April 17-21 of this year, 2008, I was blessed to return to my “ole stompin’ grounds, deep in the heart ‘o Texas.’” Actually what that means, ya’ll, when translated out of Texan into Amurrrri-can, is that I flew to out Dallas to give classes and get-togethers at the Ananda Dallas Center. My flight was over 5 hours late due to tornadoes, hail, and huge thunder storms in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. But hey! That’s springtime in Texas. The carpets of blooming bluebonnets (the fragrant state flower) and many other colorful wildflowers made up for it.

There was a time, back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, when I flew out to Texas many times a year, supporting our meditation groups and Ananda connected folks in whatever ways I could—offering classes, retreats, and so on. But during this visit, I realized that it had been several years since I returned to Texas and that was way too long to be out of touch with those fine, faithful folks, some dear old friends (and some newer ones too), and all my fellow disciples in Texas. There is a flavor of deep joy, a sweetness there among Texas devotees, which is hard to describe, but simply wonderful to feel first-hand.

In reflecting on how inspiring this visit was for me, I thought it might be interesting to write down a little of the history of Ananda’s presence in the Lone Star State—a history that actually goes back quite a few years.

In 1975, the year I first visited Ananda, I had been living in Texas for 13 years. I returned from my 2-month visit to Ananda Village (the only Ananda community there was in those years) determined somehow to create some sort of “Ananda in Texas.”

My first step was to start teaching Hatha Yoga at the closest university—which happened to be Texas A&M. I am now amazed at my courage in doing this back then, for 3 reasons:

1) Nobody asked me for credentials, which was a good thing, because I had none—except my 2 months at Ananda, being led in Energization Exercises, Ananda-style yoga, and meditation twice a day;

2) Texas A&M was a very conservative place indeed, most people in central Texas in those years not knowing yoga from yogurt;

3) Having not been officially trained to teach yoga, and none of my students having a clue what it was anyway, we all had a great time together!

Based on the success of this venture, I began offering classes and retreats in other locations, teaching meditation to whoever was interested, leading sadhanas in my home many afternoons each week, to friends who were interested, and starting a small meditation group (I think at its peak we had 3 participants).

I continued to visit Ananda Village in the hopes I could figure out a way to move there. During my Christmas visit of 1977, I heard that Swami Kriyananda was going on a nationwide tour which might be passing through Texas. I told him I lived there and perhaps I could help in some way. Little did I know what that suggestion would do!

In my brief conversation with Swami that Christmas, I said: “When you visit Texas, do you know where, in which city, you’d like to give classes?”

He answered, “Well, I guess Dallas—it’s the biggest city in Texas, isn’t it?”

I said, “Well yes, I think it is, but I live closer to Austin and Houston, and would be able to be of more help if you chose one of those cities to visit.” [hint, hint]

Imagine my surprise when, soon after my return to my home in Texas, I received a call from Keshava, who (I believe) was Swami’s secretary at that time, who told me gleefully, “Swami is coming to Austin, Houston, and Dallas and we want you to be in charge!” I just about fainted when I heard that, but bravely said I’d try. Fortunately I found other willing souls in Houston and Dallas to help make all the needed speaking engagements happen and to help find places for everyone on the “Joy Tour Team” to stay—while I took care of arrangements in Austin.

March of 1978, the Ananda “Joy Tour” arrived in Texas in full force. Swami and the “team” of a dozen or more Ananda folk, most of whom I had met on my previous visits to Ananda Village, were traveling in a van and a motor home. I worked hard to see that everything went smoothly in Austin, and I think it did! The crowds were large, the enthusiasm great, and Swami was well-received there. Houston was even better, and I think Dallas was best of all, though I didn’t get to join the group there.

In Houston, after one of his evening seminars, I asked Swami if I could have a spiritual name and he graciously blessed me with the name Savitri. What a personal peak-life experience that was!

Several times during the next 2 or 3 years after that first springtime visit, Swami returned to Texas to speak. Ananda Meditation groups sprang up in Austin, Houston, and other locations. I was thrilled to see it all, but by that time, I had moved to Ananda Village myself, and thus simply watched and prayed from afar as the Ananda Texas energy grew stronger.

Texans are indeed strong people, independent-minded, friendly, enthusiastic, and full of joy. I love them! And though I truly loved living at Ananda Village, I still missed that sweet Texas spirit and the many friends I had there. So when the time was right, and Ananda teachers were needed to travel to Texas to help our work there, I was among the first to volunteer.

I’d like to especially mention and honor a few folks who hold an important place in Ananda Texas history. Clara Evans was the first Ananda Dallas Meditation Group leader to invite me to come there to teach in 1988. Happy Winningham was a dynamic part of the Dallas group then and soon after moved to Ananda Village, as did Clara, too. Jan Shapiro took over Ananda Dallas leadership and did a magnificent job for many years. Rex Anderson and Harold Byrd led the group in Houston, Agnes Lundstead led the group in Austin, and Lewis Kreydick led a small group in South Padre Island.

Soon the Ananda Texas energy seemed dynamic enough to send full time Ananda ministers to live and serve in Texas. Pranaba and Parvati Hansen were the first to go in 1992, establishing themselves first in Austin, and eventually in Dallas, (which, interestingly enough, was the first place Swamiji had mentioned he wanted to give classes on his first cross-country speaking tour, all those years ago). Krishna Das and Mantradevi, now serving as leaders of our Ananda Los Angeles Center, also served at Ananda Dallas, 1994-1996.

Right now, Sue Chadwick is the acting Ananda Minister and primary director of Ananda Dallas, the very active Ananda Dallas Meditation & Yoga Center, located at 4901 Keller Springs Road, Suite 103, Addison, TX 75001, on Keller Springs Rd. between the Tollway and Addison Road They have a full calendar of activities, including Sunday Service every Sunday, programs for families, yoga and meditation classes, and so on. Check it all out at www.anandadallas.org

During my visit this past April, I was thrilled to see how strong and dynamic Ananda Dallas has become now, with a great core of dedicated kriyabans who really know the importance of keeping their Center strongly serving as a beacon of light for all truth-thirsty souls. I know from personal experience that it is not easy, living in mid-America and trying to hold yourself together as a devotee of this path, keeping your own spiritual practices strong, and trying to help others to find their own way spiritually also. Therefore, I bow at the feet (and cowboy boots) of all those Texas devotees of past, present, and future, who were and are able to do just that. Bless you one and all. I can’t mention you all by name, but you know who you are.

It is Saturday night, April 19, just past 10:30 in the evening. We are with Swamiji in Rome, Italy. The long-anticipated event, the launch of the just published Italian version of Swamiji’s Revelations of Christ as Proclaimed by Paramhansa Yogananda is now an event recorded in the ether for the ages.

It was a triumph, success on every level. The hall was full. The music was heavenly Swamiji’s health has been very good. He was strong, blissful, and inspired from start to finish. About 700 people came, and 500 copies of the book were sold.

Now here is the long version.

The event was held in Theater Valle, a very prestigious location, right in the heart of old Rome, just a few blocks from the Pantheon. The theater is over 300 years old. (Before there was a United States of America, Romans were attending events in Theater Valle.)

The theater holds about 700 people, and it was full. The “footprint” of the theater is an oval, not that large: only about 20 rows, and 15 seats across. The rest of the seating is in five tiers of boxes, each holding about 4-6 seats that rise up in a curved wall from the ground floor. It was extremely picturesque to see the devotees in each box leaning out from the railing to see the stage below.

The stage was adorned with a very large picture of Master on one side, and an equally large picture of the cover of the book on the other.

The background of the book poster was a lovely shade of apricot-orange, which exactly matched the color of the Indian style shirt that Swamiji wore over Western trousers, personifying in his very appearance the East-West message of the teachings of Jesus proclaimed by an Indian Master.

The event was scheduled for 4:00 in the afternoon. Events of this type are commonly held in the afternoon.

One of the props from a play that is also using the theater now is a set of marble stairs placed right in the center of the stage. They were too heavy to move, which turned out to be no problem, for they made beautiful risers for the choir.

In front of the steps, on the side next to Master’s picture, the musicians were set up — keyboard, harp, flute, violins (2), and cello.

On the other side of the stage, next to the photo of the book cover, there was a large straight-backed upholstered chair for Swamiji. It was a heavy printed tapestry with carved legs. The front edge of the stage was also elaborately carved, so the chair fit well the motif of the theater.

There were huge flower arrangements at each corner of the stage. Not the usual bouquets, but an unusual array of tall exotic flowers. Around the back, behind the risers, there were large green plants, with bright pink flowers at the base.

Swamiji, as I said, was dressed in a soft apricot orange that matched the book cover. The singers and musicians wore the usual Ananda rainbow colors that the choir wears for performances.

Even if the stage had been bare and everyone had dressed in sackcloth, it would still have been a spiritually unforgettable evening. But the exquisite attention to detail, the creativity, the refined expression of beauty all added greatly to the uplifed feeling of the whole program.

Swamiji felt that the message he had to deliver needed to be received first in the heart. So for this reason he decided to open the program with 30 minutes of music from the Oratorio.

Narya (Paolo Tossetto) played the role of host with grace and dignity. After he welcomed everyone, he introduced an official from the City of Rome, the one who, last year, had been instrumental in awarding Swamiji the “Julius Caesar Medal,” the equivalent of the “Keys to the City.”

That man spoke of what a great honor it was to welcome Swamiji, it was a privilege for him, and for the whole city of Rome. There was no further award to give Swamiji as he had already been given the best the city could offer. But Rome did give its official “stamp of approval” to the event as something of cultural benefit to its citizens.

(An important note: Of course, all the proceedings, including Swamiji’s talk took place in Italian. I can follow the general flow of ideas when Swamiji speaks, but I don’t speak Italian. So details will have to come from others. And if someone offers another version of what was said, believe him or her, not me.)

The theater doors opened at 3:00 and about 3:30 the instrumentalists began to play. So by the time the program began, the theater was already vibrating with exquisite music played by angels.

Kirtani was the choir director. With her shoulder length white hair and pale pink dress she was like a beam of astral light moving in harmony with the music.

The choir (about 25 devotees) sang with seemingly effortless perfection many of the choir pieces from the Oratorio. There were a few solos and several ensembles as well.

I thought later how beautifully all the singers, and Ananda speakers, like Narya and others, reflected Swamiji’s own vibration of humility, naturalness, ease of expression, impersonal warmth. It was all the same uplifted vibration.

In the course of the evening, about a dozen individual singers stepped out from the choir, either as soloists or in small groups. Some of the ensembles included devotees from four countries. Master’s ideal of world-brotherhood exemplified in music. Some of the songs were in Italian; most were in English.

Each individual singer was an impressive combination of individuality and impersonality. The performances were original in the true sense of the word: emanating from the origin point of each singer’s being. It was God enjoying Himself through many.

Helmut (from Germany, living at Ananda Assisi now for many years) sang Thy Will with such purity and feeling, you could see it was hard for some of the choir members (and the audience, too!) to master their own feelings enough to go on to the next song.

Zoe (from England, also living at Ananda Assisi) sang I Am Thine, Mary Magdalene’s song about the “joy of redemption” as Swamiji explains it. Again the purity of her voice, her childlike joy in singing it, accompanied by the harp and the crystal clear notes of Bhagavati’s flute communicated perfectly God’s unconditional love for all of us.

Swamiji’s chair was placed a little to the side, where the audience could see his profile and he could see the choir. Watching him watch the choir was as inspiring at times as seeing the musicians and singers themselves.

There was no sense of personal involvement from Swamiji, no sense that he had played any special role in what was happening in front of him, just support and appreciation for all those performing and joy in the music itself.

By the time Swamiji got up to speak, because of the music, the hundreds of people in the theater had already come together in the vibration of Christ and Master. It was a seamless transition. We were with Swamiji from the first word.

Swamiji started with a few beautiful slides of distant galaxies projected on a very large screen on the back wall of the stage. One of the important purposes of this book is to give people a concept of God and Christ that is in harmony with the vastness of creation as science has shown it to be.

From this starting point Swamiji went on to talk of God (online audio of his talk at the end of the article) as an infinite consciousness, not the human figure portrayed on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He explained how Jesus being described as the “son” of God can only be symbolic, not literal.

Later, to illustrate this point, Swamiji sang a verse (in Italian) of the Thunder of AUM song that is part of our weekly Festival of Light. Hearing Swamiji singing this familiar lyric and melody in an entirely different context was an important reminder of how much meaning is embedded in our weekly ritual and how deep it can take us spiritually if we open ourselves to it.

Swamiji spoke of finding the Autobiography and meeting Master.

As often happens when Swamiji repeats the first words he spoke to Master, “I want to be your disciple,” his voice was choked with feeling.

So many things in life become less meaningful with familiarity and repetition. Living with Master, Swamiji explained, was just the opposite. The more he has come to know Master, the deeper the experience has become. “I lived with a Christ,” Swamiji said.

We tend to think of Jesus as someone in the distant past. It was thrilling to hear Swamiji speak not of history, but of his own experience. We often use the words “direct disciple” to describe Swamiji. When Swamiji spoke those words, I had a tiny glimpse of what “direct disciple” actually means.

Swamiji’s message was one of hope for every soul. “A saint is a sinner who never gave up.” When Swamiji said this, I felt he was giving us not only faith in our eventual liberation, but also the strength and courage to persevere until that destiny is realized.

In the days before this program, Swamiji had said several times in the course of various interviews with radio and TV and journalists, that his message, and the message of this book is not an intellectual one. It is from the heart.

What Swamiji gave us in his talk today was not just ideas, but the experience of truth behind those ideas.

Swamiji’s theme was joy. When he spoke of how too much emphasis on yourself as a sinner often becomes an excuse to keep on sinning, the audience broke out first in laughter then in applause. The audience laughed easily and several times applauded when Swamiji made a point they particularly enjoyed.

Christ’s greatness is the divine destiny of all Swamiji said. All suffering ends in joy. Everything in this world is divine. Even the worst criminal is a child of God, equally loved by Him. No matter what we do, we cannot separate ourselves from Him. We belong to Him. He is our Divine Friend.

Swamiji spoke for about 40 minutes. Afterwards, there was more music. Swamiji sang a solo of Children of God. Then he stepped into the choir for Christ is Risen. Then Thy Light Within Us Shining, in English, then in Italian.

Swamiji was presented with a few awards from yoga societies and other spiritual organizations. Professor Lazlo, the founder of The Club of Budapest presented Swamiji with a certificate of special membership.

The Professor is a well-respected scientist, with a deeply spiritual viewpoint. Swamiji has contributed chapters to several of his books, and the Professor has visited Swamiji several times. He is about the same age as Swamiji. Both are slender and perhaps not as stalwart and physically vigorous as they once

The two men stood on the stage together, both heads crowned with white hair that created in the light a bright aureole around their heads. It was profoundly moving to see two men of such accomplishment and devotion to truth, both having spent a lifetime sharing their wisdom and experience with others.

One can only hope that, at that stage in our own lives, we will be able to look back on a lifetime so well spent.

Several notable guests were invited to the stage to receive from Swamiji a copy of the book, a CD of the Oratorio, and a long-stemmed rose.

Then, when all the ceremony was done, Swamiji stood at the microphone and sang Peace. His voice was clear and resonant. The choir (of angels) joined in. Swamiji invited us all to sing the last Amen.

And then it was over.

Swamiji wisely decided to exit out the back door of the theater. If he had gone out through the crowd he might be there still.

Before he could go, however, there was one last interview. One of the major television stations had asked to have a few minutes with him. So the huge poster of the book was brought in as a backdrop and Swamiji sat in front of the cameras for a few minutes answering questions: “What is the message of this book?” “Who is Paramhansa Yogananda?” “Tell us about the communities you have founded.”

There has been a great deal of very good publicity, good questions from sincere journalists. The positive effect of this event will be reflected not only in book sales but in increasing appreciation and understanding of Ananda and Swamiji for a long time to come.

Swamiji spent all day before the program mostly alone, taking his meals in his room. Around 1:00pm, I went to make sure his lunch arrived as ordered.

In the usual way I greeted him, “How are you today?” But the question was entirely superfluous! His aura of joy was tangible as soon as I opened the door, and his beatific smile erased any possible doubt. His eyes were shining with joy.

I thought of those words from The Festival of Light that describe the beginning of this great mission of Self-realization.

“Jesus appeared to the great Master Babaji…..”

And then the call to action, “Let us together, in Christ love, set lights ablaze on that high altar once again.”

Well, today, in Rome, the lights are blazing!

In Master,

Asha

Click the player button below to listen to Swami Kriyananda’s talk, simultaneously translated from Italian into English. MP3, 32MB

“I wasn’t sent to the West,” Yogananda often told his audiences, “by Christ and the great masters of India to dogmatize you with a new theology. Jesus himself asked Babaji to send someone here to teach you the science of Kriya Yoga, that people might learn how to commune with God directly. I want to help you to attain actual experience of Him, through your daily practice of Kriya Yoga.” - Paramhansa Yogananda

The final marble statue which is of Jesus just arrived last week from India. Our line of masters or gurus is 5 deep (Jesus, Babaji, Lahiri Mahasaya, Swami Yukteswar and Paramhansa Yogananda) and Jesus holds pole position as you can see from Yogananda’s comment above. He is viewed by Yogananda devotees worldwide as a great Master of yoga.

Marble statue of Jesus to complement other Ananda yoga masters.

Which is the reason we returned to India to commission the same artist in Jaipur, India to hand-carve this statue of Jesus sitting in meditation. He is sitting in lotus posture with hands upturned. The facial features were drawn from a photograph of the Hoffman painting similar to the one which many of your meditation altars. Funds were donated to Ananda Village as our annual community Christmas gift by its members and it just arrived last week.

See previous posts for information on the other statues of the Masters.

Long ago, I began mingling with the people who are part of Ananda and noticed several things: the joy in their eyes, the easy way they spoke of God, and the emphasis they placed on energy.

I had not heard the term “energy” used in so many different ways before, and in relation to so many circumstances. It took me years to understand how energy is central to Yogananda’s teachings, and now it is part of my vocabulary as well.
(I’m ready to admit I may overuse the word. My son has taken to prefacing his questions with, “It probably has to do with energy…”, accompanied by a bit of eye rolling.)

The truth is that everything has to do with energy; science tells us that everything is made of energy. Once I became aware of how energy is flowing in the body, in circumstances, in relationships and through all activities, it is a much better guide than the emotional barometer I usually use for my behavior. I have found this particularly valuable as a parent.

As my daughter works on schoolwork while stroking a guinea pig in her lap, the energy around her is uplifted and expansive. When I get impatient with her and scold, I can feel the energy get small and tight.

When I step through the door after being out, I can feel whether there were problems in my absence. When I kiss the kids goodnight, I can tell if they are relaxed and will sleep well.

Some of that sensitivity is normal Mom intuition, developed over 20 years of child-raising. But I cringe to think of the many times I let my mom agenda to get things done interfere with the happy energy in the house. I would break up a relaxed and happy scene with my directives and the energy would plummet, and then I would be hurt that everyone responded to me so negatively.

Swami Kriyananda says, “Raise your energy, and your awareness will be uplifted also. When your awareness is uplifted, you’ll feel happier.” (from Do It Now!)

I’m learning to think about how to keep energy moving upward and outward, and focus less on feelings, which are often misleading. And it’s much easier to think about how to change an energy flow than how to fix everyone’s feelings.

Last night I listened to the comfortable family laughter in the other room and then made sure my energy matched theirs before I joined in. It was a minor victory, but contributed to a harmonious evening. When I remember to pay attention to the energy, happiness flows through the house, and through my life, more freely.

In divine friendship,
Lorna

“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.” (Isa. 55:8)

To find God, it will help us to try to see, feel, and think of everything differently from what we are accustomed to doing. That is why, among devotees in India, much is made of the importance of bhav, right spiritual attitude. We must try constantly to rise above seeing everything in reference to our egos, and stop thinking, “My home, my wife or husband, my children, my clothes, my job, my friends, my position in the world, my reputation, my talents, my strengths, my defects, my advantages, my disadvantages.” You can see that the list might be endless. Everything that most people see, even impersonally, they tend to relate back to themselves. Even when they step out under the heavens at night and contemplate that infinite vastness, with its myriad stars and its inconceivable reaches of space, their usual reaction is to think, “How small I feel myself, by comparison!”

An artist sees a beautiful sunset and thinks, “I wonder if I could paint as beautifully?” Someone else contemplates a great deed performed by some other human being, and his first thought is, “Could I ever do that? Well, if not, here’s what I can do, probably better than he.” And so the drama plays itself out, in each scene the hero or heroine being one’s own little self and the parts (s)he plays on the stage. Every actor is the central character, even if only the butler who announces a visitor.

One time, years ago, I made a recording of some chants: traditional Indian and others also by my Guru. A young Indian tabla drummer played the accompaniment. It was very evident, later, in listening to the recording that in his mind he himself was the whole show. Someone asked him afterward, “How did the recording go?”

“Fine!” he replied. “I played such-and-such a tala (rhythm).”

If we want to find God, we must strive from the very beginning of our journey to look at everything very differently from that to which most people are accustomed. New vision will of course come to us automatically as we progress on the path, but it would help us if we tried from the start to adopt those attitudes which will come to us ever-more clearly, as the veils of maya drop, one by one, from before our gaze.

*********

How does the enlightened soul view everything? From the passage I quoted above in Isaiah, we see that there is much we shall have to learn, and much also unlearn.

For one thing—indeed, for much more than that: for everything—we shall no longer think of things egoically. That is, we shall no longer refer everything, or even anything, back to ourselves, unless the reference is part of a completely impersonal view of reality. To give an example: a good singer-saint may know that he has sung well, but he will never think, “I have sung well.” He will think, “God sang His beauty through me.” That is to say, he will be well aware, and perhaps even more so than most people, of the beauty itself. But he will never think he himself produced that beauty. He will see God alone in everything, as the Doer.

For another thing, he will begin to look at everything from the inside, out: to view everything and everyone in terms of the divine consciousness which resides at the center of all things.

I haven’t read these things in a book, and perhaps I should make the fact clear, lest someone wiser than I tell me someday, “You’ve perceived (this or that point) incorrectly. What you’ve said is partly true, but here is another aspect of the matter which you’ve overlooked.” That may happen; I don’t know. All I can say is that this is, so far, the understanding I’ve reached, and I think it worthwhile to share with others.

For when I think of that divine center in all things and in all people, I find that I see everything and everyone quite differently. When I relate to other people from my own center to theirs, instead of from my ego to theirs, I find that I feel toward them in a different way altogether. I understand them better. I also evoke a new reaction in them. Even strangers look upon me more as though I were their own. Somehow, they know me as their friend, someone in whom they can confide their troubles, someone they can depend on to give them support and to help them in their difficulties. I understand them from inside rather than from their mere outward appearance. Perhaps that is why, as Asha noted in her book, though I am usually intensely conscious of color, I never notice the color of people’s eyes.

When I look at things in that way, from my center to theirs, I feel in some way related to them.

Best of all, perhaps, when I ponder the vast drama that is life, I see more clearly, in such a way as to fill me with love and bliss, that it is God Himself who directs the whole show. Through all the ups and downs of life—the joys and the sorrows, the victories and the defeats, the fulfillments and the disappointments—I feel as if life were a great symphony. Marvelous chords emerge. The dissonances resolve in exquisite harmonies. The melodies, from sobbing grief to upward soaring in joy: all of them give expression to the overall wonder of the great story of adventure and love. And I know that, for everyone, it will all end in thrills of ecstatic bliss and undying gratitude for everything that ever happened.

The countless stories, both short and long, of friendship, romance, tenderness, misunderstanding, enmity, revenge, and reconciliation: all—all these work out innumerable tangles, to emerge in a beatifically divine simplicity and delight.

It all seems almost impossibly complex. And yet in fact it is all so completely, so fundamentally simple as to make one, after years of struggling on the path, shake his head in wonder and ask himself, “How could I have failed to understand?” It all becomes so utterly obvious! Of course what we all want is eternally the same, one thing: not money; not power; not the Lethe of alcoholic forgetfulness; not sex; not self-importance; not respect and deference from others. What we all want is Bliss. It was bliss alone we sought in all lesser fulfillments. The reason everything has disappointed us and has proved itself at the end of each episode to have been no fulfillment at all, is due simply to the fact that those denouements were all dancing at our periphery: none of them sprang from our own center; none of them resonated with who we really were and are, inside.

When disappointment or pain come to me, now, from any source whatsoever, I remind myself that my center lies elsewhere—that indeed, since my true center is omnipresent, my reality comprises vastness itself, of which the center is the calmness in my own heart. Thus, I have undergone the sort of pains that make most people shudder—in the dentist’s chair, or in the intensive care unit of a hospital after major surgery—and all I feel is bliss. What happened to my body never happened to me: it was a mere incident in an infinite, timeless reality, like a fleeting ripple on the great sea of life. And though I cannot claim to be conscious yet of my actual oneness with that Divine Sea, yet the mere affirmation of it as my deepest reality has enabled me again and again to be calm in the midst of any turmoil that surrounds me.

I see all life now as a dream. For such is its fundamental “reality.” The entire cosmos is God’s dream. Nothing is real except in His consciousness. Living in that thought, even without the final realization of its truth, helps me to perceive with conviction that this is all I am, and all that life itself is.

I see someone fulfilling some ambition and think, “That is how it will be, when I find God! It will be a surcease, a release and relaxation from all striving—but it will be eternal, and will not last for that mere moment which human fulfillment brings, and which is always followed by boredom, disappointment, failure, or (sometimes) by great sorrow. In God, fulfillment itself is final, complete, and eternal!”

If I see two human lovers joyfully united at last, perhaps after numerous trials, I think, “Yes, that is what it will be like in God: divine unity in the very perfection, for eternity, of all love!”

I remember watching Walt Disney’s cartoon movie, “Cinderella.” Indeed, I have watched it many times, and always my reaction has been the same: soaring devotion to God in the thought of all the trials, sorrows, betrayals, and disappointments of life, and how they must end—not in that ephemeral embrace of human love, but in the perfection of union with God—He who embraces our souls and unites us to Him for eternity!

If I see people exulting in some worldly gain, whether success, or fame, or anything else, I think joyfully, “Oh, how wonderful it is to contemplate that zenith of all longings, knowing that, in having Him, we’ll have everything!”

And if I see people suffering, or weeping with the pain of bereavement or of some other personal disaster, or with some unexpected personal suffering, I think, “How wonderful it will be for them at last, when they realize that all this was a dream!” And I long to help them to see it as such indeed—to show them not merely how to escape their present suffering, which in this world of dwaita (duality) is only temporary—but how to escape every possibility of ever suffering again.

For the more one learns to see things in an impersonal and divine way—and this has to be God’s view, whose consciousness is omnipresent and omniscient, and for Whom time and space don’t even exist because past, present, and future, and also here, there, and everywhere are all one reality—the more one realizes that the greatest service one can render anyone is the knowledge of his own Divine, Inner Self. That alone, through eternity, has been, is, and ever shall be our sole reality.

Trying to see things with divine vision means to view everything, even if only in imagination, as an ever-changing play of light, shadows, and color on the cosmic screen of duality.

It means to contemplate the vastness of the universe and to tell oneself, “At my own deepest center, I am in touch with all that. I am that! Whatever happens in the most distant galaxy happens in some way also to me!”

It means to see the inconveniences of life—the bothersome insects, the excesses of heat and cold, the physical discomforts, the disintegration of everything we love and appreciate in this world—and to think, “I am grateful! These things help me to keep in mind constantly that my home is in Him alone.”

It means to see life’s countless joys and sorrows, and to think, “How wonderful is this drama, that after all the suspense, uncertainty, and tragedy man endures, it all ends in a way so supremely and utterly satisfying! There is no other story even imaginably comparable to the one God has written for each of us!”

Life’s bubble-existence makes us experience either a constant renewal of disappointment, suffering, and pain, or else ever-new joy in the discovery that it has always been Him alone we ever wanted and loved. He alone can—and will, eventually—grant us all that we ever wished for in life.

And so we should view birth, life, death, tearful comings together and partings, laughter and sighs of sadness, and through all of them let our hearts soar upward in song, knowing that all of it has been for a supremely good reason: it all has a wonderful purpose! Life itself should be, therefore, a song of constant gratitude and bliss.

 

Copyright © 2008 Hansa Trust All rights reserved

 

Ananda recently held its second International Kriya Yoga Retreat in Gurgaon, India. You can watch and listen to all the talks here. I would like to expand on something I mentioned in one of my classes there.

There is a great deal of talk in modern times about investing wisely for a hoped-for future retirement. Most people invest their most valuable resources—money, time, and energy—into feeding, clothing, and sheltering the body, stimulating the senses, and feeling comfortable. What people don’t understand is that they are investing everything in a “rapidly depreciating asset”—since the human body is guaranteed to decrease in value until it is “pushing up daisies” in the end.

On the other hand, when we put our time and energy into feeding the soul, spiritually changing ourselves, and dedicating to a practice such as Kriya Yoga, we are putting our resources into an asset that will continue to appreciate over time—even over many lifetimes.

What if you don’t believe in reincarnation? You can compare the end of life of a worldly person who has lived selfishly, to the lives of saints. Saints’ bodies have ‘depreciated’ just like everyone else’s, but they are living in a state of divine joy, and are able to share that joy with others.

I have seen this truth proven in the lives of many Kriya Yogis, even those who may not have yet reached the most exalted spiritual states. Compared to people who have lived selfish or worldly lives, I can say unequivocally that dedication to spiritual practices is the best investment of time and energy one can possibly make.

People sometimes think, “It’s too late. I should have begun practicing Kriya Yoga when I was young. Now my worldly life is all I have, so I guess I’ll just keep living like this.” This is called “throwing good money after the bad.” It is similar to a homeowner who keeps throwing more and more of his hard-earned money to put a new roof on a house with a completely rotten foundation.

It is never too late! Paramhansa Yogananda told the story of a woman who took up his teachings late in life:

I once met a lady in the state of Washington. She was 80 years old, and all her life she’d been an atheist. By God’s grace, at our meeting she became converted to this path. Thereafter she sought God intensely. For the better part of every day, whenever she wasn’t meditating, she would play a recording of my poem “God! God! God!” She lived only a few years longer, but in that short time she attained liberation.

It is never too soon or too late to dedicate yourself to living a spiritual life. It is the greatest investment we can make for our future, and in the end, it is the only thing we can take with us when we leave this world.

I haven’t posted for a couple months – life gets very full with a family of five! We all seem to be going separate directions these days, but part of me really enjoys all the activity and seeing three children grow and explore their potential is fun.

Many friends my age are watching their children grow up and leave home, and most are also watching their parents grow old and leave this life. A child’s independence is a joyful challenge; an elderly parent’s increasing dependence and passing can be a sad one.

My daughter and I recently visited my mother, who lives in the Napa Valley, near my sister and her family. My father passed away over 10 years ago and my mother has managed to live a life of joyful independence and adventure, despite her loneliness. However, she fell and suffered a broken pelvis over 5 months ago and has had a difficult and painful recovery. She was finally ready to transition back to her own home, after months under my sister’s loving care, and my daughter and I had the pleasure of being there.

Our days were filled with organizing and preparing her two-level condominium so everything was accessible and safe for her to manage alone. My siblings were counting on me to make an honest evaluation of her ability to handle things, so I scrutinized her every move. She couldn’t navigate the stairs, take a shower or lift a frying pan without me watching. She took my supervision good-naturedly because she was so happy to be feeling better.

It’s natural to think of when she leaves this body and when we will not be able to visit and chat. But instead of feeling sad, I was filled with gratitude for the opportunity to be her daughter.

I walked to a lovely pioneer cemetery a few times during my visit and was able meditate there late one afternoon. One could get melancholy reading the headstones and reflecting on all those people long forgotten. But one of the deep blessings of the teachings of Yogananda is the expansive view one gets of life.

I thought of all those souls represented on those gravestones, and I know that after playing through the life of a California pioneer, they all moved on to new adventures and new lessons that would one day lead them home to freedom in spirit. And I thought of my mother and my children – they too, will move on to new roles and new lessons, and I was so grateful to understand.

The life we have is not to be spent carelessly, it should be treasured and celebrated with spiritual adventuresomeness. But it is good to remind ourselves and our children of our true identity as immortal spirit, deathless, changeless and free.

In divine friendship,

Lorna