Footprints In The Sand
De Simple Silence.
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[modifier] Don't Send Any Angels
Maui, February 1997
When I was in the Marines, I learned a lot of things I never had to use — thank God. But one thing I learned I’ll never forget.
When you want to get something done, you don’t mess around with the clerks or sergeants or lieutenants. You go right to the top — to the one who doesn’t have anybody else to pass the buck to.
So, Beloved, please don’t send me any angels. I’m sure they’re more beautiful than Yosemite in the springtime — and they have powers beyond my wildest dreams. But I’m not interested. I don’t want to be swept away by their unearthly loveliness or their supernatural feats. I’m waiting for the Head Man, thank you. You’re the One who got me into this, and You can get me out of it... in Your own good time.
Come and get me when You’re ready, Love.
When I’m ready.
I don’t mind waiting. I’ve got plenty to do.
Call me. You’ve got my number.
[modifier] Ecological Survey
In the fall of 1975, Richard Schekter drove up from Miami to visit us in Gastonia. That weekend we all went to Myrtle Beach to stay in our favorite cabin, the Lantern. While we were there, we got a message on Sunday morning that Elizabeth Patterson wanted to see Richard and me at her house.
When we got to Dilruba, Elizabeth, Kitty and Jane were waiting. Without preliminaries, Elizabeth asked me if I would drive to the Baruch Institute (a large facility owned by the University of South Carolina and Clemson University), and ask the director Dr. Wixby (not his name) to make an ecological survey of the 500 acres embraced by the Meher Spiritual Center. « This is virgin land, » Elizabeth said, « and of great historic importance. The old Kings Highway, which General George Washington traveled on, runs through the Center. »
I swallowed. « I’ve never met Dr. Wixby. »
« Then you need to. You know how to talk his language, don’t you ? You’ve worked in marine science ? »
« Yes, » I admitted, « and my friend Richard here » — I nodded to Richard — « still works as a marine biologist in Miami. But — «
« Excellent ! » she said. « Take Richard with you. » She handed me a large pen-and-ink rendering of the Center mounted on cardboard. « Show Dr. Wixby this map. And be sure to keep saying Baba’s name silently all the time. I’m sure everything will work out. »
« Have you ever spoken to Dr. Wixby about this ? » I asked.
« No, but I’ll call him now. » She telephoned, and got the director on the phone. « Dr. Wixby, » she said, « this is Mrs. Patterson at the center on the lakes north of Myrtle Beach. I’ve just been talking with two visiting scientists from the University of Miami, and they think we have a very special place here... from an ecological standpoint... virgin land... a high bluff and a series of fresh-water lakes behind the dunes... undeveloped ocean frontage... and I’ve asked them to stop in and see you this morning, if you can spare a few minutes. »
She paused. « Yes... yes. Dr. Stephens and Dr. Schekter. They’ll tell you all about it and show you a map. I think this is something that will interest you... All right, Doctor... thank you for seeing them. »
So Richard and I took the large map and got in the car and headed south. I was so busy saying Baba’s name that I didn’t want to talk, but every few minutes Richard would say something like, « Bill, what are you going to say to the man ? »
« I’ll say what Elizabeth said. »
« This is crazy, Bill ! He’ll throw us out on our ear. He doesn’t know us from Adam. This is not the way to get an ecological survey done. You need data... preliminary studies... photographs. Good God, all we’ve got is a hand-drawn map, not even to scale. It has no relationship whatever to the ecology of the region. » He went on and on.
I ignored him and kept repeating Baba’s name. I was just as nervous as he was, but I didn’t want to let him know it. When we got to the entrance to the Baruch Institute, we saw that the gate was locked, but a small shelter held a telephone and a list of phone numbers for staff members. I dialed the director and he answered the phone. I told him who we were, and he said he’d be right out.
Five minutes later he came out, wearing a look of irritation and disinterest, as if he was wondering why the hell he ever agreed to see a couple of strangers who were disrupting his Sunday morning.
I introduced Richard and myself to him and repeated what Elizabeth had said about the center being built on virgin land and the Kings Highway running through it.
He nodded. « A lot of people talk about virgin land, but usually it was cut back by the plantation owners before the Civil War. So it’s all second growth now. »
« I’m quite sure this is virgin land, » I said, « and it’s very impressive visually, with high bluffs over fresh-water lakes and a view of the ocean. Here’s a rough rendering of the area. »
He studied the map, and his eyes moved up to the large words at the top : MEHER SPIRITUAL CENTER. He looked at me suspiciously. « What kind of people go to this place ? »
« All kinds, » I said. « Psychologists, scientists, social workers, teachers, artists, students. » Silently I was still saying Baba’s name, as fast as I could float the words through my mind.
« And you really think it’s virgin land ? What’s the elevation ? »
« Some of the bluffs are 25 or 30 feet high. The lake is clean and unpolluted and has a large population of alligators, turtles and fishes, thousands of migratory coots, as well as herons, egrets, and often grebes and loons. Lots of deer in the woods, and apparently even bear. »
He smiled and said, « I’ll come up next Friday and take a look. It sounds interesting. Will you be there to show me around ? »
« I’m afraid not, » I said. « I’ve got to get back to my teaching job, but I’ll draw you a map showing how to get to Mrs. Patterson’s house. It’s on the edge of the Center, and you can walk in from there. »
« All right to bring a camera ? I might want to shoot a few pictures. »
« Certainly. It’s a very picturesque place. Bring your family, too, if you like. They’ll enjoy it. Mrs. Patterson will show you around. »
« I might do that. Thanks for telling me about this. »
« Don’t mention it. Our pleasure. Hope we see you again sometime. »
We got in the car and drove off. After a few minutes, Richard said, « I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been here. That was incredible ! I was sure he’d throw us out. »
« Me, too, » I admitted.
« That Elizabeth Patterson is one smart woman. »
« Yes, she is. Baba knows how to pick them, doesn’t He ? »
Well, the upshot of it was that Dr. Wixby did indeed schedule an ecological survey, and the results were very helpful to the Center years later, when developers and local politicians tried unsuccessfully to take some of the Center’s land.
That Baba is something else, isn’t He !
[modifier] When My Clients Hear Voices
As a young Tennessee lawyer during the early ‘50s, I was aggressive, flamboyant and alcoholic. Consequently I made a mess of my life, as well as my practice. Peggy and I, in an effort to save our marriage and my sanity, with one son in school and another on the way, moved to Florida to be near the ocean and to write. We stuffed everything we owned into a Buick station wagon and drove south, with very little money and no job prospects. (Even though I was an agnostic at the time, I must have believed in something.) For the next 20 years I worked on, around, and under the ocean. Somehow, during that period, by the grace of God I was caught in the big net of the Ocean of Love, and my life took on new meaning.
When after all those years Meher Baba pushed me back into law, I eventually found myself, at the age of 60, hanging out my shingle for the second time and starting a solo law practice in Tennessee. Soon, to my astonishment, I was busier than ever before, happy and fulfilled, representing the poorest of the poor and making a good living at it. All of my clients were disabled, and most were also indigent. About half had mental impairments in addition to severe physical limitations.
Some of my clients heard voices. Usually they were afraid to admit it, however. They had heard of people who lost their children or were committed to an institution because of behavior considered abnormal, abusive or otherwise unacceptable to the « protective services » arm of the bureaucracy. Chances are, they themselves had long been victimized by a system that penalizes people for being poor at the same time it holds back the benefits they desperately need and deserve.
I am an expert on how bad the system really is, and on how we can force the bureaucrats to follow their own rules (which they often choose to ignore). Therefore I can usually gain the confidence of my clients.
« All I want you to do is tell the truth, » I tell them. « I’m on your side, believe me. When we go to that hearing, the judge will see you for only an hour or so. I want him to realize that you’re a human being who has very severe problems. »
« Well, I’ve got problems, all right. »
I nod. « I know you do. But the medical record doesn’t show how bad they really are. Now, Ms. Johnson, you have rheumatoid arthritis and diabetes, and you’ve had surgery twice for ruptured discs. But you’re only 35 years old, and you’ve got a high school education. Your doctor says you can sit for six hours a day, so the judge may decide that you can do sedentary work. What will you say if the judge asks you why you can’t work as a receptionist or cashier ? »
« Well, I can’t be around people, for one thing. »
« Why ? »
« I get to shaking all over. I lose control of my bowels. Besides, I can’t get to work. I don’t have a car, and I’m too nervous to drive anyway. »
Maintaining eye contact, I say, « Ms. Johnson, this is a very personal question, but important. Has God ever spoken to you ? The mental health records say you told your counselor that God talks to you. Is that true ? »
She looks away. « They’ll lock me up. »
« No, they won’t. I promise. An administrative law judge doesn’t have the power to commit anybody. This is not a public hearing. Nobody will be in that room except the judge, a court reporter, a vocational expert and you and me. Nothing we say in that hearing will ever go outside that room. »
« He’ll think I’m crazy. »
« Good. I hope he does. That may win your case. Listen to me. I know very well that talking to God doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I talk to God all the time, and sometimes He answers back. But that’s a secret between you and me. I can’t go in that hearing room and tell the judge that I talk with God. That wouldn’t help your case at all. But you can. And if the judge thinks you’re crazy, it’s the best thing that can happen. »
So she opens up and tells me everything. And when we get to the hearing, she tells the judge how God appears to her and fills her soul with light. She explains how the voices of devils urge her to jump off the bridge or hurt people, but God always stops her from doing destructive acts. She also tells how, when she goes to the grocery store, she sees canned goods fall off the shelf when she walks by, and how once a box of Quaker Oats exploded when she looked at it. (Can you believe it ? Quaker Oats, the cereal endorsed by the Avatar Himself !)[1]
She was a tortured and lonely soul. But she loved God. And now she gets a disability check every month.
In the course of a year, our office will handle about three hundred claims for Social Security disability and SSI (Supplemental Security Income) benefits. And, by the grace of God, we win most of them. My staff consists of four Baba-lovers : attorney Ann-Douglas Tycer, our daughter Melani Stephens Jones, my wife Peggy and me. In addition, we have two devoted Jesus lovers of a very special breed — David Coleman and Alice Chatman, who are very comfortable with Meher Baba — and also a young woman, Jody Warrick, who often has very interesting dreams of Meher Baba. Pictures of Meher Baba (and other great Masters) are all over the place, and many of our clients and former clients keep « Don’t Worry Be Happy » cards on their mirror or refrigerator at home.
I should explain that we don’t usually mention Meher Baba’s name to our clients. Unless they ask, I never attempt to explain who He is. But when they come to the office for an interview, I am often prompted to hand them a Baba card. I say something like « Here’s a little card I want you to have. I’ve got one just like it on the mirror at home and, believe me, it really helps me get through the day. » They look at the card closely and then they usually smile broadly and keep smiling all the way out the door. Sometimes they phone later and ask for another card for a friend.
Every day in our office Meher Baba carries us through problems that, before Baba, might have been crises of devastating proportions. Baba truly turns every key and opens every door. As long as we can keep ourselves out of the way, things move along very smoothly. Every time I get a telephone call, I pause and give it to Baba before answering. And when the caller’s problem is extremely serious (she is suicidal or about to be put out on the street), I pause again and seek Baba’s counsel. Somehow He always seems to give me the right words to say.
One of the most important things I’ve learned is that when Baba tells us He is with us all the time, He really means it. He means He is there every moment, no matter what’s going on or where we are. Therefore, the least we can do is to acknowledge His presence. (Not necessarily to others, but to Baba. Show Baba we know He is there.)
Nowadays I seldom go to court — I putter around in my shorts and sandals while Ann and David and Alice do the court appearances. But during all those years when I went to court frequently, I always placed an empty chair beside me at the counsel table, and I silently asked Baba to take a seat as I held the chair for Him. I always placed Baba’s chair between the client and me, so when I questioned my client, Meher Baba was in the middle of each exchange.
After taking a seat, I’d pull my chair up close to Baba’s and place my arm on the arm of Baba’s chair. In my mind, I was putting my hand on Baba’s hand. If the hearing went poorly, or if I got stuck, I’d lean over and rest my arm on Baba’s and ask silently, « What do we do now, Baba ? »
Often I’d immediately get a glimpse of Baba raising one hand in His familiar sign of perfection, and I knew everything was all right and I could relax. Sometimes, at that moment, He would remind me of something I should stress in my closing argument. Once I had a difficult case in which the proof was skimpy and my client seemed too frozen with fear to elicit sympathy. I was stumped and didn’t see any way to loosen her up or to win the case. So I leaned over and consulted my Senior Partner.
Baba prompted me to ask one last question. « Ms. Hill, is there anything else you want to tell the judge ? »
« Yes, there is, » she said, leaning forward and staring hypnotically at the judge. The floodgates opened, and with fire and tears and heartbreaking eloquence she told of the inner turmoil, confusion and pain she’d endured without respite for seven long years. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
When she finished and sat quietly, eyes closed, breathing deeply, the judge said softly, « Ms. Hill, I’m awarding you disability benefits. »
Baba had pulled my chestnuts out of the fire again.
What an Avatar ! What a Divine Beloved ! What a Partner ! What a Friend ! How did I ever survive without Him ?
[modifier] Krishnaji
One day in 1978, while we were living in North Myrtle Beach, Kitty Davy phoned to say, « Oh, Bill, would you like to stop by this morning about ten ? »
« Why-yes. I’ll be glad to, Kitty, » I said.
« A man from India will be here. They call him Krishnaji. Elizabeth thought you might want to meet him. »
« Krishnaji ? Is he the man who went with Baba on some of His mast tours ? »
« Oh, no. That was Krishna. This man Krishnaji stayed with Baba for only a short time. He was there in 1954, when Baba held a big sahavas for the men. It was known as the ‘three incredible weeks.’ I’m sure you’ve seen the film narrated by Darwin Shaw ? »
« Yes, of course. We saw it last night in the meeting place. »
« Oh, yes, it was shown by special request of Krishnaji—or, rather, of his companion—the lady who speaks for him. »
« He doesn’t speak English ? »
« He doesn’t speak. » She hesitated, then added, « He’s on a vow of silence, I understand. »
« Really ? Did Baba put him on silence ? »
After a pause, she said, « You might ask Krishnaji that question. I’ve got to ring off now. We’ll see you promptly at ten. » There was a click as she hung up. When I got to Dilruba, Kitty let me in, and I took a seat in the living room with Elizabeth Patterson and Jane Haynes. While we waited for the visitors to arrive, Kitty bustled around in the kitchen making tea. Elizabeth told me that Krishnaji and his companion had arrived in Myrtle Beach the day before. The lady had telephoned and requested that the Center program include the film of the three incredible weeks, in which Krishnaji is shown several times standing beside Meher Baba. The lady also asked that Krishnaji be pointed out on the screen to the audience at the meeting place, and that they be informed that Krishnaji was in Myrtle Beach carrying on Meher Baba’s work.
I interrupted. « Yes, I was there last night. While the film was being shown, somebody—Walter or Jeff, I think—spoke up and called our attention to Krishnaji standing by Baba and some of the mandali. Krishnaji had long hair and a beard. But I didn’t see him there at the meeting place. »
« He wasn’t there, » said Jane Haynes. « For some reason he didn’t come onto the Center. However, the lady who travels with him was there. She especially wanted to see Krishnaji on the screen with Baba. »
« I think they just pulled up, » said Elizabeth Patterson, looking out the window at a red Cadillac that stopped next to the front porch. « Jane, would you please show them in ? We’ll have tea on the back porch. »
Krishnaji had changed a lot in the 24 years since the film was shot, I noted. He was heavy and balding, and he grunted, hissed and groaned while he moved his hands vigorously in a jerky and ungraceful distortion of Meher Baba’s fluid movements. His American companion watched him adoringly while she interpreted his gestures. »We are very happy to be here, » she said, keeping her eyes on Krishnaji as he puffed and sweated as though the process of giving birth to silent words was quite exhausting. « For many years Baba has looked forward to visiting you dear ladies who were so close to Baba’s revered Master Meher Baba. »
« Baba ? He calls himself Baba ? » said Elizabeth.
The lady smiled shyly. « We call him Baba. His followers do. He doesn’t ask us to, but we do. I understand it’s traditional in the East for the chargeman of a Perfect Master to take the Master’s name. »
« I see, » Elizabeth smiled. « Will you join us for tea ? » She led the way to the screened-in back porch overlooking Long Lake and the ocean beyond. After Kitty and Jane had served us tea, Elizabeth said softly, « Meher Baba is the Avatar, and the Avatar doesn’t have a chargeman. »
Krishnaji began gesticulating forcefully, and the lady was breathing hard as she tried to understand the meaning of his signals. « Meher Baba told me we were standing under the toddy palm at the house at... » (he paused to spell out the next word with agonizing slowness, twisting his hands and fingers into grotesque shapes, while emitting grunts, hisses, and wheezes) « P-I-M-P-A-L-G-A-0-N Village Eruch was there Pendu was there Meher Baba said obey me without question and no complaint and all I have will be yours you will have the pearl beyond price. »
Elizabeth smiled and nodded. « Will you have some sugar for your tea, Mr. Krishnaji ? » She passed the sugar to him. « And did you obey Him implicitly ? »
Krishnaji grinned and nodded his head, and his shoulders shook with laughter as he put three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and stirred briskly. Taking a long sip, he resumed his hand movements and growling sounds while the lady translated. « God has blessed my parents with wealth and position and a large estate in the south of India. Meher Baba told me to go north to Srinagar and beg for my food for 24 days not to touch money and not to touch any female regardless of age during that time. »
He paused to swallow more tea. Rolling his eyes and rocking his head back and forth, he continued his elaborate gestures and guttural snorts. « I followed Baba’s orders religiously. Every month for a year my father, who is a licensed aviator flew me in his private airplane to Srinagar and for two days while my father went tiger hunting or carried on business interests I begged for my food. »
I said, « Where did you sleep at night while you were begging in Srinagar ? »
His owl-like face grinned impishly as his shoulders again shook with merriment. His hands began their jerky motions and the lady said, « My father insisted on paying for a hotel room so I would not have to sleep on the street he would not allow that. »
« However, you did beg for all your food—as Baba ordered ? » He rocked his head in affirmation and gestured : « Yes, of course I followed Baba’s orders to the letter. »
« So you weren’t able to eat at the hotel ? »
He slapped his knee as though he had heard the funniest joke imaginable. « Each night at the hotel after I took a bath I went to the kitchen with my begging bowl and the cook very graciously filled the bowl for me. »
I looked at Kitty and Elizabeth and Jane. Each of them had a polite expression of interest on her face, and no one made any comment.
Krishnaji’s companion said, « May I show you some of the gems and jewelry we are distributing in America ? »
« Of course ! » said Elizabeth graciously. « We are very interested in seeing them. »
« I’ll get them from the car, » said the lady. « I would be happy for you to have our business card. » She handed a card to each of us. In red engraved script on the card were the words « Ruby Cup International. » Below were the words, « Worldwide Distributors of Precious Gems. » Addresses in both India and America were shown. The lady was listed as president, while Sri Bhagawan Krishnaji was « Chairman of the Board and Spiritual Advisor. »
She returned from the car with a large suitcase, which she opened on the table, and we all stared at the contents. The suitcase was crammed with diamonds, emeralds, rubies, amethysts, pearls, you name it, each in its own transparent box. She took out a gigantic ruby that was shaped like a teacup, and was almost as large, and she let each of us hold it. « Our company is named for this prize paragon, » she said. « It is the largest ruby in the world and has been appraised at 790,000. »
« Quite nice, » said Elizabeth Patterson as she held it briefly and passed it to Kitty, who said « Yes » and handed it to Jane, who nodded and handed it to me. I gave it back to the lady, who removed other impressive jewels, describing their origin, source and value. Most of the gems were set in rings, necklaces or brooches of gold, silver or platinum.
Elizabeth said, « Well, you have a long way to drive if you expect to reach Washington today. I trust your jewelry is adequately covered by insurance. »
The lady nodded as she repacked the suitcase and closed it. « Lloyds of London has written a blanket policy of two hundred million pounds. However, these gems are irreplaceable. No insurance could possibly cover their true value. » She paused and smiled. « As long as Baba is with me, I have no fear. »
We all went outside with them and they put the suitcase of jewels in the trunk of the Cadillac. The lady helped Krishnaji into the car, and she got into the driver’s seat. She turned the car around and we all waved. As they drove away, Jane Haynes and I were both saying audibly, BabaBabaBabaBaba BabaBabaBabaBabaBabaBabaBabaBabaBaba. I couldn’t hear Elizabeth and Kitty, but I believe they were saying Meher Baba’s name too.
[modifier] The Day Of The Double Rainbows
My prayer was interrupted as an Indian man came reverently into the Samadhi and knelt, placing two 8 x 10 photographs at the foot of the marble slab. One photograph was of Meher Baba as He lay in state in the crypt in 1969 ; the other was of Hazrat Babajan, the ancient female Perfect Master who in 1913 unveiled the God-man by kissing Merwan Sheriar Irani on the forehead.
I realized that the man who placed the photographs at Meher Baba’s feet was Bal Natu, one of Baba’s close disciples. Two men accompanied Bal, and after they all paid their respects to Meher Baba and Babajan, they put garlands of roses on the tomb. Following the men’s example, I too paid obeisance to Meher Baba and Babajan, and then I left the Samadhi.
Late that afternoon, shortly before sundown, Peggy and I left the Pilgrim Center at Lower Meherabad and walked up Meherabad Hill. After crossing the railroad track that separates Upper Meherabad from Lower Meherabad, we happened to turn and look behind us. To our surprise, we saw a spectacular double-rainbow holding all of Lower Meherabad in its full 180-degree arc. As we ascended the hill, we stopped from time to time to look back ; and each time we observed that the rainbow’s colors had increased in intensity.
Reaching the top of the hill, we stood outside the Samadhi admiring the spectacle, along with Marge Liboiron, Cynthia Llewellyn, Dagmar Lai and a few other awe-struck pilgrims. By this time, the rainbow had become the most vivid manifestation of aerial color we have ever witnessed. For at least 30 minutes—until darkness obscured its colors—the rainbow was a dazzling display in which all seven colors of the spectrum were clearly visible.
That evening Marge Liboiron, who lived and worked at Meherabad, checked the date in her Meher Baba calendar and informed us that September 21 was the anniversary of the date Hazrat Babajan dropped her body in 1931. Marge also told us that, before she saw the rainbow that afternoon, she had been sitting inside the shelter at the Samadhi, talking silently to Meher Baba. She was saying : « Baba, why do we never have rainbows at Meherabad ? We have rain but no rainbows. Why can’t we have a rainbow ? » At that very moment, she heard our nearby voices talking excitedly about the aerial display we were witnessing. Coming out to look, Marge was astounded to behold the instantaneous fulfillment of her wish...
For me, the rainbow at Meherabad has great personal significance for still another reason. That night Meher Baba began the process of granting the prayer I made to Him in the Samadhi that day—that He would open and enlarge my heart. Next morning early when I awoke, unusual activity was talking place inside my heart. I felt as though the Divine Beloved was performing some kind of spiritual surgery in my heart. I experienced exquisite, heart-wrenching sensations—as though the Beloved was probing, penetrating and stretching my heart. At times the « operation » was so excruciating that I actually cried out—in ecstasy, not pain. Later I felt as if He had struck a match and lit a fire within the heart which was consuming old desires. The experience peaked with the upwelling of a fountain of bliss from the depths of my being. I wanted it never to end ; and when it finally did, I prayed for the Beloved to come again soon to continue the process.
The Beloved is infinitely compassionate. I know I will never forget the day of the double rainbows—one for Meher Baba and one for Hazrat Babajan—which were like God’s loving arms, outstretched to hold all of us at Meherabad in their grasp.
[modifier] Moments And Lifetimes
Meher Baba tells us that dying is nothing to get excited about. We've done it thousands and thousands of times. Millions, probably. At least, we hope so. In « God Speaks », Baba explains that each individual goes through 84 lakhs (8,400,000) of human lives. Dying, He says, is like going to sleep at night and waking up in a new body.
Well, that sounds simple enough. The hard part, I imagine, is getting used to a new vehicle and learning to operate the plumbing, locomotive and steering mechanisms. Not to mention the two-way communication system, which some of us never master.
The rest of it should be a breeze since we've done it so many times. But for some reason it isn't a breeze. Somehow we manage to screw up our lives so thoroughly that we actually consider junking the vehicle and getting a fresh start. After millions of false starts, aborted missions, and totaled vehicles, we still think a "fresh start" is the answer! Talk about slow learners!
I wonder if we might benefit by simulating short-term lifetimes as a learning experience. The process might help us remember what we're here for and how to get out of this mess.
We might start by thinking of each day as a separate lifetime; each morning a new beginning and an opportunity to get it right this time; to live our allotted span of about 16 hours of wakefulness while trying hard to help more people than we hurt; remembering the Beloved even when our lust, greed or anger buttons are being pressed. If we can do the very best we are capable of for one day, we can probably lie down to sleep assured of having lovely heaven-state dreams (instead of hellish nightmares) and awake in the morning to another brand new beginning in which we are closer to God than we were the day before.
But since we live 84 lakhs of human lifetimes, we're not getting very far by living only 365 simulated lifetimes a year. Even Kitty Davy, who lived in Baba's Love to the ripe age of 100 years and 97 days, lived only 36,622 days as Kitty. So if each of those 36,622 days is considered a lifetime, it's still just a minute portion of her career as a human being. (Of course, Kitty might possibly have completed 8,399,999 lifetimes prior to her last one, so we don't have to feel sorry for her!)
But using Kitty as an example nonetheless, and factoring 16 hours a day of wakefulness into the equation, we see that Kitty experienced something over a half-million hours of wakefulness in her 100 years. So if each of Kitty's waking hours were considered to be a complete lifetime, it still would not come anywhere near the total of 8,400,000. In fact, if we divide Kitty's long life into 8,400,000 segments, we arrive at four minutes being roughly equivalent to a lifetime. Since, however, the average lifetime is much shorter than 100 years, we might reasonably consider each seven-minute segment to be equivalent to a lifetime.
Each period of seven minutes spent thinking of God, and doing His work, may be of incalcuable importance in determining what will happen, or what our mental state will be, in succeeding seven minute segments.
Every moment, then, is precious, and every single thought is significant in that it plays a part in determining our future thoughts, words and deeds. Every thought, in essence, affects our life — so affects all future lives. And since thoughts are self-perpetuating, the serious seeker must find a way to either extinguish them or render them harmless.
Since time immemorial, Masters have told us ways of doing this. One method that appeals to the intellect is the jnana method of the great sage Ramana Maharshi (who Baba said was a Perfect Master). Seek the origin of the thought. Trace it back to its source. Ask who it is who has the thought. Each thought chased back to its origin (from which the I-thought emerged from the Infinite) will bring us closer to knowing who in fact we are.
Ramana Maharshi's approach requires constant dedication and vigilance. Meher Baba's approach, on the other hand, is available to all, regardless of intellect: Love God and try to remember Him no matter what we are doing. Each morning give Him all our thoughts, words and deeds — and again at the end of the day. He has promised us that if we do this every day, honestly and sincerely, He will take all responsibility for our thoughts, words and deeds. What better bargain can we find anywhere? If we honestly accept His offer, it doesn't matter how many lifetimes we still have to live, and whether each one lasts 100 years or 100 seconds. Every moment spent in His presence is worth hundreds of years of earnest seeking without Him.
If we constantly and consciously give everything to our Beloved, we grow, with each surrender, closer to the Beloved. Eventually we become His true lover. With each surrender, our will becomes more fully His will. Our love becomes His love, and we share His beauty and His grace.
Jai Baba! May every thought, word and deed be submerged in His Infinite Ocean of Love.
[modifier] Surrender
I stood on the hard shoulder of the M11, in the dark, watching my car, full of valuable possessions, go up in flames. I felt very calm and detached. There was nothing more I could do. The fire-engine and the police car were on their way. The flames took a firm hold and engulfed the car. I stood and watched, taking Baba's name, and hoping it would not explode and harm a passing car. Eventually it was all over; the firemen and the police had come and gone, and the RAC had taken away the burnt-out shell and delivered us home. All was well.
Later I reflected on this incident. How easy it was to surrender in the face of such a drama. Yes, Baba, thy will be done. What made it so easy was the inevitability of it. Once I had done all I could there was nothing to do but wait and accept the outcome. I was reminded of the time I put my mother on the train after a visit; before I could get off, it started and did not stop for another 150 miles! After an initial moment of panic I became very calm; calm enough to deal with my mother who was, by then, panicking enough for both of us.
Further reflection made me realise how much more difficult it is to achieve such surrenderance when it comes to the ordinary little day-to-day occurrences of life. I find that I can so easily become anxious, frustrated and angry over the slightest thing. My less-than-accepting reactions display a simple failure to recognise that Baba has placed me in this situation, and deal with it creatively. Instead my responses indicate an attitude which says in effect, 'I want things to be other than they are,' thus reveal an ego-rebellion which demands that things should be as I want them to be.
Baba, of course, in his infinite understanding and compassion, does not let me linger in the luxury of guilt, so I will not punish myself for my 'constant failures to think speak and act according to Thy Will.' But it would be nice to think that one day I may be able to accept life's little foibles with the same equanimity with which I watched my car burn.
[modifier] Growing Older With Baba
In the year 2000 I shall become a senior citizen, complete with pension and bus pass, and my quota of three score and ten years will not be all that far off. I know that this is not very old at all by today's standards, but it is interesting to note how these age decades are often landmarks in our journey and give rise to reflections about oneself and life. At twenty the indulgences of the teens must be left behind; at thirty we can no longer kid ourselves we are kids; at forty, either it is really time now to join the grown-ups, or perhaps life is just beginning to start all over again! At fifty we have had, or are just about to have, our mid-life crisis; at sixty? — well, at sixty we are certainly getting nearer the end than the beginning... of this life! seventy and eighty I know not of, yet.
Ageing of course has many disadvantages; the body begins to slow down and function less well. But ageing is a relative process and these days one can see many a sprightly senior citizen jogging along the path of eternal youth. And we need only to think of some of the remarkable individuals who continued to serve their Beloved Meher Baba with vigour well into their eighties and nineties.
Since the 1960s when young people became an economic force to be reckoned with, there has been a tendency to worship at the shrine of youth, and the pursuit of happiness tends to be defined in terms of what is desirable for a young person. (Was it not Pete Townshend who wrote 'I hope I die before I get old'?). It is not unusual to find many an older person reluctant to let go of the image of themselves as youthful; in fact they are positively encouraged in all the media to continue to chase the dreams of a youth-dominated material world.
And why not, one might say. From a worldly point of view there is nothing wrong with staying healthy and active in order to enjoy the good things in life for as long as possible. For myself however, as years go by I find that I have a declining interest in those things which the worldly-minded aspire to.
There is of course nothing unusual about that. For many people there is a steady diminution of wants and desires which comes naturally with advancing years.
But at times it can be confusing. As I watch TV and read newspapers and magazines I am confronted with an array of things deemed to be desirable, and for a moment I may catch myself thinking, 'oh, that would be nice', or 'I would like to have one of those', or 'wouldn't it be good to go there, do that, with someone like that!' But almost immediately, as I listen to my inner self I realise that this is not what I really want at all; it is merely a knee-jerk reaction belonging to an earlier stage of my life. The truth is that these things no longer have the attraction and importance which they once had for me.
But all the same doubts begin to creep in and I start to question if it is right for me to feel this way. Is there something wrong with me? Shouldn't I be out there living a fully active social and cultural life? If I do not will I be left on the scrap-heap? Perhaps I should get myself some therapy?
This is where Meher Baba comes into the picture. As I look at the ways in which my appetite for the things of this world is dwindling, and put that into the context of Meher Baba's teachings about the importance of detachment on the spiritual path, I begin to feel better about my reluctance to join in the mania to remain forever young. In fact I see the ageing process not as something negative, something to be pushed back like Canute's tide, but as something to welcome, because detachment happens naturally. This does not mean that I can allow myself to become complacent or to relax my efforts to challenge the destructive patterns of my sanskaric heritage, but as I grow older with Baba, I rejoice to discover that the wish for the satisfactions of wants is slowly being overtaken by a longing to long for my life to come in tune with Baba's Wish, which is the wisdom of my deepest inner self. It is a tiny glimpse of the liberation which we shall all feel when we are finally no longer slave to our desires.
William (Bill) M. Stephens. Published by Oceanic Press, Nashville, Tennessee. © 1997 Oceanic Press
[modifier] Notes
- ↑ Meher Baba once told a wonderful story of a mother who went to the store to purchase Quaker Oats for her child. One box of Quaker Oats is like any other, Baba said, but any mother would naturally prefer to buy the fresh stock. It is the same, Baba said, with the different manifestations of the Avatar. Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, Meher Baba — they are all the same. There is no difference. However, Baba added, « I am the fresh stock. »
