There were about 150 of us in the large sanctuary-chapel. Some were his devotees who wore white and sat near the front. The Swami was seated cross-legged in a comfortable cushioned chair completely encircled by flower blossoms. It was quite beautiful. “You people who came here tonight through this weather,” he said, “you’ll get the teachings.”
After his talk so many people came forward and crowded around him, his devotees formed a protective circle, but he reached across and greeted everyone individually, one at a time. I found myself near the side of his chair. Someone offered him a lovely bouquet of wild chrysanthemums. He accepted them, reached over, handed them to me and indicated I could give a blossom or so to devotees who came forward.
At the end of the evening after everyone had gone, there was still a sprig of these flowers in my hand, which I took home and put in a little vase above my bed and they stayed alive for weeks and weeks -- and weeks.
Be Clear and Straight 1971 Before we had an Ashram, I was on the Yogaville planning committee. We came up with a motto and a goal. I was in charge of getting lots of round pins made that we could wear on our shirts and blouses with Let’s Will Yogaville printed on them: These we would distribute to be worn by those who were taking on this intention. Gurudev told me, “Make the letters clear and straight.”
Over the years I’ve taken his guidance -- make your letters clear and straight -- also to mean: Make your words clear and straight. Make your sentences clear and straight. Make your conversations clear and straight. And make the teachings clear and straight.
Sing a New Song 1976 As a writer and editor, I listened carefully to the things Sri Gurudev said to us about how to write. “Don’t just collect the writings of others and string them together for an article or a book,” he said. “Use your own experiences, your own interpretation. This is your contribution.”
In the psalms the shepherd David says, we are each called to “sing a new song” unto God.
Completion 1978 A number of us were traveling on a pilgrimage to holy places in India with Sri Gurudev. We’d been visiting holy temples and sites where great saints had lived and taught. Recently we’d visited the village and ashram of a local, much beloved guru who was the spiritual head of the whole town. He had sat and talked with our Gurudev and showed where his leg was hurting. Gurudev held our host’s leg and stroked it gently. The sage gave us each a treasure, a white top cloth that we could wear as we chose or carry folded over one shoulder. I really loved it.
So thickly populated was this land that everywhere we went in India there were people. Even in the countryside and on rural roadsides there were always people around. But one occasion was different. Soon after our visit with the local sage, we were driving across south India not far from where Gurudev was raised as a child. He stopped our cars and beckoned for us to get out and walk with him silently across a dry, wide barren expanse of open land and rocks. As far as the eye could see, not a soul was anywhere in sight in all directions. We traversed flat dry ground of rocks and stony hollows for some time. Gurudev led us to the edge of a deep crevice or pit in the earth. Looking down into the steep well of jutting stones, all we could see far below was the harsh bottom of the pit. Gurudev then told us a story from his youth.
A local man had disappeared from the community for some time and could not be found. If he was alive, his family had been abandoned. If dead, no one knew and there was no completion, no funeral – just worry and alarm.
As youths, Gurudev and a friend had chosen to go exploring – far beyond the safe areas their parents had given them permission to go. After some time they had come to this very place, and there down at the bottom of this pit they had found the body of the missing man.
He pointed where the body had been lying. I leaned forward and looked down over the edge. At just that moment a slight wind arose and lifted the folded top cloth off my shoulders. I reached out, but missed it as it floated and fell before our eyes -- straight down to the bottom of the pit where Gurudev was pointing. It was a gift from a holy man. As I considered climbing down, Gurudev said, “Leave it.” And that’s just what we did.
Zen Master Zen Students 1980 I accompanied Sri Gurudev on a visit to the Providence, R.I. Zen Center of the late, ever ebullient Korean Zen master, Rev. Seung Sahn. In traditional robes of a Zen monk, his American disciples, heads and chins clean-shaven, listened attentively to Sri Gurudev’s talk. Afterwards they approached him and, curious about his long hair and beard, said: “You’re a monk, are you not? Why don’t you cut your hair?”
He sliced the fingers of his right hand across the fingers of his left. “I could cut my fingers all the same length too,” he replied.
There were no more questions.
There are many ways and styles of carriage one may take on as a stand for what one believes and does.
The Dali Lama came to the United States on a short visit and was scheduled to speak in Boston one evening. He and Sri Gurudev in their common interfaith services over the years had crossed paths often and become friends. Gurudev took a few of us along to Boston to meet him that evening.
At that time, the Communist Chinese government was not pleased with the respect and admiration showered on the Dalai Lama around the globe, and there was always concern for his safety, even in America. I noticed that when the Dali Lama stepped back for a moment to change his top cloth or robe, seemingly out of nowhere a dozen tall, very strong Tibetan monks materialized and encircled him protectively. At the end of the evening Gurudev introduced us, and the Dali Lama gave us each a white scarf.
Dalai Lama means “wish-fulfilling gem” and refers to the heart of compassion.
Later that night I dreamed of Tibetan Yogis rising up out of the ocean under a moonlit sky
A Gift from God 1986 Over a long period of time I was editing the Living Gita for publication. Finally, I turned it in to Prakash Capen, who at that time headed the Publications Department. A few days later, Sri Gurudev called me and asked if my part of the writing and editing of the book was completed.
“Yes, I think so,” I said hesitantly, wondering if I’d missed something.
“Are you sure?” he continued.
I couldn’t think of anything else. “Yes,” I said.
Two days later he had Publications send me a check for a several thousand dollars – which was quite a surprise. I’d done the whole job over the years as Karma Yoga, as a service to the community. He waited until my part was complete so all my efforts were without expectation of financial reward. He helped me make a clean offering.
I called him. “I can’t accept this, Gurudev.”
“Yes, you can,” he said. “You’re householder; you have to earn money for your family. You can accept it.”
That night at a Saturday satsang, a gathering of the community and guests to hear the timeless teachings, Gurudev told us that when God gives you a gift, don’t question it: “Am I really worthy of this or not?” A gift from God – you accept it immediately, he said.
No questions asked. No justification. Amazing grace, like the old song goes.
How to Increase Your Faith 1987. We visited with Congressman “L.F.” Paine and his wife Susan at their Nelson County home high in the foothills of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Someone there told a story that Gurudev liked and passed along to everyone later that evening during a Saturday night satsang.
A man was jogging along through the forest and not watching carefully where he was going. Suddenly he tumbled over the edge of high cliff. As he plummeted down, he grasped onto a protruding root, and there he hung 15 feet below the cliff’s upper surface. Looking down, way far below he saw jagged rocks waiting to impale him when he lost the strength to hold on any longer.
At wit’s end, he looked up and called out desperately, “Is there anyone up there?”
After several long seconds of silence, he heard a voice say clearly: “I’m here.”
“Who are you?” the suspended man called up.
“The Lord your God,” was the reply.
“O Lord, pull me up, pull me up!” he cried.
“Let go of the root, my son.”
A long, long silence … then: “Is there anyone else up there?”
Gurudev laughed and laughed at us. That night he talked about faith, active belief, about the mustard seed and the mountain. With genuine faith, no larger than a little mustard seed – you can move a huge mountain, he told us. When he was young he used a daily affirmation and declaration, he said, that increased his own faith: “It’s all Your word. It’s all Your deed. It’s all Your name. It’s all for good.”
Dad 1989 It was Father’s Day at the Virginia Ashram. I had been invited to give a short talk before Sri Gurudev’s satsang – a sharing of the wisdom. My dad had passed away a year before and I missed him a lot. I told some stories of things I learned from my father when I was growing up, and then stories of things I’d learned from my spiritual father, from Sri Gurudev over the years.
After Gurudev’s talk later that evening he came over, put his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “Your father was here tonight,” he said.
The Last Words July 20, 2002. I went to a Guru-Poornima weekend celebration at the Virginia Ashram, a full moon time when disciples and devotees traditionally honor their guru – and the ultimate guru also, the “remover of ignorance.” I didn’t realize this would be the last time I’d see my beloved Gurudev alive. A few weeks later, while visiting with devotees in India, he left his body rather suddenly and entered Maha-Samadhi, supreme consciousness. Even though that July morning at Yogaville, his every word was being taped and filmed, I was still in the habit of taking notes as he spoke. These are the last words I heard my teacher say:
“The gurus are everywhere
When the moon is full the mind is fully open
This is Guru Poornima [Enlightening Fullness]
“You learn from everybody and everything
If you’re ready to hear
“Give all your fruits to others, and pray:
Make me a good listener!
“Take lessons from everyone and everything in life.”
Torn to Pieces “Even the pious avoid a perfect saint,” said Rumi, the wonderful 13th century mystic poet. “Someone that surrendered and free is a lion,” the Sufi master continued. “Try to be friends with one and you’ll be torn to pieces instantly. In fact, you’ll become a lion. If you want to stay a cow, then stay away.”
After Gurudev had left his body, I dreamed one morning I was in his house talking with him. I told him the mistake I made was trying to get close to him through Shanti.
“You used another’s friendship to be my friend?” he remarked.
“Yes,” I admitted. Then we hugged.
His children came running, a boy and a girl. “Father, someone is buying our house.” We noticed that the roof needed some support. He looked over at me for assistance. Quickly I called a few people. “Friends, can you spare a few moments to help us shore up this roof?” People came right over and we shored the roof laughing. (It took us awhile to let go each other, so closely were we bonded.)
Half-waking from this dream, I remembered Rumi saying, if you try to be friends with a lion, you’ll be torn to pieces. Someone asked: “Did you try to be friends with a lion?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Are you a lion now yourself?”
“I don’t know, but I have been torn to pieces.”
Always Here When I was a child my parents sometimes would take me to a synagogue or Temple for High Holiday services and on other occasions. Near the end of each service I noticed there was always a prayer people would say to remember a beloved relation who had left this world. The mourners would stand and recite, almost like a mantra, certain phrases in Aramaic, a form of early Hebrew. When I looked over at the translation in English I saw it was almost all praises of God for one sublime quality after another. I was curious why grieving people would be praising God, and I wondered also how long before I too would have to stand mourning for someone I loved.
Forty years passed. My dad died. I went to a service, wrapped myself under a big tallis or prayers shawl and for the first time stood up for the mourners’ prayer. That ancient Aramaic seemed to take us all beyond time and space, for lo -- there standing right next to me was Dad – also repeating these praises of God. He looked over and smiled. It seemed I could reach right over and embrace him.
After that, as the months and years passed, whenever I was at a Jewish service, I would stand with the mourners and remember relatives and friends, sages and saints, martyrs and children who’d passed on before. And sure enough, there they all were – right beside me.
A week or two after Sri Gurudev entered Maha-Samadhi, I found my way to a service and near the end stood under a big prayer shawl. It felt like I was inside a little tent. As the ancient prayer was recited, I thought of Gurudev and looked around, but I couldn’t see him; I couldn’t find him -- anywhere.
Then I heard a familiar voice saying: “Prahaladan, I’m right here.”
“Where, where?’”
“Inside you. I’m always here now.”
Many of Sri Gurudev’s devotees report a similar experience.
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