelligent, skilled, sane, and healthy children—with total family medical expenses for the thirty years that children were at home of under $4,000.00 (spent on midwives and two or three x-rays for bones that were not broken);

•

spent enough time in the Spirit and with scriptures East and West to see the Truth behind the words;

•

got all the things I wanted to achieve and provide for my family. I’m now working on things I never dreamed of—and yet, I have nothing pending. I’m free.

What God-in-me did for me, God-in-you will do for you.

My sheep know my voice.

—Jesus 111

Why So Few Hear His Voice God is broadcasting all the time, but people don’t want to hear him for a number of reasons, including: 1. They aren’t sure God loves them. God is love—a direct experience that is obscured by our fears.

2. They think God might hurt them. If God wanted to hurt you he would have done it a long time ago. And if you’re like me, he doesn’t have to bother, because you’re already doing a fine job of hurting yourself.

3. They think they can figure it out themselves. This theory has no support in anyone’s personal experience. It retains its popularity only because most people think that other people have life figured out. (They don’t.)

4. People don’t know that God is ready to give them all his knowledge, wisdom, joy, and love—now—and that his word is the vehicle that transfers the goods.

Hearing from God Hearing from God is easy. If you think it’s difficult, you’ll miss it. First of all, be calm. Just because you hear his voice doesn’t mean you have to do what he says. God never makes anyone do anything. And he’s very kind: whenever I’ve come back to him after making another mess, God never once said, I told you so. He guides from wherever I am now.

God rarely speaks in an audible voice. Listen for a still, small voice coming from infinity, not from the sky. Expect to receive it in your heart, not your ears. Let your heart be an open receiver, not a mixing machine.

• •

•

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If nothing comes, most likely your question isn’t clear,

you’re stuck on your own ideas, and/or

you already know the answer but don’t like it.

The remedy is prayer, fasting, and the counsel of the wise. Or you can simply ask God to speak louder. Or you could say eleven times (and mean it) I am your disciple. I don’t know what to do.

Teach me. It helps to expect an answer and to intend to carry it out.

How Do I Know It’s God? His voice comes from another place, another dimension, cuts through the confusion, and gets to the essence in few words. By contrast, the voice of the world, the inner dialogue, goes rattling on and on in circles and never gets to the point.

Some hear his voice, others get pictures, some go by what it feels or even smells like. This is because his voice is not really a voice but the Truth. The Truth has to be interpreted, stepped down for human consumption. By the time it gets through to the individual, it will have taken a form that the individual can use.

That form will vary according to the individual.

God meets people on whatever level they care to meet him, from the lowest to the highest. If you want answers in words, you have to know the Scriptures—unless your parents spoke nothing but the word of God.

Carrying Out God’s Word After you receive the answer, firmly decide: Are we going to do this God’s way or my way? You’ll get much better results doing it your own way and taking full responsibility than trying to do it half-and-half.

God doesn’t get upset if you do things your way; you simply get whatever you’ve been getting in life. If that’s okay with you, go on.

Hearing the word of God puts you above the world spiritually, but his word only improves your life on earth to the extent that you speak it out your mouth and put it into practice.

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When I follow his voice there’s a certain peace, a strange kind of confidence. I try to avoid telling people what I’m doing unless it affects them directly, but if they find out and tell me I’m wrong or stupid or misguided, I listen closely to see if they are right or if I can be moved. If I’m on track, their doubts only clarify and strengthen my resolve. If their doubts weaken my resolve, I go back to God for a better plan.

In following his voice, those who have opposed me are like weights in physical exercise—they’ve helped me the most. Those closest to me have been the likeliest to pull me off track. (This is not true for everyone.)

The task may seem impossible, but I walk it out, one step at a time, and invariably end up doing the impossible. The primary requirement for failure is quitting; failure is not possible for those who never quit. Even if they persevere to the death, they never experience failure; they simply carry on in the next world.

Between receiving direction and seeing the manifestation there’s no need to be listening for instructions all the time; in fact, if you do you’ll probably end up muddling his word with your own ideas. His word gets you into a flow that you ride to the goal.

You might see this flow as peace, confidence, joy, love, or as his presence. God takes it from there.

When you get out of the flow, don’t beat yourself up about it.

Return to his voice, get fresh instructions, “Okay, I made a mess.

Now what?” and get back in the flow.

Jesus Jesus is so tuned to God’s word that his name is the Word of God. His own ideas have no chance at all to manifest. So, considering the person Jesus opens you to the word of God and puts you in the flow. (I managed to survive many years without Jesus, but it was ugly.)

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Scripture There is an incredible amount of confusion concerning the scriptures. Like Jesus, the scriptures are an on-ramp into the sound of his voice and the flow of his Spirit. Only a fool would park on the on-ramp.

Ethics Righteous conduct, integrity, is required for a happy life.

Carelessness and lack of respect produce misery and confusion.

How well your life in the world turns out depends on your integrity, on what you think and say, and on your level of respect for every single created thing.

God is always present to advise you on how to get the most out of life. Hearing his voice will never excuse you from living a life of integrity; in fact, those who follow his voice are held to a much higher standard. (If there were shortcuts I would have found them. I looked really, really hard.)

Gurus You don’t need a human teacher if you already hear God’s voice—unless, like me, you need extra help learning to obey and are prone to self-deception. In any case, please don’t make following your Guru, your Pastor, or your religion a substitute for following the Holy Spirit.

Where It Ends The process ends where it begins, 1 John 4:17:

As he is so are we—in this world.

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Glossary Note: Many of Sri Gurudev’s disciples took different names to inspire us as we moved through phases of life. For the sake of simplicity I used their most recent Sanskrit name.

Arati: An offering of worship to the divine involving chanting and waving ghee (clarified butter) and camphor lights, in succession, before a light on an altar.

Ananda: Bliss or joy. Like divine love, this supernatural force is so far beyond the greatest human pleasure and happiness that once it’s revealed (working it up is out of the question) one thinks nothing of giving up anything and everything to keep it (Matthew 13:44).

Ashram: Spiritual community, refuge.

Bhakta(n): Fit for food fed; the provision for a sacrifice; a name that sums up the idea behind Romans 12:1-3. Bhakti: the quality of this kind of life, attitude, or atmosphere; the power that attracts man to God and God to man.

Brahman: The Great. The Absolute Eternal Reality.

Buddhi: The highest faculty of the mind. The buddhi separates, perceives, and understands directly, above the mind and senses.

Hearing the voice of God (p. A.3-8) is a manifestation of the buddhi.

Chidambaram: Wisdom atmosphere. The very appropriate name of the shrine that houses Gurudev’s remains.

Chid: Consciousness Chitra: Bright, magnificent.

Dayananda: Daya: The kind of compassion that does something about the suffering. Ananda: (see above).

Guru(dev): Guru: Remover of darkness. Gu: darkness, Ru: remover.

Conventionally, a spiritual Master who has disciples. Dev: Light or god. More, p. 109–110.

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Guru Gita: Song of the Guru. An ancient Sanskrit poem of over four hundred verses about who the Guru is and how to gain the maximum benefit from your association with him/her.

Guru Poornima: Full moon of the Guru. In India, the Guru is celebrated on the full moon day (Purnima) in the Hindu month of Ashadha ( June–July).

Hari: Remover of Obstacles. A name of Vishnu, the member of the Hindu trinity who upholds creation.

I Ching: Book of Change. One of the oldest scriptures in the world; the foundation scripture for both Taoism and Confucianism.

According to the reader’s level of awareness, it could be either a fortune-telling oracle or a book of wisdom. (I consider one of its authors, the Duke of Chou, to be the greatest writer who ever lived.)

Swami Satchidananda would rather we blunder around in the dark than rely on oracles, astrology, etc; reliance on oracles reduces one’s reliance on God, puts one in the hapless position of trying to conform to the world, and cripples one’s ability to get guidance from within.

Integral Yoga (see also Yoga.) An integration of Yoga teachings and practices developed by Swami Satchidananda. He produced a number of statements of what Integral Yoga is. This is my favorite: Body of optimal health and strength; mind with all clarity and calmness; intellect as sharp as a razor; will as pliable as steel; heart full of love and compassion; life full of dedication; and realization of the True Self is the goal of Integral Yoga.

Janardhana: Protector from evil. A name of Vishnu, the Preserver, a member of the Hindu trinity.

Jnana(m): Wisdom, penetrating insight, accurate perception.

Kabir: a 15th-century Indian mystic poet and saint.

Karma: The law of cause and effect, especially as it applies to human affairs. (Destiny, fate, and karma are synonyms.)

We operate under karma by default. The sum of everything we’ve 118

thought, felt, said, and done is continuously recalculated; events come up accordingly.

You can change your karma by changing what you think and say, but, contrary to popular belief, karma can never be worked out; it’s like an endless soap opera instantly brought into complete manifestation by the appearance of “I.” But there is a life entirely above karma (see Yoga).

Karunananda: compassion. Ananda: (see above).

LOTUS: Acronym for Light-Of-Truth-Universal-Shrine, a shrine at Yogaville in Buckingham, Virginia presenting the essential unity of all religions.

Mahasamadhi: Great superconscious experience. A word used in place of “death” for the passing of a Self-realized Yoga Master from this life. (I thought this was just Indian hyperbole until my Guru passed on.)

Mandukya Upanishad: (See Upanishad) Mandukya: Frog. This could refer to the metamorphosis a frog goes through, or to the mysterious frogs that are said to occasionally be found living inside of solid rock.

The Mandukya Upanishad is a very short work on the nature of consciousness and the mystic syllable OM (see below), considered by many to be the absolute pinnacle of wisdom and insight.

Mantra: Instrument of thought. (See also Yantra.) In the East, mantras are used to jam and/or replace the internal dialogue. In India this is a very highly refined science, a field that people have been developing for thousands of years.

A sage hears a divine sound in a visionary state, translates it into human sound, and shares it with the seeker. With enough repetition, the human sound of the mantra tunes the seeker to the original divine source-sound, which is then experienced (“heard”) directly. (It’s possible to practice one mantra and end up hearing another.)

There are tens of thousands of mantras used for every purpose, from the highest to the lowest.

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The highest mantras are based on sounds that are very close to the all-pervading “soundless sound” of the Real, the Eternal.

In other words, on the planes where these sounds are actually experienced the veil is very thin.

Some people hear these sounds naturally, without practice; others wake up to them spontaneously or by impartation. A number of my fellow disciples hear these sounds even while moving about in this world.

Practicing these sounds on the human level works much the same as ultrasonic cleaning on the heart and mind; the effect is amplified exponentially when the original sounds are heard and enjoyed directly. In other words, when received with an open heart, the vibration of the origin sound annihilates the veil.

Milarepa: A Tibetan sage who lived around the tenth century.

Many classic stories center on the trials his Guru, Marpa, put him through in the course of leading him into the Ultimate Truth.

Muktan: Liberated one.

OM: A sound indicating and expressing and all that is and is not, past, present, and future—and That which is beyond creation.

There is much confusion about OM. Briefly: It’s not so much a spoken word as a sound that is intoned.

Here’s one way: Let the face and jaw relax completely. (The mouth will open a bit) While making a sound, close the mouth slowly; so as not to shape the sound in any way, leave the throat, jaw, tongue, and lips relaxed. Let the “mmm” part of the sound be of longer duration. Listen to the sound and its overtones; notice how it affects the body, mind, and atmosphere.

OM Tryambakam: A very famous long mantra of Siva, one of the Hindu Trinity, destroyer of the universe—and destroyer of the insanity of taking the transient as eternal. A literal translation: OM (i.e. “we invoke all that is, all that is not, and That beyond all conception as witness”). We worship the three-eyed one (Tryambaka: The one with two open eyes to see the world in perspective and one to see into the Spirit) the fragrant, the nourisher of all.

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May you free us from death, grant us immortality, as the cucumber is severed from the creeper. (i.e. instantly).

Pandit: Scholar and/or priest. Indian scholars take their 5000+ year unbroken traditions very seriously. When speaking or writing in English, if the Pandit needs to use a Sanskrit word that has no English equivalent (there are hundreds, if not thousands — ninety-six words for “love” alone), he simply inserts the Sanskrit word without the slightest regard for the savages who speak only English.

Paraman: The Supreme. This book’s perspective is in no small part due to my friendship with Paraman Barsel.

Parvathi: Daughter of the Mountains, consort of Siva.

Prema: Unconditional love.

Premanjali: Offering of Unconditional Love. Dr. Prem Anjali, Gurudev’s long-time executive secretary and personal assistant. In developing this book, her input resulted in two quantum leaps in my understanding.

Puja: Ritual worship ceremony. Swami Satchidananda’s method employs two bowls of water, flower petals, incense and various lights. Using these elements, the worshiper symbolically brings a god, goddess, or saint out of himself, washes the feet, gives fresh clothes, gives something to eat, then sings praises and/or prays to him or her. At the end, the worshiper brings the deity back into himself.

Rama: Beautiful One, a name of one of the incarnations of Vishnu of the Hindu Trinity.

Ramakrishna: A combination of the names Rama (above) and Krishna (another incarnation of Vishnu), and the name of a famous enlightened Master of the nineteenth century.

Ramdas: Servant of Rama (see Rama). The suffix -das on any name makes it servant of .

Sadhana: supernatural procedure. Conventionally, spiritual practice.

The practice of non-violence or truthfulness, repeating a mantra, 121

singing divine songs, scripture study and discussion, meditation, selfless service, Yoga breathing, poses, etc.

Sadhana chart: A log of Yoga practice with notations of time spent on each individual practice, with an occasional one-sentence comment. (Not a diary.) One of the of the least time-consuming, easiest to use, and most powerful weapons against self-deception known to man. The benefits of keeping a sadhana chart are all out of proportion to the minimal time invested (perhaps 30 seconds a day). The best thing I learned in keeping a chart: What comes naturally works out best in the long run.

Sadananda: Sada: eternal, or existence. Ananda (see above) Samadhi: Evenstate. Conventionally, superconsciousness.

Sangha: Company.

Sanskrit: Well-written. An ancient Indian language intentionally crafted by sages. For communicating about spiritual matters, Sanskrit is almost as far above English as English is above the chatter of apes.

Sannyas: Total renunciation. Sannyasi(n): Monk or nun.

Sat: Existence, absolute Truth.

Sat-chid-ananda: A three-fold expression of the nature of God. (See Sat, Chid, and Ananda.)

Satsang: Sat-sangha, Company of truth seekers. Conventionally, a public talk by a wise person.

Satya: Truthfulness.

Siva: (See Om Trayambakam above.)

Sivananda: Siva (see above). Ananda (see above). Swami Satchidanda’s own very famous Guru.

Swami, Swamiji: Master, in the sense of self-mastery; also a title given to Indian monks in general. The suffix -ji makes it Respected Master.

Shanti: Peace.

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Sri: Holy, venerable. Also, the Goddess of Prosperity.

Sudharman: Supreme Righteousness or Ultimate Virtue.

Sukumar: The Ultimate Prince; handsome, tender.

Tamil: A south Indian language and people. Gurudev came from the land of the Tamils.

Tao Te Ching: Way-Virtue-Book. The foundation scripture of Taoism; the ultimate manual on aligning what you seem to be with what really is.

Upanishad: At the feet of [a Master]. The pre-eminent scriptures of India, filled with stunning wisdom and insight.

Visakan: The God of War. Here, Visakan Breithaupt.

Yantra: Sacred geometrical form. Many, many yantras were discovered by sages in visionary states and then sketched out in this world. When you see the originals in vision you find out how incredibly accurate these images are — and how far they fall short of the originals. (See also Mantra.)

Yoga: Yoking or union; that is, harnessing the heart and mind to the Spirit.

Yogi: one who practices Yoga.

The terse Yoga Sutras is the ultimate manual on how the mind works and how to master it. (Swami Satchidananda’s translation and commentary is a perennial bestseller.)

According to its author, the sage Patanjali, Yoga is restraint of the mind-stuff from taking forms, or Yoga is restraint of the modifications of the mindstuff.

So, from Patanjali’s point of view, this book in front of you— the act of reading—what is conventionally known as “you”—and everything else you see, do, remember, and in any way experience— are all forms arising in the mind (modifications of the mind-stuff ).

Swami Satchidananda puts it simply: Self modified is mind; mind unmodified is Self.

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Since perceived objects (the sense of “I” is a perceived object) are subject to change, they are not considered real; only the Changeless is considered real. In other words, whatever does not exist forever is considered an illusion. (These things may be here, but they are not considered any more real than the things perceived in dreams.)

So, since heaven, earth, and hell are continually changing, they are not considered real; neither is what is conventionally called “you” or “me.”

Normally the Seer (the real you, beyond personality and the sense of “I”) remains identified with the modifications of the mindstuff (YS I.4). In other words, you’re normally mixed up with the world: You think you’re reading a book when in truth you are pure spirit, pure consciousness, infinite, changeless, eternal, the sum of all that is and is not. (If you were not changeless, you would not be in position to see changing things.)

The Seer is experienced as is only when the mindstuff is still, without modification (YS I.3). This is Yoga (YS I.2).

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Postscript This book was finished in the same time frame as two others, Peculiar Treasures and Spirit of Fire: The Power of Jesus’ Name.

These three very different books had been in the works for over fifteen years, but it was only in polishing the typography that I began to see that they go together.

As Rumi said, “This presence has been given many names at various times, in various places—yet this presence remains nameless.”

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The free verse poems of Peculiar Treasures take you to the threshold quickly.

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Spirit of Fire lays out the cost and the reward—and acts as a key to the front door.

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These Teaching Events tell of the long, fiery training with a Spiritual Master that prepared me to abide in this place.

All three are available on Amazon as eBooks (search by title and my name, Bhaktan).

May you enjoy the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing.

Love and blessings.

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Teaching Events

How the Guru Dismantled My Illusions The syllable “gu” means shadows. The syllable “ru,” he who disperses them. Because of the power to disperse darkness, the Guru is thus named.

— Shukla Yajur Veda, Advayataraka Upanishad 16

Swami Satchidananda was somehow in absolute personal command of every situation I ever saw him in, even if he was just sitting and watching.

There was something like fire around him all the time, which was interesting from a distance. Up close, that fire kindled my being in places that are forever inaccessible to the world and the thinking mind.

His eyes looked into the depths of my being with a ceaseless flow of unconditional love, of total acceptance. It shook my perfectionist mindset to the core.

And that’s probably where the story would have ended had I not come to him determined to attain the highest goal.

— from Teaching Events

If we know anything about a path at all, it’s only because of the Great Ones that have gone before us. Out of their lovingkindness, they have left some footprints for us to follow.

— Krishna Das

This book is an invitation to explore this path by sharing in the experiences of one spiritual seeker who did his best to follow those footprints…

S p i r it of F i re Publications