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.

My father spent the early morning hours, before going to work, in prayer and inner communion with God. As a family we observed the tradition of Holy Saturday and from Friday dusk to Saturday dusk refrained from all worldly activity. We read the Bible, took walks in nature, and went to the synagogue. I believed in a good God and would pray to Him in time of need.

A growing sense of emptiness
Though raised in this devout, joyful tradition, in my teenage years I found myself questioning the existence of God and the purpose of life — who I was, and why I was here. Later, in my early twenties, I began to explore Eastern spiritual traditions, including Buddhism and yoga.

By my late twenties I had had my share of disappointments in relationships and career. I was then studying art in Kyoto, Japan. Outwardly things were going well enough, but inwardly there was a growing sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction. While lying in bed one evening and gazing at the ceiling, I prayed desperately from the depths of my soul: “God, show me the way.” This simple prayer shocked me. I was admitting that I had no clue as to who I was, or the purpose of life. Yet this deeply heartfelt prayer proved a turning point.

I wasn’t ready for THIS answer!
Shortly after offering this prayer, I knew I had to move to America and live in California. Trusting that everything would somehow work out, after living in Japan for almost three years, I moved to California. Two weeks later I discovered Ananda.

I was living with a Jewish girl friend in Palo Alto when I found a magazine that listed spiritual groups and retreats in California. But after looking through the magazine, I closed it in despair. There were so many listings! How was I to know which path was mine? I prayed deeply to God to show me my path.

A few days later, while walking in downtown Palo Alto and again praying to God to show me the way, I saw a sign in front of a building that said: “Yoga Center.” It was the Ananda Center in its old location, an office building. However, immediately upon entering, when I saw the altar with the photo of Jesus, I felt a pinch in my heart. I said to myself: “This is not for me! I AM JEWISH.” I walked out, thinking I would never return. God had answered my prayer, but I didn’t realize it. And I wasn’t ready for THIS answer!

I decide to borrow tapes
When my car battery died a few days later, a neighbor offered me the use of her car to go buy a new battery. Driving to the auto shop, I pressed the cassette button and heard a woman talking about healthy relationships. Her words touched a deep responsive chord in my heart. My neighbor later told me that the tape was of a talk by Asha Praver from the Ananda Center’s free lending library, and that anyone could borrow tapes.

With effort, I overcame enough of my resentment about the photo of Jesus to borrow tapes of talks by Asha Praver, co-director of the Palo Alto Ananda Center. Part of me was very drawn to these new teachings, yet another part of me was very much holding back. Nonetheless, as I listened to her talks over the next few months, and also meditated, the truth of these teachings began to resonate in every fiber of my being. I decided to explore further by going to a kirtan, an evening of group chanting.

Going to a kirtan felt safe: no one would see me or even know me. I found the kirtan very inspiring – it lifted me to a level of consciousness higher than I’d ever experienced. I decided I would visit the center again.

I felt like a betrayer
This time I mustered the courage to attend Sunday Service, arriving in time to attend the purification ceremony. If you, the reader, are not Jewish, you probably don’t know how it feels to a deeply religious Jew to walk into a church. I felt like a betrayer. I flashed back to my childhood and the primary school history classes in which I heard about the Jews who converted to Christianity. They betrayed God! I never wanted to be one of those weak-hearted Jews who betrayed their own God.

Yet here I was, at the age of 31, going to A CHURCH. My body was trembling slightly as I sat in the back. The light was dim. No one could see me — ONLY GOD.

After hearing an explanation of the purification ceremony, I decided I could take part in it. I took the piece of paper, wrote down a prayer, and went up to the altar and knelt before the minister, David Praver. But when I opened my mouth to say: “I seek purification by the grace of God,” I burst into tears. I was shocked and humiliated by my reaction, but David was very kind and compassionate.

I went back to my seat, calmed myself, and somehow found the courage to stay for the entire service. When it was time to leave, I stood in the line where the ministers were greeting people. When my turn came, the first words I blurted were, “I’m sorry but I’m Jewish, and I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Asha said very kindly, “We’re Jewish too.” I certainly didn’t expect to hear this. I thought I might faint. Luckily, I remained standing.

A firm resolution to follow my heart
Later, having returned for another Ananda event, I learned that Asha gave private counseling to people. Asha agreed to meet with me privately and we set a day and time to meet. For the next days, I was in much emotional turmoil. Although most of my adult life I had been a self-directed person, I now felt powerless to resolve the inner battle raging within me.

When Asha and I met, I told her that my heart was aching to know the truth, and that I was drawn to the teachings of Paramhansa Yogananda. Intuitively, I felt the truth in them, but my mind rebelled. I asked her how was it possible for someone like me, who was Jewish, to be attracted to these teachings?

She said, “When you are desperate, God will pick you up and show you the way.” She also said, “If you can’t relate to Jesus, put that on the shelf. Just take what feels right and leave the rest.” She recommended that I read Swami Kriyananda’s book, The Path.

Asha’s advice proved very helpful. I started taking classes at the center and doing the meditation practices each day. More and more my heart was drawn to Ananda, but my inner battle continued. It was then that I made a firm resolution to follow the guidance of my heart, since my rebellious mind didn’t get me very far.

The hardest step of all
Nonetheless, it took two and a half more years to break through the fear and anxiety and embrace Yogananda’s path. I came to realize that the God I believed in was a Jewish God, and that my entire self-identity was wrapped around that concept. Each step of the way was like shedding a layer of myself. And there were still layers of old self-definitions to remove.

The final step, the actual taking of the discipleship vow, which meant accepting Paramhansa Yogananda as my guru, was the hardest of all. By then I had moved to Ananda Village.

While preparing to take the vow, the inner battle took on a new intensity. In Judaism, your spiritual life is between you and God. There is no “intermediary.” Yet here I was about to take a vow to a line of gurus, including Jesus Christ, allowing them to guide me to God. I felt I was cutting the umbilical cord that connected me to my religion, my family, and Israel. It was the most dramatic and important time of my life. I felt I had gone through a “death and rebirth.”

Released into a greater, more expansive world
Though still afraid, I took discipleship. After the ceremony I felt great inner blessings and protection. I felt uplifted and light, as if the burden of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. It took much prayer, meditation, attunement with Yogananda, and the grace of God to break through the resistance, but once I became Yogananda’s disciple, I experienced a great sense of expansion and freedom. My consciousness had been released from the prison of my old ways of thinking into a greater world.

Through attunement with Yogananda I have learned to see Jesus for the great master he truly was. I also learned something Judaism never taught me: that the goal of life is to achieve the same level of enlightenment that Jesus, Moses, and all the great masters, including Yogananda, have attained. I was thrilled to learn that I too have that same potential.

*******

Greeting Jesus as a friend
Some years ago, a Jewish woman attended the Thanksgiving Retreat at The Expanding Light Guest Retreat at Ananda Village. At the end of the retreat, she told the group about a profound experience she’d had during the retreat.

In the past, she had attended Sunday services at Ananda Village and enjoyed them very much. But it bothered her to see the picture of Jesus on the altar. If there hadn’t been a picture of Jesus, her joy would have been complete. After coming to many services and continuing to be upset, she decided to make peace with Jesus. She made a commitment that for one year every time she saw a picture of Jesus, she would greet him as a friend.

“Welcome home daughter”
At the end of the year she came to the Thanksgiving Retreat. On Saturday evening of the retreat, she went to meditate in the Lahiri Mandir. No one else was there. She stood up at the end of her meditation and bowed before each photo of the Ananda line of gurus. Last of all, she bowed before the picture of Jesus.

Turning to leave, she heard Jesus say to her: “Welcome home, daughter.” She felt waves of peace and love flooding her being. It was a transforming experience.

******

After 21 years on this path, I am so grateful to God and to my Guru for leading me to my path and giving me the strength to break through the many layers of past habits and perceptions. I have realized, as Yogananda tells us, that the saints and masters are the true custodians of religion.

Nayaswami Diksha teaches at The Expanding Light guest retreat at Ananda Village. She was initiated into the Nayaswami Order in 2009. She is a Lightbearer and is married to Nayaswami Gyandev.

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

One day, while stopping at that beach in the middle of a run, I felt the inspiration that I should go to medical school. In that moment I also found my guru, though it would take time for me to actually know that.

Praying and listening with the heart
Medical school is an experience in learning how to memorize a huge amount of data. I always appreciated having that fund of knowledge, but I also understood that I could not truly help my patients simply by relying only on that information. During my internship and residency, I somehow knew to keep a note on my clipboard reminding me to always pray and ask for guidance before I saw a patient. Guru’s grace descending again!

Now, in my medical practice, I ask for guidance all the time – over and over. I’ve had miraculous experiences because I’ve been willing to be quiet and listen with my heart. Before walking into a patient’s room, or while sitting with a patient, I’ll pray to Yogananda: “Master, I need to know what to say to this person, and how to say it.”

Then the words come, the diagnoses come, and miracles happen. The stories that have evolved through my work are precious.  Here are a few tales of these divine gifts.

Something was terribly wrong
One day, after I had seen close to 30 patients, I stopped at the door of the treatment room before going in to see my last patient. Inwardly I said, “Divine Mother, You have to guide me because I’m exhausted. I’m going to miss something important if You’re not with me.”

Waiting in the room was a 92-year-old man, the father of one of the nuns who ran the hospital. She and her sister were with him. He was a gruff old man and announced to me right away, “I haven’t been to see a doctor in ten years at least. I never go to the doctor. I have a little back pain – just give me some medicine!”

When I asked him to tell me about his back pain, he replied with annoyance, “There’s nothing to tell you! I’ve just got back pain.” After pressing him for more details, he said that a very severe back pain had come on suddenly the night before. His daughter added, “It was so severe that it made him sick to his stomach.”

As I listened to this story, right away I got the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I said to him, “I’m going to leave the room. You’re going to get undressed, and I’m going to come back and examine you.” Muttering a few expletives, he refused to be examined, but fortunately his daughters were on my side.

I left the room. On the way back, before going in, I prayed, “Divine Mother, You diagnose this man. Something’s going on here.”

During the exam, I found nothing except a little of what we call “mottling” of his skin on his right side, which I assumed was due to the room being cold. But I still had this troubling feeling. So I said to him, “You are going to the emergency room. Would you like your daughters to drive you, or shall I call 911?”

After quite an argument, he let his daughters drive him to the emergency room. I called ahead to the emergency room doctor and said, “Something serious is going on with this man. It’s important that you see him the instant he arrives.”

The doctor in the emergency room knew exactly what that “mottling” meant, and quickly got him up to the operating room. The instant the surgeon opened his abdomen, his entire abdominal aorta burst open. Had this man stopped to go home, had we fought for another three minutes, he would have died.

The next day, my phone kept ringing. My doctor friends at the hospital called to ask, “How did you remember this sign?” I said, “I didn’t remember anything.”

I thought to myself, “How could I ever share this story?” From years of taking care of patients I knew that knowing all the facts and “signs” is important (I don’t want to miss a pneumonia, or an appendicitis), but most of the healing that’s happened in my practice has come through me. Everything important that I know about medicine, everything I have to give, comes from my having opened my heart to God.

“See this man!”
Another day, when I had a completely overbooked schedule,  a new patient called saying he had a cold and needed to see me right away. To placate him I told my front desk staff to tell him I was not currently accepting new patients but as a favor would see him in my “next available” spot. He refused to accept the “favor” and called three more times, saying that the cough was “killing him.”  Then I had that feeling: “See this man!”

He was a generally healthy 32-year old man. I examined his throat, lymph nodes, and lungs. All were fine. Then something said to me, “listen to his heart.” But I fought back: “No! I’m busy.” Then again: “Listen!”

I listened and there was a murmur. He said no one had ever mentioned it before. I prayed, “Is this important?” I listened to his heart again and didn’t like what I heard. Most murmurs are what we call “benign,” but this one wasn’t. He needed to have an ultrasound of the heart the next day. The woman at my front desk said, “Impossible.” I said, “Make it happen.”

He had the ultrasound the following morning. It showed an aneurysm at the junction of his aorta and his aortic valve. The very next morning the man had open-heart surgery. The surgeons said he would have died very soon had it not been discovered and that it was congenital — it had been there since birth. Later, several of the surgeons called asking me “how I knew?” I decided not to try to explain, but in my heart I was pronaming to Divine Mother.

A special assignment based on inspiration
Several years ago a woman who had been having abdominal pain and other symptoms for about one year came to my office. She hadn’t seen a physician in years because she didn’t “trust” them. The previous day, however, she had seen a gynecologist who told her it was likely she had an inoperable tumor and, if so, her only alternative was palliative care.

This woman was filled with rage.  As we discussed her situation, she mentioned at least ten times that she hated her husband—that  she was just ready to leave him, but now with this tumor she might never get away from him. She and her husband had been disconnected for years, even as they raised their two children.

I asked her to give me a minute. I closed my eyes and asked Yogananda to tell me what to say to this woman and how to say it in a way she could hear it. When I opened my eyes she asked what I was doing. I said, “I was praying.”

After discussing the medical possibilities, I gave her referral slips for X-rays and lab work and scheduled a follow-up visit in two weeks. Then I told her I had a special assignment for her based on the inspiration that came when I prayed. I wrote out a prescription that told her to say three nice things every day to her husband.

Obviously upset, she said, “That won’t be easy.” She asked what those three things might be. I suggested that she tell her husband whenever he was home how glad she was that he was there, and to say it like she meant it—and then to think of two more things to say. She was quite disgruntled when she left.

As it turned out, this woman she did have an inoperable tumor. When I saw her again and told her what the tests showed, she was quite stoic. After a bit I asked her how things were at home. She looked startled.

She said, “Oh Dr. Rubenstone, when I left here I was so mad at you I thought I would never return. Later I felt compelled to try what you suggested, but I did it grudgingly. You told me it could just be an act so I acted, and I acted well. Within three days my husband was a different man. He took a leave of absence from work and he hasn’t left my side since. He has been loving, attentive, and generous. I have never seen this side of him before. Our home is filled with love.”

My patient died about three months later. She died at home, never having gone into a hospital. I was at her home many times and I always felt blessed to be there. Her passing was perhaps the most love-filled experience I have ever witnessed. I felt Yogananda’s blessing.

My Guru guided me into medicine and he has been with me ever since. In my practice I ask for guidance all the time. As long as I remember to ask for help, it comes, and miracles happen.

Tyagi Shanti, a Lightbearer and longtime Ananda member, lives in the Ananda Palo Alto community. She has a full-time medical practice specializing in “transformational medicine,” working with people as they move through major life transitions. She also teaches meditation, energy and healing, and “living wellness” at the Ananda Palo Alto Sangha.

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

Andrew had always been a radical thinker and distrustful of the “establishment, ” but if he considered you a friend, his love and loyalty were absolute. Brian and Andrew had been friends since the early 1970s. They shared many interests: vintage German cars; Japanese art, swords, and armor; and high-end “hi fi” equipment. Andrew had a modest collection of each in his small home on the California coast.

Andrew made his living repairing and rebuilding German motor vehicles, including motorcycles. Twenty or so years earlier, while test-driving a motorcycle he’d repaired, he hit an obstruction in the road. After three weeks in a coma, he regained consciousness and found himself in a hospital bed, imprisoned in a body cast, in great pain with a broken back, and sporting a turban of bandages.

A karmic avalanche
Andrew survived the accident, but that quarter mile test drive began a karmic avalanche that intensified through the ensuing years. His life was now filled with physical pain, surgeries, seizures, and the constantly changing side effects from a plethora of medications  — both physician-recommended and self-prescribed. Most recently, he’d added prednisone for his newly diagnosed emphysema.

Due to his injuries and pain, Andrew could work only on average a few hours a day, and had been forced to accept public assistance. His overall medical condition was extremely complex but when doctor after doctor couldn’t “fix” his numerous problems, he became distrustful. Still, up to the night we went unannounced to his house, it was hard to tell whether he had developed a sort of paranoia or whether he was simply angry about what life had dealt him. Andrew was constantly on the edge financially, but he owned his house. So as long as he could make the payments, he had the security of knowing that he would have a place to live.

A bizarre and frightening scene
We arrived at his house in the early evening. When our continuous knocking on the door drew no response, Brian slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. Andrew was sitting at his desk, which he’d pushed up against the windows so that it overlooked the front yard and street. A bizarre and frightening scene began to unfold.

Sitting on the edge of his chair behind the desk, Andrew was intensely focused on some invisible menace. On the desktop lay an unsheathed two-foot long Japanese sword. These swords, with their extremely sharp handmade blades, are legendary for their deadliness. Andrew’s hand, which rested next to the sword, was clutching a handgun.

With a quick glance we noted another handgun stuffed into his boot, and another, smaller sword tucked into his belt. Andrew was surveying the world out the window . . . waiting for the police to arrive. He “knew” they intended to take him away from the only security he had, his house. We later learned that Andrew was suffering from “prednisone psychosis,” brought on by the new medication, and it played on his greatest fears.

Ready to fight it out
A sincere truth-seeker, Andrew was familiar with meditation and had explored the Buddhist path. Nonetheless, in his current state of medication-induced psychosis, he was armed and ready to fight it out with anyone who dared cross the threshold. Brian told me to wait on the porch, so I sat out there with Andrew’s large German Shepherd dog.

Andrew rose and paced, patrolling the various windows. He came back to the chair and sat just inside the front door. Brian lowered himself gently onto one knee very close to him. He said, “Andrew?”

Andrew looked at Brian blankly, then with some recognition, but he quickly turned back to looking out the window, with his handgun pointed in readiness. Brian put his hand gently on top of the hand holding the gun, hoping to keep it pointing harmlessly away from him as he tried to make contact with a rational portion of Andrew’s mind. He spoke to him calmly, asking what was happening.

Andrew explained that “they” were coming to take his house away. He’d been up for nearly three days without sleep. As if on cue, he abruptly rose and strode back to the kitchen. He thrust his hand into his coffee grinder, grabbed a fistful of coffee grounds, palmed them into his mouth, and returned to his post. He didn’t want to fall asleep and lose control of the situation.

Brian asked if he’d eaten anything. “No,” said Andrew, “not for a couple of days.” Brian asked that I go to the grocery to get some food to cook for him. I was terrified. Andrew’s lucidity seemed to ebb and flow. In an instant Brian could be misconstrued as the enemy — and killed.

“Master, you HAVE to be there!”
I was shaking, my heart racing, as I left the house and got in our van. Though I had been praying on the porch, I had been too panic-stricken to pray with real intensity. Now, as I drove to the local grocery store, I pounded on the steering wheel and shouted out loud to my guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, “Master, you HAVE to be there! You have to protect Brian. You MUST be in that room with them. Don’t let any harm come to Brian or Andrew. You must clear Andrew’s mind! You have to stop this! MASTER, YOU HAVE TO BE THERE!”

I shouted my prayers to Master again and again, all the way to the local grocery store. My prayers held my fear at bay, but just barely — the fear that Brian could be dead when I returned. While making the purchases, I continued my prayer demands mentally. Driving back to the house, I again shouted out loud, demanding that Master be there with Brian and Andrew, and that he surround them in God’s protection.

When I arrived, the dog was still on the porch, and obviously distressed. I approached the door quietly. Listening at the door, at first I didn’t hear anything. Then I heard what sounded like it might be the television. I knocked and waited, then turned the knob and slowly opened the door. I saw a gun lying on the desktop, and the television was on.

“I feel like I’ve been meditating”
Cautiously, I surveyed the scene. On every flat surface there was a different weapon – a knife, a sword, a gun, another sword, all randomly placed. Brian sat on the couch looking watchful but relatively relaxed. Andrew sat in his favorite recliner looking very peaceful.

I entered the room holding my small bag of groceries and tentatively asked, “How is everyone?” Andrew said his familiar, “Hiya,” and asked what was in the bag. I walked toward the kitchen, forced a smile, and tried to sound cheerful when I said, “I brought dinner.” Inside I was still shaking, partly from fear and partly from the strong energies that surged through me. Andrew said, “It’s nice to see you guys.” I told him he looked well. Softly he said, “I feel like I’ve been meditating.”

It was apparent that he was in a very uplifted state. Brian and I made sure that he ate, and we ate a few bites with him. We put the weapons in a cupboard in the back room, and visited for another hour or so.

Everything began to change
As we were driving home, Brian began to describe what had happened after I left for the store. He described it as “extraordinary!” There was a moment when everything began to change.

It was as though Andrew’s craziness began to drain out of him. Without saying a word, his face and eyes softened and a benign expression replaced the “soldier guarding his home turf” look. He seemed to be “in between” experiences – not paranoid, but not quite himself, either. He set the gun down, got up out of his chair, and walked across the living room, slowing disarming himself. He pulled the sword out of his belt, a knife and gun out of the top of his boots, another gun out of his pocket, setting them down in different places, but seemingly not really aware of what he was doing.

When Andrew sat down again he seemed to notice Brian for the first time. They turned on the TV and were just sitting there as though nothing had happened. It was apparent that Andrew had no awareness of what had happened. Apparently the prayers had cleared Andrew’s mind of the psychosis, brought him up to a higher octave of his being, and transformed him back into the gentle man whose heart had a place for every one of his friends.

The next day Brian called Andrew’s physician and described the events of the previous evening. That’s when we first heard the term – prednisone psychosis. Though Andrew continues to live a very challenging life, in these past 15 years we haven’t known him to have another incident of paranoia or psychosis.

Now I pray with intensity
My experience with Andrew taught me much about the power of prayer. Previously, my prayers weren’t very energetic. I went through the motions, prayed for specific outcomes, always adding fatalistically at the end, “if it be Your will.” Now I pray with intensity, with my energy strongly focused at the spiritual eye and my heart fully engaged, so that I feel “plugged in” to God’s loving energy.

Praying in this way deepens my faith and my sense of being an active participant in the unfolding drama of creation. This shift in understanding and practice has been Andrew’s gift to me.

Tyagini Lisa Powers is a Lightbearer and longtime Ananda Member. She lives at Ananda Village where she serves as Director of Member Services.

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

This saint, who had lived as a recluse, so loved baby squirrels that he wanted to incarnate as a mother squirrel so that he could bestow his maternal affection on the helpless little ones. The story tells how this saint reincarnated as a holy mother squirrel and lived with her tiny babies on the top of a tree by the sea. Devotees soon realized that this was not an ordinary squirrel, but that the furry little body housed a great soul who had reincarnated thus to demonstrate the will of God even in the animal body. Many people learned of this unusual mother squirrel, and it is said that whosoever fed her either became prosperous, or was healed of whatever affliction he possessed.

Once when the holy squirrel had gone far away from the shore in quest of food, a storm lashed the ocean into high waves and swept away the tree with all the baby squirrels. The loving mother, on her return, discovered the dark work of the sea and commanded, “Ocean, give me back my babies or I will destroy you.”

When the ocean paid no attention to her warnings, the mother squirrel was seen, day and night for seven days, dipping her bushy tail in the water and then brushing it on the sand. Seeing this curious, determined activity, an angel of God appeared and said, “Holy mother squirrel, of all the strange things, your action of dipping your tail in the ocean and rubbing it on the sand is the strangest. Please tell me the reason for your queer activity.”

The squirrel replied, “Heavenly angel, the audacious sea swallowed my babies in my absence and paid no heed to my request to return them, so I am resolved to run the ocean dry.” The angel laughed and remonstrated, “Why, mother squirrel, in seven days more you won’t have any brush left on your tail with which to attempt to run the ocean dry!”

But the tiny mother, with the determination of eternity written on her face, replied, “A thousand million lives or more will I be born again and again as a squirrel, and I will grow as many bushy tails as are required to dry the ocean.” Saying this, the holy squirrel went on with her strange activity.

Seven days later, the brush of her tail had almost disappeared, and yet the mother squirrel had not stopped her work. In fact, her dynamic will, perfected in attunement with the divine will in former incarnations, had prepared her to continue as long as the world endured. And so the angel of God came back, and with folded hands said, “Holy squirrel, your will is law; please stop punishing the ocean and we will return your babies.” Only then did the mother squirrel rest.

*******

Remember, dear student, if all mortal methods of seeking happiness have failed you, do not be discouraged, but rouse your slumbering, all-powerful divine determination. Then you will find that the divine laws of God are bound to give you the dream-happiness that you desire.

From the Praecepta Lessons, 1934.

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

My mother died in March 2008 at the age of 95. She had visited Ananda Village three or four times in the decades I’ve lived here. Her first visit was in 1971—the age of tepees, trailers, and outhouses—and she was in shock at the life I’d chosen. She kept asking herself what she’d done wrong that I would end up like this. After a few days, however, she began to experience some of the magical joy and love that is Ananda. On later visits, while she was never enthusiastic with my choice, she came to appreciate the people who lived here and the way of life that has been created.

A need for support
As she grew older and needed some sort of care, I asked if she wanted to come to Ananda Village and received a definite, “No.” She wanted to stay in her own home in St. Louis, despite the fact that none of her children were anywhere close by to help her. Luckily, she had a couple of relatives who could be called on in emergencies.

At the age of 92, she was still living in her four-storey house (and regularly using the attic and basement). I phoned her daily to monitor her situation, and I was becoming concerned. She had a couple of incidents that required trips to the emergency room. My siblings began to tell her that she must move to a place with more support. The more they insisted, the more she refused. Frantically they called me, saying I had to do something.

My brother and sister are both medical professionals. Their insistence on how dire the situation was turned my concern into real anxiety about what to do and how to do it, especially since I live in California.

Calling on Yogananda for help
I went to my meditation room to meditate and ask for help. After laying everything at Yogananda’s feet and calling on his guidance, I felt a great calmness come upon me and the knowledge that everything would work out well.

I then called my mom and said, “I know you don’t want to leave the house, but I’d like to come there for a week. We can research choices that might work for you when you feel ready to move.”  She agreed, and I went to St. Louis for one week.

Throughout that time I held on to the calm assurance I’d been given in meditation. I never urged her to do anything, but always asked what she wanted to do next. By the end of those seven days, we’d found an extraordinary independent living facility and had moved her into it for a one-month trial visit. The tiny apartment available at the time was ideal, overlooking a quiet garden, and close to the abundant facilities for meals, entertainment, exercise, and socializing.

After a month, she decided to sell her house and move her belongings into that apartment. Unbeknownst to me, one of my cousins was in real estate, and sold the house the first day it was on the market. Within a couple of months, my mom began to enjoy her new surroundings and the many fine people there.

Her greatest dread
As early as I can remember, Mom’s greatest dread, and therefore mine, was that she would become incapacitated and have to live for many years in a nursing home. She moved into her apartment in 2006, and near the end of 2007 began to have more problems.

My mom was always a very energetic lady, with lots of will power and interest in life. She could be critical and complaining, but you could never fault her for lack of zip. She now had slow internal bleeding that required her to go to the hospital for transfusions. Despite the transfusions, she began to be more confused and tired. Mom’s condition became so bleak that the Personal Care Director, by now our good friend, suggested Mom might be happier in assisted living. This suggestion came shortly before another trip to the hospital for a transfusion.

I was in California at the time and spoke to Mom on the phone as she lay in the hospital bed waiting for the transfusion. She was very unhappy. I was amazed when she said, “I have plenty of money, and yet I can’t even eat. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have joined Ananda.” Surprisingly, she seemed on some level to be open to the value of a spiritual life.

Prayers for my mother
I was very concerned about Mom’s unhappiness and felt she needed all the spiritual support she could get. So, I wrote to Swami Kriyananda’s secretary to see if he would ask Kriyananda, my teacher, to pray for my mother. (Swami Kriyananda had actually met my mother on one of her visits to Ananda.) I didn’t know when Kriyananda might get the message.

The next day I called Mom after her transfusion and asked how she was. “I feel great!” she said. Then she told me that she was reading a spiritual book I’d given her a year before. At that time her response to the book was somewhat caustic. Now she was enjoying it. In the middle of our conversation, she quoted one of Yogananda’s well-known sayings, “Circumstances are neutral.”

It was an amazing phone call. Then I opened my emails and discovered that Swami Kriyananda had begun praying for my mother.

Every time I spoke with her after this, she seemed quite gay, bursting with good will and love for all. She simply couldn’t think ill of anyone, even people she’d criticized in the past. The Personal Care Director said, “Your mother is SO much better! I don’t think we should move her!” How grateful I was to feel that my Guru’s blessings had flowed to Mom, thanks to the prayers of Swami Kriyananda.

Bubbling with joy
I visited Mom after that hospitalization. The difference in her was dramatic. She looked years younger, full of life, and she was bubbling with joy. Throughout the visit she almost didn’t know what to do with the joy she felt. She was fun, funny, and expressed the greatest kindness, love, and appreciation for all. The last month of her life was the happiest and most loving that I’d ever known her to be.

After I left, Mom became much weaker physically, and we arranged hospice for her. The hospice caregiver met Mom on a Friday and immediately set up ‘round the clock care for her. On Saturday, Mom took a dramatic downward turn. I was able to get a plane ticket for that Sunday.

As I was ready to leave for the airport, I felt to phone Mom. She answered with great sweetness and joy and said: “Hi honey.” When I told her I was on my way, she said, “Oh, I’ll be so happy to see you.” I gave the phone to my husband, Bharat, and she immediately told him, “I love you very much.” He said the same back to her and handed the phone back to me. By then, Mom was mumbling sleepily and seemed to let go of the phone.

By the time I got to St. Louis at about 10 pm, she was already in a deep, deep sleep. Hospice had her on morphine to control her tendency to hyperventilate. She never woke during the time I was there, but I felt fine about that—she and I had said all that was needed during the past month. Monday morning I got to her room early, meditated with her, and prayed. She left her body that same afternoon, very peacefully.

The guru’s guiding hand
I felt a deep joy at Mom’s passing—that she escaped her body and her great dread of living in a nursing home. After the funeral, beautifully performed by Bharat, her good friends voiced just what I felt—that she left exactly as she wanted to. I shared with everyone that the last month of her life was the happiest and most loving I had ever known her to be.

Paramhansa Yogananda had visited St. Louis on his cross-country lecture tours. My mom’s Uncle Charles had gone to his lectures and had hosted the Master in his home. Near the end of her life, Mom began to say that perhaps she, too, had met Yogananda. I don’t think she had, since I believe such an event would be clear in her memory. But I do feel that his hand guided her departure from the body, and blessed us both in the process.

Nayaswami Anandi is a founding member of Ananda and a Lightbearer, and was initiated into the Nayaswami Order in 2009. She is on the staff at The Expanding Light guest retreat at Ananda Village doing teaching, organizational work, and writing. She also works as an editor for Crystal Clarity, Publishers.

Other Clarity articles by Nayaswami Anandi are listed under “Anandi Cornell.”

Suddenly, those projects evaporated, no longer having any life or substance. In those first few seconds, I felt the slam of a battering ram to my gut, the breath totally knocked out of me. I was engulfed in horror and disbelief as I watched my worst nightmare unfold before me.

An immediate balm to fears
I went home and a few friends gathered around me. Not until an Ananda minister performed the Ananda astral ascension ceremony* for the soul of my son did I begin to feel grounded again in my body. I calmed down and started to sense that my son’s soul was protected.

I had been so afraid that he would be lost and confused after leaving the body in such an utterly abrupt way. The astral ascension ceremony acted as an immediate balm to those fears—I began to feel God’s inner presence again, and although I continued to have extreme ups and downs, from then on I knew Johnny was safe in God’s hands. Several months later he came to me in a sweet peaceful dream and let me know how fine he really was.

The start of the healing process
During those first few days, friends and family came in a constant stream, offering help on every level. One of my wonderful computer friends created a composite picture of Johnny with Jesus and Paramhansa Yogananda. In the photo Johnny is leaning against them, and they are embracing him.

That photo started my healing process—looking at it reminded me that Johnny was safe. We made an altar around that picture, placing with it many other photos of all stages of Johnny’s life and the many flower arrangements friends had brought. Several nights I slept in front of that altar, finding my only peace there.

A week after Johnny’s death we held a memorial service in the amphitheater at Ananda Village. Over 500 people attended. Johnny had excellent friends from all walks of life, but I had no idea just how many lives he had touched until he died. I could tell by looking into their eyes that many of his friends had no way of emerging from their grief and emptiness over his loss.

A power comes into me
While walking to the amphitheater I felt weepy, nervous, and shaky, but I didn’t have a choice but to speak. I wanted to give those of Johnny’s friends who didn’t have a spiritual base something that would help them transcend their loss.

Suddenly I felt a power come into me, and the nervousness vanished. God was giving me the strength to do this. That same power flowed through the two Ananda ministers who led the service and many of those who rose to speak about Johnny. Throughout the service, there was a tangible feeling of God’s presence.

To try to bring a little peace to Johnny’s friends, I decided to talk about his life and some of his incredible soul qualities. Johnny had a huge heart that embraced many people’s realities, an uncompromising independence, strong energy and will power, and a wonderful sense of humor. He was courageous, loyal, and non-judgmental.

To honor Johnny’s spirit it is important for those of us who loved him not just to appreciate his wonderful soul qualities, but to affirm them in ourselves. It is a tangible way to preserve his memory.

A way to feel close to his soul
Along with his beautiful soul qualities, my son also had a deep appreciation and love for nature. I share his attunement with nature, but perhaps not to the depth that he possessed it.

I have found since his passing that when I pray to perceive his spirit, to feel close to his soul, it happens sometimes during meditation, but more often when I am out in nature. I need to be inwardly still, listening and watching. With each experience, I feel calmed and uplifted.

I have had the experience of a coyote stopping in the middle of the road to make eye contact and commune. The following morning, at the exact same time, another coyote crossed the road and repeated this behavior. Beautiful small grey foxes have appeared and disappeared at regular intervals. Two hawks once engaged in aerial battle in my sight. I recently saw my first bald eagle, circling and soaring above my head.

These beautiful glimpses into nature are God’s gift to me, a way to communicate with Johnny’s soul. I have learned that others have had similar experiences after the death of a loved one. Each of these experiences is unique and has the special “flavor” of the loved one. Each is an offering of love to those left behind. It’s as if our loved ones are saying, “I’m right here. I love you. Just listen and I’ll connect with you.”

The “back and forth” of grieving
Even when we tune into our loved one’s soul nature, we still grieve in a very human way. We can’t help it. No longer can we talk with them, touch them, hold them. The reality of their solid existence is simply over. Grieving is an experience that flips back and forth from the deep calm knowing that your loved one’s spirit is in God and alive in your heart, to the experience of suddenly, without warning, breaking down uncontrollably in the grocery store because you miss his laugh so much.

During Johnny’s memorial service I felt strong and enveloped in God’s grace, at peace with his passing. Two days later I was sobbing over a box of Cheerios that had belonged to him. I am learning to accept both realities as the healing process runs its course, and I move deeper into the center of the experience and find peace there.

A word about how to relate to a person who has experienced a deep loss: Don’t avoid, always approach. Even if you can’t think of appropriate words to express your sympathy, give silent love. Hold the person. Words are so inadequate most of the time anyway. Sensitivity to this reality is important. I have deep, meaningful memories of the ways people comforted me, and I will never forget these kindnesses.

The gift of boundless love
The alternative to shriveling up in pain from the loss of a loved one is to love more. Pain can either contract or expand the heart. When we choose expansion, not contraction, we have room to move around within the grieving process—we have the space to stretch out and touch our loved one’s spirit.

After all, the love we feel for our friends and family is not our love. It’s God’s love, and that love is immense, unfathomable, and forever expandable. It can never be squeezed only into the forms of those few we call our own.

The secret gift of the loss of a loved one is that you get catapulted into a world of expansive love. Along with feelings of deep human loss, I have experienced the gift of that boundless love.

Everyone experiences loss
This is my story. And yet, it is not just my story; it is everyone’s story. We will not avoid the pain of catastrophic loss in this life. There is a story in the Indian tradition of a widow with one beloved son. The son died, and the mother was inconsolable. She went to a holy man and demanded through her sobs that he bring her son back to life.

The holy man agreed. “Yes,” he said. “I will do this. But first you must bring me some oil from the home of a family in the village that has not experienced death.”

The old woman left the presence of the holy man with a spring in her step. She hurried from one village door to the next, asking for the oil. But gradually her elation faded. In her own deep pain she had forgotten that the sorrow of death is universal. She returned to the holy man humbled, understanding that everyone suffers for his lost loved ones.

Our tests are tailor-made
None of us is a stranger to sorrow in this life. Since I had previously experienced another kind of loss, I knew that shock, anger, denial, and eventual acceptance are some of the stages in the grieving process. This test, however, was out of all proportion to anything I had ever been through.

I have read a number of helpful articles on the grieving journey and have found some solace in the sense of common experience. It is a relief to know that one’s emotions pass through a general pattern during this process. And yet, our tests are tailor-made for each of us. I have found that my experience at times fits the pattern of the typical grieving process and at other times becomes uniquely my own. I am attempting to let the process happen through me, not to arrange it, anticipate it, or judge it.

I do know this—I have a connection with Johnny that has not been broken by death. If there is something to be thankful for in this experience it is that in seeking to go deeper in Spirit to connect with Johnny, I have gone much deeper in Spirit. And I have become more aware that there is no separation between Spirit and me.

* An Ananda ceremony to uplift and comfort the departed and the bereaved.

Hridaya Atwell, a Lightbearer and long-time Ananda member, serves in the Ananda Living Wisdom School as co-director and teacher in the junior high and high school.

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

What helped me most during the “in between times” was to call on God and Guru’s grace in times of need by doing japa. When my mind became negative or fearful I would do japa by repeating a mantra, and my negative thoughts would usually dissolve.

In stressful situations like driving to out-of-the-way locations, which is often necessary in my job as a family court attorney, doing japa would calm me down and I was able to find my destinations.

Kriya Yoga: a turning point
Receiving Kriya Yoga initiation in 2006 was an important turning point in learning not to compartmentalize my life. Since then, my meditations have become deeper and I find it easier to remain centered in the midst of life’s storms.

As a result, I’ve been able to experience first hand the truth that all life situations, and not just the time spent in meditation and prayer, are opportunities for spiritual growth.

A challenging relationship
A year after receiving Kriya Yoga initiation, I went through one of the most challenging times in my life as an attorney. I had been appointed by the court to represent a woman whose teen-age daughter had been removed from her care and placed in foster care.

This woman was very disturbed emotionally. Initially, she spent most of our meetings berating me, threatening either to fire me or to report me to the state bar association (she couldn’t fire me since I was court-appointed), or fixating on fears not based in reality.

Familiar fears
A year and half into my relationship with this woman, I felt inspired during one of her tirades to gaze at her at the point between the eyebrows (the spiritual eye), and to think of her as a child of God. The effect on me was immediate.

Despite her negativity, I suddenly felt immense compassion for her—and for myself. I realized that in many ways she was my teacher. She had fears that were familiar to me—fears of not being loved, of being rejected by society, of not being appreciated, of being misjudged, of not being good enough.

The differences between us were only a matter of degree. She allowed her fears to overwhelm her to such an extent that she was unable to function. I, on the other hand, was learning to control my mind and transcend my emotions through the practice of meditation, prayer, and japa.

Listening more intuitively
That was a turning point in our relationship. After that, I saw every phone call and every meeting with her as an opportunity for inner growth—for me to remain centered and compassionate no matter what she said or did, and to listen more intuitively to how best to help her.

I learned not to insist that she spell out her exact positions on the legal situation with her daughter—something that was extremely difficult for her to do. Instead, I encouraged her to express her feelings and emotions, which turned out to be far more productive.

I learned to listen to her, to translate her feelings and concerns into coherent legal positions, and to present them in court in an organized manner. She felt that she had been heard and was grateful for that.

She even seemed healed by the process. She was more relaxed during our meetings, less anxious. Her tirades became less frequent and less “dramatic.” At one point she even invited me to join her at a dinner at her church, which was a huge demonstration of gratitude and kindness on her part.

At the end of our 3-year attorney-client relationship, she no longer perceived me as someone who might hurt or abandon her but as an ally, someone on her side.

A mysterious illness
The biggest step forward in my progress toward seeing my spiritual and everyday life as one came in 2008 when I was hit with a mysterious illness. Just a few months earlier I had been enjoying long hikes with my dog, meditating and doing yoga postures regularly, and carrying a heavy family law caseload.

Suddenly I was struggling with dizzy spells, bodily weakness, and a sense of being totally overwhelmed by any minor demand on my time and attention.  In less than two months, however, 15 weekend guests—students and teachers from the Ananda Institute and other Ananda friends—were due to arrive.

One week before their arrival, a blood test disclosed a vitamin B12 deficiency. I wondered: how fast would the vitamin B12 pills make me feel somewhat normal again?

Opening to God and Guru
I considered canceling their visit—the events planned for the weekend included a kirtan, Sunday Service, and a hike and visit to the local Buddhist Stupa Park. How could I, in my state of total fatigue and discomfort, get the house ready, plan meals, cook, set up sleeping arrangements, and look somewhat happy to see them when they arrived?

Though weakened by illness, I was nonetheless determined to find a way to be ready for my guests. After meditating, I surrendered the situation to God and my Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, and asked them to take charge of my body and flow through me so that things would be ready for my friends’ arrival.

I curtailed my work schedule as much as possible and each day managed to get one thing done.  I was pale and eight pounds thinner the day my Ananda friends arrived, but the house was clean, the food was ready, and I felt blissful to see so many bright faces at my doorstep.

A marathon of joy
The weekend was a marathon, but I felt so much joy I could barely eat or sleep. My home vibrated with music, laughter, singing, love, and devotion.

I have several musical instruments in my house but I am not a musical person and cannot play any of them. During that weekend, those instruments heard beautiful tunes as the students played Swami Kriyananda’s music all day long.

By Monday morning all my guests had left, and I had a few days to rest before the arrival of another weekend Ananda guest and more Ananda events. My body was still somewhat weak, but once again everything got done.

During the Sunday evening satsang in my home, the visiting Ananda minister spoke about energy and quoted Paramhansa Yogananda’s statement that one small gram of human flesh has enough energy to light up an entire city. We did Swami Kriyananda’s Superconscious Living Exercises and my body felt refreshed. What most amazed me were my vitality and readiness to serve.

Many blessings; many lessons
What did I learn from these two experiences? I learned that if I put total effort and willingness into a project, not only do I open myself to God’s wisdom and guidance, I also receive the strength I need to serve.

I learned also that there is no difference between the “spiritual” and the “mundane” when I perceive myself as God’s instrument and am willing to do whatever needs to be done. My willingness opens the door to the infinite source of all energy and strength.

Though I had heard and read many times, “God is the Doer,” this was my first experience of what it meant to act with the sense that God was acting through me. Previously, I had always felt that I was the doer, even when thinking of God during activities or consciously trying to serve God through others.

What a difference it is to experience the truth that God is omnipresent, all-pervasive, and ever-ready to pick us up when we stumble or fall!

Everything is an opportunity
The blessing I most cherish is the growing realization that all situations in life are opportunities for inner growth. It was easier perhaps for me to learn this lesson when the outward activities were of a spiritual nature, like the Ananda events I hosted in my home, rather than my daily mundane duties.

But it has become clear that what’s important is not what I do but being in a state of surrender and alignment with the divine will.

My health and strength have returned. Life’s many duties have become simpler and much less exhausting. I continue to enjoy spiritual retreats but I also enjoy my daily spiritual journey. Everyday I pray that I become a better devotee, more surrendered to the divine will, so that God can flow through me in all that I do.

A spiritual seeker since 1991, Daniella Ferrari is currently the leader of the Ananda Meditation and Book Study Group in Sedona, AZ.  In her work as a family law attorney, she represents indigent clients and abused and neglected children.

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

My practice when I first step on an airplane is to pray deeply to our line of masters and to visualize angels protecting the airplane and carrying it safely to its destination. I also meditate and do japa for most of the flight.

Mainly because of the intensity of my spiritual practices during flights, my fear of flying has gradually lessened. Sometimes I even enjoy it.

A chance to do hang gliding
In the fall of 2006, my husband, Gyandev, and I led an Ananda Yoga weekend retreat in Chattanooga, Tennessee. After the retreat ended, the friend who organized it took us to watch people hang gliding near Chattanooga.

We sat at the edge of a large rock on the top of Lookout Mountain, overlooking a strikingly beautiful area. The weather was warm and the trees were turning beautiful fall colors. Despite the beautiful scenery, seeing people hang gliding caused my heart to beat faster.

As we watched, our friend asked, “Would you like to try it?” She had done hang gliding, and with great enthusiasm told us how much she’d enjoyed soaring like a bird in the air. “It’s a once in a life time experience!” she said.

My husband’s response was a big: “Yes.” Mine was an immediate: “No Way!”

Compared to hang gliding, flying in an airplane seemed easy: in a plane you are encased in a large metal structure. With hang gliding you are tied to a small aluminum structure, fully exposed to the elements.

After inquiring at the office, Gyandev and I arranged to come back the next day. He would do hang gliding and I would watch.

The Guru’s stamp of approval
That night, as I reflected on the courage of those who do hang gliding, I recalled Paramhansa Yogananda’s teachings on not letting fears paralyze you. I asked myself: “Is it important that I overcome this fear?” I left the question open.

The following morning during my meditation, I inwardly asked Yogananda whether I should try hang gliding and was surprised to feel his stamp of approval in my heart. I tried to visualize myself hang gliding high above the ground—and the fear returned. Nevertheless, I decided to try it.

The flip of the coin
The weather at Lookout Mountain was very good for hang gliding—clear skies with little wind. We watched a video that explained the process and gave many safety guidelines.

Though nervous, I tried to stay calm. By the flip of the coin, it was decided that I would go first.

The hang glider pilot arrived, a young man in his thirties who seemed knowledgeable and trustworthy. For inexperienced people, hang gliding is done in tandem with an expert pilot.

Instead of taking off from the top of a mountain, the hang glider is attached by a long rope to a small airplane that ascends to between 2000 and 4000 feet. The airplane pilot then disconnects the hang glider.

Before we started, I said my good byes. Since I wasn’t sure if I would make it back, I told Gyandev how much I loved him. I also prayed inwardly to all the masters to protect me.

An exhilarating take-off
The pilot and I put on padded suits. Next, he tied me, then himself, to the pole in the middle of the glider, and I lay on his back. As we took off from a grassy field, I held on tightly to handles sewn onto the pilot’s suit.

Taking off was exhilarating. As we soared upward, Swami Kriyananda’s yoga postures affirmation came to mind: “I soar upward on wings of joy!”  I thanked Yogananda for this wonderful experience.

Dipping and rising
When we reached 2000 feet, the pilot told me we would be disconnecting from the plane and flying on our own. The snap came a few seconds later: we were disconnected!

The hang glider took a deep dip and my heart sank. As we took another dip, my heart sank even more. I had expected the gliding to be smooth since the air looked so peaceful, but we kept dipping and rising, going in and out of what are called “thermals.”

“Thermals” are columns of rising hot air caused by the sun heating the ground. A hang gliding pilot, much like a hawks or eagle, relies on “thermals” to gain altitude and maneuver in the air.

The fear kicks in
While the pilot was adjusting the glider, I looked down and, for the first time, realized how high up we were. At first, my mind couldn’t quite grasp the situation. I thought, “I am up in the air, tied with a few ropes to a flimsy little structure—and flying.  Impossible!”

That’s when the fear kicked in and my body went into a state of total shock.
All the muscles in my body started to tighten; even my facial muscles were clenching. Never before had I experienced my entire body becoming so stiff—nearly frozen.

Instinctively, I knew I had to detach myself from the experience in order to survive. I was afraid that as my body became more and more frozen, the fear would reach my lungs and I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

The way to stay alive
The pilot, unaware of my fear, began pointing to the beautiful scenery. We could see open fields, the tops of trees, the outline of hills, and small houses in the distance.

He asked me to smile so he could take a photo with a camera attached to the glider, but I could barely move the muscles of my face. Then he asked if I wanted a photo of myself with my arms out-stretched, which meant releasing my octopus grip on the handles attached to his suit. With my head, I signaled “NO!”

The pilot tried to cheer me up by talking but I told him I wanted to be in silence. Intuitively I knew it would take all of my energy to stay alive.

The grace of God and Guru
With my eyes open, I focused my full attention at the point between the eyebrows. Over and over I chanted “AUM Guru,” “God, Christ Guru,” and “Lord I Am Thine.”

The glider kept dipping and rising and it took every ounce of my energy to remain focused. Yet, surprisingly, as soon as I tried to withdraw mentally, I became aware of God’s presence within. I felt my mind detaching from the fear and becoming still.

I had experienced mental stillness and detachment in meditation, but now in the air, I was able to achieve it much more quickly. It seemed as if God and Guru were pulling me inward and connecting me to a higher power.

The body remains “frozen”
Though staying focused took all of my mental powers, my mind remained detached, completely still, and free of fear. I felt enveloped in God’s presence and was able to endure (though not enjoy) the experience.

Whenever my mind becomes detached and still in meditation, my body also becomes very relaxed. During the hang gliding, however, my body remained tense and tight the entire time. It was as though mind and body were separate entities—I was aware of the body, but withdrawn into the inner Self.

After fifteen minutes, we finally started to descend. As soon as we landed, my body relaxed. I was relieved and happy to be on the ground—and alive!

Gyandev thoroughly enjoyed the hang gliding and felt it ended too soon. Sensing his spirit of adventure, the pilot added a few challenging dips and turns, and an unusually steep descent.

The practice of titiksha
During my hang gliding experience I consciously practiced titiksha, which Swami Kriyananda translates as endurance, even-mindedness, and inward non-involvement.

The goal of titiksha is to withdraw from the body’s reactive process, and to go within and experience joy. The underlying attitude is: “I am even-minded and cheerful under all circumstances.”

Kriyananda says that titiksha should become a basic life-attitude. We should do what we can to relieve pain or other physical distress, but we should, at the same time, resist it mentally and affirm: “I am Spirit! I am not this body.”

The hang–gliding experience has made me much more aware of the power of the mind, acquired through meditation, to detach from the body and to focus on a greater reality. As yogis, we can always do something, even if the body does not cooperate.

Why didn’t my body respond?
Why didn’t my practice of titiksha remove the fear concentrated in my body?  My fear of flying is obviously very deep seated, with many layers.

However, by continuing to work with this fear, it is gradually dissolving. In a recent airplane flight to Wisconsin, which was bumpy all the way, I was able to stay relaxed both mentally and physically.

If the opportunity ever presents itself, and if I inwardly feel the Guru’s approval, I might try hang gliding again, just to see whether my body keeps pace with my mind.

Diksha McCord, a Lightbearer, lives at Ananda Village and teaches at the Expanding Light Guest Retreat.

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.

Continually he would ask himself whether he loved anything more than God. He thought: “If I ever stoop to love someone or something more than God, I will remove that obstacle.”

After a while, the saint and his wife decided to go on a pilgrimage. His wife was about to give birth to a baby, and both thought it would be auspicious for the baby to be born in the holy city of Benares.

On the way to Benares, as they passed along the outskirts of a certain city, the wife was stricken with labor pains. The saint hastily took her into a dilapidated, deserted house. As the wife writhed in agony, she said to her husband, “Saintly one, I feel I am going to die. Promise me that you won’t, under divine impulse, desert our new-born baby.”

Extremely touched by the words of his stricken wife, the saint was torn between his love for the child about to be born and his paramount love for God. Then he thought: “I could love neither my wife nor the baby unless God gave them to me, and also gave me the love with which to love them. No matter what happens, I will never let anything come in the way of my love for God. I will forsake everything for God.” He then resolved to cut off his hand, pluck out his eye, or otherwise maim himself if, by so doing, he would become worthy of God’s love.

Although inwardly resolved, the saint, to console his wife, replied to her repeated entreaties by saying, “I will try my utmost to carry out your wishes.”

But hard are the tests of God and subtle are the ways of delusion. It happened that the wife died, leaving behind the beautiful baby boy which the saint and his wife had hoped to attract. The baby was crying piteously when, all of a sudden, there was a great rumble in the ether and a great light. A divine presence possessed the saint and a voice said, “Beloved, come to me. We will remain in the ecstasy of divine love in the Himalayan caves.”

Shaken with his love of God on the one hand, and his love of the helpless baby on the other, the saint thought: “I could not know what love is, nor have this baby to love, without God’s love. If I cannot forsake father, mother, wife, child, and life itself for God, I am not worthy of Him.”

He then prayed: “Lord, master of my life. I must you show that my love for you is greater than my love for this baby. So now, Lord, please take care of the baby, as I must depart for the bower of the Himalayan caves to commune with You.”

As if in response to his prayer, his eyes suddenly rested on the floor where he saw a lizard give birth to an egg and silently slink away. The egg broke; a little baby lizard was born. It opened its mouth in hunger and suddenly a small insect flew in its mouth. Its hunger satisfied, the little lizard began to move toward a hiding place. Seeing this, the saint thought: “If the Lord feeds the baby lizard, forsaken by its mother, so also will He take care of my baby, forsaken by his mother and father.

In the deep ecstasy of God’s love, the saint ran out of the house. But  as he heard the baby’s cries, his heart was shaken and his love for the child nearly suffocated him. He stood under a tree and prayed: “Lord, although my love for you is greater than my love for the child, you gave me a human heart and I am worried about this helpless motherless, fatherless baby. Lord, I beseech you: show me that my baby will be cared for.”

Just then, the saint saw the royal coach stop at the deserted house, attracted by the child’s cries. The queen climbed out of the coach, entered the house, picked up the baby and swiftly departed for her palace.

While lingering in the city for a day or two, the saint heard that the king and queen, having no children of their own, had adopted the foundling as their child and successor to the throne. Much pleased, the saint left the city to keep his tryst with God in the Himalayan caves.

MORAL: Love God with all your heart and soul. Love God more than you love anything, for you cannot know love, nor love anyone or anything, without first receiving that love from God. Seek the kingdom of God first; then all your desires will be fulfilled.

From the Praecepta Lessons, 1938.

Our “guest” spent his daylight hours sitting serenely in our meditation garden by a statue of Lahiri Mahasaya. Impressed by our visitor’s dedication, we often looked out our bedroom window to see him keeping his vigil by the saint’s statue. Not knowing our friend’s name, we decided to call him Gurupod, which means, “at the feet of the guru.”

Gurupod, you see, was a male deer, who for some inexplicable reason, came one day into our partially enclosed meditation garden to sit near the saint’s statue. Gurupod had a wonderful presence, a calm disposition, and he exuded a quiet strength. He was three years old and carried an impressive set of antlers.

Resting in the garden, with the statue and fence right behind him, Gurupod was a little skittish on his first day when we went out to our outdoor meditation hut. To get there, we had to pass directly in front of him, so we walked slowly, hoping not to frighten him. But Gurupod’s only reaction was to stand up and leisurely walk thirty feet away and wait until we went inside the hut, then he returned to sit near the statue of Lahiri Mahasaya.

Wild animals usually don’t feel comfortable in an enclosed area when people are present, but Gurupod apparently was no ordinary animal. During the following days, as we walked within a few feet of Gurupod on our way to meditate, he would stand up as before, but now he only walked five to ten feet away before returning. As far as we could tell, Gurupod spent every moment of every day resting quietly by the statue of Lahiri Mahasaya.

Later in the week, I thought it would be inspiring to sit with Gurupod as I studied for a meditation class I was giving. Gurupod, as usual, sat by the saint’s statue, and I, on a small patio ten feet away.

After spending several quiet hours together in the warm September sun, I turned to Gurupod, looked deeply into his eyes, and silently asked him, “Who are you? Have you come to teach me something? Have you come for Lahiri Mahasaya’s blessings?”

For a long time we held each other’s gaze: Gurupod’s eyes, calm and serene; my own, inquisitive and grateful. I did not receive a definite answer to my questions, but I do know that Gurupod’s poise and one-pointed focus have inspired me even to this day.

After our silent “conversation,” it was time for me to meditate. On this occasion, Gurupod, after getting up as I walked by, did not return again to Lahiri’s statue. Instead, he left the meditation garden and came around to the outer wall of the hut, on the side that our altar faces. Gurupod was now sitting below the pictures of all of our Masters.

As I began my meditation, Gurupod continued sitting quietly in front of me, just three feet away. My heart felt so close to Gurupod that I wanted to do something for him. Swami Kriyananda has told us that if we want to relate to others spiritually, we should commune with them from our center to theirs. Kriya Yoga, because it centers your energy in the spine, is a marvelous way to pray for and bless others.

The moment I started thinking of Gurupod during my practice of Kriya Yoga, he stood up and came directly to the screened window where I was sitting, and looked at me from a foot away. Gurupod gazed intently at me the whole time I was dedicating my Kriya Yoga practice to his soul evolution. At one point I heard a few faint sniffs come from him. The moment I finished doing my Kriya practice for him, he again sat down by the meditation hut.

After my meditation with Gurupod, Anandi and I never saw him again. His first day with us was September 19th and he stayed until the 26th. Curiously, Lahiri Mahasaya’s Mahasamadhi—a saint’s consciousness exit from his body—is on September 26th, the last day Gurupod spent resting near the saint’s statue.

Who was Gurupod? I don’t know. However, I feel I can truthfully say that on some level, Gurupod was magnetically drawn to the presence of Lahiri Mahasaya. Every action of his demonstrated this.

Almost three years have passed since Gurupod’s visit to our meditation garden, and we still feel inspired by his example whenever we go to our outdoor temple to meditate. In the garden, below the statue of Lahiri Mahasaya rests a black stone placed to memorialize Gurupod’s visit, and his dedication to stay close to the form of this great Master.

God, who has manifested Himself in countless ways, can come to the devotee in any form He chooses. For us, Gurupod’s visit was a thrilling message from God. We may be wrong, but our error will be our gain if we emulate in our hearts Gurupod’s beautiful manner of resting with the Master.

Joseph Bharat Cornell, a Lightbearer and long-time Ananda member, works in the Sangha Office as the Meditation Support Coordinator. He is also the author of the award-winning Sharing Nature Book Series

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.

I was familiar with this type of guidance and it usually came before a big turning point in my life. I had moved to Ananda Village the year before based on the same kind of spiritual “nudge.” Could there be another turning point on the horizon so soon?

That thought made me a bit nervous. But the friends and ministers I spoke with assured me that going on the pilgrimage would be a life-changing experience. There was also the deep inner feeling urging me to go. So I shelved my inner reservations and signed up.

A jarring arrival
Adjusting to India was not easy. I had never been to a developing country, and the first few days after arriving were jarring, to say the least.

I felt this constant inner argument between my soul and my ego. My soul felt quite at home in the vibration of India: There was no need to explain why I was dressed in white, what a guru is, or why I was wearing Kriya beads around my neck.

At the same time, I wasn’t prepared for India’s extremes. In India, duality is ever-present: rich and poor; old and young; the healthy and the dying. Finding no respite from it, my western mind stared to rebel.

But I trusted my Guru. I also trusted our pilgrimage leaders who had led pilgrimages to India for 20 years. If anything were to happen, they would take care of us. This allowed me to relax and let down my guard.

Opening to the unknown
Our first satsang with Swami Kriyananda, shortly after our arrival, was especially helpful. He never spoke directly to me, but in his presence, I felt my heart opening to India. I began to feel that perhaps I did belong on this pilgrimage, and that as the disciple of a great Master, I too had something in common with the Indian people.

After that satsang, India became a much easier place to be. I stopped judging the way things were and began to surrender to “whatever was trying to happen.”

A lesson in “like attracts like”
Within the first week, I learned a valuable lesson about consciousness. We were in the town of Rishikesh in the foothills of the Himalayas. Rishikesh is usually cooler than Delhi, but we arrived during a heat wave and after four days, I found myself getting cranky.

On a day when the temperature was over 100 degrees, we visited a swami who lived in a kutir (cottage) he had built on the banks of the Ganges. As he served us tea, I thought, “Why is he serving us hot tea? Doesn’t he know how hot it is?”

Before then I had no mosquito bites, but as soon as I had “attacking thoughts,” the mosquitoes attacked with a vengeance. I had at least 15 bites by the end of that day.

Lesson learned: when my energy was open and positive, things went very well. When I became negative or critical, I attracted more negativity.

Clinging to Divine Mother
Obviously Divine Mother is not more present in India than in America, but I was certainly more aware of Her presence there.

Nothing in India “works” consistently as it does in America.  The power supply is erratic; hot water is not a guarantee; and going to the bathroom is often an “adventure.” The simple things I took for granted at home—the things that foster my false sense of security—weren’t available.

I was forced to face the truth that I am never really in control of anything. The grace of that lesson was that I found myself clinging to Divine Mother much more.

Entering the sacred river Ganga
I was also more aware of Divine Mother in India because the Indian culture is so infused with love of the Divine Mother, in Her myriad manifestations.

The Ganges is named after Ganga, Divine Mother, and the Indian people treat the Ganges as if it were Divine Mother, a real manifestation of Her. Perhaps that’s why the river is said to have spiritual power. It is a tradition to immerse one’s self three times at this sacred place.

At Devapriyag, where the Ganges River starts, the pilgrimage group had an opportunity to experience that power first hand. We went down to the riverbank and did a ceremony close to where people were immersing themselves.

After the ceremony, a few members of our group, following the example of the Indians, began to enter the river and immerse themselves three times. When they came out, each person looked very different—better.

Although the water was cold and I was apprehensive, I decided to immerse myself also. Offering up a prayer to the river, I went in. When I came out of the water, I too felt different, lighter. Only as the trip progressed would I realize what had been washed away that day.

An enduring vibration of love
As we visited the sacred sites in Rishikesh, Badrinath, Varanasi, and Kolkata, I began to realize that there was something common to most of these places. It wasn’t anything external. It was a feeling of love, deep love for God.

How incredible to experience first hand the truth that “love endures.” Some of these places were ancient, with buildings in disrepair, but the vibration of love for God remained.

The highlight of the pilgrimage
For me, and for many in our group, Yogananda’s home was the highlight of the pilgrimage. There I received a blessing that changed me to my core.

For many years I have struggled to believe that God really loved me, that I was a good enough disciple, and that I meditated deeply or long enough. Simply put, I was filled with self-doubt.

To make matters worse, I never had any “experiences” during meditation that gave me any sort of validation—no divine visions, no inner light, no uplifting surges of energy. I felt peaceful after meditation and could see that I was becoming a better person, but thoughts of self-doubt would negate these things.

A transforming blessing
When it came time to meditate in Yogananda’s attic meditation room, where he found God, we took turns going in, about five at a time. When my turn came, the five of us arranged ourselves in the small space. Somehow I ended up sitting right on Yogananda’s meditation mat!

As I started to pray and meditate, it began to feel as if I were sitting in a huge energy vortex, something not of this world. I felt riveted to the floor—I could not move. It felt as though my heart would burst from the torrent of love suddenly flowing through it.

Imagine my dismay when one of the pilgrimage leaders said, “OK, time to rotate and let the next group in.” Rotate? I can’t move! And, I don’t WANT to move!

But I did move and went downstairs to the room where Babaji came to Master and assured him that going to America was his divine destiny. The wonderful experience continued while I meditated in that room.

I was changed by that experience. It didn’t just calm those thoughts of self-doubt: it erased them. Swami Kriyananda has said that being in the vibration of a great saint can cauterize our negative traits. I believe this is what happened that day.

Having fun with Divine Mother
Once those self-doubts were gone, I knew Divine Mother loved me and I had daily experiences of Her loving concern and care. She seemed to be having fun with me, showing me just how real and available She really is.

She fulfilled even small spiritual desires like finding the translation of the Mahabharata I wanted, as well as big ones, like being blessed by Swami Kriyananda.

The final blessing
On the last day of the pilgrimage, we were hoping to have one last satsang with Swami but learned he wasn’t feeling well. We were scheduled to leave for the airport in a few hours. After packing, one of the pilgrims suggested that we send Swami healing prayers.

Right after we finished, the phone rang with the message that Swami was ready to see us! When we arrived, he was waiting for us in his front parlor. You would never know that he hadn’t been feeling well. He was radiating energy to all of us.

After answering questions and telling a few stories, he asked if we had any more questions. One of the pilgrims asked if he would give us a group blessing. My heart stopped.

Swami paused for a moment with his head bent down slightly, as if listening to Divine Mother whispering something in his ear. Then he looked up and said, “Yes, if you line up, I will bless each one of you individually.”

My eyes began to tear; I was filled with so much joy. I was grateful for this special blessing from Swami, and I knew it was also a gift from Divine Mother and Yogananda, through him.

The blessings I experienced in India were always available to me right here at home. But I think I needed to be completely out of my “element” to surrender deeply enough for healing to take place. My prayer is to always live in that state of surrender, no matter where I am.

Affiliated with Ananda since 2002, Frances now lives at Ananda Village and serves part time as manager of the Shrine of the Masters at the Crystal Hermitage. She also runs a private business offering healing consultations, workshops, and seminars.

Staying connected—always a priority
I give thanks every day for my gurubhais because I know I am not strong enough to fight the spiritual battle alone. I found this path twenty-five years ago and immediately felt a kinship with the disciples I met at Ananda Village and elsewhere. Staying connected with those dear souls has been a priority, although it has never been easy.

I have never lived at an Ananda community, and for many years I was one of just a handful of disciples in the Portland area. To feed my hunger for Yogananda’s teachings, a friend gave me books and audiotapes. I also took advantage of every opportunity to hear visiting ministers and musicians from Ananda Village. In my car, I sang along with the music until I knew every song and chant by heart.

We now have a Portland Ananda church and a beautiful apartment complex community across town from where I live. When I can’t be there I still use every means available to enjoy the presence of fellow disciples—Internet, email, books, magazines, recordings.

Overwhelmed by doubts
Recently, overwhelmed with self-doubt and confusion, I struggled alone until I felt on the edge of despair and finally reached out to a dear friend who is also on this path. As I walked through the door, she offered tissues and a spot on the couch and then listened.

I poured out all my “crazy” thoughts and feelings, which would have sent some of my non-Ananda friends running for the psychiatrist. She calmly accepted what I told her and even shared that she had similar experiences.

When I left my friend’s home I felt comforted, but even more important—I felt stronger. Being in her presence and feeling her attunement with our Guru was like having a spiritual mirror that showed how to get back into the divine flow. She didn’t encourage my self-pity, but offered no criticism. She simply guided my thoughts to a higher level so I could see more clearly.

The soul connection I experience with my fellow devotees has never changed, but my understanding of how important they are to my spiritual survival has grown over the years. In the beginning it was just wonderful to know there were others who felt as I did about Yogananda and living a spiritual life. However, as my experience of spiritual friendship has deepened, my bond with my gurubhais has become inseparable from the bond with my Guru.

I would never be alone
After the birth of my first child I dropped out of sight, as most new mothers do. I didn’t have the time or energy to attend any Ananda functions and I wasn’t very good about staying in touch with my spiritual family. I opened the door one afternoon to find our Ananda minister, Nitai Deranja, smiling and apologizing about intruding. He came in and we had a wonderful chat.

Although he politely inquired about the baby, it was obvious he was not there to admire my bundle of joy. He spent the entire time looking directly into my eyes and asking questions about me. He gently and sweetly concluded his visit by saying that he was pleased to see that my attunement was not suffering and he looked forward to seeing me around more when I was able.

The most important insight came to me after his visit—the realization that if I had allowed the details of life to pull me away from God and Guru, he—and others—would have told me and helped me find my way again. Indescribable relief flooded my heart, as I understood that I would never be alone.

A channel for the Guru’s love
How else do our fellow-disciples help us? On an outward level, satsang with devotees gives us support in our spiritual practices and examples to learn from. In more subtle ways, the presence of gurubhais can lift the energy in the spine and help open our hearts to truth. In these and other ways, our fellow disciples serve as channels for Yogananda’s divine ray into this world.

After my first extended visit to Ananda Village for Spiritual Renewal Week, I felt so full of joy I found it difficult to speak. But as my friend drove me to the Sacramento airport I felt my mind pulling me down. There was a conflict at home I would have to face and it seemed like the energy was being drained out of me with every mile.

After my friend hugged me goodbye and I made my way to the gate, the joy I felt only hours before seemed a distant memory. Through a haze of feelings, I heard my name being called over the speakers and the voice told me to pick up the white courtesy telephone. I found a phone nearby and picked it up, thinking I must have heard the announcement wrong.

My friend’s husband greeted me lovingly—he and his son were meditating after I left and felt a very clear direction from Yogananda to call me immediately. He said that Yogananda wanted me to know that he was near and I shouldn’t fear what lay ahead.

In that instant the joy returned; I felt light enough to fly home without the airplane. My friend had been an open and willing channel for the Guru’s love.

Keeping the flow going
Sharing Yogananda’s presence with others is an essential part of discipleship. I always try, when entering situations or contemplating new projects, to inwardly hold the question, “What is trying to happen? How can I be of service?” This opens the door for the Guru to act through me.

Recently, a new disciple hugged me and thanked me for my help. She warmly said, “I love your energy!” I silently offered the compliment up to God and Guru, because what she experienced through me was the divine flow that all of us can share if we offer ourselves as channels.

If we think only of receiving inspiration from others, we miss the chance to experience the joy of true satsang. True spiritual friendship is an exchange of energy with blessings for the giver as well as for those who receive.

I welcome every opportunity to offer energy and upliftment to others. Among other things, I have led meditations, taught evening classes, sung in the choir, greeted newcomers to Sunday Service, taught Sunday school, and written two books on children that share the teachings of this path.

Understanding and acceptance
When we put God first in out lives, friends and co-workers with different priorities are often bewildered by some of the choices we make. Between gurubhais, however, there is understanding and acceptance.

Gurubhais don’t require lengthy explanations. They understand why you give up a Friday night for a three-hour meditation, spend the day in silence, or read only spiritual books.
They will offer congratulations when you receive Kriya initiation, or smile with appreciation when they see the picture of Yogananda on your dashboard. I have found that even the Energization Exercises are easier and more effective with other disciples nearby.

Every touch nourishes the soul
As we deepen our commitment to God and Guru, the forces that can pull us away from Spirit become stronger and subtler. Satsang with gurubhais gives us the strength of purpose, clarity of mind, and joy to stay focused and centered.

Even when we do not live in a spiritual community, or the contact we have is only through books, recordings, magazines, e-mail, or the Internet—every touch nourishes the soul.

Lorna Knox is a member of the Ananda Church in Portland, Oregon. A writer, teacher, and mother of three children, she is the author of I Came from Joy and Scary News, published by Crystal Clarity.

The Importance of Good Company
by Paramhansa Yogananda

The company you keep is important. If you leave your coat in a room where people are smoking, pretty soon it will smell of smoke. If you leave it outside in the garden, later on, when you bring it indoors, it will carry with it the fragrance of fresh air and flowers.

Such is the case with the mind. Your garment of thoughts absorbs the vibrations of those with whom you mix. If you mingle with pessimists, in time you will become a pessimist. And if you mingle with cheerful, happy people, you yourself will develop a cheerful, happy nature.

Environment is stronger than will power. To mix with worldly people without absorbing at least some of their worldliness requires great spiritual strength.

Beginners on the spiritual path, especially, should be very careful in the company they keep. They should mix with other devotees, and try not to mingle with ego-saturated, worldly people. They should especially avoid people who are negative, even if those people are devotees.

Whether one becomes a saint or a sinner is to a great extent determined by the company he keeps.

From The Essence of Self-Realization by Paramhansa Yogananda.

For a country boy like me, Los Angeles was the “big-city,” supposedly full of movie stars, warm beaches, colorful flowers, and opportunity. But I was drawn to this iconic locale for one reason only: It had been sanctified by Paramhansa Yogananda.

Floating on a cloud of inspiration
I discovered Yogananda in 1987, when I was actively searching for a spiritual guide and chanced upon a paperback titled, The Path, by Swami Kriyananda, which includes many inspiring stories of his years with Yogananda. Kriyananda’s book led me straight to my Guru. Before I had even finished the book I was on a Greyhound bus to California, to visit the places associated with Yogananda’s life, stopping only in the Bay Area where I purchased Autobiography of a Yogi.

My first visit to Yogananda’s shrines in Los Angeles was deeply uplifting; at times I was floating on a cloud of inspiration. After that, I returned to Los Angeles several times, and was now firmly convinced that Yogananda was my Guru.

A ten-year addiction to food
Thus it was that in late May 1992, I left Colorado to find a job, apartment, and new life in Los Angeles. But mainly I went for spiritual healing. I hoped that living near Yogananda’s shrines would help me pull my life together.

Since I was 15, I had suffered from an addiction to food that had given me enormous trouble. For ten years I had often gone on compulsive binges in which I might eat thousands of calories of food in one sitting. I had tried everything to put an end to this compulsion: prayers; affirmations; psychotherapy; books on psychology and addiction; spiritual counseling—but so far my efforts had not been fruitful.

I knew that spiritual healing through willpower and attunement was possible. Could Yogananda help me overcome my disease? Would God help me lead a more normal life? I had a lot of questions and hoped to find answers in Los Angeles.

Caught in a “karmic storm”
Things didn’t go well from the beginning. Upon arriving in the “City of Angels,” I spent a few days in Santa Monica at a very nice motel, but it was too expensive for a long-term stay. I ended up in Hollywood where lodgings were more affordable, and found what seemed to be a suitable motel near the corner of Western and Vermont.

My first hint that this wasn`t the most uplifting neighborhood came after I had already prepaid for a week. A glimpse of the emerging “nightlife” on the street outside the hotel made me want to leave, but I did not leave. The “karmic storm” that was about to engulf me had already begun.

Once in my room, my energy began to sink and I felt an overwhelming urge to eat. For the next few weeks, I consumed massive amounts of food. I was caught in an overeating spiral that included the occasional ordering and eating of entire pizzas and the raiding of nearby grocery stores for junk food.

“Would God hear me?”
Occasionally I was able to muster the energy to go out and visit one of Yogananda`s sacred shrines. There I would meditate and, with great willpower, pray for healing. I was in dire straights—would God hear me? But every time I prayed, I felt nothing—no surge of energy or joy, no sense of God’s presence.

After a week or two, I knew I was risking serious physical problems. My weight ballooned, I grew very lethargic, and I began to get edema in my ankles. I didn’t look very hard for a job or an apartment. Mainly I just stayed in the motel room and ate.

After about three weeks, I began to get low on money. Since I hadn’t found a job, I knew that I would soon have to go back to Colorado. And I had gained at least 25 pounds in a month.

It would be very embarrassing to return and let my family see what food addiction had done in such a short period. However, when I called my parents and explained that things hadn’t worked out in Los Angeles, to my great relief, they agreed to let me stay with them until I got back on my feet.

A final visit to the crypt
Before I left, I went again to Yogananda`s crypt at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Glendale. I prayed very deeply for Yogananda to heal me of this terrible addiction. I sat in front of his crypt and meditated and prayed for at least an hour, but again felt no inner response.

So at the end of June, I repacked my little car, put my bicycle back on the rack, and headed back to Colorado. I had barely enough money to pay for food and gas for the 1,000-mile trip. What I had hoped would be a life-changing move had seemingly ended in complete failure.

A temporary lull in the storm?
But things are not always as they appear. Several days after leaving Los Angeles I realized that I hadn`t had the urge to overeat for a while. “Well, surely,” I thought, “this is just a temporary lull in the storm.” I was certain to be just as addicted as ever.

When I reached my parent’s house my nerves were shot and my body was very tired. But surprisingly, I began to notice that I wasn’t overeating. I wasn’t eating much at all, in that I craved fruits and vegetables and not much more.

My body began to recover and my mind also started to clear up. It would take weeks for my body to recover fully, but after a week or two I felt much better physically. Now the question arose: Had some healing occurred in Los Angeles?

By the end of August, there had been no overeating episodes since returning to Colorado.  The rest of the year was fine, and except for a minor “blip” of overeating in early 1993, I was never again troubled by the problem of overeating.

Deep gratitude to Yogananda
In March 1993, I joined an Ananda-sponsored pilgrimage to Los Angeles for the celebration of Yogananda`s March 7, 1952 Mahasamadhi. There, for the first time, I met my Ananda spiritual family. Bubbling with joy and happily meditating with my new spiritual friends, I felt deep gratitude to Yogananda for remaking me into a “new man.”

Back in Colorado, my life came together: I became a certified paraprofessional nurse, resumed bicycle racing as a hobby, and for the first time in my life had my own residence. As I went through my daily routine, thoughts of Yogananda and other saints often filled me with joy.

Spiritual healing worked for me when nothing else did. From my own experience, I know that strong willpower coupled with dynamic faith in the Guru can accomplish just about anything. What was most surprising, however, is that one can undergo a life-transforming healing and not even realize it, at least initially. It seems that the Guru prefers to exercise his spiritual power in non-dramatic ways.

It is often said that the greatest blessing “in the three worlds” is discipleship to a God-realized guru. I can add my humble testimony to the wisdom of the ages when I say that I know, firsthand, that this is true.

Jack Byrom is the Ananda Meditation Group leader in Columbus, Ohio. He, has a BA degree in environmental science, and works as a technical editor for a scientific publisher.

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.

Of course, I didn’t know how wrong I was at the time. All I knew was that Mama had relied on prayer to heal her of breast cancer. Instead, God took her from me—just when I needed her most. The resultant grief, anger and confusion led to my fatal decision: to reject that cruel, heartless God who separates children from parents.

A devout Christian Scientist
Mama was a devout Christian Scientist. She would spend hours each day studying Mary Baker Eddy’s writings, praying, copying inspirational snippets into her journal, and calling on practitioners for herself and the family whenever needed.

Our family attended church each Sunday and Mama habitually attended Wednesday-evening testimonial meetings, where members took turns testifying how “knowing the truth” cured them of unwanted conditions. The Christian Science reading room was one of Mama’s favorite haunts, and I remember her watching the Christian Science TV show each Sunday morning.

Mama always made sure that my brother and I, who attended the Christian Science Sunday school, did our “homework.” We would take turns reading the weekly lesson each morning at breakfast. She was so proud of a poem I wrote that she submitted it to the Christian Science magazine.

All that praying—to no avail!
When Mama developed cancer at age 54, she called on practitioners to pray for her, and naturally, the family prayed too. As her condition worsened, she finally went against the Christian Science injunction never to visit doctors.

With great reluctance, she saw a doctor who gave her the diagnosis and later, did a mastectomy. But it was too late by then. The cancer returned and spread.

At 15, I was still a believer—so it was a huge blow when she died. All that praying—to no avail! Wasn’t God supposed to deliver her?

No one said so out loud, but it was implied that all of us who prayed for Mama had somehow failed in our efforts to save her. I considered my faith very strong, and thought that my prayers—combined with everyone else’s—would be enough to produce the hoped-for miracle.

I certainly did not want to lose my mother at so young and vulnerable an age. Consumed by grief, anger and deep disappointment, I blamed God for taking her, in direct opposition to my pleas that He spare her.

Swept up in materialism
I might have spent the rest of my life in God-denial—but for the pain. At first it was the indignity of too few acceptances, a not-uncommon occurrence in the professions I had chosen: acting and writing. To numb that awful sense of inadequacy, some turn to alcohol or drugs; my drug of choice was romance. It took years to learn how ultimately unsatisfying such relationships are compared to the bliss of God’s unconditional love.

The source of the pain was twofold: unresolved grief, and fear of being alone. Years later, I came to understand that leaving God out of my life made resolving my grief—and a rising tide of related problems—much more difficult.

I thought I was over my loss, but since I did not really know how to grieve, I pushed it so deep inside, it was easy to pretend it was gone. Having left religion behind, I allowed myself to be swept up in materialism.

Yet something was always missing. There was always a part of me, albeit unacknowledged for years, which longed for God—the sweet, loving embrace of Divine Mother, the strength, power and protection of the Father.

I wanted to believe, but experience made me doubt. And doubt had the upper hand for twenty years.

The turning point: a mysterious illness
When I was about thirty, a barely-acknowledged inner voice began vying for my attention. I responded to that “call” by the usual routes—books, classes, workshops. I didn’t have a clear concept of exactly what I was seeking, but finally, I was able to acknowledge my need to re-connect with God.

The turning point came with the birth of my child, which was soon followed by a mysterious psycho-physical illness. My recovery was progressing slowly until a friend gave me a set of meditation tapes geared to my condition. My illness had added a new sense of urgency. What did I have to lose?

Since I was confined to bed anyway, I began listening to the meditation tapes, following the instructions—and feeling better. In fact, every time I practiced that routine, I noticed far more improvement than simply following the prescribed medical regimen.

The prodigal daughter returns
Autobiography of a Yogi was one of a dozen books recommended by my metaphysics teacher. To say it was the most transforming book I ever encountered is to greatly understate its power. I would have to stop after one or two chapters just to savor the heavenly effects of those timeless truths, so beautifully embedded in Yogananda’s remarkable story.

Tears sprang forth when I came to “An Experience in Cosmic Consciousness.” Never had I read so thorough, poetic and enthralling a description of that sublime state. My spirit leapt at the realization that it could be mine as well—especially on reading Sri Yukteswar’s illumined explanation:

Spiritual advancement is not to be measured by one’s displays of outward power, but solely by the depth of his bliss in meditation. Ever-new Joy is God…seductive beyond thought of competition…Desire for material things is endless. Man is never satisfied completely, and pursues one goal after another. The ‘something else’ he seeks is the Lord, who alone can grant lasting joy….

Through Yogananda, I felt Divine Mother welcoming home Her prodigal daughter with open arms. Willingly, happily, with deep gratitude, I surrendered.

What joy to find a Master who defined God not as some distant Father/Mother, but as Divine Bliss that can be found right inside my Self. Life ceased to be a struggle filled with fear, grief and pain. Yogananda turned on the light, and I have been abiding in its all-encompassing clarity ever since.

My mother was not really gone
That’s how I came to know my mother was not really gone. Between immersing myself in Yogananda’s teachings and meditating—turning off the restless mind and making the leap into the soul—I realized the soul cannot die, and that death is not the enemy nor the loss most people believe it to be.

It’s one thing to be told our departed loved ones are “in a better place.” To actually bear witness to that fact is quite another—“convincing to your very atoms.” In spirit, I am as close to her as when she occupied her diseased body.

I could now totally accept that Mama’s death (as well as those of other loved ones) was in divine order, that it was NOT a failure or defeat, and rejoice in her soul’s freedom.

There was no longer any sadness or guilt, just calm acceptance and love. This liberating realization marked the end of my search, and the beginning of an unbreakable bond with my Guru, dear Yogananda–who also lost his mother early in life.

God knows our true needs
I see now that Mary Baker Eddy had it partially right: prayer does produce results. But Yogananda makes it clear that all the praying in the world is useless unless you are first attuned to God. It’s like making calls with a disconnected telephone; you’re just going through the motions.

With prayer and affirmation, Yogananda places the emphasis where it belongs: on the unassailable power of God to heal any condition, and more importantly—on the precise steps required to connect with that power, and stay connected.

Also, there is so much more to prayer than merely petitioning God for what we want. As Swami Kriyananda writes, “It’s not up to us to decide if a person should be healed; it’s ultimately God’s will…God knows our true needs better than we do.” How much better to live surrendered to God’s will than to regard Him as some spiritual paramedic who can be called on to do our bidding.

Today, I look back on that sorrowful, angry child wandering in the wilderness, and can hardly believe that was me. If rejecting God was my worst choice, inviting Him back into my life was my best. The very thing I worked so hard to deny was the key to my deliverance. And the healing of my mysterious psycho-physical illness was only the beginning.

Valerie Putney, an author and certified yoga teacher in Greensboro, NC, received Kriya Yoga initiation in 1988.

In his book, Intuition for Starters, Swami Kriyananda discusses a number of qualities needed to live attuned to the flow of superconsciousness—courage, determination, humility, openness, faith. But courage, he writes, is especially important:

We need to have the courage to act on the guidance we receive. As you do this, you’ll create a flow of energy that increasingly opens the doorway to superconsciousness.

In other words, the superconscious doesn’t impose its inspirations on unwilling recipients. It is through our courageous willingness to act on God’s guidance that we draw intuitions that others may never receive. An extraordinary experience of Kriyananda’s in India gives insight into what this can mean.

A daunting task
In 2004, several months after Ananda started its new center in India, Kriyananda felt the guidance to record 235 twenty-minute television shows in a single month. He received the idea to do this intuitively, from inspiration. He had already recorded 134 shows and they were doing well, but he had the inner sense that he should record enough for an entire year.

But Kriyananda didn’t just leap into this idea. Instead, he began to attune his mind and will more and more deeply to what would be required, so that he would have the energy to complete this daunting task.

In the end he was able to fulfill this project: recording at least tens shows each day, all on different topics and all done extemporaneously. These are some of the best talks Kriyananda has ever given. Shown each evening at prime time on a program known as “A Way to Awakening,” they have become the most important way Ananda’s work in India is becoming known.

Because of Kriyananda’s extraordinary courage and willingness, he was able to draw an inspiration for a project that most people would find impossible. Two other stories illustrate the same idea.

Will there be enough food?
A few years ago, two teachers in our Living Wisdom schools at Ananda Village had a special opportunity to share with their students the power of drawing on superconscious inspiration. In this instance the teachers, along with two other adults, took ten teenagers on a backpacking trip along the remote and challenging Lost Coast of California.

The teacher who had the responsibility for planning the food had no experience in this area. On a backpacking trip you don’t want to bring too much food since everything has to be carried. Wanting to make sure there would be just the right amount, she sought out the advice of another adult who had backpacked with children.

Unfortunately, this person’s experience was with seven to ten- year-olds instead of healthy, growing teens.

No real danger of starvation
From the first meal it was apparent that there would be a shortage of food. After devouring the meager portions, the students were overheard grumbling about the dangers of starvation. By the second and third meals, the students’ energy was definitely moving in a negative, self-centered direction.

Although there was no real danger of starving, the adults were concerned about the situation. The four of them met to decide what to do. In situations like this, people can become nervous and worried. Sometimes there’s finger pointing: “Why didn’t you…?” Or defeatism:” Let’s give up and go back; it’s hopeless.”

“If there’s no food left, we’ll fast.”
But one of the teachers, drawing on inner guidance, received an inspiration on how to turn the situation into a learning experience for the students by helping them become aware of the contractiveness of their attitudes.

She said, “We know we can stick with the rations and be fine, but they don’t see that. For each meal, let’s combine all the portions and serve the students first. After they have been satisfied, we will eat. If there’s no food left, we’ll fast.”

Everyone agreed. One of the adults was also chosen to hike out the 25 miles to the nearest town to get more food.

The next day the adults cooked and served the food. After setting the meal out for the teens, the adults went down to the beach and did Paramhansa Yogananda’s Energization Exercises, consciously drawing divine energy into their bodies. They were refreshed and recharged. By the time they returned, all the food had been eaten.

At first, the students only noticed that there was a little extra food. Soon, however, they noticed the adults weren’t eating and began to express concern that it would be the adults who were going to starve. A few students started to eat less, but it wasn’t enough to tip the balance, as the others ate those extra portions.

The adults’ fast continued into the second and third day as they hiked deeper into the wilderness. Meanwhile, in their concern for the adults, the students had stopped complaining.

The students take control of the “kitchen”
The teacher who received the inspiration later related: “You know, I used to believe I was hypoglycemic, and at the end of the first day I was feeling very shaky. I didn’t know if I could go on. Through God’s grace, I let go of this thought and instantly I felt stronger.”

By the fourth day, when the teacher who had hiked out returned with more food, the students’ concern was only for the adults. Taking control of the “kitchen,” they announced, “We’re cooking the meal this time, and the adults eat first!” As the adults broke their fast, the teenagers all applauded.

This experience taught the students important lessons about caring for others, cooperation, self-sacrifice, and how a superconscious attitude can produce unexpected solutions to difficult problems. The gains for the adults included deeper faith and increased courage.

Putting others first
In his book, A Place Called Ananda, Swami Kriyananda shares a poignantly striking example of the type of courage that draws superconscious inspiration. He was then part of Self-Realization Fellowship and lived alone in a little cabin at Mt. Washington. It wasn’t fancy, but it provided a small private meditation room where he meditated many hours a day.

When he was put in charge of the monks, Kriyananda saw that many of them weren’t meditating regularly. Nearly all of the monks lived in one big dormitory-like room. They were mostly young men, new to the spiritual path, and lacking in discipline. They would stay up late at night talking, laughing, and roughhousing, and would often miss morning and evening meditations. As head of the monks Kriyananda needed to find a solution. What could he do?

The right decision
He could, of course, call meetings and exhort them to meditate, but this type of thing rarely works. There was one solution that proved effective, but Kriyananda had to have necessary courage and willingness to draw that guidance. The inspiration he received was to move into the dorm with the monks.

He lived with those young men for a year and a half. Through his example, the monks gradually began to follow the prescribed practice. Were Kriyananda’s meditations as good during that time? It’s doubtful that he could meditate as long or as deeply living in that group setting.

Were his attunement and spiritual life deepened? More than likely they were very much deepened because of his selfless willingness to fulfill the demands of his role as head of the monks—a role his Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, had given him.

Living in the divine flow
It’s very beautiful when we can say, “Who cares about me? I want to serve others. I want to do God’s will, whatever the cost.”

In one of Yogananda’s recorded talks he says, “Do you know why I serve seventeen hours a day? Do you know why I’m always trying to help other people? Because it keeps my energy in the flow of God, away from my little ego, away from thoughts about myself.”

On the spiritual path we are trying to transcend the limitations of the “little self.” This happens more and more completely as we offer ourselves courageously into the superconscious flow and try to live by the inspirations we receive.

Anandi Cornell, Lightbearer and long-time Ananda member, serves at The Expanding Light guest retreat at Ananda Village. Other Clarity articles by Anandi Cornell are listed under “Nayaswami Anandi.”

Nitai Deranja, Lightbearer and teacher, currently serves as Co-Director of the Living Wisdom School at Ananda Village.

Angina is caused by a blockage in the heart’s arteries. After my first attack I underwent angioplasty—a procedure that involves inserting small metal tubes called “stents” into the blocked arteries.

Can we still go on pilgrimage?
The timing of this new attack couldn’t have been worse. My wife and I were scheduled to leave on the India pilgrimage sponsored by Ananda Assisi on February 11, 2005. We were very much looking forward to meditating at places associated with the life of our Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, and strengthening our spiritual lives.

My doctor assured me that the attack was not life threatening, but I needed to know whether another angioplasty was necessary, and if it could be scheduled in time for us to go on pilgrimage. Since my wife and I live in England, this meant seeing a heart specialist at the local hospital. I urged my doctor to schedule a hospital appointment as soon as possible.

Three months later—November 2004—I learned that my doctor had not scheduled the appointment. With the Assisi pilgrimage only two months away, I got busy and made daily telephone calls to the hospital.

I finally obtained an appointment with Dr. Sarkar, a cheerful, young cardiologist from Calcutta. Tests showed that I needed another angioplasty. The procedure was scheduled for January 27, 2005, two weeks before the start of the pilgrimage.

“This is how we learn.”
A few days later I sat in the meditation room of our home and prayed: “Why do I have to suffer again from heart disease, especially when I am about to go to India on pilgrimage?” Silently gazing at a favorite picture of Yogananda, I heard the answer: “This is how we learn.”

“But what am I supposed to learn from this?” There was no answer.

For some time however, I had been considering the possibility that the causes of my heart disease, or at least some of the symptoms, were one and the same as the obstacles I faced in my spiritual life. My life pattern was one of working with tension and anxiety “to get things done,” while ignoring strong emotions that simmered just below the surface— especially anger and fear.

I had retired from full-time work and was now meditating, but I had carried into my new life many tension-generating habits that interfered with my ability to meditate deeply. Indeed, it was during a period of meditation teacher training at the Ananda center in Assisi, Italy that the most recent angina attack occurred.

I was beginning to understand that I needed to develop inner calmness by nurturing contentment. The blockages in my heart’s arteries were less likely to cause angina or fibrillation if I could keep my heart calm.

The heart needs to be protected
A week or so later, while checking my e-mails, I experienced another heart incident—this time an episode of fibrillation. This was not unusual; I had experienced fibrillation in the past and took medication to control it. The condition becomes critical only if it triggers angina.

In the midst of the attack I said to my wife: “The heart needs to be protected and listened to.” The fibrillation stopped as soon as I said these words. Commenting on this, my wife said: “The heart responds to what’s true.” In other words, my acceptance of the heart’s reality, or “truth,” quieted the heart and stopped the fibrillation.

It was becoming apparent that to develop inner calmness, I needed to listen more sensitively to what my heart was trying to teach me. I began to watch how my heart responded to the slightest emotion.

We don’t want your catalogue!
One day, as my wife and I returned from a walk, I spied a certain unsolicited catalogue inside the front door and thought: “Another wretched Bettaware catalogue. You’d think they’d have learned by now that we don’t want their catalogue, that we don’t order from them, and that we don’t want the inconvenience of ensuring it gets returned to them on the right day!”

As I voiced these thoughts to myself, I became acutely aware of a slight feeling of pain in my heart. I wasn’t particularly angry, simply frustrated.

So I posed the question, “What would the heart “like” to have heard instead? What manner of dealing with the problem would have been ‘kinder’ to the heart and not resulted in pain?” I focused on the heart and tried to feel its vulnerability.

From somewhere beyond my mind came the words: “Thank you for your catalogue. We’re sorry you’ve not been able to sell us anything, but we shop elsewhere. We’d like for you to cross our names off your list and to offer the catalogue to someone who can make better use of it.” I wrote down these words and pinned the note to the catalogue.

Soon after, I made another discovery involving what I called my “yeah-buts.” My wife would suggest something and I would agree broadly but immediately think of an exception or possible difficulty and say, “Yes, but suppose . . ..” I would then feel a slight change in my heart, as though a good flow of energy was suddenly blocked.

It soon became obvious that my “Yeah-buts ”were a subtle way of saying “no” to life and of blocking positive, life-affirming possibilities. Becoming more aware of this helped me drop this way of thinking, which eased my heart symptoms.

The heart responds to every thought
I was discovering that the heart is a sensitive instrument and responds to the feelings enshrined in every thought. Ignoring its slightest whisper interrupts its free flow of life-giving energy.

The most harmful thoughts usually reflected strong desires and attachments—something I wanted to make happen, or prevent from happening, in the external world. By contrast, non-attachment, or acting without desire for the fruits of action, nurtured inner calmness.

By now I was much more in touch with the inner, intuitive part of myself. I was learning not to judge whether my thoughts were good or bad, but simply whether they were pleasing to my heart. I made a list of all the attitudes and qualities that were unfavorable to the heart— self-pity, doubt, suspicion, worrying about money, anxiety over getting things done, etc.

Since I tend to be a compulsive worker, I resolved to sit down for a minimum of one hour each afternoon and savor total peace. During this time I would relax, read from books by Yogananda or Swami Kriyananda, or perhaps meditate an additional hour. Whenever I did this, my heart symptoms eased.

Tuning into God’s healing power
The angioplasty procedure took place as scheduled. Throughout the procedure, and especially during moments of pain, I tried to focus all of my energy inwardly. I pictured Yogananda, chanted AUM, and visualized energy and light being channeled to my heart. More vividly than ever, I felt the reality of Yogananda’s words:

All methods of healing—physical, mental, and vital—become limited without knowing that the unlimited power of God is working behind them, and that His almighty power of healing is sufficient by itself. (Praecepta Lessons, 1935)

With a quieter heart and a deeper receptivity to the many blessings of the experience, my wife and I went on pilgrimage. My heart disease had ceased to be my adversary and had become my friend, awakening me to a greater awareness not simply of the health of my body but, more important, to God’s presence within.

Why did I have to have an angina attack just before we were leaving for the pilgrimage? Because this is how we learn.

Through heart disease, I was finding a better balance between head and heart, between “head-strong” ego-based behavior and my deeper Self. I now remain ever alert to the danger of the head “taking over.”

Chris and his wife, Evelyn, live and serve at the Ananda Assisi community and guest retreat.

These powerful times can have a deep impact on us if we are open. Such was the case with all of us who were touched by the passing of our friend, Vairagi Escobar.

A shining gem
In many respects, Vairagi was a simple soul. She loved God. She loved her guru, Paramhansa Yogananda and Swami Kriyananda, her spiritual teacher. For most of her life, she lived as a renunciate, a nun, quietly serving Yogananda’s mission through Ananda.

These were the bare facts – not remarkable in the eyes of the world, yet each one of them a shining gem from the soul’s perspective.

Why was I so moved by Vairagi? Perhaps because we had much in common. We had similar challenges—struggles for self-confidence and inner security; battles against hurt feelings. Like Vairagi, I had had cancer, so I could readily identify with her healing journey. As her condition worsened, the thought would sometimes come, “That could be me!”

We shared positive aspirations also, such as an intense loyalty to our spiritual path and a deep desire to serve. We admired these qualities in each other and sought each other’s counsel.

Accepting “what is”
It was the differences between us that were to become my teachers. For instance, Vairagi had the wisdom to accept what came to her as coming from God, and the faith to know it was for her highest good. Since I struggle to “accept what is,” her faith was and is a beacon of light for me.

Also, Vairagi (whose name means “non-attachment” or “austerity”) had chosen to be a renunciate in the formal sense of the word. Many years ago, one of her female friends came to her and confided that she desired a relationship. Vairagi’s cryptic reply was, “Why do you need marriage when you have five gurus?”

It’s not as if she was never tempted to leave her single state. She was, but as soon as she realized it wasn’t God’s will, she was able to let it go. For her, the spiritual path was all-sufficient and she was able to find solace inside. I found her independence quite inspiring.

A different form of sadhana
Yet as her disease progressed, this independence and strong meditation practice gave way to a different form of sadhana—a sadhana of gratitude and receptivity.

“Be grateful for everything, be receptive, and above all, be positive.” These were Swami Kriyananda’s words to Vairagi during her visit to India in May, 2005.

His words would be good advice for anyone, but for Vairagi, living in a body ravaged by cancer, they became a sacred command—indeed they became her sadhana. Several times, as she was experiencing physical pain, I would hear her whisper to herself, “Thank you, Master. Thank you, Divine Mother.”

As her physical condition worsened, it became harder for her to meditate and she invited friends to come over and meditate with her and for her. Various practical tasks were divided up among friends and other caregivers, who took turns helping her.

This loss of independence turned out to be a profound blessing for Vairagi.  Having felt a sense of unworthiness as a child, the love and nurturing she received from her family, and especially from the Ananda Village community, during the last months of her life were literally life-transforming.

As she practiced the “sadhana of receptivity” I saw her moved to tears by the sweetness she felt coming to her. “God is so good,” she would say.

She never stopped giving
Yet, even while her receptivity was increasing, it’s not as if she stopped giving. Vairagi, who had spent her life serving others, continued to give until the end.

For example, when her health appeared to be better, Vairagi made a commitment to teach classes on healing prayers at the Expanding Light Guest Retreat at Ananda Village. At the Ananda community near Italy, where she had lived since 1989, she had taught many classes on that subject; it was one of her favorites.

But before she could teach more than one or two classes, her condition took a turn for the worse. One day she suddenly asked me if I would enjoy teaching the classes. “Yes,” I said, “as long as you train me!”

So she did. I’ll never forget the smile on her face when I told her I had finally been asked to teach the healing prayer class. Although we never spoke of it, it felt as if, through me, she were fulfilling her promise to teach the classes.

Healing prayers had been such a prominent feature of Vairagi’s life that even in the midst of her own challenges, she had the ability to remember others and express compassion for them. Occasionally, she forced herself to sit up in bed so that she could more effectively send prayers to those in need. At other times, she served us just by being herself.

A struggle with fear
I remember one evening in particular, perhaps a week before the end, when Vairagi shared with me her struggle with fear. At this time it was not so much a fear of death as a fear that in some way she had been egotistical or displeasing to God. Many devotees, whether dying or not, have these self-doubts.

Moved to the core by the obvious purity of her heart and soul, I said emphatically, “Oh no, Vairagi. Master and Swami love you. You have pleased them very much. It must be Satan who is tempting you to feel this way.”

Apparently my words touched a chord of truth in Vairagi, for she replied, in a whisper, but with surprising strength, “Nalini, listen carefully.  I know you have the same test.  It is Satan! He’s trying to make me doubt God’s love for me, and he almost succeeded. Don’t let him do that to you. Remember this, Nalini. It’s so important.”

I hold Vairagi’s precious words in my heart, but felt to share them for the benefit of other self-doubting souls.

The final leap of faith
As for the fear of death (the basis of all fears, according to Yogananda), even long-time devotees still experience it. Though Vairagi’s trust in God was strong, she too needed support near the end in making that final leap of faith to “the other side.” This is one of the most profound ways that we can serve each other as friends in God.

In preparing for the final transition, she asked friends to pray and chant with her, sometimes around the clock. A few she asked to bless her for a long time at the spiritual eye, as a reminder to keep her attention there.

At other times she enjoyed hearing Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi being read aloud to her.  When her friends needed to sleep or attend to other duties, she listened for hours to the tape of Swamiji chanting AUM.

Even when Vairagi was in a semi-coma, barely able to talk, she managed to communicate, “Help me.” We knew that meant she wanted us to pray for her transition. Although her whole life had been dedicated to God, she didn’t want her concentration to lapse at the very end due to illness

“Thank you, Divine Mother”
When the end finally came, those of us who were with Vairagi, or who came moments later, could feel her deep peace and joy. Although we meditated in the room where she left her body, some felt her spirit more outside the house, as if she were celebrating her victory and new sense of freedom from all limitations.

Indeed, Divine Mother Nature celebrated too by painting an unusually beautiful sunset in the sky for all to enjoy. All of Vairagi’s months and years of effort and austerity had culminated in a blissful reward.

“Thank you, Divine Mother,” one could almost hear her say, “Thank you.”

*****     *****     *****

Vairagi’s “Pilgrimage” to India

by Nalini Graeber

In retrospect, Vairagi’s visit to Swami Kriyananda in India seems even more remarkable than it did at the time. Many of us collapse into bed at the slightest cold or indisposition, but here was Vairagi, terminally ill, undergoing what would be a very rigorous trip, even for a healthy person.

For months she had been struggling with low energy and digestive problems, but that didn’t hold her back. As soon as she heard that the doctors could do no more for her, she set her sights on going to India, completely open to the possibility that she might die there.

That she succeeded is a testimony to the strength of her determination, and an example of the universal principle that when we fix our minds on something, the universe cooperates in helping us to achieve our goal.

I suspect that the desire to see Kriyananda had been in her mind all along, but that she had been waiting until she felt better. Now the hope of recovery was ripped away from her. As she grew steadily weaker, there was no time to lose.

A little over two weeks later (the minimum time required for reservations, visas, etc.) she was on a plane to London, and then from there to New Delhi, with Kent White, her travel companion. Despite his busy work schedule, Kent felt guided to help his friend, Vairagi, at this crucial time. Without his much needed service and support, this demanding trip would have been impossible.

During the two weeks before she left, Vairagi had several group healing prayer sessions with friends and also spent time with Jyotish and Devi Novak, Ananda’s spiritual directors, Mary Kretzmann, who heads the Healing Prayer Ministry at the Village, and other Ananda ministers. We all prayed that she would have the strength and energy to make this important journey.

On a spiritual level, the trip to India exceeded Vairagi’s expectations. Kriyananda saw Vairagi daily and blessed her many times. He urged her to dwell, not on death, but on the love and beauty of God.

A Lightbearer, writer, and longtime member of Ananda, Nalini Graeber lives and works at Ananda Village.

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.

I heard your soul-call
On the day of your birth, I, too, was born within you, destined from eternity to be the king and ruler of all your thought-citizens. My birth took place in a humble, silent part of your mind. Only your pure and simple thought children knew of my coming and even they had to be awakened from their slumber by the angels of your latent God Consciousness.

As you grew, you began to call me with all your heart. I heard your soul-call and came out of the clouds of your desires and distractions. I, the Christ within you, sought out those attitudes that were ready to become my disciples and called to them, “Follow me.”

Impatient with the slow path of love
Certain parts of you heeded my call. There was your devotion, born of lifetimes of meditation on me, which I called “John.” And deep, intuitive faith: This I named “Peter.”

But even among the spiritual parts of your mind, not every aspect was fully developed. There was your “Thomas,” yearning to believe, but haunted by lingering doubt. And there was the wish to use my spiritual power to rule your other thought children, be they willing or not. Some years later this “Judas,” impatient with the slow path of love, would betray me to the powers of ego and worldly desire that still ruled your mind.

What joy we shared!
At first, my newly awakened thought-disciples were filled with fresh enthusiasm. You felt intense devotion as you offered back to me the tiniest part of the love I ever gave to you. What freedom you felt as you left the confining walls of your home and the nets of your petty preoccupations. All you wanted was to walk with me, and serve with me. Ah! what joy we shared.

According to God’s will, I, the Christ Consciousness within you, began to reveal myself more fully and to change you through miracles. During a time of celebration, I transformed the water of common everyday thoughts into the wine of ecstasy.

Your thought children began to take notice
And your thought-children, who always love a good miracle, began to take notice and take the first tentative steps toward Spirit. Light, which is my very nature, began to heal those parts of your mind that were ill and undeveloped.

Latent talents, crippled by neglect, came to me and I helped them walk. I gave you sight where you were blind to the needs of others and to God’s beauty. And, where you had been deaf, I let you hear laughter and song. I taught you with the simplest of truths: “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.”

And I showed you that there was no need to overload your senses with groaning banquet tables and never-ending entertainment. A handful of loaves and fishes could satisfy multitudes of desires as long as you remained near the Christ Consciousness.

I yearned to give you my true treasure
Drawn by miracles, thousands of your thought-citizens began to come. Yet most begged for only the least of my gifts—for wealth, for health, for power. This I gave but yearned to give my true treasure—infinite love, unending joy.

I longed to make you one with me and my Father. Alas, only a small part of you was ready for Self-realization and so, from an ocean of bliss, I measured out the few drops your tiny cup could hold.

As I grew more prominent, your entrenched rulers of ego-consciousness became filled with fear. Old habit-bound desires for power and possessions hated me. They, having long ruled the dark corridors of your mind, now began to plot ways to rid themselves of my revealing light.

Your carping spirit challenged me when I fed my hungry disciples on the day of rest. I, who see all and love all, replied simply, “The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.”

The great conflict of the devotee
Self-destructive tendencies of judgment and self-righteousness were ever ready to condemn small parts of you, which fell, for a moment, into error. With love and compassion, I said to your fault-finding thought, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.” And to petty mistakes you cannot help but make, I said, “Neither do I condemn thee: go and sin no more.”

As I, your eternal light, continued to heal and teach there arose within you the great conflict of the devotee. Part of you loved me and yearned to become one with me. But another part of you was deathly afraid to let go of old familiar habits and desires. Most of your mind was simply uncommitted—happy to cheer and lay palm fronds in my path one day, ready to jeer and spit upon me barely a week later.

To my disciples, your spiritualized attitudes, I promised that I would never, could never, leave them. They had but to break bread and think of me with love in order to know I was ever with them. They had but to concentrate one-pointedly on my inner presence in order to drink the wine of ecstatic communion with me.

Lasting change comes only through love
The petty, contracted part of your mind bound and judged me according to the laws of egoic power. I could have called down an army of angels but I did not. I knew the secret that the ego has yet to learn—lasting change comes only through love, never by force. Even as they crucified me I prayed, “Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.”

As they rolled the rock in front of my tomb the dark parts of your mind thought, “Surely now, we are free of this fanatic. Surely now, we can forget this terrible challenge, to ‘Love the Lord with all our heart, with our entire mind, with all our soul and with all our strength. And to love our neighbor as our own self.’”

I came again in Spirit and in Truth
And you, my disciples, in spite of all you had seen and learned, doubted my promise to be always with you. Even you lost heart. For three days I left you to grieve and cry and cower in fear.

And then in the glory of Easter I came again in Spirit and in Truth. I revealed to you the deathless glory of my light. May the light of Christ shine upon you forever and forever. Amen

Jyotish and his wife, Devi, are acharyas (spiritual directors) of Ananda Sangha Worldwide. Jyotish is also acharya of the Ananda Sevaka Order, worldwide.

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

I believe we both thought the racial difference would be the biggest challenge in our life together. We were young. We had no idea.

Two different spiritual “lenses”
My husband is a member of a conservative Christian church and has deep spiritual roots there. My spiritual life is centered in my discipleship to Yogananda, the Ananda Church, and the bonds I have with Swami Kriyananda and my gurubhais.

I was raised Christian and I am still Christian. The truth expressed through Ananda is what Christ taught and what Yogananda called original Christianity. But the fact is, my husband and I go to different churches, look at life through different spiritual lenses, and it affects every part of our life together.

Our three children, ages 17, 12 and 8, have always known both paths—the traditional Christian and the Ananda way. They have enjoyed services, Sunday school, and activities at both churches, and their preferences change as they go through different stages of life.

Each has experienced loving friendships in both communities. Homeschooling has provided an important family bond in a complex situation.

On the surface, not much common ground
As we all discover, our understanding of spiritual truths is tested in the little pieces of our daily lives. Living together with two churches in one house is a great deal more complicated than merely respecting one another’s beliefs. There doesn’t appear to be much common ground on the surface.

Our church activities are completely separate except for the few times a year I attend services with my husband. This means a great deal of time apart. We each enjoy a large spiritual family but miss having a partner to share the fellowship with.

Teaching our children spiritual concepts is strained at times, because language is limiting and differences are stark. People misunderstand and judge, which is painful for all of us. Christian churches often put enormous pressure on men if their wives are not at their sides.

“Change no circumstance, Lord”
To find the common ground, you must get under the surface. I haven’t always handled the challenges gracefully. I have had periods of anger, martyrdom, judgment, and wishful praying that circumstances would change.

But every time things weren’t right I knew I needed to go deeper and open my heart more. I always return to my mantra for this lifetime—“Change no circumstance Lord, change me.”

During Ananda services we say, “Truth is one and eternal, realize oneness with it in your deathless Self within.” Devotees are called “truth seekers” because we are challenged to realize the truth of God’s inner presence in all outward circumstance. And I am never disappointed if I listen sincerely for truth.

When I attend my husband’s church, I always pray fervently to feel God’s presence and to quiet any judgment that may creep into my consciousness.  With a thrill of joy, I always find something that touches my heart. It may be something the minister says, a song that is sung, or the Scripture reading, but it’s always there.

My goal: freedom in God
On the surface it seems that the outward compromises come mainly from me. It took my husband over fifteen years to set foot in the Ananda mandir, and nearly as many years to warm up to my Ananda friends. Our family prayers are not done Ananda style, although I sometimes let slip with, “Om, Peace, Amen.”

I don’t have a meditation room or even display pictures of Yogananda, and I don’t follow a vegetarian diet. Before children I meditated three hours a day and now my sadhana is sporadic.

But all of these conditions have been my own choice, not imposed or demanded of me. I have always tried to move in the direction of more love and more light, with absolute unwavering discipleship to Yogananda.

And I have concluded that creating disharmony in my home, discomfort for my husband, or undue complications for my family does not invite more love into our lives. My goal is freedom in God, not comfort and ease here in the world.

The obvious finally became clear
In truth, my husband’s devotion and unshakable faith have been enormously inspiring to me. Considering his background and the teachings of his church, marriage to me has been a much bigger hurdle for him. I don’t fit his world in any conventional way and yet he trusts me to teach our children, and he has never asked me to change.

There came a day when the obvious finally became clear to me. I asked myself sternly, “Why does it seem to be a hardship to live with a man who is deeply devoted to Christ? Would the masters approve of such distinctions?”

And the answer came. Although he doesn’t use the same words I do, my husband’s guru is Jesus Christ. He is a sincere and loyal disciple to Christ and marriage to me has strengthened that relationship.

No, he doesn’t see Yogananda the same way I do, but the only thing that matters is loving. God is our common ground. I could almost hear Yogananda and Christ chuckle that day as I was filled with deep joy and gratitude.

A priceless example
Divine Mother provides sweet blessings to smooth a bumpy road. My mother-in-law is a strong woman with a heart she has completely given to Jesus. She has loved me from the day we met, and although she doesn’t understand what I am doing, she trusts God to take care of all of us. Her example has been priceless for my children and my marriage.

I often think of our marriage as bilingual because so many of the apparent differences are semantic. Service is a language we both understand. My husband tithes, teaches, fixes computers, cleans and drives for his church at every opportunity. I tithe, teach, sing, lead meditations and write for Ananda.

There is so much joy in seeing God in our life together. I have never had a moment’s regret. However, when friends ask me for words of advice about marrying outside their spiritual path, I can only tell them what Swami Kriyananda told me: “Meditate on your decision and be very, very sure.”

I hope that as my children grow up in this complicated picture, they will see and hear more than one definition of God’s love in this world. I pray they will have a broader vocabulary and vision that will help them listen for God’s voice with open hearts and choose love over condemnation.

I hope their father and I can help them see that the two things we do share are an intense soul cry for God’s living presence, and the understanding that, while we each use different vehicles for experiencing that presence, we want to share the journey.

Lorna Knox is a member of the Ananda Portland Church.  She works as a teacher in Portland, Oregon and is the author of I Came from Joy and Scary News, Crystal Clarity Publishers.

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.

Recently I was faced with the need to care for an aging parent at a time when my husband and I were serving as leaders of the Ananda Portland colony. From the standpoint of the logical, rational mind, it seemed inevitable that the situation would be difficult and stressful. But I surrendered it completely to Divine Mother, and asked Her to guide me through it.

An only child
I was my parents’ only child. When I moved to Ananda Village in 1972, they were very supportive, even though they didn’t understand my new way of life. As they grew older, however, I became increasingly aware that I had no way to support them financially, should they need it.

At one point I prayed, “Divine Mother, I know I’ve chosen the right life for myself. But if my parents ever need my help, you’re going to have to help me out.”

For the time being, this was not a problem in that my parents were able to live fairly comfortably on the income from their stock market investments.

Day-by-day surrendering
At the beginning of 1998, my husband and I moved from Ananda Village in California to Portland, Oregon to serve as the Ananda colony leaders. I now lived much farther away from my parents. This was troubling to me, but each day, in meditation, I offered my concerns into Divine Mother’s loving hands.

About a year after we arrived in Portland, my father died suddenly. He was at home at the time, experienced virtually no suffering, and was in the loving care of his wife of 53 years. Although the manner of his death was a great blessing, his passing meant tremendous changes for my mother.

My mother now needed much more support, and I helped her in whatever ways I could. Then, after a year, she moved to Ohio to be near her brother. The two of them were very close, and this was a deeply satisfying time for her.

“Don’t forget the financial part.”
It was during this period that the stock market started going through the ups and downs that eventually culminated in the downturn or “crash” in 2002.  My mother’s means of support was in jeopardy, and I prayed: “Divine Mother, please don’t forget the financial part.”

After the stock market stabilized, my mother told me, “You know, my stockbroker said to me, ‘You are one of the few people I know who didn’t lose any money in the stock market crash.’” And I was thinking, “Thank you Divine Mother!”

In the fall of 2002 my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. My uncle wanted to care for her, but he wasn’t well himself. So I went to Ohio, packed my mother’s belongings, brought her to Portland, and found her an apartment nearby.

No time to think about myself
For the next year and a half my own needs simply didn’t exist. I only had time for my mother’s needs (including radiation treatments and her post-treatment recovery), and the needs of the Ananda Portland colony.

If I had allowed myself to think—“I can’t do this! I have too many other responsibilities to be able to take care of my mother,” it would have pulled my energy down. Instead, I simply kept moving, while constantly offering every aspect of the situation into Divine Mother’s light. As I did this, I felt a tremendous flow of God’s grace working through everything that happened.

Flying into the heart of the fires
During the last six months of her life, my mother often mentioned that she wanted to visit relatives in southern California—to hold my cousin’s new baby, to sit in the sun in the desert by the pool, and to see the ocean.

When my mother had recovered enough to walk with the help of a cane, we made plans to fly to Palm Springs for the week of her birthday. She was happy to be going on a trip after the long radiation treatments.

The week before we were to leave horrendous forest fires were burning throughout much of southern California. The smoke was so thick that people were staying indoors as much as possible. It seemed foolhardy to go but my aunt said, “You’ve already made your plans. You may as well come.” And so we took off, and flew right into the heart of the raging fires.

After landing, as we drove through the area that had been thick with smoke the previous day, the air began to clear. By the time we reached my aunt’s house, the air was so clear that you could see the whole of Los Angeles from her hillside home. That vacation turned out to be one of the highlights of my mother’s life.

More than I could handle
A few months later, my husband and I decided to return to Ananda Village. I thought, “I know this is the right move for us personally, but I don’t know how it’s going to work out for my mother.” But again, I surrendered the situation into Divine Mother’s hands and moved forward.

My mother had been looking forward to living in California again, but shortly after the move, she became much more ill, and went into the hospital.  Now, not only was I trying to learn a new and challenging job, I was regularly driving back and forth to the hospital, a 40-minute commute each way. For the first time, I began to feel that I no longer cope with the situation.

About four days later, my mother died. Instead of the prolonged suffering so common with cancer, she died almost instantly from a ruptured aneurism. I was immensely grateful to Divine Mother that her passing entailed so little suffering.

Divine Mother is always there
The flow of God’s light can transform the most challenging situations into experiences of grace. It takes an act of will power to offer these situations repeatedly into the divine light.

But, in making that effort, we find that Divine Mother is always there, supporting us in ways the logical mind could never have foreseen. This changes how we view our lives, and more importantly, it changes us forever.

Parvati Hansen, an Ananda Lightbearer, serves as executive director of the Janaka Foundation.  She and her husband, Bent, live at Ananda Village.

In 1992, Vas experienced his first episode of Crohn’s disease, an autoimmune disorder in which the disease process ulcerates and, in some cases, eats right through the intestinal wall. Vas was admitted to the hospital none too soon, as the disease had become almost life threatening.

After two hospitalizations and several months of convalescence, he returned to his job as manager of East West Bookshop in Menlo Park, California with a changed diet, a shortened workweek, and mellowed work habits.

The disease recurs
When the disease flared up again in September 2002, Vas spoke only of getting well. Each day, whether at home or in the hospital, he continued to meditate. We were alternately hopeful and gravely concerned as the weeks went by and he was hospitalized again and again with complications.

After one of his medications caused nerve damage in his right ankle, Vas had to use a walker. He struggled just to get through his bedroom door. Behind the door, and partially in view was his golf bag. A recent “convert” to golf, he had been out to golf courses several times with friends from the Seattle Ananda community.

When I suggested that we move the clubs so he could get through the door more easily, he said, “No! Leave them there. I want to see them each day.”

The challenges mount
The challenges of the disease, and the side effects from the medications—at one point 29 pills—mounted. Later, there were three weeks of “home health care” with intravenous feedings.

Through it all, Vas maintained a matter of fact attitude. At home or in the hospital, he was sweet and grateful to his nurses, and addressed each by name. Several knew him as customers of East West Bookshop in Seattle, where, since 1996, he had worked as co-manager and book buyer.

Occasionally, however, the illness was a challenge to his equanimity. But he would apologize, saying, “I don’t mean to be so sharp, Babe.”

A different kind of leader
Following the first episode of Crohn’s disease, Vas had worked conscientiously on his attitudes as a manager. No longer the strict taskmaster, he became much more the nurturing mother.

He had understood the truth of one of Ananda’s guiding principles—“people are more important than things,” that compassionate sensitivity to people is more important than a project turning out perfectly.

Vas came downstairs on Christmas Day 2002 to greet East West staff and other friends. He was deeply “present” with each person and spoke of his gratitude for their friendship and prayers.

By then, the medications had weakened his heart to the point that he had already experienced one episode of atrial fibrillation, in which the heart behaves erratically. The doctor had warned that if it happened again he might not come out of it so readily.

“I’m getting better.”
The Thursday before Vas left his body, his doctor suggested that he consider surgery. Vas replied, “I’m getting better. I won’t consider that until I’m on my deathbed. Short of surgery, he was doing everything he could to get well.

By Saturday, Vas’s body was under great duress. It was apparent that he was suffering. But without further explanation, all he would say was, “I’m not going.” I knew then that he would not go, once again, to the hospital emergency room.

Yogananda’s birthday
The following morning, January 5, 2003, at 4:46 a.m. I heard his breath stop. His heart had gone into atrial fibrillation and couldn’t right itself. It was Sunday, Yogananda’s birthday.

We had been preparing to celebrate our Guru’s birthday at the mandir, with a banquet to follow. Now we were preparing for my husband’s astral ascension service.

The sky was a blaze of yellow and coral as we drove to the mandir for the ceremony. In the midst of the dazzling sky was a beautiful crystal prism, round and rainbow colored.

At the service we played the recording of Vas singing “Nightingale” just before Swami Kriyananda gave a major talk in Seattle in June 2002, a few months before Vas became ill.

The Guru’s grace
With his remaining strength, Vas seemed to have surrendered his life into the hands of his Guru for the final decision.  The timing of his death, the crystal prism in the sky—showed me that Yogananda had called him home.

Vas was a man of reserve, dignity, and energy. That he stopped short of surgery was very understandable. The idea of a post surgical life with Crohn’s disease was not a compromise he was willing to make.

Yet, my first thought was a question: what about the possibility of prolonging his life as a devotee? This seemed of value, certainly.

But, as Terry McGilloway stated so eloquently in his eulogy, it was as if Yogananda came and said “You don’t have to live that way,” and released him from that sick body.

Self-concern the greatest enemy
In the two years since Vas slipped away, I have experienced both sadness and peace. Death is not to be feared. Loss is not to be feared. Self-concern is the greatest enemy because it is a natural by product of the first phases of grieving. “Poor me” is a pretty formidable temptation.

Along with the prayers and support of friends, what sustained me most after his passing was meditation. At such times, I was truly between worlds, conscious of spending time both there and here—where he was and where I was. I felt so close to him, and so at peace in that meditative space. The certainty that he lived helped me to move forward.

“You’ll do fine, Babe.”
God took my loving life-companion and asked, “May I be your companion now?”

Swami Kriyananda said in a recent video talk from India: “You think when someone dies—how cruel. No! God came to you in that form. God is taking Himself back so you will look at Him again and seek His love.”

The biggest gain has been a deepening of my love for God, for Guru, and for a life of renunciation. I have lost a great friend only to find that the love in my heart has multiplied.

At various times during our life together I would say to Vas, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you if you go first.” And he always said, “You’ll do fine, Babe.”

Jacqueline Snitkin serves as a Lightbearer at Ananda Seattle.

The last thing I remember before I died was that my body began to convulse violently and I felt exceptionally cold. But I could still hear the loud, droning rhythm of the propellers overhead.

A tunnel of light
A speck of light appeared at the point between my eyebrows and I experienced a tremendous upward surge of energy, like bouncing in the air from a trampoline—a feeling of going up but not coming down again. The realization dawned that I wasn’t breathing.

There was a liberating sense of relief in not being in the body, an almost amusing awareness of how heavy it had been. I felt like I was floating in a pool of warm water with the sun shining on me, the warmth absorbing me as I absorbed it. I was comfortable and relaxed.

The only sound was like wind rushing through trees. In front of me was a tunnel of light.

“Do you want to stay?”
I passed quickly through the tunnel and came out into a big open space where I was surrounded by a powerful presence. This presence consisted of many souls and emanated pure light, pure golden warmth, pure nurturing comfort, and an overwhelming feeling of love.

It seemed that I had merged with all these souls. We were all one and yet individual, too.  Nothing else existed; nothing else mattered.  It felt like home. Then, from the midst of these souls, a loving, gentle presence spoke to me, not in words but through the medium of feelings. The question asked was, “Do you want to stay, or do you want to go back?”

Somehow my soul knew exactly where it was, why it was here, and what was happening. I knew I had died and left the material world. My answer to the familiar presence was, “I haven’t met the right people yet, and I haven’t learned to serve.”

The reply that came back was, “If you go back, you will experience physical suffering. It will not be easy for you physically.” And my soul said, “I need to go back because I need to do these things before I can come home.”

Back in the body
As soon as there was an understanding, I could again hear the loud beat of the helicopter blades and then, a man’s voice yelling, “Clear!” After a violent shock, I felt myself thrust upward, and the heaviness of being in the body returned.  The medical technician had used defibrillation paddles and restored my heartbeat.

At the time, no books had been published on the near-death experience, so I had no reassuring explanation for what occurred. But somewhere deep inside I understood that my soul had chosen a mission in life. Who were these people I needed to meet?  What did it mean to “learn to serve?”

For several days I was in a coma. The doctors said my survival was miraculous. I had suffered a ruptured spleen, six broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a deep laceration to the head, and a contusion of the heart that would have killed me instantly had it been a fraction of an inch to either side.

Who is my guide?
My memories of leaving the body lent urgency to the process of recovering and embracing life. I knew I wouldn’t die again until I had learned the lessons my soul had chosen. And I knew there was a loving guide who watched over me, who would help me find my way home.

After I awoke from the coma my mother told me details of the accident, the first being that my friend Joe, who had been with me in the car, had survived and would be fine.

Then she told me something that she had learned from Bobbie and Jodie, two close friends who had been in the car behind us.

When Bobbie and Jodie pulled Joe and me out of the burning car, it was dark and raining. I was choking on blood but Bobbie couldn’t see well enough to help me.  Bobbie yelled for Jodie to go to their car and get a flashlight so he could clear my air passage—something he had learned in law enforcement training.

Flashlight from an angel
Jodie returned empty-handed and Bobby exclaimed, “God, I need a flashlight!”  In that moment, Bobbie noticed a man behind him who handed him a flashlight. He said that the man was short, rotund, olive-skinned, with long black hair and small hands, and was wearing what appeared to be an orange choir robe.

After clearing my passage, Bobby turned to thank the man but he had vanished, and there were no car tracks. Bobby later discovered that there wasn’t a farm for two miles in any direction. Mom said, “Bobby still has that flashlight and calls it his flashlight from heaven, delivered by an angel.”

A second miracle occurred shortly after the first.  Two cars stopped within minutes of the collision. In the first car was a doctor on his way back to Mexico, who had decided to take this remote, scenic route to avoid the highways.

In the second car was a couple returning to their farm two miles away. The doctor attended to Joe and me while the couple went to their farm to call an ambulance and Joe’s and my parents.

Finding Ananda
Over the years I continued to be puzzled by what it meant to “meet the right people and learn to serve.” Eventually, I discovered the Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yogananda. Later, I found out about Ananda Village.

It wasn’t long before I understood that Yogananda was my spiritual guide, and that at Ananda I had found the “right people.” In this family of friendly God-centered devotees, I knew I would “learn to serve.”

When I prayed or meditated, I felt Yogananda’s presence all around me. I knew I had spent many lifetimes as a disciple of this great teacher, and that he had been guiding my life long before I found Ananda.

In fact, it seems that Yogananda was present at the scene of the accident—the “man in orange,” ready with the flashlight just when Bobby needed it. Bobby’s description fit him perfectly.

Excerpted from AIDS: Pathway of Miracles, by Happy Carol Winingham. For a copy of the book, e-mail London@mcn.org.

Several years after moving to Ananda Village in the 1980s, Happy was diagnosed with AIDS, and given 6-12 months to live. Despite ongoing health challenges, she lived ten more years and was able to “serve” in many ways—as a spiritual teacher, actress and playwright, and AIDS activist.

Paramhansa Yogananda: A Great Modern Channel
by Swami Kriyananda

Paramhansa Yogananda spoke—from personal, visionary experience, and not from book learning—of countless mysteries of the universe: of how it was made, and why. He told us of life on other planets, and predicted a time of interstellar travel—which he said was a reality, despite its seeming impossibility, according to the known laws of modern physics.

He described—again, from direct experience—levels of reality that are much too subtle to be perceived by the physical senses. He spoke of the ages of civilization on earth, and of the implications for mankind of having entered, as we now have, a new age.

He revealed to our imagination a divine creation so marvelous, so infinitely vast and complex, so inspiring in its beauty and lofty purpose that I think not all the books in the world could equal what we heard from him in person.

He could see people in the astral world, converse with them, and receive messages from them. He could tune in to high souls and let them speak through him. From what he told us, and from what seemed to us truly our own experience with him, God Himself used his voice to teach us and guide us.

He saw things in people’s past that even they had forgotten. He saw far back in time, also, beyond the portals of this life, and helped people thereby to understand problems in the present lifetime that, until then, had left them confused, perplexed, or resentful. And he saw things in their future, as well. People couldn’t bring themselves to believe all the predictions he made, but they proved right nonetheless.

Excerpted from How to Be a True Channel, Crystal Clarity, Publishers.

No smoke in sight
From the kitchen I heard the sound of a low flying borate bomber and wondered if there was a fire nearby. Borate bombers are small planes that drop fire retardants to stop the progress of wildfires. Sierra foothill residents are very familiar with the sound of their engines, and invariably look around for smoke. Since there was no smoke in sight, I was not alarmed.

One of the retreatants had noticed the plane and asked Dave, “Is that a borate bomber?” Dave was just beginning to explain why the plane wasn’t a borate bomber when, suddenly, it dropped a load of borate a few hundred yards away.

Just about that time, Wyatt Farkas, another staff member, came rushing into the kitchen to call the fire department. He had climbed a nearby tree and spotted flames. Because of the tall evergreens that encircle the common dome, we hadn’t been able to see anything.

Engulfed in flames
We all rushed toward a little A-frame building, which was completely engulfed in flames. Fortunately, in the windless air, the flames were going straight up, and the borate, which covered the surrounding bushes, was containing the fire.

Within a minute or so, the volunteer fire department arrived with a large truck. We were quite surprised because it normally takes a fire truck twenty minutes to reach our remote location. The building was mostly gone at that point, and the fire was quickly extinguished.

As the fire danger passed, we began asking questions. How had the borate pilot and the fire department known about the fire, when we, just a few hundred yards away, had no warning? We learned that ten minutes before the plane dropped the borate, a child had bicycled right past the little A-frame and hadn’t noticed any flames.

Flawless timing
In the space of ten minutes, two things happened. The A-frame burst into flames and moments later, a borate bomber just happened to be flying overhead on its way to a fire in nearby Downieville. Seeing the flames, the pilot radioed the tower for permission to drop the borate on our fire. His radio call alerted our local fire fighters. That accounted for the swift arrival of the volunteer brigade.

That night, after all the excitement had died down, I went home and meditated. I was overwhelmed with the awareness of Divine Mother’s powerful and loving care. Her protection, her split second timing, had been flawless.

It’s so easy to get lost in the details of our lives, our unending to-do lists, and to feel that it is “up to us” to make things happen. An event like this puts into striking perspective how tiny we are compared to God, and how enormous is God’s power and intelligence.

It is the Divine hand that wields the power. The most important thing we can do is to trust in that Power, stay in tune with it, and lovingly surrender our lives to it.

A slightly burned photo
The couple who lived in the A-frame were working in town the night of the fire. We found a cabin for them and belongings to tide them over. Within weeks, thanks to friends at Ananda, everything they’d lost was replaced.

It took a few days for the ashes to cool enough for us to clear the rubble. At first it seemed that nothing had survived the intensity of that blaze. However, while clearing the site, someone noticed a slightly burned item in the nearby bushes. It was the frontispiece from Paramhansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi.

That page, with Yogananda’s sweet photo, neatly burned around the edges, was all that remained of the book. God was giving us another little reminder of who is in charge of our lives—just in case we hadn’t noticed.

Anandi Cornell, Lightbearer and Ananda Village resident, serves at The Expanding Light guest retreat. Other Clarity articles by Anandi Cornell are listed under “Nayaswami Cornell.”

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.

A struggle to stay awake
It was after midnight when we reached Nevada City and began the last part of our drive home through the Yuba River Canyon. This stretch of the road parallels the steep mountains of the South Yuba River, and winds and curves for many miles. There are no guardrails—just a mountain wall on one side, and oaks and a sheer drop to the river, on the other.

It had been a long and full day for both of us. Wyatt was asleep, and I was fighting to stay awake. As we descended the canyon toward the Highway 49 bridge, I squeezed my eyes, and even tensed and relaxed my body several times. But it didn’t help. Suddenly I, too, fell asleep. Now with two sleeping yogis, the car veered across the road to the canyon’s rim.

I awoke to shouts of “Bharat! Wake Up! Bharat!!” Seeing the threat, I grabbed the steering wheel and managed to turn us away from almost certain calamity. Wyatt had warned me just in time.

Wyatt’s dream
Fully alert now, we continued on in silence. Wyatt was the first to speak: “Master came to me while I was sleeping and told me, ‘Bharat’s asleep! Wake him up!’” Wyatt had come right out of deep sleep and started shouting my name.

I had been thanking Yogananda inwardly even before hearing Wyatt’s account. Yogananda teaches that we should try to see the loving hand of God and Guru behind all that happens in our lives. This is a wonderful practice, yet in the beginning it can be simply an affirmation on our part.

Learning the full story of how Yogananda had come to our aid helped me to know that he is truly guiding and watching over us at all times.

The Guru is always with us
During the rest of the drive home, I felt a deep outpouring of love and gratitude for Yogananda. Swami Kriyananda writes in his book, The Path, how Yogananda’s grace protects his disciples, and I felt very fortunate to be counted as one of his children.

A couple of years later, I experienced a severe illness that lasted four years. It was my faith that Yogananda was there in the midst of it, overseeing my life, which got me through that difficult time.

Last fall Wyatt visited Ananda Village after many years of service at our Ananda Assisi community. We were catching up on each other’s lives when at one point I quietly asked, “Do you remember our drive from Sacramento when we nearly went into the canyon?”

Smiling inwardly, Wyatt simply said, “Yes.” We sat for a while, remembering the one who has guided and inspired our lives—not only on that eventful night—but every day since.

Joseph Bharat Cornell, a Lightbearer, oversees the Meditation Support Ministry at the Sangha Office at Ananda Village.

The time to prepare is now
What did these two women have in common, and what can we learn from them? Both of them, as long time members of Ananda Village, spent their lives practicing the teachings of Paramhansa Yogananda—meditation, selfless service, and love for God.

The teachings of yoga are full of lessons on this very important process. Not coincidentally, the practices that prepare us to leave this earth in freedom also give us a deeper, more dynamic spiritual life right now.

Call to God inwardly
Mahatma Gandhi was heard to say, “Rama, Rama” as he fell to the ground after being assassinated. A friend, on hearing this story, told me that he hoped for the presence of mind to call to God when he dies.

Did Gandhi merely think quickly as he fell to his death? A study of his life shows that he spent most of his waking hours talking to God (as Rama) and chanting his name. We can start preparing now by inwardly calling to God throughout the day—practicing “japa” as it’s called in India.

Tie up karmic loose ends
Secondly, we can begin tying up all of our karmic loose ends right now. Paula phoned a few people in her last days apologizing for misunderstandings. To one friend she said, “That was weighing heavily on me. I’m glad we’re both big enough gals to put it behind us.”

Bella asked her sister near the end, “Have we worked everything out between us?” After her sister answered yes, Bella said, “I think I’ve worked everything out with everyone.”

Growing up, I had a difficult relationship with my father. I was the rebellious hippie, and he was a lifelong conservative who never was able to express his love for his children. As I was preparing to leave on a long trip, I said to him in the middle of a mundane conversation, “I love you.”

Even though his personality wouldn’t let him respond to me verbally, he later wrote a note expressing his own love for me. I never saw him again, as he passed away suddenly while I was traveling.

Overcome your fear of dying
Thirdly, don’t be afraid. Talk with people who have been around those who have died with freedom and joy. Watch the beautiful video, “Life after Life,” which interviews people who have had near-death experiences.

It was obvious watching Bella and Paula during their last days that both had long overcome any fear of dying. Paula comforted a hospice nurse who was there to comfort her by saying, “Tell the world that death is nothing to be sad about. Death is joy!”

The path of meditation gradually cuts the karmic bonds that tie us to our body and to this earth. By offering our little selves each day into the light of God in meditation, we gradually overcome all fears.

“So this is what death is like”
My own fear of death was diminished greatly by an experience I had shortly after beginning the path of meditation. One day I was swimming in the ocean—a relatively new experience for someone who had spent most of his life growing up in the farmland of the Midwest. I was suddenly caught in a powerful and unrelenting rip tide. I didn’t even know what a rip tide was at that time. I just knew that I was in big trouble.

The more I struggled and fought the current, the farther I was pulled out into the ocean, until I was far from any help, tossed like a cork on crashing waves. After many minutes of the most intense struggle, I finally ran out of strength. Exhausted to the point of collapse, all I could do was turn onto my back and accept what I thought was the end of my life.

Lying on my back, I gazed into the vast, blue sky and offered my whole self into God with complete love and surrender. I was suddenly engulfed with an extraordinary bliss. At that moment I thought, more with intuition than words: “So this is what death is like.”

After floating in this bliss for a couple of minutes, I found myself being washed up on shore. Later, I learned that fighting a rip tide doesn’t work—swimming parallel to the shore and getting out of the current is what will save you.

Apparently, that’s what God did for me as I lay exhausted, and in bliss, floating on my back. That experience forever made me know, just as Paula knew, that “Death is joy!”

This world is not our home
I had an unforgettable experience with Bella during one of her last days. As she was slipping in and out of consciousness, it seemed that her soul was already experiencing some of the freedom of the astral world. Late one night she was awake and throwing up. While throwing up, she was singing with joy!

Bella knew she was going to her true home and she was celebrating in song. Paramhansa Yogananda once said that when a soul leaves the beautiful astral realms and is born in a body, it enters this world crying in pain, while everyone watching is cooing with joy at the newborn baby.

He also said that when the soul leaves this world at death, the soul is smiling with deep joy while those watching are crying. Remember this always, and your fear of death will diminish.

Offer up all attachments
There is a popular bumper sticker that says, “He who finishes with the most toys wins.” For the yogi, it’s just the opposite. The yogi who finishes with the least toys (attachments), wins (finds freedom).

If we leave this world with strong attachments, those attachments will draw us back to this world. We are compelled to reincarnate when we die with desires, such as desires for material possessions, that can only be fulfilled here on earth.

Every night offer all attachments, all regrets—everything—into God’s hands. The more we do this, the freer we will be when it’s time for us to leave this earth.

The few of us sitting with Bella at the end felt such joy that her husband brought out glasses and bubbly water, and offered a toast. We were “celebrating,” not only because Bella told us to, but because we all felt her freedom and joy.

Dave, a Lightbearer and Ananda Village resident, serves as webmaster for the Sangha Office and Crystal Clarity, publishers.

Before moving to Ananda Village in 1972, I had taught for one year at a public school and earned a teaching credential. During those pioneering days of Ananda, even this very limited teaching experience attracted attention. Arriving at the Village on a Friday, I was enthusiastically greeted by certain community members who asked if I would be willing to start a school… on the following Monday!

There was a pressing need for the school. One of the keys to the success of a world brotherhood colony is finding solid, workable ways to integrate children into the community. There were then seven children between the ages of five and eight who had nothing to do during the day and were getting into mischief. The parents had come to Ananda for spiritual reasons and wanted a suitable alternative to public school.

So with Swami Kriyananda’s blessing and support, the school got underway. Soon we were able to move into our permanent schoolhouse on top of a hill overlooking the “downtown” area of the Village. The schoolhouse was newly built but unfinished. The only access was via a deeply rutted, badly maintained tractor trail.

During one recess the children became excited watching a car drive up the tractor road, something we’d never seen anyone attempt before. It turned out to be an official from the State Fire Marshall’s office on an inspection visit.

The man who got out of the car had a rather serious expression on his face. After a perfunctory greeting, he walked around the building, clipboard in hand, taking official-looking notes. When he finally spoke, it was to tell me that we would need to provide access for a fire truck to reach our building via a paved road that connected with the public road about a mile away.

I was shocked. “Do you have any idea how much that might cost?” I asked.

He said, “Well, somewhere around $300,000, including the grading and pavement. I’ll be back in three weeks. If you haven’t made substantial progress by then, we’ll have to close your school down.”

As his car bumped away, I reflected on our current operating budget of $75 a month, including salaries. Being asked to come up with $300,000 was like trying to pay off the national debt.

My next thought was to offer the problem up to my Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda. I said, “Master, this is something you’re going to have to take care of, because there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.”

A huge obstacle had been placed in our way. If it was to be removed, the solution would have to come from God. Not wanting to waste energy worrying, I went about doing what I could to keep the school moving ahead.

About three weeks later another car came driving up the hill. As I walked somewhat hesitantly out to greet it, I saw that it was driven by a different man. He too was from the State Fire Marshall’s office, but had a much friendlier expression on his face. He explained that the previous official had recently decided to switch to the Arson Inspection Division. I reflected that this new line of work would be much more appropriate for him.

As the new man looked around, I waited nervously for him to ask about the paved road. Finally he looked up and said, “Let’s see, now the issue here is fire safety. The main thing is to make sure the children don’t get trapped in a burning building.” Looking around with a smile on his face he said, “Up here that shouldn’t be much of a problem with all this open space around the school. What you need is a good fire warning system.”

“Yes,” I agreed, thinking that now he was going to ask for some expensive sprinkler system that would still be way beyond anything we could afford. “I was thinking,” he continued, “that what you need is a good whistle. Yes, that would do the trick.”

I was stunned. “A whistle?” I stammered. “Yeah, sure, that’s something we could do.”

“Okay,” he said handing me a paper to sign. “This is your promise that you’ll take care of the situation.” I gratefully signed the paper, making a mental note to set aside $1.25 from this month’s budget.

People have asked me if I thought this was a miracle. I do, because it was such an unlikely solution to a problem that I had no way of solving. A major difficulty had been resolved in a very unusual way. It seemed a divine blessing on the Village as the first world brotherhood colony, as well as a confirmation that the time was right for getting the schools underway.

Michael Nitai Deranja is a Lightbearer and Ananda Village resident. He currently serves as Director of the Living Wisdom High School at Ananda Village.

The keynote of his whole personality was love, great love. His love of the voiceless plants, creepers, and flowers intensified his love for mankind. He had a burning desire to be of service and to help—to bear as much as possible of the world’s burden. His heart especially went out to children; he yearned to see them given an opportunity to express the infinite goodness within them.

A martyr for truth
Just before his death, Burbank dramatically martyred himself by calling himself an “infidel,” so that people might wake up from their sleep of superstition and seek God rationally. As Jesus offered himself for love, so Burbank was willing to be crucified by public opinion for the sake of truth. Many newspapers called Burbank an “atheist,” considering him to be one more scientist without faith in God.

An atheist denies the existence of God, but an infidel is simply a disbeliever in the established religion. To a Turk, a Christian is an infidel. Yet both believe in God. The public, however, does not understand the fundamental difference between the two terms.

To most of them, Burbank had denied God, but how far that is from the truth! His faith in the Great Power that rules the mighty forces of nature was the deepest chord of his being. He declared to his interviewer that he was an infidel only in the sense that Jesus was an infidel—both rebelled against prevailing systems. But let us read Burbank’s actual words as recorded by the interviewer and published by the San Francisco newspaper:

“Christ was an infidel”
“Religion grows with the intelligence of man, but all religions of the past and probably all of the future will sooner or later become petrified forms…. Until that time comes, however, if religion of any name or nature makes man more happy, comfortable, and able to live peaceably with his brothers, it is good….

“The idea that a good God would send people to a burning hell is utterly damnable to me. I don’t want to have anything to do with such a God. But while I cannot conceive of such a God, I do recognize the existence of a great universal power which we cannot even begin to comprehend….

“As for Christ—well, he has been most outrageously belied. His followers have so garbled his words that many of them no longer apply to present life. Christ was an infidel of his day because he rebelled against the prevailing religions and government. I am a lover of Christ and all things that help humanity; just as he was an infidel then, I am an infidel today.”

Who dares not speak is a slave
Burbank, when asked to state his position more clearly, said later:

“Euripides long ago said, ‘Who dares not speak his free thought is a slave.’ I nominated myself as an ‘infidel’ as a challenge to those who are asleep. The word is harmless if properly understood….

“Most of us possess discriminating reasoning powers. Can we use them or must we be fed by others like babies? What does the Bible mean when it distinctly says, ‘By their works ye shall know them?’ Works count far more than words with those who think clearly….

“I love everybody. I love everything. I love humanity—it has been a constant delight during all my seventy-seven years of life, and I love all the works of nature…. All plants, animals, and men are already in eternity traveling across the face of time….”

On all subjects, an open mind
The urge toward infinite realization is in every human soul, but in some, as in Burbank, that urge is keenly felt and actively seeking fulfillment. The stupendous power that guides all creation came very close to Burbank in the course of his chosen work. He felt its overwhelming grandeur, its incomprehensible goodness and beauty.

And he knew that he, as a man, could not define it or know it completely. On all subjects he kept an open mind, certain  that the truth could not be so small as to be exhausted and contained in one religion, one age, or one mind.

Excerpted from East-West magazine, May-June 1926.

The howling of stray cats
A group of superstitious men, fearful of evil spirits, believed that making loud music would keep them safe from the spirits during the night. But this wasn’t music at all, and certainly not the sweet devotional chanting that Mukunda, as Yogananda was then called, loved, or the lively festival music that was familiar in India. The superstitious men banged loudly on drums and cymbals and their singing sounded like the howling of stray cats fighting over garbage.

They did not care that people complained, or that their music disturbed everyone who could hear. The growing exhaustion and anger of their neighbors meant nothing. They thought only of keeping the ghosts away.

As a young man, Mukunda was known for his pranks and tricks. One morning he overheard someone remark, “The uproar they make is enough to wake the dead!” Mukunda smiled and told his friend that he had a plan. He then asked his friend to spread the word to all the boys in the neighborhood to come to his house at ten o’clock that night and to bring wooden spoons and tin pots.

Mukunda’s pranks were well known but his fun was always centered in love.  If Mukunda had a plan, his friends were sure it would be hilarious and they wanted to help. All day the boys whispered in anticipation and passed on Mukunda’s instructions. By ten o’clock a crowd of boys had arrived at Mukunda’s home.

A ghostly rout
Mukunda knew that the thoughtless “musicians” would only heed complaints that came from the very “ghosts” they were so afraid of. If these men were convinced that even the evil spirits were tired and annoyed, surely they would stop.

The boys sneaked quietly through the darkness and surrounded the noisy house. The men inside couldn’t hear anything through all the noise they were making, and the boys didn’t make a sound until Mukunda signaled.

When Mukunda gave his signal, the boys began beating on their pots. They all howled and screeched and moaned until they sounded like an army of angry ghosts—the frightening noise was deafening.

The boys’ racket finally got the attention of the musicians who all stopped to listen. Mukunda signaled and the boys stopped too. The moment of silence was tense. One of the musician’s timidly opened the door and called out into the darkness, “Brother Ghost?”

Mukunda aimed and threw firecrackers through the open door, exploding the silence. Then all the boys renewed their ghostly noises, louder than before.  It sounded as if every evil spirit in Calcutta was descending on that house!
This uproar was too much for the poor men who were now certain that they had angered the entire spirit world.  Every one of them dropped their instruments and ran out into the darkness.

Peace restored
Mukunda’s family and neighbors slept well that night, grateful that peace had been restored and a solution had been found without anger or serious consequences. However, when the frightened men discovered that the “ghosts” they had heard were led by Mukunda, they demanded that the school principal expel him from school as punishment.

Fortunately, the principal saw how inconsiderate the men had been and understood Mukunda’s humorous plan. He told the men that if the disturbances continued he would do something about it himself. Angry ghosts, real or imaginary, and a school principal after them were enough to make the men promise never to resume their midnight music.

Adapted by Lorna Knox from Stories of Mukunda by Swami Kriyananda.

Lorna Knox, a teacher and member of the Portland Ananda Church, is the author of I Came from Joy, Spiritual Affirmations for Children, Crystal Clarity, Publishers.

Not my time to go
Closing my eyes and focusing at the point between the eyebrows, I asked God, “Is this my time to leave the body?” I waited with calm, almost hopeful, acceptance for an answer. But I saw no light, and had no sense that God was calling me home. Instead, I had a sudden intuitive flash that showed me spending weeks in the hospital and undergoing a lot of unpleasantness to regain my former health. But I would recover. With this realization came a deep sense of peace and acceptance.

I heard voices murmuring around me. One voice explained, “I saw her car making a turn off the road, but I didn’t remember there being anything there but trees.” Another voice assured me, “We’ve called for help. What happened?

“….Fell asleep ….at the wheel,” I managed to gasp.

Chanting AUM with Divine Mother
At this point, each breath was unbelievably painful. (Later I would learn that most of my breathing equipment was not working properly.) I started mentally chanting “AUM” with each breath and asking Divine Mother to breathe with me. From that first, “AUM,” I felt lifted above the worst of the pain, like a child held safe in its mother’s arms. I no longer had to struggle alone.

Thereafter, I drifted in and out of consciousness and have only passing memories of the rest of the day. I floated back into consciousness just in time to see the paramedics snipping away my clothing from the wrist upward. My mind cried out, “Stop! You don’t need to do that! I’m going to be just fine!” Since I wasn’t up to the task of speaking, I had to watch stoically as they cut away my favorite raincoat, and to remember that they really meant well. My distress at the loss of my raincoat was the final proof that I was, indeed, among the living again.

Airlifted by helicopter to the hospital for surgery, I woke up in an intensive care unit with tubes in my nose, abdomen, lung and throat. I was hooked up to an array of monitors and IVs and could barely move. If I hadn’t known, on such a deep level of my being, that all would be fine, I might have been concerned for this person hooked up to all that equipment and lost in a twilight zone of medical emergency.

My only desire: a cool drink of water
Because of my internal injuries, I was not allowed to eat or drink anything, even water, for most of my two weeks in the hospital. The thought of a cool glass of water became my only real desire. When I finally got my first glass of water, I took twenty minutes to savor that experience, letting the cool water trickle down my throat to soothe and to renew.

Since that experience, I have been reminded to truly savor even the simplest pleasures in life—whether it is a beautiful sunset, friendships, the sound of the wind in the trees, or the love of my family.

While in the hospital, I worked to understand and accept what had happened, and to see the accident as a loving gift from God. As a devotee, I understood that life is not meant to hurt us, but to expand us. For is it not from seeds of pain and suffering that compassion and wisdom grow?

I remembered the story from Swami Kriyananda about his fellow monk, Bernard, being told by Yogananda to be more careful. Bernard protested that it wasn’t his fault that he kept having car accidents—in fact, two of them happened when his car was parked! Yogananda again insisted that he be more careful. Bernard’s attitude of carelessness had attracted the accidents because of the magnetism it created.

“Are you now unhappy enough?”
As I look at my life, I realize now that before the accident I had been deeply unhappy for some time. I had been nursing my own personal hurts, whether real or imagined, and holding onto disagreements and disappointments—which resulted in my distancing myself from others. My mind had created a whirlpool of self-perpetuating unhappiness and darkness. It’s as if Divine Mother were asking me, “Is being broken and in the hospital unhappy enough for you?”

Then I remembered…. Years ago at Sunday service, during that part of the service when people come to the altar for a blessing from the minister, I had just sat down after being blessed. Tears streamed down my face, unbidden, as I watched others waiting their turn to be blessed. I felt Divine Mother whispering in my heart, “I have so many children to love. Won’t you help me?” I remember feeling like I had mentally stepped over a line—accepting the task being offered and pledging to do my best. These many years later, how had I strayed so very far from my goal?

A better job of remembering
“Smriti” means divine memory. It means remembering who and what we really are—a spark of the Divine set adrift in a sea of delusion. The imperfections of the physical plane are part of the drama of life. It is our task to remember that we are here to try to support the best in each other, as devotees, not to fixate on mistakes and misunderstandings. Anything that fosters a sense of separation is fraught with danger for the sincere devotee, who seeks to reclaim his or her birthright as a child of the Infinite.

When I look at the pictures of my car after the accident, it is easy to see that I am alive today only because of God’s grace. The car had hit a tree and been smashed in until the dashboard was almost touching the front seat on the passenger side, and there was barely enough room for me on the driver’s side.

For some reason, when I wrapped my car around that tree, it was not my time to leave. Perhaps I have been given another chance to remember who I am and why I have come here. With eyes wide open, I look for opportunities to bring Light to all that I do. Each day I am grateful for the chance to continue to invite God into my life to help me to do a better job of remembering.

Saraswati Kieran, a former teacher in the Ananda School, lives at Ananda Village with her husband and family.

Jolted out of a rut
We both hung up and my husband came into the room and looked into my eyes.  He asked if I was all right.  I said, “Yes, and I’m going into the kitchen to make cookies for your birthday party.” I knew I had a choice in how I was to respond.  I wanted to make that choice as consciously as possible.

The biopsy had shown a malignant tumor in my left breast, which is right over the heart. I remember thinking, “Well, if you’re going to die, what’s there to lose in opening your heart? I began a silent mantra immediately—“This is mine.  God doesn’t make mistakes. This is a gift from God, from Divine Mother.”

Before I found the lump in my breast I had been in a rut for months.  I didn’t know how to get out of it, and I didn’t seem to have the energy to try.  I remember praying, “Divine Mother, help me get out of this.”  You’ve probably heard people say, “Be careful of what you ask for.”  Yet, I trusted that Divine Mother knew what it would take to get me moving again.

Afraid to eat
Despite my initial resolve, my energy contracted right after the diagnosis.  Fear of suffering, of pain and sickness, clouded my days. Suddenly I remembered everything I had ever read about foods, pesticides, fats, hormones, and preservatives that caused cancer.  I became afraid to eat.

A friend came over when she heard me sobbing on the phone.  She rubbed my feet as I told her how afraid I was of eating.  I had hardly eaten in three days.  She took me downstairs and made some soup. She said, “I’ve seen many people go through this, Lisa, and I don’t think it makes any difference what you eat.”

It was the right thing to say in that moment, for my fear vanished. We began talking about her son. I made a comment that seemed to help her with an inner struggle and she thanked me. In that moment I remembered the time I had nearly drowned in rough seas with a friend in Hawaii. What gave me the strength to get back to shore was calling out encouragement to her.

My health crisis occurred shortly after our community had experienced an unusually large number of deaths. Six women who had been fighting long-term illnesses such as cancer, AIDS, and MS all died within a few months. It seemed as if the entire community was in a state of grief.  I felt we needed someone to live so the grieving could stop. I put into action a spiritual truth: When you’re too self-involved because of depression, illness or difficult outer circumstances, the best way to change your energy is to do something for someone else. By thinking of others, in this instance the community, and not myself, I was able to stay much more positive.

Meditation—my refuge
I renewed my efforts at sadhana, adding some yoga postures with affirmations. This along with meditation became my daily healing tonic. The asanas and affirmations helped to keep my energy dynamic and stable, my mind centered and accepting. Meditation, however, was my refuge, the place where I could experience that I am not my body, and that my body’s troubles are separate from who and what I really am. Chanting was also helpful, especially when agitation or fear made meditation impossible. Singing to God took me into the calming reality of my heart and soul connection with the Divine.

My mastectomy was scheduled for three weeks after the biopsy. Still, I constantly called the surgeon, trying to get him to operate sooner.  I thought of all those cells growing out of control in my body and I wanted them OUT!  I called each morning to see if there might be a cancellation. Fear struck again.

Divine Mother handed me another lesson. As long as I tried to change the outer circumstances, instead of trusting the guiding hand that was so evident from the beginning, I lost my inner peace. When I accepted what I could not change, my peace returned and I was able to see that those two weeks before surgery would allow me to tie up work-related responsibilities and to relax and heal after the surgery.

As is the tradition at Ananda Village, I was given a blessing the night before the surgery. It seemed as if the entire community showed up. We chanted while people came up in small groups and blessed me. Many friends later commented on the powerful healing energy they felt that night.

The healing power of love
During the surgery, several friends prayed at the hospital chapel and sent healing energy. Two days after the mastectomy the pathology report miraculously showed no traces of the cancerous tumor. My doctors explained it by saying that my immune system may have taken care of the remaining cancer, or that the cauterization of the biopsy incision could have eradicated what was left of the disease. I choose to think that it was the love and prayers I received from my relatives and spiritual family before and during the surgery.

Five months later I was asked to work at our guest retreat, The Expanding Light, and I begin teaching Hatha Yoga again. My cancer experience had opened my heart and I was eager to work with people and share the blessing of yoga.

A year after my surgery I felt lighter, more relaxed and began noticing a new level of self-acceptance. The freedom to be “me,” with all my imperfections, felt extraordinary. I was learning how to enjoy the divine connection we all have with one another, and to allow divine love to flow through me.  I was also much more open to God’s will in my life, whatever that might be.

Having a disease that strikes fear into most people was the experience that freed me from fear Cancer was Divine Mother’s gift to me, and I will be eternally grateful for it.

Lisa Powers, an Ananda Village minister and resident, helps teach the Ananda Yoga Teacher Training course at The Expanding Light Guest Retreat.

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.

Dear __________

I’m sure that those visions reported by St. Francis and Theresa Neumann were true. Just what were they saying, though?

Master once told us, “I see all of you as images of light. Everything—these trees, bushes, the grass you are standing on—all are made of that light. You have no idea how beautiful everything is!” He was describing a reality deeper than the physical one we could see. He wasn’t, though, saying that the material world we beheld didn’t exist: simply that it isn’t what it appears to be.

I can’t be certain of these things, but my best understanding is that the visions you mentioned are likely to have been similar in nature. Seen with inner vision, of course, Christ’s birth certainly did appear quite different from that of an ordinary person. It was that deeper reality that drew the wise men to the manger.

But this isn’t to say that the birth didn’t have a physical reality much the same as other births. The great ones make a point of acting out in their own lives most of the outward drama through which the rest of us have no choice but to pass. Like Christ on the cross, they could do otherwise, but they choose not to. It’s in condescending to live out these scenes that they make the example of their lives real and meaningful to us, and encourage us with the thought that, as they have overcome, so can we.

Master had a vision once in which the Divine Mother told him, “I have suckled thee through the breasts of many mothers. This time, She who suckled thee was I, Myself.” His mother, then, was no ordinary woman! And yet Master never suggested to us that his birth, viewed from the physical point of view, wasn’t in full accordance with natural law as God has established it.

I’ve heard that followers of a certain saint insisted vehemently that it would be sacrilegious to portray him in a movie in any way other than as a beam of light! It’s easier than you might think to fall into errors of this sort. Even the Gnostics, wise as they were, appear to have erred along these lines, in denying any physical reality to Christ’s suffering on the cross.

I hope that’s of some help, at least.

In divine friendship,

Swami Kriyananda

It was quite a surprise, in the early ‘90s, to find the above paragraph in a tattered notebook from sixth grade. Partly because I was amazed that I had been keeping a journal as early as age eleven, and that, in my very first year of playing the flute, I was already aware of the power of music to uplift and transform one’s soul. Some thirty years later I would come to experience the inner reality of making music an important aspect of my spiritual path and a key to my personal dharma.

When I first came to Ananda Palo Alto in 1998, I had been working as a professional freelance flutist and private teacher in the San Francisco Bay Area for over fifteen years. As I felt more and more drawn to Ananda, I was deeply moved by the singing; I recognized that something was going on that wasn’t your typical church choir experience. I’d never met Swami Kriyananda and, although I was well on my way to accepting Paramhansa Yogananda as my guru, I had a harder time understanding how Swami Kriyananda fit into the picture.

The power of Kriyananda’s music
I had picked up a free tape one Sunday after service, entitled “The Spirit of Ananda in Music,” which consisted of a variety of Kriyananda’s music— chants, Joy Singers’ songs, choir pieces, and several selections of Kriyananda singing solo. So one night I decided to play it while I worked on an art project. On the one hand, I was enjoying the vibration of the music, while on the other hand, my trained musician’s ears were critically assessing every note.

When Love Is a Magician began, my critical faculties prepared to resume their fun and games. But as Kriyananda started to sing the words, I felt something pierce my heart, bypassing my mind and intellect altogether, and I began to cry. Actually, “sob” is a more accurate word, and that’s what I did for the entire song.

Thankfully, I had some experience of how God works—that combination of intense emotional release and deep inner knowing that often signals major shifts in my awareness. So I immediately “got it” that something very important and profound was happening to me. From that moment I simply knew that Swami Kriyananda was someone I could trust—as my spiritual teacher and friend, and as a musician—and I opened my heart to him.

I was accustomed to diving into the music scene at every church where I’d been a member. But at Ananda it was different. I soon learned that the skill with which I played the flute wasn’t of primary importance. The focus was on attunement, which required of me the flexibility, patience, and openness of mind that would allow me to tune in to what Divine Mother had in mind for me. This is a challenge musicians often face at Ananda—the willingness to humbly ask, “How can I be Divine Mother’s musical instrument?” Without that willingness, we can miss much of the sweetness and potential for inner growth that the music of this path offers.

The “warm-up queen”
As a college music major, I was known as the “warm-up queen,” because I would start my practice session with an hour and a half of harmonics, long tones, and scales, leaving limited time to actually work on my assigned music. Looking back, I realize that my routine was a form of meditation, requiring great concentration and mindfulness of every subtle nuance. I would remain in that focused space for up to thirty minutes at a time, actively centering, refining, and purifying the tone. The wonder of it was that, when I maintained that routine, I grew to trust that things would work just fine in performance, allowing me to lose myself in the music in a way that couldn’t happen otherwise.

Deep inner feeling
What I loved most was pouring myself into the music and feeling the energy of it take over my entire being—whether playing Bach trio sonatas in recital or experiencing Puccini’s La Boheme from the center of the San Francisco Opera orchestra pit.

For me, music has always been about deep inner feeling. But what a profound difference it makes to immerse myself in Kriyananda’s music—music that comes from the highest level of consciousness with the power to uplift and inspire both listener and performer.

I now realize that these thirty-odd years of playing flute were simply preparing me for the joyous experience of being able to say, “OK, Divine Mother, here I am, make your music through me.” And, to my continuing awe and gratitude, she does—blessing me deeply in the process.

Sharon Brooks lives at the Ananda Palo Alto community and works at the Palo Alto Living Wisdom School.

Once a wealthy and powerful chieftain made a gift of a large portion of meat to the kind hearted St. Patrick to distribute to the poor. The chieftain was not a generous man; he made the offering to gain favor among the people and to earn the popular saint’s gratitude. The chieftain’s young servant carried the meat to where St. Patrick lived with his Christian brothers and presented the gift. St. Patrick and the brothers knew of many hungry people in the country who could use the food.

The saint raised his eyes to heaven and, with a full heart, said, “Deo Gratias!”  The servant did not understand these words and waited for a message of thanks for his master, but none came.

When the chieftain learned that the valuable gift was met with only two unknown words and not the praise he expected, he was furious. Twice more the servant was sent back to St. Patrick with equally large portions of meat that the chieftain thought would impress the saint. But each time the young messenger returned he disappointed his master with the saint’s words, “Deo Gratias.”

Well, the wealthy and powerful chieftain had never been treated like this before and was overcome with rage.  He sent the frightened messenger back to St. Patrick, to bring the holy man to him. St. Patrick willingly went with the young servant to see the man who had been the instrument of so much good fortune.

The chieftain shouted with anger when St. Patrick arrived, even drawing his sword, as he demanded to know why the saint had not expressed great gratitude for such a great gift.  Only two words for a gift that weighed so much!

St. Patrick was calm in the face of the man’s anger. He said, “The two words I spoke carry more weight in the eyes of God than all the meat you gave.”  St. Patrick asked that scales be loaded with meat equaling the amount the chieftain had given. Then St. Patrick wrote the words, “Deo Gratias,” three times on a piece of parchment and placed the parchment on the other side of the scales. While the chieftain and his servants looked on in wonder, the scales tipped down low —-on the side of the parchment!

The wealthy chieftain knelt before the saint and tearfully asked the meaning of the two words that outweighed three quarters of an ox. When St. Patrick explained that “Deo Gratias” meant “Thanks be to God,” the wealthy man understood that behind every giver is God, and ultimately our gratitude should be to God.

Lorna Knox is the author of I Came from Joy, Spiritual Affirmations and Activities for Children, available December 2000.  To order call (800) 424-1055.

I had an experience in Assisi last July that changed my life and Swami Kriyananda was the catalyst. The energy seemed to flow from Paramhansa Yogananda through Swami to me. This feeling has stayed with me ever since, and it has changed the way I see the world, other people and myself.

My husband and I were sitting in Ananda Assisi’s beautiful Temple of Light while Swami was telling the Bible story of the woman who touched Christ’s cloak and was healed. Crowds of people had been milling around Jesus, but only one was healed that day. Lots of people touched His cloak, but this woman alone received God’s healing energy.  Why?  Because, explained Swami, she was receptive.  The crowds were intellectually open-minded, still not truly receptive.

I started weeping because I felt like those people in the crowd. It seemed as if I had been standing at the edge of the crowd for incarnations.  I was open-minded but something was missing. I felt a tremendous longing for that missing piece. Then an almost indescribable blessing poured into me. At that point the tears really started to flow. I became drenched in tears and thought I might have to leave the temple for causing a disturbance. These tears were a mixture of sadness, joy and I felt cleansed, too, all at the same time.

After the tears stopped I gradually became aware that something in me had changed. This is the part that is difficult to put into words. Ever since then I have felt a light, new energy in my heart; a subtle, interior shift that altered my outlook on the world. It is hard to describe, but I can tell you that it feels wonderful!

It happened in a purely impersonal way.  Swami wasn’t talking to me specifically; there were over 100 people in the temple that Sunday morning.  Nor was there any sense that it came because of anything special in me. This time, however, I was receptive.

I now understand better the nature of Swami’s relationship with us. It is 100% impersonal! It ‘s on the soul level, and it doesn’t have much to do with anything else.  It is “impersonal” because it has nothing to do with the ego, outer appearances or personal interaction.  Sometimes people mistakenly equate being impersonal with being cold and unfeeling, but it’s quite the opposite. It is the key to unconditional love. It flows to any devotee whose heart is open to receive.

I was surprised to discover how this new understanding has helped me to relax. It is such a relief to get beyond the personality level!  When I relinquish the strain of doing things the hard way—from the ego, which often results in tension and fatigue—I find I have more energy.

I learned through this experience about the enormous spiritual power of receptivity. To be receptive, one needs an open heart as well as an open mind.  I created a prayer to help remember: “Divine Mother, help me to be fully receptive to the blessings that are inherent in each moment.”

I am still learning how to apply the lessons of the Assisi experience.  One thing I know, in retrospect, is that this blessing had been there waiting for me all along. I have had similar experiences around Swami before, but didn’t let them all the way in.  Only this time I said “yes” with the strength of my entire being.  This time, I ran to the door and let it in.  The blessing I received has stayed with me ever since and I am so grateful for it.

Carol Gray and her husband Al are the Ananda Center leaders in Ashland, Oregon.  They attended Ananda’s Meditation Center and Group Leaders’ Retreat in Assisi in July, 2000.

A bit puzzled, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“Brother Francis” they replied, “A huge wolf has been attacking our villagers and terrorizing the countryside. Today we have decided that it is time to get rid of that wolf once and for all.”

Francis, sensing their fear as well as their determination, took pity on them and asked to go with them to find the wolf.

At first reluctant, they said, “Brother Francis, the wolf has already devoured many people and will certainly kill you if you go unarmed.”

But Francis, placing his trust in God, bravely went forth, followed by a few peasants who had not yet lost their courage. Deep in the forest they came upon the wolf’s lair and could see the huge animal in the snow.

Overcome with fear, they said to Francis, “We do not want to go any farther. That wolf is fierce and we might get hurt.”

“Just wait here,” he answered, “until I have a chance to talk to him.”

The wolf, sensing an easy prey, turned on Francis ready to attack. But Francis, making the sign of the cross, ordered it to stop. “Come here, Brother Wolf,” he said, “I order you, in the name of Christ, not to hurt me or anyone else.”

A crowd, having gathered in the distance saw, much to their amazement, that as Francis spoke, the ravenous beast lowered its head and seemed suddenly tame and docile.

Francis, chastising the animal, said, “Brother Wolf, you have committed great crimes and for this you should be punished. You deserve to be put to death just like the worst robber or murderer. But I want to make peace between you and the people of Gubbio.”

“I will ask them to provide food for you, so that you will never again be hungry. But you must agree never to kill another living creature as long as you live. Can you promise me this?”

The wolf, nodding its head in agreement, meekly raised its front paw and gave it to Francis as a sign of his pledge. The townspeople, in turn, willingly agreed to provide for the wolf.

Later that day in the marketplace, when the crowd gathered to hear Francis talk, they saw the wolf and how this ravenous beast had been transformed into a trusting and obedient disciple whom they no longer feared.

Each day, Brother Wolf came to Gubbio for food provided by the villagers. Years later, when the wolf died, they erected a church over his grave called San Francesco della Pace which can be visited to this day.

For the month of March we were blessed by the return of Swami Kriyananda, who’s been living in Assisi, Italy for the past two years, guiding Ananda’s work there. This was a deeply moving time for members of our communities, and for new visitors as well. Wherever he visited, Swamiji poured himself into serving those who had come, bringing divine light and inspiration to all.

His schedule during this trip was strenuous—packed with satsangs, Sunday Services, and informal sharings. Although at times he was physically quite tired from the pace, he never let that stop him and found the inner reserves of energy to be a dynamic channel for Master.

In all his satsangs there was a radiant thread that silently wove its way throughout and remains with us as a lasting impression. This was the golden cord of divine love which unites us all—old friends and newcomers alike—into a family in God that transcends any human attachments or divisions.

To see the unspoken love and joy shining from the eyes of old friends of Swamiji’s was like getting a glimpse into a realm of eternal friendship. But equally inspiring was to witness the soul bonds that were formed with people meeting him for the first time. One man said, “We haven’t met before.” Swamiji lovingly took the man’s hands, and with sincerity and simplicity said, “Oh, yes, we have.”

As we were driving Swamiji to Ananda Village from Palo Alto, we stopped in Davis, California to get something to drink. In the small café we entered, there were students studying with some working on laptop computers. Swamiji went up to one young man and asked him what kind of computer he was using. A look of astonishment spread across the student’s face. “Aren’t you Swami Kriyananda?” he asked. “I’ve read several of your books and have been really wanting to meet you.”

Recently we came across this poem of Master’s, “The Splinters of Thy Love,” from the original Songs of the Soul, which reflects the inner experience of this visit:

The splinters of Thy love
Lie strewn in many a heart:
These little fragments of Thy love,
Descended from far above,
I find spread here and there, and charmed, I start
To seize all and with care collect.
I feel, as I reflect,
That I have certes seen somewhere
Thy whole unbroken love that’s everywhere;
And with devotion strong
I weld my varied collection
Of tiny bits of parental, friendly love in one
To match it with Thine own.

Everything went well until the Roquefort cheese was served. In India we eat only freshly made cheese, so I viewed the little green specks of mold in the cheese with great suspicion. My soul rebelled against it, and my brain cells warned me to have nothing to do with it.

But as I looked at my American friends eating the cheese, I mustered courage and took a lump of it into my mouth. No sooner had it landed there than all the aristocratic delicacies, which had preceded it, rebelled. There was great clamor and commotion within me, and they served notice on me that if “Mr. Roquefort” joined them, they would all leave the body. And I dared not open my mouth, but just nodded in answer to my host’s question whether I liked the cheese!

Then, as I looked intently at the faces of my friends eating Roquefort cheese pleasantly, I suddenly made up my mind. Concentrating deeply, I told my brain cells, “I am your boss; you are my servants. You shall obey me—this foolishness must stop.” The next minute I was enjoying Mr. Roquefort’s company pleasantly, and now he always receives a warm welcome when he enters my “hall” of digestion.”