Monday, November 23, 2009

Nayaswami Initiation, Assisi, Italy

Dear Everyone:

We are writing to you from Assisi, Italy, although by the time many of you receive and read this e-mail, we will already be home. We left last Tuesday and will be back in time to share Thanksgiving dinner with you.

We came here for one purpose: to be initiated by Swamiji into the new renunciate order he is starting. It is a reformation of the ancient swami order, described in Autobiography of a Yogi. Master was initiated by Sri Yukteswar into that order. Master later initiated Rajarsi Janakananda, Daya Mata, and others.

Swamiji was too new on the path to take initiation into sannyas (as it is called) from Master himself, so a few years after Master’s passing, Daya held a ceremony and many of the monastics in SRF became swamis. It was then Swamiiji took the name “Kriyananda.”

This new order is of “Nayaswamis.” “Naya” means “new,” to indicate the new spirit for Dwapara Yuga.

The old order, founded in Kali Yuga, the Age of Matter, had to be concerned about the form of things, with many rules about what a swami could and could not do. Since many of those rules relate to conditions long gone—for example, swamis are supposed to travel only on foot, never to handle money, not to own property, to move every three days to avoid forming attachments, to beg for their food—most are honored now in the breach.

The Nayaswami Order is defined more by consciousness. In Dwapara Yuga, this Age of Energy, as Swamiji explains in his book, the real purpose of renunciation, which is to renounce the ego, not merely the things that the ego desires, can be approached directly. His book is full of specific suggestions for how one goes about doing just that.

In the old swami order, the swamis took names ending in “ananda,” which means “bliss.” So the names mean “bliss through....” whatever specific aspect of the divine is the name itself. “Kriyananda” means, “bliss through the practice of Kriya,” or, since the word “Kriya” also means “action”, “bliss through action,” which is to say through service. It is an ideal name for Swami Kriyananda, since he is deeply dedicated to both meditation and service.

In the new order, Swamiji decided that the “ananda” tradition need not be followed, that simple names would suffice. Practically, this means that all of us who have taken initiation have kept the spiritual names Swamiji gave us. Or, in the case of David, kept the spiritual name Swamiji has always liked for him, which is, David, which means “beloved of God.”

So we have become “Nayaswami David” and “Nayaswami Asha.” When addressing a “Nayaswami” the “Naya” doesn’t have to be included, but that is the title. For all of us who have known each other for so long it is hard to imagine suddenly addressing us differently, so please, behave as you always have and let this unfold naturally.

Many of you have asked us if we will be different when we return. The answer is, “We certainly hope so!”

Even though we don’t expect that our duties will change, this is a milestone of infinite importance. Yes, long ago we gave our lives to God and have done our utmost to live up to that aspiration. Still, taking a vow, such as the one Swamiji has just given to us, makes more dynamic to our consciousness the direction in which we are heading and the means to arrive at the divine goal. Because many of you have asked, we have included at the end of this letter the vow for the Nayaswamis.

Even though this is a vow of singular devotion to God, Swamiji decided that marriage, in itself, is not an obstacle to complete dedication. As you will see in the vow, it includes affirming a divine attitude to one’s life partner.

In addition to the Nayaswamis, this order also includes a stage of renunciation before that, Brahmacharya (single renunciates), and Tyaga (married renunciates). Those vows are also included.

Even though this order is being launched from Ananda, it is not defined by Ananda, but transcends all sectarian or organizational boundaries and is open to sincere devotees of all paths. In his book, Swamiji invites all present swamis who may be inspired by this new expression to contact him if they wish to become nayaswamis.

If any of you, after reading Swamiji’s book and the enclosed vows, feel inspired to take this step, or to talk about what it means, please contact us. The nature of this renunciation is that you must step forward and ask to be accepted. Usually at Ananda, one waits to be invited, but in this case, one must declare for oneself that this is your intention.

Swamiji carried out the initiation in a simple, but profoundly moving way. Everyone was invited to witness. In fact, a recording, and probably also a film of the ceremony will soon be posted on the internet. A few photos are posted here. Even though this had all the sacredness of a Kriya Initiation, there was no reason to keep it private. In Kriya, a technique is offered that you have to be prepared to receive. In this case, one is witnessing the dedication of others, but not being asked oneself to do something that you are not prepared to do.

Swami did the ceremony in English so that it could be understood around the world. They have a simultaneous translation system here with individual headsets so those who don’t speak English could hear it in the moment in their own language.

Depending on the group being initiated, Swamiji gave the vows also in Italian or English as appropriate. Several groups were all Italian speakers, so no English was needed.

There were three groups, corresponding to the three vows: Bramacharya, Tyaga, and Nayaswami.

In addition, for the first two, he also offered a postulant vow, the same words, but understood to be only for a year, to try it out. The Nayaswami vow is only a life vow. Brahmacharya and Tyaga is, in a sense, the “postulant” stage for Nayaswami.

Swamiji asked to have the whole room arranged in a circle around a fire bowl. The area in front of the altar was left open. Swamiji sat in a chair at that side of the circle with his back to the altar, so when we looked at him we were also looking at the pictures of the Masters behind him.

Nayaswamis sat in the first circle of chairs, those taking the Tyaga vow in the next row, then those taking Bramacharya. Each group sat in turn in front of Swamiji, recited their vow, then knelt in front of him for a blessing. After the blessing, he placed a scarf around the neck of each new initiate: gold for Bramcharya, turquoise for Tyaga, and blue for Nayaswamis. The postulants received white scarves.

For Swamiji, too, this was a momentous occasion. He told us later, “I have been thinking for years about how to do this.” It has taken him until now to feel the time was right. The preface to his book, also included at the end of this e-mail, tells just a little of how profound the moment was when he decided it was time to launch this order.

All the initiates were dressed in white. There were 53 people initiated, counting all the various levels, representing 10 countries: Italy, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, Russia, Croatia, Slovenia, United States, Belgium.

With all those who had come to witness the ceremony sitting in a circle around the initiates, the room was filled to the walls. We meditated for an hour together before Swamiji came, so by the time he walked in, the temple was supercharged. He was radiant in his blue robe. To look into his eyes was to look into Infinity.

Some of those he initiated, Swamiji has known for decades. Others he has known only a few years or has barely met. Yet his expression never varied as he blessed each one and placed the appropriate color scarf around their necks. He was the living expression of infinite, unconditional love, offered in full measure equally to all beings, limited not by the divine outpouring, but only by our ability to receive.

For the Tyagis and the Bramacharis, the ceremony consisted only of the vow and the blessing. For the Nayaswamis, he added a fire ceremony.

Each of the soon-to-be Nayaswamis was given a small container of ghee. Instead of facing Swamiji, as the others did to recite their vows, Swamiji had us face the fire, which blazed an exquisite orange. Even though the scarf we were given was blue, the orange of that fire linked us to all the swamis that had gone before.

The vow has seven sections, and after each one, Swamiji paused while we each placed a spoonful of ghee into the fire. At the end of the vow, Swamiji asked us to make a full prostration—a “true pronam” he called it—facing the fire.

He had not told anyone that this full prostration would be part of the ceremony, so the element of surprise made it even more dramatic. Naturally already we were doing our utmost to offer ourselves into that fire, to burn up and purify everything that stood between ourselves and the perfect fulfillment of the vow we were repeating. Now, suddenly, we were stretched full length in front of that fire, expressing as much as a body can, a state of complete surrender.

Twenty people took the Nayaswami vows. Since many of you know many of them, here are all the Nayaswamis: From America: Jyotish, Devi, Padma, Hriman, David, Asha, Durga, Vidura, Vijay Girard; From Italy: Uma, Miriam, Lila, Kamala (Linda) Lockhart Lakshman, Mary Mintey, Shivani, Arjuna, Kirtani, Anand, Magdalena (an Italian woman we met for the first time). Linda became “Nayaswami Kamala”; all the rest have kept the same names.

A couple of weeks ago, Swamiji took part in an ecumenical peace conference in the nearby city of Assisi. (Ananda is in the hills about 20 minutes outside of town.) He wore his blue robe, as is his custom now. He mentioned this new renunciate order and afterwards a Catholic priest asked him, “How many people are there in this new order?”

In his usual unpretentious way, Swamiji answered, “Just one, me.” Now, of course, that is no longer true.

Much love, and many blessings to all of you from,
Nayaswami David and Nayaswami Asha Praver

Preface to: A New-Age Renunciate Order

Renunciation has ceased to command the respect it once had. Spirituality is on the rise, but many convents and monasteries stand empty. What people want now is a path where Spirit and Nature work in harmony, not in opposition to one another.

Timeless principles, however, are not created by popular vote. Truth simply Is.

Renunciation remains the heart and soul of the spiritual life. The problem is not with the principle itself, but the way it has been misunderstood and wrongly practiced. Renunciation has become defined by what you give up, or, even worse, by what God takes away.

True renunciation is not a loss, it is an expansion to Infinity. Joy and renunciation are two sides of the same coin. To suppress the ego is not the same as transcending it.

The origin of this book is auspicious. A miracle healing was needed before it could be written.

There has always been something mysterious about Swami Kriyananda’s health. His body seems to be a battleground where the forces of Light and Dark meet. The battle is not about him personally, but for the work his Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda, has commissioned him to do. The only way to describe it is “Satan tries to stop him.” Often his most creative periods are paired with enormous physical challenges.

Swamiji cheerfully dismisses the trials of his body as merely the tapasya needed to establish his Guru’s work in this world. (Swamiji means respected teacher; tapasya is a Sanskrit word meaning both austerity and devotion.)

Still, the effort has taken its toll. No physical body lasts forever. It is of no consequence to Swamiji whether he lives or dies; long ago he surrendered his life to his Guru.

Especially since he moved to India in 2003, Swamiji has had one health crisis after another. Often he has told his Indian audiences, “I’m not going to live much longer,” hoping to inspire them to act quickly to build the work while he was still there to help them. Certain “readings,” including the ancient Book of Brighu, implied that his 83rd birthday May 19, 2009, might be his last.

Two days after that birthday, he was scheduled to fly from India to Europe. That morning he had some symptoms of a stroke, difficulty breathing, speaking, and so weak he had to be fed like a baby.

Ordinarily, no one would travel in such a condition. But persevering against obstacles has always strengthened Swamiji, rather than weakened him. Once a project or transition is completed, usually health returns.

But this time it didn’t happen. Even weeks later, at home now in Ananda Assisi, the crisis continued. Rarely had he been so weak for so long. Someone had to be with him twenty-four hours a day.

It was June 6; I was on the afternoon shift. A few friends were coming over in the late afternoon, so when Swamiji went down for a nap, he asked me to wake him in time for their coming.

At 3:00 o’clock he was still sound asleep. Reluctantly I woke him and helped him sit up on the side of the bed. Traditionally, swamis wear orange, but I chose for him a blue shirt instead, thinking the color would lift his spirits. As I was doing up the buttons I said casually, “This blue is so exquisite. You should change the swami color from orange to blue.”

With great seriousness, he replied, “I am thinking of doing that.”

I helped him into the living room, then went back to get something from the closet. When I returned a moment later, he was stretched out on the couch, hands folded across his heart, looking up at the ceiling. I thought he might be dead. In fact, that may be when the miracle happened.

To my great relief, he began to speak, introducing the ideas that are now this book: A Renunciate Order for a New Age. After a few moments, he paused, then quietly, with great force, declared, “This is what Satan was trying to stop.”

From that moment he began to get well.

In the evening he called a group together to talk about the new order. Already he had written most of the first chapter of this book. Just hours before he couldn’t button his own shirt. Now he was launching a revolution in renunciation for the New Age.

“I entered a state of intense bliss,” Swamiij said later, about this sudden change. “I told Divine Mother, ‘I’m ready to go and I am happy to stay.’ It didn’t matter at all to me. When I came out of that state, I began to get well.” When he left Italy a few weeks later, he didn’t even bring his cane.

“I feel ageless,” Swamiji says. “I don’t identify with myself in any way now. It seems God has extended my life in order to do this work. It was a miracle healing.”

In the forty years that I have known Swamiji, his prodigious creativity has been nothing less than awe-inspiring. Books, music, communities, schools, retreats -- a spiritual network that spans the globe. Often in my enthusiasm for some particular expression I have been tempted to declare: “This is it! This is his spiritual legacy.”

Of course, to say that is like defining the ocean by what you can see from the beach.

Still, folly though it may be, I dare to say, in its cumulative effect, A New-Age Renunciate Order may be one of Swamiji’s most important contributions to the bringing in of a New Age. For it gives to truth seekers everywhere the courage, the clarity, and the way to open their hearts to God.

(preface written by Nayaswami Asha)

Renunciate Vow of Brahmacharya

I understand, and fully accept, that the true purpose of life for all human beings is to seek God.

In pursuit of that goal, I offer my own life unreservedly to seeking my Divine Source.

I will retain no ego-gratifying goal in my life, but will strive always, and above all, to please God.

I will look upon life as God’s dream-drama, and also dream-entertainment. I will accept as His gift whatever comes to me in life.

I renounce attachment to things, people, places, and all self-definitions—except one: I will define myself always as a child of God, and will obey whatever guidance He gives me.

I offer to Thee, Lord, my life, my desires, my attachments, and the fruit of all my labors.

Bless me, and strengthen me, that I become ever more perfect in this, my holy vow.
Renunciate Vow of Tyaga

I understand, and fully accept, that the true purpose of life for all human beings is to seek God.

In pursuit of that goal, I offer my own life unreservedly to seeking my own Divine Source.

I will retain no ego-gratifying goal in my life, but will strive always, and above all, to please God.

I will view my partner as a channel of God’s blessing, guidance, and strength, and will strive always to be a similar channel in return.

I will endeavor always, through the love and respect I feel for my partner, to reach out in love and service to all humanity.

I will try never to see anything in this world as mine, but will view everything as a manifestation of God.

I will look upon life as God’s dream-drama, and also dream-entertainment. I will accept as His gift whatever comes to me in life.

I offer to Thee, Lord, my life, my desires, my attachments, and the fruit of all my labors.

Bless me, and strengthen me, that I become ever more perfect in this, my holy vow.

Vow of Complete Renunciation

From now on, I embrace as the only purpose of my life the search for God.

I will never take a partner, or, if I am married, I will look upon my partner as belonging only to Thee, Lord. In any case, I am complete in myself, and in myself will merge all the opposites of duality.

I no longer exist as a separate entity, but offer my life unreservedly into Thy great Ocean of Awareness.

I accept nothing as mine, no one as mine, no talent, no success, no achievement as my own, but everything as Thine alone.

I will feel that not only the fruit of my labor, but the labor itself, is only Thine. Act through me always, Lord, to accomplish Thy design.

I am free in Thy joy, and will rejoice forever in Thy blissful presence.

Help me in my efforts to achieve perfection in this, my holy vow. For I have no goal in life but to know Thee, and to serve as Thy channel of blessing to all mankind.

Saturday, July 25, 2009


Dear Friends:

In the evenings, Swamiji sometimes relaxes by watching a movie, usually inviting a few friends to join him. Letters from my time with Swamiji often include references to movies we have seen.
As I’ve mentioned, Swamiji prefers films that emphasize nobility, innocence, goodness, and beauty. He won’t watch anything that celebrates the downward pulling energy to which all human consciousness is subject. It is not easy to find movies he will enjoy. Almost everything “modern” is out of the question.  

(Photo below: Ananda staff and devotees at Swamiji's home in Gurgaon, India)

Look to the Light

It is not that Swamiji denies the “dark side,” or is unwilling to face it. For decades he has lived only to help others. Every possible human trouble has been put before him in the hope that he can shed light upon it.

“I’ve had enough sorrow in my life,” he explains. “I don’t need to add to it through the movies I watch!” Suffering that ennobles he does find inspiring, but only in small doses.

He used to enjoy the original version of An Affair to Remember, and also Random Harvest, both stories of self-sacrificing human love. But in recent years, even these oldies but goodies have mostly lost their appeal.
He is the same way about the books he reads. “To decide whether I want to read a book,” Swamiji said, “I always look at the last few pages to see if it ends happily. If it doesn’t, I won’t even consider it.”

“Doesn’t that spoil the suspense?” I asked.

“Not for me,” Swamiji said. “Knowing how it ends, I enjoy seeing how the author gets from here to there in the story.”

A Noble Character

One movie Swamiji always enjoys is Cinderella, especially the reissued version with the colors restored to their original vibrancy.

I could see why Swamiji enjoys that movie. Cinderella is quite a noble character. Her name has been dragged through the mud as the “Cinderella Syndrome,” meaning a woman who sits passively waiting to be rescued. But the “real” Cinderella lived in a very different way.

She was at the mercy of women who hated her: an ugly stepmother and stepsisters. She was maligned, abused, and scorned, a servant—virtually a prisoner—in her own home. Yet despite all of this, she sang happily and served selflessly. Denied any friendship from her own kind, she gave love to those who needed it and would accept it from her—in the story this is birds, mice, and other small creatures.

Help from Above

Even though she is nothing but a cartoon, Cinderella is not a “two-dimensional” character. She is not numb to her misery but weeps with loneliness and despair, dreaming of the everlasting love she knows is hers by right. Despite everything, though, she does not give up hope. Because of her courage, she draws to herself a Fairy Godmother.

Even the Fairy Godmother doesn’t “fix” things. She only gives Cinderella the opportunity to meet the Prince; she doesn’t cast a spell that would make him fall in love with her. Cinderella has to win his love by her own merit.

Cinderella responded nobly to the severe challenges life gave her. Consequently, she shines with goodness and beauty. If, instead, she had given in to the rage, anger, and bitterness many people would consider quite justified, given her lot in life, that darkness would have obscured her beauty. The Prince would never have fallen in love with her. In fact, the Fairy Godmother wouldn’t have come. The whole plot would have had to be different!

Against overwhelming odds, Cinderella chose love over hatred, joy over sorrow. “God’s chosen people have always been those who, with deep love, choose Him.” This is the truth we affirm every week in A Festival of Light. It is charming to have it illustrated by Walt Disney.

Truth in a Myth

The story is a myth because there was never such a person as Cinderella. But it is true in that it accurately shows the karmic law. At the end, Cinderella is rescued by the ingenuity and dedication of the small creatures she has lovingly befriended. “What goes around comes around.” Profound truth, delightfully expressed.

Although occasionally nowadays there is a light-filled movie, most of what is created now is darkening to one’s consciousness. Even entertainment allegedly meant for children rarely includes help from above and the promise of everlasting love, as Cinderella does. Cynical, worldly sounding actors often do voice-overs, plots can be crude, sexual, and too sophisticated, humor hurtful, language unrefined.

Of course, the idea of living “happily ever after” merely by getting married is too preposterous to take seriously. In my childhood, I didn’t know a single divorced family. Few children these days are so na├»ve. They know too much from firsthand experience.

Still, life does lead to bliss. That is the spiritual truth and the “happily ever after” to which we have dedicated our lives. It just has to be understood in the right way, not dismissed with a cynical sigh.

The Search for True Love

The heart longs for perfect, everlasting love. Cinderella pines for her Prince, but the refined beauty she expresses hints at much more. That was the genius of Walt Disney, an art that, alas, did not survive him, even in the studio that bears his name.
Human love is a symbol, a training ground, and a crucible sometimes that leads us from the smallness of self-love into the freedom of Infinite love. Our hearts compel us, again and again, into relationship with one another, so that, eventually, as we say in the Ananda Wedding Ceremony, “May our love grow ever deeper, purer, more expansive, until, in our perfected love, we find the perfect love of God.”

(Photo: At a wedding reception for Cecelia and Vivek, the couple holding hands on the right)

Watching the movie Cinderella with Swamiji no doubt elevated the experience to a higher dimension than I might have found all on my own! Still, in that beautifully crafted, charming story of human love—Cinderella’s very name has become a synonym for human romance—I was deeply moved by the promise of Divine Romance implied there.

Blessings and love,


Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Letter #4, from Palo Alto

Travels with Swamiji
Assisi and Rome, Italy

Dear Everyone:

It may seem a little odd to be getting a letter from me about a trip that has been over for more than a week. (I came home on June 16; David returned a day earlier.) But at the end of the time in Italy, Swamiji started working on a manuscript and I helped him by typing in his handwritten changes. He can edit faster than I can type, so it took all my time to stay up with him.

So, as a result, there were many very interesting events that I never chronicled for you. I started writing these letters just to the community here at home, as a way of staying in touch. It started out as a way to ease the “pangs of separation,” but in fact, as I began to make a habit of writing these letters every time I traveled with Swamiji, I noticed that people liked my letters perhaps better than they liked my company! In any case, it has been a happy tradition and I feel the need to finish the trip for all of you.

I was amazed on this trip to learn how people from so many different parts of the world are now receiving these letters. They go out to one e-mail list and that leads to another and another, and so it goes.

This is the age in which space is annihilated by the technology of communication. It is profoundly gratifying for me to see how the energy we put out to share with others these great blessings from Master and Swamiji just keeps on multiplying via the simple expedient of electronic communication.

People from Russia, Finland, Germany, Sovenia, various parts of India, to name just some of the countries, have all commented on these letters! We are one all Master’s children.

I have felt from the beginning of my time with Swamiji that the experiences I have with him have never been my own. As I wrote in the introduction to the book about him,
Swami Kriyananda As We Have Known Him, writing down these experiences to pass along to others has been part of my sadhana for a long time. With the internet, something can happen in the morning, and be shared in the afternoon.
Or, in this case, it can happen a couple of weeks ago and be shared even after we return home.

So......let us go back to earlier this month in Assisi.

Finally, some two weeks after we left India, Swamiji’s health took a dramatic turn for the better. It was, for all of us (except perhaps Swamiji himself), a long and very poignant experience to see him at such a low ebb physically for so many days in a row.

Usually, his illnesses, though they often have an identifiable medical component, also seem to follow a pattern ordained by God and merely acted out by the doctors. This is true, of course, for everything in life; the veil is thinner, though, with Swamiji.

As I wrote earlier, he often faces great physical challenges just before an important transition or event in which a great deal of light will be expressed through him into the world.

I remember that when he wrote the
Oratorio, some twenty years ago, he worked on it day and night. As he has often told us, “When inspiration comes, you have to respond. If you ignore that inner voice, it will stop speaking to you.”
So he was sleeping very little, writing music and the lyrics for the songs all hours of the day and night. His heart began to give him trouble. The actual word for the medical condition is “congestive heart failure,” which sounds, and in fact can be, dire. There are, of course, progressive stages of this. What it means, simply, is that the heart is not working up to snuff. It manifests as swelling of the extremities, shortness of breath, and fatigue.

Swamiji felt all those symptoms coming on when he was writing that music, but declared that he would rather die than give up the effort to complete the

Following the usual pattern of his physical tests, once the music was done, the medical crises also ended. He calls such moments what they are: “Satan’s effort to prevent the light from coming forth.”
Swamiji’s difficulties this time began around his birthday. The morning of the day he was set to fly from India to Europe, he was very unwell. Miriam considered whether to postpone the flight, but felt, given his history, that going forward would bring better health than giving in. Plus, neither she nor Dr. Peter could find a definite medical reason not to fly.

As it happened, however, when we got to Milan and then on to Lugano, Swamiji did not experience the kind of sudden improvement that we hoped for. In fact, all the five days we were in Switzerland, his health was very poor. It was a kind of tapasya that he had to go through and we had to support him.

He was very weak, and needed to be aided in many simple tasks, like getting up from a chair, or walking across the room.

At all times, Swamiji maintained a joyous and giving attitude. It was so touching to see how eagerly all of us tried to help. After all he has done so much to uplift our lives, it was a joy to be able to do anything for him, however small, even to hand him a bowl of cherries, and help him by pulling the stems out. Every little expenditure of energy for Swamiji was enormous and so we smoothed the way as much as we could.
I didn’t write at all during that period of time, because I didn’t know what to say.

Even though his spiritual force was enormous, his physical vitality was not. Miriam said later that he could have slipped out of his body for any number of medical reasons. And one could feel that he was right on the cusp.

The question of Swamiji dying is one that all of us who are close to him have to consider. Nothing lasts forever. He has never claimed physical immortality (!), in fact, in the last few years, has often talked about leaving his body. His parents’ lives ended about the age he is now (83) and in a very matter-of-fact way he has referred for years to this being a natural time for his incarnation to end.

At the same time, there are many things still to be done, not the least of which is to more firmly establish the work in India, so we hold onto the thought that he will be with us at least a few more years.

I have tried to be detached; it is self-evidently the right spiritual attitude to have. But the feelings of the heart cannot always be controlled. I was astonished a decade or so ago when Swamiji had a very dangerous moment in Italy. He collapsed in a public place and had to be rushed to the hospital. His blood pressure fell to almost nothing and inwardly he felt he was right on the edge of leaving this world.

I was visiting at Ananda Village when the call came of what was happening to him. Moments after hearing the news, I found myself bent over sobbing. It was nothing I decided to do, it was almost an involuntary response.

I was not proud of myself; I don’t think it was helpful to Swamiji for me to feel that way. As his friends, we have to respond as he does with calm acceptance to whatever Master brings him. At the same time it was an entirely honest response to that news from my heart. The idea of being on this planet without him reduced me to tears.

That was very sobering, for me, and since then I have tried to attune myself more deeply, for the simple reason that we need to support his life mission. He has surrendered his life to God and Guru. It is of no personal consequence to him what happens to his body; it is just to serve Master’s work. And yes, human attachment, emotion, the joy of his company is something we have enjoyed and will miss. But I know that I want to respond to all events of his life from the deepest level I can reach.

Going back to Lugano for a moment, the one thing that did comfort me there was that it seemed an unlikely setting for Swamiji to leave his body—a hotel in Switzerland! It seemed that an illustrious life such as his would find a more appropriate way to exit!

We returned to Assisi and Swamiji remained unwell for almost another week.

His blood had become too thin, and his forearms from the biceps to the wrists were entirely bruised—a dark, blotchy purple. There was almost no glimpse of normal skin. Quite dramatic and rather awful looking.

Miriam was concerned that if he fell with his blood so thin he could bleed internally, so someone stayed with him all the time. Anand slept in the living room, and Miriam and others of us were there all day. We left him pretty much to do whatever he felt like doing, but every time he stood up—or tried to stand up—someone would come immediately to his side.

All this care prevented all but one fall, which, fortunately, did not prove serious.
As they worked medically to get his blood adjusted properly, and to help with the anemia that had set in, he gradually began to get better. And then one day, Swamiji felt profoundly inspired to bring to the world a new concept of what it means to be a swami. A “swami” is one who has renounced ego for the sake of realizing God.

Too much of the emphasis, Swamiji explained, is on what one is giving up, whereas the true joy of renunciation is in the infinity one embraces.

From that point, Swamiji started to get well.

Swamiji himself, however, throughout the whole experience, never expressed the slightest personal inclination one way or another. To live or die, to be ill or to be well, was not his concern. “I have given this body to Divine Mother. My life is only to serve Master.” He refused on any level to take back what he had given.

You may remember in the
Oratorio, in the song The Temptation of Christ, Satan—offering his argument in a very reasonable and logical tone—promises Jesus dominion over the whole world. It is quite simple, Satan assures Jesus, that dominion will be yours, “If you but reclaim what you’ve given.”

I’ve contemplated that line many times, but didn’t fully understand it until these days with Swamiji. Understanding came crystal clear from one exchange I had with him.

The bruises on his arms were fading—very slowly, but you could begin to see tiny spots of normal-colored skin. When most everything else about his health was still not going very well, he held up his arms to show us that the bruises were beginning to fade.

In what turned out to be a profoundly misguided attempt at humor, I said, thinking of all that was still wrong with him, “I put that [the little bit of fading of the bruises] in the category of ‘Thank the Lord for little favors.’”

Swamiji responded with a stern silence. (There was no one else present at the time.) I thought, “Well, it wasn’t a very good joke, but was it

Finally, Swamiji said very seriously, “I don’t consider it a favor at all.”

The meaning was clear to me. “I have given this body to Divine Mother. She may do with it whatever She wishes.”

Not even for a moment, not even for a “joke” would Swamiji “reclaim what he had given.”

The great joy of Swamiji, in his writing, speaking and company, is that you never know when a profound life lesson will just slip in unexpectedly and redirect the course of your incarnation!

Some days later Swamiji explained to us that for sometime he has felt that May this year would be a critical time for him; that in some karmic way it was a moment when his incarnation might end. And because it didn’t, he feels now that he will go on, as he put it, “to live a long life”! At least go on for some years more.

His recovery since then has been almost miraculous. Whereas in Lugano he had to be supported even to walk, by the time we left him in Rome, about two weeks later, he was striding along on his own without even a cane. And friends tell us that he has continued to get stronger and stronger.

This past weekend (I heard from a friend in Assisi) there was a dedication ceremony for land they have recently acquired adjacent to their Temple, where they will build a community. Swamiji walked at the head a long column of devotees, again without a cane and without any support. Most impressive.

When he was speaking earlier in Rome to a group about the fact of making it through this karmic period and now having more time to serve Master, one of the devotees naturally expressed personal delight at the idea of Swamiji being with us longer.

Swamiji was kindly, but also stern, “I know extending my life will benefit others, but I am not doing it for others, I am doing it for Master.”

Once Swamiji was asked, “Do you serve God or do you serve people?” Swamiji said, ‘I serve God
in people.’”

It is not personal. That is what he wants us to understand. It isn’t about helping
others, it is about service to God and being disciples doing whatever Guru asks.

Mother Theresa of Calcutta made this same distinction with the same force. When reporters asked her about her social service, she said, “I am not serving the poor. I am serving Jesus.” She did what Jesus asked her to do. That was the only thing that mattered to her in life.

Same with Swamiji. “I am a disciple.” That is his entire self-definition and the guiding principle of his life.

So, it seems that Master has decided there is more for Swamiji to do in this world. Several people in India—from various levels of inspiration—have already declared that Swamiji’s life has been “extended” by Master for the sake of the work he can do here on this plane. Given the events of the last few weeks, this certainly seems to be the case.

That is the overall context of the end of our journey; now let me share with you some of the specifics.

The last week in Assisi, Swamiji unexpectedly started editing a small book of aphorisms. A very large distributor of books in Italy has taken on our account, even though we are much smaller than the companies they usual represent. It has been a great boon to our sales in that country. As part of the arrangement, they asked if we could give them a collection of “aphorisms” from Swamiji to be published as part of a series of small books they have, including a book of aphorisms by Master. Naturally we were happy to do it.

Jayadev, one of the devotees in Assisi, had the idea that a book of metaphors and similes would be interesting to read. He searched the electronic archive of Swami’s writings and transcribed talks (in English) for the word “like.” He came up with a delightful collection, from which he and Sahaja, his wife, selected a group to translate into Italian for the book of aphorisms.
In Italy they seem to like to create surprises, so they decided to present the published book to Swamiji as a “surprise” rather than involve him earlier. So by the time I heard about it, it was already translated and designed, and just about to be handed over for publication.

I was a little uneasy, but when Sahaja translated (verbally) a number of the sayings, they were charming and I didn’t want to interfere with their fun.

As it happened, however, God had other plans. Just an hour or so later, I was at Swamiji’s and he had just been shown a small book that was part of the “Secrets” series—a secret for everyday of the month. There are about a dozen of these and this one was about marriage.

However, Swamiji never wrote a “Secrets” book about marriage, yet somehow something had arrived in Italy years ago and had been translated into Italian and had been on sale for a while. The reason Swamiji heard about it was because it wasn’t selling well and they were letting it lapse.
Swamiji was not pleased that something had been published as his writing without him ever seeing it. It seemed like a good time for me to spoil the other “surprise” as well! Virtually at the same moment, Jayadev and Sahaja had come to the same conclusion and were e-mailing to Swamiji the English version of the sayings they had found.

Swamiji found the collection delightful, and for a few hours, that is where the question stayed.

“As long as I am alive,” Swamiji said unequivocally, “nothing should be published in my name without my seeing it first.”

Swamiji decided to spend the evening at home alone—he was finally well enough to do that and relished the idea. A few of us went off to Assisi to enjoy Italian pizza. About 10pm, the cell phone rang. It was Swamiji asking if I would like to stop by when I got home.

“It will be late,” I said. “No problem,” Swamiji replied.
When I came into his house somewhere close to 11pm, he was sitting in his comfortable armchair, with a small writing board on his lap and the manuscript of aphorisms in front of him. He was editing by hand, and he wanted me to enter his changes into the electronic version. This is something I did for him last summer when he was editing
Whispers from Eternity, also by hand.

So I started that night, and from that Sunday night until late afternoon on Friday, when Swamiji wasn’t driving to Rome for the book launch of
Religion in the New Age, or doing media interviews related to that event, he was editing..... and I was typing. As I said, I had to get up early and work late. He edits faster than I can type!

Starting Sunday night, he worked for about 24 hours, hardly moving from that chair, sleeping only a few hours, to complete the first run-through of the book. He felt he needed to do it all at once, otherwise he might forget what he had said and repeat himself; also, he felt if he stopped it would be much more difficult to get into it again.

It took a great deal of work, but it flowed with tremendous inspiration. Swamiji said, “I put down a word without even knowing what the next word will be, but when it is needed it is there. I never had to stop and think or reason; it just came from inspiration.”

It was difficult to edit, though, because each one was a completely different thought, and flow of energy. You couldn’t get into a rhythm, he said, the way you can when writing a book, or even an essay. Each one is just a few sentences at most, and then you have to go into an entirely other vibration and concept. So it was very demanding.

But, thank God, his energy and health had returned and he just sailed through it.

We left for Rome on Tuesday morning, and by then I had completed and printed out for him a completely clean version of the book as it had been edited up to that point. Naively, I thought we were done!

I even gave it to Sahaja to start translating again.

As soon as he got to Rome, however, he began to go through the book again. I hastily called Sahaja and told her not to start yet. She assured me that she had been working for Swamiji a long time and had no intention of starting until at least a few more days had passed!

It took until late Friday afternoon. Swamiji thought it would be nice to have about 100 copies of what he thought would be a manuscript to share with people. There are 254 aphorisms and because they are all similes or metaphors they are extremely colorful, vivid, clear, and fun to read.

It turned out that our printer, who is in Rome, could turn it into a book as inexpensively as we could copy it as a manuscript. The cover was already designed because of the earlier Italian version, so at 5:15pm we e-mailed the text to Tejindra (our designer in Italy); he got it to the printer before their 6:00pm closing time; and at lunch the next day, friends brought into the restaurant where we were sitting with Swamiji a dozen copies of a finished book! Record time from completion to publication for sure! We just did 100, and Swamiji happily passed them out that weekend and for the week after back at Assisi.

Eventually it will come out again in a more extensive printing. Swamiji has made a few more changes (!) “When you see it as a book,” he said, “you always notice things that are not obvious when it is still a manuscript.”

It is for Swamiji book number 102. So we can say now he has written “over one hundred books.” Amazing, especially considering that he didn’t start writing at the age of one!

As for the rest of what happened in Rome, it was for Swamiji a time of meeting various friends and well-wishers in that city, and also having a few media interviews, plus the public events.

He stayed in a hotel a little outside of town. Rome hotels are extremely expensive and this is a nice one that comes in more reasonably. It is set in a neighborhood area, on a high hill with a view over the city. From many of the rooms you can see the dome of St. Peter’s.

Swamiji had a small suite—an area for his bed, and then a sitting area and desk with a few comfortable chairs where he could greet visitors. He settled himself near the window with his wooden lap desk on his knee, and worked on the aphorisms whenever he had a spare moment.

There was an adjoining room with glass-topped desk which Lila turned into a dining table. Having too many meals in restaurants was not a good idea for Swamiji, given his medical condition, so Lila (with Kirtani’s help) set up a small kitchen in one of their rooms with hot plate and some pans and a toaster. Then they went to the home of a devotee in Rome and cooked lunch and brought it in.

The computer and printer were also in the room where the meals were served. Swamiji also did interviews there, or in his sitting room next to the bedroom.
We were laughing about running from those hotel rooms a publicity center, publishing house, restaurant, and ashram. Fortunately, Swamiji was feeling much better, so we weren’t also running an infirmary.

His room was at the end of the hall. Most of us were staying right along the same corridor. We turned the deadbolts so that the doors remained unlocked and propped slightly open so we could easily go in and out of each other’s rooms. At times as we popped in and out of the various doors along that corridor it felt as if we were part of some movie we could vaguely remember but not quite name.

With Swamiji’s returning health and sense of beginning a new chapter in his life, as he called it, it was a very happy time to be together.

Swamiji went out to a major TV station the first day to make a short segment. There is a program called “Two Minutes about Books.” These are, well, two-minute segments that appear, I think, every day. It is a great accomplishment to be accepted for this program. It is well respected and national, and mostly only big publishing companies can get their authors onto it.

Nandini is the publicist for the Italian work. Her name has become a verb—“to nandini” means to accomplish something seemingly impossible in the realm of promotion or publicity. And, “a nandini,” as a noun, is anyone who has a remarkable talent for promotion. Admittedly, references to “a nandini” are usually wishful thinking: for example, it has often been said, by every colony leader and all the publishing companies, “Wouldn’t it be great if we had ‘a nandini’ in [fill in the blank] India, Palo Alto, Living Wisdom School, etc.”

So Swamiji had his two minutes in which he made it clear that
Religion in the New Age, the book he spoke about, does not mean the Catholic Church—or any church for that matter—but is about the individual and God.

Just like last year, when he launched
Revelations of Christ, Swamiji is not mincing words. The days of institutional definitions of religion are over. He is hoping, as I mentioned last year, to create a controversy in which the ideas in Revelations and also in Religion in the New Age will define the debate.
The essential core is: individual inspiration, guided by those of true spiritual realization. Not dogmas, not institutions, not priestly supervision, but Self-realization.

A TV crew came to Swamiji’s room, he had one or two phone interviews, plus visiting friends.

I was mostly in my room typing, but I heard from others that all went very well. Swamiji likes to see the pages completely free of changes, so each time he went through it—about three times in all, I believe—we printed it all out again so he could see clean pages and know then if any more work was needed. Fortunately, it isn’t a long book. Only, as I said 254 aphorisms, a total of just over 100 manuscript pages, with lots of white space around each one.

Friday it was done; we went out for a nice dinner to celebrate.

Then Saturday began the reason he came to Rome. Saturday night was the launch of
Religion in the New Age, and on Sunday evening there was a performance—in Italian—of his play, The Peace Treaty.

Both events were held in the heart of old Rome at the Teatro Valle. This is one of the oldest theaters in Rome. It was build and began hosting performances in the mid-1700s, even before America was founded.

It was created before any kind of electronic microphones existed, so was designed to maximize the natural acoustics.

Swamiji was there the year before to launch
Revelations, so many of you have seen pictures. [One from last year is shown here.]

It is small and tall, rather than broad, so that sound doesn’t have to carry far. It is oval shaped, with rising tiers of small rooms where the audience can sit and still have an excellent view of the stage. Each tier has lights along the edge, so there is a beautiful effect of intermittent lights rising in a circular pattern toward the ceiling.

Swamiji wanted some of his piano pieces played. Karen Gamow and David came to Italy for a couple of weeks so she was on hand to play. He was eager to have a real piano, not an electronic keyboard, so a baby grand was rented, and Karen had the joy of playing it for the event. It is very rare these days to hear (or to play) a “real” piano. Everything is electronic. Karen assures me there is no comparison in terms of how sensitively you can play.

There was about 30 minutes of choir music and instrumentals at the beginning of the program. Swamiji wanted it to start with devotion, since that is religion in the new age, he said. He asked for selections from the Oratorio, mostly, since they are among the deepest of his songs.

They were beautifully performed by the Assisi choir, directed by Kirtani. Swamiji sat on the stage, listening with the most blissful smile on his face. His face illustrated the music perfectly.

I have to say I can report very little of what Swamiji said in his talk afterwards. I don’t speak Italian at all, but I have heard enough over the years that I can understand him when he gives a public lecture, because I tend to know what he would say and can piece it together from the Italian that I do recognize. But I have to concentrate in order to do that.

I think because of all the work on the book, and who knows what other reasons, I kept forgetting to concentrate on the words.

Many times Swamiji has told us that when you teach, above all you should give people your vibrations. Sitting in the theater on Saturday was an interesting experience of the difference between words and vibrations.

I was totally engaged in his talk. I wasn’t at all bored or restless. I was listening to every word and receiving from him a great sense of communication and even of meaning, although it was nonverbal meaning, for every so often it occurred to me that I hadn’t understood any of the words. They were sound vibrations that came in to me on that level. This really helped me to understand how secondary the intellectual, verbal part of communicating can be, especially when what Swamiji conveys, above all, is a state of consciousness.

He was very energetic and actually stood for the entire talk! There was a chair right behind him, and most of the time in the last months or even years, after a few minutes on his feet he will gratefully accept the chair. This time he never did. He stood the whole near-hour while he talked, an mazing resurrection from the physical challenges he has faced since his birthday. AUM GURU.

Afterwards, we all went to a well-known restaurant not too far away. We had intended to move Swamiji in a taxi, but there was something else going on nearby and it was impossible to get a taxi. It was still out of the question for Swamiji to walk the distance—about 10-15 minutes—so we brought over a wheel chair. About a dozen of us happily walked while Swamiji rode in the chair. It was a very lively, warm Saturday night in Rome. We went through one of the most popular piazzas, right in front of the Pantheon. There was such an amazing, crowded mix of humanity. Tourists, locals, people in costumes, children—quite a divine show.

The dinner was long and crowded and noisy and yummy. Swamiji sat at a large circular table with many of the notable guests who had come for the event.

The next day was a performance of
The Peace Treaty. It has been translated into Italian, and twice before, parts of it were performed at Ananda Assisi. This is an interesting joint venture between Ananda and four other communities in Italy.

There is a group called Damanhur with whom we have become friends. They have about 800 people involved in their community, living not all together, but in small group houses or group settings in various areas in Italy. They have a large community, which includes an extraordinary temple which is carved inside a stone mountain! Swamiji and a few others from Ananda were invited in for one of their ceremonies, even though they usually do not include anyone but their own community in such events.

This group focuses also on the arts, and includes a drama troupe. Many of the key people in that troupe had roles in the play—including Crystar and all of the other Lords.

A couple, members of Ananda who are professional actors, directed the play; the man also played the part of Sardoc. There were actors or actresses from the Sai Baba group, and also, I believe, from a Reiki community. Very interesting cooperative effort in itself, especially since the whole story of the play is about five clans on an island learning to work together.

The play, of course, is extremely timely, because it is also about the people rising up against wrong leadership and taking responsibility into their own hands. It is a fantasy, but the story is true and the lesson is obvious and much needed. It is Swamiji’s way of contributing to the general upliftment of the age.

Because so many of the people in the play were highly-experienced, even professional performers, it was a really good show.

The role of the young dancer was played by a professional ballerina. Because of her skill, the dance scenes were expanded and added immensely to the depth and beauty of the performance. In the plays, she is with the Emerald Clan and was, of course, all dressed in green. She seemed to have a particular gift for moving her hands and arms, and a way of bending her upper body like a willow tree moving in the wind. Exquisite.

They performed
almost the whole play, cutting out about half an hour.

Because we have seen it performed quite a few times, even without knowing any Italian we were easily able to follow the story, and even laugh at the right places. Italian is a great language for performance. It is beautiful to listen to, and comes from the heart, so everyone did their parts with lots of feeling.

It was the first time the play has been performed outside of Ananda, and therefore the first time in a public theater. The “world premiere,” we were calling it.
Teatro Valle is a very prestigious venue. Many people try to book that theater for their performances, but only a few are allowed to present there. So it was a great honor.

Swamiji was very pleased with the performance, and with the concept of a world premiere. A great night.

Dinner afterwards was in a restaurant just a block away. By this time, Swamiji was walking strongly on his own without a cane, and made his way right to the restaurant.

We had learned a bit from the night before, and Swamiji’s meal was served more quickly. All the actors and actresses were there and there was a great deal of thanking everyone and applauding the wonderful performances.

A very happy evening.

And..... David and I said good-bye to Swamiji. And early the next morning left Rome for London. David was able to make a direct connection home that Monday; I had 24 hours in London. I used it to meet with the devotees that evening for a satsang, then came home on my own the next day. And.... here we are.

blessings and joy, asha

Monday, June 1, 2009

Letter #3, from Assisi, Italy

Dear Everyone:

Over this past weekend, Swamiji’s birthday was celebrated (again) here at Ananda Assisi. About 200 guests, plus 100 more residents and friends from the area, gathered on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning to be with Swamiji.

The majority, of course, are from Italy, but devotees came also from Russia, Croatia, Germany, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Switzerland, America, and probably a few other places too. At the end of
Autobiography of a Yogi Master speaks of the small communities he envisioned as “World Brotherhood Colonies.” In America, that name for our communities is uplifting, but more theoretical than actual (although the Village includes residents from several countries).

Here, however, that principle is active everyday. World War II is now half a century behind us, but skirmishes took place in the very hills around us. You can find bullet holes on local buildings. Conflicts are on-going in many parts of the world. But here, all these many cultures and countries are united, just as Master urged us to be, by the knowledge that we are children of the One Divine Father.

The community here is situated on a country road that runs along a ridge, winding through rolling hills. The view in all directions is breath-takingly beautiful. Layer after layer of soft green hills and darker green trees and shrubs. It has been mostly warm, with occasional clouds and most recently rain. One or two of the sunsets have been astrally beautiful. After Swamiji’s Saturday satsang, the sun was partially obscured by clouds but rays of luminous, multicolored light streamed from behind the clouds down to the green hills.

The main building, a former hotel and restaurant that’s still called Il Refugio (The Refuge), is located right on the road. Just behind it, out of sight from the road, nestled in a shallow bowl among the green hills, is the Temple of Light, dome shaped (like the hills behind it) but covered in deep blue tiles. The design has been replicated now in our community in Seattle, Washington.

There is a driveway—more often a walkway—from the road to the Temple. It is pavement off the road, then changes to cobblestones, goes up the small hill, then curves downward again leading right to the beautiful arched doorway of the Temple. The area around the cobblestone, the downward curved part, is beautifully landscaped, with a wide green lawn on one side, a stone patio on the other, and flowering plants all along the way. At this time of year, especially, everything is in bloom.

Swamiji’s satsang was scheduled for 4:30 in the afternoon. He arrived here several days earlier, but the journey from India was hard on his body, and he spent most of these past few days resting; so this satsang was the first time most people would see him. In eager anticipation, many gathered along that walkway to greet him.

Swamiji’s house is located in a secluded area a few kilometers from the Temple. Anand drove him from his house just before the satsang was scheduled to begin. Swamiji was beautifully dressed in a long orange kurta and white linen pants. He isn’t strong, so can’t walk far, and Anand wanted to drive him right to the door of the Temple. But when Swamiji saw all the people gathered at the crest of the driveway, he asked Anand to park there, so he could greet them.

With the help of a cane, and leaning on David’s arm, he began to make his way slowly down the cobblestone walkway. Both sides of the path were lined with devotees. Swamiji greeted many people by name, reaching out to touch one or another on the cheek, or the head, or the hand. Again and again he said, “It is such a joy to see you, to be here with all of you.”

Halfway to the Temple Swamiji gave up the effort to walk, and accepted the offer of the wheelchair, which had been rolled along behind him in case he needed it.

Walking behind him was like being in an astral paradise. The physical setting was exquisite: flowers, green hills, and the blue dome sparkling in the sunshine. But that beauty was as nothing compared to the faces of the devotees. The country of Italy has created many saints. It is easy to see why. There is a depth and refinement to the devotion here that was offered now in full measure to Swamiji in gratitude for all he has done to bring them to Master and to God.

Swamiji has often said that he has had only two desires in life: to realize God and to help others also to realize Him. Waves of bliss flowed from him, and waves of blissful gratitude flowed to him, as he moved slowly through that corridor of angels.

Finally we reached the Temple, which was also crowded with devotees, another corridor of angels as he walked down the center aisle to the beautifully-carved and tapestry-covered chair, placed on the dais and used only when Swamiji is there.

Swamiji again greeted everyone, and spoke of his great joy at seeing them all again after so many months away in India and America.

There was music: the choir sang perfectly. Then Swamiji did his rendition of
Life Flows on Like a River, as he did at his birthday celebration in Gurgaon. His voice has become much deeper, and he delights in singing this bass solo, reveling in the lowest notes, adding a few flourishes that are not actually written into the music, frankly “showing off” his ability to sing, he claims, even the lowest note on the piano.

Everyone laughed delightedly both at the beauty of the song and Swamiji’s obvious pleasure in singing it for them. He sang in English, but had prepared an Italian translation of the song, which he read beforehand. Swamiji’s speaks fluent Italian and communicates mostly in that language when he is in Assisi.

If you don’t understand Italian, you can have an individual headset where you can hear a simultaneous translation in either English or German, depending on which channel you tune into.

Swamiji is a brilliant speaker and over these many decades has educated several generations in Master’s teachings of Self-realization, both through his writings and his talks. He has had to introduce people to concepts they have never heard before, or, when he is in India, bring to them a new understanding of their own ancient tradition. In many ways, that phase of his life is now over.

Even when it was his responsibility to teach us the principles of Self-realization, I often felt when sitting in the audience listening to him speak, even about a very subtle or complex subject, that what he was really giving us was vibration. As the vibration passed through him—for he acts only as a channel for Master—he attached words to it so we would be able to receive it. But the words were just a medium for the attunement to God and Gurus that he conveyed.

Now, on this occasion, in the heart-centered country of Italy, in the divine land of Assisi, so deeply blessed by the devotional presence of St. Francis, there was little need to clothe that vibration in complex ideas. All the complexity of this creation, as Swamiji said when we were in Gurgaon, emanates from a child-like simplicity.

Swamiji lives now in the heart of that simplicity, and is able to convey it to us.

The heart of his talk, as it was in Gurgaon, was about meeting Master, reading the
Autobiography of a Yogi, finding his life changed completely, then going on to become a disciple. How, miraculously, his father was in Egypt and his mother was on a ship on her way to join him. All obstacles had been removed. Master was able to guide him to the book and then into his divine presence.

Swamiji has been a disciple for over 60 years now. He was a young man when he first knelt at Master’s feet and received initiation. Now he is 83, and has given every ounce of his energy to fulfilling the divine commission his guru gave him.

It may seem to us that much time has passed; many people listening to him weren’t even born when Swamiji began his life of discipleship. But for Swamiji, there is no time. The touch of the Master happens in a realm of superconsciousness where time does not exist. It is happening for him in the eternal Now.

Swamiji spoke of what Master said in his poem
God’s Boatman, that he would return again and again, a trillion times if necessary, as long as one stray brother was left behind. Swamiji was moved to tears as he contemplated the depth of compassion and love the Master brings to us, and many of us wept with him.

Everything about this incarnation for Swamiji is defined by his discipleship. He weeps easily, his heart is so tender. Many times on Saturday, he was so overcome, that he struggled to speak, his voice became a whisper, or stopped altogether. “I feel so much bliss,” Swamiji has said, “I can’t contain it. But what else do I have to give except bliss?”

After the talk was done, Swamiji made the same journey through the corridor of angels. He accepted the wheelchair at the door of the temple. As the chair moved up the walkway, he was stopped often by devotees wanting to greet him, to present their children to him, to offer him gifts, and, above, all to express their love and gratitude.

There is a wonderful movie about Padre Pio titled
Padre Pio: Miracle Man. For those of you who don’t know, Padre Pio was an Italian Catholic priest, who received the stigmata when he was a young monk and bore those wounds on his body for 50 years. He died in 1968, so his life is well-known and well-documented. He is a great saint.

This film was made in Italy. It is a dramatization of his life, superbly crafted, well acted, with beautiful music and photography. The DVD is available on the internet. It has been dubbed into English, but the dubbing is terrible, so watch it in Italian with English subtitles.

Swamiji has seen the movie several times but asked to see it again on Saturday night so a few of us watched it with him. It is a long movie, and we only watched about an hour of it. It begins at the end of Padre Pio’s life, perhaps even the last day of his life, and tells the story through flashbacks.

The actor who plays Padre Pio, Sergio Castellitto, is superb. He beautifully conveys the paradox of great physical weakness and enormous spiritual power existing side-by-side in the same form. This a theme we are living now with Swamiji so you can imagine how poignant it was to watch that film with Swamiji sitting next to us.

On Sunday, Swamiji came at the beginning of the service. It was raining, and most people were already inside the Temple, so Anand was able to drive the car right up to the doorway. There were over 300 people in the Temple, and they all rose in reverent silence to greet Swamiji.

The Temple was not built to hold that many, so people were standing and sitting everywhere. It was the largest crowd, they said, that had ever had inside there. There was chanting and perfect choir music, and much laughter and celebration.

Even though I don’t speak Italian, if I concentrate, I can usually understand much of what Swamiji says, largely because I have heard him speak so often that if I can catch the theme, I can follow it. On Sunday, I walked in with him and ended up sitting on the floor right in front because there was no other place to be.

He touched on more themes in this talk than on the day before, and was able to speak more easily than on Saturday. He spoke of the simplicity of God and the joy of childlike devotion and life as bliss. But I have to confess that I kept forgetting to listen to the words; I was so inspired by the vibration. He laughed often and people laughed joyously with him.

A few days earlier, Swamiji said, “I find it amazing that people find so much in life to be bitter about, when life itself is nothing but bliss.” He repeated this theme again in his talk on Sunday.

After speaking, Swamiji left and others carried on with the Festival of Light.

An hour later, Swamiji returned for a festive birthday dinner. The dining room can only hold about half of the people who were there, so tables were set up in a glass gazebo outside. Friday and Saturday were sunny, so the plan was to have many tables set up outside. Sunday however, there was pouring rain, so people were crowded in everywhere.

Nothing dampened the joyous mood, however. Again, many people came up to Swamiji’s table to greet him, offer gratitude, love, and sometimes gifts. For formal occasions, Swamiji was wears the traditional orange, but for this event he wore an indigo blue silk shirt with white linen trousers. The table was strewn with yellow roses. So the color of his clothes, the roses, and his own aura of golden light made his table a living expression of the colors of the spiritual eye.

The lunch ended with the presentation of a large cake beautifully decorated with strawberries and cream. “Happy Birthday” was sung in Italian and English and then Swamiji blew out the candles.

He told the story of Master’s last birthday. When the cake with lighted candles was presented to Master, his disciple Dr. Lewis asked the guru if he had enough breath to blow out the candles. Master replied, “I only have to be careful not to blow away the whole cake as well!”

Later in the afternoon, Swami Shankarananda from Rishikesh came to visit. First he gave a satsang in the Temple; then he came with a few of his devotees for a short visit with Swamiji.

Since he was expelled from SRF in 1962, Swamiji has lived without the company of fellow monks or swamis. It has been one of the tapasyas of his life. So it is always moving to see Swamiji in the company of his “peers,” i.e., others who have embraced the life of sannyas (renunciation) as he has.

Swami Shankarananda is a disciple of a disciple of Sri Yuktewar, and has built a Temple of Kriya Yoga in Rishikesh. Swamiji (Kriyananda) has visited him there, and Swami Shankarananda has visited Ananda Village and Assisi once or twice before.

It was short visit and conversation was mostly about India and ways in which the message of Kriya Yoga and Self-realization can be brought to the world.

On Sunday evening we watched the rest of the Padre Pio movie.

In addition to the two talks, so many people came to greet him, and to each one he gave his full attention and energy. Now he is ready to rest. For the next 10 days there are no public events. His house here is isolated and quiet. From every window you see either gardens and flowers, or the rolling green hills stretching out to the horizon.

Two weeks from now is the launch of Swamiji’s latest book,
Religion in the New Age (I think the title is a little different in the Italian version), which will be held in Rome on Saturday evening. Then on Sunday, there is a performance of The Peace Treaty in Italian. Both are very big events and Swamiji needs to gather his energy that weekend.

We’ll go to Rome with Swamiji and then leave on Monday morning.

Now, to go back in time.

We flew from Gurgaon to London, spent the night in a hotel there, then flew to Milan the next morning. This is the first time I’ve been part of moving Swamiji from one continent to another. His staff has been doing this every year since he moved to India. It is no small project!

This time, three were traveling with Swamiji—Miriam, Lila, and Lakshman—plus me. Although Swamiji has homes in each place—India, America, and Europe (Italy)—still, there is a mountain of luggage.

Swamiji was not strong when we left India and the departure was brutal. It was over 110 degrees, and the air conditioning in the whole airport broke. So for the required 2 hours in advance of departure we were sweltering inside the airport. We thought we would get respite by boarding the plane so we got on as soon as the gate opened. The air conditioning on the plane, however, was also broken, so there we were sitting in a metal tube on a black tarmac in the midday sun. It was a convenient afternoon departure but proved our undoing.

They stopped boarding for a time to make sure the air conditioning could be fixed. They decided it was merely overwhelmed by the conditions, and the only solution was to take off and get into a cooler atmosphere.

So we got to sit on the plane for another hour or so before taking off. It was not easy for any of us.

In London, Miriam and Lila went with Swamiji right away to the hotel, and Lakshman and I took care of a mountain of heavy suitcases. Fortunately, there are strong porters with huge carts, and we managed to move the suitcases to the hotel, then back again to the airport in the morning.

When we got to Milan, we were met by a crowd of Ananda devotees, and it was a great pleasure to give that luggage over to others!

We went with Swamiji and about a dozen others to Lugano, Switzerland for a few days of vacation. For Swamiji, it turned out to be more of a time of recovery from the rigors of travel than actual vacation. The hotel is located right in the center of the nicest part of the city—no cars, just pedestrians, beautiful old buildings, and a lovely lake and garden. The weather was ideal—warm, sunny—and we had a few outings with Swamiji, and a few on our own while he rested at the hotel. It was uneventful, outwardly, but like everything with Swamiji, deeply blissful.

I think that is about all for now. I’ll write again soon.


Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Letter #2, from Gurgaon, India

Dear Everyone:

(You will not be surprised by the following announcement: This is a long letter. The usual advice applies: Relax and enjoy.)

Today we leave for Europe, flying to London, where we will spend the night, then on to Milan. The devotees from Assisi will meet us there and drive us to Lugano, Switzerland, about 1.5 hours away, where we will vacation for about 5 days with most of Swamiji’s staff from India, and the leaders of Ananda Assisi.

Swamiji is very much looking forward to having a little vacation time. It is hot here, and the weather is perfect in Lugano. Next to the lake, there is a flower garden which should be in full spring bloom. A delightful prospect after all these months in India.

In the last couple of days, we’ve had two dust storms. Delhi is built in the middle of a desert. Desert is not the first thing you think of driving down the streets, lined with big buildings bearing the names of multinational corporations. But Nature follows her own rhythms, no matter what Man imposes on top if it, and there is plenty of undeveloped land from which the wind can pick up sufficient dust to create, well, quite a dust-up!

In the last few years especially, building has been going forward at a fevered pace, including a rapid transit system between here and Delhi that could transform this whole area. Traffic makes going even relatively short distances dicey at best. “Caught in traffic” is the most common reason people arrive anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours late for appointments and events.

I was making a “quick trip to the mall,” usually a simple matter of 10 minutes. But a bus had broken down in the road and we sat twice that long just trying to crawl past the snarl created by the blocking of one lane. And this wasn’t even rush hour.

Because we are leaving today, I really wanted to give you the last of the India experience before we change venues.

I’ll start with Swamiji’s birthday.

The main celebration was set for the evening, so the day was kept quiet, so as not to tax Swamiji’s energy. He turned 83 on the 19th, and, as he puts it, by any measure that is a significant age. Like many people who live into their elder years, he doesn’t recommend getting old! Physically, it is a nuisance. Simple tasks like going upstairs—this house is on three levels, although Swamiji only uses two of them now—requires will power just to get the body to respond. In fact, somewhat to his annoyance, everyone in the house keeps a lookout and he seldom goes up or down those stairs without someone walking with him to insure his safety. Even Swamiji describes himself at times as “an accident waiting to happen.” Everyone near Swamiji is determined that that accident is
not going to happen.

Spiritually, though, looking into Swamiji’s eyes and seeing the same blissful expression on his face not matter where he is or what his body may be doing, makes one eager to follow in Swamiji’s footsteps, even if those footsteps are slower now than they were in the more physically dynamic years.

For those of us who have known Swamiji through many phases of his life, it is deeply touching to see him at this age.

When I first met him, Swamiji was in his early forties. His enormous will power expressed in every gesture. He has always been considered in his actions, not at all impulsive, even when he was younger. No matter what was going on around him, even at times when everyone else was tensely rushing around to accomplish a project or move the group on to the next venue, Swamiji would always move in his own rhythm. Not necessarily more slowly, just calmly, from his center. He has never allowed outward conditions to define him.

Still, with his enormous energy and will power, he moved with great strength and often walked at such a quick pace one had to scurry to keep up with him. In the book about him, I tell the story of going to Disneyland with him in the early 70s (when it was still more innocent and Swamiji enjoyed being there). Some of you may remember how I described the dozen or so of us who were with him scurrying along like little goslings, holding hands so we wouldn’t get separated in the crowd, scrambling to keep up with him.

Now Swamiji is a divine elder. Looking only at this face, even with the physical signs of age, advanced age is not the impression one receives. Looking at him is looking at a consciousness rooted in eternity.

But his movements are those of a refined soul of 83 years. Careful, slow, often needing assistance—“A crane would be useful,” Swamiji has suggested at times, as he focuses his will power on the effort needed to get out of a soft chair.

His upcoming trip to Italy is filled with important public events. The latest book,
Religion in the New Age has been published in Italian and there will be a celebratory launch of that book in Rome and also in Milan. He has the possibility of many far-reaching media interviews, plus devotees from all over Europe will be coming to Assisi to see him.

His play,
The Peace Treaty, has been translated into Italian and is being performed again this year. It has been done before, but mostly at the Assisi Ananda center. This year it will be in Teatro Valle in Rome, the same venue where Revelations of Christ was launched last year, and where the new book launch will be held this year. It is a most prestigious venue—the theater is older than the U.S.A. So it is a great satisfaction for Swamiji to have the play performed there.

Those who travel with Swamiji confirm what Swamiji himself says, that whenever he is about to channel a great flow of divine light out to the world—as he will in Italy—the dark force—Satan—tries desperately (because it never works!) to keep Swamiji from his God-appointed task. Usually the effort to stop him is by weakening his physical body. Swamiji has been weaker than we would like, but our hope is that once he arrives in Europe—in other words, once the transition is done and the dark force sees, one again, that Master has triumphed—we hope he will become stronger and can enjoy Lugano completely.

So, back to May 19: in order to keep Swamiji’s energy for the evening, the day itself was quiet.

Sangeeta, one of the Indian devotees from the ashram here, arrived early, with many beautiful flower arrangements, which we put all over the house. Swamiji had not yet emerged from his room and we wanted there to be a sense of celebration for him when he came out.

Sangeeta also brought bags of rose petals, and in the Indian way of decorating, went all around the house creating simple patterns on the floor and in the corners of the rooms with piles and piles of rose petals. It was beautiful, harmonious, and with all the bouquets, made the house festive and fragrant.

Swamiji was, of course, delighted with all the flowers and it made the day feel from the start like a great celebration.

Usually, Swamiji takes his meals alone, but this being a special day a few of us shared breakfast. No cake, no singing of
Happy Birthday yet—that would come in the evening. Lila and Nirmala had bought croissants the day before, to distinguish this day from the usual breakfast. The conversation was light, but underneath, all of us were aware of the significance of Swamiji’s life, for ourselves, for Master, for countless souls now and in the future. Continuously, between munching croissants and eggs, inwardly we gave thanks to God and Master for Swamiji’s long and fruitful life, and for the privilege of sharing it.

The evening celebration was held in a venue just 10 minutes from Guru Kripa—very convenient for Swamiji. Many of the housing developments also include a clubhouse or community center. One of the devotees arranged to use the building in her area of the DLF development, where Guru Kripa is also located.

You can see photos of that event that Daya Taylor took:

Devotees had given Swamiji some luminous orange silk fabric, which a local devotee friend, who has a tailor shop, had stitched for Swamiji into a new set of clothes for this event.

Mostly his clothes are completely plain, but to these she added a subtle band of ribbon with gold thread around the neck and sleeves. With the luminosity of the silk, plus that touch of gold, Swamiji was glowing from the outside as well as the inside.

Before we left home, Swamiji was a little uncertain about this outfit, since it was brighter than he usually wears, asking whether he was wearing it or it was wearing him. And, sitting quietly upstairs, there was no clear answer.

But as soon as Swamiji stepped out of the car at the venue, and saw all the smiling faces standing outside the hall to greet him, and Master’s energy flowed from him like a river of grace, the luminosity of the clothes became a perfect expression of his own consciousness.

The hall itself held several hundred people, and it was filled to the walls. It was arranged that Swamiji would arrive at a certain time, so many people had come out of the hall to greet him as soon as he drove up.

Because the entry doors were wide and made of glass, one could see the whole hall from outside. At the far wall a huge altar had been put in place, with a gigantic arch of flowers extending above the pictures of the Masters, like a rainbow of blossoms. Each picture also had its own large garland of flowers. The whole background and stage was covered with golden cloths, and glowing through the cloths were swirls of white lights.

Swamiji had to descend a few stairs from outside, then, walking down the center aisle he looked like he was walking into that rainbow of flowers and the images of the gurus.

Everyone rose to greet him and stood in reverent silence (for the most part) as he made his way down that aisle to a seat in front where he could sit and greet people. Soon after he was seated, a birthday cake with lit candles was brought out to him.

We all sang
Happy Birthday, the Ananda version where the last line is “Master’s blessings on you.” We were all looking at Swamiji, and he was gazing back at us with such profound love and divine connectedness, we put everything we had into that simple melodic blessing.

Indian clothes for women are among the most beautiful in the world—brilliant colors and many sparkles—rhinestones, sequins, tiny mirrors. Because it was a formal occasion, many women were wearing saris, not so common now since most women prefer the comfort and convenience of the Indian style pants and long tunics, or, alas, jeans and shirts. The dress code for the Ananda Choir was jewel tone saris. So the audience itself added greatly to the sense of beauty and light.

Naturally, the program began with choir music, Dharmini conducting. Although the music, and even choir singing itself, is not that common in India, by now many of the Indian devotees have embraced the music and joined the choir. One of the young devotees played the first movement of Swamiji’s piano sonata
The Divine Romance (God’s Call Within). Then Swamiji asked if the choir could sing it (it wasn’t on the program) and a smaller group who knew the piece performed it for him.

He was just a few feet away in the front row, with that look of eternity we see so often on his face now, gazing with unlimited bliss as the music poured out to him from the hearts of the devotees.

The last part of the musical program was Swamiji himself singing a solo of
Life Flows On Like a River. Swamiji walked rather tentatively; others had to stand close to him and help support him.

He said later, one would have assumed that the voice coming from that body would have been thin and croaky. Not at all!

Swamiji’s voice in these last years has deepened and developed an even more profound resonance than before. It was a gorgeous rendition of that song, not only musically, but the spiritual undertones in his singing went right to the heart.

Rony, who is one of the leaders now of the work in Gurgaon, was the host for the evening. Many of you met him and his wife Changa and their son Rahul when they visited America a few years ago. Rony spoke with his usual grace and refinement, making us all feel welcome.

Mr. Kartikeyan was present, and also his lovely wife, who has not yet traveled with him to America, but we hope she will soon. He travels around India a great deal and had been in Bangalore that morning and was going back the next day, but flew home just to be part of this occasion. As usual, he spoke sweetly and thoughtfully and with great respect for Swamiji and the contribution he is making to the world.

Priti, the woman responsible for bringing the school into manifestation, then spoke a few minutes about that project. As usual, whenever we hear about this Ananda Education for Life, one thinks about being a child again just to be a student in one of these schools. One person donated money to our school in Palo Alto once saying “I’m doing this so I’ll have a place to go to school in my next incarnation.”

Dharmadas then introduced Swamiji, giving us a brief glimpse of Swamiji’s many accomplishments. He ended by leading us in a deeply moving prayer of blessing for Swamiji.

Then Swamiji took the stage and for the next hour we were entranced by his wisdom and bliss. No sign now of the aging body! You can enjoy a recording of that talk:

One point he made—not central but very interesting—was that America specializes in “creative materialism,” that is, “giving, not taking.” America is the only country in the world that, after a war, has given millions of dollars to help rebuild the countries of former enemies.

Because of this Dwapara way of relating to the material plane, in the years ahead, America, with India, will lead the world. This is what Master predicted.

In another context completely, Swamiji was speaking of how diminished England is now, compared to its former position of power. “The sun never sets on the British empire.” Swamiji quoted Master as saying that for centuries England took and didn’t give back, so naturally their good karma ran out.

Back to the birthday: Several times during the evening, and afterwards when he was back home, Swamiji said, “What means the most to me about this evening is seeing all of you,” speaking of the devotees gathered to celebrate his birthday with him. At this point in his life, Swamiji has traveled many times around the world, seen all the sights this world has to offer, and been gifted and honored in countless ways. Still, all that is ephemeral. The love we share in God, however, is everlasting. The body dies, the form changes, but the unity of consciousness in the divine is eternal.

In the midst of all those people, music, refreshments, tributes and greetings, one could see, looking at Swamiji’s face, that what he was experiencing was the soul-to-soul contact behind it all.

Dharmadas said later that it was so touching to see so many of our “business” contacts present at the event: some of the workmen who serve in our ashram houses, the accountant, the lawyer, friends who we met first because we went to the shops they own, and Sanjay Arora, the man who helped us with our first (and every subsequent) pilgrimage to India for 20 years starting in 1986.

As Dharmadas said, this doesn’t happen in America; it is one of the unique joys of India that this spiritual appreciation permeates society.

So, that was the birthday. To be here with Swamiji on his birthday was why I came to India. And it was in every way worth the trip.

Last night, there was a performance of P.G. Wodehouse’s
The Smile that Wins especially for Swamiji, here at Guru Kripa. Some very, very funny actors among the devotees in this ashram!

So now, let me share a few other things that you may enjoy hearing about.

A few days earlier, a small group of us went to enjoy the buffet lunch at the Trident Hotel. Those of you who have received letters from previous trips to India may remember our descriptions of the Trident. It is a great asset to life in Gurgaon.

The design is extraordinary: all of a pale beige stone, on a huge scale. Enormous arches, tall glass doorways with curved brass fixtures. Even inside, there are high arches everywhere. All the colors are pale. In fact, it is in perfect harmony with the desert. It could stand alone in the middle of a sandy plain and look like it grew right out of the environment, some castle belonging to a Maharaj. It doesn’t look like any hotel we’ve ever seen.

When you first enter the grounds, the first thing you see is an enormous flat fountain made of dark granite, the length of the building in size. Water in a thin sheet flows across the granite and pours continuously over the sides.

In a line down the center of that enormous sheet of water, there are several gas burners, not obvious in the day time, but at night flames rise from the water. The effect, of course, is extraordinary.

This visit, however, was in daylight, and there was no fire. We were charmed to see a few birds, walking or floating on the water, perched on the rim of the burners. Not many, just a few. It was captivating.

The lobby has a very high ceiling; the soft color scheme continues inside, a pale beige everywhere, except for several enormous vases of bright yellow flowers, and small arrangements of yellow roses.

Swamiji is well known by the whole staff there, and they greeted him with great affection, seeing him again after a long absence.

One of the remarkable features of being with Swamiji is that one never knows when grace will descend. Sometimes the most meaningful moments come at the most unexpected times.

Entering the Trident, and walking down the long marble corridor, with its ceiling arches and windows looking out to the garden beyond, was, for me, one such moment.

Because Swamiji moves slowly, we all walk at a pace different from what we would do on our own. I’ve mentioned before, that, strangely, one never feels impatient, or restless to move more quickly. I think in matching his pace we are also attuning to his vibration. In that attunement a tiny bubble of his deep inner joy and contentment also becomes our own.

In the book about Swamiji, I tell the story of when he was ill in bed with a fever so severe he was shaking with chills and panting to breathe. Shivani came in to see him, and as she started to approach, Swamiji said, "Don't come too close, you might catch what I have." "If you have it, I want it," Shivani said, then walked to his bed and took his hand.

Earlier in his life, Swamiji had a great work to accomplish and he was intent on fulfilling Master’s commission. Now, even though Swamiji continues to write, and plans to make a series of recordings based on his book
The Essence of the Bhagavad Gita, his life now seems more about consciousness. The slow pace of his walk, apparently imposed on him by physical limitations, is not inappropriate to his present consciousness—more about being, you might say, and less now about doing.

In the past, in many ways, he kept his consciousness hidden in order to do the work. Now, that is not necessary.

As I’ve mentioned before, his feelings are very close to the surface. When he speaks of Master, in almost any context, or any meaningful moment in his spiritual journey, such as first finding the
Autobiography of a Yogi, or the bliss which is the fruit of spiritual life, his eyes often fill with tears, and frequently he has to pause for a moment until he masters his feelings before he can go on.

Anything of uplifting beauty touches him deeply. He got a new set of hearing aids—fortunately, technology is advancing at almost as fast a pace as his hearing is declining. As part of the testing process the technician played some music from the computer she had with her.

Fortunately, she correctly gauged Swamiji’s tastes, and chose one of Beethoven’s symphonies. The purpose was merely to check how well the hearing aids were working, whether he could hear all the tones in the music, and whether voices could still be heard if there was music playing.

From the first notes, however, Swamiji became so lost in the music, and so overcome by the beauty of it, that he couldn’t quite follow her questions, and, when he did, he couldn’t speak to answer them.

“Tender-hearted,” that is how we become on the spiritual path. And that is what we see exemplified by Swamiji.

Walking in virtual silence down the corridor of the Trident, staff members smiling in recognition, Swamiji offering a pronam in response, and they returning the respectful gesture, one couldn’t clearly remember even where we were. It was Master through Swamiji giving blessing to all who would receive it from him. An experience out of time and place.

The walk down the corridor would have been enough, but I am happy to say, lunch was delicious, too!

Swamiji has gone a few times to the Metropolitan Mall where Ananda has its store, The Wishing Tree. Opening that store was an idea Swamiji had when they first moved to Gurgaon to provide a connecting link between Ananda and the public. Just like our East West stores in America.

The Wishing Tree is a small store, with all of Ananda’s books and music, plus an appropriate selection of gift items. They have a small television with headphones so those who come in can see Swamiji speaking and singing. It has introduced many people to our work.

One of the women who now works at The Wishing Tree used to work at the Trident. Meeting Swamiji there she became interested in him and Master and this work and now is full time with Ananda.

Walking with Swamiji anywhere—at the Trident, at the Mall—one feels he is always doing the same thing: opening his heart to everyone he meets, giving to them as much as they will receive of his own inner joy, in the hope that they will be inspired to seek the bliss of God.

We always end our Sunday service with Master’s prayer, “May Thy love shine forever on the sanctuary of our devotion, and may we be able
to awaken Thy love in all hearts.” Swamiji lives that prayer.

Even though we were only outside for a few minutes transiting from home to car, and car to Mall, the heat was intense. There is a coffee bar in the Mall, which serves very good cappuccino—they use Lavazza and have an Italian theme. Their advertising poster says “Escape to Italy”—meaning, sit down and have a cup of Italian coffee.

Swamiji joked with the staff: “We are taking your advice! We leave tomorrow.” Thinking especially of the heat, it does feel as if we are “escaping” from the Indian summer to the cool beauty of Switzerland!

Swamiji had just a few errands to run, but he also stopped in stores we passed where he has shopped before to say goodbye. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I won’t be back for some months. Just wanted to say goodbye.” Among so many other examples Swamiji sets for us, is this one of gracious friendship, even to those he knows only in a seemingly casual way.

Well, I think that about covers the days since I last wrote.

In a few hours we leave for the airport, staying overnight, as I mentioned, in London; then on to Milan and Lugano. David joins us in Milan, which, of course, will be a delight!

Love and blessings,