Our Constant Companion

De Simple Silence.

Contents 1 The One Who Is Always Listening ! 2 Baba's Calling Card 3 Baba's Way 4 Once Upon A Log 5 Elephant Walk To God 6 A Pinch Of Salt 7 He Made Me Do A Good Job 8 Wrestling With God 9 Dynamite Dan 10 The A To Z Of Spirituality 11 Wheels Within Wheels

[modifier] The One Who Is Always Listening !

Heather Nadel

In April of 1971, I fell headlong into Meher Baba’s net at His center in Myrtle Beach, S. C. ; in June I was in California, full of happiness and joy at starting a « new life » with Him. My home at the time was a converted barn on a hillside overlooking Palo Alto ; I shared the upper floor with several friends, and the first floor was home to several horses, and lots of hay and straw.

On one fateful day in mid-June, a month and a half after I had come to Baba, I spent my morning preparing a « Father’s Day » card for my dad, who lived a few miles away. This year I wanted the card to be really unusual — I was making a batik and I had just finished it and hung it out to dry, when I suddenly decided it needed one more color. Batik work requires melted wax and in the rush to finish it quickly, I did not reheat the cooled wax over warm water, as one is supposed to, but put the wax vessel directly on high heat and then ran out of the kitchen for a moment.

When I returned, imagine my horror to see that the wax had exploded into flame ! In a moment I calculated the immense danger — the pot was on the stove next to a window ; if the curtains caught fire, flames would shoot up to the low ceiling, the wooden barn would ignite like a matchstick, and the animals below, the straw, our belongings, the barn, the whole dry hillside would be set on fire ! In spite of my panic I remembered that you cannot put out a wax fire with water, so I grabbed the pot handle and swung the pot away from the curtains. The force of the swing propelled the flaming wax out of the pot and straight into my face.

What a moment before had been an emergency was suddenly a nightmare — I was on fire ! I ripped off my glasses (covered with cooled wax) and turned to see the flaming pot fall into a heap of newspapers in front of the doorway to the stairs down — the only exit was blocked. I turned and raced across the room to the huge plate glass window opposite. The wax, cooled on my skin, was sealing in intense heat, my hair was on fire, and I was in a complete panic — I banged on the window for dear life.

One floor below me, sunbathing in the mild morning sun was a friend of a housemate ; I had just met him that morning and we were the only two at home. As I banged on the window I began screaming his name, « Fred ! Fred ! » It seemed incredible that while I had a full view of Fred leisurely enjoying his sunbath, he could not even hear me. I glanced at the house above our lot — perhaps someone there ? — no, too far away — I tried to smash the window so I could jump out and escape the burning barn — the plate glass was too strong.

Suddenly, in the midst of my calling, « Fred ! Fred ! » a humorous thought flashed across my mind : « I’m going to die with Fred’s name on my lips. » I stopped calling out and saw myself as if from a great distance in a charred heap in the corner of the ravaged barn. In that moment I realized that nothing in this world could save me — no one heard my cries, no one could hear — every avenue of escape was blocked. At last I turned with all my heart to the only One who might be listening and cried out, « Baba ! Baba ! Help me ! »

In an instant, I felt as though a bucket of shocking cold water had been dumped over me from head to toe. I felt completely cool, strangely calm, and realized that my hair had suddenly stopped burning. I stood perfectly still, and heard a voice inside my mind commanding, « Turn around and go out the door. » This was such an unexpected thought that for a moment I couldn’t comprehend it, until the voice repeated, « Turn around and go out the door. » I instantly turned and went towards what I thought would be an inferno. What I found was that the pot had landed upright and was flaming away in the middle of the pile of newspapers and books, without having ignited any of them. I rushed past it and out the door.

As I raced down the stairs, I met Fred rushing up, calling, « What’s wrong ? » He was not surprised to see my burned face and hair, but rushed past me into the upper room. The newspapers must have caught fire the moment I left, for Fred found a fire there that was now seriously threatening the house. He was hard pressed, but he put it out with calm and courage and then came out to take me to the hospital. On the way there, he said that while he had been sunning outside, he had been suddenly prompted to get up and rush inside the house — he couldn’t understand why, but he just felt that something was very wrong inside.

It was a morning for inner promptings ; I had been putting on my contact lenses when I first got up that day, and for some inexplicable reason felt compelled to put on my glasses instead. I tried to ignore the feeling — I always wore contacts in those days so my glasses were buried away in a trunk — but the feeling persisted so I had worn glasses. At the hospital the doctors classified the burns on my forehead, arms and legs as second degree, and said that I would have to have skin grafts on my nose and under my eyes. They went on to say that if I had not been wearing glasses at the time, I would have been permanently blinded as the full force of the wax fell on my eyes. Unfortunately, in addition to the skin grafts, I would also have permanent scars all over my face.

It was, as I said, a morning for inner promptings. At the same time, a thousand miles away in Oklahoma, my closest friend, and husband to be, Erico, intuitively felt that something serious had just happened to me and he flew to California by the first plane. It was he who made me apply Vitamin E to my burns (a then unknown therapy) after my daily treatments at the hospital. Three months later, the doctors, looking at my face, called mine a miracle cure — no skin grafts were required and I do not have a single scar from that accident. I was given strong painkillers for the first week, but I never took one as I never had any pain.

The moral of the story ? Well, I suppose one can say Beloved Baba gives us trials by fire. But the rain of His grace and His help is like no other on earth — when in trouble, call on the One who is always listening ! He never fails to respond.

[modifier] Baba's Calling Card

Shelley Marrich

I first learned of Meher Baba in 1973, and visited India shortly thereafter. Not long after I returned to the United States, I ran into difficulties.

I spent several days in conflict wondering what to do ; I finally decided that the reason I was having problems was because I didn’t know how to love Baba. I remembered having seen a poster at the Meher Spiritual Center in Myrtle Beach entitled « How To Love God, » with some suggestions by Meher Baba as to how to do so. I felt that if I could get that poster, my problems would be solved.

My first impulse was to go to the Center. I then decided to write to someone there to send me a copy. I became consumed with the desire to obtain this poster ; I knew it contained what I most needed to heal the ache within me.

During this period I had for some time been taking a class in hatha yoga with some friends. The woman who taught the classes had an affinity for many spiritual masters, including Meher Baba. Placed around her house were booklets and cards concerning these masters.

After each class, she would always serve tea. One particular night I went to the bathroom as soon as the class was over. When I returned, everyone was already gathered, seated in a circle around the tea tray. There was one spot left on the floor, right next to a built-in cabinet and bookshelf.

As I wove my way through the people, I noticed that a card had fallen from the bookshelf onto the floor in the very spot that was open for me. Before sitting down, I picked up the card and turned it over, thinking to replace it on the shelf. To my utter surprise and joy, it was a small reproduction of that poster, « How To Love God. » I sat down and wept, overcome with the love and attention I felt from Baba in that beautiful gesture.

[modifier] Baba's Way

'Bill Cliff

In early summer of 1982 I had a strong inclination to quit my job at the end of August and return to college in the fall. At the same time, however, two of my close friends, both in their seventies, decided to journey to India in September and began to drop hints that my company would be appreciated on this long trip. Moreover, I sensed that Baba would be pleased if I did accompany them. As I was not really « feeling” the urge to go to India at this time, quite a conflict developed in my mind.

One day, in the midst of this inner turmoil, as I was driving along a busy street, the following thought occurred to me : « Oh Baba, you really do take away all our little props and supports and leave us with nothing left to hold on to except you. » At this very instant my gaze struck an old bus parked at a garage. In the space above the windshield where one can usually read the destination of the bus were printed two words in big capital letters : MY WAY.

[modifier] Once Upon A Log

Brian Narelle

One chilly day I sat alone near the water’s edge on the remote shoreline of Point Reyes, California. I’d found a large driftwood log to sit on and was relaxing in a meditative state of mind. I thought of Baba’s words, « I am the Ocean of Love. » With that thought in mind, I decided to breathe in deeply to try to inhale as much of that ocean as possible.

No sooner had I done that than a big wave washed up nearby. Its water curved around and approached the log from behind. I spotted it just in time to sit sideways, with my feet up on the log so my shoes wouldn’t get wet. My success was short-lived, however, as the water tipped my log, and me with it, right into the sea.

It was a rude awakening. I climbed back into the beach on hands and knees, sopping wet and full of sand. I found myself alone, yet laughing heartily at my own plight. Rarely have I felt Baba so close : I imagined Him turning pink and bouncing up and down with delight at my « spiritual » undertaking.

[modifier] Elephant Walk To God

Nancy Wall

An elephant is neither the most common nor the most practical choice when one is looking for a means of transportation. The slow, deliberate steps will, however, eventually take the passenger to a destination — given enough time. Such was my journey to the feet of the Master. Although I first heard of Meher Baba during the summer of 1971 and, despite many subsequent years of exposure — including several years of living in the same house with two Baba-lovers and a trip to Meherabad during the summer of 1979 — I remained unaffected. Or so I thought.

Then, in 1980, prompted by a close friend who is a Baba- lover, I wrote to Meherabad asking if it would be possible for me to direct the play for Mehera’s birthday the following year, never realizing the significance of that request. When I received a favorable response, I then applied for and received a professional development leave from the college where I teach.

In October, 1981, my friend and I set out, first for Kashmir and Nepal, then down through India to Meherabad. About a week before we reached our final destination, my friend commented that everything about the trip seemed to be going exactly according to my whim — if I wanted something to happen, it happened. I agreed that the trip had been extraordinary but gave little thought to his words until we reached Jaipur.

On our first afternoon there we took a rickshaw up to the Amber Fort, telling the driver not to wait for us, certain that we would be able to find another rickshaw when we were ready to leave. We spent a pleasant couple of hours exploring the fort, and on our way out I stopped to admire one of the elephants that are brought there daily to give rides to tourists.

My friend asked me if I wanted to ride. Although I did, I told him that I wasn’t about to climb on an elephant and ride around like a child in a pony ring. « I’d love to ride an elephant, » I said, « but the only way that will ever happen is if I have to ride one in order to get from one place to another, and that’s rather unlikely. » We walked back to the rickshaw stand in search of transportation, only to find that all the rickshaws were already taken. Our only apparent alternative was to walk to the town of Amber, a short distance, and catch a bus from there.

As we started back up the hill that leads to Amber, the elephant I had admired came lumbering slowly towards us, and again the malik (the owner), offered us a ride. I laughed and again said no, but when my friend, who had heard the offer more clearly than I had, convinced me that the man was willing to take us all the way back to Jaipur, we chased after him,

He led the elephant to a wall, which we used as a ladder, and we climbed onto the broad back. As we settled ourselves for the sixteen kilometer trip my friend nudged me and said, « Look, Baba wants you so much that He’s even provided you with an elephant. » I laughed, but the words kept coming back to me. As we rode slowly down the twisting canyon, arriving at the monumental gate to the fort just as a pink sunset was spreading over the distant pink city, I remembered other moments of the trip that had seemed particularly magical.

A few days later we arrived in Meherabad. What happened over the next two months is another story, but I left India knowing that Baba had stolen my heart. And although my response was to forms of wooing far more subtle than an elephant, the process was slow — and perhaps, given my recalcitrance, a beginning as obvious as an elephant was appropriate.

[modifier] A Pinch Of Salt

Gokaran Shrivastava

I was a college student at Jabalpur between 1956 and 1964. In those days a semi military training programme, called N.C.C. (National Cadet Corps) was compulsory for all college students. I was a cadet in the Armored Corps whose national center is located at Ahmednagar. During our short winter vacation, in ‘58, ‘59, and ‘60, we were taken to Ahmednagar for 15 days’ training. December 1960 was the last chance for me to visit Ahmednagar as a N.C.C. cadet and I never knew what a drastic change this would make in my life.

One day, during this last visit to Ahmednagar, we were taken to the Pimpalgaon water reservoir for practical training in map reading. No one among the group of over 500 cadets and instructors knew that we had come very close to the residence of God in human form. Since we were there for the whole day, our lunch was brought out to us. Everyone was tired and hungry so they immediately started doing justice to their lot, but I was a little different from the others.

From my childhood I had a habit of putting extra salt on my plate whether or not it was actually required. True to this nature, I asked for extra salt from the men distributing the food after I had gotten mine. When they could not provide me with any, I was extremely upset and could not start eating my food. All the others were enjoying their lot and also laughing at my plight of not being able to start eating just for want of a little pinch of extra salt. At this point I noticed a bungalow across the fields and decided to beg for the salt there. My whole attention was focused on getting salt and all other things ceased to exist for me.

So, I crossed the fields and reached the gate of the bungalow in no time and asked a man at the gate to give me a pinch of salt which he gladly did. I was so ungrateful and unconcerned about other things that at that time I never bothered to enquire about the place. I wanted salt and I got it so I was happy. I came back to my group, ate the food and forgot the incident. Within two to three days, our training was over and we went back to Jabalpur by the end of December 1960.

On the 1^st of January, 1961, our college reopened and the very first day I happened to meet one of my botany professors, Dr. S. Bhatnagar. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I asked him to permit me to come to his house in order to get some of my Botany difficulties solved. He readily agreed to my request and the same evening I found myself at his gate. He very lovingly took me inside his sitting room which was very simple and had (as I recall) only one large photo hung on one of the walls. No sooner did I notice this photo than I was powerfully drawn towards it just as a piece of iron is attracted towards a magnet.

Now, from my childhood days, I had always had a very strong feeling that something was missing from my life. The photo in my professor’s room attracted me so intensely because I felt that it was the missing thing. Yet I asked myself, how can this be the missing thing ? It may be just a photo of my professor’s father. But the photo was so attractive that I tried to overlook this last thought.

In those days, the teacher-pupil relationship was such that I could not on that very first day ask my professor about the photo. The day passed, and my attraction to the photo grew stronger and stronger. I started to make it a practice to visit my professor’s house very often. Every time he would receive me gladly, thinking that at least he had one student who was very interested in his subject.

He never had the least idea that I was not visiting him solely study, but my main interest was to have at least a glimpse of that beautiful photograph. Because it would have been impolite for me to simply sit there and stare at the photo I used to occasionally ask my professor for a glass of water, so that when he left the room, I could gaze at the photo undisturbed.

A sort of hide and seek game was going on between my professor and me since he wanted to deliberately avoid telling me about the photo and I was interested only in learning about it. My professor was afraid that if I knew who the photo was of, I would give up my studies, so he decided that he would tell me about the photo only after I had completed my education. But destiny could not wait for such a long time.

One day I noticed a garland on the photo. For the first time I knew that the photo must be my professor’s guru and not his father as no one worships his father in this way. With this discovery, the beautiful figure in the photo became my guru as well. My professor was a very honest and sincere teacher and I felt that these qualities must be due to the grace of the guru whose photo was hanging on his wall. I made him my guru in the hope that he would inculcate in me the same qualities he had bestowed on my professor.

In spite of all this, I still did not know even the name of my guru. In this way, four months passed. Our college closed down for summer vacation and for two months my professor was out of town so I could not visit him. In July 1961 the college reopened and I took the first opportunity to visit him so I could quench my thirst for that mysterious photo which had been preoccupying my heart for the last six months.

That July my professor gave me the sad news that he was being transferred to another city. So I gathered my courage and asked him about the photograph. Straightaway he told me the photo was of Avatar Meher Baba. When he uttered the words, « Avatar Meher Baba, » my soul and my heart readily accepted Him as the Avatar.

I next asked where He lived. When I was told the place was Ahmednagar, I was extremely elated as I had visited that city thrice before knowing about Him. I was naturally curious to know the exact place in Ahmednagar so that I could find out whether I had ever been close to that place during my visits there. When my teacher told me that Baba lived some nine miles away from the town, near a reservoir, I asked my teacher if it was the Pimpalgaon reservoir. He said, « Yes, » but in wonderment asked me how I knew its name. I then told how I had visited there with the N C.C. I further asked whether Baba’s bungalow was the only residence in the vicinity of the reservoir. On getting a positive reply, I told him about the incident of my begging salt from that very bungalow.

Soon after knowing about Him, I wrote a letter to Baba which was very lovingly and promptly answered. His letter transformed my life completely and awakened more love in me to accept Him as my Master. Baba asked me to wait for the proper time for His darshan. The 1962 East-West Gathering was my first opportunity to have my Beloved Father’s darshan. Thus a pinch of salt begged at His threshold has brought me into the orbit of His sweet love.

[modifier] He Made Me Do A Good Job

John Mijac

Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to get a tattoo, and from the time I came to Meher Baba, I have wanted it to be of His face. Several years ago, having decided that it would not be offensive if executed properly, I set out to look for the best tattoo artist I could find. After much research I found that the man considered best in the field lived in my home town. I made an appointment and, after many hours and several test drawings, we arrived at a drawing that pleased us both. This was in May 1982. I was very concerned that the tattoo might not look like Baba at all, but after the artist understood the nature of my relationship to Him, he made every effort to see that the image produced was really in His image

Finally the day of no return came—after all the tattoo would be with me, good or bad, for the rest of my life—so, filled with trepidation, I walked into the shop. All the people there quit what they were doing to come and see the fellow trace the trial drawing on my chest (over the heart, of course). There was much discussion among the bikers, sailor types and employees about Baba and the funny guy in the chair who had come to put His face on his chest. So I launched into a long discourse about what a Master is and the return of the Avatar into our midst. Some found it very strange, but others found the idea intriguing and were very supportive. Nevertheless, I was still quite nervous about the results.

The needle was prepared and as the tattooist approached me, I was praying fervently that this was not a big mistake, that He would be pleased. Suddenly I became aware of the background music, and as I felt the needle inscribe the first line, I heard the radio play « Welcome to My World » (a song Baba enjoyed and made His by pantomiming the words as the song was played). I began to weep, and the tattoo artist ask me if it were really that painful. I assured him that it was not.

He took three times the usual time allotted for a tattoo of that size, to be sure it was just right, and after he finished he told me to take a look in the mirror. As I looked at Baba’s beautiful image etched indelibly over my heart, once again « Welcome to My World » began to play, assuring me that the Divine Beloved was not unhappy with the results.

I was told that since a tattoo is like a wound (to insert the dye one must open up the skin), I should expect the tattoo to scab over, remaining covered by that scab from one to two weeks.

I left the bandage on, as instructed, for the first two days, but when I removed it, I found that Baba’s face was perfectly healed, though all around the image (where the tape had been) my skin was covered with scabs. When I returned to the shop a few days later for a check-up, all were quite amazed by this fact except one of the assistants who had listened very carefully when I had spoken about Baba. She said, « Of course there is no scab. Baba wouldn’t want His face covered with scabs, so He moved them to where the tape was ».

Another fellow, who had not been there that day, exclaimed over the beauty of the tattoo and said, « I hope this ‘Baba fellow’ appreciates all the effort you have gone to to have his face put on your chest ; gee, you must love him a lot ! » Then the tattoo artist said, « I know he appreciates that tattoo ; I felt him here with me the whole time I was doing it. He made me do a good job. Say, I bet that’s why you cried when I started it, wasn’t it ? Because he cares so much ? » I said that it was.

[modifier] Wrestling With God

Philip Creager

In the autumn of 1975, I felt drawn to go to India. Although my life was quite happy from a material standpoint, I had become convinced that I must find God and live for Him alone. I read many books and also tried various "spiritual" disciplines, such as chanting, meditation and yoga. But I always found shortcomings in these practices and eventually I grew disenchanted with them.

I didn't completely understand why I felt pulled to go to India, but the urge grew stronger. I had a vague idea of meeting all the spiritual personages I could and asking them questions in the hope that in this way I might gain some wisdom which could help me in my own search. Yet I knew I wanted no part of a guru or a master.

I felt that those who followed others were spiritual weaklings, and that they became dependent on others because they didn't have the courage to find God on their own. Besides, although I was willing to concede that someone else might know more than me, I knew no one could know it all, as Perfection, or God, could not exist in human form since the human form was illusory.

Those were my feelings as I set out for India. I spent the first week sightseeing, but then my urge to find someone who could answer my questions became so strong that I pulled out my copy of « The Pilgrim's Guide to the Planet Earth » and studied it to see what ashram was closest to where I was at the moment. It turned out to be Meher Baba's Tomb in Ahmednagar.

Now I had heard bits and pieces about Baba since 1970, but I had diligently avoided reading about Him for two reasons. Firstly, I felt His claim to be God was the height of egotism. And secondly, I had heard that He was against drugs (which I used) and I felt personally offended at this attitude.

On the other hand, I had seen two photos of Baba and had been attracted by them. And I was impressed by the fact that He had kept silence for so many years. Also, a friend had told me just before I left for India that he knew someone who had gone to Baba's Tomb and that it was a very special place. So I thought, all in all it might be worth going there for an hour or so before heading off to visit some ashram with a spiritual leader who was still alive.

By the time my bus reached Nagar I had changed my mind, however, and decided to go straight on to Poona (Pune). But the bus seemed to have other ideas, for after pulling into the station for what was supposed to be a ten minute stop it didn't pull out again. It just sat there, with no explanation as to this long delay. Seeing that I wasn't getting to Poona anyway, I changed my mind again and got a rickshaw and told the driver to take me to Baba's Tomb.

He must have misunderstood for instead of taking me to the Tomb, he took me to Adi K. Irani's compound where he and the Avatar Meher Baba Trust had their offices. I was very upset, even angry, when I discovered that the Tomb was six miles in the other direction and that, as it was getting late, I would have to wait until the next day to visit it.

As long as I was there, though, I peeked into the Trust office and saw Rano Gayley, (one of Baba's early American disciples, then in her seventies) and Virginia Small (an American Baba-lover in her sixties) sitting there and I thought, "This is a place for little old ladies in sneakers." I amended this thought a moment later, though, when I saw the many Baba photos on the walls of Adi's office. "These people are fanatics!" was the thought which then occurred to me. And I decided to leave town the next morning without even visiting the Tomb.

But the next morning, I was too sick to even get out of bed, much less leave town, and so I ended up spending several days in Nagar. During this time, various Baba people came to visit me and I was struck by their kindness in visiting a stranger, while at the same time I was fascinated by what they were telling me about Baba. Still I had doubts in my heart and my mind was filled with questions, such as "What's a mandali and where is it?" for my visitors often remarked, "Wait till you see the mandali."

When I recovered enough to walk about, I went to Meherazad and I met Eruch. He said, "We've heard so much about you Philip, very happy to see you." and he embraced me. And in that embrace I felt so much love that something in my heart seemed to give way, I completely broke down and I knew my travels for the moment were over.

But although my heart felt Baba's love, my mind was still full of questions and I was determined to "prove" that Baba couldn't be God. I had been a wrestling champion in college and I was itching now to do battle with Baba, to find the "catch," but all my questions which I confidently threw out were easily answered by the mandali. And despite my skepticism I found myself constantly being touched by the stories they told. I was impressed with Baba's sense of humor, His humility and His love.

I was in a state of turmoil, where my heart and my head seemed in conflict. I had the sense that Baba was hitting me with one hand, but simultaneously cradling me with the other. I felt I had to get away. But each time I decided to leave, I would relent and stay for just one or two more days. Then, when I had finally made up my mind to go, I got sick again and was forced to stay. It seemed that I couldn't leave. And in fact, the only way I did eventually get to leave was by promising myself that I would return.

So I finally got away, intending to go to other ashrams around India. But now a curious thing happened; each time I tried to go to another ashram, something would prevent me. Buses never arrived, names and addresses I had been given turned out to be inaccurate, it was too expensive to get to an ashram, and so it went. I traveled throughout India and even Nepal and never once made it to another ashram, while at the same time I kept having experiences which convinced me that Baba was and is God in human form. There is no way I can describe the impact of this on me.

There was nothing to do but return to Ahmednagar. Having planned originally to stay for only one or two hours, I ended up staying in Ahmednagar for three and a half months! I came seeking, filled with questions and doubts; He emptied me of all this and, when I left, I left filled with His love. Truly I sought and did, indeed, find.

[modifier] Dynamite Dan

Jacko Caraco

The key to appreciating Meher Baba's sense of humor is to be able to laugh with Baba, but that is not always easy, especially when you are not sure you believe in Him. For example, take my brother Daniel's case.

In August 1975, I flew from the west coast to Boston to see him before I was leaving for India. When my plane landed, Daniel was not there to meet me. "He must be late," I thought, "yes, he hates to get up early." It was in one of the long exit corridors that I saw him being dragged into a room by two hefty plainclothes policemen. He saw me and feigned a smile and was gone behind a slammed door. What had happened was this.

A set of keys he had on him had triggered the alarm on the metal deterector. When the keys were discovered, the official at the gate said, "It's okay, you can go now." Dan happily responded, "I can go? DYNAMITE!"

He started to leave when suddenly from behind a fat hand grabbed him on the shoulder and asked in an angry voice, "What did you say?"

Daniel turned to see that the fat hand was attached to a fat arm which in turn had on the end of it a fat cop with a matching fat head! Daniel replied, "I said, it's time to go."

"No you didn't, you said dynamite!"

"Come on," said Daniel, "sure I said it but, it's an expression which means great. Terrific. Horray."

"Never mind, you're under arrest."

He was charged with the felony, "trying to cause fear and panic at the airport." It took all of Baba's help and remembrance, all day and $5,000 to bail Daniel out of the pen.

The whole family flew out three weeks later for the trial. The judge heard the charge, listened to the prosecution and after a few questions, threw the case out. What a relief!

Once more I prepared to fly to India. "Dynamite Daniel" took me to the airport, waved goodbye and said loudly, "Bye Jack, Bye Jack." I thought it sounded like he was saying "hijack!" and I told him, "Look brother, if they haul you away now, I'm not going to bail you out." He smiled and I left for India.

As a sequel to all this, some months later I received this letter from Daniel.

Dear Jack,

Happy birthday, bro.; belated for your receipt but in my heart. I'm keeping faith with the event so if Meher Baba is "hot stuff" as is claimed, then you certainly have already received the essential content of this letter...along with our August eventfulness and the subsequent $730 lawyer bill... I hope you have had words with Baba regarding his wastefulness of an individual's time and self direction; namely mine! (And that you have informed him as to how it is o.k. with you if he engages you with such pranks because you are a willing soul in the learning of one of life's more difficult lessons; smiling at whatever comes your way...but you chose the game and I didn't!)

So you speak to Baba since he exists for you, and also since I don't believe in him; but just in case I'm wrong, you tell him I'll be a lot more tolerant if he'll just stop bugging me!

Love, Daniel

[modifier] The A To Z Of Spirituality

Feram Workingboxwalla

Once, in the late '40s, a group from Karachi (Pakistan) had come to Meherabad. One evening Baba had come from Meherazad especially to be with His lovers. They were all assembled in the old Dharamshala building and were chatting and having a good time. I happened to be standing just in front of Baba. All of a sudden Baba asked me what I had learned from His contact of so many years. This unexpected thunder just reeled me and I felt as if I was being swept off my feet!

Luckily someone interrupted and began telling Baba something. I fervently prayed inwardly then that Baba would drop the question. But after a few minutes, Baba looked at me and wanted my answer. I don't know how but the words just tumbled out of my mouth:

"To do as Baba says!"

Hearing this, Baba remarked that I understood spirituality from A to Z and there was nothing left for me to learn!

[modifier] Wheels Within Wheels

Billy Baum

While eating dinner in a restaurant in Cambridge, Mass., I noticed that my waiter was wearing a pendant with a picture of someone on it. I asked who it was and for the first time in my life I heard the name Meher Baba. I talked to the waiter for over an hour as my curiosity had been aroused, but after leaving the restaurant I did not pursue the matter. Not long after that, however, my colleague in the psychology department at Harvard, B. F. Skinner, cleared out his office and put all of his "unwanted books" on a table in the seminar room near my office. Included among these discarded books was a set of the « Discourses » by Meher Baba. I recognized Baba's name and picked them up. Through reading the « Discourses », in fact, I came to Baba.

Years later, while in Myrtle Beach, someone who had heard the story told me the waiter was Scott Simmons and that he was on the Center. Scott told me he had spent a whole year in Cambridge, but it had been a complete waste of time as far as he could see. I quickly assured him that as far as I was concerned, his stay in Cambridge had been anything but a waste of time. One time, while recounting this story at the Center, someone spoke up, "Why, I'm the one who sent the set of « Discourses » to Skinner." My immediate response was, "You sent them to Skinner, but they were meant for me." And so Baba does His work. Spurning the supernatural, He uses the most ordinary details of everyday life — a pendant around someone's neck, some books sent, some books discarded — to orchestrate His divine drama.

Compiled by Bal Natu. © 1983 Bal Natu, AMBPPCT