Yarrow Magdalena is a queer writer, pleasure activist, body worker, celebrant and plant lover who supports soft folks in reclaiming embodiment and a connection to nature through everyday magic and ritual. Fear, curiosity, personal responsibility, intuition, getting to know ourselves. Are we open to hearing the word God has for us through others, and the word God has for us to speak to others? By Cornerstone Church of San Francisco. Service led by Rev. Sarah Tinker "Our annual harvest festival service including a reading given by Antony Bunsee. What an incredible honor to sit down with the American legend, Garrison Keillor.
This is a beautiful and far ranging conversation that really touched the heart of me. We cover his early days, the essence of writing, politics, social movements, mortality, comedy and so much more. Garrison was extremely generous with both his time and heart. More great books at LoyalBooks. In recent times, his work has been featured in some of the world's largest media outlets as the i He is His work began in earnest after having a close encounter with a black triangle in on the way to Area He is also a self proclaimed precognitive and be In this episode, Pattie and I discuss how we overcame the challenges of speaking our truths!
We discuss our personal experiences and how you can learn to speak your own truth as well. About the Guest Rabbi Debra J. Work With Joseph! Music: www. It is the Harvest Moon an Friday The 13th on the same night. Deep, thoughtful, articulate and quite the student of history; we moved with grace between a number of highly complex topics and policy prosposals. I believe this is the kind Talking with Tina discusses current events, tips on raising your vibration and provides insight into your life through Tarot Readings.
Tune into the online radio show that supports raising your awareness as you raise your consciousness. Tune in Wednesdays at 7pm PDT. Callers are welcome. This is it These cards are the embodiment of earth, asking us to consider what we do with what's created. How do you express this energy? Let's find out from the Page, Knight, Queen and King Then subscribe to this podcast and join us for more fun at ht I'm not going to be able to stop thinking.
So instead of a prison, why don't I make it a palace?! This is, after all, what every great ancient wisdom tradition seeks to do -- and to share the love, residing in our own minds, with every other living being. Alan combines his years of On this week's show, we delve into the power of parables, fables and stories with Jared Dees, founder of TheReligionTeacher. Check out all of our book and movie picks at Lisa's Amazon Page. For Lisa's speaking schedule visit www. What a gift to sit down for a very deep conversation with the innovative and brilliant entrepreneur David McCourt find him on Twitter and Instagram!
His new book, Total Rethink, is a must-read for anyone looking to expand and improve their paradigms in every area of their life. We touched on a lot of subjects here; from business to the state Enjoys acting, building things, fishing from the beach and letting them go. And maybe a little humble. Terry has been a fixture in the LA theatre scene for over 25 years and a member of the premier classical Los Angeles theatre company Antaeus.
You have seen him in both f Growing up in the projects of one of the most violently dangerous and devastatingly impoverished neighborhoods in the nation, Soulsville, Tennessee, our guest, Christopher Dean, relays the ugly truth about how our western culture often chooses to ignore those suffering all around us. Chris has a philosophers way of relating his own story, letti Most of us want our public image to look as successful as possible—fun job, exciting social life, comfortable marriage, etc.
But, behind the scenes, our lives can be messy and as fragile as a house of cards. One wrong A story and discussion on nudity, sex, intimacy, safety, trust, pleasure, pain, body positivity, and being and all around sexy emotional badass in healingBy Nikki Eisenhauer. Are there things in our lives that God wants us to see differently? Episode dives into how we often parent differently to our partners, and how that might just be ok.
In fact, perfect. We are coming to you live, discussing Pentacles 8 - 10! This week we explore the energy or hard work, determination, the fruits of your labor and paying it forward Service led by Sarah Tinker and David Talbot "The place of pilgrimage in all the world's religious traditions as well as in our lives today, with a walking meditation.
For 16 months — in and , and for an additional three months in — he worked as an official videographer for Archaeological Park: Bosnian Pyramid of the Sun Foundation, a Bosnian NGO I so enjoyed connecting to the inspiring Aine Belton find her on Twitter! She shares some beautiful insights here while touching on the enormous amount of magic that is present in every moment.
Aine Belton is an intuitive channel, empath, spiritual facilitator and visionary transformation expert. The journey from where we are to where we want to be begins in the defining moments. I never crave money now. My few material needs are amply provided for. Later you will understand the significance of a second pension. Abruptly terminating our conversation, the saint became gravely motionless. A sphinxlike air enveloped him. At first his eyes sparkled, as if observing something of interest, then grew dull. A trifle restlessly, I looked about me in the bare room, empty except for us two.
My idle gaze took in his wooden sandals, lying under the platform seat. The man you wish to see will be with you in half an hour. I heard somebody coming up the stairs. The swami has spoken to no one but myself since my arrival! Abruptly I quitted the room and descended the steps. Halfway down I met a thin, fair-skinned man of medium height. He appeared to be in a hurry. Less than an hour ago I had just finished my bath in the Ganges when Swami Pranabananda approached me. I have no idea how he knew I was there at that time.
As we proceeded hand in hand, the swami in his wooden sandals was strangely able to outpace me, though I wore these stout walking shoes. I walked here as fast as possible. I was very glad to see him again today at the bathing ghat. Am I losing my mind? Did you meet him in a vision, or did you actually see him, touch his hand, and hear the sound of his feet? His eyes opened widely. I never expected to witness such a miracle in my life!
I thought this swami was just an ordinary man, and now I find he can materialize an extra body and work through it! The subtle unity of the phenomenal world is not hidden from true yogis. I instantly see and converse with my disciples in distant Calcutta. They can similarly transcend at will every obstacle of gross matter. It was probably in an effort to stir spiritual ardor in my young breast that the swami had condescended to tell me of his powers of astral radio and television. Inasmuch as I was destined to undertake my divine search through one particular guru—Sri Yukteswar, whom I had not yet met—I felt no inclination to accept Pranabananda as my teacher.
I glanced at him doubtfully, wondering if it were he or his counterpart before me. The master sought to banish my disquietude by bestowing a soul-awakening gaze, and by some inspiring words about his guru. He was Divinity Itself in the form of flesh. If a disciple, I reflected, could materialize an extra fleshly form at will, what miracles indeed could be barred to his master?
I used to meditate with another disciple for eight hours every night. We had to work at the railroad office during the day. Finding difficulty in carrying on my clerical duties, I desired to devote my whole time to God. For eight years I persevered, meditating half the night. I had wonderful results; tremendous spiritual perceptions illumined my mind. But a little veil always remained between me and the Infinite. Even with super-human earnestness, I found the final irrevocable union to be denied me. One evening I paid a visit to Lahiri Mahasaya and pleaded for his divine intercession.
My importunities continued during the entire night. I see Thee materialized before me in a physical body; bless me that I may perceive Thee in Thine infinite form! I have interceded for you with Brahma. In meditation that night, the burning Goal of my life was achieved. Now I ceaselessly enjoy the spiritual pension. Never from that day has the Blissful Creator remained hidden from my eyes behind any screen of delusion. The peace of another world entered my heart; all fear had fled. The saint made a further confidence. Then I mentioned another matter.
Please release me. Brahma keeps me continuously intoxicated. The doctor inquired the grounds for my premature request. I know the divine will of Lahiri Mahasaya worked through the doctor and the railroad officials, including your father. After this extraordinary revelation, Swami Pranabananda retired into one of his long silences. As I was taking leave, touching his feet reverently, he gave me his blessing:. I shall see you again, with your father, later on. Kedar Nath Babu walked by my side in the gathering darkness.
How pleasant to look forward to at least one of the pensions that Swami Pranabananda enjoys! But it is impossible; I cannot leave Benares. Alas, two bodies are not yet for me! Choto Mahasaya is the term by which a number of Indian saints addressed me. In its own way, physical science is affirming the validity of laws discovered by yogis through mental science.
For example, a demonstration that man has televisional powers was given on Nov. Calligaris told the other professors that if certain areas on the skin are agitated, the subject is given super-sensorial impressions enabling him to see objects that he could not otherwise perceive. To enable his subject to discern things on the other side of a wall, Professor Calligaris pressed on a spot to the right of the thorax for fifteen minutes.
Calligaris said that if other spots of the body were agitated, the subjects could see objects at any distance, regardless of whether they had ever before seen those objects. God in His aspect of Creator; from Sanskrit root brih, to expand. Emerson chuckled. In deep meditation, the first experience of Spirit is on the altar of the spine, and then in the brain. The torrential bliss is overwhelming, but the yogi learns to control its outward manifestations.
After his retirement, Pranabananda wrote one of the most profound commentaries on the Bhagavad Gita, available in Bengali and Hindi. Stop in the lane where no one in my house can see you. These were my final instructions to Amar Mitter, a high school friend who planned to accompany me to the Himalayas. We had chosen the following day for our flight.
Precautions were necessary, as Ananta exercised a vigilant eye. He was determined to foil the plans of escape which he suspected were uppermost in my mind. The amulet, like a spiritual yeast, was silently at work within me. Amidst the Himalayan snows, I hoped to find the master whose face often appeared to me in visions. The family was living now in Calcutta, where Father had been permanently transferred. Following the patriarchal Indian custom, Ananta had brought his bride to live in our home, now at 4 Gurpar Road. There in a small attic room I engaged in daily meditations and prepared my mind for the divine search.
The memorable morning arrived with inauspicious rain. This bundle I threw from my third-story window. I ran down the steps and passed my uncle, buying fish at the door. I gave him a noncommittal smile and walked to the lane. Retrieving my bundle, I joined Amar with conspiratorial caution.
We drove to Chadni Chowk, a merchandise center. For months we had been saving our tiffin money to buy English clothes. Knowing that my clever brother could easily play the part of a detective, we thought to outwit him by European garb. On the way to the station, we stopped for my cousin, Jotin Ghosh, whom I called Jatinda. He was a new convert, longing for a guru in the Himalayas.
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He donned the new suit we had in readiness. Well-camouflaged, we hoped! A deep elation possessed our hearts. At the station we bought tickets to Burdwan, where we planned to transfer for Hardwar in the Himalayan foothills. As soon as the train, like ourselves, was in flight, I gave utterance to a few of my glorious anticipations. Our flesh will be charged with such magnetism that wild animals of the Himalayas will come tamely near us.
Tigers will be no more than meek house cats awaiting our caresses! This remark—picturing a prospect I considered entrancing, both metaphorically and literally—brought an enthusiastic smile from Amar. But Jatinda averted his gaze, directing it through the window at the scampering landscape. Thus no one at the station will surmise that we are running away together.
I unsuspectingly agreed. At dusk our train stopped at Burdwan. Jatinda entered the ticket office; Amar and I sat on the platform. We waited fifteen minutes, then made unavailing inquiries. But he had faded into the dark unknown surrounding the little station. I was completely unnerved, shocked to a peculiar numbness. That God would countenance this depressing episode! The romantic occasion of my first carefully-planned flight after Him was cruelly marred. This trip is doomed to failure.
We refreshed ourselves with famous Burdwan sweetmeats, sitabhog food for the goddess and motichur nuggets of sweet pearl. In a few hours, we entrained for Hardwar, via Bareilly. Changing trains at Moghul Serai, we discussed a vital matter as we waited on the platform. No matter what the outcome, I will not speak untruth. At this moment, a European station agent accosted me. He waved a telegram whose import I immediately grasped.
The official then turned to Amar. The duel of wits that followed hardly permitted me to maintain the counseled stoic gravity. I am the son of an English mother and a converted Christian Indian father. By this time my inward mirth had reached a zenith; I unceremoniously made for the train, whistling for departure. Amar followed with the official, who was credulous and obliging enough to put us into a European compartment. It evidently pained him to think of two half-English boys traveling in the section allotted to natives. After his polite exit, I lay back on the seat and laughed uncontrollably.
My friend wore an expression of blithe satisfaction at having outwitted a veteran European official. On the platform I had contrived to read the telegram. Please detain them until my arrival. Ample reward for your services. My friend sheepishly acknowledged the thrust. We halted briefly in Bareilly, where Dwarka Prasad awaited us with a telegram from Ananta. My old friend tried valiantly to detain us; I convinced him that our flight had not been undertaken lightly.
As on a previous occasion, Dwarka refused my invitation to set forth to the Himalayas. While our train stood in a station that night, and I was half asleep, Amar was awakened by another questioning official.
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The majestic mountains loomed invitingly in the distance. We dashed through the station and entered the freedom of city crowds. Our first act was to change into native costume, as Ananta had somehow penetrated our European disguise. A premonition of capture weighed on my mind. Deeming it advisable to leave Hardwar at once, we bought tickets to proceed north to Rishikesh, a soil long hallowed by feet of many masters.
I had already boarded the train, while Amar lagged on the platform. He was brought to an abrupt halt by a shout from a policeman. Our unwelcome guardian escorted us to a station bungalow and took charge of our money. He explained courteously that it was his duty to hold us until my elder brother arrived. You will never meet a greater man of God than the one I saw only yesterday.
My brother officer and I first encountered him five days ago. We were patrolling by the Ganges, on a sharp lookout for a certain murderer. Our instructions were to capture him, alive or dead. He was known to be masquerading as a sadhu in order to rob pilgrims. A short way before us, we spied a figure which resembled the description of the criminal. He ignored our command to stop; we ran to overpower him. As we jumped in front of him, he spoke quietly. Prostrating myself at his feet, I implored his pardon, and offered my turban-cloth to staunch the heavy spurts of blood.
The Beloved Mother is taking care of me. Thus you will feel no remorse. The sadhu was there and allowed us to examine his arm. It bore no scar or trace of hurt! I feel that my life has been uplifted through his sanctity. The officer concluded with a pious ejaculation; his experience had obviously moved him beyond his usual depths. With an impressive gesture, he handed me a printed clipping about the miracle. In the usual garbled manner of the sensational type of newspaper not missing, alas! Amar and I lamented that we had missed the great yogi who could forgive his persecutor in such a Christlike way.
We thanked the officer for relieving our tedium with his marvelous story. He was probably intimating that he was more fortunate than we: he had met an illumined saint without effort; our earnest search had ended, not at the feet of a master, but in a coarse police station! So near the Himalayas and yet, in our captivity, so far, I told Amar I felt doubly impelled to seek freedom.
We can go on foot to holy Rishikesh. But my companion had turned pessimist as soon as the stalwart prop of our money had been taken from us. Amar greeted his relative with affectionate relief. I was unreconciled; Ananta got no more from me than a severe upbraiding. Then you can resume your search here for a master.
Amar entered the conversation at this point to disclaim any intention of returning to Hardwar with me. He was enjoying the familial warmth. But I knew I would never abandon the quest for my guru. A clever scheme had been prearranged by Ananta. Before seeing me at Hardwar, he had stopped in Benares to ask a certain scriptural authority to interview me later. Both the pundit and his son had promised to undertake my dissuasion from the path of a sannyasi. Ananta took me to their home. The son, a young man of ebullient manner, greeted me in the courtyard.
He engaged me in a lengthy philosophic discourse. Professing to have a clairvoyant knowledge of my future, he discountenanced my idea of being a monk. Becoming a high-souled being, he soon attains perennial peace. Arjuna, know this for certain: the devotee who puts his trust in Me never perishes! Last Solstice Festival celebrated by Sri Yukteswar, December, , My Guru is seated in the center; I am at his right, in the large courtyard of his hermitage in Serampore. But the forceful prognostications of the young man had slightly shaken my confidence. With all the fervor of my heart I prayed silently to God:.
Evidently he had overheard the spirited conversation between the self-styled clairvoyant and myself, for the stranger called me to his side. I felt a tremendous power flowing from his calm eyes. In response to your prayer, the Lord tells me to assure you that your sole path in this life is that of the renunciate. My saintly guide raised his hand in blessing and slowly departed. He and his son were gazing at me lugubriously. I turned away. To Ananta I remarked that I would not engage in further discussion with our hosts. My brother agreed to an immediate departure; we soon entrained for Calcutta.
Detective, how did you discover I had fled with two companions? He smiled mischievously. I went to his home the next morning and unearthed a marked timetable. He has disappeared! Our generosity to the coachman had been slightly misplaced! He had checked Bareilly, so I wired your friend Dwarka there. After inquiries in our Calcutta neighborhood, I learned that cousin Jatinda had been absent one night but had arrived home the following morning in European garb.
I sought him out and invited him to dinner.
Autobiography of a Yogi
He accepted, quite disarmed by my friendly manner. On the way I led him unsuspectingly to a police station. He was surrounded by several officers whom I had previously selected for their ferocious appearance. Under their formidable gaze, Jatinda agreed to account for his mysterious conduct. The hilarious sequel on the train was worth all the anguish he had caused me. I must confess to a slight feeling of satisfaction: Jatinda too had not escaped an encounter with the police! At home in Calcutta, Father touchingly requested me to curb my roving feet until, at least, the completion of my high school studies.
In my absence, he had lovingly hatched a plot by arranging for a saintly pundit, Swami Kebalananda, 5 to come regularly to the house. Father hoped to satisfy my religious yearnings by instructions from a learned philosopher. But the tables were subtly turned: my new teacher, far from offering intellectual aridities, fanned the embers of my God-aspiration. The peerless guru had possessed thousands of disciples, silently drawn to him by the irresistibility of his divine magnetism. I learned later that Lahiri Mahasaya had often characterized Kebalananda as rishi or illumined sage.
All the movements of his slight body were marked by a restful deliberation. Ever gentle and loving, he was firmly established in the infinite consciousness. Many of our happy hours together were spent in deep Kriya meditation. But my progress in Sanskrit scholarship was unnoteworthy. I sought every opportunity to forsake prosaic grammar and to talk of yoga and Lahiri Mahasaya. My tutor obliged me one day by telling me something of his own life with the master. His Benares home was my nightly goal of pilgrimage. The guru was always present in a small front parlor on the first floor. As he sat in lotus posture on a backless wooden seat, his disciples garlanded him in a semicircle.
His eyes sparkled and danced with the joy of the Divine. They were ever half closed, peering through the inner telescopic orb into a sphere of eternal bliss. He seldom spoke at length. Occasionally his gaze would focus on a student in need of help; healing words poured then like an avalanche of light. I was permeated with his fragrance, as though from a lotus of infinity. To be with him, even without exchanging a word for days, was experience which changed my entire being. There the most tenuous states came easily within my grasp.
Such perceptions eluded me in the presence of lesser teachers. The master was a living temple of God whose secret doors were open to all disciples through devotion. He had the wondrous clavis which unlocked the profound philosophical science embedded ages ago in the Vedas. This technique cannot be bound, filed, and forgotten, in the manner of theoretical inspirations. Continue ceaselessly on your path to liberation through Kriya, whose power lies in practice.
My saintly tutor recounted the story one day, his eyes remote from the Sanskrit texts before us. Should he have no light in his eyes, when he faithfully served our master, in whom the Divine was fully blazing? One morning I sought to speak to Ramu, but he sat for patient hours fanning the guru with a hand-made palm-leaf punkha. When the devotee finally left the room, I followed him. Never have my eyes been blessed with a glimpse of the sun. The disciple felt almost ashamed to ask that physical wealth be added to his spiritual superabundance. I have no healing power. He who ignites the stars and the cells of flesh with mysterious life-effulgence can surely bring luster of vision into your eyes.
The splendor of the sun shall have a special dawn for you. For the first time, Ramu beheld the fair face of nature. The Omniscient One had unerringly directed his disciple to repeat the name of Rama, adored by him above all other saints. By perfection of resistless surrender, the master enabled the Prime Healing Power to flow freely through him. But the silent spiritual awakenings he effected, the Christlike disciples he fashioned, are his imperishable miracles.
Bhagavad Gita, IX, Krishna was the greatest prophet of India; Arjuna was his foremost disciple. I always addressed him as Ananta-da. Da is a respectful suffix which the eldest brother in an Indian family receives from junior brothers and sisters. His biography has been recently published in Bengali. Born in the Khulna district of Bengal in , Kebalananda gave up his body in Benares at the age of sixty-eight. His family name was Ashutosh Chatterji. The ancient four Vedas comprise over extant canonical books.
It contains every religious sentiment, all the grand ethics which visit in turn each noble poetic mind. It is of no use to put away the book; if I trust myself in the woods or in a boat upon the pond, Nature makes a Brahmin of me presently: eternal necessity, eternal compensation, unfathomable power, unbroken silence. This is her creed. Peace, she saith to me, and purity and absolute abandonment—these panaceas expiate all sin and bring you to the beatitude of the Eight Gods. At death the consciousness of man is usually drawn to this holy spot, accounting for the upraised eyes found in the dead.
The central sacred figure of the Sanskrit epic, Ramayana. I did not have this wisdom of Solomon to comfort me; I gazed searchingly about me, on any excursion from home, for the face of my destined guru. But my path did not cross his own until after the completion of my high school studies. Everything else is complex. Do not seek absolute values in the relative world of nature. These philosophical finalities gently entered my ear as I stood silently before a temple image of Kali.
Good and evil is the challenging riddle which life places sphinxlike before every intelligence. Attempting no solution, most men pay forfeit with their lives, penalty now even as in the days of Thebes. Here and there, a towering lonely figure never cries defeat. It pulverizes the stoutest ego. But true self-analysis mathematically operates to produce seers.
The human mind, bared to a centuried slime, is teeming with repulsive life of countless world-delusions. Struggles of the battlefields pale into insignificance here, when man first contends with inward enemies! No mortal foes these, to be overcome by harrowing array of might! Omnipresent, unresting, pursuing man even in sleep, subtly equipped with a miasmic weapon, these soldiers of ignorant lusts seek to slay us all. Thoughtless is the man who buries his ideals, surrendering to the common fate.
Can he seem other than impotent, wooden, ignominious? But ingenuity is equal to the maze. Inner research soon exposes a unity in all human minds—the stalwart kinship of selfish motive. In one sense at least, the brotherhood of man stands revealed. An aghast humility follows this leveling discovery. Release is given him from the deafening demands of his ego. The love of God flowers on such soil.
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With a sweeping gesture, my chance companion dismissed the ornate dignity. We strolled to the inviting sunshine at the entrance, where throngs of devotees were passing to and fro. Their hoary dictums suffice for this day and land. Not outmoded, not unsophisticated against the guiles of materialism, the disciplinary precepts mold India still. By millenniums—more than embarrassed scholars care to compute! Take it for your heritage. As I was reverently bidding farewell to the eloquent sadhu, he revealed a clairvoyant perception:. I quitted the temple precincts and wandered along aimlessly.
Turning a corner, I ran into an old acquaintance—one of those long-winded fellows whose conversational powers ignore time and embrace eternity. But he held me by the hand, forcing out tidbits of information. He was like a ravenous wolf, I thought in amusement; the longer I spoke, the more hungrily he sniffed for news. Inwardly I petitioned the Goddess Kali to devise a graceful means of escape. My companion left me abruptly.
I sighed with relief and doubled my pace, dreading any relapse into the garrulous fever. Hearing rapid footsteps behind me, I quickened my speed. I dared not look back. But with a bound, the youth rejoined me, jovially clasping my shoulder. You may have an unusual experience. The similarly worded prediction of the sadhu at Kalighat Temple flashed to my mind. Definitely intrigued, I entered the house and was ushered into a commodious parlor. A crowd of people were sitting, Orient-wise, here and there on a thick orange-colored carpet. An awed whisper reached my ear:.
I looked directly at the saint; his quick gaze rested on mine. He was plump and bearded, with dark skin and large, gleaming eyes. Can you materialize flowers? My own purpose is to demonstrate the power of God. Philosopher, you please my mind. Now, stretch forth your right hand. I was a few feet away from Gandha Baba; no one else was near enough to contact my body. I extended my hand, which the yogi did not touch.
To my great surprise, the charming fragrance of rose was wafted strongly from the center of my palm. I smilingly took a large white scentless flower from a near-by vase. A jasmine fragrance instantly shot from the petals. I thanked the wonder-worker and seated myself by one of his students.
He informed me that Gandha Baba, whose proper name was Vishudhananda, had learned many astonishing yoga secrets from a master in Tibet. The Tibetan yogi, I was assured, had attained the age of over a thousand years. He is marvelous! Many members of the Calcutta intelligentsia are among his followers. I inwardly resolved not to add myself to their number. With polite thanks to Gandha Baba, I departed. Sauntering home, I reflected on the three varied encounters the day had brought forth.
A ludicrous bafflement passed over her face as she repeatedly sniffed the odor of jasmine from a type of flower she well knew to be scentless. Her reactions disarmed my suspicion that Gandha Baba had induced an auto-suggestive state whereby I alone could detect the fragrances. Because the yogi was reputed to have the power of extracting objects out of thin air, I laughingly requested him to materialize some out-of-season tangerines. Each of the bread-envelopes proved to contain a peeled tangerine. I bit into my own with some trepidation, but found it delicious. Years later I understood by inner realization how Gandha Baba accomplished his materializations.
The method, alas! The different sensory stimuli to which man reacts—tactual, visual, gustatory, auditory, and olfactory—are produced by vibratory variations in electrons and protons. Gandha Baba, tuning himself with the cosmic force by certain yogic practices, was able to guide the lifetrons to rearrange their vibratory structure and objectivize the desired result.
His perfume, fruit and other miracles were actual materializations of mundane vibrations, and not inner sensations hypnotically produced. Having little purpose beyond entertainment, they are digressions from a serious search for God. Truly, as his secretary wrote several years ago, he is to be seen and not described. Since seeing him I can think of nothing else. His image lingers before me all the while. I have never seen such a face before, nor imagined there was one like it among the sons of men.
If ever there was a face combining old age he is now seventy-four years of age with beauty, majesty and calm power, it is his. But beyond all of that there is a sort of spiritual radiance which no words can describe, but which gives one a feeling of deep peace, as if the discords of earth were no longer possible in his presence.
As you look into his face you lose all desire to talk, even ask questions. You simply absorb the light. His voice is vibrant with love and his smile seems as if it lights up the room. He is as simple in manner as a little child, with no sort of pose or air about him. He always appears as if he regretted being the center of an adoring crowd.
His spirit of good fellowship is enchanting. You soon feel at home with him and not only that, but you come to feel that there is no real home except in his pres- ence. Thus he makes you a part of his own family at once. His manner toward all of us is like that of a mother comforting her tired children and soothing them to rest.
His manifest love is his supreme quality, as it appears to me, and that is also the very essence of his gospel.
The spirit of true brotherhood I had come from the very opposite side of this globe to see the Master, and now the one hour and a half I have spent with him is more than abundant reward for my long journey. He and the entire group of disciples have given me such a sincere welcome that I cannot find words to express my gratitude. Their love appears to know no bounds. They treat me as if I were truly their own brother returning from abroad.
In it all there is no formality of any sort. It is real brotherhood. It is a deep mystery how this has come about. I must have time to think. At present I am conscious only of a deep peace and of infinite gratitude that the Supreme Father has directed my wandering feet to stand at last in the pres- ence of a living Master. At four in the afternoon I bade adieu to our worthy friend the lawyer and the Master and left with the Mas- ter's secretary for the retreat at Beas.
Dera really means tent. Now the place is called 'Dera Baba Jaimal Singh' in honor of him. When I left the Master in Jullundur City he was ready to start on a trip across country to visit his sons and other relatives at Sirsa, about one hundred and fifty miles from here.
At the end of the week he will return here and we will start for Karachi as the weather is now getting quite warm in this section. We came to the Dera in a beautiful Dodge sedan belonging to our Master. I was made welcome by all of the good people of the Dera and was soon comfor- tably quartered in the guest house. Every attention was given to my comfort. They are all so kind to me, and I simply cannot give them money, not even the barber. They will not have it. They say it is their privilege to serve me as their brother and guest. I doubt it, even as I doubt if there is another such sublime faith known to man.
Here they live their religion. It is their daily bread, their life, from the Master down to the poorest laborer. A great monthly satsang Last Sunday was the time of the regular monthly gathering, and over eight thousand people were here, they say. There were two thousand people applying for initiation, and of that number the Master accepted and initiated seven hundred and forty.
And of the total number initiated, two—and they were both women— were able to see inner light during the devotional period which followed the initiation. Meditation at three a. You will no doubt be interested and perhaps amused when I tell you that promptly at three o'clock this morn- ing, at the ringing of a bell or gong, I got up and sat for devotion for a period of three hours.
It was never so very easy for me to get up early in the morning, unless it was to go to the surgery for an emergency operation. I was always ready for that at any hour of the day or night. But here at the Dera the Master always rises at three o'clock in the morning for his devotions, and he generally sits until six in the summer time, and until eight in the win- ter.
Most of the others do not sit so long. This is not compulsory on anyone; but all do it out of their love for the Master, because they know it is his wish. The Master regards the sitting as the most important of all our activi- ties. After a delightful period spent in meditation, I went to sleep for a while only to be awakened by a bunch of boys who wanted me to go for a walk with them. So we went for a delightful walk up the Beas river, just as the sun was coming up over the valley beyond. The river here is perhaps a quarter of a mile wide and it presents a weird and enchanting scene peculiar to this country.
The time passes, and as this letter is already long enough, I must bring it to a close. I will no doubt have more to write later that will be of interest to all of you. I hope I may thus be of some real service to the American students who may not have this privilege which I am enjoying. With R. Karachi July 12, In my last letter I gave you an account of my first meeting with the Master. Believing that a further ac- count may be of interest to you, I am going to give you in some detail the story of the last month with the Mas- ter. It must be understood in the beginning that I acknowledge my utter inability to do justice to the sub- ject.
But I will do the best I can. And I hope in the future to be able to eliminate myself from these accounts; but just now I regret that I am unable to do that because of the fact that I am writing about my own experiences and impressions. These letters are therefore somewhat in the nature of a personal testimony, of which personal expe- rience must form the basis.
The man who brought the message to America It is the custom of the Master to give daily discourses on some phase of his teaching in public meetings which are called satsang. These satsang gatherings are largely attended every day, and at the end of the month many thousands attend. It is then a sort of 'camp meeting'. There has been manifest the deepest interest and most absorbed attention in all of these meetings which the American has attended.
One hot evening we sat on the roof terrace of a building and conversed for two hours with Ker Singh Sasmus, the man who brought the Radha Soami message to America and gave the instructions to Dr. Brock more than twenty years ago. He is now gray, with long beard and a patriarchal appearance, but very active; and his face is full of light and love. He is so utterly unassuming, humble and kindly that it is a real benediction to meet him. I said to him: "And so you are the one who brought this great Truth to America and initiated Dr.
Brock; I only served as the beloved Master's helper. We can do nothing of ourselves. It is the Master alone who initiates all souls. He alone connects them with the Sound Current. A journey into higher regions I shall never forget another evening which I spent on the roof with a small bunch of the Master's most beloved disciples, and we listened to a lady give a detailed ac- count of her spiritual experiences, what she saw and heard during her journey through the first, second and third regions, and up to where she entered the region just beyond Daswan Dwar.
The only trouble with the ac- count was that the interpreters became so absorbed in the story themselves that they almost forgot to tell it to me. This was a rare privilege as disciples are generally forbidden to relate their inner experiences to others. But on this occasion we had special permission from the Master.
I Am That: Talks with Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj by Nisargadatta Maharaj
And this is only one instance of how kind and gracious he is to everyone. It will be impossible for me now to give you even a resume of this story. Perhaps some time I may do so. One could see the light of Truth and joy shining in her face as she told in simple language of the marvels she had seen.
But she paused to say that there were no words in earth language to describe many of the things to be met with there. They were utterly unlike anything familiar to earth travelers. But she told her amazing story with such unhesitating assurance of real- ity that it carried conviction. I believe she has been about fifteen years on the Path and is much loved by all who know her.
She appears to be about forty-five years of age. Her name is Bibi Rakhi. Sight restored to blind On another occasion a group of disciples sat on the roof and we listened to stories of many kind deeds of the Master in helping students. It may be known to all of you that as a rule the Master does not use his extraordi- nary powers to perform miracles. But they say that on special occasions, when the disciple has great merit and his spiritual welfare can best be promoted by such means, the Master does extend his grace even to the extent of a miracle. This is true especially when the karma of the disciple is favorable.
But it must be well understood that this faith is not built upon miracles, nor is any student to look for them in his own experience. If they come, it is simply his good fortune and the bound- less grace of the Master. One account was of a lady who went totally blind. The doctors had given her case over entirely, saying that she would never recover sight for the function of the optic nerve was gone.
She and her husband were both devoted disciples of the Master and their love was extraordinary. They had advanced far on the Path. While this story was being related to the writer, the lady herself sat there before him, with large, clear and beautiful eyes smiling at him, confirming every word of it. She is the wife of Raja Ram of Rawalpindi, a well-known businessman.
http://clublavoute.ca/hekuk-mojcar-solteros.php Many similar events are related by the Master's dis- ciples; but they are somewhat in the nature of secrets and the Master does not like to have them given to the public in such a way as to attract attention to himself. I must not go into them any further now. Visit to the kingdom of Kapurthala I would like to give you an account of my visit to the native kingdom of Kapurthala, only a couple of hours drive from Beas; of the drive through the grounds, visit to the palace, a veritable museum of ancient and modern implements of war, many other historic relics, and the beautiful art exhibits.
The rajah is a lover of art and some rare specimens adorn his palace walls. But these things can be told by travelers who have nothing more important to write about. I must hasten on with my story of the Master and his work. I may just mention in pass- ing that I was a guest in the home of a college professor by the name of Jagmohan Lai who teaches in an excel- lent school of higher learning in the capital city of this little kingdom. It was through his kindness that the writer was admitted to the royal palace and grounds. The Master is thinking of America One day the Master and a number of the leading disciples were sitting in my room conversing, while I was showing them my diplomas.
When I showed the Master my diploma in theology, one of the men remarked that it was my certificate to be a 'padre'. The Master smiled and said: "Now you will soon be a real padre. Love, the supreme law On the morning of the 20th I met the Master at the bedside of a sick man. After a few minutes' conversation with the sick man, the Master turned to me and said in English: "Where there is love there is no law. Hard to remain here in the body One day the Master seemed a bit sad and I asked him if he did not feel well. He said, yes he felt all right. And then he went on talking about the higher regions, how the soul so much disliked to come back down here and put on dirty rags, when it was used to wearing the finest robes in the palaces of the Father's kingdom.
The very atmosphere seems poisoned and so dark in comparison with the fair lands above. So it is difficult even for the unselfish Master to remain away from home and live in this low land of shadow and uncleanness. Only his great love for human souls who so much need his help detains him here. But there is one great compensation which he has even now. He may daily visit his splendid mansions above and converse with the glorified inhabitants of that region. The joy of that then sustains him through all of his arduous labor here.
He knows it is only a matter of time until his work will be finished here and he will take up his permanent residence there. The Master's eldest son I must tell you of the visit of the Master's eldest son. He recently came to visit his father at the Dera.
He is a fine-looking large man, now with hair and beard gray, looking to be about fifty years of age. When I was intro- duced to him, I made the remark that I would rather be the son of such a father as his than to be the Prince of Wales. He replied that he too was very proud of his father, and he added: "He is as God to me. The Master's family are all initiates, I am told.
On another day when we all met with the Master for satsang in Lahore on our way to Karachi, this same son came to greet his father, and it was an inspiring sight to witness the devotion he manifested. Master's son, prostrated himself on his knees touching his forehead to his father's feet.
I fancied such a sight was rare on this planet. Ninety-one years a satsangi I must mention an old satsangi who is a faithful attendant at all of the meetings. He is one hundred and nine years of age and was initiated by Soami Ji himself, the founder of this science, ninety years ago. He is a bit stooped and feeble now, but is able to attend all of the meetings.
He walks to them all and sits as close to the Master as he can get. One day I asked him if he was happy and he said: "Oh yes, of course. He is very thin. Evidently not much of his time does he put in consciously down here, when he can withdraw from the body and rest in those bright upper regions with which he is already quite familiar. It may be added here that he passed to his Home above only a few weeks after this letter was first written, and his poor old thin body was reduced to ashes out on the banks of the Beas river.
The journey to Karachi At 4 a. This part of the trip was made by motorcar. We stopped over a few minutes in Amritsar where, in the dawning day- light, several hundreds awaited the Master at the new hall. A wealthy man by the name of Shiv Shankar is building a magnificent new Radha Soami hall and quar- ters for the Master to hold satsang in Amritsar.
We found a crowd of about five thousand people awaiting the Master and he gave an hour's talk. After a brief rest and breakfast, the Master went on to a distant village where about four thousand people were gathered to greet him, while the rest of us remained in Lahore. At nine o'clock the next morning the Master met us at the train en route for the coast and we went on together.
At about eleven o'clock that morning our train pulled into a station amidst a great throng of people, many thousands. They had heard that the Master was to be on that train. He went out to meet them. They had erected a little platform and spread rugs for him. The Master never stands up and lectures to the people, American fashion. He always sits on the floor or on a little raised platform, and, with legs crossed, talks to them in a conversational manner.
His voice is full of melody and it carries well to a large audience. At this particular station the train was actually held up for about half an hour by the crowd, while they clamored for the Master's 'darshan'—that is, just to see him and give him their Radha Soami and get his greetings. Can you imagine a fast mail train in America being detained by a mob of five thousand people pressing to get a glimpse of a minister or priest of some church? Again it must have been about ten o'clock that night when the train stopped and a great crowd came sweeping in from the platform, almost pulling the Master out of his bed, men and women all in one grand rush to get near him.
They crowded into the compartment and then the Master went out onto the platform and talked to them for a few minutes. This was the last demonstration on the way to Karachi, which we reached on the morning of the 25th. Karachi by the sea Karachi is a beautiful little city lying along the borders of the Arabian Sea, about fifty miles north of the mouth of the Indus river. As we came near the city a strange sight greeted us. An airport lay out to our left with two modern planes standing there, one of them with the motor going just ready to take off.
Over to our right was the highway, and on it mingled modern motorbuses, ox carts, and a long string of camels forming a caravan, such as might have been seen on these shores long before the days of Alexander the Great, or even before the days of Abraham, or the Babylonian empire—ages of history meeting at a single point.
Arriving in the city we were met by friends, and the ever-present motorcar always waiting for the Master wherever he may go. This time it was a Buick and belonged to Devan Sahib, a Government railway official, who is a disciple of the Master. We drove a few miles through the city and then out into the suburbs to an elevated region by the sea, where we found two bunga- lows all ready for us. Many friends who had preceded us were waiting to welcome the Master.
Here soft breezes blow in from the sea practically all of the time, day and night. Like some places on the coast of California, this little city is rapidly building up as a summer resort. Many magnificent palaces are already built here and others are under construction. The change is most wel- come after the heat of the Punjab plains and the dust of the long journey. A bath and breakfast and once more the world seems a fair place to live in. The Master sits by the sea And now what shall I say? Am I still on earth, or am I in some weird borderland?
It is all so strange, so unlike anything in the homeland. It is beyond words. Here we sit by the ever-surging waters of the Arabian Sea calmly watching its white caps break upon shores hoary with age and rich in history. We think of ancient religious teachers who have visited this land and proba- bly stood upon this very spot, including Krishna and Buddha and even Jesus himself. For it is known that he visited here. We try to recall some of the doctrines of the ancient sages, prophets and Mahatmas; and all the while we are conscious of the fact that the greatest of them all sits on a bench here by us at this moment, calmly reading a book.
We have so often wished that we could have known some of those great souls who were the lightbearers of the human race; and yet right here by our side sits one whose radiance is not dimmed by comparison with any of them. For he has penetrated all the deep mysteries of life and of death and he has conquered the last obstacle between man and the supreme heights. Here by us quietly rests one whose powers far transcend those of the greatest prophets of old. And I sit here by the waters of the ancient sea, trying vainly to comprehend the situa- tion.
As I sat there at his feet studying the situation, he looked up from his book and glanced across at the rest- less waves. Some children played near him and a smile lighted his face as he watched them. This writer then asked the Master the following ques- tion: "When you know so much more than all the books in the world, why do you read them? We can often take advantage of that to convince them of an important truth. I am an American trained to different ideas—trained in the materialistic West; that West which believes itself to lead the world in all modern achievements.
As a product of that West, I sit here at the feet of the greatest of modern sages whose wisdom embraces and transcends all ages and lands. I sit at the feet of one whose powers are not limited by time or space, whose word or will could transform a kingdom or a world, whose very glance has in it the power of death or of eternal life; aye, whose commands even the waves of this ancient sea must obey, if he chose to command them. And yet he is in outer appearance only a gentle old man, with long white beard and a kindly smile for the children that play at his feet.
The multitudes pass by him, some haughty and vain, not even noticing him, bent on errands of pleasure, pomp and ceremony. But occa- sionally comes a group of satsangis who bow adoringly at his feet. I listen as he greets them with that sweetest of all pronouncements—"Radha Soami. All the while I keep thinking, what a pity that the world does not know him. The crowds pass him by as if they were utterly blind, and so they lose the golden opportunity which might have meant so much to them, if only their eyes had been opened.
Glimpses of a marvelous Truth How I wish I could do justice to the subject. But I am as yet only a little child on this holy path. Day by day I am trying to grasp the deeper meaning of this sublime Truth; but much of it still eludes me. I went up and sat down at the rim, and for four hours I sat there trying to let my soul grow big enough to appreciate the majesty and sublimity of it all. So I sit today at the feet of the Master, trying to pene- trate the deep mystery, trying to open my consciousness to an adequate appreciation of its sublime depths. Aside from the Master himself, I try again and again to compare this system of Truth with other teachings, and daily I am more and more amazed at its solemn grandeur.
It is like the peaks of the Himalayas, only a few hundred miles north of us. It is monumental, gigan- tic, overwhelming. But no man can absorb it all at once. At first there will be doubts and many things will aston- ish the student. Later he will come to wonder why all the world has not seen its truth and hastened to make it their own. It is so obviously true. After floundering about in a vortex of religious and philosophical speculation for a half-century, I am prepared to welcome this teaching with more than ordinary gladness. When one gets even a feeble grasp of its fundamentals he simply knows it is true.
It is so clearly rational and it meets all demands of both reason and intuition. It is a scientific fact and it solves all of the problems of life, here and hereafter; and they are solved in such a beautiful and simple manner that one instinctively knows he has reached the final solution. And the center and soul of it all is the gracious Mas- ter himself, now living among us.
He goes on loving and teaching and helping us, leading us up over all the difficult places, up and up, until the last supreme height is reached and we merge our souls into the Stream that gave us being, bathed in infinite Light. There is much more one could write, but not now. This letter is already too long. Helpest thou the living entities To span the worldly ocean across; To cast the trinity off and reach the Fourth Abode Whence the living Name unfolds, And the living mastership Bathed in glory and effulgent light; Thy servant tenders this solemn petition: Grant us even the regionless region, The chief abode, the sphere of bliss, The refuge at thy feet, My Lord.
Your fellow student at His feet, Julian P. Karachi, India Aug. The time has arrived for this disciple to make a further report to you concerning his experiences in India. On the second day of this month, just two months from the day he first met the Master, he made the follow- ing entry in his diary: "For twenty-five years I prayed and longed for the day when I might stand before a living Master. Now, thank Heaven, I sit at his holy feet, look into his eyes, listen to his inspiring voice as he expounds to his dis- ciples and others the sublime precepts of his message.
I wonder how it has come about and yet it is a living reality. Daily my consciousness becomes more absorbed in this glorious Truth, daily more enraptured in the sacred presence of my Lord. But the Master daily grows upon one's con- sciousness. No beginner can fathom his depths all at once. Often after years of constant association, the dis- ciple fails to appreciate fully what the Master is.
The mind is so stupid, and it has wandered in the darkness so long. Morning dawn by the Arabian Sea It is now four o'clock in the morning, on the shores of the Arabian Sea, where this disciple stands. The hush preceding the dawn is only accentuated by the roar of the waves breaking upon the sands. On the east coast of India the red streaks of dawn are just beginning to be reflected in the sacred waters of the Ganges. Early pil- grims are gathering for their morning bath. Three hundred and fifty million people are at this moment just beginning to stir with the activities of a new day.
But the light of this dawning day is material, and it brings no relief from the wheel of birth and death. The light of the Spirit is not yet shining in the souls of all of these mil- lions. There the darkness of the ages still broods, and each soul keeps its silent vigil in the prisonhouse of Maya. Age after age, through ten thousand times ten thousand lives, these poor souls have struggled up through the slime and ooze of earth—up and up, slowly emerging into the light. And this disciple, listening here to the ancient song of the sea, while the first streaks of dawn light up the east, prays for the dawn in his own soul.
In the dim early light he can see the vague outlines of a bungalow, standing on the crest of a hill; and in that bungalow at this moment quietly sits the Master in holy meditation. In that the disciple can see the hope of India and of the world. For the hope of the world, the light of the world, is the living Master.
The Master always busy Since the last letter this disciple has lived, apparently, many years of ordinary life; so much of thought and experience has been crowded into one short month. The dear Master gives satsang twice a day to all disciples and enquirers besides many private audien- ces. We all try to spend as much time with him as pos- sible, and his patience is never exhausted, listening to questions, some of which must appear trivial and silly to him. Yet he always has a kindly answer for every one.
He prescribes spiritual remedies for all our spiritual ills. He is the Great Physician. People continue to come from all directions to see him. He came here for rest; but they will not let him rest. The little informal talks in the sitting room have grown into gatherings of two to three hundreds.
Many of all classes and creeds come to see and hear the 'Holy Man'. Some out of curiosity, some to argue, and some to seek the Truth. Only two weeks ago an overenthusiastic leader of the Sikh religion came and tried to involve the Master in arguments. Later his fanatical followers started opposi- tion meetings nearby and some of them came and tried to create disturbances in our meetings. The police had to be called once to dispel the mob and restore order. Every inch of ground is bitterly contested. This Radha Soami Science is much opposed all over India, wherever it is preached, because it destroys the old superstitions and interferes with the livelihood of the priests.
It is particu- larly opposed by the Sikhs whose fundamental faith is practically the same as this; but they have given up the idea of a living Master and bound themselves to the sacred writings alone. This fatal mistake of theirs no doubt came about through a misunderstanding of some remark made by their last Guru just before his death. Anyway they now denounce all living Masters although their sacred scriptures teach the vital importance of a living Guru.
This is a very peculiar phenomenon in the history of world religions. But in spite of all opposition, the Radha Soami teaching is rapidly spreading. Having started publicly in , it now numbers something like a quarter of a mil- lion adherents. It may be said with truth that this is not really a religion in the historical sense of that term. It has no creed, no priests, no ceremony, no outward show of any sort, and no organization.
There is only the Master and his disciples. That is all. The system itself may be called, "The Science of connecting the soul with its Crea- tor. It is the prac- tice of the Sound Current, through a scientific system of concentration and meditation. It is not concerned with any external forms. It establishes no external authority. The individual simply follows the Master, as the student of chemistry would follow his instructor in the labora- tory.
It is a universal science and is worldwide in its application to human needs. It is suited to all nations and peoples. It is the only religious or spiritual system ever inaugurated in history that is absolutely universal in its application to the religious needs of mankind. And while it is not actually a religion in the historical sense of the term, yet it amply satisfies the deepest religious needs of the soul; and in uniting the soul with its Creator it accomplishes the summum bonum of all religions. It answers to the noblest aspirations of the finest spirits among men.
AH classes wait upon the Master It is quite interesting to note the personnel of the Master's disciples. It must be a marvelous message indeed that can appeal to such men so strongly and at the same time appeal with equal force to the lowly and the ignorant.
While they cannot follow the scientific aspects of the system, they absorb the spirit of it in their souls and so reach the goal at the same time as the learned and the great. It is a blessed thing that the ignorant can love as well as the learned, and it is love that takes the soul up. Wherever the Master goes he is loved and honored alike by all. At his holy feet all meet on a common level, and all worldly distinctions are forgotten. Even rajas have bowed before him and sought to make gifts to him.
But the Master accepts no favors from anyone, high or low. He remains always the giver himself, never the receiver. He insists that his mission in this world is to give and not to receive. In that respect, as in all others, he is our great exemplar. A few days ago this disciple attended a rich lady in sickness at her home.
The hus- band gave him twenty-five rupees for the charity fund, as reward for his medical services. But the Master ordered the money returned, with the message that we want only the love and goodwill of the people and not their worldly goods. Where on earth is there an equal to this?
Two important things learned If you ask this disciple what is the most important thing he has learned during these two months spent with the Master, the answer must be that two things have taken prominent positions in his consciousness. The first one is the supreme importance of the Master. This great truth grows upon one as he advances in the study. With- out him there is nothing. And this means that he must be a living Master—not one of past ages. It is in this respect that all of the prevailing world religions have made their fatal blunder.
It is the reason why they have become devitalized, a dead formality, a lifeless shell. No soul can ever be saved from the clutches of Maya and the wheel of birth and death without the aid of a living Master. There is no other way and there never has been any other way for a single soul to escape. Without the personal inter- vention and help of a living Master no one now or in any past age has ever been able to shake off the bonds of mind and matter and rise to higher regions. We are all utterly dependent upon his grace for our liberation.
Without him each soul is as dependent and helpless as a newborn infant. Left to itself, it would surely perish. The Master illustrates the situation by comparing us all to people in frail little boats out on an angry sea, each by himself struggling on against inevitable death in the storm-lashed waters. There is no possible escape. But in the midst of the struggle, a great ship hoves in sight and the captain calls aloud to all in the angry waters below that they may come aboard the ship and he will take them safely to port.
The captain is the Master and the ship of salvation is Nam, the Sound Current. But in spite of the fact that death is certain if they remain where they are, yet very few accept the gracious invitation of the Captain. This is because they are laboring under the deceptive delirium of the physical senses, deceived by the god of this world. The conclusion of the whole matter is that all systems of religion or philosophy which make not the Master the keystone of their structure must be discarded and the living Master must be sought, as the very first and most vital concern of the individual.
What is a real Master In spite of the fact that he had believed in the exis- tence of real Masters for a quarter of a century, this disciple did not have a very clear and definite idea of what a Master is until he had contacted one. It is believed that occult students generally do not have a very clear conception of the Master. Of course, the whole world is more or less familiar with the general idea of mahatma, rishi, guru, or master. They are generally thought of as great men who have 'attained', who have realized 'superconsciousness', who have miraculous powers.
Men and women talk and write learnedly of mastership. The masters are conceded to be great and unusual men. But when we are told that a true Satguru or Master is in fact the Lord Creator himself, now and here, operating in a human body, the student is some- what startled, to say the least.
Many will be ready to throw up their hands in protest. How can it be? And yet if you reflect but a moment, you will see that the Master could be nothing else than just that. We speak of oneness with the divine. Unless that is a mere rhetorical flourish, it must mean what it says. And actual oneness with the Infinite means identical individu- ality. Hence the Master who has attained that oneness with the infinite Lord is now identical with the Lord.