Folgen
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[Listen to Asha read this story]
Paula checked herself into the hospital because of severe bronchitis, but I think she knew the cancer had returned for the third time. The doctors tried one more procedure, but in the middle, she went into convulsions and for a few moments her heart stopped. After that, the doctor said, âThere is nothing else we can do.â
She lived three more days. It was one long going-away party, with constant phone calls, a steady stream of visitors, and a crowd of friends and family camped out in her hospital room. She was much loved and would be sorely missed.
It was impossible to be sad, however, for Paula was obviously in a state of grace.
She had a little unfinished business with a few people, but by afternoon of the third day, it was all done. The transition came suddenly, in the middle of a conversation about coffee. (Paula loved coffee.) She stopped talking, gazed upward, then closed her eyes. An even deeper aura of holiness descended and we fell silent.
Paula began to murmur ecstatically, âSwamiji, Swamiji, Swamiji, Swamiji.â From then on, there was a subtle shift. Paula continued to relate to the people around her, but her attention was no longer on this world. She was focused now on the world beyond.
To one of her Ananda visitors she said, âYou must listen to Swamiji. You must help him, and do everything he asks of you. You donât know what you have in him.â
Around midnight she organized a ceremony. Nothing solemn, that wasnât Paulaâs way. She was dying the same way she livedâlight-hearted, happy, almost child-like in her devotion. From Masterâs book of prayers, Whispers from Eternity, she picked a few of her favorites and asked that they be read aloud. Then with her own hand she gave each person a flower. After that, she disconnected the supplemental oxygen she had been using, and lay down as if to sleep.
We all went to sleep, too, in her room, in the hallway, or in empty rooms nearby. The hospital staff let us take over the whole wing. About 4am, Paula woke up from whatever state she had been in and started waking up the others in her room.
âPlease, everyone, come in here now,â she said.
Her husband sat on the bed next to her and put his arm around her, as he had often done in the last few days. Always before she welcomed his embrace. Now she said, quite impersonally, âDonât touch me. I can still feel it.â We knew the end had come.
At her request, we began chanting AUM. After a few minutes, Paula said, âThis is very hard. You have to help me.â For the next few minutes, she was silent and we continued to chant. Then with great feeling she said, âGod! Christ! Guru!â Those were Paulaâs last words. For the next half-hour, we kept chanting, and she kept breathing. Then her breath stopped.
Suddenly, I felt power pouring over me as if a mighty angel were passing by. I was astonished to find myself sobbing with joy.
Paula was a spiritual leader at Ananda. Among other accomplishments, she helped develop the Portland community and successfully managed two retail businesses. But she never called attention to herself and most people thought of her as just one devotee among many. So it came as a surprise at her memorial service a few days later, when Swamiji said, âI believe Paula may have been liberated. Only a person of true realization could die the way she did.â
On her last day, Paula spoke to Swamiji on the telephone. âI hope you donât have to come back to this world,â she said. âI hope I donât have to come back either. But if you come again, Iâll come and help you.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
For many years, the only way to drive to Crystal Hermitage, Swamiji's home at Ananda Village, was over two miles of unpaved road, deeply rutted and littered with potholes.
For years also, Swamijiâs only car was a big blue Chevrolet, purchased for him from a government auction of used automobiles. Two cars, exactly alike, were bought at the same timeâone for Swamiji to drive, and the other to provide spare parts to keep the first one running. Each cost $75. On the door of Swamiji's car could faintly be seen the words, "U.S. Air Force," put there by one of its previous owners. Naturally, the car became known as "Air Force One,â an amusing title for this ancient vehicle.
One summer, Swamiji decided it would save wear and tear on the car if he got a moped for the dirt road and used the Chevrolet only for trips outside of Ananda. Several friends warned Swamiji that dirt roads could be treacherous on a motorcycle, but Swamiji was unconcerned. When a blue moped came up for sale, Swamiji bought it.
In that season, his everyday outfit was sandals, Bermuda shorts, and a sport shirt (often a bright Hawaiian print). For some weeks he cut quite a colorful figure in his flowered shirts, sitting straight upright rather than hunched over in typical motorcyclist fashion, and waving cheerfully to passersby. He appeared always serene, driving at moderate speed and calmly smiling.
Then disaster struck.
The dirt road includes a long, steep hill, which, on a small motorcycle, must be taken at just the right speed. Too fast, and one may lose control; too slow, and one may lose traction. Swamiji had safely negotiated the hill before now, but this day something went wrong. His speed was inadequate and the moped lost traction and began to slip. Swamiji gunned the motor, but it was too late. The moped tipped over, pinning him beneath it.
The machine wasn't heavy, but the hot exhaust pipe fell right against the inside of his bare calf, burning into his skin. To get out from under it, Swamiji had to roll over on the ground, which caused the wound to become filled with dust and dirt.
Fortunately, someone was driving not far behind Swamiji and was able to pick him up and take him home. The closest medical care was twenty miles away in Nevada City, and Swamiji didn't think the injury warranted the journey. He had no telephone, but somehow the word spread. Soon people began showing up at Swamiji's door with ideas of how to treat the burn. Over the course of the next several hours he received three or four different treatments. Unfortunately, none of them helped much. The wound did not get cleaned properly, and none of the ointments and salves was appropriate. After a few days the wound became infected. Only then did Swamiji consent to go into town and have it treated medically.
It was a bad burn, and looked even worse: some six inches long and three inches across, inflamed and full of pus. The doctor assured Swamiji, however, that with a little care it would heal fine.
The following Sunday, Swamiji was holding an afternoon satsang in his home, as he often did. He sat in his usual chair in front of the big triangle window that looked out at the river valley and the forested hills beyond. He was wearing bermuda shorts and, in accordance with the doctor's orders, had his leg propped up on a footstool before him. The wound was unbandaged to let the air reach it freely, so we all got a good view of how awful it looked. About a dozen people were present.
Suddenly, a man named Ram Lila burst into the room. Ram Lila lived in San Francisco, but often visited Ananda. Before becoming a devotee he had belonged to a rough motorcycle gang called the Hell's Angels. By now he had given up most of the worst habits associated with that lifestyle, but he still looked like a "biker," and still drove a big Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
Ram Lila was powerfully builtânot tall but very thick, somewhat on the lines of a Sumo wrestler, though by no means obese. His biceps were bigger than the average man's thighs. The astrological bangle that is worn by many Ananda members, made to go around the arm above the elbow, was worn by Ram Lila dangling from a string around his neck. It would have taken at least two bangles to accommodate the circumference of his upper arm. He had a black beard and thick, curly hair, which hung to his shoulders. Heavy boots and a leather vest completed his "biker" outfit.
He looked fierce, but his nature was that of a child. Swamiji had given him the name, "Ram Lila," which means, "Godâs divine play."
"I laughed when the name came to me," Swamiji said. "It was so appropriate!"
Ram Lila was devoted to Swamiji in an extravagant, adoring way, like a child. He wanted Swamiji to take him on as a bodyguard. Swamiji declined because, he said, "I don't need one." Ram Lila never quite accepted that this was true, and when he was in Swamiji's company he always kept alert, "just in case."
On this day, Ram Lila came straight in and threw himself at Swamiji's feet. "I should have been killed!" he said with deep feeling. "The truck came out of nowhere. BAM!" He slammed one fist into the other open hand to show the force of the impact.
"I wasn't wearing a helmet. I went flying over the handlebars and bounced on the road. BAM! BAM! BAM!" Again he illustrated with fist to hand. "My side, my head, my shoulders, my back: I thought, 'This is it! I'm dead!' Finally I stopped. I checked everything. Man, not even a broken bone! I walked away. I should have died, and I WALKED AWAY!"
What he was describing was serious, but he told the story with such enthusiasm and drama that we were laughing with delight. Ram Lila didn't seem to mind.
"I'm so glad you didn't die, Ram Lila!" said Swamiji, and patted him lovingly on the head.
Now that he'd told his story, Ram Lila noticed for the first time that Swamiji was injured.
"What happened to you?" he asked. Perhaps Swamiji did need a bodyguard after all!
Swamiji didn't answer. "You tell him," he said to me.
"He fell off his moped," I explained. "The exhaust pipe landed on his leg and burned him."
Ram Lila was so shocked he could barely speak. He stammered out a question: "W-w-when did it happen?" I told him the day and the time of the accident.
"O my God! O my God! O my God!" he cried. "That was just before that truck slammed into me. You did it! You saved my life! I couldn't figure out why I didnât die. Now I know." He knelt before Swamiji and began to sob.
After the accident, Swamiji never touched his moped again. A few weeks later he gave it away. -
Fehlende Folgen?
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[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by Hridayavasi)
I went through an extremely painful divorce. One particularly awful day coincided with a huge public event. I held myself together until late in the afternoon. Ironically, it was a compassionate look from a dear friend in the middle of a roomful of people that started me crying again.
âIâm going to take you over to Swamiji,â my friend said. Swamiji was standing just a little distance away. I made a feeble protest, which my friend simply ignored.
âHridaya is having a terrible time today,â my friend said to Swamiji. I collapsed against his shoulder and he held me while I cried and cried. âI am so sorry,â he said. âI am so sorry.â
When I finally gained some little bit of control over myself, I stood back and looked into his eyes. Swamiji is no stranger to disappointment. God has tested him over and over again. In his eyes I could see compassion born of experience. But there was also something else. He wasnât willing to meet me on the level of shared pain. His eyes invited me to join him on the level where human suffering is just something we offer up to God as a way of growing closer to Him. Sad as I was, I was also thrilled by that look and the promise it held.
Swamiji then blessed me by touching me on the heart and on the spiritual eye. My tears stopped completely, and from that point on I started getting better. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
âYou have a serious medical condition called a fistula,â the doctor said to me, âThe only remedy is surgery.â
I had come to Italy to visit relatives and take care of some business obligations there. As soon as I arrived, I started feeling something very painful in my lower back. Within three days, it was so bad I couldnât walk, and I had to go to the hospital. A fistula, I found out, is an abnormal opening or connection between two internal organs, or from an internal organ to the surface of the body. Mine was inside.
âWe have to operate as soon as possible,â the doctor said, âotherwise you wonât be able to stand the pain.â
I agreed, and the next day I had the surgery. The fistula, however, was so large and so deep the surgeon was unable to repair it completely.
âYouâll have to wait a few weeks until the first surgery heals,â the doctor said. âThen Iâll operate again and finish the job.â
Oddly enough, the doctor tied one end of a string to the spot where he stopped working, and left the other end dangling outside my body, so he could easily find his way back in. (Shades of Theseus in the labyrinth!) It was disconcerting to see that string hanging there.
After the surgery, I had to stay in the hospital another five days, still in great pain, which the doctor said would continue until after the second operation. Swamiji happened to be visiting Italy at the time, and he sent me a beautiful big bouquet of flowers. It caused quite a stir. In Italy, so many flowers are given only to mothers with newborns.
When I was released from the hospital, I was still gasping with pain and hardly able to move. That very day an Ananda friend called to tell me that in two days, Swamiji was coming to visit me. I couldnât say no, but I also couldnât imagine how I'd be able to see anyone.
The next day, I was still in excruciating pain. The day after, however, I woke up feeling quite a bit better. When I got up and started to make the bed, I was horrified to see the surgical string lying there on the sheet. It had fallen out of my body! Immediately, I went to the hospital. The doctor inspected the site of the surgery. He was strangely silent. Then he said, âI see nothing there at all. Everything looks perfect. I canât find any sign of the fistula.â It was obvious to me, too, that something had changed, for now I had only a little bit of pain.
I was stunned by this sudden turn of events, and delighted that I would be well for Swamijiâs visit. We met at 4pm, and at his suggestion, went for a walk together. The day before, I would have been in too much pain. Now I walked easily. My wife knew about my remarkable healing, but I didnât mention it to Swamiji, or to anyone else.
Suddenly, without warning, Swamiji stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. For no apparent reason, he suddenly had an intense pain in his hip, and, being unable to put weight on his leg, could hardly walk. Fortunately, we were not far from the home of one of my relatives, and I half-carried, half-dragged him there. Thank God I was well enough to do it!
Swamiji lay down on a bed, and for the next several hours could hardly move because of the pain. Finally, it began to lessen, and I was able to get him back to his hotel. The next day, he was fine.
I thought deeply about what had happened: my mysterious healing, and Swamijiâs sudden collapse. I believe he suffered to protect me from suffering. This is something only a saint can do. I will never forget what Swamiji did for me. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
For seven years, the man had struggled to resist an attraction to a woman in the community who was not his wife. Finally he said to Swamiji, âI am too unhappy, I canât go on this way.â
âLet me tell your wife,â Swamiji said. âIt will be easier for her that way.â
âHe has done his best to overcome this,â Swamiji said to her, âbut he canât. It is something he has to live through.â She was devastated, but she took it bravely.
When the news came out that the man was leaving his wife for another woman, some people reacted judgmentally. âWhat about his obligation to the community?â one said to Swamiji. âThis will reflect badly on all of Ananda.â
âHe gave seven years to the community,â Swamiji said. âI think that is long enough. He did his best. You canât ask more than that of anyone.â
The day after the couple separated, Swamiji asked the two women to come to his house and cook dinner together for him and a few guests, including the husband.
âSir! Are you sure thatâs a good idea?â a woman exclaimed when she heard the plan. âDonât you remember what happened yesterday?â
âOf course I remember,â Swamiji said. âBut they have to get over it sooner or later. If they wait until some future lifetime they wonât even remember why they dislike each other, and it will be much more difficult to overcome. When a wave of karma hits, raise your energy and meet it at the crest! Thatâs the way to make spiritual progress!â
Later, the wife described what happened that evening. âI wanted to give in to my grief and run away,â she said, âbut Swamiji wouldnât let me. He had more faith in me than I had in myself. It wasnât easy to summon up the courage, but I did my best, and divine grace did the rest. The whole evening, I felt nothing but love for them. Even though circumstances had changed, the underlying friendship was untouched.
âAfterwards, I wasnât always able to maintain such a high state of consciousness, but I had done it once, so I knew I could do it again. Because I followed Swamijiâs advice, I believe I saved myself years, perhaps even lifetimes, of suffering.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
For 29 years, I was afflicted with a terrible addiction. Not merely a habit, but an addiction, something I needed every day. I tried therapy, 12-Step programs, affirmations, will power. Nothing worked.
When I got on the path, I read everything Master said about overcoming temptation and changing habits. Still the addiction was unbeatable, stronger than anything I could throw at it.
When I confided to an Ananda friend, she responded, âHave you asked Swamiji to help you?â
âI wrote to him several times,â I said.
âJust writing to him isnât enough. What Iâm asking is: Have you opened your heart to him? Have you asked him to give you the strength to overcome this? Have you prayed to Swamiji?â
I hadnât done any of those things so I decided I would try. That night in meditation when it was time to pray, words came to me with such intensity I felt that they were praying me.
âDear Swamiji,â I said, âI canât do this alone. I need your help. I know you can help me.â
For the first time I understood what Jesus meant when he said, âPray believing.â I knew that Swamiji could help me.
A few days after I began that prayer, 29 years of addiction ended. The desire completely disappeared. In the years since then I havenât had a single symptom, not an urge, not even a temptation.
About six months later, I greeted Swamiji after a Sunday Service and thanked him again for the help he had given me. He held my eyes with a penetrating gaze. When he spoke, I felt as if a surge of electricity came into me, bathing me with his protection and courage.
âDonât ever give up,â Swamiji said. âKeep at it with every ounce of your being. Know that Master is blessing you.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
If I were to choose a spiritual name for myself, it would have to be Gratitude.
I started drinking in my early teens. Drugs came later, in the â60s, just before I turned twenty. All my friends drank, and everything that happened after sundown involved drugs and alcohol. So we were more inclined to play loud music than to play chess. Drinkers hang out with other drinkers. Itâs tidy that way, no unpleasant images in the mirrorâeveryone looks like you.
Whatever we were having, I consumed more of it than my friends. It always took more to get me to the edge of contentment, and the edge was as close as I could ever get. In a typical evening, I would drink a six-pack of beer, a substantial amount of hard liquor, and use whatever drugs were at hand.
I never got mean, never got in fights, never fell down, but from my early teens, I was drunk every night of my life. In those early years, I had a couple of auto accidents, but nothing after that, even though, if it was dark, driving or not, I was drunk.
I never drank during the day. In fact, I couldnât imagine why anyone would want to be dull while it was still light. During the day, I went for stimulants, but, come nightfall, nothing could stop me from drinking. Stimulants during the day meant more alcohol to come down at night, then more stimulants the next day to push away the effects of the previous night's drinking: truly a vicious and deadly cycle. I also smoked quite a lot of marijuana, occasionally took mushrooms, and used cocaine. My friends either kept up, or they fell away. Some died, many ended up permanently damaged.
I was married in the early â80s, but my habits didnât change. I merely couched them now in transparent respectability, more evenings out drinking good wine, or at home drinking good scotch and premium beer. Cocaine replaced the cruder stimulants. But the truth is, I would have drunk cheap gin, if that were all I had.
My wife drank only moderately, just an occasional glass or two of wine with dinner. It is unusual for a non-drinker to marry someone who is already wedded to this habit of nightly oblivion, but then, she never knew me any other way. We didnât discuss it. I figured it was just part of the package she had chosen. She clearly saw something in me beyond the man she married, and she knew the power of prayer.
We bought a house and built a business. At one point, though, she expressed enough concern for my overall health that I agreed to have a âroutineâ physical. The doctor stated unequivocally that I was on my way to an unpleasant, and perhaps lingering, death.
He said it would be dangerous for me to try to quit drinking on my own. The withdrawal symptoms would be so severe I might even have seizures. He wanted me to go straight from his office to the hospital.
To bolster his argument, he called in another patient, an ex-alcoholic, who, he said, just happened to be in the waiting room. This gentleman, in a glib and self-important voice, rambled through a fragmented assessment of my future unless I followed the good doctorâs advice. But he was so cognitively damaged it was easy for me to brush off both him and his counsel. I genuinely felt I would rather drink myself to death than wind up like him.
The meeting with the doctor was such a disaster neither my wife nor I ever mentioned it again.
In the middle of all of this, sometime in the early â80s, we started going to Ananda classes and services. In 1986, when Swami Kriyananda announced he was leading a pilgrimage to Southern California to see Masterâs shrinesâMt. Washington, Encinitas, the Lake Shrine and the cryptâwe decided to go along.
The first evening in Encinitas, at the Sanderling Hotel, Swamiji held a Discipleship Initiation. I sat in the back of the room, watching people go up and kneel before him. He blessed each one by placing his finger at their spiritual eye, the point between the eyebrows. After a moment, he would remove his hand. The person would then rise, bow to Swamiji with folded hands, and return to his seat.
I just couldnât identify with the ritual. I was strongly drawn to Master, and I had great respect for Swamiji, even though I had spoken to him only a couple of times. I wasnât sure it was the right time for me to become a disciple, or if, in truth, Master would want me.
So I just watched, like a stone gargoyle peering down from a cathedral roof. Then, somehow, I found myself kneeling in front of Swamiji. I donât recall why I decided to do it. In fact, I donât remember deciding to do it at all, but there I was.
When he touched me at the spiritual eye, there was no spark of light, no uncontrollable trembling, no sound of crashing waves. As I recall, I didnât feel anything.
But after the blessing, I stood up, bowed respectfully to Swamiji, and walked away a different person.
That was two decades ago. Since that moment Iâve had not a hint, not a longing, not a whisper of unnamed or unfulfilled desire for drugs or alcohol. I went, as they say, cold turkey on a twenty-five year habit without a single unpleasant symptom.
I rarely tell anyone with a drinking or a drug problem about my experience. I have seen how terribly difficult it is for them to quit. I want to help; I love them for their courage, but they need inspiration that is within their reach: something as close, as tangible, and as obtainable as the substances and the mental state they crave.
I do not believe it would inspire someone in the throes of the struggle with addiction, to hear that God, without even being (consciously) invited, came and lifted my burden, leaving nothing behind but gratitude. It would be too far beyond hope, leaving them feeling even more isolated and unworthy.
I often hear the statement, âI am a recovering alcoholic.â Those who use that phrase have earned the right to say it. They have fought hard, and for most of them it is a lifelong struggle.
My life, however, was changed in an instant. What I can and do say, with humility and endless gratitude, is, âI am the disciple of a Great Avatar, and the loving student of a Great Teacher who can, with his touch, channel the Masterâs transforming grace.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by Krishnadas)
I had an accident that caused a blow to my skull so great I started to exit from my body. I traveled down a tunnel of light and was greeted by friends and relatives who had passed away years before. I came into the presence of a âBeing of Lightâ who enveloped me in pure unconditional love.
Thoughts of unworthiness and shame for things I had done in the past made a brief, futile effort to invade this aura of love. Faster than the thoughts could arise, they evaporated. It was more than being forgiven. The âBeing of Lightâ communicated to me that I, too, am made of light, and in that light there is nothing to forgive.
This was 1976. No one then was talking about âNear Death Experiences,â so it wasnât until years later that I had an explanation for what had happened to me. All I knew at the time was that my life had been changed forever.
A few hours after the experience, a voice inside my head said, âWhy do you continue to live in the same way? I have given you the key to life. I have given you yoga.â
I had already been studying Hatha Yoga for about six months. From then on, I made it the center of my life. Two years later, I met Swamiji, and soon after had a private interview with him. At the end of the interview, I asked if I could touch his feet.
This was no small thing for me. My father had died ten years earlier, when I was fourteen. (He was one of those who greeted me in the tunnel of light.) Since then, I had been very headstrong and refused to take advice from anyone â until I met Swamiji. Now I wanted to bow down in front of him and put my life in his hands.
In India, touching the feet of a spiritual teacher is a common gesture of respect. Swamiji, however, has never encouraged that kind of outward show, but he must have sensed how much this meant to me, so he gave his permission. He was sitting in a chair and invited me to kneel in front of him.
Reverently I placed my hands on his feet and bent over until my forehead was almost resting on the backs of my hands. After a moment, I felt Swamiji gently lifting me by the shoulders until we were face to face. He closed his eyes and touched me at the spiritual eye. I closed my eyes to receive his blessing.
A horizon line formed before my closed eyes, illuminated from below, as if the sun were about to rise. Beams of white light streamed from the hidden sun. I was bathed in luminescence. I forgot myself. I forgot that Swamiji was blessing me. All I knew was light, peace, joy, and what I can only describe now as a state of utter âdesirelessness.â In that moment, every imaginable fulfillment was mine already.
Then Swamiji removed his touch and the light went away. I looked into Swamijiâs eyes, which were now just inches from mine, and saw there a quality of impersonal, yet unconditional love that I had never seen in anyone else before.
Only later did I link the two experiences. Twice Iâd been touched by the light. The first time, I had to leave my body and go into another world to experience it. The second time, the light came to me, when I was willing to bow in humility and reverence before its pure channel: Swamiji. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by Bhagavati)
It was the middle of a concert when Swamiji picked up the tamboura to accompany himself while he sang. A tamboura is an Indian instrument that easily goes out of tune. It was dreadfully off-pitch and no matter how much Swamiji tried, he couldnât tune it. Finally he gave up and began to play it as it was.
I was near him on the stage and every time his fingers went across the strings I cringed at the dissonance. With his sensitive ear, I donât know how he kept singing, but he did. Gradually, the dissonance waned. By the time Swamiji was half way through the song, the tamboura was perfectly in tune and it stayed that way for the rest of the concert.
Patanjaliâs Yoga Sutras describe the practice of ahimsa. âNon-violenceâ is how it is usually translated. Swamiji calls it âharmlessnessâ and has dedicated himself to that practice. The fruit for one who practices ahimsa perfectly, Patanjali says, is that in his presence, no disharmony can arise. Wild animals are tamed, ferocious criminals subdued.
Some people may disagree, but I have been playing musical instruments since I was a child and I know they have personalities that respond to human consciousness. I think, in the presence of Swamijiâs ahimsa, the tamboura simply couldnât hold on to its disharmonious âattitude.â Swamijiâs harmonious vibrations tamed it. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
For years, I had a noticeable wart on my hand. I tried all sorts of medicines, and the usual array of alternatives. But the wart stubbornly remained.
One day, I happened to be with Swami as he was walking to his car. He was a little shaky on his feet and rested his arm on my shoulder for support. I put my hand on his back to help steady him. The walk was all of two minutes, sweet, but otherwise uneventful.
The next day, I happened to glance at my hand, the hand that had touched Swamijiâs back. The wart had vanished without a trace. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
I was a newcomer and had only seen Swamiji in large public gatherings. When I heard he was returning from a trip to Europe and would spend a few days at Anandaâs San Francisco center, I drove four hours to the city to see him.
When I arrived at the ashram, I was disappointed to see that about 40 other people had gotten there before me and it wasnât possible even to sit near Swamiji. When dinner was served, I was relegated to another room. I felt excluded, alone, and increasingly morose, certain that Iâd never be able to penetrate the circle around him.
After dinner, Swamiji was heading out with a small group to see a movie. I was sitting in another room, talking with a friend. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around, and Swamiji was there.
With a deep and earnest gaze, he looked at me for what seemed like a long time. Then he opened his arms and embraced me like an old friend. A surge of electricity passed from him into me. I felt as if my body was on fire, but without the heat. Thought stopped, and I was filled with a profound sense of peace and comfort.
It was in fact just a brief embrace. Then Swamiji stepped back, smiled warmly, doffed his cap, and went on his way without speaking a word to me. For the next fifteen minutes, I was vibrating with energy as the electricity continued to move through me. I felt elevated, buoyant, light as a feather.
I had been feeling so left out, but God had heard my thoughts and sent Swamiji to show me: Donât be fooled by appearances. We are all equally children of God and equally loved by Him. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
I was with Swamiji and a big crowd of Ananda people in a very public place when I had the sudden intuition that my husband was infatuated with another woman. I turned my back to the crowd and walked away sobbing. Swamiji knew what was happening and after a few minutes he came over to where I sat crying.
He made no attempt to console me. âRemember, it is all just Divine Motherâs lila,â he said. Lila is a Sanskrit word meaning âthe play of God.â
âI know, Swamiji. I know.â Intellectually I understood, but my heart was breaking.
Swamiji made no reply. I sensed, however, a wordless transfer of power from him to me. Suddenly I felt as if I were standing at the top of a five-story building looking down on the scene playing out before me. From that perspective I could see that my little âtragedyâ was just a single thread in the vast tapestry of life. This image of looking at life from the top of a tall building is something I have used many times since whenever attachment and emotion threaten my inner peace.
That night, because of the consciousness Swamiji put into me, my husband and I were able to talk in a way I wouldnât have believed possible. Swamiji had changed me from a child ruled by emotion into a grown-up who could talk impersonally about truth and dharma, even in a matter that concerned me deeply.
âIs it wrong to love somebody?â my husband asked me, referring to the âother woman.â Swamiji has often said sympathetically, âOne canât always control the feelings of the heart,â and I remembered that now.
âOf course not,â I said. âIt is never wrong to love.â
The âother womanâ was also a friend of mine, and she, too, was married. I went on, âThe question, however, is not about love. It is about dharma. What is right for all of us in this situation?â
I was so grateful to Swamiji for not offering me any false reassurances. All marriages end eventually, in death, if not before. Only consciousness endures. From then on, I worked much harder at my sadhana.
Later I was even able to meet with the âother woman.â Through her tears, she assured me she had never intended to hurt anyone. Amazingly, I was able to discuss with her as calmly as I had with my husband, what might be right for all of us.
Time passed, and the situation was still unresolved. I began to grow impatient. âHow long do I have to wait for him to make up his mind?â I finally asked Swamiji. âI donât even think he respects me.â
Very seriously, Swamiji responded, âIf it is true that he doesnât respect you, you should leave him.â
Swamiji has often stated that the cornerstone of marriage is not love, as most people think. It is respect. Over the course of a lifetime, love may wax and wane. If there is respect, however, there is always a basis for cooperation and friendship. When respect is lost, it is very difficult to go on together.
Swamijiâs statement terrified me. I didnât want the responsibility for ending the marriage. If a decision had to be made, I wanted my husband to make it. Swamiji was pushing me to face my fears.
I couldnât think what else to do, so I just repeated to my husband what Swamiji had said.
âI donât know how you could possibly think that I donât respect you,â my husband said. He seemed genuinely shocked at the mere suggestion.
That was the beginning of our reconciliation. Swamiji had shown me the bottom-line condition for continuing the marriage and my husband was able to rise to the occasion. He resolved to renounce his infatuation and that opened my heart to him again. The marriage began to heal.
We are so grateful to Swamiji. Without his wise counsel I donât think our marriage would have survived.
The whole time our marriage was in jeopardy â a period of several months â I lived in a state of awareness higher and calmer than my normal way of being. I would almost call it a state of grace. It began when I was crying and Swamiji transferred energy to me. It ended practically at the very moment it was clear our marriage would survive. I think Swamiji projected a sustaining force that I tuned into. I was able to see my life in the rhythm of eternity, rather than the passing moments of pleasure and pain.
âTo all who received him,â it says in the Bible, âto them gave he power to become the Sons of God.â I had the good karma to receive for a time. After the crisis passed, I wasnât able to do it in the same way. I am a different person, however, and a far better devotee for the experience. And it certainly whetted my appetite for the day when I can live always in that state. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
On the altar in his meditation room, Swamiji keeps a list of all those who have asked for his prayers. When he meditates, he asks God to bless these souls, and all those who have appealed to him for help.
A chronically ill man, whose name was on that list, took several treatments from a gifted psychic healer.
âSuddenly, in the middle of a session,â the healer said, âI saw a powerful white light within him. I had never encountered anything like it before. Somehow I knew it was the light of Swamijiâs prayer.â
Later it was confirmed that the time of the treatment was the same time that Swamiji was in his meditation room, meditating and praying. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by Carolyn Denslow Riffle)
It was always hard for me to be on this planet. Awareness of my own imperfections, and how those imperfections hurt others, caused me to suffer intensely. I had been diagnosed as clinically depressed. It was a cyclical thing and sometimes I had to take prescription drugs for it. Because of the depression, Iâve had some pretty serious problems in my life.
I always felt I wasnât okay, that somehow I needed to justify my existence. Before I came to Ananda for the first time, I worked for a nonprofit organization, where I thought I could really do some good in the world. The job became my purpose for being on Earth. But then one of my depressions hit. It affected the way I worked and I got laid off.
Eventually I got over the depression and off the drugs they'd given me to cure it, but I felt like Iâd lost everything. I was into yoga, and had been meditating on and off for years, so I decided to take the Yoga Teacher Training Course at Ananda Village. I didnât know much about it, but a friend had taken the course and said it was great. So I registered and sent in my money.
After that, I stumbled onto a website that described Swami Kriyananda as a terrible person. I was shocked and scared. My yoga teacher had also recommended the course, so I asked her, âWhat about all these stories?â
She had never met Swamiji, and didnât know any more about him than I did, but she offered this reassurance: âDonât worry, he lives in Italy now.â
* * *
Soon after I arrived at Ananda, I bought Yoganandaâs book, Scientific Healing Affirmations, with his picture on the cover. I put it on my nightstand where I saw it every morning and evening. I was intrigued, and wanted a better picture of him. So one afternoon, about two weeks into the program, I decided to walk over to the boutique at Crystal Hermitage and get one.
I got lost, and eventually bumped into two people Iâd never met before. Although I didnât know it at the time, one of them was Swami Kriyananda, who had just returned from Italy. He directed me to the Hermitage and I got my picture.
On my way back, just outside the Hermitage gate, I ran into him again. By now I had figured out who he was. This time, he asked me a few questions. âWhere are you from? Are you enjoying Ananda?â That sort of thing. He was very kind and very gentle. Not at all like the man described on the website.
Then he asked, âHave you ever meditated in the Crystal Hermitage chapel?â
I told him, "No, I havenât."
âI think you should,â Swamiji replied.
I said something noncommittal and started to walk away from the Hermitage.
âI really think you should meditate now,â Swamiji said. His voice was light and there was twinkle in his eye, as if to say, âIt is just a suggestion; you decide.â
So, to be polite, I turned around and went back to the chapel. There was no one else in there. I sat down to meditate. After about ten minutes, I suddenly felt a finger touching my heart, inside my body. It was palpable and I knew it was Yogananda.
At the same time, I was lifted into the light, and flooded with the knowledge that it is okay to be on this planet. It didnât come to me in words, it was just the feeling that I donât have to justify my existence, I donât have to work for the organization that fired me, I donât have to do anything. I can just be who I am and that is enough.
In that moment, a cloud lifted from my life and it has never come back. The cycle of heavy depression ended. It was gone.
* * *
Easter was a few days later, and Swamiji gave the service. He was so inspiring it threw me for a loop! I couldnât reconcile all the stuff I had read on the internet with Swamiji as I was experiencing him.
One thing he said really impressed me. He referred to the enormous debt Ananda had accumulated defending itself against the SRF lawsuit, which was still threatening Anandaâs future.
âIn the long run, though,â Swamiji said, âit is not all that important whether or not Ananda survives. What is important is how we handle ourselves through whatever tests God sends us.â
There was so much integrity in the way he said it. He was talking about his lifeâs work, and he was ready to let it go rather than give up dharma.
I thought to myself, âI canât know what happened in the past. I have to go by my own experience. I trust this man standing in front of me and I am willing to accept him as my teacher.â
Soon after, I became a disciple of Yogananda, and eventually moved to Seattle and joined the Ananda community there. When Swamiji came to visit, I told him about the healing I had received from Master in the chapel.
âIf you hadnât suggested it,â I said, âI would never have gone into the chapel to meditate. I was already walking away when I saw you.â
âI remember,â Swamiji replied. âI didnât know what it was, but I felt something in you.â
I shudder to think what my life would be like now if I hadnât listened to him.
âThank you, Swamiji,â I said to him. âYou were a perfect instrument of Master. It was pure grace.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
Sarcoidosis is a serious disease that causes inflammation of the body tissues. Bharat had it in his lymph system, surrounding his heart. For three years, he suffered from debilitating weakness and almost daily bouts of fever. Finally, the fever abated and his strength began to return. But his lungs had been affected, and he coughed almost constantly, sometimes for five minutes at a time.
Swamiji was recovering from open-heart surgery, but he asked Bharat and his wife Anandi to come over briefly to discuss a certain matter. Sarcoidosis is not contagious, but on the way to the Hermitage, Anandi said, âPerhaps you shouldnât expose Swamiji to your cough. You could wait upstairs while I go down to his apartment to see him.â Bharat agreed.
When they arrived, Swamiji sent word that he wanted both of them to come down. Bharat went too, therefore, but he stood a little away from Swamiji and let Anandi do the talking.
As they were about to leave, Anandi explained, âBharat has been coughing for six months.â
Swamiji looked at Bharat, and in a strong but matter-of-fact way said, âBharat doesnât have a cough.â
At that moment, the cough stopped and never returned.
âSwamijiâs blessing lifted me over the last karmic hurdle of that long illness,â Bharat said. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by an Ananda devotee)
From childhood I carried a deep sadness. Even as a little girl, I knew it came from a past life in which I had experienced the traumatic death of a beloved spouse. It was a kind of âpost traumatic stress syndromeâ that spanned more than one incarnation.
Sometimes, when I was a child, the grief was more than I could bear and I would weep uncontrollably. As I grew older, and especially after I got onto the spiritual path, I made progress in resolving it, but much grief remained. I didnât know what else to do except pray, and accept that the grief might be with me for the rest of my life. I could feel the karma as a knot of energy lodged in my spine just behind my heart.
One evening, after I had been living at Ananda Village for many years, I went with my husband to a community musical event. The concert was a birthday gift for Swamiji. As part of the program, a group played selections from his album Secrets of Love. The music uplifted me and at the same time made me aware of my inner grief. I didnât want any unhappiness to mar the evening for Swamiji, so I prayed to Divine Mother, âPlease donât let my sadness touch his joy.â
During the intermission, Swamiji came to where my husband and I were sitting with a group of friends. He stood between us, with one hand on my husbandâs shoulder, and the other hand on my spine. His fingers were right where the karma was lodged.
I felt a tremendous pressure from his hand and enormous energy going into me. Swamiji didnât make a point of what he was doing; the whole time he chatted casually with the others. He didnât, however, speak to me, but let me receive his energy in silence.
A few minutes later, Swamiji took his hand away. The knot of energy was gone, and with it the sadness I had known all my life. Every once in a while since then, a shadow of it has crossed my consciousness, just enough to make me continuously grateful to Swamiji for taking that karma away. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
(Told by Kent Baughman)
Right after Swamiji had hip replacement surgery, those of us in the community with medical training took turns staying with him in his hospital room, so someone would always be on hand to help him if he needed it.
I used to be a nurse, but then trained as a chiropractor. I was just starting my new practice and was quite nervous about it. It was around midnight of the day Swamiji had his operationâhardly the time to discuss my personal problems. But Swamiji knew what I was doing and must have sensed my anxiety, for he started talking to me about the practice.
âThink of your work as your sadhana, your way of serving Divine Mother. She is in the suffering bodies you serve. When you relieve that suffering, you are helping Her. Serve joyfully, with complete faith in what you are doing, and you will have plenty of energy.
âDonât think of what Divine Mother can do for you. Think only of what you can do for Her. Work for God Alone. That is the way to succeed.â
Then he asked me to stand right next to his bed. He was weak and in pain from the surgery, but he lifted his hand and blessed me at the spiritual eye.
I had come to help him, but it was Swamiji who helped me. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
The minister of the Church of Religious Science in Reno, Nevada, was a friend of Swamijiâs and invited him to address the congregation there. As a guest in someone elseâs church, Swamiji was careful not to draw his listeners away from the path they were on, but urged them to follow wholeheartedly the inspiration they felt from within.
There was power in the air that night. Swamiji seemed to be speaking with the voice of the Divine, and the audience sensed it. Afterwards, almost everyone present lined up to greet him.
Usually, at such times, Swamiji is quite informal. He shakes hands with people, laughs and talks with them â often speaking, if it is an international crowd, in several languages. This evening was different. Swamiji didn't say much. He greeted people only with his eyes, standing very still, hands folded in namaskar, which means, âThe soul in me bows to the soul in you.â
I stood a little to one side, watching a scene I felt had been repeated many times before. In other bodies, in other lifetimes, these same souls had stood before the spirit that is Swamiji to receive a touch of his consciousness.
For Swamiji, it was an act of pure giving. None of these people would ever be part of Ananda. It was a different spiritual family, but in some way, Swamiji felt a responsibility to inspire them. They were souls seeking the light, and he felt he had to give them what he could.
Darshan means the blessing that comes from the sight of a saint. In India, they say âOne moment in the company of a saint will be your raft over the ocean of delusion.â I donât think many in that audience knew the word darshan, and probably none had heard that Indian saying, but they all seemed to know that something out of the ordinary was happening, as they waited patiently and reverently for the moment when they could stand in front of Swamiji. -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
A married man had an affair with an unmarried woman. At the time, they both lived at Ananda Village. His name: Danny; hers: Annemarie Bertolucci.
When Swamiji heard about the affair, he urged them to end it, and supported Danny when he made the decision to go back to his wife and daughter.
Annemarie refused to accept Dannyâs decision as final. She made it clear to Swamiji that she was determined that Danny should leave his wife and marry her. âI would make a good mother to his little girl,â she insisted. The child was not developmentally normal and needed special care.
âI will not let you stay here and destroy that family,â Swamiji told her firmly. Later, Swamiji said, âI didnât hesitate. I knew intuitively, however, that, in thwarting her desires and abiding by dharma, I would be faced with a difficult test.â
To Annemarie he said, âYou must move to another Ananda community.â She pleaded to be allowed to stay, but Swamiji was unyielding. âYou must live as far away from him as possible. That will make it easier to break the attachment.â He suggested she go to Ananda Italy, or, as a second choice, to Ananda Seattle. She rejected both in favor of Ananda Palo Alto, where she had lived before. Swamiji did not dispute her choice.
âShe appeared to cooperate,â Swamiji said afterwards, âbut underneath I could see she was seething with rage. Not at Danny, but at me. She was certain that if I hadnât intervened, she could have gotten him back. She once told Danny, âI always get what I want.ââ
* * *
It was no surprise when, a few months later, she left Ananda altogether. Her dispute with Ananda became her entrée into SRF. She visited SRF headquarters in Los Angeles, was given lunch by Daya Mata, and met with several other members of the SRF Board of Directors. Even longtime SRF members rarely get to see Daya Mata. For a newcomer to be received so royally was, indeed, exceptional.
Soon after, she filed a lawsuit against Danny, Swamiji, and Ananda. She claimed, among other things, that she had been brainwashed, coerced, and sexually harassed. At the time, the lawsuit said, she may have thought the relationship with Danny was consensual. Now, she alleged, nothing she had done, in the abusive atmosphere of Ananda, had been of her own free will.
When Swamiji heard about the lawsuit, he said simply, âThis is not about Danny. It is SRF trying to destroy me.â
The SRF lawsuit took twelve years to resolve. By 1994, however, when the Bertolucci lawsuit began, SRF had already lost 95% of their case. The next eight years were mostly repeated attempts on their part to get the judgeâs rulings reversed. SRF took its appeals all the way up to the United States Supreme Court, which refused to hear the case.
In 1994, SRF still had one possible way, apart from reversal on appeal, to retrieve what it had lost. It was a legal concept called âtarnishment.â If SRF could prove that Swamiji and Ananda were morally corrupt, and that any association in the mind of the public between SRF and Ananda would âtarnishâ SRFâs reputation, then the judge could impose restrictions on Ananda that would diminish that association.
Even though the court had dissolved SRFâs copyrights, trademarks, and publicity rights to Masterâs name and teachings, through âtarnishmentâ they might have those exclusive rights restored. Swamiji had told us to be ready for just such an attack from SRF.
* * *
Most of us referred to âLawsuitsâ in the pluralâmeaning Bertolucci and SRF. They were legally separate, filed in different courtsâSRFâs in federal court in Sacramento, Bertolucciâs in state court near Palo Alto. Swamiji, however, never referred to them in the plural. To him, it was just âThe Lawsuit,â since it was obvious to him that SRF was behind them both.
Just as Swamiji had predicted, SRF soon filed a motion in federal court, describing the Bertolucci lawsuit, and asking for relief on the basis of âtarnishment.â We countered with the charge that SRF had âunclean hands.â
âSRF canât be permitted to both create a scandal and then benefit from that scandal,â our attorney argued. He had considerable evidence to back this up, starting with the way Bertolucci had been received at SRF headquarters just weeks before she filed the lawsuit.
He went on to list other convincing facts. Bertolucciâs attorney was a prominent member of SRF. (Later he became the lead attorney in SRFâs federal case as well.) A major SRF donor had been fraudulently passed off as a paralegal so as to be able to attend Swamijiâs deposition in the Bertolucci case.
Swamiji had never met the man, but when he saw him sitting there Swamiji said to our attorney, âThat man is an SRF member. What is he doing here?â Bertolucciâs attorney insisted that he was a paralegal. It was impossible at the moment to disprove his claim.
Not long after the deposition, SRF transferred to that donor a large and valuable property for the sum of $1. The donor was already a client of Bertolucciâs attorney and our assumption is that he was the conduit through which SRF financed the Bertolucci case.
On the basis of this and other evidence, we demanded the right to question Daya Mata about SRFâs involvement in the Bertolucci lawsuit. SRF waged a fierce battle to prevent us from questioning her. Their efforts to do so did not, in the end, help their cause.
âYour very reluctance to allow her to be questioned tells me you have something to hide,â the judge said when he ordered Daya to submit to a deposition.
âIt is not right for fellow disciples to be fighting each other in court,â Swamiji had written to Daya more than once since the SRF lawsuit began. He urged her to accept his invitation to meet together and find a way to settle the case. Always she had refused.
Now, faced with the prospect of having to answer questions about SRFâs involvement in the Bertolucci lawsuit, Daya contacted Swamiji and for the first time appeared eager to settle.
* * *
At the settlement conference, however, as a condition for even beginning the discussion, Daya demanded that we give up the right to take her deposition. Naively, we agreed.
Settlement negotiations dragged on for months. SRF expected us to cede back to them all the exclusive rights to Master and his teachings that the court had taken away. They negotiated as if it were they who had won, not we.
By the time it became clear that settlement was impossible, the window of opportunity to take Dayaâs deposition had closed and could not be reopened. Later, we were forced to conclude that Daya had initiated the whole settlement process for the sole purpose of escaping the deposition.
SRF did, however, withdraw its âtarnishmentâ claim.
The Bertolucci lawsuit proved to be exactly what Swamiji expected: a vicious personal attack on him. The linchpin of Bertolucciâs case was the âcoercive, cult-like atmosphere of Ananda.â Without that, it was just an affair between two consenting adults. An abusive cult cannot exist without an abusive cult leader. Danny soon became an âalso-ran,â almost incidental to Bertolucciâs caseâat times even a sympathetic character, because he, too, was presented as a âvictimâ of the âabusive cult leader.â
* * *
Swamiji and Ananda were not the first spiritual group or spiritual leader to be sued by Bertolucciâs attorneys. By the time they got to us, they had perfected a method for destroying reputations and winning huge out-of-court settlements.
The first step in their system was to write the lawsuit and supporting declarations to be as lurid and shocking as possible, with an eye to how they would play in the media. The second step was to court the media like an ardent suitor.
Accusations in a lawsuit are exempt from the laws that usually govern libel. No matter how false they may later turn out to be, the accusations can be repeated and reprinted in all forms of media without fear of retribution.
Scandal sells newspapers. The same day the lawsuit was filed in court, it was also released to the media. From then on, Bertolucciâs attorneys argued the case in the press as much as they did in the courtroom.
The lawsuit was so extreme as to be almost a parody of itself. It read as if the lawyers kept a boiler-plate, anti-cult lawsuit in a file drawer and just pulled it out as needed. Perhaps it is not so far from the truth to say that they simply inserted the names âAnandaâ and âSwami Kriyanandaâ whenever a specific reference was needed.
Human nature tends to think, âWhere there is smoke there is fire.â Or, between two conflicting points of view, âThe truth must lie somewhere in the middle.â Few people are discerning enough to know when they are being taken in by a daring ploy that Hitler called the âBig Lie.â This is something so outside of reality as to have no foundation in truth at all.
With this understanding of human nature, and by skillful use of the media, the reputation of a spiritual leader can be destroyed by accusation alone.
Nothing in the lawsuit reflected Ananda or Swamiji as we know them to be. It was the âBig Lie.â
At Ananda, women are in charge of half the departments. Still, in the lawsuit, the community was described as an environment âhostile to womenâ in which they are âsecond-class citizens,â forced into drudgery, mere sexual playthings for âthe Swamiâ and his male minions.
Swamiji was described as a ruthless dictator, indifferent to the welfare of anyone but himself, obsessed with power, pleasure, and money, who routinely took advantage of vulnerable young women. According to the lawsuit, Ananda was nothing but a âsham religious organizationâ set up primarily to keep âthe Swamiâs harem stocked.â
When she filed the lawsuit, Bertolucci did not accuse Swamiji of abusing her. She alleged only that he was responsible for creating the atmosphere in which abuse could occur. To bolster that claim, the lawsuit included declarations from a few women, former residents of Ananda, now all affiliated with SRF, who claimed that in the past they had been subjected to coercive sexual advances from Swamiji.
The most recent was alleged to have occurred thirteen years before the suit was filed in 1994, the most distant was twenty-eight years earlier. None of these women were plaintiffs in the lawsuit, but these declarations proved to be the core of the campaign to destroy Swamijiâs reputation.
The third step in the method used by Bertolucciâs attorneys in their attack on spiritual groups and their leaders, is, gradually, over the course of a lawsuit to uncover more and more abuse, and thus draw into the lawsuit an ever-increasing number of plaintiffs. Eventually, the sheer magnitude of the case against the âcultâ and its leader forces them to pay whatever is needed to avoid a trial and the risk of an even greater loss of money and reputation.
Four years passed from the time the Bertolucci lawsuit was filed until the trial ended. During that time, Bertolucciâs attorneys sent letters, made phone calls, held public meetings, and at one point even dropped leaflets from an airplane onto Ananda Village, all in an effort to uncover further abuse and draw more clients for their case.
These efforts were entirely unsuccessful. There was no abuse to uncover. The only ones who spoke against Swamiji at the end of the case were the same ones who were there at the beginning: a few SRF-affiliated women.
* * *
Dozens of Ananda women did come forth, however, to testify and file declarations on behalf of Swamiji.
âWomen have an instinct for these things,â one woman wrote. âThey can sense when a man has sexual intentions. I have worked closely with Swamiji for more than two decades. He has been a guest in my home. I have been a guest in his. I have traveled with him. I have worked alone with him late into the night. Not once, in hundreds of hours of close association, have I felt from him, or observed in his interactions with other women, even the slightest expression of sexual interest. Not even an appreciative glance or a remark with sexual overtones. Nothing. Sometimes I think he doesnât even notice the gender of those around him.â
Another woman said, âTo speak of Swamiji as âcoerciveâ is like saying the sun rises in the west. The truth is, when you are with him, you have to be careful not to express preferences that might interfere not merely with his convenience, but with his real needs. He is nothing less than heroic in his willingness to sacrifice his own well-being for the sake of others.â
âIâve been discussing Ananda personnel issues with Swamiji since the community was founded twenty-five years ago,â a woman wrote. âI donât even want to think about how many meetings Iâve attended. I canât recall a single instance in which a decision was made on the basis of gender. That kind of bias just doesnât happen at Ananda.â
* * *
In the âdiscoveryâ phase of the lawsuit, Swamiji was subjected to eighty hours of deposition. Bertolucciâs attorneys videotaped the entire proceeding. Each day, in an attempt to unnerve Swamiji, the camera was moved a little closer to his face. Bertolucciâs attorney was deliberately lewd and insulting in the hope of embarrassing Swamiji or, better still, enraging him and capturing it all on video.
Less than a year earlier, Swamiji had had open-heart surgery. His physician, Dr. Peter Van Houten, was present for the deposition to monitor Swamijiâs condition and call a break in the proceedings whenever he felt Swamiji needed a rest.
âBertolucciâs attorney knew about the surgery,â Dr. Peter said later. âStill, he was completely unconcerned about Swamijiâs well-being. I think he could have pushed Swamiji to the point of a heart attack if I hadnât been there to prevent it. Even when Swamiji asked to be excused to go to the bathroom, the attorney would say, âJust one more question.â Then he would go on with the deposition as if the request had never been made. If Swamiji reminded him of the need for a break, the attorney would say again, âJust one more,â until Swamiji would simply get up and leave anyway, with the attorney calling out questions even as Swamiji walked out the door.â
Later, Swamiji said, âI am so accustomed to microphones and cameras. It meant nothing to me to have the video even inches from my face. As for the attorneyâs attempt to bully and insult me, I saw no reason why his rudeness should affect my inner peace.â
Hour after hour, Swamiji calmly answered all the questions they put to him.
During that time, in conversation with a few close friends, Swamiji shared some of his personal history that he had never talked about before.
âAt my first meeting with Master,â Swamiji said to us, âhe asked me, âOf the three major delusions â sex, wine, and money â which ones attract you?â Wine and money have never been issues for me. I had no wish to get married, but I did experience sexual desires and I told him so. He made no comment.
âAt the end of the interview, Master initiated me as a disciple and also as a monk. I took that for his answer and resolved to do my best. It was a struggle. Once I said to him, âI would commit suicide rather than fall into temptation.â
ââWhy speak of suicide?â Master replied. âThis is not deep in you. Keep on trying your best. You will overcome it.â
âOn another occasion I asked him to whom I might go for counseling on this issue after he was gone. I was astonished when he replied, âSpeak of it to no one.â
ââNot even Rajarsi?â I asked.
ââNo,â Master replied firmly. âNo one. You have a great work to do and no one must know.ââ
* * *
Swamiji was twenty-two years old when he became a monk. For the first fourteen years, he lived within the protected environment of the SRF monastery. When he was expelled from SRF in 1962, he found himself suddenly, at the age of thirty-six, all on his own.
Most monks and nuns who, for whatever reason, find themselves suddenly no longer in the monastery, have usually gotten married shortly thereafter. Swamiji was determined to remain a monk, even without a monastery to support him.
In India, a solitary swami is a common sight and people relating to him understand his position. In America, there is no such tradition. Many women still considered him âfair game.â Some even found him more attractive because of his commitment to be a monk.
Swamiji maintains a certain detachment from his own feelings. That detachment, however, does not diminish the depth and sensitivity of those feelings. Only a few, even of his closest friends, have been able to appreciate how deeply he has been hurt by the way SRF has treated him. All these years he has not had the company of even one fellow monk. Instead, he has been vilified and relentlessly persecuted by fellow disciples, some of whom were, at one time, his closest friends.
It was only natural that Swamiji would long, as most people do, for a small haven of emotional intimacy as a bulwark against so much hurt and betrayal, especially when that comfort was freely offered.
âWhen I took my vows as a monk, and then a few years later, as a swami,â he later wrote, âit was not a declaration, âI am free!â Rather, it was an affirmation, âI will do my utmost to become completely free in this life.ââ
Swamiji struggled valiantly against a lingering desire for human love and intimacy. Mostly he succeeded. A few times he did not. Always it was consensual. It is not in Swamijiâs nature to impose his will on anyone.
Mentally, however, he himself never gave his full consent, but acted always in obedience to Swami Sri Yukteswarâs advice quoted in Autobiography of a Yogi: âEven when the flesh is weak, the mind should be constantly resistant.â
âA slip is not a fall,â Swamiji often says to encourage a person to cling to his aspirations even if, for a time, he fails to live up to them. Master said, âA saint is a sinner who never gave up.â
When Swamiji started the community a few years after he was expelled from SRF, he had no choice but to mix freely with both men and women. If he had remained aloofly protective of his monastic vocation, Ananda would have failed.
âI made the decision to risk even my own salvation,â Swamiji said, âin order to do the work Master had given me to do.â
Later he wrote, âI could see no alternative but to go on, hoping for the best, clinging with faith to Masterâs power, believing that he would take me eventually out of delusion. To me personally, the risk was agonizing. Meanwhile, I never pretended to myself or to anyone else that it was not a delusion, or that it might be in some way justifiable. I always saw, and spoke of it, as a fault. At last, as it happened, I discovered that Masterâs blessings had been with me always.â
* * *
During the time of the depositions, in that conversation with his close friends, Swamiji went on to say, âBertolucciâs lawyers tried to make it seem like sex was something I reveled in. That is not true. It was always something from which I wanted to be freed.
âThere was no point, though, in running away from it or doing all those other extreme things people do in an effort to kill the impulse within them. Quite simply, Iâd tried that and had found it didnât work. I realized I just had to live through it, maintaining as much mental detachment as I could.
âTo maintain detachment in this way is a form of Tantra yoga. Many people think Tantra is about enjoying your desires. That is entirely wrong. The teaching of Tantra is to withdraw the feelings, by an act of will, from sensory enjoyment, not to indulge them.
âThe follower of Tantra trains himself to keep the thought, âEven in the midst of enjoyment, I myself am not the enjoyer.â The goal of this practice is eventual inner freedom. By maintaining mental detachment even while experiencing apparent âfulfillment,â one gradually comes to see that desire itself is a delusion.
âTantra can be dangerous, however, and the masters do not recommend it. I would not have chosen even this one practice for myself if my situation had not forced it upon me.
âIt complicated things for me that Master had told me not to talk about it. Of course I would follow his guidance, there was no question about that. If he hadnât guided me that way, however, I would have talked about it easily. I have done my best and I am proud of the life I have lived. Sexual desire is, after self-preservation, the most powerful instinct there is. It is nothing to be ashamed of.â
* * *
Bertolucciâs lawyers offered to settle, but Swamiji refused even to consider it. âIt would,â he said, âbe tantamount to admitting an untruth â a whole series of untruths, in fact.â
The Bertolucci trial turned out to be a travesty of justice. The judge was biased against us from the start. He told Bertolucciâs attorneys what arguments to make and what motions to file so he could rule in their favor. He put Anandaâs spiritual practices on trial. He issued a ruling that prohibited us from offering any defense against the fulcrum issue in the case: the allegation that Swamiji was a âsexual predator.â
When it came time for the women who had filed declarations against Swamiji to testify against him, they knew in advance that weâd been prohibited from cross-examining them. They could perjure themselves without fear of exposure. Some of their testimony contradicted what they had said in their own declarations and depositions, but there was no way we could bring even this fact to the attention of the jury.
The jury was never informed about the prohibition imposed on us by the judge. They observed, without any explanation, that we offered no defense. They drew the obvious conclusion that we had no defense to offer, and considered the issue proved.
* * *
The attorney we worked with from the beginning to the end of the SRF lawsuit is a brilliant lawyer, an honorable man, and has become a dear friend. But he is not a litigator. So we had to hire another attorney to work with him for the trial.
Swamiji was in Europe when this litigator was hired. He was a well-known defense attorney, who, we found out later, specialized in defending guilty criminals. His contribution to justice was to be sure that the criminals, although guilty, received a fair trial.
When Swamiji came back to California a month or two later, they met for the first time. The litigator had apparently decided he needed to make it clear from the start who was the boss. He treated Swamiji as if he were a guilty criminal who needed to be bullied into telling the truth.
Afterwards, Swamiji said, âHe is the wrong attorney for us.â It wasnât personal. It was just obvious to Swamiji that such a man could never tune in to him or to Ananda and therefore would have no idea how to defend us.
Swamijiâs remark was met by a hailstorm of reasons why we had to keep working with that lawyer.
âWeâve paid him a big retainer.â
âHeâs done a lot of work already to prepare for the trial.â
âHe has a reputation for winning.â
âWe donât have time to bring someone else up to speed.â
Again Swamiji stated emphatically, âHe is the wrong attorney for us.â When the hailstorm began again, Swamiji made no further effort to persuade us.
* * *
Throughout all lifeâs challenges, Swamijiâs first thought has always been, not, âHow to win?â or âHow to succeed?â but, âHow to maintain the right spiritual attitude required by the highest principles of dharma.â
Even in a matter of such importance, if we were not receptive, it was contrary to dharma for Swamiji to impose his will on us.
âI knew this attorney would be a disaster for us in exactly the way he proved to be,â Swamiji said later. âWhen I couldnât get you to listen, however, I accepted it as Godâs will.â
The irony is that the man was hired to defend Swamiji against the charge, among others, of being a dictator. Even though the consequences for Swamiji personally were enormous, he let us go forward as we preferred and let God to determine the outcome.
So we went to trial represented by an attorney who didnât believe in our cause, who believed still less in Swamiji, who never understood the case, and who refused all our helpful suggestions. As a result, insofar as he was allowed to present a defense at allâgiven the judgeâs prohibitionâhis defense was so weak that in many ways it strengthened the case against us.
We continued to affirm victory right up to the end, but it was no surprise when the jury ruled in favor of Bertolucci. Afterward, we consulted with several attorneys about filing an appeal.
âEven without considering all the other improprieties in the way the judge conducted the case,â one attorney assured us, âthe prohibition against your presenting a defense to the key issues is enough in itself to guarantee that the verdict would be overturned on appeal. That verdict has the shelf-life of an apple.â
To our dismay, however, we found out that even if one wins an appeal, all he gets is the right to a new trial, sometimes even in front of the same judge. The first trial had lasted three months, cost us hundreds of thousands of dollars, and for the entire time, thanks to Bertolucciâs attorneys, and our own lawyerâs refusal even to let us talk to the press, we were raked over the coals by the media.
No thank you, we decided. Weâd had quite enough of this so-called âjustice.â
âWhere there is dharma there is victory.â What does it matter how we are judged in the courts of man? All that matters is how we stand in the eyes of God.
Even in the worst hours of the trial, Swamiji said later, âI felt inwardly free. My constant prayer was, âDivine Mother, they can take everything away from me, but they can never take away from me my only treasure: my love for You.â
Bertolucciâs attorneys very nearly succeeded in taking from Swamiji the copyrights to all his books and music, the fruit of a lifetime of work. Only by putting Ananda for a time under the protection of the bankruptcy court were we able to prevent that from happening.
In the end, the trial proved to be a great blessing for Swamiji. âSince then,â Swamiji said, âI have not felt the faintest stirring of attraction toward human love.â
* * *
It seems an inescapable conclusion that those women who helped Swamiji in achieving his ultimate victory also reaped for themselves, in time, some of the good karma of that victory.
Speaking to a group of friends, all of whom happened to be married couples, Swamiji said, âI donât mean to hurt your feelings, but Master told me something that I didnât understand at the time, but I do understand now. He was speaking of the attraction between the sexes. âOnce you have overcome that desireâ Master said, âyou will see it is the greatest delusion.ââ
Persecution has been the lot of many great souls throughout history. St. Teresa of Avila was called before the Inquisition. St. John of the Cross was cast into prison. One of Johnâs persecutors was even there at his deathbed interviewing the nuns who nursed him in the hope of finding evidence of misconduct to use against the saint.
In his Christmas message to the community the year of the Bertolucci trial, Swamiji wrote, âWe have so much to be grateful for. I wouldnât trade anything God has given us this year for some imaginary âbetter deal.â Spiritual growth comes as much through divine tests as through overt blessings â so much so that Iâm inclined to say, âWhat tests?â
âWhat we want from life is to grow closer to God. Nothing else â absolutely nothing else â matters. Speaking for myself, and I think for all of you, my love for Him is deeper than ever. So also is my faith.â -
[Listen to Asha read this story]
When he moved to India in November 2003, the transition was hard on Swamijiâs body. He took several bad falls, had a near-fatal case of pneumonia, persistent dehydration, and several episodes of congestive heart failure. His friends were deeply concerned, but Swamiji accepted it all cheerfully.
Once, when he was recovering in the hospital, a swami from Rishikesh visited. âI am so sorry to find you unwell,â the swami said sympathetically.
âDonât worry about me,â Swamiji replied with a smile, âthis is just tapasya to help get my Guruâs work going in India.â - Mehr anzeigen