Anti-Semitism and violations of human rights
Being Jewish, I became aware of persecution at a young age. Anti-Semitism and violations of human rights were widespread in Russia until the late 1980s. While attending a teachers college in the 1960s I found a job as a junior editor on a journal published by the Communist Party. I was fired after a few months when it became known that I was Jewish. After completing my studies for a Master’s degree in Psychology at Moscow University in 1972, I found work as a psychologist at a research institute. Two years later I was fired due to opposition to having Jews on staff.

In the mid-1970s, there was a great need for psychologists in many areas, but each time I applied for a job I was turned down. During the sixteen years between 1972 and 1988, when my family received permission to emigrate to the United States, I was able to find work as a psychologist for a total of only four years.

A prayer for a spiritual teacher
In the first decades of Soviet power, the government destroyed churches and persecuted priests and other religious people. Many people had to hide their religious affiliations. Nonetheless, as a university student, I was already consciously seeking God. I felt strongly that a spiritual power existed. I tried to “talk” to God by asking for help or thanking Him for everything I had, and even for what I didn’t have. In those moments I sometimes experienced great love and joy and I felt that God really “heard” me.

At the same time, I saw around me a lot of injustice and people suffering from a lack of understanding and love. I had many questions:  If God is all-powerful, why did people have to suffer so much? Intuitively I felt I needed a spiritual teacher to answer my questions and to teach me how to experience God. I prayed that God help me find a spiritual teacher.

Teaching hatha yoga as a “health class”
In 1968, when I was 27 years old, I suffered from severe asthma was often confined to bed. My mother had learned about yoga from her hairdresser, who told her that yoga was good for one’s health. At my mother’s request, her hairdresser agreed to take me to her next yoga class.

From the very first class I felt that the path of yoga was mine, even though the teacher taught none of the spiritual aspects of yoga, only hatha yoga. Under the influence of these classes I changed my diet, fasted once a week, and gradually became a vegetarian. I became stronger physically and emotionally. A year later many of my health problems had disappeared.

The teacher, who had discovered yoga while traveling in India as a journalist, often gave us articles about yoga which he had translated. Reading this literature increased my desire to go deeper into the yoga science, especially the spiritual aspects.

My yoga teacher is arrested
However, in circulating information about yoga, the teacher took a great risk. Yoga was considered foreign propaganda because it taught that true freedom was spiritual, not political. Teaching yoga was strictly prohibited and yoga teachers were persecuted and often imprisoned. Even the word “yoga” could not be used. There were many articles in the press describing yoga as “dangerous” and depicting instances of people who had been “damaged” by yoga. Since many people were looking for non-traditional ways to improve their heath, the teacher’s solution was to describe his classes as “health classes.”

I had been attending these classes for about two years when three men in dark suits appeared one day and arrested our teacher. Everyone knew that someone from the class had betrayed him by reporting him to the KGB. Witnessing my teacher’s arrest filled me with fear. The students were too afraid to comment or even to look at one another. Later we learned that the teacher had been arrested for distributing the yoga literature he had translated.

I find my spiritual teacher
Two years later, I found a new hatha yoga group with a good teacher with whom I studied for the next five years. This teacher also taught only hatha yoga; I still yearned to study the deeper, spiritual aspects of yoga.

In 1979, while my husband and I attended a farewell party for one of our friends who had received permission to go to America, I met Joseph Berkovich, who would eventually become my spiritual teacher. I told him about my seven years of practicing hatha yoga, and he invited me to his yoga class. Officially Joseph taught only hatha yoga to a small group of students. After I’d studied with him for a while, I explained my interest in the spiritual aspects of yoga and asked him to guide me on the spiritual path.

In private sessions, Joseph began to guide me in the theory and practice of spiritual yoga and to deepen my understanding of the path of Self-realization. From Joseph I learned the Hong Sau and AUM techniques of meditation, and how to use affirmations, visualizations, and healing techniques. He helped me understand the subtle inner world of intuition and how to meditate on the different aspects of God.

Through Joseph I first learned of Paramhansa Yogananda, whom Joseph described as his “spiritual master.” In 1982 Joseph gave me Autobiography of Yogi to read. The book had been translated from English to Russian and typewritten. Books like these were still prohibited and Joseph asked me do not to show it to anyone.

One day Joseph showed me a magazine in English published at the Ananda community in America, in California. He had translated all the articles himself word by word. He said, “You cannot imagine how much joy fills my heart when I read articles in this magazine.” At that time it seemed an impossible dream that I might some day visit Ananda.

The beginning of a long and painful wait
In 1979, my family (my husband, myself, our two daughters, and my father) applied for permission to leave Russia. We were refused permission because my father was a scientist and hydro-geologist who had once worked in the field of diamond mining, which was considered secret work. We were told that because of my father’s knowledge, it would be dangerous to Russia for the rest of us to be allowed to leave the country.

Thus began our long and painful wait. During this period, our life was a mixture of uncertainty and fear of arrest, combined with the will and determination to overcome all difficulties. Because we had applied to leave Russia, my husband and I were now considered “passive dissidents,” and he and I, and my father, were immediately fired from our jobs. I had been working as a psychotherapist in a psychiatric hospital, my husband as a patent engineer, and my father as a professor of hydrogeology in a scientific research institute. From then on, we lived under the surveillance of the KGB.

Teaching yoga “under the table”
After losing our jobs, and at great risk, we had to work “under the table” simply to survive. My husband worked as a translator of technical literature from English to Russian and my father received a small retirement pension. Joseph suggested that I teach yoga in my home and, with his guidance, I put together a two-year yoga program. I selected students only on the recommendation of people I knew and trusted.

My intuition always helped me in choosing students. Once a young man came and told me he wanted to join a yoga group but I felt insincerity in his voice. When I asked how he had learned about me he said it was “irrelevant,” that he just wanted to know yoga. From the way he questioned me about yoga and what I taught, I felt he was a KGB agent. Eventually he left and never came back.

After three months, I was teaching five small yoga groups each week with 5-6 students in a group. I felt a deep fulfillment in being able to help people not only to improve their physical health, but also to achieve inner peace through meditation.

Attempts to entrap and intimidate her
Persecution of yoga teachers continued until the late 1980s, and information about the “bad tricks” of the KGB spread fast among dissidents and those of us who had been refused permission to emigrate. We were advised not to allow a policeman to enter our apartments. To arrest someone a policeman usually came with one or two “helpers.” One of my close friends had recently been arrested for teaching yoga and sent to prison in Siberia for two years.

One evening when I was holding a class in my apartment, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door I saw a policeman with another man, but I did not let them in. The policeman asked whether I was working. Barely controlling my fear, I told him that under the Soviet constitution, as the mother of a small child, I had the right to stay at home. Nonetheless, he insisted that I was obliged to find work and gave me one month to find a job, saying he would return and check.

We applied five more times for permission to leave Russia but were refused each time until 1988 when French president Francois Mitterrand visited Russia and met with Mikhail Gorbachev, who was then head of Russia. Mitterrand presented Gorbachev with a list of 100 Jewish dissidents and “refuseniks” who wanted to leave Russia. Our names were on the list. Senator Edward Kennedy and other activists were also fighting for our right to leave Russia. Finally, at the end of 1988, after nearly 10 years of waiting, we received permission to leave Russia . We will be ever grateful to all the people who helped us.

An impossible dream fulfilled
Upon arriving in America, we became affiliated with an Ananda meditation group on the North Shore of Boston and later with the Ananda Rhode Island Center. Fulfilling an “impossible” dream, in the mid-1990s my daughter and I visited Ananda Village, where I received discipleship initiation and, a few years later, initiation into Kriya Yoga.

Excerpted from the forthcoming book, Threads of Fate.

Anna Shapiro has been living in America since 1988. She worked as a psychologist and psychotherapist for 10 years at the Jewish Family Service North of Boston, and also taught yoga for 22 years. Currently she is retired but continues teaching yoga to the elderly. Her book, Threads of Fate, was published in Russian and is not being prepared for publication in English. She lives in Beverly, MA with he husband Mark. She has one daughter and enjoys spending time with her two grandchildren.

Master revealed to us that he himself had been Krishna’s closest friend and disciple, Arjuna. (“Prince of devotees,” the Bhagavad Gita calls him.) We found it easy to believe that he had been that mighty warrior, for Master’s incredible will power, his innate gift for leadership, and his enormous physical strength (when he chose to exert it), all pointed to someone with the tendencies of a mighty, conquering hero.

Divine power is rooted in love
People who knew only of Paramhansa Yogananda’s extraordinary love and compassion, his sweetness, and his childlike simplicity were sometimes taken aback when they encountered his power. Few realize that power and divine love are opposite sides of the same coin.

Indeed, divine love is no gentle sentiment, but the greatest force in the universe. Such love could not exist without power. Great saints would never use their power to suppress or coerce others, but power is, nevertheless, inextricably a part of what it means to be a saint. It took extraordinary power, for example, for Jesus Christ, alone in a crowd, to drive the money-changers from their tradition-sanctioned places in the temple.

Worldly people fear this power in the saints, and, fearing it, persecute them. They don’t realize that a saint’s power is rooted in love, or that it threatens nothing but people’s delusions and ignorance-induced suffering.

Yogananda’s power was not only a product of his divine awareness; his human personality, too, reflected past incarnations as a warrior and conquering hero. In Calcutta, in his youth, he was approached more than once by people who wanted him to lead a revolution against the British. There was something in his very bearing that bespoke the intrepid warrior.

William: noble, generous, forgiving
He told us more than once that in a former life he had been William the Conqueror. Educated as I had been during my early years in the English educational system, I had always thought of William as one of history’s great villains. On learning that that supposed “villain” was my own Guru, I made it a point, needless to say, to study several biographies of William in order to get a broader picture of what he’d really been like.

I found that William the Conqueror was indeed, in every way, a great man. Morally, in an age of widespread profligacy, he was chaste and self-controlled. Spiritually he was deeply religious, and never (so I read) missed a day of mass in his life. He was noble, generous, and forgiving.

A divine commission
He lived, however, in an age when conquest could be accomplished only by a very strong will. He told us he had been given a divine commission, which I have since come to understand was to bring England out of the Scandinavian sphere and under the influence of Roman Christianity.

During his lifetime, William promoted the recovery of old monasteries and generally gave great support to the church, endorsing also the concept of chastity for the clergy. William and Archbishop Lanfranc, together, unified the church, and reorganized it from the ground up.

Quite as important in the context of those times, they connected the church administratively and liturgically with Rome. His closest friends were spiritual men like Archbishop Lanfranc (who in this life, Yogananda stated, was Swami Sri Yukteswar) and Saint Osmund, Bishop of Salisbury.

“The will of a single man”
William’s occasionally harsh behavior was forced on him by necessity, and never sprang from personal anger (though, consistent with my observation of Master himself on occasion, William’s demeanor sometimes appeared very fierce). I asked Master once (I was thinking of his lifetime as William): “Sir, is an avatar [a divine incarnation] always aware of his oneness with God’s omnipresence?” “He never loses his consciousness of inner freedom,” Master replied.

William’s life, when studied in this light, gains new luster and meaning. The British historian, E.A. Freeman, wrote in his biography, William the Conqueror: “[What we English are today] has largely come of the fact that there was a moment our national destiny might be said to hang on the will of a single man, and that was William [the Conqueror].”

Earlier, Freeman stated: “The Norman conquest has no exact parallel in history largely owing to the character and position of the man who wrought it. The history of England for the last eight hundred years has largely come of the personal character of [that] single man.”

William’s legacy: a united kingdom
England itself was by no means so Anglo-Saxon as relatively recent writers, including Sir Walter Scott, imagined. The north, according to recent DNA testing of old bones, was heavily Scandinavian, and the east came under what was called Danelaw, and must have been more Danish than Anglo-Saxon.

It was William who united the constantly warring earldoms into one kingdom. His legacy, moreover, which bound every native to primary loyalty to his king, saved England the fate of medieval Europe, which saw constant baronial conflicts.

England’s government dates back to the conquest by William, who brought England to a level of security, stability, and legal organization that made it possible for it to survive the death of medieval society and continue on into the modern age. England is the oldest continuous government in the world, the second being the United States.

Swami Kriyananda: William’s youngest son
Some months after Master’s passing, an inspiration came to me: I suddenly realized that I had been his youngest son, Henry, who later was crowned as Henry I. I had always known with an inner certainty that I had been a king in the past—not that it mattered to me in the present. Leadership had always come to me naturally, however, and in no way caused me to feel important because of it.

I now went to the Los Angeles public library and read up on facts about Henry that were too detailed to appear in a book intended for the general public. It surprised me to see how many parallels there were, even in little matters, between Henry’s life and my own.

Henry had been born late enough in William’s life to be in a position, after a relatively brief hiatus, to carry on William’s mission. The last thirty-three years of Henry’s life were years of exceptional peace and prosperity in England.

The most powerful king in Western Europe
Though Henry I is considered the “least-known” of all English kings, the reason for his obscurity is that he simply worked quietly to establish his father’s mission. Albeit known in his lifetime as the most powerful king in Western Europe, he never expressed an interest in enlarging his dominions.

All he ever did was conquer back territory that had been lost by his older brothers’ ineptitude. His Coronation Charter became the basis of the future Magna Carta.

An embarrassment to his memory
William’s first two sons were an embarrassment to his memory. He bequeathed Robert, his oldest, the dukedom of Normandy, knowing that he could not give him the crown of England because of his traitorous nature. (Even as William was lying on his deathbed, Robert, with the aid of the king of France, was staging a rebellion against him.)

William Rufus, the second son, was loyal to their father in his fashion, but gave no evidence of understanding William’s mission, and dedicated himself wholly to his own power, position, and glory. Perhaps a hiatus in William’s mission was necessary for his true spiritual heir, Henry, to develop a deep understanding of it.

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A different kind of conquest
Yogananda, like William the Conqueror at Hastings, came to America to establish a beachhead—not, in this case, of worldly conquest, but of divine communion.

Like William the Conqueror, Yogananda was divinely ordained to play a very difficult role. He came to a whole new continent where he was completely unknown and opposed by many. He needed an indomitable spirit of conquest to be able to bring God’s message to the world for this new age of energy, the age of Dwapara Yuga.

Yogananda’s mission was to change world consciousness. The model he established on all levels of life has been so all- encompassing that I believe he will one day be called, “The Avatar of Dwapara Yuga.”

Yogananda’s spiritual family
Many have been born and are being born in the West to assist Yogananda in his mission. Many others are being attracted to it for the first time by the radiant magnetic influence, the spiritual “gravitational field,” it has created.

Yogananda’s spiritual family forms part of a greater spiritual “nation” of which Jesus Christ and Sri Krishna (in this age, Babaji) are also leaders. Such families are like mighty nations. To them is given the real task of guiding the human race—not in the way governments do, by official ordinances, but by subtler, spiritual influence.

*Excerpted from The New Path — Chapters: “Reincarnation,” “The Guru’s Reminiscences,” and “A New Way of Life.”  (Supplemental excerpts from: The Light of Superconsciousness, Crystal Clarity Publishers; and a March 2007 talk in India.)

For a related article, see below: William the Conqueror: Laying the Foundation for an Age of Energy, by Catherine Van Houten.

Resources:
To view Swami Kriyananda’s talk in India discussing Paramhansa Yogananda and William the Conqueror, click here Discussion of this subject starts at 13:27 minutes.

For information on The New Path by Swami Kriyananda, click here

Clarity Magazine articles can be printed in “text only” format, using your own computer.

In late summer 1087, William the Conqueror, king of England and duke of Normandy, lay dying. Tension hung in the air.

The fate of the Anglo-Norman kingdom was now to be decided. Fatally injured by his stumbling horse, and in great pain from an internal hemorrhage, William was nevertheless completely clear in his mind. He  brought all his formidable will power to bear on the question of who would succeed him.

Which son would succeed William?
Twenty-one years had passed since the conquest of England. Even in his extremis, William was surrounded by some of his inner circle: barons and bishops. Each knew that his own future depended on William’s decision in the matter of succession.

Much of the tension in the room was due to the fact that Robert, nicknamed “Curthose,” the Conqueror’s oldest son and previously designated heir, now 33 years old, was in active rebellion against his father. Even now, Curthose and his sycophantic followers were conducting raids on Normandy’s borders, urged on by William’s nemesis, Philip I, King of France.

A very strong Norman tradition, however, held that the lands a ruler inherited from his father should pass intact to his oldest son. On the other hand, anything that a man had gained on his own, through conquest in his lifetime, could be disposed of as he wished.

Robert’s crippling limitations
It took no great insight, however, to know absolutely that Robert Curthose lacked the character to lead others and govern wisely. It must have been a grave disappointment to William, for clearly it had been his intention, at first, to confer on this son both England and Normandy, and he had taken pains to train him in government and in diplomacy.

Repeatedly, however, he had seen Robert’s crippling limitations. He had forgiven the young man’s first open rebellion. Most damning of all was the fact that Robert now, through his alliance with Philip I of France, had been stupid and selfish enough to risk the sovereignty of the Anglo-Norman kingdom itself.

William the Conqueror, as death approached, determined that Robert Curthose should have no part in ruling either Normandy or England. He perceived these two lands not as separate entities, but as one kingdom, united under a single ruler.

Counter-arguments from inner circle
Now, however, William’s inner circle and close companions bore down on their dying lord with counter-arguments regarding the succession. There was Norman tradition to be considered: Robert was the oldest son and so should at least, by right, have Normandy.

Many argued also that they had taken oaths of fealty to Curthose as his father’s successor, at King William’s behest. If Robert were not given some part of the kingdom, then he would be in a strong and easily justified position to attempt to take it by force. Many would feel the righteousness of his claim, certainly to Normandy.

It was surely difficult for any of these men fully to comprehend the Conqueror’s deepest reason for refusing to name Curthose his successor: that this son did not understand or share his father’s vision for the future of the kingdom he had created.

Curthose was ruled by sentiment and self-interest. His father, however, acted to manifest a vast vision for the crucial role that England, in particular, would play in the ongoing future, even up to our own times.

A wise and ever-practical leader
The king also knew the hearts of those who were now urging him to reconsider his decision to disinherit Robert Curthose. It was clear to the dying William that these powerful men were determined to support his oldest son; quite probably they would do so regardless of whom he named now as his successor.

Such was the reality of the situation, and this wise, ever-practical leader made the best decision possible under the circumstances. In great pain, and (as one contemporary chronicler expressed it) “worn out by their importunities,” William the Conqueror reluctantly agreed to name Robert Curthose as his successor to the duchy of Normandy.

The oldest son, however, was to have only Normandy. The crown of England was, William decreed, to go to his second oldest son, William “Rufus” (the “red”), who was now present in the room.

Those present greeted in silence King William’s decision to name William Rufus as his heir to the throne of England. Though they had urged the reinstatement of Curthose as William’s heir, they must have been shocked to realize that William was actually willing to split the Anglo-Norman kingdom, rather than put all of it under Robert’s control.

With war between the two sons inevitable, did the Conqueror have some more long-range plan for resolving this issue?

William’s promise to Henry
As if in answer to this extreme dilemma, King William summoned to his bedside the youngest of his three living sons, Henry, who was then eighteen years old, and whom William had only recently knighted. Like Rufus, Henry had been at his father’s side at the siege of Mantes where William had been fatally injured.

The young man now knelt by his father’s bed. “To you, Henry, I bequeath the great treasure of 5,000 silver coins,” the Conqueror said, smiling warmly on his youngest son, whose qualities and intelligence he had “lost no opportunity to encourage,” as chronicler William of Malmesbury put it.

No one spoke; all were waiting for Henry to say something. “Father, what shall I do with this money, if I have no land on which to spend it?” Henry’s voice was steady as he presented this reasonable question.

In feudal Europe, even a significant fortune was no guarantee of ever having true wealth and power, for these came with land. Land alone, in those days, was true wealth.

The silence continued. Everyone strained to hear the king’s reply. Only a few, however, could hear William’s words:

“Be patient, my son. For in time you shall have all that your brothers now have, and shall be greater than they.” The father placed his hand in final benediction on Henry’s bowed head. His words proved no empty prophecy, for years later they were fulfilled to the letter.

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Why Reincarnate as a Warrior King?

Our exploration of all the ramifications of Paramhansa Yogananda’s statement that, in a previous lifetime, he had been William the Conqueror, has brought us to the final and all-absorbing question: “Why?”

Why would a soul, who has won freedom from any need to reincarnate at all, elect to return to earth as a warrior king?

What was at stake in 12th century Europe, and in England in particular, that caused a Self-realized master to don once again the heavy cloak of a physical body — this time, as William the Conqueror?

Setting a new course for the Western world
Nearly every historian would agree that, on that autumn day at Hastings in 1066, a completely new course was set for England. To gain a truer perspective, we need to compare England on the eve of the Battle of Hastings to what England had become by 1135, the year of King Henry’s death.

Within that relatively short span of nearly seventy years, William the Conqueror and King Henry I not only changed England, but set a new course for the whole Western world.

Rome: a more truly Christian influence
On the general impact of the Conquest there is nearly universal agreement: the cultural and political reorientation of England, deflecting it from a more-or-less pagan Scandinavian influence toward the more truly Christian culture of southwestern Europe. This reorientation toward a wholly new stream of Christian influence is profoundly significant.

Prior to 1066, England had become overwhelmingly Scandinavian. This Nordic influence represented a major departure from the purer stream of Roman Christianity. Nordic Christianity was heavily mixed with paganism, and paid little attention to the clearest fountain of Christianity in existence at those times: the Roman.

Had the Norman Conquest not brought England into a new relationship with the church in Rome, and thereby reconfigured alliances throughout Europe, the Roman papacy would have been isolated. The purest stream then extant for the religion of Jesus Christ, and for the recovery of classical knowledge, would have shrunk to a trickle.

A harmoniously integrated new culture
Much — in fact, very much — hinged upon England’s orientation. Though she was tucked off in a corner where one might not have thought her influence crucial to the development of Europe, she had the advantage of being a separate island, close enough to Europe to have strong ties with it, yet removed enough to enable the development of a new spirit.

The world at that time was emerging from the depths of a dark age. Literacy was on the rise. It was safer to travel. People were seeking a better way of living, as may be seen in the numerous monasteries that began to appear. The development of a harmoniously integrated new culture could be accomplished, perhaps, only in this island setting.

One can infer from the Gospels that Jesus Christ, in launching a new expression of devotion to God, had urged people to form little Christian communities. England may be said to have presented a similar opportunity: a separate body of land, open to new development in social, intellectual, and spiritual ways.

Paramhansa Yogananda also, in sermon after sermon, urged his listeners to create separate, self-sustaining communities where a new consciousness, and a new way of life, could be developed. Though he was not able to bring this idea to fruition during his lifetime, his disciple Swami Kriyananda has succeeded in doing so.

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William the Conqueror and the Church

David Douglas, in his great biography of the Conqueror, stated: “No aspect of the career of William the Conqueror is of more interest — or of more importance — than the part he played in the history of the western Church between 1066 and 1087.”

Opposed centralization of church power
Some of the most forceful personalities ever to occupy the throne of Saint Peter, beginning with Pope Gregory the Great, served as popes during the reigns of William and Henry. William supported Gregorian church reform in ways that strengthened the church spiritually and also the spiritual life of individuals.

However, he steadfastly resisted those aspects of the reform which called for the increased power of the church in secular matters. William was also adamant that all matters pertaining to the church within the Anglo-Norman kingdom would be decided internally by those churchmen closest to the situation.

“God is center everywhere”
Paramhansa Yogananda did the same with the worldwide organization he founded: Self-Realization Fellowship. As much as possible, Yogananda tried to manifest on the material plane the ancient dictum: “God is center everywhere; circumference, nowhere.”

He named his organization itself after that principle: Self-realization. This term would in time, he said, become accepted as embodying the underlying truth of all religions.

Time has brought a greater unfoldment of awareness, but already in the 11th century William not only wanted to bring England under the wholesome influence of Roman Christianity, which more truly reflected the spirit of Christ, he also wanted England to develop its own integrity so that the religious spirit would flower from within the individual.

King Henry’s intentions were precisely the same in every detail as those of his father.

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England’s future role

In this book it is our thesis that the Conqueror’s vision anticipated the role that England, specifically, would play in bridging East and West, uniting the strengths of each to bring mankind to the present time when the general level of consciousness on our planet is rising toward greater unity and also greater subtlety and refinement: an age of energy which promises greatness for the future.

*Excerpted from the forthcoming book by Catherine Van Houten: Two Souls: Four Lives — The Lives and Former Lives of Paramhansa Yogananda and His Disciple, Swami Kriyananda.

For a related article, see above: Paramhansa Yogananda as William the Conqueror, by Swami Kriyananda.

Clarity Magazine articles can be printed in “text only” format, using your own computer.

Swami Kriyananda has noted that it is “through the focused energy and magnetism of a few that real changes are made.”

In an era known as the “Age of Invention” (1870-1910), Edison, along with Alexander Graham Bell, Henry Ford, Luther Burbank, Nikola Tesla, George Washington Carver and others, formed a community of inventors and innovators who led the way into the 20th Century. They knew one another, drew inspiration from each other’s efforts, and often collaborated.

Edison, a deeply spiritual man, was sometimes accused of atheism because he subscribed to no formal religion and referred to God as the “Supreme Intelligence.” For Edison, however, the marvels of science proved beyond doubt the existence of an “Intelligent Creator that rules matter and is mathematical in its precision.” He was well-acquainted with the Bible and the scriptural teachings of the major religions, which he considered to be  “the greatest rules of human conduct every set up for man.”

Throughout his life, Edison dedicated himself to the ideal of honest, loving service to his fellow man. He said, “My philosophy of life is work. Bringing out the secrets of Nature and applying them for the happiness of man—I know of no better service to render during the short time we are in this world.”

“My mother was the making of me”
Thomas Edison was born February 11, 1847 in Milan, Ohio. His formal education ended after three months, when he refused to return to school because the headmaster referred to him as “addled” and thus unteachable.

His mother, a former schoolteacher, took charge of his education. From her, Edison received a basic grammar school education. More importantly, she discovered that his real interest lay in the physical sciences and encouraged him along those lines. In later years Edison wrote, “My mother was the making of me. She was so true, so sure of me, and I felt I had someone to live for, someone I must not disappoint.”

At age ten, Edison developed a passion for chemistry and, inspired by Samuel Morse’s invention of telegraphy, designed his first telegraph set. Two years later, to help support the family, he became a newsboy on the local railroad line. In spite of the long hours, he set up a laboratory in the baggage car and spent his free time in the reading room of the Detroit Free Library.

An itinerant telegrapher
Like many boys of his day, he followed the progress of the telegraph lines across the country and dreamed of becoming a part of this new, innovative technology. At age 16, an opportunity presented itself when he saved a three-year-old from an oncoming train. The boy’s father, a telegrapher, rewarded young Edison by offering to train him as a telegraph operator. Edison caught on quickly and within three months began his career as an itinerant telegrapher.

In the spring of 1868, the twenty-one year old Edison moved to Boston, the hub of electrical and scientific research in the United States. His intention was to become a full time inventor, but not finding enough backers to finance his efforts, he moved to New York City the following year, seeking better opportunities.

Finally, a breakthrough
His breakthrough came when Western Union, the largest of the telegraph monopolies, hired him to improve its stock printers, which occasionally ran wild and spit out crazy figures. He promptly invented a device that brought the stock tickers in line with the central transmitter.

Over the next several years, Edison divided his time between working for Western Union and freelance invention. In 1876, with money from his successful inventions, and subsidies from Western Union, Edison, with his young wife and child, moved to Menlo Park, New Jersey to become a full-time inventor.

His most creative years
This move marked the beginning of his most productive and creative years. Within two years he developed the carbon transmitter and the phonograph.  The carbon transmitter was essentially a microphone that made it possible to hear the human voice over long distance wires, and was crucial to the use of the recently invented telephone.

The phonograph, Edison’s first original invention, brought him international acclaim. When he was unable to find backers to develop the invention, he turned his attention to the development of an incandescent light bulb.

The light bulb: 43,000 experiments
His first challenge was to find a durable filament, which could burn in a high vacuum glass bulb. Over the next fourteen months he conducted over 43,000 experiments using every conceivable kind of material, and finally settled on a carbon-based filament that could burn for nearly 1200 hours.

The key to his success was his unflagging energy and enthusiasm in the face of constant difficulties.”The electric light,” he said, “has caused me the greatest amount of study and has required the most elaborate experiments. I was never myself discouraged, or inclined to be hopeless of success. But I cannot say the same for all my associates.”

Describing Edison’s efforts as “an extraordinary commitment to what seemed an impossible dream,” Swami Kriyananda writes:

Edison tested 43,000 filaments before finding the right one for the electric light bulb. His assistants pleaded with him, after 20,000 failures, to give up the attempt. It was his intuitive certainty that such a filament existed that drove him to keep on trying until he succeeded. Nobody would go through that much work if he didn’t already know he was going to succeed.

Edison didn’t just invent a light bulb. He invented an entire system of lighting that included a central power plant, generators, cables, switches and other equipment. When his financial backers balked at these further expenses, he and his associates put up their own money and created the Edison Lamp Company.

On September 4, 1882, the world’s first permanent electric power plant went into operation in New York City providing light to fifty-nine customers in a square mile area.

Edison’s lighting system transformed the use of energy and electrical power worldwide and was soon adapted to every aspect of household and industrial use. Later, he perfected the phonograph; key elements of a motion picture camera; the alkaline storage battery; and a host of other inventions. By 1911, Edison had created a large industrial empire based on his inventions.

An American folk hero
Though Edison achieved great success and wealth, he was a man of simple tastes. He saw money as the means to further his research and fulfill his vision of a better world. Nonetheless, his “rags to riches” life through hard work and intelligence made him an American folk hero, and he was often invited to speak on various topics. His views reflected the depth and scope of his ideas:

On energy: “We are like tenant farmers chopping down the fence around our house for fuel when we should be using Nature’s inexhaustible sources of energy — sun, wind and tide. What a source of power! I hope we don’t have to wait until oil and coal run out before we tackle that.”

On war: “Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages.”

On the future of medicine: “The doctor of the future will give no medicine, but will instruct his patient in the care of his body, proper diet, and in the cause and prevention of disease.”

“It is very beautiful over there!”
Henry Ford, Edison’s best friend, spent time with him a few weeks before his death. After Edison’s passing, perhaps to dispel doubts about Edison’s beliefs, he spoke publicly of Edison’s belief in an afterlife:
When the years increased and he began to think of the natural end of this stage of  life, he turned his thoughts to that great question. He then reached the conclusion that individual life continues through the change which we call death. He felt there was a central progressing core of life that went on and on…. We talked of it many times.
A few days before his passing, surrounded by family and friends, Edison sat up suddenly and, gazing upward into space, said, “It is very beautiful over there!”  He died October 18, 1931 at the age of 84.

Nakin Lenti, a minister and longtime member of Ananda, lives at Ananda Village where he serves in the Sangha Office.

Describing Thomas à Kempis as “a very great saint,” Paramhansa Yogananda recommended his book “unreservedly” saying, “It is a wonderful book. It is no mere imitation of Christ: It is Christ.”

The book’s message is simple: to become a follower of Christ one must imitate his life. Thomas writes: “Let it be our main concern to meditate on the life of Jesus Christ. It is impossible to imitate Christ without first knowing him, and the best way to do that is to meditate on his life as described in the four gospels.”

Thomas à Kempis was a key figure in the Catholic reform movement known as the “new devotion,” whose followers sought to emulate the virtues of the early Christians, especially their simplicity, humility, and love of God and neighbor. The Imitation of Christ, with its deep devotion and commitment to the interior life, beautifully captures the spirit of this movement.

An innately spiritual child
Thomas à Kempis was born in 1379 in Kempen, Germany, a small town near the modern Dutch border, the son of devoutly religious people. His parents nurtured his innate spirituality, teaching him the values of humility, patience, simplicity, and honest labor.

At age thirteen, in 1392, Thomas was enrolled in a well-known school in the Dutch city of Deventer, which was the center of the “new devotion” movement and the home of his brother, John, his elder by fifteen years.

A reaction to corruption
The “new devotion” movement developed in reaction to the widespread laxity and corruption within the Catholic Church. Rooted in the teachings of Meister Eckhardt and the German mystic tradition, it stressed meditation and the inner life, and attached little importance to rituals and outward practices.

The followers of  “new devotion” were known as “The Brothers of the Common Life,” and included both laypersons and clerics. They lived together in-group houses and combined a personal striving for union with God with service to others.

Forbidden to beg, each member was required to support himself and the money was put into a common fund. Many worked as “copyists”—copying Latin manuscripts and books, a well-paid position in the days before the printing press.

Their special mission was education at a time when learning was in decline all over Europe. They sought not only to deepen the spiritual life of the times, but also to provide sound learning for the young. By the end of the fifteenth century, schools of the brotherhood had sprung up all over Germany and the Netherlands.

The “new devotion” movement eventually spread to France and parts of Italy and included communities for women.

An exemplary student
Upon Thomas’ arrival in Deventer, his brother, a member of the brotherhood, introduced him to the superior of the group, the saintly Florentius Radewyns.

Impressed with Thomas’ spiritual potential, Radewyns took him under his wing. He found accommodations for him in one of the brother-houses, paid his first school fees, and planned his course of study. Under Radewyns’ watchful eye, Thomas flourished.

An exemplary student, Thomas strove to progress in learning, not only for its own sake but to show his gratitude for the loving attention he received. He supported himself as a copyist and copied the entire Bible and numerous treatises by the Church Fathers.

Gradually imbibing the spirit and principles of the brotherhood, he fully embraced their way of life. He became a model brother and strongly recommended this mode of living to others, saying, “Never before do I remember having seen men so devout, so full of love for God and their fellow men. Living in the world, they were altogether unworldly.”

Though inflamed with spiritual fervor, attunement to God’s will did not come without inner struggles.  Samuel Kettleman, Thomas’ main biographer, explains:

It is true that as he grew in years he grew in grace and in the knowledge of divine things, but it is true also that it was by perpetually striving against the desires that rose up within him, and by tenaciously keeping hold of God, and seeking His aid through the various means of grace.

A monastery without walls
In 1399, at age nineteen, Thomas became one of the first novices of the brotherhood’s newly formed monastery, Mount St. Agnes, in the nearby city of Zwolle. The monastery supported the spiritual life of the lay communities by providing experienced guides. Thomas’ brother, John, served as the first prior.

In the beginning, Mount St. Agnes was literally “a monastery without walls,” and Thomas’ acceptance into the monastic order and priesthood were delayed until the first buildings could be completed. Finally, in 1413, at age thirty-four, he was ordained a priest.

The power of the written word
During the years leading up to his ordination, Thomas anonymously wrote a number of widely acclaimed short devotional treatises. He tried to conceal his identity as author, but when his name became known, people began to seek him out him for spiritual guidance. Gradually he began to feel that he could draw souls to Christ through the written word.

Thus, in 1415, at age thirty-five, he began writing The Imitation of Christ, a task that would occupy him for the next ten years. After fulfilling his daily monastic duties, he would often write long into the night and early morning hours, seeking to infuse others with a deep love for Christ.

The Imitation of Christ was intended primarily as a handbook for monks, but it was also suitable for a much wider audience. Remarkable for its simple language and style, more than two hundred and fifty manuscript copies were in existence as early as 1450.

A burning love for Christ
Throughout, Thomas urges the reader to seek the joy and fulfillment of the inner life.

In passages that reflect his deep commitment to the experience of Christ’s inner presence, he writes:

Had you but once entered perfectly into the heart of Jesus, and tasted something of His burning love, you would care nothing for your own gain or loss.

To be without Jesus is hell most grievous; to be with Jesus is to know the sweetness of heaven.  If Jesus is with you, no enemy can harm you.

In numerous passages he emphasizes the importance of humility:

Of what use is a learned discourse on the blessed Trinity, if you are not humble? I would rather be humble than be able to produce the most precise definition of it.

Other passages suggest his own personal challenges and struggles:

Always be ready for battle if you wish for victory; you cannot win the crown of patience without a struggle; if you refuse to struggle, you refuse the crown. Without labor no rest is won; without battle, there can be no victory.

Banish discouragement from your heart as best you can, and if trouble comes, never let it depress or hinder you for long. At the least, bear it bravely if you cannot bear it cheerfully.

Inwardly focused on God
Thomas loved solitude where he could devote himself to prayer and meditation.  In the company of his fellow monks, unless the topic turned to God or the divine life, he remained silent and inwardly focused on God.

If he felt inwardly drawn to meditate, he regarded it as a call from Christ. To his fellow monks he would excuse himself saying, “My brethren, I must go: someone is waiting to converse with me in my cell.”

Despite his love of solitude, Thomas was always available to those who sought his counsel, and was especially sympathetic toward the poor and the physically afflicted. During his later years, people came in great numbers to seek his guidance.

A prolific writer
The Imitation of Christ was only one-tenth of Thomas’ lifetime literary output. He also wrote sermons, devotional tracts, books for youths, hymns, meditations on the life of Christ, and biographies of the leading “new devotion” figures.

Active until the end of life, his daily duties included copying manuscripts, the Bible (four times), teaching novices, offering Mass, and hearing confessions.

He died in 1471, at the age of 92. Inscribed at the bottom of an old painting, said to be his portrait, are the words: “In all things I sought quiet, and found it not, save in retirement and in books.”

Nakin Lenti, a minister and longtime member of Ananda, lives at Ananda Village where he serves in the Sangha Office. For further reading on Thomas à Kempis, contact him at nakin@ananda.org.

Widely regarded as a saint in his own lifetime, John’s diminutive physical size contrasted greatly with his spiritual stature. Teresa would later describe him as having reached “the greatest height of sanctity human creature can attain to in this life.”

His was an unusual combination of qualities: asceticism, courage, wisdom, intellectual brilliance, discernment, sweetness, compassion, humility—together withal talent for administration and poetry. John is especially noted for his mystical poetry and spiritual commentary. Often regarded as Spain’s finest lyric poet, his soaring lines were born of his own “dark night of the soul.”

An outstanding student and scholar
Exposure to adversity began in John’s childhood.  His father’s untimely death left his mother with three sons to support by weaving. (John was the youngest.) Destitute, the family barely scraped out a living.

John’s fortunes began to change at age fourteen. The administrator at the hospital where he worked as an orderly arranged for him to continue his studies, and John’s great gifts of mind and spirit quickly gained recognition.

After joining the Carmelite Order in1563, he was steered away from the humble friar’s life he desired and sent to the University of Salamanca to study for the priesthood. An outstanding scholar, John taught classes while still a student.

Yearning for a life of solitude
By 1567, however, the year of his ordination as a priest, John was in crisis. Longing to devote himself to a life of prayer and meditation, he was on the verge of leaving the Carmelite Order when he met Teresa of Avila.

Teresa had launched the Carmelite reform movement five years earlier, in 1562. Having founded several Reform convents for Carmelite nuns, she convinced John that he could assuage his thirst for a deeper spiritual life by becoming one of the first monks of the Reform.

Shortly afterwards, in a tumbledown shack in the remote hamlet of Duruelo, John established the first house of the Reformed Fathers. There he and his companions spent long hours in prayer and meditation, and also visited the nearby villages to minister to the people.

It was the life John had yearned for, but it was not to last. He was destined for a leadership role in the reform of the Carmelite Order, and a life of intense activity.

“Saints are too human to be scandalized!”
In 1572, Teresa was asked to bring the Reform to her old Convent of the Incarnation in Avila. She summoned John to help her by becoming the convent’s spiritual director and father confessor.

John had a gift for guiding others. Gently, yet without compromise, he was able to show people their own unique way to go forward in their interior journeys. Among the one hundred and thirty nuns of the Incarnation, he had ample opportunity to exercise that gift.

Some of the nuns were either awed or intimidated by John’s asceticism and detachment, but as they came to know him, they often loved him for his warmth, humility, and understanding of human nature. One young nun, fearing to come to him for confession because of his saintly reputation, received John’s assurance that not only wasn’t he a saint but had he been, there’d be still less reason to fear because “saints are too human to be scandalized!”

John was most compassionate toward those suffering spiritual dryness or depression in what he later called the “dark night of the soul.” He gave them the encouragement that God loved them and was simply drawing them deeper in faith through their trials. Often he would write on a slip of paper a few words, chosen especially for them, to reflect on.

Kidnapped and imprisoned
While living in Avila, John received his greatest test of endurance. As the Reform effort gained momentum, Carmelites opposed to the Reform intensified their efforts to undermine it.

In December of 1577, John was kidnapped by opponents of the Reform, taken to Toledo, and imprisoned in a tiny cell with no furnishings, little light, extreme temperatures, and bread and water his only nourishment.

There he languished for nine months. Three times a week the monks scourged his bare shoulders in their attempts to turn him away from the Reform. All this the emaciated prisoner bore without a word, exasperating his captors by his refusal to break his silence.

He spoke only to God, and out of the depths of his isolation, deprivation, and physical suffering he began to experience wonderful closeness tithe Divine. Flooded with divine love, he composed and committed to memory the soaring lines oaf poem about the soul’s union with God that would later become The Spiritual Canticle.

Though close to death, he had no thought of escape until the Virgin Mary ordered him to flee and led him through a labyrinth of hazards. In the dead of night, John unscrewed his door lock, stole past the guard, slid down from a window on braided blanket strips, climbed another wall, and leapt to freedom.

At the break of dawn, he finally reached a Carmelite convent where the nuns gave him refuge and arranged for his treatment (in secrecy) at a nearby hospital. Before departing, John told the nuns of the divine love that had flooded his soul during his ordeal and of his deep gratitude toward his tormentors.

A whirlwind of activities
When the conflict with the Reform’s opponents was temporarily resolved, John set out to spread the Reform across Spain and was plunged into a whirlwind of activities.

Sometimes traveling with Teresa, he founded new monasteries and convents; gave support to those already established; dealt constantly with administrative matters; directed the studies for Carmelite students in the university town of Baeza; and had a growing ministry that embraced not only monks and nuns but also lay people. He also completed his four major prose works.

After Teresa’s death in 1582, John shouldered the full responsibility of continuing the Reform. One day, realizing that there was one thing to which he was still attached, he took out his bag of letters from Teresa and burned them all.

In 1588, John had a vision of Christ in which Jesus asked him what he desired. John replied, “Lord, give me trials to suffer for You that I may be despised and held in no account.” Though John had already suffered trials aplenty, his wish would soon be fulfilled.

Dissension within the Reform
With Teresa gone, dissension arose within the Reform itself. John’s courage and forthrightness in upholding Teresa’s vision led to his removal from his various offices and his assignment to one of the poorest monasteries. There John lived as a simple monk gathering chickpeas in the garden, and found more time for prayer and meditation.

Meanwhile, John’s self-styled enemies within the Reform mounted a smear campaign to disgrace him. One of his brother monks, hoping to get him expelled from the Order, went around the monasteries seeking defamatory information. The campaign proved unsuccessful, but some of John’s spiritual brothers, concerned frothier own reputations, began to pull away.

When John fell sick and needed to be moved closer to medical treatment, he was given a choice of going to Baeza, where head many friends or to Ubeda.  He said: “Take me to Ubeda rather than Baeza.” Sensing that death was near, John wanted to end his life in obscurity.

“This is all God’s doing”
The superior of the monastery at Ubeda received John coldly, assigned him one of the poorest rooms, and denied him visitors and adequate medical care. “This is all God’s doing,” John said calmly amidst great physical suffering. A few months before his death he wrote a brother monk: “Where you don’t find love, put love and you will find love.”

Eventually, John’s calm acceptance of his circumstances won over the superior. John died December 14, 1591 at age forty nine. On news of his death, crowds of the poor flocked to view his body and kiss his hands and feet.

One of John’s best-known poems beautifully describes those qualities of humility and selflessness that were the hallmark of his life and the source of his ever-deepening joy:

In order to arrive at having pleasure
in everything,
Desire pleasure in nothing.
In order to arrive at possessing
everything,
Desire to possess nothing.
In order to arrive at being everything,
Desire to be nothing.
In order to arrive at the knowledge
of everything,
Desire to know nothing.

John’s body remained incorrupt for many years and he was canonized a saint in 1726.

Patricia Kirby, a writer and educator, joined Ananda in 2002, residing first at Ananda Village and now at Ananda India.

Millions of people saw the stigmata and witnessed Therese’s weekly visions of Christ’s passion and death, among them, Paramhansa Yogananda in 1935. In Autobiography of a Yogi, Yogananda gives a first hand account of the stigmata and attests to the genuineness of Theresa’s visions.

Yogananda later revealed that Therese had been Mary Magdalene in a past life, and for this reason, was blessed with Christ’s wounds and the weekly visions.* He explained that Therese’s life was intended to reassure Christians everywhere of the authenticity of Jesus’ life and crucifixion as recorded in the New Testament, and to show the ever-living bond between Christ and his disciples.

Yogananda also said that Therese was a jivan mukta, a free soul, who enjoyed the highest state of nirbikalpa samadhi. ** Throughout her life, she served as a willing “victim” for the salvation of souls by taking onto her own body the karma of others.

“The glorified child Jesus”
Therese Neumann was born on Good Friday, April 9, 1898, in Konnersreuth, Bavaria, a remote farming village of 1400 people. The daughter of a tailor and the oldest of ten children, she grew up in a strict, but loving, Catholic home.

Therese experienced her first vision of Christ—“The glorified child Jesus”—at age eleven during her First Communion, but didn’t consider it extraordinary; she thought this was what everyone experienced on this occasion. By 1913, she had decided to become a missionary nun and serve in Africa, but the outbreak of World War I delayed her entry into the convent.

Cheerful and willing
At age 13, to help the family financially, Therese was hired out part-time to a neighboring farm. Her formal schooling ended two years later when her father was drafted into the army, and she was hired out full time.

Therese’s cheerful, willing nature was evident even in these early years. She was happiest when there was plenty of work to do and strong enough to do the hardest man’s work. She especially enjoyed working in the fields and with farm animals.

A seven-year ordeal
The morning of March 10, 1918 marked the beginning of a seven-year ordeal for Therese. While fighting a fire on a neighboring farm, she severely injured her back. A few days later, she fell down the cellar steps and hit her head on a concrete floor. When she regained consciousness, her vision was nearly gone.

Five months later, Theresa again injured her back and thereafter experienced ongoing headaches and fainting spells that left her unconscious, sometimes for days. By March 1919, a year after the first back injury, Therese was completely blind and paralyzed in both legs.

A willing “victim”
The role of a helpless invalid was difficult for Therese, as also was giving up her dream of working as a missionary. But with the loving support of her family, she became reconciled to her changed circumstances and devoted herself to prayer and self-offering for the sufferings of others.

Though bedridden and in constant pain, Therese never prayed for herself, only for the redemption of souls and that God’s will be done. Her abstinence from solid food dates from this period, when she assumed the throat ailment of a young seminarian.

The intercession of Therese of Lisieux
Therese’s life-long devotion to Therese of Lisieux played an important part in her gradual restoration to health. On April 28,1923, the day Therese of Lisieux was to be “beatified” by the pope, Therese offered up special prayers to the saint, though not to be cured. That same day, she miraculously regained her eyesight.

Two years later, on the day the Catholic Church canonized Therese of Lisieux as a saint, Therese was miraculously cured of the paralysis in her legs. While she was silently praying the rosary, a white light suddenly appeared over her bed and a voice said: “Resl (Therese’s nickname) wouldn’t you like to be well again?”

Therese answered:

Everything is all right with me: living and dying, being well or sick, whatever my dear God wills. He knows what is best…I am happy with all the flowers and birds, or with any other suffering He sends.  And what I like most of all is our dear Savior himself.

Then the voice said: “Today you may have a little joy. You can sit up; try it once, I’ll help you.” Suddenly, Therese experienced a painful wrenching in her back, as if her spine was being snapped back into place.

The voice addressed Therese again:

You still have much to suffer, and no doctor can help you, either.  Only through suffering can you best work out your desire and your vocation to be a victim, and thereby help the work of the priests.  Through suffering you will gain more souls than through the most brilliant sermons.  I have already described it before.

Father Naber, Therese’s spiritual counselor, later discovered this last statement about suffering—in those exact words—in Therese of Lisieux’s autobiography.

The stigmata appear
Within a year of being cured of paralysis, the first signs of the stigmata appeared, beginning with the wound above the heart. Therese said:

One night, I was busy with my prayers, without being particularly conscious of the passion of Christ, when for the first time, I saw the Savior in the Garden of Olives sweating blood. He looked at me with a loving expression, and at that very moment I felt as if someone had pierced me through the heart with a sharp object, and then withdrawn it. I noticed that blood was flowing, and I felt this stabbing pain in my heart which, with the exception of Easter Week, has never left me completely.

Subsequently, on Good Friday, April 13 1926, Therese had her first vision of Christ’s entire passion. Once again, whenever Christ looked at her lovingly, new wounds would appear on her body. Therese received these wounds and those that appeared later as God’s will, sent to propitiate the sins of others and to draw souls closer to the Christ.

Visions of Christ and the  disciples
During her weekly visions of the Christ’s passion, Therese experienced the same physical and mental agonies as Christ. The visions occurred every Friday, except for certain holy days, and increased in intensity during Lent, reaching a climax on Good Friday.

In her ecstatic state, Therese answered questions that elicited more details about the historical events. Linguists confirmed her accurate use of Aramaic and other foreign languages, unknown to her. Each year, Therese also had as many as a hundred others visions of the lives Christ and his disciples.

On August 6, 1926, following a vision of Christ’s transfiguration, Therese experienced no further need of food or drink, and little need for sleep. Therese told Paramhansa Yogananda in 1935: “One of the reasons that I am here on earth is to prove that man can live by God’s invisible light, and not by food only.”

The Nazis attempt an arrest
Daily visitors to Therese’s modest family home numbered in the hundreds, while visitors for the Friday visions of Christ’s passion ranged from 5000 to 15,000. The Neumann family refused donations and rejected offers to make films of Therese’s life. The people of Konnersreuth, most of whom saw Therese as a saint, also refused to commercialize Therese’s presence among them.

When the Nazis came to power in Germany in 1933, they promptly banned all visitors to Konnersreuth and harassed and threatened Therese. Therese made no secret of her dissenting views and, at the height of Nazi power, boldly predicted Hitler’s downfall.

The Nazis made one attempt to arrest Therese, during a Friday vision. As two Gestapo agents approached her home, Therese, at the height of her suffering, suddenly sprang from bed, walked downstairs, and confronted the agents as they reached for the doorbell. The figure of Therese covered with blood, the suffering etched in her face, so awed the two men that they turned and fled.

Endless deeds of charity and kindness
When not experiencing the visions, Therese was constantly busy. At home she cleaned and scrubbed and also worked on the family farm. In the village, she cared for the sick and needy, tended graves in the cemetery, and received guests in the parish house with Father Naber.

Her deeds of charity and kindness were endless. It was not unusual for Therese to spend all night arranging flowers for the altars or cleaning the village church.

She received prayer requests from all over the world, and served as the instrument for hundreds of miraculous cures. She was particularly sympathetic to would-be suicides and others in despair.

During the last years of her life, the Friday visions gradually decreased until they occurred only monthly, on the first Friday. On September 18, 1962, at age 64, Therese died from cardiac arrest. Five days after her passing, the doctors declared her body to be fresh and supple with no signs of decay.

*The Path, by Swami Kriyananda, Crystal Clarity.
** Conversations with Yogananda, by Swami Kriyananda, Crystal Clarity.

Laubach devised a remarkably effective adult literacy program known as, “Each One Teach One.” However, his primary aims were always spiritual—to live his life in a moment to moment relationship with God, and to inspire others to do the same.

“A university man’s religion”
Swami Kriyananda tells us that there was nothing in Laubach’s religious training to suggest that an inner world of divine realization existed. Kriyananda writes that “it was divinely natural and right for him, in the context of his own spiritual development, to turn his perceptions outward.”

Laubach’s own words support Kriyananda’s perception. Writing about his life before 1930, he describes himself as having a “the university man’s religion:”

I believed that Jesus was probably the best man who had ever lived. But that memory of Jesus lacked power.

Then I had a personal experience of Christ in Mindanao, Philippine Islands, which left me sure that he not only lives, but lives in my heart. When he entered my heart, he brought to me a tender compassion for the multitudes which has been the driving power of my life ever since.

Laubach grew up in Pennsylvania, in a fundamentalist Christian environment, the son of a prosperous dentist. His interest in religion began at a young age and by early adolescence, he had discovered, in the town library, The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis, a devotional classic on prayer and contemplation.

At age 16, Laubach decided to make the ministry his life’s work. He graduated from Union Theological Seminary in New York City in 1913, and received a PhD from Columbia University in 1915. It was during his seminary years that he became acquainted with Brother Lawrence’s book, The Practice of the Presence of God.

A long standing ambition
After being ordained a minister of the Congregational Church, Laubach felt a calling for missionary work and volunteered to serve in the Philippines. He intended to work with the Moros (Moslems) on the southern coast of the island of Mindanao, one of the few areas that had not been Christianized.

However, within a few weeks of arriving in the Moro city of Dansalan in the province of Lanao, Laubach and his wife were forced to leave. The United States Army, which controlled the area, considered the Moros much too hostile to Christians.

The Laubachs settled on the northwest coast of Mindanao where they did missionary work. In 1922 they moved to Manila where Frank Laubach served as a pastor of an interdenominational church and helped establish Union Theological Seminary. But his longstanding ambition was to bring Christianity to the Moros.

An atmosphere of tension and suspicion
After fifteen years, hostilities among the Moros subsided and Laubach immediately made plans to return to Lanao. For the time being, his wife and family were to remain in Manila.

Unsuspectingly, Laubach walked into an atmosphere of tension and suspicion. Some of the Filipino Christian teachers who had previously come to Dansalan had violated local customs. Several of the teachers were killed and at least fifty of their schools burned down.

Laubach encountered hostility and indifference everywhere he went. After a month, he had to acknowledge to himself that he was beaten.

God speaks to him
Laubach was not only discouraged over his inability to win over the Moros. He was also profoundly dissatisfied with his spiritual life. Recalling the books by Thomas a Kempis and Brother Lawrence he had read years before, he realized that he was still not living his days “in a minute by minute effort to follow God’s will.”

Determined to keep the constant presence of God, he prayed with renewed fervor and asked, “What, Father, do you desire done? What, Father, do you desire done this minute?”

Each evening at sunset he climbed Signal Hill, a twenty-minute walk from his house. There, overlooking the lakes, mountains and the distant sea, he often prayed aloud and listened with all his soul for an answer. One evening, in the depths of despair, his lips began to move; it seemed that God was speaking to him through his own voice.

“My child,” the voice said, “you have failed because you do not really love these Moros. You feel superior to them because you are white. If you can forget you are an American, and think only how I love them, they will respond.”

Laubach answered, “It is the truth, God. Drive me out of myself. Come and take possession of me and think Thy thoughts in my mind.”

And the voice said again through his own lips, “If you want the Moros to be fair to your religion, be fair to theirs. Study the Koran with them.”

Learning from the Moro priests
The next day Laubach went to the Moro priests and told them that he wanted to study the Koran. They responded eagerly, thinking he wanted to become a Moslem.

They brought with them a list of the four holy books of Islam—the Torah (the laws of Moses); the Zabur (the Psalms of David); the Kitab Injil (the gospel of Jesus Christ); and the Koran of Mohammed. *

Laubach explained as well as he could in their language, “From childhood I have studied the first three books on your list.” Partly in English, partly in the Moro tongue, the priests talked of Jesus as the holiest prophet after Mohammed.

Having finally established a bridge with the Moros, Laubach was now ready to tackle the problem of illiteracy, which to him was an essential first step before talking to them of religion. His first project was to create a dictionary of  “Maranaw,” the Moro language. A printing press and a building for a school soon followed.

The Moro priests and a group of young Moros often expressed their gratitude: “You are the first who has ever tried to appreciate us,” they insisted.

Meeting God face to face
Not only was Laubach’s work showing outward results, his spiritual experiment was also bearing fruit. He wrote: “Now I like God’s presence so much that when He slips out of my mind—as He does many times a day—I feel as though I had deserted Him and lost something very precious in my life.”

In letters to friends and relatives, Laubach shared his inner experiences:

How infinitely richer this direct first hand grasping of God is, than the old method which I used and recommended for years: the reading of endless devotional books. Almost it seems to me now that the very Bible cannot be read as a substitute for meeting God soul to soul and face to face….

I have tasted a thrill in fellowship with God…. This afternoon the possession of God has caught me up with such sheer joy that I thought I never had known anything like it. God was so close and so amazingly lovely that I felt like melting all over with a strange and blissful contentment.

The birth of “Each One Teach One”
The reading campaign was a great success. When the depression of the 1930s and lack of funds threatened to cripple the work, Laubach arrived at the “Each One Teach One” concept—a revolutionary idea, whereby everyone who knew how to read must teach someone else.

This concept became the cornerstone of Laubach’s adult literacy program, and the foundation for teaching adult literacy on a mass basis, using volunteer teachers. His new teaching method soon spread throughout much of Asia, Africa, Latin America and the Middle East.

In spite of years of intense travel and activity, Laubach continued his “game with minutes” in which he challenged himself to think of God at least once each minute. Having disciplined himself to rise at 3 or 4 a.m., he wrote, prayed and meditated during the early morning hours, and recorded in his diary his daily struggle towards spiritual perfection.

In the mid-1930s he wrote a booklet, The Game with Minutes, designed to show others how to practice the presence of God.

The secret “interview room”
Many years later Laubach had a vision of God and Jesus together in a long room. Jesus spoke to him, saying it was time for him to take “a long stride toward becoming a full-grown son of God.” Jesus explained:

Your game with the minutes was in the right direction, but tonight you are going beyond that game into the game with moments. One of your songs which best express the goal for you is:

Moment by moment
I’m lost in His love.
Moment by moment
I’ve power from above.

Jesus said that from then on, Laubach was to spend each “day and night, with the door wide open into the secret interview room with us.” In an obvious reference to the spiritual eye, Jesus explained that the interview room was “in the front of your head: When you wish to consult us, lift up your eyes a little and there we are, not beyond the stars but just over your own eyes.”

Intense and constant work
As Laubach approached his eightieth birthday, he was asked about the seeming conflict between his trust in God and his habit of intense and constant work. He said:

As far as my faith is concerned, I believe that God is running the universe.  He is going to work out everything. If He doesn’t work it out through one of us, He will work it out through another who is willing. But I must not forget that these things will not come through me unless I work with all my might.

Frank Laubach died June 11, 1970, at the age of 85.

Nakin Lenti, a minister and long-time Ananda member, serves in the Sangha Office at Ananda Village.

*Muslims do not regard Muhammad as the founder of a new religion, but as the restorer of the original monotheistic faith of Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and other prophets. Most Muslims today believe that the Jewish and Christian scriptures have been corrupted and are not the original divine revelations.

Lourdes, however, an isolated village in the Pyrenees foothills in the southwest part of France, remained devoutly Catholic and deeply devoted to the worship of the Virgin Mary. It was in this setting that  Bernadette became the image and interpreter of the Divine, bringing countless numbers to a deeper faith in God.

The “lady” appears
Bernadette was born January 7, 1844 in Lourdes, the oldest of five children. Her parents, poor and dispossessed, eked out a living as day laborers. The family lived in an abandoned dungeon on the outskirts of town, and Bernadette, who was often ill, suffered chronically from asthma.

At age 14, she experienced a deep spiritual awakening. Over a five-month period, she was blessed with eighteen visions of a beautiful figure in white who eventually identified herself as Mary, the mother of Christ.

The first of these visions took place on the morning of February 1, 1858 when Bernadette was gathering firewood with her sister and a friend, on the outskirts of Lourdes near a grotto (cave) known as Massabeille. Thinking to catch up with the other two girls who had already crossed the nearby river, Bernadette sat down to take off her stockings.

Suddenly she heard a rush of wind “like a storm” and saw movement in a cluster of brambles in a small niche in the rocks above the grotto. She then saw a golden cloud and “lady” in white who greeted her with a slight bow. Over the “lady’s” right arm hung a rosary.

Instinctively Bernadette reached for her rosary to make the sign of the cross, but could not lift her arm until the “lady” had crossed herself. After making the sign of the cross, she and the “lady” began praying the rosary together. When they finished, the “lady,” smiling graciously, withdrew into the niche and disappeared.

Willing to die to see her again
The following week, the unnamed apparition appeared to Bernadette twice more. On the morning of February 18, during the third apparition, the “lady” spoke for the first time, and asked Bernadette if she would come to the grotto for a fortnight (two weeks).

Drawn to the grotto by what she described as an “irresistible force,” Bernadette went every day of the fortnight and saw the “lady” on all but two occasions. She later said that having seen the “lady” once, “one would willingly die to see her again.”

A transforming experience
As news of the apparitions spread throughout Lourdes and the surrounding countryside, crowds began to gather at the grotto. At first mainly women and peasants, the onlookers soon formed a cross-section of Lourdes society—the prosperous and the poor, the educated and the illiterate.

Visions of Mary were not uncommon in the Pyrenees foothills. What distinguished Bernadette’s was their public nature. Crowds eventually numbering in the thousands saw her become completely immobile in ecstatic trances, her face illumined by a holy light. Describing Bernadette when the “lady” appeared, one person wrote:

Suddenly, as though a flash of lightning had struck her, she gave a start of amazement, and seemed to be born into another life. Her eyes lighted up and sparkled; seraphic smiles played on her lips; an indefinable grace spread over her whole being.

A priest from a neighboring parish described his—and the crowd’s—reactions:

The whole crowd felt a gentle thrill. Bernadette alone saw the Apparition, but everyone felt, as it were, conscious of its presence. Joy mingle with fear was depicted on every face. It is difficult to imagine a more religious spectacle. Oh, how good it was to be there! I felt I was on the threshold of Paradise.

Even skeptics who came to jeer were transformed. One man recounts:

I had felt [the “lady’s”] presence and I was convinced that her motherly gaze hovered over my head. It was the most solemn hour of my life! I was thrown almost into a delirium of madness by the thought that a sneering, cynical, self-satisfied fellow like me had been permitted to come so close to the Queen of heaven.

By the end of the fortnight on March 4, more that 10, 000 people would witness the 15th apparition.

Threatened with imprisonment
After the 6th apparition on February 21, Bernadette found herself at the center of a growing controversy. Concerned about the size of the crowds, and convinced that the apparitions were either a hoax or the hallucinations of an uneducated peasant, Police Commissioner Jacomet summoned Bernadette for questioning.

An experienced interrogator, Jacomet used various kinds of trickery to provoke her into contradicting herself, but ultimately had to admit defeat. Bernadette’s story never varied, and she corrected Jacomet each time he tried to put words in her mouth. She replied calmly to his threat of imprisonment if she returned to the grotto, saying, “Sir, I have promised to go there every day for a fortnight.”

But when Jacomet threatened to imprison her father if she returned, Bernadette was torn, for she did not want her family to suffer. That night, she prayed deeply for guidance

The next day, upon entering the school courtyard after the midday meal, she was “irresistibly” drawn to the grotto where she again saw the “lady.” She later explained, “ I could not get my legs to work except to go to Massabeille.” Her father was never arrested.

A message of penance
With the eighth apparition, Bernadette delivered her first message to the crowd. Entering into deep state of ecstasy, she seemed to converse with the “lady.” Then, standing up suddenly, she repeated the words, “Penance! Penance! Penance!

The message of penance for the expiation of sins would be repeated in later apparitions, as the “lady” instructed Bernadette to kiss the ground and, on one occasion, to walk on her knees. The crowd, moved by these demonstrations of humility and obedience, also kissed the ground.

“Go and drink at the spring”
The ninth apparition culminated with Bernadette’s discovery of a miraculous spring for which Lourdes is famous today. Bernadette later explained:

The “lady” said to me, ‘Go and drink at the spring and wash yourself in it.’ Seeing no spring I went to drink at the river. She said it was not there. She pointed with her finger to a place under the rock. I went there and saw a bit of dirty water so small I could not get hold of any. I scratched the ground and the water came but it was muddy. Three times I threw it away; the fourth time I was able to drink some…

The crowd, thinking Bernadette insane for trying to drink from a seemingly non-existent spring, began to mock her. The next day, however, the spring was flowing freely and after two miraculous healings, the crowds quickly returned.

The stream tangibly reasserted the existence of the miraculous at a time when science scoffed at the miracles of the Bible. It was also a deeply appreciated solace for an area notable for the ill health of its population.

Proof against every temptation
During and after the fortnight, the police interrogated and threatened Bernadette. She and her family were closely watched. Skeptics, determined to expose a hoax, offered Bernadette and her family money, gifts, and other favors as entrapments.

Bernadette’s insistence that the family refuse all such offers foiled these schemes. Indeed, her detachment and unaffected simplicity won over many critics. A formerly hostile newspaper commented:

She is well—behaved, very sincere, pious, and above all, gay-spirited…. What is more, she and her family, despite their poverty, show a disinteredness that is proof against every temptation: they accept absolutely nothing from anyone….Bernadette appears indifferent not only to the admiration but also to the ridicule of which she is the object.

“I am the Immaculate Conception”
As the fortnight continued, the “lady” repeatedly requested a procession at the grotto and that a chapel be built. Three times Bernadette went to Abbe Peyramale, the Cure of Lourdes, with the “lady’s” directives—only to be sternly rebuffed by his skepticism and doubts.

Finally relenting, Peyramale said, “Ask the lady her name once more, and when we know who she is, we will build her a chapel.” The fortnight ended, however, and the Lady had not told Bernadette her name.

Three weeks later, Bernadette, feeling the inner call to return to the grotto, again asked the “lady” to reveal her name. After three requests, the “lady” announced, “I am the Immaculate Conception.”

Bernadette immediately reported this to Peyramale, who found the news staggering. Four years previously, the Pope had declared the new article of faith of the “Immaculate Conception”—a dogma not widely known except among the church hierarchy, let alone to an ignorant peasant girl. The majority of Lourdes, including Peyramale, now accepted that the apparitions were of divine origin.

In 1862, the Church, after a prolonged investigation, declared that the “lady of the grotto was indeed Our Lady.” Christians could now go the grotto in procession and a chapel would soon be built.

Harsh treatment by her superiors
Declared a saint by the multitudes, Bernadette was besieged by a steady stream of visitors, including church dignitaries. Yearning for a life of obscurity, after four years as a boarding student at the hospice of the Sisters of Nevers in Lourdes, she became a nun at age 22.

She was an exemplary nun—kind, simple, humble, sincere and well regarded by her companions. Nonetheless, for eleven years, she was subjected her to an undeserved harshness by certain of her superiors. Although deeply hurt, she saw God in her superiors and bore no grudge.

During the last four years of her life, Bernadette suffered acutely from tuberculosis of the lungs and the bones. She died April 16, 1879 at age 35. Pressing a crucifix close to her breast, she cried, “All this is good for Heaven!”

Nakin Lenti, a minister and longtime Ananda member, serves in the Sangha Office at Ananda Village.

*****     *****     *****

The Call To Be a Visionary
by Swami Kriyananda
(From How To Be a True Channel, Crystal Clarity Publishers)

One little-known aspect of this subject of channeling is that the magnetic appeal, and the conscious preparation that makes it possible for one to become a channel, may have taken place in a prior life.

A case in point is that of the three children at Fatima, Portugal, who received miraculous visions of the Virgin Mary, followed by a channeling of world prophecies and a number of amazing miracles.

Another case is that of Bernadette Soubirous, to whom the Virgin Mary appeared at Massabeille, outside Lourdes, France. At the end of those appearances there appeared the miraculous spring, in the waters of which countless people have since been healed.

None of these children actively sought the divine experiences they received…. No one has ever suggested that they were in any way unworthy of the graces they received. All agree that they were exceptionally pure in heart and mind.

We may assume that there was a magnetic appeal in their very purity, born of who knows how many devotional practices in the past. It was this quality, surely, that drew to them the graces they received.

Yet Helen was a truthseeker at an early age, troubled by questions left unanswered by her family’s religion. She found answers in the teachings of an 18th century Christian mystic, Emanuel Swedenborg, whose insights guided and sustained her many through the many trials of her life.

“An unconscious clod of earth”
Helen’s deprivation of sight and hearing followed a mysterious illness when she was nineteen months old. Without words, she was incapable of true thought. Helen would later describe herself as “like an unconscious clod of earth.”

Isolated from others, Helen reacted with violent outbursts and tantrums. By the time she was six-years-old, her parents had become desperate, for their firstborn seemed increasingly more animal than human. Their search for a teacher trained in teaching the blind led them to the 20-year-old Anne Sullivan, whose first challenge was to tame her young charge. That achieved, Anne set about to teach her.

Awakening to language and hope
“That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free.”

So Helen described her famous breakthrough on April 5, 1887 at the water pump in the back yard when she realized that the finger movements Anne Sullivan pressed into one of her hands: W-A-T-E-R–were connected to the coolness spilling over the other. Once Helen grasped the word’s meaning, her inquisitive spirit knew no bounds.

That first day alone she learned thirty words. By her seventh birthday two months later, her vocabulary had grown exponentially. It was often the adventurous little girl who led her teacher by the hand to explore and define her newly opened world.

Trained in education of the blind, (though not the deaf), Anne Sullivan’s success was due mainly to perseverance and an intuitive “feel” for what would work. She later described Helen’s eager response to her approach:

As I look back, it seems as if Helen were always on the jump when I was teaching her. We were generally in the open air doing something. Words were learned as they were needed. She rarely forgot a word that was given her when the action called it forth, and she learned a phrase or even a sentence as readily as a single word when it was needed to describe the action.” *

Throughout her nearly 88 years, Helen Keller would regard the arrival of her teacher, Anne Sullivan, as her greatest gift. Their remarkable instructional relationship blossomed into a life-long friendship, with Anne serving as Helen’s main companion and interpreter for nearly 50 years, until her death October 20, 1936.

A loving, joyous spirit
News of Helen’s successes spread from her home in rural northern Alabama, initially to a small group interested in the education of the deaf-blind, but soon to all of America. Endowed with physical beauty, grace, charm, high intelligence and a near-photographic memory, Helen attracted many supporters, including Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Alexander Graham Bell.

Bell, who had married a deaf woman and was dedicated to helping the handicapped, had assisted Helen’s parents in finding a teacher. Upon getting to know the seven-year-old Helen, he was won over by her loving, joyous spirit and became one of her dearest friends and supporters, frequently taking both Helen and Anne on nature excursions.

Continuing the educational climb
Helen’s formal education began at age eight when she and her teacher left Alabama for the Perkins School for the Blind in Boston, Massachusetts. By then, Helen had been introduced to the classics, including Shakespeare’s plays, the Iliad, and the Bible, through Anne’s finger spelling.

In addition to mastering finger spelling and several versions of Braille, Helen learned to speak, though never perfectly; became an excellent typist; and also became proficient in German, French, Latin, and Greek. She was the first deaf-blind person to graduate from college, earning her degree cum laude in 1904.

Though Helen had longed to go college, her years at Radcliffe College were difficult and lonely. Not only was she cut off from meaningful contact with her classmates, the educational process was unusually laborious. Anne had to spell all the lectures into her hand. Books had to be translated into Braille. Tests were a special nightmare, as directions were not always clear and Anne could not be present.

Nonetheless, before graduation, with the help of a Harvard friend, Helen wrote her first book, The Story of My Life. Thirteen more books would follow.

From wonders of nature to wonders of Spirit
Helen describes her early love of nature as a”precious a part of the music in my silence and the light in my darkness.” With her functioning senses, she drank in the beauties of creation. She writes: “It was but a step for me from the wonders of nature to the wonders of Spirit.” **

In her early teens, Helen became attracted to Swedenborg’s mystical Christian teachings. She was introduced to them by John Hitz, an elderly friend who headed an organization for the deaf endowed by Alexander Graham Bell. Hitz copied excerpts of Swedenborg’s writings into Braille and mailed them to her piecemeal.

Helen thrilled with new hope on reading Swedenborg’s expansive concepts—love as the essence of God and creation; universal brotherhood; freedom of will; and service to others as love in action. She later wrote:

As I realized the meaning of what I read, my soul seemed to expand and gain confidence amid the difficulties which beset me….

Those truths have been to my faculties what light, color, and music are to the eye and the ear. They have lifted my wistful longing for a fuller sense-life into a vivid consciousness of the complete being within me. Each day comes to me with both hands full of possibilities, and in its brief course I discern all the verities and realities of my existence, the bliss of growth, the glory of action, the spirit of beauty….

It was mainly through Swedenborg’s teachings that Helen came see life’s trials and difficulties as opportunities. Limitations, she explained, are necessary to bring before us “the greatness of inner life offered us in the circumstances of our lives…The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valley to traverse.”

By nature loving and sensitive, Helen experienced her share of grief with the loss of loved ones—her parents and later, Anne Sullivan. It was her deep faith that sustained her during such times. Helen shared her Swedenborgian faith in a book originally called My Religion but later recast as Light in My Darkness.

“My mystic world is lovely”
In Autobiography of a Yogi, Yogananda describes Helen as one of those “rare beings on this earth” who by “sheer intuitional feeling…see, hear, smell, taste, and touch.”

Helen was able to read the character of a person simply by holding his or her hands. she could recognize objects in her surroundings—and their color—without touching them. And she could “hear” music being played and follow the beat by tapping her foot or swaying her body.

Writing about her deeper intuitive perceptions, she says:

The more I understand of my sense experience, the more I perceive its shortcomings and inadequacy as a basis of life…The inner, or “mystic” sense, if you like, gives me the vision of the unseen. My mystic world is lovely with trees and clouds and stars and eddying streams I have never “seen”….

A lifetime of service to others
In 1918, Helen began her lifelong work to improve the quality of life for the blind and deaf-blind, who were then usually shuttled into asylums, sometimes in subhuman existence, and poorly educated.

She and Anne (and Anne’s replacement after her illness) toured both nationally and internationally to raise funds for the American Foundation for the Blind. Because Helen was often hard to understand, her talks had to be interpreted sentence by sentence, followed by question and answer sessions.

A tireless advocate, Helen traveled to 39 countries. Her personal example helped people overcome their fear of disabilities and the tendency to avoid or discriminate against the disabled. Helen’s efforts were a major factor in changing these conditions through programs for job training and placement, and for the prevention of blindness.

Helen’s compassionate nature led her to support numerous causes, some of which were quite controversial: racial equality; women’s suffrage; workers rights; abolishment of child labor; pacifism; and socialism. Despite opposition from her conservative, southern family and a few friends, Helen stood firm in her belief in the rightness of her position.

“Death is life eternal”
In later years, Helen’s health became increasingly fragile. She retired from pubic life following a stroke in 1961 and died quietly in her sleep at her Connecticut home on June 1, 1968, at age 88. Her ashes are interred in the National Cathedral, Washington, D. C., alongside Anne Sullivan’s, mute testimony to their enduring bond.

Death held no fear for Helen. She writes:

I cannot understand why anyone should fear death. Life here is more cruel than death—life divides and estranges, while death, which at the heart is life eternal, reunites and reconciles….

A bright beacon in a grey world, Helen’s life continues on in many film and stage portrayals, and in classroom projects for children, inspiring them to transmute tragedy into triumph.

* Courtesy of the Helen Keller Archives, American Foundation for the Blind.
** All quotes by Helen Keller are from her book, My Religion.

Patricia Kirby, a writer and educator, joined Ananda in 2002, residing first at Ananda Village and now in Ananda India.

Dawn of the atomic age
Einstein was the first scientist to understand the relationship between matter and energy—that matter and energy are interchangeable in much the same way that water and ice are different forms of the same substance.

Considered one of the most important discoveries of the 20th century, this understanding ushered in the “atomic age” and forms the basis for much of modern day technology. Practical applications include space exploration, hospital diagnostic procedures, medical imaging, smoke detectors, telecommunication satellites—to mention only a few.

Commenting on Einstein’s discovery, Swami Kriyananda writes:

This realization that matter, far from being solid, is a vibration of energy is increasingly defining our understanding of reality and, above all, convinces us that we live in a New Age…

A bright and precocious student
Einstein was born March 14, 1879, in Wurttemberg, Germany to an upper middle class German Jewish couple. He grew up in a warm, intellectually stimulating family environment. From early childhood he was tutored at home and studied the violin, which became a life-long passion.

As a student, he generally received good grades, while excelling in mathematics and Latin. Though not a child prodigy, the notion that he was slow, retarded or mentally challenged is unfounded. In fact, he was bright and precocious but his unwillingness to conform to the rigid authoritarianism of the German schools led some of his teachers to mark him for failure.

His real learning came from independent study in mathematics, physics, and philosophy. By age 12 he was familiar with Euclidean geometry and already studying advanced mathematics and calculus.

A moment of deep intuitive insight
After Einstein’s family moved to Italy in 1895, he completed his high school and university education in Zurich, Switzerland. Upon graduating, he failed to obtain a university job even though a doctoral candidate, but finally landed a position as a technical examiner at the Swiss Patent Office in Bern, Switzerland in 1902.

Working in isolation, Einstein now had time to devote to the most controversial scientific ideas of his time. The turning point in his career came in 1905. After weeks of deep thought, Einstein woke up one morning feeling “the greatest excitement.” The solution to a whole series of problems, including the theory of relativity, came to him in a moment of deep intuitive insight.

Four papers that changed the world
Within a six-month period, Einstein wrote four groundbreaking papers that appeared in one of the leading scientific journals of the time. His first paper, proving that light was both a particle and a wave, would win the Nobel Prize in 1921 and lay the groundwork for modern-day quantum theory.

His second paper proved the existence of molecules and atoms—a fact now taken for granted, while his fourth paper (through his now famous equation, E = mc2)  showed the equivalence of matter and energy.

The third of these papers, On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies, introduced his special theory of relativity. Ten years later, in 1915, Einstein would complete his work on the General Theory of Relativity, considered by many “perhaps the greatest achievement in the history of human thought.”

In 1919, Sir Arthur Eddington, Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge University and a strong supporter of Einstein, arranged a much-publicized expedition to West Africa to confirm Einstein’s theory of relativity.

By photographing a solar eclipse, Eddington proved that Einstein’s mathematical calculations were correct and that estimates based on Newtonian physics were wrong. The success of this experiment brought Einstein, now living in Germany, sudden worldwide acclaim.

Has life become meaningless?
Newtonian physics with its straight lines and right angles was comprehensible to ordinary people but Einstein’s theory of relativity was altogether different. The most people could understand was that the concepts of absolute time and space had been dethroned.

Philosophers and writers quickly seized upon the theme of relativity and tried to apply it to moral and spiritual values. During the 1920s, the belief began to circulate that there were no longer any absolutes—not only of time and space but of good and evil, right and wrong—and that life itself was meaningless.

Regarding this development Swami Kriyananda writes:

Einsteinian relativity never robbed us of universal values. It only undermined the fallacy of absolute moral values. Only God, who is beyond relativity, may be called absolute. Values themselves cannot be that. They are, however, universal.

Many basic values apply in varying degrees to everyone. To help someone in need is a virtue not because scripture says so, but for the simple reason that nature implants in us an urge toward self-expansion. We satisfy that urge toward expansion in many ways: in sympathy, knowledge, understanding. A self-serving attitude, on the other hand, is contractive, and goes against that natural urge. Even if a whole culture endorses it, the result, for its people, is general unhappiness.

Belief in a cosmic religion
Starting in the 1930s, Einstein gave a number of talks on the relationship between science and religion. He felt strongly that religion and science should complement each other, saying, in one of his famous quotes: “Science without religion is lame; religion without science is blind.”

Because he rejected certain tenets of Western religion, including the soul’s immortality and the idea of a personal God, Einstein was often accused of being an atheist, which he denied. He described his beliefs as a “cosmic religion”:

I believe in Spinoza’s God who reveals himself in the orderly harmony of what exists… My religiosity consists in a humble admiration of the infinitely superior spirit that reveals itself [through scientific discovery]…. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion.

For Einstein, this “cosmic religious feeling” was the “strongest and noblest driving force behind scientific research,” and an important link between science and religion. Indeed, in his opinion, “the religious geniuses of all ages have been distinguished by this kind of religious feeling, which knows no dogma and no God conceived in man’s image; so that there can be no church whose central teachings are based on it.”

Commenting on Einstein’s religious views, Swami Kriyananda writes:

[M]any scientists have believed in God. Einstein, one of the greatest of them, described scientific discovery in terms of “mystical awe.” His transcendent outlook, however, had nothing to do with church affiliation of any kind. Indeed, he was suspicious of any attempt by so-called “authority” to limit the freedom of scientific inquiry.

Under constant threat of death
The post WWI years were a challenging time for Einstein. Divorced and remarried, he traveled widely speaking in support of world government and Zionism, and against the militarism, fascism, and anti-Semitism espoused by the emerging Nazi party in Germany.

As an outspoken Nazi critic, Einstein became the target of Nazi propaganda and lived under the constant threat of death. When Hitler came to power in 1933, he left Germany for good and accepted a position at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Princeton, becoming a U.S. citizen in 1940.

As the world edged closer to war, Einstein, though committed in principle to non-violence, recognized that “organized power can only be opposed by organized power.” Fearing that Hitler was already developing an atomic weapon, he wrote Franklin Roosevelt in 1939 and advised the development of an atomic bomb.

Although Einstein was not directly involved in the project, the bomb’s creation marked the first practical use of his equation, E = mc2. The destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 caused Einstein great concern for the future of humanity.

An attempt to show all creation as maya
During the last three decades of his life, he relentlessly pursued a “unified field theory.” Later known as the “theory of everything,” it was Einstein’s attempt to develop a set of mathematical equations that would explain the entire workings of the universe.

Applauding Einstein’s efforts, Paramhansa Yogananda writes in Autobiography of a Yogi that his theory was, in essence, an attempt to explain all creation as maya—a delusion:

In his Unified Field Theory, the great physicist embodies in one mathematical formula the laws of gravitation and of electromagnetism. Reducing the cosmical structure to variations on a single law, Einstein reaches across the ages to the rishis who proclaimed a sole texture of creation—that of a protean maya.

Although Einstein died without achieving his goal, he laid the groundwork for a new generation of physicists who have taken up the challenge. Much of the recent research in field of “string theory” can be traced to Einstein.

Opening vast new fields of discovery
Assessing Einstein’s legacy, Swami Kriyananda states that what makes Einstein’s discoveries so great is that they opened up new fields of discovery well beyond the scientific audiences to whom they were directed:

Einstein’s theories have opened the way to an infinity of investigations. His Theory of Relativity, for example, has had a seminal influence not only on every scientific discipline, but also on the humanities: philosophy, sociology, psychology, religion—the list appears to be never-ending.

Einstein died of a ruptured aortic aneurysm on April 18, 1955 at Princeton, NJ. At his request, there was no funeral, no grave, and no marker. That same day his body was cremated and his ashes scattered at an undisclosed place.

John Lenti, an Ananda minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

The following excerpts highlight some of these similarities.

Lincoln
Gazing at the document in his hands, Abe Lincoln smiled. He was a bona fide lawyer, by jing!

How his success would surprise his family. His early schooling had been piecemeal: attending “A.B.C. schools” whenever one was offered nearby. He reckoned that he’d accumulated less than a full year of classroom study by the time he reached adulthood. He’d grown up an ignorant backwoodsman.

But all that changed when he found his vocation. After he realized that he wanted to become a lawyer, he became an exemplary scholar. He devoured Blackstone’s Commentaries and other legal works until he could recite what he had learned by rote. And now he had passed his bar exam. All he needed was an incentive.

Lindbergh
Looking at the grade list posted on the wall of his flying school, Charles Lindbergh smiled. First in his class. He’d worked hard, and hoped he would succeed. But it had taken a little faith.

From kindergarten through college, Lindbergh had floundered with barely passing grades. His lack of scholarship was no surprise. He had bounced around from one city and state to the next. With so many distractions, he had never developed a love of learning.

After he conceived his goal of becoming an airplane pilot, however, he turned into a scholar. Many a night Charles spent poring over his textbooks, anxious to make the grade. And he had succeeded. All he had needed was an incentive. The rest was easy.

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln shook off his boots and lay on a White House sofa like a dead man. What a job! In spite of his willingness to serve, he felt a resistance welling up.

Like many presidents before and since, Lincoln saw the nation’s capital as little more than a gilded prison. Whatever glamour there had been at the outset had long since faded away. In this place he’d watched his son die. Here he’d sent friends to war and received news of their crippling injuries or deaths. Here he’d waged battles against political adversaries.

Lincoln sighed. He looked forward to the end of his term, when he could return to Springfield, his friends, and his home.

Lindbergh
Charles Lindbergh walked down the street, moodily kicking a stone. He hated Washington. Being there felt like a form of incarceration. He didn’t like the schools or the weather, and he had no friends and no quiet places.

Every winter Charles’s father brought him to the nation’s capital while the House was in session. Other than being near his father, Charles found no joy there. For ten years he endured it, each year looking forward to going home to Little Falls.

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
Judge David Davis once conducted a mock trial of the wayward Abraham Lincoln, half-jokingly denouncing him.

“You are impoverishing this bar,” Davis moaned, “by your picayune charges. Your fellow lawyers have every reason to complain. And if you don’t make people pay more for your services, you will die as poor as Job’s turkey!”

Lincoln answered the judge soberly. “Your honor, the high fee you are criticizing me for not charging would have come out of the pocket of a poor demented girl; and I would rather starve than swindle her….”

Although he worked hard to earn a living commensurate with public office, greed was foreign to Lincoln’s nature. Not only did he not accept money to which he felt he had no right, but he also neglected to profit from financial opportunities presented to him. His tastes were very simple. “Wealth,” according to Lincoln, was “simply a superfluity of things we don’t need.”

Lindbergh
During World War II, [Lindbergh] told a potential employer that he intended to accept only $10,000 a year as a research developer, even though he was offered ten times as much. For another job, he received no salary at all. He thought it wrong to profit personally while his country was at war….

After his Paris flight, Lindbergh earned and was given more than enough for his family to live on—why build up an unnecessary fortune?

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln stood in front of a temperance group and gave a talk. As a well-known teetotaler, he had been asked to address them. Lincoln was pleased to do so, because he wanted to speak on how to relate to alcoholics.

In Lincoln’s view, no good could come from denouncing those under liquor’s sway. If they truly wished to help those unfortunate men and women, they should use encouragement and kind words. Honey, he said, catches more flies than vinegar.

Lindbergh
Charles Lindbergh stood in the corner of a crowded room, nursing a ginger ale. The room was full of partygoers, drinking wine, telling crude jokes, and laughing raucously.

Lindbergh had been a teetotaler all his life. Yet he didn’t denounce those who liked to drink. He merely thought it sad that people demeaned themselves in search of fun. Many in the gathering were headed for hangovers in the morning, and he didn’t envy them for it.

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
March 1863, the White House. While composing a speech, President Lincoln found himself contemplating Providence. During his life, the Heavenly Father had not been a stranger to his thoughts; but the effects of war—with suffering and death on such a grand scale—had turned his mind more than ever in a spiritual direction.

Normally, he kept his religious impulses to himself. But now—when family members were sundered forever, when radical changes were occurring daily, when light and dark were so starkly contrasted that no one could guess what the future might bring—he mentioned God more and more often in his letters, conversations, and speeches.

Lindbergh
It was decades after the end of the war and Lindbergh was reviewing the diaries he’d kept during those years. Of the later entries, many included the word God.

The grim reality of war had drawn from him a spiritual response. Normally, he kept his religious feelings quiet, barely hinting at them. But war had roughly pushed those boundaries aside and revealed his hidden inner life.

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
Lincoln sat in his presidential office, smiling as he read a letter. It reminded him of the occasion a few years earlier when a group of Quakers had visited him. They wished, they’d said, to pray with Lincoln that he be guided by his Heavenly Father in the tremendous task before him. That was the only time he had had the opportunity to sit with a group of silent worshipers.

He looked again at the letter, written by the Quaker woman who was their leader. Pulling out a sheet of paper, the president wrote his response:

“I have not forgotten—probably shall never forget—the very impressive occasion when you and your friends visited me on a Sabbath forenoon two years ago. Your purpose was to strengthen my reliance on God. I am much indebted to you.”

Lincoln also knew another kind of fellowship with the two people with whom he spent the most time before being elected president. His law partner, William Herndon, was deeply interested in Transcendentalism (the nineteenth-century philosophical movement, expounded by Ralph Waldo Emerson and others, and based partly on the mystical teachings of India).

Meanwhile, Lincoln’s wife, Mary Todd, was a devout churchgoer who believed in life after death. Herndon’s Transcendentalism and Mary’s séances formed a natural complement to Lincoln’s innate mysticism.

Lindbergh
Charles Lindbergh was a bit of a loner, but there were many people with whom he shared an atypical affinity.

First, there was Jim Newton, a deeply spiritual man who was also a good friend. Together, Charles and Jim had shared long periods of harmonious silence and had discussed the importance of dedicating one’s life to a spiritual end.

And Alexis Carrel…. Lindbergh had seldom felt happier than when he was with the doctor, listening to him propound one of his metaphysical theories. Lindbergh’s mind and spirit were stimulated by Carrel’s company….

While in England, Lindbergh had enjoyed the company of Sir Francis Younghusband, the noted metaphysician. It was he who introduced Lindbergh to the teachings of yoga and invited him to a religious conference in India….

*  *  *  *  *

Lincoln
Lincoln took his leave of the simple town folk with whom he had been speaking. Although it came as no surprise to him, he sometimes found wisdom in places where most of his friends did not guess it existed. Maybe it was his openness that drew these people to him. With “regular irregularity,” he encountered deep spirituality in quiet townspeople of all backgrounds, including the Negroes.

Over time, Lincoln came to appreciate the innate wisdom of those whom he dubbed “the children of Nature.”

Lindbergh
As he studied the Tasaday natives squatting beside him, Charles Lindbergh relaxed in a way that he seldom did in modern society. For some reason, he identified with these Filipino cave dwellers.

The Tasadays’ primitive ways called to Lindbergh. A part of him wanted to answer that call and escape the world. Then he would live in a hut, alone in the silence that enveloped him whenever he immersed himself in nature.

A minister and longtime Ananda member, Richard Salva is affiliated with the Palo Alto Church and community, and lectures widely on reincarnation and yoga.

People from all walks of life have testified that it was not Padre Pio’s miracles but his Christ-like presence and deep devotion to God that changed their lives. Through Padre Pio, they experienced the presence of God, or as one person put it—“He made God real.”

Suffering for the salvation of others
Padre Pio dedicated his life to what he called “co-redemption.” For him this meant following the “way of the cross,” whereby great saints suffer for the salvation of others— a view that parallels the Eastern spiritual tradition of taking on the karma of others.

Born Francisco Forgione on May 25, 1887 in Pietrelcina, a small farming community in southern Italy, Padre Pio grew up in a close-knit, religious family and loved going to church and listening to stories of saints. Often he would go off alone to pray and “think about God.”

He would later reveal that from early childhood he regularly spoke with Jesus, Mary, and his guardian angel. In 1902, when he was 15, he became a monk of the Order of Friars Capuchin, which traces back to St. Francis of Assisi, Padre Pio’s patron saint, whom he often saw in vision.

“I want to offer myself”
In 1910, when ordained a priest, Padre Pio decided to offer himself as a victim for the salvation of souls. Writing to his spiritual director, he said:

For some time I have felt the need to offer myself to the Lord as a victim for poor sinners and for souls in Purgatory. This desire has grown continuously in my heart until now it has become a powerful passion.

Though forewarned in visions that demonic forces would try throughout his life to derail this mission, he remained undeterred.

In July 1918, a few days after Pope  Benedict XV urged all Christians to pray for an end to World War I, Padre Pio offered himself as a victim for the end of the war. He was then living at Our Lady of Grace friary at San Giovanni Rotundo, a remote, mountainous farming village in southern Italy.

The stigmata appear
A few months later, on the morning of September 20, 1918, while praying in the friary church, Padre Pio received the stigmata—the outward manifestations of Christ’s five wounds. Describing the experience to his spiritual director, he wrote:

All the internal and external senses and even the very faculties of my soul were immersed in indescribable stillness. Suddenly, I saw before me a mysterious person (whom he later identified as the wounded Christ)whose   hands and feet were dripping blood….When the vision disappeared, I realized that it was my hands and feet and side that were dripping blood.

The wounds in his hands and feet went straight through—and caused constant pain. They bled unceasingly, emitting the sweet scent of roses and violets. He was unable to close his hands and wore special gloves and shoes, except when saying Mass.

Skeptical doctors subjected him to painful examinations, but the wounds defied medical science. Padre Pio accepted the stigmata as a gift from God for the redemption of mankind, but he would have preferred to suffer in secret, without drawing attention to himself.

To his spiritual children: “pray and meditate”
By now, a circle of “spiritual sons and daughters” had begun to form around him— the beginning of the worldwide prayer groups he would later establish.

To his spiritual children Padre Pio spoke of God’s presence within. He urged them to live in that presence by praying as much as possible, meditating on the life of Christ, surrendering to God’s will, and loving both God and neighbor.

Counseling joy in the service of God, he warned them against the harmful effects of discouragement and worry. Despite his physical trials, Padre Pio’s distinguishing characteristics were joy, serenity, kindness, and humility.

No distance between him and Christ
The Mass was the means by which Padre Pio publicly expressed his oneness with Christ. Eyewitnesses said that he was always in a state of deep inner communion, which uplifted the entire congregation. One eyewitness described it:

The Capuchin’s face, which a few moments before had seemed to me jovial and affable, was literally transfigured…. Fear, joy, sorrow, agony or grief… I could follow the mysterious dialogue on his features. Now he   protests, shakes his head in denial and waits for the reply. His entire body was frozen in mute supplication….

Suddenly great tears welled from his eyes, and his shoulders, shaken with crushing weight…. Between him and Christ there was no distance….

Padre Pio’s Mass could last as long as three hours. He re-lived Christ’s crucifixion and prayed for all who had asked for help.

A “surgeon of the soul”
Equally important to Padre Pio’s ministry was the hearing of confessions, sometimes as many as a hundred a day. He “read souls” with unfailing accuracy and knew exactly what to say to each person.

If a person failed to report a serious sin, Padre Pio would invariably point it out by relating all the details of the offense. Because some would respect him only if he shouted, he would shout— though in his heart, as he said, he was smiling.

Those who came to “test” him, or who weren’t prepared to be truthful, he would gruffly send away. To be refused by Padre Pio was such a shock that it changed people’s lives.

The first wave of persecution
By the spring of 1919, news of the stigmata had leaked out. Miraculous cures were reported, and newspapers throughout Italy were publishing articles about Padre Pio.

This new interest in Padre Pio and the influx of pilgrims and donations to his monastery created jealousy among the local clergy. Spreading vicious lies, they insisted that his wounds were self-inflicted. They claimed he used perfume to create the “heavenly” odors, and that he was possessed by the Devil and having illicit relationships with his “spiritual daughters.”

The accusations—and jealousy— spread to the Vatican. In 1922, the Church clamped down: Padre Pio could no longer hear confessions, see his spiritual children, answer any correspondence, or say the Mass, except at irregular times and later, only in private. The Church issued statements denying the spiritual origin of the stigmata.

Thus began the years of what Padre Pio called his “imprisonment,” a trial he offered as a sacrifice to God for the needs of the “unsaved.” During his imprisonment, he spent his free time in prayer and silent communion with God, and also studied the Scriptures and the writings of the Church Fathers. Not until 1933 were all of the restrictions lifted.

The world discovers Padre Pio
World War II opened up Padre Pio’s ministry to the world. Between 1943 and 1945, hundreds of Allied soldiers stationed in southern Italy visited San Giovanni Rotundo to meet the man who bore the wounds of Christ.

Inspired by his sanctity and mystical celebration of the Mass, Catholics and Protestants alike came to revere Padre Pio. To the shock and dismay of his fellow monks, Padre Pio often administered the sacraments to Protestant soldiers and never pressed anyone to convert.

“The sick person is Christ”
Service men and women took news of Padre Pio home with them. Soon after, pilgrims and donations began pouring into San Giovanni Rotundo. These funds enabled Padre Pio to bring to fruition a project dear to his heart, the construction of a hospital: The House for the Relief of Suffering, or Casa as it was called, which opened May 5, 1956.

Padre Pio conceived of the Casa as a place where the sick would be treated in ideal circumstances, both material and spiritual, for them to open to the grace of God. He dismissed those who thought the Casa was too luxurious. He would say:  “the sick person is Jesus, and doing everything for our Lord is doing little.”

Today, the Casa is one of the largest and best-equipped hospitals in Italy. It is also the international center for over 2000 Padre Pio prayer groups with more than 200,000 members worldwide.

“God’s judgment is not man’s judgment.”
Jealous of Padre Pio’s success and determined to get control of Casa funds, his superiors in the Capuchin Order soon instigated a new wave of persecution: Padre Pio’s incoming mail was opened; his conversations in the confessional and friary guest rooms were secretly recorded; and his reputation was besmirched through a successful smear campaign.

In 1961, a Vatican investigation brought new restrictions: Padre Pio could not go outside the friary; his access to the faithful was strictly regulated; and the time of his Mass had to vary from day to day.

Before his death, Pope Pius XII had granted Padre Pio a special dispensation—title to all Casa property and administrative control of the hospital.  However, the new pope, John XXIII, reversed  this dispensation and ordered Padre Pio to sign over the Casa to the Vatican.

Not until 1964, and the ascendance of Pope Paul VI, was Padre Pio released from all restrictions. In spite of these injustices, his inner joy was untouched. Without blame or judgment he said simply, “God’s judgment is not man’s judgment.”

The stigmata disappear
As he approached his 80th birthday, Padre Pio’s health began to deteriorate. Though confined to a wheelchair, he continued to say Mass, hear fifty confessions a day, and receive over 5,000 letters each month.

For more than a year the stigmata had begun to vanish. When he passed away peacefully on September 23, 1968, three days after the fiftieth anniversary of the stigmata, the wounds had completely healed.

John Lenti, a minister and long-time Ananda Village resident, serves at Ananda Sangha.

*****     *****     *****

One evening out at the desert Donald asked Yogananda, “Will I find God in this life?”

“Yes,” the Guru replied. “But don’t think about it.” There ensued a brief pause, after which the Master continued, “After many lifetimes, everything has balanced out now.”

Why must his disciple not dwell on this wonderful promise? Because he still had a lot of work to do in this life. Yogananda, in training this disciple, placed highest priority on his service to others.

*****     *****     *****

During these blessed years of training at Yogananda’s feet, and later while writing, editing, lecturing, working with others, and spreading the teachings of his Guru as a devoted disciple, “Walter” [which is how Yogananda referred to Donald Walters] realized more and more the scope of the Master’s universal mission. Toward the end of his life, Yogananda told one of the monks, “If Walter had only come sooner, we would have reached millions!”

*****     *****     *****

In 1952, Yoganandaji was preparing to end his mission on earth. By then “Walter,” his devoted disciple, had developed the attunement, the focus, and the vision to spread his Guru’s teachings to the world. One day Donald said to him, “How will I know your will, Sir, after you are gone?”

“You already know my will,” Yogananda replied, “at least in the important things.”

*****     *****     *****

Some of Kriyananda’s happiest memories of the nearly four years that he spent in India (1958-1962) were his frequent opportunities to visit some of India’s great living saints. Among others, he spent considerable time with Ananda Moyi Ma, the “Joy-Permeated Mother” whom Yogananda described with great love in his autobiography.

In the book, Mother of Bliss– Anandamayi Ma, by Lisa Hallstrom, this story about Kriyananda is related: “Rupa Bose, a brahmacharini  [renunciate] in Calcutta, said that she once waited outside Ma’s door for six hours while a Western monk, a devotee of another guru, had a ‘private’ with Ma. She complained, ‘Ma, Kriyananda is so lucky. We are with you for the last twenty years. You don’t give us five or six hours at a time.’

“Ma replied, ‘When the lotus opens there are frogs under the pond, there are other insects. But suddenly a bee comes and sits on the open lotus and sucks out the honey from the lotus. So you don’t know how to take the honey out, but Kriyananda, a foreign brahmachari, has come for two days, but he has got the capacity of holding this body for six hours private.’”

*****     *****     *****

Over the years of building Ananda Kriyananda has worn his innate air of authority and leadership lightly and naturally, never “lording it” over anyone. A few years ago he remarked to a few friends, “I recently received a letter from an Ananda member saying how much he admired my ability to accomplish things and to lead others. He needs to understand that I’m no different from anyone else—I’ve just been doing it a little longer.”

*****     *****     *****

Considerate and tactful, Swamiji tries to correct and guide others in their spiritual growth without hurting or discouraging them. Once someone wrote a letter to my husband and me critical of our way of directing a certain aspect of Ananda. We were hurt by his words, which seemed to us unfair, but since we were about to attend a community Christmas celebration, we decided to say nothing about it to Swamiji until later.

As soon as he saw us at the gathering, however, he immediately asked, “What’s wrong?” After we’d explained about the letter, we asked him in humility, “Swamiji, we want to do the right thing. Please tell us, are the things he wrote about us true?”

After reflecting a moment he said, “You’re doing the best you can for who you are.” Trying to pin him down, I pressed further, “Well, was he wrong in writing the letter?” With wisdom inclusive of everybody’s reality, he answered, “He’s doing the best he can for who he is.” Then with a twinkle of warmth and understanding in his eyes, he concluded, “And I’m doing the best I can for who I am.”

We were healed and blessed by that guidance, and have quoted this story to others over the years.

*****     *****     *****

Swamiji’s sensitivity and concern for others often reaches out to them, unasked for, when they are in need. An Ananda member told me a beautiful story in this regard. I’d mentioned to her that Kriyananda had phoned us to discuss a project we were working on. She said a bit sadly, “He’s never called us.”  Then she paused and continued, “No, that’s not true. He did once. One evening, my husband and I had a big argument. We were really mad at each other, and we went to bed without speaking.

“In the morning, we wanted to make up, but neither one of us knew how to take the first step. Then the phone rang. It was Swamiji. All he said to us was, ‘I want to thank you both for your beautiful spirit.’ His love dissolved the block between us, and we smiled at each other with love and forgiveness.”

*****     *****     *****

Even with people who have consciously tried to thwart or hurt him, Swamiji responds with kindness, and has never attempted to strike back. Once a tough looking man who was an ex-member of a motorcycle gang came to Ananda. Swamiji, feeling that he was sincere spiritually, befriended him and encouraged him to stay. He gave him the name, Ram Lila, meaning “God’s play.” After a time, Ram Lila became restless, left the community, and began to spread malicious lies and gossip about Swamiji.

A year later during a public gathering, where Swamiji was speaking before several hundred people, Ram Lila returned and stood in the back, looking repentant. “Ram Lila, come here,” Swamiji called out to this burly, barrel-chested man. The man came forward, hanging his head in remorse, and stood before Swamiji, who sweetly said to him, “Ram Lila, you’ve been a bad boy.”

“I know, Swamiji, I’ll never do it again.” Kriyananda lovingly blessed him. The man didn’t remain at Ananda, but he has been a loyal friend ever since.

*****     *****     *****

David Frawley, a well-known scholar and author of many popular books on Vedic studies and astrology, has had the opportunity to see spiritual communities and ashrams all over America and many also in India. After several visits to Ananda, Mr. Frawley was asked, “In your opinion, what are the most successful ‘new age’ communities anywhere?”

“That’s easy to answer,” he replied. The Reason for Ananda’s success is that Swami Kriyananda has trained a whole community of people to develop spiritually, and also to develop leadership abilities themselves. The work of Ananda will carry on far into the future.”

*****     *****     *****

Through all of Swamiji’s spiritual contributions to the world, perhaps he has inspired the most people through his music. Swamiji said, “For me, composing has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Often tears of joy have flowed down my cheeks while a melody or a sequence of beautiful harmonies poured through me from the Divine Giver—like a mountain stream, effortlessly.”

His music reflects not only his devotion to God, but also his divine love and friendship for all. “I take pains while composing choral music,” Kriyananda wrote, “to make each part enjoyable to sing, rather than thinking only of the audience’s enjoyment. For me, writing music is like founding a cooperative community: Everyone needs to take part in the creative act.”

*****     *****     *****

When Swamiji was lecturing in 1959 in Patiala, India, a friend told him about a fascinating ancient manuscript known as the Bhrigu Samhita. Bhrigu was a noted rishi, or sage, who lived thousands of years ago in India. He wrote a text of prophecies about the lives of millions of people, many of whom are living today. Swamiji’s friend suggested that they travel to Barnala, a town some sixty miles away, where a portion of the Bhrigu Samhita was kept. “Let us see,” he said, “if there is a prediction about your life.”

To Kriyananda’s amazement, the Bhrigu pundit found a whole page about him among the loose leaves of the treatise. The page was yellowed with antiquity. Everything it said about the incidents in his life up to the present time was true: “He will be born in Rumania,” he read, “and will live in America. He will meet his Guru, Yogananda, at the age of twenty-two, and will receive the spiritual name, Kriyananda.” Then the page went on to tell his future: “He will build an ashram in the city of D-, on the banks of the river Jamuna [a river near Delhi]. Its fame will be glorious.”

*****     *****     *****

Now, after nearly sixty years of spreading his Guru’s teachings in the West, Kriyananda has returned to India. The magnitude of the work given to him by Yogananda has been fully revealed: to unite the best of India and America, thereby helping to foster a spiritual renaissance in the world.

The Master also once told Swami Kriyananda, “God won’t come to you until the end of life. Death itself will be the final sacrifice you’ll have to make.” Now, in the final chapters of Swamiji’s life, he is pouring out his strength untiringly to complete all that his Guru gave him to do.

Devi Novak, together with her husband, Jyotish Novak, serve as acharyas (spiritual directors) for Ananda Sangha Worldwide. She is a founding member of Ananda and lives at Ananda Village.

Resources: Faith Is My Armor
The Life of Swami Kriyananda

Other Clarity articles by Devi Novak are listed under “Nayaswami Devi.”

George Washington Carver was one of the best-known African-Americans of his era. A brilliant scientist and educator, he was a major force for the upliftment of the black race, and an innovator in the field of agricultural biochemistry.

Carver was born a slave on a farm near Diamond Grove, Missouri in 1864. Orphaned almost from birth, he was raised by Moses and Susan Carver, kindly German immigrants. As a child, Carver spent many hours roaming the woods. Early on, word spread that he had a magic touch in growing and healing plants.

“God has work for you”
When he was 14, Carver moved to Neosho, eight miles away. There he attended a one-room school for black children, earned money doing domestic chores, and found room and board with Andrew and Mariah Watkins, a deeply religious black couple.

When Carver told Mariah that he had been “lucky” to meet her his first day in Neosho, she said, “Luck had nothing to do with it, boy. God brought you to my yard. He has work for you, and He wants Andrew and me to lend a hand.” Mariah gave Carver a worn, leather-bound Bible and within a year he had memorized large segments. Until the day he died, he read daily from that Bible.

After nine months, Carver left Neosho to further his education. His ultimate goal was to obtain a college education but, hindered by racism, not until 1890 did he enroll in Iowa State College. Setting aside his love of painting, he decided to study agricultural science. Although Carver was very gifted as a painter and singer, he deeply believed that God wanted him to use his education to help black people.

In 1896, the year he received his Master’s degree, Carver accepted Booker T. Washington’s invitation to take over the newly established agricultural school at Tuskegee Institute in Alabama.

A collection of shacks
Expecting a typical campus, Carver was dismayed to find a collection of shacks, and only a few larger buildings, on arid land criss-crossed with gullies. The agricultural building had yet to be built, and Carver was allocated a single room—to serve as office, laboratory, classroom, and living quarters.

Assessing the magnitude of the challenges he faced from the depleted soil and lack of equipment and facilities, Carver calmly reminded himself that if God had meant his life to be easy, he would never have made him a black man.

Carver would later lead his students on an expedition to the school’s junk heap and the back alleys of the nearby town, where they collected old bottles, rusted pans, fruit jar lids, discarded flat irons, odd bits of metal, and other items.  From this pile of refuse, Carver’s first laboratory took shape.

The “soul” of the faculty
Carver was an inspirational teacher who challenged his students to uncover the “incalculable wealth” within their brains, and to listen carefully to the voice of God speaking through plants, animals, and other divine creations.  Often referred to as the “soul” of the Tuskegee faculty, he believed deeply in divine guidance, and relied on intuition for scientific insights.

“All my life,” he said, “I have risen regularly at four o’clock and have gone into the woods and talked with God.  There He gives me my orders for the day. Alone there with the things I love most, I gather specimens and study the great lessons Nature is so eager to teach us all.”

The “Moveable School”
Carver served on the Tuskegee faculty for 47 years, devoting himself to research projects aimed at helping the “man farthest down”—southern dirt farmers, black and white—break the cycle of poverty and debt.

One of his earliest innovations was the “Moveable School,” which he developed in 1899. Every weekend, Carver and a student loaded up a mule-drawn wagon with farm tools, seed packets, and demonstration plants and visited black and white farmers in the backwoods and swamps.

He taught them practical skills—how to compost, raise livestock, plant vegetable gardens, preserve food, and paint their houses using inexpensive paint made out of Alabama clay. Most importantly, he taught them how to bring the soil back to life and get out from under the burden of economic dependence upon cotton.

The Bible comes to life
In 1907, Carver started a Bible class which soon became one of the best-attended extracurricular activities on campus. Using vivid dramatizations of biblical stories and illustrations from nature, he discussed the relationship between science and religion, which he saw as complementary means of arriving at truth.

“Mysteries,” he said, “are things we don’t yet understand because we haven’t learned to tune in.” “God is always there,” he would tell the students, “just like electricity, waiting for you to make contact.”

Carver also instilled in his students the importance of giving to others—not only money, but also courage, hope, and their friendship and talents. All the great ones, he told them, from Jesus Christ to Booker T. Washington, were imbued with this sense of giving.

The glut of peanuts
In 1914, Carver was confronted with a major crisis. Farmers who had heeded his advice on crop rotation and diversity, and were producing peanuts in great abundance, suddenly discovered there was no market for their crops. Deeply upset, Carver went to the woods in the early morning hours and cried out to God for an answer. And as he later explained, softly recounting the story, “The Creator answered me….”

Back at his Tuskegee laboratory, Carver discovered over 300 uses for the peanut, including synthetic marble, ink, glue, dye, plastics, food, oils, and milk. Within four years, he had helped to create a thriving market for the peanut and to transform the economy of the south.

Carver’s success with the peanut led him to explore new uses for other agricultural products such as sweet potatoes, pecans and soybeans. He developed new strains of cotton less susceptible to the boll weevil, and experimented with a cure for polio using peanut oil and massage therapy, achieving positive results.

His bio-chemical research, which included food dehydration, was especially valuable during the Great Depression of the 1930s and World War II, when basic necessities were in short supply.

“Commune with God”
In the 1920s, Carver was enlisted to help improve race relations in the south, and spoke regularly at white college campuses. With his warm personality and engaging manner, he cultivated close friendships with dozens of young whites, opening their eyes to racial injustice. For many of them, whom he referred to as “my boys,” he became a spiritual mentor.

In his correspondence, Carver urged his boys to commune deeply with God: “How I would love to see you get to the point where you could commune with God, through the things He has created. Your soul longs for it, and you will never be thoroughly happy until you do this.”

Carver repeatedly turned down salary increases at Tuskegee, lucrative job offers from American industrialists, and refused payment when consulting with delegations from countries in Asia, Africa, and South America.

Throughout his life, he patented only three of his hundreds of discoveries. He would say, “God gave them to me; how can I sell them to someone else?” He measured his life solely in terms of service to others. Whatever success he achieved, he attributed it to God working through him.

A love of solitude
Carver’s many friends included three presidents, and the industrialist, Henry Ford. He corresponded with Mahatma Gandhi, offering food conservation advice. But he found his deepest fulfillment in solitude, in the laboratory or sitting on a stump in his beloved woodlands.

When Carver fell ill in 1942, he refused to see a doctor saying, “There is nothing to be done.” He passed away January 5, 1943 with the words, “I think I’ll sleep now.”

John Lenti, an Ananda minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

There are those rare people we meet in life who have a profound and lasting influence on our consciousness. Such was Ron Heynneman’s experience with Jeanne van Diejen (vahn DEE-yun), a woman of towering strength and courage, whom he met during his internment by the Japanese in WWII.

In his recently published book, Ibu Maluku, Ron shares with us Jeanne’s life before, during, and after her internment. Brimming with suspense, human drama, and vivid portrayals of people and places, Ibu Maluku is an inspiring account of courage, selflessness and devotion. Jeanne, a woman of deep faith who always placed the needs of others before her own, emerges as a heroine of the stature of Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa.

Internment by the Japanese
Ron Heynneman was born in the Netherlands East Indies (now Indonesia) and was eleven years old when the Japanese invaded to get the country’s extensive oil resources. His father and older brother were interned in a “man’s camp” in Central Celebes, while Ron, his mother, and younger brother were interned with 1600 women and children in southwest Celebes. (Celebes is an island larger than the State of Idaho.)

Ron met Jeanne van Diejen in the camp in 1943, when she was forty-seven and he barely thirteen. On the rare occasions when they met, she would tell about her life— always with a great sense of humor—while he listened spellbound, sometimes for hours.

A pioneering spirit
He thus learned that Jeanne married a Dutchman by proxy and left Holland to join him on a coconut plantation in the remote jungles of the Netherlands East Indies, the country she had at a young age read so much about in missionary journals. He further learned how she started her own coconut plantation (at a time when women were not supposed to work), and how her courage prevented the annihilation of the city of Ternate, in the Moluccas, by the invading Japanese.

In the camp, Jeanne organized and led a “garden team” to grow vegetables, cassava, sweet potatoes and rice. Had it not been for the efforts of this garden team, more people would have died of malnutrition or suffered the long-term effects of severe vitamin deficiencies.

Ron and Jeanne were interned for three years, separated from loved ones, and completely cut off from what was happening elsewhere in the world. They battled malaria, dysentery, and rabid dogs, and survived two devastating bombardments by Allied airmen who did not know they were targeting women and children.

When freedom finally came (too late for many), Ron and Jeanne went their separate ways. Ron and his family went to the Netherlands for badly needed medical care. Jeanne returned to her war-ravaged coconut plantation on Halmahera (the largest island in the Moluccas), where she learned that her husband had died at the hands of his Japanese captors.

Eradicating the fear of lepers
Ron met Jeanne again in Holland in the early 70s, and learned what had happened to her since the end of the war. Inspired by her courage and selflessness, he persuaded Jeanne to cooperate in the writing of her memoirs, never thinking it would take more than 25 years to publish them.

As interesting as Jeanne’s early life had been, she stressed that the period after the war was of greater importance to her. It was then, as a civil servant of the newly formed Republic of Indonesia, that she devoted herself fully to improving the lives of the people of the Moluccas, traveling by boat to the almost 1,000 islands that make up the famed Spice Islands of the Orient, and learning some 23 different languages and dialects in the process.

Eradicating the fear of lepers in the Moluccas, and helping cured lepers regain a useful role in the society that had once banished them, were only two of her many achievements.

In recognition of Jeanne’s exploits, Indonesia’s first President Sukarno started calling her “Ibu Maluku” (EE-boo mah-LOO-koo), mother of the Moluccas, the name by which she is still remembered today throughout the Moluccas. But Jeanne’s outspokenness finally brought her into conflict with Sukarno and she left Indonesia in 1958, returning only once, 25 years later, for a memorable visit with the now grown-up ex-lepers, whom she had saved as children.

“God just passed by”
A short vignette from the book describes a supernatural experience Jeanne and her husband had, before the war separated them:

A long walk, which took place on a beautiful Sunday, brought us an experience that I vividly remember to this day. Everything around us was quiet and serene, and infused with a feeling of peace. We walked through the kapok plantation, which, pierced by shafts of sunlight, gave the appearance of a cathedral.

The birds sang and chirped. The dog ran either behind us or in front, searching for some unseen quarry. It was all so stunningly beautiful that it made us speechless. Silently, side by side, we walked on. Then, something unreal happened.

The rustling of the trees stopped, the birds fell silent, and the air ceased to move. The dog stopped in its tracks and looked puzzled. We looked at each other: “What was happening here?”

Then a feeling of great happiness flooded over us. We felt ourselves becoming extremely light, almost bodily detached! The silence deepened; the light intensified; and the feeling of joy became even more intense.

The silence belonged to something grand, something supernatural.

We felt the urge to genuflect or kneel to that Being that enveloped us, that permeated us with this bliss and made our heads swim!

The incredible silence and indescribable feeling of happiness lingered for several minutes—and then it was over.

The wind rustled through the treetops again, the light returned to normal intensity, the dog resumed its never-ending search, and birds started again to sing and fly!

We looked at each other and tears of happiness were flowing down our cheeks. John took my hands, and whispered: “God just passed by.”

Ibu Maluku provides the reader with a rare, fascinating look at the world’s fourth most populous (yet little known) country, and a chance see why Jeanne’s extraordinary experiences led her to conclude “that there are inexplicable forces between heaven and earth that can destroy us, or protect and save us.”

A copy of Ibu Maluku can be obtained from The Expanding Light boutique at Ananda Village or from www.amazon.com. An autographed copy can be obtained from ron@heynneman.com.

Though alert to any trace of heresy, the Inquisitors ultimately acquitted her and recommended the reading of her biography to strengthen one’s faith.

Teresa yearned for a life of solitude, absorbed in divine communion, but her calling was to lead the reform of the Carmelite Order. Modeled after the early church fathers, the Carmelite Order developed from a community of hermits living on Mt. Carmel in Palestine. Their monasteries were places of contemplation, prayer and total austerity.

An ideal reformer
When Teresa entered the Convent of the Incarnation in 1536, the Carmelite Order’s original spirit had given way to laxity. The convent was home to 180 women, including servants and laywomen, who arranged themselves by wealth and rank.

Free to come and go as they pleased, they chattered noisily, listened to popular music, wore expensive clothes and jewelry, and gossiped with male and female guests in the convent parlor. Those who troubled to observe the religious disciplines were in the minority.

Teresa’s eighteen-year struggle to transcend these temptations made her an ideal reformer. She wrote of herself, “All things of God gave me pleasure, but I was held captive by those of the world.”

It was only after an experience of ecstasy in 1554, that her “resolution to give up everything for His sake became unshakeable.”

Teresa saw the need to return to the original austerities, not only for herself but also for the younger nuns toward whom she felt a sense of duty. But it wasn’t until 1560, when she was 45, that she felt the inner guidance to act.

“His Majesty’s” command
In her words: “One day after communion, His Majesty (her name for God or Christ) earnestly commanded me to strive for this new monastery with all my powers…. He said it should be called St. Joseph’s and…that it would be a star shining with great splendor.”

From that day on, Teresa worked unceasingly to get the new convent built and approved. The first step was approval by the local Carmelite superior, who seemed pleased with the idea and promised his authorization.

But when news of her plans exploded on the town of Avila, people of rank and influence mounted a campaign against her. Convents in which laxity prevailed took a dim view of a return to primitive austerities. Teresa’s superior ordered her to give up the idea.

Going forward in secrecy
Anticipating trouble with the local authorities, Teresa had already appealed to a powerful Vatican official. After careful consideration, he gave the new convent his unqualified approval.

Teresa could not disobey her Carmelite superiors, but urged on by the Vatican official, one of her supporters secretly sought official authorization from Rome. With Rome’s approval, the convent would come under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Avila, not the local Carmelite leader.

A building for the convent was purchased, but Teresa could not visit the site unnoticed. Undeterred, Teresa persuaded her sister and brother-in-law to occupy the building under the pretense of setting up house. The subterfuge worked and Teresa lived with them for months at a time, supervising the work of turning the house into a convent.

After months of delay, the authorization from Rome finally arrived and St. Joseph’s opened August 24, 1562—to an uproar of opposition. Teresa was accused of treachery and disobedience.

Under her vow of obedience, she was forced to return to the Incarnation while her enemies tried—unsuccessfully—to close St. Joseph’s down. Six months later, Teresa was allowed her to rejoin her nuns.

“Preach by deeds”
Teresa created small convents, often with only 12 or 13 nuns, who lived completely enclosed, in solitude and silence. Dressed in coarse sackcloth, they went barefoot or wore rope sandals, and thus came to be known as “Discalced” or unshod Carmelites. They sustained themselves through spinning and needlework, which was placed outside the convent door for donations.

Humility was the hallmark of Teresa’s leadership. She showed each Carmelite how she must “preach by deeds,” often using her own example to show that a thing was blameworthy, and urging her nuns to correct her whenever she erred.

Constantly spinning, even when talking to influential visitors from behind the curtained grille, Teresa also cooked, cleaned and swept. She would later write into the Rule that prioresses should be at the head of the list for sweeping, and that they should make themselves loved in order to be obeyed.

God is the Doer
Four years after the founding of St. Joseph’s, the head of the Carmelite Order endorsed Teresa’s reforms and gave her permission to found other convents. It was at the site of her second convent that Teresa met John of the Cross in 1567.  Inspired by her example, he became the first of the Discalced friars.

Teresa never saw herself as the doer, but only as God’s instrument, and she employed all of her considerable resources of intelligence, charm, and personal magnetism to carry out God’s will. She displayed great skill in dealing with businessmen and church dignitaries, and in the art of winning adversaries to her point of view. Her keenness of mind caused one church dignitary to exclaim: “Good God, I would rather argue with all the theologians in the world than with this woman!”

Combining a deep inner relationship with God with a practical, commonsense outlook, she met all difficulties with equanimity and cheerfulness, knowing with unshakeable certainty the rightness of her mission.

Persecution and betrayal
The persecution Teresa underwent toward the end of her life had its roots in her success. “Calced” friars and nuns were jealous of Teresa and the admiration aroused by her monks and nuns. They violently opposed any extension of austerities to their monasteries.

Their hostility turned to hatred when King Phillip II, is his zeal for monastic reform, ordered the founding of Discalced monasteries in traditional Calced strongholds. In response, Teresa’s enemies mounted a well-organized campaign to destroy her reputation.

Teresa was accused of having lovers and of founding convents for immoral purposes. Using bribery and intimidation, including threats of excommunication, her enemies fabricated discrediting evidence.

In many locales, Teresa, so recently venerated, was greeted with distrust or threats of violence. Discalced monks, including John of the Cross, were kidnapped, imprisoned and beaten, and Teresa feared for their lives.

“I am speechless with wonder”
Teresa’s response to the persecution was to issue a summons to prayer in all her convents and monasteries “in order that whatever is for the greatest service of God may come to pass.” She and her supporters also worked tirelessly to bring about the separation of the Calced and Discalced into independent branches of the Carmelite Order.

At the urging of Teresa’s supporters, King Phillip initiated an impartial investigation into the charges against her and the reform. Based on the findings, he was able to silence Teresa’s enemies. Finally, in 1581, Pope Gregory VII formally announced the separation of the two orders.

Teresa said, “When I consider the means Our Lord has used to turn the malice and cruelty of the enemies of Carmel solely to our advantage, I am speechless with wonder.”

With the adoption of the Rule and Constitution for the Discalced Order, Teresa, who would never admit she was unwell, was dying. She had founded 22 convents and monasteries throughout Spain.  En route to Avila, she died October 4, 1582.

John Lenti, and Ananda Minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

Paramhansa Yogananda: Teresa of Avila is “in our own line.”

by Swami Kriyananda

Several of the monks were reading the lives of saints. At this time, the Master gave us the following recommendation as to what we should read of those lives:

“Read the lives only of those in our own line: Saint Francis of Assisi, for example, and Saint Teresa of Avila.”

His expression, “those who are in our own line,” was one I pondered for a long time. The Master could not have meant, “those who are directly connected with our line of gurus,” for we’d have had no way of knowing who such persons were. He could only have been referring, then, to saints who had attained deep states of inner communion with God. Not all saints, certainly, even among those canonized by the Church, belong in this higher category.

From Conversations with Yogananda by Swami Kriyananda.

Emerson’s search for truth led him to the scriptures of India, which he embraced wholeheartedly, free of the condescension common to many western scholars.  Swami Kriyananda describes Emerson’s writings, which he discovered in college, as “the closest I had come so far to the expansive vistas of Indian thought, for though I didn’t realize it at the time, Emerson and Thoreau were both admirers of India’s scriptures, and echoed in their own writings the lofty teachings of the Upanishads and Bhagavad Gita.”

A reluctant minister
Born the fourth of eight children on May 25, 1803 in Boston, Massachusetts, Emerson was considered the least promising of all his brothers. Shy, solitary, and inward, he would rather roam the fields and woods than do homework.

Emerson’s father, a Unitarian minister, was pastor of the prestigious First Church in Boston, and it was expected that Ralph and his brothers would carry on the family’s ministerial tradition. Emerson’s deepest ambition, however, was to become a writer and poet.

Torn between a career as a writer or minister, Emerson finally entered Harvard Divinity School in 1825 and, two years later, began working as an itinerant preacher. With marriage in sight, in January 1829 Emerson became the pastor of the Old North Unitarian Church in Boston.

The death of his wife, after 17 months of marriage, left Emerson with a sense of loss that he never entirely overcame. In his journal he wrote, “Shall I ever again be able to connect the faces of outward nature with the heart and life of an enchanting friend? No. There is only one birth and one baptism and one first love and the affections cannot keep their youth anymore than men.”

Doubts about Christianity
Even before his wife’s death, Emerson had been experiencing doubts about Christianity and his vocation as a minister. It was to science and the natural world, in which he had a deep interest, that he now turned for answers. He was fascinated, in particular, with the discoveries of Copernicus, which contemporary scientists were proving to be true after centuries of religious persecution and neglect.

In Hope for a Better World, Swami Kriyananda says, “It was Copernicus who first changed people’s anthropocentric outlook. He showed that the earth is not fixed firmly at the center of the universe, but moves around the sun. This discovery was a major factor in loosening the hold of church dogmatism on human thought.”

This discovery, too, was a major factor in Emerson’s break with the church. “Astronomy,” Emerson wrote, “irresistibly modifies all religion. Calvinism stood well every test, but when the telescope showed the Copernican system to be true, it was too ridiculous to pretend that our little speck of an earth was the central point of nature.”

Also important was Emerson’s discovery of the Bhagavad Gita, which gave him an expansive view of spirituality and dispelled once and for all “the dream about Christianity being the sole revelation” of divine truth.

Break with the church—the Lord’s Supper
Emerson’s crisis came to a head over two church doctrines—humanity’s “fall” resulting from the conduct of Adam and Eve, and humanity’s redemption through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. He could no longer accept either doctrine. Nor could he, in good conscience, continue to administer the Lord’s Supper, a prescribed rite of the church, which he saw as purely symbolic and to be celebrated only in a spiritual sense.

In October 1832, at age 29, Emerson resigned his pastorate, rejecting not only the family ministerial tradition but also a generous salary, a guaranteed social position, and institutional support for his intellectual efforts. Two months later he set sail for Europe.

Encouraged by the intellectual ferment in Europe, after nearly a year abroad Emerson returned to the United States, settled in Concord, MA, and remarried. He took up a second career as a writer and lecturer and began to attract an informal group that came to be known as the New England Transcendentalists.

“Behold God face to face”
With its emphasis on individual thought and experience, transcendentalism challenged many of the canons of orthodox religion. Emerson was its leading spokesman. “I taught one doctrine,” Emerson wrote in his journal, “namely, the infinitude of the private man.” He saw the individual as essentially divine and union with God as an experience available to all, requiring no mediation by any church.

In Nature, Emerson’s first book, which became the bible of the transcendentalist movement, he wrote: “Christianity is validated in each person’s life and experience or not at all…. The foregoing generations beheld God face to face… Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?”

In his famous Harvard Divinity School address in 1838, Emerson exhorted the graduating students to “to go alone, to refuse the good models, even those which are sacred to the imagination of men, and dare to love God without mediator or veil.” His speech was seen as a repudiation of Christianity and it wasn’t until 28 years later—1866—that Emerson was again invited to speak at Harvard.

Brahma instead of Jehovah
In 1840 Emerson joined with others in publishing The Dial, a magazine dedicated to transcendental thought. One of the younger contributors to The Dial was Henry David Thoreau, who lived in the Emerson household from 1841-1843 and became his most famous disciple.

Dial published some of the first translations of the Indian scriptures, including the Bhagavad Gita. Emerson extolled “the wonderful riches of Indian theological literature” and encouraged Dial’s readers to accept these scriptures as their own. Still, when Emerson published his poem, “Brahma,” based upon the Bhagavad Gita, most readers were bewildered. “Tell them,” he said, “to say ‘Jehovah’ instead of ‘Brahma’ and they will not feel any perplexity.”

Anti-slavery activist
Though a public figure, Emerson spoke out on political issues only when they raised moral questions: the expulsion of the Cherokees from Georgia, the 1846 war against Mexico, and of course, slavery.

Slavery, especially, aroused him. Emerson spoke out repeatedly against both the institution of slavery and the Fugitive Slave Act, which required free states to return runaway slaves to their owners. Citing a higher law, he urged his listeners to disobey the Act, saying, “If our resistance to this law is not right, there is no right.”

In 1854 he and his wife joined the Underground Railroad and, a year later, entertained John Brown in their home and raised money on his behalf.

“Sane and clear as the sun”
By the 1850s Emerson was one of the most sought after speakers in the country. His transparent goodness and uncompromising honesty gave unusual power to his lectures. Describing Emerson in his journal, Thoreau noted that there “was more of the Divine realized in him than in any.” Similarly, Walt Whitman saw him as a “just man, poised on himself, all-loving, all in-closing, and sane and clear as the sun.”

Emerson’s reputation grew steadily until his death in 1882. His thoughts and ideas influenced many great figures of his time, including Walt Whitman, Nathaniel Hawthorne, John Muir, Emily Dickinson, and Margaret Fuller.

He lived at a time when the old Puritan morality was dying out and new religious expressions were emerging. Anticipating the major 20th century spiritual movements, Emerson helped pave the way for great masters like Paramhansa Yogananda to bring India’s teachings to the West.

John Lenti, an Ananda minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

Who was this man, Luther Burbank? Why did Yogananda revere him so?

Most people today know little of Luther Burbank. Yet during his time his name was a household word. For not only did he show that plants could permanently assume new forms, and over dramatically shortened periods of time, he did it on a scale that no one has been able to match, before or since.

One wonder after another
Before Luther Burbank came on the scene, it was common for plant propagators to create new hybrid plants by crossing one plant with another. Invariably, however, when they planted the seed from this new flower, it would revert to one of its “parents.”

Luther Burbank, however, not only created plant variations that held true in succeeding generations, he did so in numbers that dumbfounded the scientific community. By the end of his life, it was estimated that Burbank had created some 800 new fruits, nuts, vegetables, grasses and ornamental flowers! From the Burbank potato, which revolutionized the potato industry worldwide, to the spineless cactus, Burbank created one wonder after another.

Plant selection “at a trot”
What was his secret? Many tried to learn it, and Burbank certainly did his best to convey it to his students. On any given workday, one might find him striding rapidly down rows of berries, in a state of intense concentration, his eyes mere slits, signaling to his workmen to “save this one” or “pull out this row.” Once S.F. Lieb, a San Jose judge and good friend of Burbank’s, became distressed while watching Burbank discard what looked like perfectly good plum trees.

Luther made a deal. The judge could select any of the discarded plum trees and plant them at his Santa Clara Valley ranch.  Burbank also gave the judge six seedling plum trees that he had selected as the best of the lot. The judge also planted these.

As it turned out, the Judge was forced to destroy the plum trees discarded by Burbank, but the ones grown from the seedlings turned nearly perfect in every way. “Burbank,” he said, “if anyone had told me five years ago that selection could be done by a man moving almost at a trot, I would have said that he was crazy!”

Despite Burbank’s successes, the scientific community found his claims difficult to swallow—primarily because he was unable to document how he accomplished what he did, and because there was still the possibility that, in time, many of his plant creations might revert to old parent stock. But time did prove Burbank’s methods and accomplishments to be true and lasting.

A personal relationship with the Infinite
Burbank’s grandmother and father were Baptists, and he was raised in that tradition. In 1916 he was married in the Unitarian Church of San Francisco, but throughout his lifetime no religious institution claimed his loyalty.

Burbank saw religion merely as a step toward a personal relationship with the Infinite. In the last days of his life he said, “The God within us is the only available God we know, and the clear light of science teaches us that we must be our own saviors if we are to be found worth saving.” In other words, we must depend upon the “kingdom within.”

Though many saw Burbank’s work as “magical” (he was known as the “plant wizard”), he himself saw it simply as the result of hard work and loving concentration. He was humble, but in the true sense that saintly people are humble: matter-of-factly acknowledging the greatness of his accomplishments, but seeing himself as no better or worse than anyone else.

A friend to all
He loved people (children especially), and was a friend to all those of a genuine nature, being quite abrupt with any who played up to him in insincere ways. He had a reputation as a healer. Mothers would bring their young children to him for a “laying on of hands,” and he would oblige them happily. Like most geniuses, he had great energy (a quality, Yogananda tells us, that is indispensable for sainthood), and was known to hop over picket fences at the age of seventy-five!

Burbank was also unusually sensitive, stating in his autobiography, “…some notes and vibrations in music hurt me physically, and I have once or twice been forced to leave a room or a hall where music was being played or sung—and beautifully too!—because the strains hurt me. I have always been sensitive to odors, so that I could detect them, pleasant or disagreeable, when they were so slight that no one about me was conscious of them. My sense of touch is almost as acute as that of Helen Keller, who visited me just a short time ago, and with whom I could converse easily—more easily than most—because we were so nearly equally sensitive.”

This sensitivity extended into the realm of Spirit as well. On one of Yogananda’s visits Burbank shared with him that, “many times, after my mother’s death, I have been blessed by her appearance in visions; she has spoken to me.” And on another occasion he related that, “sometimes I feel very close to the Infinite Power.”

Burbank’s secret: love
Like Yogananda, Burbank had great love for Divine Mother, (or, as he referred to her, Mother Nature). He was very much the scientist in describing her, but his love and respect were transparent. As he said to Yogananda, “The secret of improved plant breeding, apart from scientific knowledge, is love.”

Burbank drew the rich and the famous from all over the world to his doorstep. His friends ran the gamut—from the King and Queen of Belgium to Jack London; from Grover Cleveland to John Muir. Thomas Edison and Henry Ford, when attending the San Francisco Exposition of 1915, visited Burbank amidst much pomp and ceremony.

Friendship with Yogananda
But it wasn’t until the last year and a half of his life that Burbank met Yogananda, and the bonding was instantaneous. Yogananda made at least four visits to Burbank’s home, marveling at the genius of his plant creations and sharing with him their mutual love of children and dream of educational reform. Yogananda initiated him into Kriya Yoga, which Burbank said he practiced “devoutly.”

The impression left by Burbank was so deep that Yogananda, 20 years later, and despite having known many great souls in his lifetime, dedicated his autobiography to him. And in 1952, when Yogananda left his body, it was on Luther Burbank’s birthday: March 7th. A coincidence? Knowing Yogananda’s life, it’s hard to imagine that anything he did was coincidental!

And so, perhaps, the facts speak for themselves. America did have at least one homegrown saint; but, as Yogananda tells us, one of many still to come.

Ken Atwell worked for 20 years as a landscaper in Santa Rosa, CA, where he developed an appreciation for Luther Burbank’s life and work. In 2001 he led an Ananda pilgrimage to Burbank’s home and gardens. Ken now lives at Ananda Village with his wife, Hridaya, and oversees the Village water system.

Seventy years ago, John Laurence was walking down 16th Street in Washington, D.C. when he saw a brown-skinned man in a black coat and hat, with his hair tucked down into his collar. John thought — “That’s Swami Yogananda!”

A “chance” meeting
John had heard of Yogananda through Amelita Galli-Curci, a disciple of Yogananda and well-known opera singer. John knew that Yogananda had a center in Washington, D.C., so John didn’t approach Yogananda on the street but went to the center and waited until Yogananda came in. John introduced himself and asked Yogananda for his autograph. Yogananda wrote:

With unceasing blessings. There is no East nor West nor North nor South, but pervaded by my one Father whose children we all races are. —Swami Yogananda. November 2, 1933.

The framed autograph hangs in John’s tiny studio apartment in San Diego along with a photo of Yogananda. Recalling his first meeting with Yogananda, John said: “He wrote this standing up. He had his cane on his arm and he wrote this whole message. I still have the little book that I paid 35 cents for.”

An ecumenical path
Shortly before meeting Yogananda, John had left a Franciscan monastery without taking final vows in order to support his mother after his father’s untimely death. Inspired and forever changed by his first meeting with Yogananda, John became a disciple of Yogananda and a life-long student of his teachings.

Not long after meeting Yogananda, John moved to San Francisco and met Kamala Silva, Yogananda’s personal secretary. With Yogananda’s blessings, John assisted Kamala during the 1930s, ’40s, and early ’50s as she laid the groundwork for a thriving Yogananda center in San Francisco’s East Bay.

Yogananda also encouraged John’s predisposition towards a non-denominational, ecumenical path—independent of organized religion. John later founded his own church in San Francisco, the “Metaphysical Design for Living Church,” which he dedicated to Yogananda.

Unknown to John, in 1951 Kamala attended one of his lectures in San Francisco during which he discussed Yogananda’s life and major work, Autobiography of a Yogi. Kamala wrote down what John said and shared her notes with Yogananda when she next saw him in Los Angeles. Kamala told John, “tears came to Yogananda’s eyes and he went right over to his desk and tore a big sheet of paper and wrote a letter.” Yogananda’s letter to John reads:

Dear Mr. Laurence — dear me,

I so rejoiced to read your soulful review of my “Autobiography of a Yogi.” Sounds like you usher others back to God, through the example of your good life.

Words are futile to describe how I feel towards you and your divine activities.

Keep on becoming daily a bigger beacon of Divine Light through the practice of SRF teachings in daily life.

With all of my love and blessings for all you are doing, ever yours, very sincerely,

Paramhansa Yogananda

Yogananda’s gratitude and compassion
In January, 1952, two months before Yogananda’s passing, John wrote a poem and enclosed it in the birthday card he sent to Yogananda. Yogananda was so pleased with the poem that he asked that it be read aloud at his birthday banquet. Yogananda later wrote John, telling him how deeply touched he was by the poem.

John’s enthusiasm for his guru led him on one occasion to behave somewhat insensitively. After one of Yogananda’s public lectures in San Francisco, John went back stage, grabbed hold of Yogananda’s hand, and gave him so forceful a handshake that Yogananda winced. Nearly everyone else greeted Yogananda with a pronam, an Indian form of greeting done with folded palms and without physical contact.

Years later, while sitting in the San Diego church where Yogananda had often lectured, John recalled that inappropriate “handshake” and began to weep. John said he then looked down at his hands and could hardly believe his eyes: “I saw Yogananda’s hand in mine! Right there. He had been gone from this earth for I don’t know how many years! He was saying, ‘It’s OK, don’t worry.’”

An ongoing ministry
A lot has happened in John’s life since that first meeting with Yogananda 70 years ago. John has led a colorful life as an opera singer, radio personality, lecturer, minister, counselor and teacher.

I first met John about ten years ago when he was living in San Francisco.  Mutual friends of ours were being married at the Marina Yoga and Health Center, which I then owned. John officiated at the wedding, using the ceremony written by Swami Kriyananda. I stood next to him and turned pages as he read. John was a youthful 85 at the time.

Soon after, I began attending the Wednesday evening healing prayer services that John co-led at Trinity Episcopal Church. John used Yogananda’s healing prayer techniques and inspired us with stories of miracles by Yogananda and other saints. The sign “Expect a Miracle” was always on the altar.

John never accepted money for these sessions and refused to take credit for the healing miracles that occurred. He never let us forget that “God was the healer.”

At the end of the healing prayer sessions John would bless each of us by placing his index finger on our spiritual eye. Whenever I received his blessing, I felt a powerful transmission of spiritual energy. The more time I spent with John, the more I felt my attunement to Yogananda deepening. Because of his humility and devotion, John was a powerful channel for Yogananda.

John’s idea of retirement is not typical. He continues to counsel and inspire people through healing prayers, phone conversations and during visits. At age 95, despite some health concerns, John remains amazingly robust, intellectually sharp, and witty. His daily practice of Kriya Yoga, his devotion to God and guru, and his ongoing service to others keeps his magnetism strong.

John looks forward to his 70th anniversary of his first meeting with Yogananda in November of 2003 like a child anticipating a birthday. John always speaks of his beloved guru with deep devotion, saying: “He was a great soul.  We will not see his like again.”

A longtime Yogananda disciple, Nicole DeAvilla-Whiting lives in Marin County, CA with her husband and two children. She teaches Ananda Yoga in Marin and at The Expanding Light guest retreat at Ananda Village.

Legendary self-discipline
A man of tremendous will power and energy, Washington placed duty, honor, and the ideal of selfless service first and foremost in his life. Underlying his idealism was the conviction that nothing truly worthwhile could be achieved without self-mastery. As the commander of the Continental Army, it was Washington’s legendary self-discipline coupled with his deep conviction of the rightness of his cause that enabled the colonists to prevail in the face of overwhelming odds.

George Washington was born Feb. 22, 1732 in what was then the British Commonwealth of Virginia. His early life presaged little of his future greatness as a military hero, international statesman, and first president of the United States. One of ten children, he was the eldest son of a second marriage and was raised in the tradition of a Virginia planter. His father’s sudden death in 1743 ruled out the possibility of an English education, which was proper for a young man of his social class.

At age 16 Washington decided on a career as a surveyor and later led many expeditions into the frontier wilderness, where he developed a lifelong interest in westward expansion. Upon the untimely death of his older half-brother, Lawrence, in 1752, Washington inherited the family’s Mount Vernon estate, as well as his brother’s British military office.

In spite of his youth and inexperience, Washington made a name for himself during the French and Indian War and became widely known for his military judgment. Most important, he gained valuable military experience that would later serve him well as Commander in Chief of the Continental Army.

After marrying in 1759, Washington settled into the life of an eighteenth century gentleman farmer, amassed a fortune as a planter and businessman, and for sixteen years occupied a seat in the Virginia State legislature. By 1774 he had become an influential member of the First Continental Congress.

“A sad choice”
Everything changed radically for Washington after the April 19, 1775 Battle of Lexington, the first major engagement of the American Revolution. Washington wrote to a friend in England saying, “The brother’s sword has been sheathed in the brother’s breast. We now have a sad choice. Either we are to live as slaves or the once happy plains of America are to be drenched in blood.”

In the summer of 1775, Washington was named Commander in Chief of the Continental Army, position he did not seek. John Adams, who lobbied for Washington’s appointment, later wrote in his diary: “I had but one gentleman in mind, someone whose skill and experience, whose independent fortune, great talents and excellent character would win the approval of all America and unite the colonies better than any other person in the union.”

The first eighteen months of Washington’s command went badly; he lost battle after battle. By the winter of 1776, the crisis had come to a head and Washington wrote to his stepson saying, “If I were to put a curse on my worst enemy, it would be to wish him in my position now. I just do not know what to do. It seems impossible to continue my command in this situation, but if I withdraw all is lost.”

“Victory or death”
Many Americans thought it was time to give up. Washington’s troops were underfed, poorly armed, and suffering from typhus and dysentery. Unfairly, Washington was blamed for the ineptitude of the Continental Congress, and there was open talk of replacing him. Yet, despite the military losses and public criticism, it was a measure of Washington’s character, idealism, and political judgment and that he never lost sight of the larger objective. His rallying cry became “victory or death.”

In one last desperate attempt to salvage the war, on Christmas night 1776, Washington crossed the Delaware River and launched an attack on the British in Trenton, New Jersey. Catching them by surprise, the Continental Army captured over 900 prisoners and lost only four men. Washington followed up immediately with another victory at Princeton, New Jersey.

Militarily these were not important victories, but they breathed new life into the revolution. Enlistments poured in from all over the colonies, and people everywhere began to feel that it was possible to reverse the course of the war.  Washington, whose very command had been in doubt, now became a national hero. With the aid of France, he achieved final victory in 1783.

“I return my commission”
Once the peace was secured, Washington retired from public life. In a brief statement to Congress he said, “Many years ago when I accepted your commission, I never thought I had the abilities to accomplish so difficult a task. But these doubts were always overcome by a belief in the justice of our cause. I have acted under orders from this august body and now I bid an affectionate farewell to congress. I return my commission and take leave of public life.”

Washington’s actions, which were without precedent, electrified the world. Traditionally, victorious generals expected political rewards commiserate with their military achievements. By renouncing power and fame, Washington gave a new definition to the meaning of greatness. It is no accident that on his deathbed Napoleon said, “They wanted me to be another Washington.”

In 1789 Washington was once again pressed into public service when he was unanimously elected first president of the United States. Washington was acutely aware that his character and actions would define the very nature of the presidency. Speaking of the challenges he faced, he said, “I walk on untrodden ground. There is scarcely any part of my conduct which may not hereafter be drawn in precedent.” After two terms, he deliberately stepped down as president, dispelling the notion of a presidency for life.

Although always reluctant to discuss his spiritual life, in his Farewell Address Washington underscored the importance of God in his life, saying “Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would a man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness. The mere politician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and cherish them.”

Washington died December 14, 1799. Henry Lee, a friend and fellow compatriot, eulogized him with the words, “First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.”

John Lenti, an Ananda Minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

St. Anthony of Padua
1195–1231
During his brief life, St. Anthony’s tremendous spiritual magnetism and divine love converted thousands to the spiritual life.

St. Anthony was born in Lisbon, Portugal in 1195, the first son of a Portuguese noble family. He spent his youth studying with the clergy at the Cathedral of Lisbon and, at age fifteen, against his parents’ wishes, joined the Augustinian order at the nearby abbey of St. Vincent. When the frequent visits of his parents distracted him from his studies and prayer, Anthony asked to be relocated to the quiet monastery of Santa Croce in Coimbra, then the capital of Portugal, where he remained eight years.

The way of martyrdom
Anthony’s life changed radically at age 25 when he saw the mutilated, headless bodies of four Franciscan monks who had suffered martyrdom in Morocco. The bodies had been brought to Santa Croce for burial. Inspired by their example, Anthony joined the Franciscan order with the idea of becoming a martyr for Christ.

In Morocco, after several months of illness from malaria, Anthony finally accepted that martyrdom might not be God’s plan for him. Returning to Europe, Anthony traveled to Assisi where he first met St. Francis. Thereafter, Anthony developed a deep inner attunement with Francis.

Preaching and writing
Anthony’s assignment to a quiet hermitage north of Assisi aided his recovery from malaria and deepened his devotional life. He began preaching in northern Italy and France and soon became widely known for his stirring oratory, his intelligence, but most of all, for his deep devotion to God. Once, while Anthony was giving a sermon, St. Francis appeared and blessed him.

Anthony, one of the primary recorders of early Franciscan history, produced many theological writings. St. Francis wrote to him saying, “teach sacred theology as long as, in the words of the Rule, you do not extinguish the Spirit of prayer and devotion with study of this kind.” Writing about contemplative prayer Anthony said, “Contemplative prayer does not use words or thoughts, but involves an awareness of the presence of God, apprehended not by thought but by love.”

A constant flow of people
After St. Francis’ death, Anthony was assigned to the city of Padua, where the faithful welcomed him with open hearts. A tireless worker, one of Anthony’s brothers said of him, “Preaching, teaching, hearing confessions, it happened often that the sun had already set, and he had not yet eaten.” A constant flow of people sought him out for confession, even though he was known to give rather strict advice. Having never completely recovered from malaria, Anthony’s exhaustive lifestyle eventually wore him down. After five intense years in Padua, his health began to decline.

To regain his strength, Anthony secluded at a hermitage outside of Padua and arranged for a monk’s cell to be built high up in the branches of a walnut tree. There he spent his days in contemplation and prayer, returning to the hermitage in the evening. One night a follower approached Anthony’s hermitage room and, attracted by a bright light, through the window saw Anthony in ecstasy embracing the infant Jesus.

Whether Anthony’s ecstasy brought an awareness of his impending death is not known, but shortly after the vision, Anthony realized that death was near and decided to return to Padua. He was too weak, however, to travel beyond the outskirts of the city. As he lay dying, he invoked the Virgin Mary and gazed upward with longing. His brother monks asked what he saw and Anthony replied: “I see my Lord!” Anthony died peacefully on June 13, 1231 at the age of 36.

St. Catherine of Bologna
1413–1463
As a young nun, Catherine de’ Vigri was beset by many visions, some of divine origin while others, induced by doubts, were very disconcerting. Ultimately, Catherine had a divine vision that revealed to her the deepest teachings of Christ and her doubts vanished forever.

One Christmas Eve, after praying for many hours, the Blessed Mary appeared to Catherine, holding the baby Jesus. Referring to herself in the third person, Catherine wrote: “This kind mother came to her and gave her Son to her… Trembling with respect, but still more overcome with joy, she took the liberty of caressing Him, of pressing Him against her heart and bringing His face to her lips… He disappeared, leaving her filled with joy.”

St. Agnes of Montepulciano
1268–1317
St. Agnes’ life was one of quiet cloistered service to her fellow nuns whom she served both as an abbess and founder of convents. Her deep dedication and devotion found expression in deep prayer and inner communion. Agnes was often seen in ecstasy, levitating above the ground, and receiving Holy Communion from an angel. In other visions, she was allowed to hold the infant Jesus.

St. Francis of Assisi
1182–1226
Saint Francis lived in almost constant communion with Christ. In 1219 Francis traveled to the Holy Land where he had his first vision of the infant Jesus. With four brother monks, he went to the crib in Bethlehem and spent Christmas night in the grotto where Christ was born. In a deep state of ecstasy, Francis relived the birth of Christ. A few years later on Christmas Eve, in the small town of Greccio, Italy, Francis built a replica of this manger scene, creating the first crèche scene in history. He then experienced a second vision in which he held the infant Jesus in his arms.

St. Therese of Lisieux
1873–1897
At a young age, St. Therese of Lisieux said that she didn’t want to be a “saint by halves.” She desired with her whole being to be taken up by God’s love and God’s work. On Christmas Eve, when she was 14 years old, Therese had a vision of the baby Jesus and “the darkness of her soul was filled with floods of light.” She felt that Christ had given her the inner strength that enabled her to “choose all” for God.

Excerpted and adapted from The Pilgrim’s Italy: a Travel Guide to the Saints (excluding Therese of Lisieux), by James and Colleen Heater, Inner Travel books. To order call toll free 866-715-8670 or e-mail info@innertravelbooks. com; website: www.innertravelbooks.com

James, an architect, and Colleen, a psychotherapist, live and work at Ananda Village and are active in the Ananda music ministry.

The Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453) was an attempt by the English to bring all of France under the English crown. At a crucial time, Joan of Arc was able to unite France and turn the tide of war decisively in its favor.

A 17-year-old farm girl
Joan burst onto the scene quite suddenly, a simple illiterate farm girl of seventeen with no training except in the domestic arts of spinning and sewing. She vowed to succeed in driving out the English even though other experienced military leaders had repeatedly failed to do so.

Some viewed her as a foolish upstart, hopelessly naïve, or possibly insane—not a person to be taken seriously. Others, from signs and miracles, thought that perhaps she was an instrument of the Divine and should be given a chance to prove herself.

A voice from God
In her own words she said:

When I was thirteen, I heard a voice from God to help me to govern myself. The first time, I was terrified. I heard it many times before I knew that it was St. Michael. He told me that Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret would come to me, and that I must follow their counsel for it was at our Lord’s command.

They told me that my king would be restored to his kingdom, despite his enemies… and that I must depart and go into France and that I would raise the siege before Orleans… And I answered the voice that I was a poor girl who knew nothing of riding and warfare.

Joan kept silent about the voices for four years, until she felt certain of God’s will. The voices then told her to go to Vaucouleurs where Robert de Baudricourt, captain of the town, would give her men to go with her. Though skeptical at first, Robert de Baudricourt supplied her with men and arms.

By then, the military situation was desperate and France was all but defeated. In his desperation, Charles, the Dauphine, was willing to listen to the Maid. Upon their first meeting Joan said to him, “I bring you news from God, that our Lord will give you back your kingdom… In this I am God’s messenger. Set me bravely to work and I will raise the siege of Orleans.”

After three weeks of hearings, the Church at Poitiers approved Joan’s claims and declared that she was neither a witch nor a heretic. Charles gave her troops and the rank of captain.

Victory at Orleans
With God’s guidance, Joan led the French troops to a decisive victory over the English at the battle of Orleans in May 1429. This was followed by other victories, opening the road to Reims where the French kings had been crowned for over a thousand years. Joan was hailed as the savior of France, and given a place of honor next to the king during his coronation at Reims, July 17, 1429.

After five months of inactivity, Joan’s impatience to recapture Paris from the English brought her into conflict with Charles’s hesitant nature and his treacherous advisors. Joan’s voices assured her that Paris would eventually fall, but they never gave her any guidance as to when or what her role, if any, would be. Charles finally approved an ill-timed, half-hearted attempt on Paris and, goaded by his advisers, blamed Joan for the predictable defeat.

Capture and betrayal
When Joan took the field again, her voices told her that she would be taken prisoner by the English. Though she pleaded with them they said, “It must be Jehanne. It is God’s will and nothing can prevent it. Do not be downcast but hold onto your faith knowing that He will help you.”

At the battle of Compiegne, Joan was captured by the Burgundians, French collaborators with the English. The Burgundians later sold her to the English for a substantial sum.

No words can adequately describe Charles’s ingratitude in refusing to ransom Joan from the Burgundians. Had his treacherous advisors finally succeeded in turning the king against her? Was he jealous of her popularity with his subjects? We may never know. What we do know is that the English were determined, at all costs, to take her life.

A mockery of a trial
The infamous trial in Rouen was presided over by the unscrupulous Pierre Cauchon, bishop of Beauvais, a puppet of the Burgundian party. Joan stood accused of witchcraft and heresy.

She was not allowed an advocate and, though accused in an ecclesiastical court, she was illegally confined in a secular prison and kept chained by the neck, hands, and feet. Cauchon and his cohorts tried to browbeat her into submission by denying her food and sleep, but she remained fearless and forthright, and refused to deny the reality of her revelations.

Joan’s insistence on the reality of her revelations placed her in the gravest danger. In the view of her judges, she was guilty of heresy because she allowed her private judgment to override obedience to the church. In rejecting the demand that she submit to the church, Joan said:

I believe that our holy father the Pope of Rome, the bishops, and the other churchmen are there to guard the Christian faith and to punish those who are faulty. But as for me I will not submit myself in respect to my deeds, save to the church in heaven alone—that is, to God, the Virgin Mary, and the saints in paradise. I firmly believe that I have not been faulty in our Christian faith. Nor would I wish to be. I do no wrong to serve God.

Conviction and martyrdom
After three months, Joan’s judges declared her visions to be “false and diabolical.” Joan was publicly admonished and threatened with torture, if she did not sign a statement renouncing her visions. From fear of the stake, on May 23, 1431 she recanted saying, “I would rather sign it than burn. Now take me to your prison, and let me no longer be in the hands of the English.”

Five days later, admonished by her voices, Joan repudiated her statement. She said:

What I said, I said for fear of the fire. My voices have told me that I did a very wicked thing. They…gave me to know the great pity of the treason that I consented to by making that abjuration to save my own life, and that I was damning myself to save myself.

On May 30, 1431, at the age of nineteen, Joan was burned at the stake. Her demeanor was such as to move even her bitterest enemies to tears. She asked for a cross, which she embraced. She then asked that the cross be held up before her while she called continuously upon the name of Jesus. “Until the last,” wrote Manchon, the recorder at the trial, “she declared that her voices came from God and had not deceived her.”

John Lenti, an Ananda minister, lives at Ananda Village and serves on the Ananda Sangha staff.

Affirmation for Courage

I live protected by God’s infinite light.
So long as I remain in the heart of it,
Nothing and no one can harm me.

Prayer
I look to thee for my strength, Lord.
Hold me closely in Thy arms of love.
Then, whatever happens in my life
I shall accept with joy

From Affirmations for Self-Healing.

Everybody’s patron saint
The Greek Orthodox Church made Nicholas a saint, countless holy icons depict his image, and it is said that every city in Russia has a St. Nicholas church. He is the national saint of two countries, Greece and Russia, and is considered patron saint of just about everything, because so many feel a connection to his miraculous life. Nicholas’ followers called him, the “Wondermaker.” In Greek his name means, “People’s Victor.”

Nicholas was born between 255 and 270 AD, in Patara, Lycia; a city in the sunny eastern Mediterranean near the coast of what is now Turkey. An only child, Nicholas was born to devout parents who died while he was a youth. He inherited enough wealth to make his life comfortable and secure, but chose to give away his fortune and courageously follow Christ’s teachings by serving others.

These were dark times for Christians in the Roman Empire—brutal persecutions had continued for generations and showed no sign of stopping. Nicholas was out among his people, helping in any way he could, without desire for power or position. The red bishop’s robes by which he is known were laid upon him unexpectedly, by divine will, not by ambition.

Ordained by God
Nicholas had returned to Myra, the capital city of Lycia, after a pilgrimage, and went to the church to give thanks for a safe voyage. He was unaware that Myra’s bishop had died and the clergymen were gathered in prayer to choose the successor. One of the priests had a vision telling him the first man to enter the church, who would be called Nicholas, would be the next bishop. Nicholas always spent the hours after midnight in prayer and arrived at the church early. He was greeted by the clergyman who asked his name.   Nicholas replied, “My name is Nicholas and I am your humble servant.” With these words, Nicholas became the Bishop of Myra.

As bishop, Nicholas served the people of Myra with extraordinary courage, humility and compassion.  The tales of his miraculous interventions to save the unjustly accused, guide ships to safe harbor, protect children, feed the hungry and stand up for his faith show us a picture of a hero, a saint with power, vision and determination unlike any ordinary man.

Since he was a bishop, Nicholas was unable to escape the hand of the Romans. He was imprisoned with so many others, and endured untold sufferings, but he never surrendered his faith or courage. He survived until Emperor Constantine came to power and was converted to Christianity. Nicholas was released, returned to Myra, and led his people another 30 years. 

Miracles and divine power
Some time after his release from prison, Nicholas intervened for three Roman imperial officers condemned to die. These were Roman soldiers, not poor farmers, but he knew they were falsely accused and appeared to the emperor in a dream to demand their safe release. The emperor was convinced and released the officers the next morning.

When famine spread through the land, Nicholas heard of several ships in the harbor with grain. The sailors would not give up their precious cargo for fear of punishment if they arrived at their destination without it. Nicholas assured them the owner would not find the measure short if they sold the shipment. Moved by his divine power, the sailors sold the grain. When they reached their home port, miraculously, their cargo holds were once again full.

Saint Nicholas was buried in Myra, but his remains were taken to Bari, Italy in 1087 during the Crusades. They remain there today.  The stories of his life were carried across the continents by crusaders and pilgrims, becoming part of folklore far into the north. The Dutch carried them to New Amsterdam (now New York).

Changing calendars and church politics shifted gift-giving customs from his saint’s day, December 6, to Christmas day. As centuries passed, his name was translated and adapted into many variations, including Sinterklaes, der Niklas, Kris Kringle, St. Nick, and Santa Claus, whose red robe is an echo of the red robe of the Bishop of Myra, Saint Nicholas, man of God.

Lorna Knox is the author of I Came From Joy, Spiritual Affirmations and Activities for Children, Crystal Clarity Publishers.

In these pages you will meet such great souls as Anandamoyee Ma who, through divine intervention, saves Devi’s life; Bhupendra Sanyal, a direct disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya and a source of life-long inspiration for Devi; and Tulsi Bose, Paramhansa Yogananda’s close boyhood friend and confidante, and the father of Devi’s wife, Hassi.

Devi also introduces us to many obscure characters, both saintly and “fallen,” like the ‘Pistol Swami’ who enjoyed scaring his guests literally ‘to death,’ and Kailash Pati, so full of divine love that he was able to pet wild tigers.

Devi finds his guru, Paramhansa Yogananda
Devi (Karuna) Mukherjee was born outside Calcutta in 1927. After graduating from college he worked five years as a salesman for a large Calcutta refrigeration company and “thus, perhaps,” Devi says, “ began my ‘career’ as a traveler!”

In 1955, after seeing the photograph of Paramhansa Yogananda in a local Calcutta newspaper, Devi sought out devotees of this Indian Master. Devi tells us, “Even though I had met a few highly advanced yogis in my travels, until now I had never been drawn to accepting anyone as my guru….How [these yogis] all impressed me! In their shining simplicity… it was obvious that they led their lives guided by divine teachings.”

As Devi traveled to the Himalayas, it was by keeping his mind focused on his own guru that he was able to find deep inspiration from the saints he met without getting pulled away from his chosen path. With his great openness of heart, humility, and love of spiritual truths, Devi was easily able to recognize souls who lived for God alone.

Advice from the saints: “Love God!”
In one of his travels, Devi tells us, “…I saw a swami taking his bath at a hot springs nearby…. I took a bath there also [and later] he asked me to follow him. Soon we reached his large cave. A fire blazed inside in a deep pit…we meditated for four hours…  [As I was leaving I asked him to bless me.]

By way of reply he said, “You see the Alakananda [River] below us? It flows from Nil Kanta on its way to the ocean—such a long way away! What tremendous love she must have for the ocean! It takes so long to reach it, but no one can stop her owing to the force of her love. Your love for God should be like that: patient, constant, undeterred.  Like a mighty river, the force of divine devotion will wash away any obstructions on your way. Keep on, with love, until you reach God’s ocean.”

Shaped by Saints is not a long book yet one you will want to read many times over, not only for its guidance on how to set our hearts and minds on the straight path to God, but also for its sweetness. Devi’s own quest for spiritual insight and growth, including his years as a monk with Yogoda Satsanga Society, Self-Realization Fellowship’s sister organization in India, forms an integral part of his story. His previously unpublished stories about his guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, draw the great Master a little closer through new glimpses of his courage, generosity, and loyalty to friends.

Shaped by Saints can be ordered from Crystal Clarity, Publishers. Call: 800-424-1055.

Lincoln was committed to following God’s will, as he understood it, not only in his personal life but also in the conduct of his presidency. This commitment reached its most dramatic public expression in the autumn of 1862, when Lincoln issued the historic Emancipation Proclamation outlawing slavery in the Confederate States. This decision was a turning point in Lincoln’s life, and a challenge from which he emerged as one of the great leaders in history. By what path did Lincoln come to feel absolutely certain that this was God’s will for him and the country?

A former yogi
The spiritual foundations of Lincoln’s life were laid in early childhood. Paramhansa Yogananda said that in a previous life Lincoln was a yogi in the Himalayas, who died with a desire to bring about racial equality. His incarnation as Lincoln enabled him to fulfill that desire. Lincoln was born into a family that resonated with his strong anti-slavery convictions and devotion to God.

Despite a lack of formal schooling, Lincoln had access to a few books which deeply influenced him. Among these were the Bible, the works of Shakespeare, Pilgrim’s Progress, and the Life of Washington. The most influential of these was the Bible, which became the cornerstone of his life.

The Bible: a practical guide
For Lincoln, the main importance of the Bible was its implications for the way people live and treat their fellow human beings. Although nowhere in the Bible was slavery condemned, a fact often used by pro-slavery advocates to justify their own position, Lincoln believed in an underlying unity between people—that we are all created in the image of God.

He concluded that if man is made in the image of God, it does not follow that he was sent into this world to be degraded and brutalized by his fellow man. He felt that no person was a mere thing to be bought and sold. “The issue,” said Lincoln, “is not what a man’s particular abilities might be, but what his rights are as a human being made in God’s image.”

The dilemma of emancipation
Lincoln felt emancipation to be right in principle, but realized that, with the Civil War raging, he had no way to enforce such a decree in the South. To a group of Quakers who urged immediate emancipation, he said, “a decree could not be more binding upon the South than the Constitution, and that cannot be enforced in that part of the country right now.” There didn’t seem to be any clear guidance on how to proceed.

By the winter of 1862, the war, which everyone thought would last just a few months, was going very badly for the North. It was a very difficult time for Lincoln and the nation. He was criticized for his handling of the war and the ineptitude of his generals. After almost a year of fighting, Lincoln had to consider the possibility of defeat. What, then, of God’s will? Could it be something entirely different from his own?

In the midst of these difficulties, Lincoln’s favorite son, Willie, died at age 11. Overwhelmed with grief, he said, “I will try to go to God with my sorrows.”
The ensuing months precipitated Lincoln’s own “dark night of the soul.” Day after day, Lincoln prayed, earnestly seeking to know God’s will for himself and the country. Slowly, after months of doubt and indecision, he again came to feel God’s guiding hand in his life. Out of the ashes of this experience emerged a new man, and a more decisive and confident leader.

A sign from God
By July of 1862, Lincoln had written the first drafts of the Emancipation Proclamation. Clearly, he felt that this was the right direction. Still, always tentative in his approach to God’s will, he prayed deeply for a sign, a military victory, in order to proceed. With the victory at the Battle of Antietam on Sept. 17, 1862, he felt that God had decided in favor of emancipation. From then on, writes one scholar, “the curve of the Confederacy’s fortunes turned decisively downward.”

When Lincoln presented the Proclamation to his Cabinet a few days later on Sept. 22, he said to them, “When the Rebel Army was at Frederick, I determined, as soon as it should be driven out of Maryland, to issue a Proclamation of Emancipation. I said nothing to anyone, but I made a promise to myself and to my Maker. The Rebel Army is now driven out and I am going to fulfill that promise.”

As President, Lincoln’s deepest conviction was that no nation could ever be truly great except “under God.” He tried in various ways to bring an awareness of God into the national consciousness. Lincoln was the first president to speak openly of God in the context of public policy. During the Civil War years he instituted a day of prayer and fasting as a way of uniting people to a common cause. The phrase “One nation under God” and the term “In God we trust” were first used during Lincoln’s administration. He also established Thanksgiving as a national holiday for giving thanks to the Creator.

Paramhansa Yogananda said of great leaders like Lincoln and Washington: “There are politicians and politicians—those puny ones who cater to the mob sentiment and who put the national mansion on a loose foundation. But men like Lincoln and Washington have always tried to solidify the foundations of the national mansions with the eternal rock of truth and spirituality.”

John Lenti, lives at Ananda Village and serves as an Ananda minister and a Clarity editor.

St. Teresa lived during a time of great turbulence and change. Worldwide explorations were happening—Teresa’s brothers were part of the early voyages to the New World. The Renaissance was in full bloom; so also was the Inquisition. Teresa was called before the Inquisition when the church questioned her extraordinary mystical experiences. Amazingly, Teresa was able to convince her accusers that her experiences came from God and not the devil.

Teresa helps us to realize we don’t have to wait to know God—that in the hustle and bustle of life we can feel God’s presence and live from a place of profound faith and trust in God. Teresa said that all the effort we make to draw closer to God is not lost or wasted, even if we fail in the effort. The effort itself is the key.  Here are Teresa’s own views on the subject.

God-reminding objects
Teresa, ever pragmatic, knew that after a while familiar things begin to disappear, including pictures of saints, statues, natural elements, and the written word. So you don’t just have them around, you relate to them. She says to reverently touch and interact with pictures or statues as you pass. Move from the heart toward them; place a flower consciously before them. When reading, make notes or underline.

Use your imagination
When Teresa first entered the convent, she would watch the nuns at their devotions. Some of them would be so moved in their prayers that they would weep. Teresa said she wasn’t moved at all, but wanted God to touch her. So, she imagined God was with her as she prayed, as she went through her day, guiding and helping her. In time she felt Him with her all the time.

Think of God
Think of God as your closest friend or dearly beloved. Think of God in the morning; thank Him for this new day. Think of God at night as you go to sleep.   Look for God in nature. Think of God throughout the day. Tell Him of your love. Be creative about how to remind yourself to do this.

Maintain a sense of humor
Teresa encourages us with her wonderful light touch. Even on the serious subject of spiritual attainment, she has many great one-liners: “From silly devotions and sad-faced saints, good Lord deliver us.” And “A sad nun is a bad nun.” About the Inquisitors, she says, “I fear these fellows who fear the devil, more than I fear the devil himself!”

One of the most famous stories from Teresa’s life takes place when she is 65. She is travelling in the winter and bad weather has washed out and flooded the road. Teresa, elderly and infirm, leaves the carriage and hitching up her skirts, starts to wade through the icy water. Halfway across the water she sees Christ standing on the far bank. Smiling at her he says, “Don’t worry Teresa, this is how I treat all my friends.” Smiling, Teresa replies, “Ah! My Lord, no wonder you have so few.” When she gets to the far bank, Christ has gone and she is warm and dry.

Fording the icy waters
How do we learn to take life’s experiences in this spirit? When we find the road “washed out, and flooded” do we think, “Maybe this means I’m not supposed to continue?” Consider that perhaps you should continue and question instead what’s causing your reluctance. Fear? Unwillingness?

Whether saint or saint-in-the-making, our challenges will always feel like “washed out and flooded “roads. We learn to ford the icy waters through spiritual practices—meditation, prayer, positive attitudes, affirmations, etc. As we practice, keep in mind God’s smiling words: “This is how I treat all my friends.”

A long time member of Ananda, Nayaswami Uma is a Lightbearer and teaches at Ananda’s Yoga and Meditation Retreat in Assisi, Italy.

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s role in these gains was pivotal. His movement took the civil rights protest out of the courts, up until then its main venue, into the arena of direct action: boycotts, marches, sit-ins. After decades of snail-like gains, the barriers came tumbling down.

After more than 30 years, it is even harder, perhaps, to appreciate the impact of King’s vision and its importance to the success of his efforts. It was King’s philosophy of love and nonviolence that gave power and credibility to his movement. Today, when images of violence are everywhere—media, movies— King’s vision may seem “quaint” to some. But his message was universal, and no less relevant today than 30 years ago.

A vision of unity
Drawing from the teachings of Jesus, Thoreau, and Gandhi, King preached non-violent rebellion against unjust laws and love for one’s enemies. For King, non-violence was an expression of love. And love—far from being a tepid sentiment—was an expression of the superior power of the soul. In King’s own words:

Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice.  Justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.

Central to King’s vision was the importance of consciousness or attitude—the spirit of an undertaking. King taught that nonviolence must be grounded in the desire for harmony and cooperation with the “oppressor,” and justice for all, not just blacks. He cautioned against the use of non-violence without the spirit of nonviolence and spoke repeatedly against meeting anger with anger, hate with hate.

King was as much concerned with the effect of the battle on the hearts and minds of the protesters and their white opponents as with the ultimate outcome. His was a vision of unity, one that saw people of different races, religions and social backgrounds working and living together in a spirit of harmony and cooperation. Without love and compassion, unity was impossible.

A leader of courage and commitment
A vision’s capacity to inspire is only as great as a leader’s commitment to it, and King’s commitment never wavered. His response to the bombing of his home during the Montgomery, Alabama bus boycott is merely one case in point.

After the bombing, an angry black crowd, armed with guns, sticks, and other weapons, gathered outside his damaged home, threatening the boycott’s commitment to non-violence. King urged his followers to put down their weapons and to love their “white brothers,” no matter what they did. Confronted with such clear proof of the depth of King’s belief in love and nonviolence, the angry crowd settled down, grew peaceful, and went home.

Those who initially saw nonviolence as cowardice soon learned otherwise. King underwent public humiliation, beatings, death threats and imprisonment because of the ideals and principles he believed in. Those who followed King knew that he asked nothing of them that he would not first do himself.

A moral and spiritual army
King’s message and mission did more than change a society – it changed the individuals who practiced it. King made people conscious not only of love but also of other untapped potentialities, and gave them a way to express them. In Montgomery, for example, protesters organized a car pool system that worked with “military precision.” For months, the black community covered all the expenses of the car pool, including $5000 a month for gas.

Like King, protesters were targeted for harassment and personal threats. Many  lived under the ever-present specter of violent resistance to their efforts. Whether a boycott, freedom march, or sit-in, participation in King’s “moral and spiritual army for change ” required not only love and personal dignity, but also courage, self-restraint, and self-discipline. He writes:

We did not hesitate to call our movement an army. But it was a special army, with no supplies but its sincerity, no uniform but its determination, no arsenal but its faith, no currency but its conscience.

A common destiny
At the 1963 March on Washington D.C., King reiterated a major theme—that the freedom and destiny of white Americans were inextricably linked to the freedom and destiny of their black brothers and sisters. We are not strangers to one another, King taught, but members of the same human family, fellow travelers on a common journey.

King emphasized that personal fulfillment came from expressing love and compassion, while negative attitudes—hatred, anger, fear—in time, made one hateful, fearful, and angry. Segregation and the attitudes it instilled was thus as harmful to whites as to blacks. Throughout his life, King always made it clear that his aim was never to humiliate or even to defeat whites, but to win their friendship and understanding.

A deep faith in God
King was a moral and spiritual leader who had a major impact on the history of his times. Yet despite the fame and recognition he attracted, his quiet humility remained unchanged. King’s focus was on the job to be done, not on his own role. Had King gloried in the importance of his position, he would never have been able to inspire people with the dedication needed to bring the protest movement to success.

In accepting the Nobel Peace prize in 1964, King highlighted the contribution of the nameless thousands whose commitment to the ideals he preached had made the civil rights victories possible. Without such followers, no civil rights revolution could have occurred, however grand King’s vision might have been.

Ultimately King was sustained by deep faith in God, and a belief in the potential for goodness in all people. In his own words:

I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose, and that in the struggle for righteousness man has cosmic companionship. Behind the harsh appearance of the world there is a benign power.

Sheila Rush lives at Ananda Village and serves as a Lightbearer and editor in the Ananda Sangha Office.

This unique “autobiography” of John Muir, which is told in his own words, is brimming with Muir’s soaring spirit and unique adventures. The text was compiled and edited by naturalist Joseph (Bharat) Cornell, author of Sharing Nature with Children, and well known for his ability to help others experience the joyous quality of nature. The result is a book filled with Muir’s warmth, goodness, enthusiasm, love of all creatures, and remarkable courage and will power —the portrait of a true hero.

While in the wilderness, John Muir constantly worshipped God’s presence in creation. Muir often felt his spirit soar through the canyons and peaks of the Sierras. At these times, he experienced to the very depth of his being the truth that “the contents of the human soul contains the whole world.” Reflecting on the mountains Muir writes:

“O these vast, calm, measureless mountain days …Days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us God.”

Born in 1838, Muir is remembered as the father of America’s national parks and the most influential conservationist of modern times. It is said that no one brought nature to life like John Muir. When Muir spoke of his encounters with wild animals, trees, and mountain storms, his listeners said it felt as if they were there, experiencing the adventure with him. After reading Muir’s report on America’s forests, thrilled readers said that Muir was the only one who could make a federal report sing like poetry.

Cornell chose the most captivating stories in Muir’s life and used Muir’s own words, somewhat adapted for younger readers, to tell Muir’s story. Although targeted at young adults, a book so filled with humor, adventure, and inspiration lights the way for young and old alike. Muir writes:

I have tried to tell not what I have done but what Nature has done—a much more important story—in the hopes that you’ll go to Nature yourself and learn her secret ways. I also wanted to make the mountains glad. For nature was made not just for us, but for itself and its own happiness, and is the very smile of God.

The book concludes with an activity section that encourages young people to look more closely at Muir’s life and find its relevance to their own.

With Beauty Before Me
Also coming out this summer is a second book by Joseph Cornell, With Beauty Before Me, a pocketbook of inspirational quotations and activities to take with you on your nature walks.

From the book:
Breathe in the fresh air surrounding you. Exhale and observe the flow of air around you. Follow it as it passes through nearby trees and over wide-open fields. Continue to follow the wind as it carries the distant clouds across the far blue sky. Close your eyes and listen. Can you hear sounds from every direction?…Feel that everything you see and hear is a part of you.”

The author is donating 100% of the proceeds from sales of these two books   toward the purchase of a wide variety of indigenous trees for planting at Ananda Village. To order, please make your check to “Ananda Forest Fund” and mail to the Ananda Sangha Office.  The cost, including shipping and tax, is $12.00 for John Muir, My Life with Nature and $9.00 for Beauty Before Me.

Joseph (Bharat) Cornell is one of the world’s leading nature educators. H serves as an Ananda Lightbearer and resides at Ananda Village.