Showers Of Grace
De Simple Silence.
[modifier] When Your Heart Truly Yearns
Freny R. Dadachanji
In the early ‘60s, Beloved Meher Baba use to spend the summers (mid-March to June) at Guru Prasad in Poona. Guru Prasad was the magnificent residence of the Maharani of Baroda. It had a grand entrance drive through beautiful gardens ; a portico leading up to wide verandas with marble floors. The front doors were tall and their glass work was etched with artistic designs. This palatial bungalow was a fit setting for the King of kings, Beloved Avatar Meher Baba. It was also very practical as it not only provided Him with a suitable hall that was large enough for Baba to use for His darshan programs. It was at Guru Prasad that, in my case, Beloved Meher Baba’s compassion allowed « the improbable to become possible. »
Two blocks away from Guru Prasad is Mobo’s Hotel. During the early ‘60s when Baba used to give darshan, the Dadachanjis and the Mistrys used to rent rooms at Mobo’s for the time Baba would be in Poona. On some mornings Baba would go for a drive or would visit one of His lovers and we used to stand at the gates of the hotel (which were on the road itself) just in case Beloved Baba drove by. When he did, in His love, He would stop the car and give us a smile or a hand to kiss. After some days, Baba asked that we remain on the terrace of the hotel and simply wave to Him as His car slowed down and then drove on.
After this extra and special glimpse of the Beloved, we would quickly get ready and go to Guru Prasad to await Beloved Baba’s return. We would all stand lining the sides of the grand curved portico, waiting for Baba’s car to slowly roll in and stop at the wide flight of stairs. Baba’s door would open and one of the mandali, or sometime, a strong Baba lover who was visiting, would put out his arm for Baba.
Baba would take the support and climb the few steps and then enter the hall of guru Prasad where He would seat Himself on the sofa. We would gather around, enjoying Beloved Baba’s sahavas. Sometime there would be a singing program, but it made little difference to us ; we just used to gaze in adoration at Beloved Baba until He lovingly dismissed us.
As the days went by, my heart started yearning, thinking, « How wonderful it would be if I could, once, help Beloved Baba up the steps. What joy it would be to touch Him ! » My heart knew how improbable, in fact impossible, this dream, this longing was ! With so many physically strong lovers around, and with Baba needing a really strong support, how could I even be noticed.
One fine morning, as we lined up. Beloved Baba’s car rolled in, stopped, the door opened and Baba looked straight at me and beckoned. But I did not respond, thinking Baba wanted someone standing behind me. In my wildest imagination the thought did not come that Baba was fulfilling my heart’s desire.
He beckoned again and this time I turned around to see whom Baba wanted. But I saw no one and, with a question on my face, I looked at Baba. The third time Baba beckoned and I dared to mouth, « Baba, I ? » He nodded and I ran down the steps thinking, « Baba wants to tell me something. »
When Baba gestured, « Take me up the steps, » glorious joy filled my heart. I extended my arm and tensed, knowing I must not falter in taking His weight. Baba placed His lovely hand on my arm and I braced myself as Baba stepped out of the car. I took a step and, to my surprise, we seemed to glide up the steps light as a feather.
Throughout those precious moments my experience and feeling was, « How soft, like a baby, a cotton puff and the clouds, all rolled into one is Beloved Baba ! » Baba sat down on the sofa and gave my arm a distinct « Thank you » squeeze. Baba’s love—compassion—His caring and giving—is beyond words. His silence is so eloquent : one hears Him distinctly in one’s heart. His so loving, tender and knowing eyes smiled at me and I returned to sit with the other Baba lovers—in my heart a glorious, treasured glow which even today burns brightly.
[modifier] In His Unseen Hands
Heather Nadel
I first heard Beloved Baba’s Name in 1969, when I was in college in California. One evening, I had gone with a few pals to visit some friends on the coast range. Their home was a favorite haunt for us college kids—a lovely old house in a redwood forest that seemed miles and miles away from our mundane lives at the university in the plains below. We were spending a nice evening together with suddenly a person (a stranger to me) came into the house with a book shouting, « I found it ! A book by Meher Baba ! » This caused tremendous excitement among the householders and, as I was curious to know what it was all about, someone showed me the book.
My first thought on seeing Baba’s face (on the cover) was, « I know this man ! » But then I couldn’t figure out how I knew him. Was it in Italy (he looked Italian) ? New York ? No... Then I overheard, « He says he’s God, » so I started wondering how God could write a book (and if God was the author, who could be the publisher !) The concept of the God-Man, God in human form, was totally beyond my grasp. I finally decided that I could not say for sure whether Meher Baba was God or not, because only God could say that and I wasn’t God as far as I knew ! Perhaps he was what he claimed—he had such an honest face I felt he couldn’t tell a lie. Then I gave it no more thought. That was how I first heard of Meher Baba.
It was late when my friends and I got up to go home that evening ; the fog had rolled in thickly from the ocean making it hard to find our way to our car. Having found it in the fog, we settled in for the long drive back. As it was my car, I was driving, and from the first turn down the long driveway I realized that our return drive was going to be difficult—the fog was so thick I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and the road down the mountain was full of hairpin turns and hard to drive even in daylight. I leaned over the wheel and tried my best.
As the minutes crept by, it seemed harder and harder to negotiate the steep turns in the dark and fog. I was tired and began to be nervous—would this road never end ? As I really began to feel the strain of the drive and the eeriness of the enshrouding fog, I suddenly felt two hands on the steering wheel beside mine ; they seemed to be steering the car ! I could almost see them, the feeling was so strong. I asked my friend seated next to me if she noticed anything about the wheel. She didn’t and I told her about my feeing of the two hands. It didn’t seem frightening to us at the time, only strange and inexplicable and we lapsed into puzzled silence.
The bottom of the mountain finally came into sight, and we were weary and dizzy from the endless twistings and turnings of the road. At the first crossroads, just at the foot of the mountain, the car suddenly would not go into first gear. The shift kept jamming—so I put the car in neutral and we coasted the car into a gas station, fortunately just a few yards away. We left the car there to be repaired and called a friend who kindly came and drove us home.
The next morning I returned to the gas station to pick up my car. The attendant greeted me with a chuckle, « Now, just tell me where you drove that car in from, miss ! » I smiled, a little puzzled at his manner, and said, « We came from La Honda, » (the town at the top of the mountain). At this he laughed, « That’s a good joke ! Now really, where’d you come from—I’m surprised you could get that car to move ! » I was even more puzzled, « Why do you say that ? » He chuckled, « Well lady, one turn around the station and the right wheel flew off ! You couldn’t have driven her in that condition for more than 200 yards, so don’t kid me about coming from La Honda ! Just not possible ! » And still chuckling, he went off to get me my re-wheeled car.
Two years later in 1971 when I came to Baba at His beautiful Center in Myrtle Beach, the episode of the two guiding hands became transformed in my mind into a sign from Beloved Baba—that He had had me in His hands from the very first evening I heard His Name, and probably for ages before.
[modifier] Only My Mother Understood
Arsenio Rodriguez
We stayed in India for two weeks, and the evening before we were to leave, my mother and I went to Meherabad to attend evening arti. At the top of the hill, twinkling stars smiled their nightly smile at the pilgrims below, indicating the end of evening arti. Quietude pervaded Meherabad hill, pierced only by the far away music of the guitar and our hearts’ songs of love.
We descended slowly following the faint circle of light provided by our flashlight. My mother was holding on to me, nervous that scorpions and cobras might spring out of the surrounding darkness. It was then that she said to me, « You know, in my heart I know He is the One, the same as Christ, but my mind fails to understand and to accept. After all, for so many years I was told, and believed, that Jesus was the sole manifestation of God. » I told her not to worry. I thought I understood her dilemma but didn’t know that the real answer was quietly sounding from her feet !
We returned to Viloo Villa where we had been staying and started packing for an early start the next day. My mother carefully took off her shoes and, in her philosophical style, said that they should go to a museum, for they had traveled so far, across so many holy places. As she placed them in her suitcase with the soles pointing upward, she noticed part of a figure on one of the shoes. Her failing eyesight prevented her from distinguishing it, but she knew that there was a figure on the sole of her right shoe.
She brought this to our attention and one of the group looked and remarked that it was Meher Baba’s face ! And sure enough, etched in the eroded sole, in tan and brown tones, was a very clear profile of Baba’s face. Curiosity made us look at the other shoe, whereupon we found an almost perfect sketch of Christ, similar to El Greco’s depiction of Jesus on the cross. Everybody who was present admired the images and was astonished at the « miraculous » way they had appeared. But only my mother understood.
She said, « The miraculous thing is not that the faces appeared on the soles of my shoes, that’s incidental. The real miracle is His compassion : His answer came so swiftly. ‘Don’t worry,’ He said, ‘I am in both Jesus and Baba, love me as either, for I will always be with you.’ These were the words silently spoken and recorded by the soles of my shoes. » Words that were etched by the dust that some time ago had kissed His blessed feet.
[modifier] Baba Consoled Me Through A Vision
S. Suryanarayana
In 1969, I was living at Visakhapatnam in Andhra Pradesh, but that January I had been traveling up north. From Benares, I went to Calcutta where A.C.S. Chari told me that Baba had passed away on the 31st of January and showed me a telegram to that effect sent to him by Adi K. Irani. This was completely unexpected news, and I could not bear the shock. I left Calcutta immediately for my home.
When I reached Visakhapatnam, I learned that earlier about 15 Baba lovers had hired three taxis and left for Meherabad, to have Baba's darshan before His body was interred. As soon as I realized that I had missed my chance to go to Meherabad I became very upset. I couldn't help brooding over my lost opportunity, and I was restless and weeping all the time.
On the afternoon of the 13th February, I was sitting in a chair outside my home when I heard the sound of a car approaching. My house was situated in a garden of about two and a half acres, surrounded by shrubs, bushes and trees, and isolated from the town itself. It was not common for cars to come this way and, as it was late afternoon, it was past the time when most people would visit. I assumed that it must be a relative of mine, who had a car, coming to invite me to some festive occasion. But it was not my relative's car which came up to my gate and stopped. To my astonishment, I saw Baba open the door and walk quickly to the verandah, where I was sitting.
There was a vacant chair beside me and Baba sat on it and looked at me. Being the Silent Master, Baba did not say a word or gesture to me. I was so amazed to see Baba that I could not speak a word myself. I was dumbfounded and I think I must have been in a sort of trance at the time. After a couple of minutes, Baba walked back to His car and drove away.
Soon after, I came to myself and began to weep that I had missed this opportunity to embrace Baba, to speak to Him or to express my happiness at His visiting me. Still weeping, I went to my bedroom and, like a child, threw myself down on my cot, sobbing out my heart.
My crying must have been truly from my heart; for after ten minutes or so, Baba appeared again. He came inside my house and lifted my grandson who was around six or seven months old and blessed him. Then He came to my cot and sat by my side while I was still lying there.
This time I didn't want to miss the opportunity to offer my respects. I called out to my wife that Baba had come and she should bring the camphor and other necessities to perform arti to Baba. Baba gestured to me not to worry about such things and then instructed me that I should go to Poona for the darshan program He had scheduled there on May 13, 1969. Baba told me that all would go well for me and then left, before my wife arrived.
When she did come, we performed arti to Baba's photo. After that I recovered my composure and was no longer so depressed. I am of the opinion that Beloved Baba was kind enough to give me His darshan in order to console me and to relieve me of the agony which His passing away caused me. Since then my heart and soul are entirely dedicated to Him, the Eternal One.
[modifier] Baba At The Hasty Tasty
Jeff Wolverton
In June of 1968, I moved from New York City, where I first heard of Meher Baba, to Seattle on the northwest coast of the United States. For over half a year there, I didn't meet a single Baba-lover, although I spoke quite openly about Baba. Seattle, it seemed to me then, was on the remote frontier of the Baba World.
Some time around the latter part of December, however, by Baba's grace, I ran into someone devoted to Baba, a girl named Marion. Through her, I heard about the darshan in India to which Baba was inviting His lovers in the spring in March and April. During this period, I didn't have a job or any savings, and so the prospect of earning money for the fare to India in such a short time seemed hopeless.
Marion was very poor, she lived in an extremely rundown apartment, and because she was not well enough to hold a full-time job, we were both in the same boat — it looked like going to see Baba would be impossible. However, we didn't give up hope. Whenever we ran into each other, invariably the subject would turn to discussing possible ways to get to India, from borrowing money to working our way over on a ship. We usually ended up feeling discouraged.
A month later, on the 31st of January, we received the news that Baba had dropped His body. We were profoundly affected by this and hoped somehow we could make it to the "Last Darshan."
There was a small cafe in the university district I used to go to in those days called the Hasty Tasty. It was a greasy sort of place, open all night, where all manner of people congregated — students, bums, hippies, drug-users, even heavy drinkers who would come in to sober up. Most, like myself, were practically broke and were lured in by a special feature offered at the Hasty Tasty. For only ten cents, one could drink all the coffee one wanted. Often my friends and I would sit and talk for hours, sometimes consuming ten cups apiece in the course of an evening.
One afternoon, three or four days after Baba dropped His body, three of us stopped by the Hasty Tasty and were sitting at a small table having our usual coffees: Marion, myself, and a fellow named Rusty who had heard of Baba from us and seemed open to Him. A few other people were seated at nearby tables in the very cramped dining area. For about half an hour, the three of us had been talking about this and that, nothing in particular. Marion was sitting at the end of our table, and Rusty was across from me. Suddenly, Marion with a look of utter astonishment on her face, stared awestruck at the empty chair next to me and exclaimed, "Baba is sitting in that chair!"
I started to turn my head towards the chair but there was such an overwhelming brilliance that my eyes could only bear to see the outer fringes of this great brilliance! Baba was like the light of a thousand suns put together! Tears poured from my eyes. Streams of golden light flowed out from the fringes of the great sun of Baba's effulgence. Try as I might, I was not able to look directly into the light itself.
An eternity of time seemed to pass, though it was probably no more than a few minutes. Suddenly, Baba vanished as quickly as He had appeared. The three of us were utterly speechless. Instinctively we reached out and held hands and remained like this for a long time, in silence. Then as if by an unspoken consent, we stood up, paid for our coffees and left the cafe. Outside there was a great roof of grey clouds overhead which made everything seem deeply quiet and subdued. We walked up University Avenue, still without speaking a word, and then one by one each of us turned down our own street along the avenue and headed home.
How deeply touched the three of us were, beyond words! Baba, in His infinite compassion, remembered us in this remote corner of the world. There was no way, as it turned out, that Marion and I could have gone to the "Last Darshan," but Baba had said He would give His lovers His darshan again, "Sometime, somewhere, somehow!" and that moment had unexpectedly and overwhelmingly come for us!
[modifier] When They Begin The Beguine
Bill Cliff
Although "Begin the Beguine" was not played for Meher Baba very often, nonetheless it had a unique significance for Him. As early as the '50s, Baba began instructing His mandali that when He dropped His body, "Begin the Beguine" should be played. And, if it was not possible to play the record, it should be sung, and if no one was there to sing it, the words should be read out.
So it was on January 31, 1969, when Meher Baba laid His body aside in His room at Meherazad, the record "Begin the Beguine" was played on a little record player which His women disciples brought into His room. The song was also played in Mandali Hall when Baba's body was taken there, in Baba's cabin on Meherabad Hill, as the crypt in the Samadhi was being prepared and, later, in the Samadhi itself. Altogether it was played seven times. Since then, it has always had special meaning for those who follow Baba.
It's simply amazing the number of times it pops up on the radio these days, but what gets me is the perfect timing of its occurrences. For example, in February, 1983, I started working inside the post office and found myself in an area where "rock and roll" was being played over the radio eight hours a day.
After I'd gone through about three days of this ear battering experience, I groaned and said, "I'll never hear any decent songs in this awful place." Not long after that, I was sitting in the lunchroom when someone switched on a soft music station. Sure enough, "Begin the Beguine" came on right in the middle of my cheese sandwich and had anyone been watching, they would have thought I had a sudden attack of lockjaw.
Then there's the story of a Baba-lover returning from his pilgrimage to Meherabad/Meherazad. Although he was happy to be carrying in a large black leather case the new sitar he had purchased in India, he was a little depressed to be at the New York airport, 10,000 miles from where his heart lay.
As he was making his way to a taxi, he was accosted by a typical New Yorker and the following conversation ensued:
"Hey buddy, what's in dat case?"
"A sitar."
"What is that?"
"It's a musical instrument from India."
"Can it play 'Begin the Beguine'?"
This unexpected question bridged the distance between New York and Meherabad. In a humorous way Baba had thus reassured His lover that He was with him in America, just as much as in India.
My favorite story concerning "Begin the Beguine," however, took place in early 1983. It was Sunday, the 30th of January and a group of ten of us had gathered at a local restaurant in Schenectady, New York to have lunch with Jeanne and Darwin Shaw. As is occasionally wont to happen during these get-togethers, the conversation started drifting far afield. One group at one end of the table was talking about jobs and careers, another at the other end was having a lively discussion about the movie industry, and in the middle were Jeanne and Darwin, sitting quietly.
Suddenly we heard a soft, "Shhh, shhh, listen!" and turned to see Darwin with his right hand cupped to his ear. Sure enough, "Begin the Beguine" was being played over the restaurant radio. The group quickly fell into a silent reverie.
As it turned out, we were the only people seated in the small dining room, and at one point I looked up and noticed two of the staff staring at us and shaking their heads in disbelief. Just two minutes previously we had been so animated and lively and now we were sitting like statues. What could they possibly have thought?
As the song ended, I glanced at my watch. It was 1:30 in the afternoon in New York but exactly twelve midnight on January 31st in India. At that moment, on Meherabad Hill, Amartithi had begun. This is an event we like to keep track of in our minds and hearts. And so, despite the fact that the sheep of our mind had wandered off, Baba brought us all back "home" and ushered in that most holy of days in a beautiful, poignant way. Such is His compassion for us!
For me, Baba's Avataric greatness lies not only in His work for the creation but also in these little things, the little personal touches that each of us who tries to love and hold on to Him, experiences. Any song or incident associated with Baba reminds us of Him and brings with that remembrance some of His sweet love and enlivening presence. And each time I hear of one of these incidents or experience one myself, it is another answer in an endless chain of His loving answers to a question once posed in a song: "Are you listening?"
[modifier] Hearts That Are Broken
Henry Kashouty
In 1955, my wife, Kecha, and I read the book, « God Speaks » by Meher Baba. It was a gift to us from a friend, but the conviction that Meher Baba is God in human form was Baba's gift to us. Since then, Baba has made it very clear to me that my work is to make my conviction about Him visible in my daily life. He has helped me in endless ways to understand that the more I try to obey Him, the more I will experience His presence. Two dreams, in particular, have given me that priceless experience of His intimate presence.
For a long time after coming to Baba, I had wanted to have a ring made which would have the highest meaning for me. So when I lost my college ring, I had a gold ring made, beautifully engraved with the "Mastery in Servitude - Avatar Meher Baba" emblem, surrounded by the symbols of the world's six great religions.
The ring was beautifully made and I cherished it because of its meaning. Seldom was I unaware of it. But one day, not long after acquiring it, I was swimming in the ocean at Virginia Beach. When I came out of the water to resume reading the legal material I had brought with me, I was suddenly shocked to realize that the ring was gone. It had slipped off my finger into the ocean. I was very upset at this loss because of the significance the ring held for me.
Several nights later, Baba appeared in my dream and with anguish I asked, "Baba, why did I lose my ring?" Baba looked into my eyes with great tenderness and said, "Henry, you need Me — not My symbols!"
I was no longer concerned about the loss of my ring. On the contrary, I was deeply grateful to Baba for giving me this valuable experience.
In 1969, I lost something even more important to me than my ring — I lost the physical form of the God-Man. Although Baba had constantly emphasized to us the importance of finding Him within, His form was so beautiful that I had become dependent upon His physical contact and external guidance. When Baba dropped His body, the emptiness I experienced was so vast and painful that I felt as if the light had gone out of the world. Creation had lost its meaning.
Shortly after this staggering event, Baba appeared in my dream and I asked, "Are the hearts of Your close ones broken?" Baba replied, "Hearts that are filled with love, when broken, only pour out more love."
[modifier] One Dream And Two Shoes
Arsenio Rodriguez
Evening was approaching. Cotton clouds were beginning to display their ephemeral multi-colored garments. The hot, burning, tropical sun was tired of shining over San Juan, Puerto Rico on that early day of February, 1969.
My brother-in-law and I were giving my mother a ride to her place after an afternoon visit of coffee and idle talk about many things.
The car moved with difficulty through the heavy traffic of San Juan's rush hour and once in a while we would talk about how things were deteriorating. My mother has always been a devout Catholic and, ever since I can remember, she has been carrying on an almost constant dialogue with Jesus in the form of an image of the Sacred Heart, which she has in her living room. To Him she told her problems and from Him she sought comfort.
My mother always had dreams, beautiful dreams which she used to narrate to me and, taking advantage of a momentary silence in the car, she said to us: "A couple of nights ago (January 31, 1969) I had a very strange dream."
I thought, "Oh no! Here she goes again." But mothers have a way of saying what they want to say, so I listened to her story. It went as follows: "In this dream, I was being taken to a foreign land. It was the Far East or so I gathered from the clothes the people were wearing. I was being guided by a brown skinned man on a motorcycle. He took me to a place where a procession of all sorts of people was taking place, and leading it was a strikingly beautiful woman who had tied a blue scarf around her head.
Her palms were held together as if in prayer and she was looking heavenward where an enormous vision of a powerful knight riding a white horse could be seen rising above the clouds. The blue-scarfed woman looked at me straight in the eyes and, bowing her head a little, gave me the most serene and beautiful smile. Then I woke up."
I listened politely, not knowing what to reply when my mother asked, "Well, what do you think this dream could mean?" "It sounds like a biblical dream," I replied, trying to please her and drawing from memories of when I used to believe in that sort of thing. As a young boy I enjoyed her dreams; they had been delightful stories of far-away fairy tale lands to me. But now, I was twenty-six and my life was different.
My personal outlook was cynical and negative. My strategy was to find some easy escape through long conversations about how to save the world while blaming "them" for the sad conditions which I saw all around me. My prevalent mood in those early days of 1969 was one of nostalgia about some unknown missing factor.
I had read many books and was very proud of my loosely held information on the scientific thoughts of the day. Everything seemed to be under the control of my "powerful" logic. I had no time for the fairy tale dreams of an elderly woman, even if she was my mother. Dreams are dreams and, as such, are easily forgotten.
Later, as life unfolded, I found myself in a deeper state of confusion while, at the same time, I was continuing my "learning" processes, pursuing an advanced degree in science. Oscillating between contradictory impulses, searching desperately and unconsciously for something, I stumbled one day across Meher Baba and, after some struggle, recognized Him and accepted Him as the one Beloved I had been looking and yearning for, but that is another story.
My mother was happy about my new found love, for it brought me closer to God, "although not to Jesus," she secretly thought. But time passed and she came to love Meher Baba, regarding Him as a prophet, a saint, a lovable being, but never as the Christ.
Towards the end of 1974 seven of us from Puerto Rico had the opportunity to travel to India to meet the companions of Avatar Meher Baba, the Eternal Beloved, and pay homage at His Tomb (Samadhi) at Meherabad which houses the "Cloak" in which Reality was confined for almost 75 years. My mother was invited to come along and, at the ripe age of 66, she accepted the challenge of such a long journey.
Twenty-four hours of jet technology and airport labyrinths transported our bodies to Bombay. A flying carpet wouldn't have been more exciting, but exhaustion was oozing from all of us. We hired two taxis and headed for the sleeping metropolis.
My brother-in-law, my mother, and I were sharing one of the taxis. Due to the many evasive actions on the part of our skillful driver, we managed to survive and found ourselves in a central part of the city where someone shouted, "Jai Baba!" We saw a well-tanned man on a green motorcycle approaching the taxis and exchanging "Jais" with the members of the group; he was Jal Dastoor, whom Norberto had phoned from the airport. Amidst the tiredness, the excitement, the joy and the confusion, my mother's voice was heard saying excitedly, "It's him, it's him."
"Who?" we asked. "That man, that man is the man who guided me in my dream."
We were too tired to figure out what she was talking about. What dream she was referring to. "Remember," she said to us, "the dream about the foreign country, the procession, the leading lady, the vision? There is the man who was guiding me through it on his motorcycle. I recognize him. It is him!"
And eventually her certainty and persistence inspired our tired minds to yield a memory of that car ride five years ago, almost five centuries ago! But the story did not end there. For when we got to Ahmednagar, we visited Meherazad. As we approached the porch of Baba's house for the first time, my mother suddenly stopped and pointed at Mehera, who was sitting there, and exclaimed, "She is the one who headed the procession!" Inside the living room, there was a painting of Baba on a white horse which was just like the vision my mother had had of the great knight riding in the heavens on His white horse.
We stayed in India for two weeks, and the evening before we were to leave, my mother and I went to Meherabad to attend evening arti. At the top of the hill, twinkling stars smiled their nightly smile at the pilgrims below, indicating the end of evening arti. Quietude pervaded Meherabad Hill, pierced only by the far away music of the guitar and our hearts' songs of love.
We descended slowly, following the faint circle of light provided by our flashlight. My mother was holding on to me, nervous that scorpions and cobras might spring out of the surrounding darkness. It was then that she said to me, "You know, in my heart I know He is the One, the same as Christ, but my mind fails to understand and to accept. After all, for so many years I was told and believed, that Jesus was the sole manifestation of God." I told her not to worry. I thought I undersood her dilemma but didn't know that the real answer was quietly sounding from her feet!
We returned to Villo Villa where we had been staying, and started packing for an early start the next day. My mother carefully took off her shoes and, in her philosophical style, said that they should go to a museum, for they had traveled so far, across so many holy places. As she placed them in her suitcase with the soles pointing upward, she noticed part of a figure on one of the shoes. Her failing eyesight prevented her from distinguishing it, but she knew that there was a figure on the sole of her right shoe.
She brought this to our attention and one of the group looked and remarked that it was Meher Baba's face! And sure enough, etched in the eroded sole, in tan and brown tones, was a very clear profile of Baba's face. Curiosity made us look at the other shoe, where upon we found an almost perfect sketch of Christ, similar to El Greco's depication of Jesus on the cross. Everybody who was present admired the images and was astonished at the "miraculous" way they had appeared. But only my mother understood.
She said, "The miraculous thing is not that the faces appeared on the soles of my shoes; that's incidental. The real miracle is His compassion: His answer came so swiftly. 'Don't worry,' He said, 'I am in both Jesus and Baba, love Me as either, for I will always be with you.' These were the words silently spoken and recorded by the soles of my shoes."
Words that were etched by the dust that some time ago had kissed His blessed feet.
[modifier] His Birthday Gift
Bal Natu
From March 15th to June 15th, each year, the Pilgrim Center at Meherabad closes and pilgrims are encouraged not to visit Meherabad. But these three months are not a vacation for those at Meherazad and the Western residents who remain in India. Four days a week, some of the mandali — Mani, Rano, Eruch and I — continue to attend the Trust Office, while the rest occupy themselves with their duties and all the odd jobs that have piled up over the course of the year.
The temperature soars, in May often reaching 106 degrees F, and the heat makes even the simplest task quite tiresome. Many of the Western residents leave Nagar for a brief vacation to cooler climes, while those who stay seek different ways to beat the heat!
In the summer of 1984, during a trip to Poona, Steve and Daphne Klein were given an old ice cream churn by the Jessawala family at Bindra House. As they were both working that summer at the Trust Office, they decided one day to take the churn there and make some mango ice cream for everyone. The churning was done in the morning and the mixture then packed in ice.
By lunch time, whether the ice cream was properly hardened or not, all were eager to sample the results. Generous portions were scooped out for all and Daphne took a large dish to Khorshed, one of Baba's women mandali, who stays in the Trust compound.
When Khorshed received the ice cream, she seemed very touched. It was only later that we learned that not only was that very day Khorshed's birthday, but also that Baba often used to give her ice cream on her birthday. And whenever He did, He always gave her mango ice cream! For us at the Office, it was simply a refreshing treat, but for Khorshed it was a clear indication that Baba's loving remembrance of her birthday continued; that although Baba was no longer in a physical body, He had, nevertheless, arranged this birthday gift.
God's most delightful "birthday gift" to humanity is His coming amongst us as Man — the Avatar. In His unconditional compassion, Meher Baba's grace continuously flows to His lovers. But when it comes in the form of a birthday present, it is especially heartwarming and even more refreshing than ice cream! Beloved Avatar Meher, our bountiful Baba, be praised!
[modifier] Divine Babysitter
M. B. Khandale
In June, 1982, my family and I wanted to stay at Meherabad for a few days. But as the dharamshala was then under construction, there appeared to be no place for us. We were told we could stay at "Krishi Bhavan" (Farmers' Educational Center), but that it had no toilets and no water facilities; it was just a big hall, around 50 feet by 30 feet. As our only wish was to be near Meher Baba's Samadhi, we were delighted with this offer. We wanted to bathe in Baba's presence and, for this, we were quite willing to do without all conveniences.
So my family, including my daughter with her two children — her four year old son, Meher, and one year old daughter, Manija — came to Meherabad. Every morning we would attend morning arti and prayers at 7:00 at the Tomb. We would all walk up the hill in the early morning, but one day my daughter didn't come with us, as Meher was still sleeping. She waited until 6:30, but when he still didn't awake, she came up the Hill with Manija.
After the prayers and arti, I asked my daughter where Meher was, and she said that she had left him all alone in the hall. She had bolted and locked the door from the outside and, leaving him in a deep sleep, she had come up the Hill.
As it was now nearing 7:30 and a train had already rumbled by the hall, I felt it quite likely that Meher would have awakened by now. I was upset because Meher tends to cry if he wakes up and doesn't find anybody near him. I envisioned him, scared and lonely, in the big empty hall and I scolded my daughter for leaving him like that and told her to go down right away and see if Meher was all right.
She rushed down the Hill, but as she neared, she was astonished to see through the window that Meher seemed to be in an extraordinarily jubilant mood.
When Meher saw her, he started dancing and called out as if he were talking to someone else in the room, "My mother has come! My mother has come!"
No sooner did she unbolt the door than Meher rushed to her and told her in great excitement that he had been playing with Baba. He pointed to the photo of Meher Baba which was displayed there and said, "This Meher Baba came (out of the photo) and played with me."
When the rest of us heard this story we asked him why he wasn't afraid of being alone in such a big hall and he replied, "Baba was with me, playing all the while. I was very happy and did not cry."
And indeed he was in a specially happy and excited mood for the rest of the day. In the afternoon, we went to Meherazad and Meher asked us to tell his story of playing with Baba to the mandali.
Because my daughter could only think of attending Baba's arti that morning, Baba Himself came to babysit the child she left behind.
[modifier] "Avatar" In Letters Of Gold
Judy Gregory
One night in 1972, I had a dream that I was in a bookstore and I was looking for a book for my soul. I couldn't find anything; it seemed as if I had read it all, or I'd seen it before, or it wasn't right. I just wasn't attracted to anything in the bookstore. Everything I saw made me feel, "Oh, that again."
In the dream, a friend came up to me and asked me what I was looking for. I said, "I'm looking for a book for my soul." He said, "I have something that I think you'll like." He brought out a blue book that had a gold heart on the cover and in golden letters at the top was written "AVATAR." I took the book and said, "Okay, I'll read this," and then I woke up.
Well, I had never heard of the word Avatar before and I wondered if there was such a word as that. I looked it up in the dictionary and it said something like, "human incarnation of God." First of all, I was surprised that there really was such a word, and then I wondered if there was such a book.
A few days later, I was in a delicatessen and the person who had given me the book in the dream walked in. I said, "I had a dream about you the other night. I dreamt that you gave me a book that had a golden heart on the cover with the word AVATAR written in gold, with light coming from it."
He said, "Someone just gave me that book a few days ago, but there's no light coming out!"
He immediately left the deli to get the book for me. It was Jean Adriel's book, « Avatar: The Life Story of the Perfect Master, Meher Baba ». The first edition, printed in 1947, had, under its jacket, a blue hard cover with the title « AVATAR » in golden letters over a sylized heart with rays of light extending from it.
When I started reading it, it brought back to me my memories as a child, a small child being loved by Christ. It's not that I particularly loved Christ, but I remember the feeling that He loved me. I think the first time I ever really felt loved was by Christ, because I never felt that same kind of experience from anyone else.
In Sunday School we would sing songs, "Jesus loves me, this I know....Little ones to Him belong, I am weak, but He is strong." I took these songs to heart and I would think, "Oh it would be so nice to be with Jesus because He loves children so much. He loves little girls." This book revived that feeling of being loved by God.
I finished reading it in a couple of days and that night, Baba came to me in a dream. He looked at me as if He loved me so much, and that He just understood me. He was so beautiful, so much light, so much love. It was breathtaking. I couldn't breathe in His presence — everything just stopped except His look. I couldn't catch my breath. I felt truly understood by Baba through and through.
When I woke up, I was very happy from this experience and the funny thing is, I wasn't really searching for anything at that time. I wasn't happy and I wasn't unhappy. I was just sort of plodding along. I guess my soul knew it was searching, but my personality was oblivious to the whole thing.
The next night, I had another dream of some middle-aged women sitting on benches with a lot of trees around and I knew, when I woke up, that the dream had something to do with Meher Baba, but I didn't know how. So that was the end of it. I put the book on a shelf and forgot completely about it. I never thought of Meher Baba again at all for another year. Baba had planted a seed and it was now underground.
About a year later, in 1973, I was walking down the street and, for no particular reason — I wasn't doing my laundry or anything — I walked into a laundromat. There was a bulletin board inside and on a little 3 X 5 index card was written, "Films of Meher Baba." And they were being shown that very night! I thought, "Meher Baba! I had those dreams about Him! I'm going to go see those films."
I went to the films and in one of them was a scene of some of Baba's women disciples sitting on a bench under the trees — just exactly as I had seen it in my dream! I was stunned and didn't know what to make of this. I met some of the people there and although they were nice, they all thought Meher Baba was God. Even though I had had these unusual dream experiences, I wasn't ready to accept Baba as God. Still I bought a picture of Baba, but then put it in a drawer and forgot about the whole thing once again. Fortunately, Baba doesn't forget about us, however.
A year later, I was going through a really hard time in my life. I was feeling very depressed and unloved and unable to love. I just generally had the blues about almost everything. Just at this time, I happened to meet someone in a grocery store. Instantly we struck up a friendship and went out for a cup of tea. This was Rich Goldman and the first thing he asked me was, "Have you heard about Meher Baba?" To make a long story short, Baba thus introduced Himself once more into my life.
At the time, I was out of work and Richie gave me a job at his company. I started seeing some of the other Baba people in Chicago. Then with the money I saved from work, I went to Meher Baba's "Home" in the West — the Myrtle Beach Center, for the first time around Valentine's Day in 1975. During this visit, Baba's presence profoundly touched my heart. Since then I have never hesitated to accept Meher Baba as God in human form, the Avatar.
[modifier] Papa Jack — A Welder Of Hearts
Ginny Hudnall
During a visit to Meherazad with my mother in November, 1980, I happened to casually mention to Eruch that my father, Jack, was a welder.
"Is he a welder of hearts?" Eruch asked.
A year later, I had a dream where a girlfriend and I were climbing some mountains and, as we looked down to where we had been, I saw Meher Baba and Eruch standing there! We waved to them and Eruch said, "Baba has something to tell you," and then read this message from Baba's board: "Have you written to your father about Me yet?"
I felt carefree in Baba's loving presence and responded lightheartedly, "Not yet, but I plan to though."
Baba looked at me patiently, seriously, and conveyed, "If you don't write to him about Me now, I will have to arrange an appointment to meet with him personally in 700 years."
When I woke I felt wonderful about the warm personal interest Baba was taking in my father, but I was also surprised since, I had never given much thought to my father and Baba having a special relationship with each other. My father was not a "seeker," but he did have a nice attitude towards Baba and I was comfortable with that.
Another year passed and, in November, 1982, my father was diagnosed as having terminal lung cancer (mesothelioma) caused by exposure to asbestos. (My father had done a lot of work with boilers which use asbestos as insulation.) The doctors said he had three to five months left to live.
An operation was performed to drain the fluid build-up in my father's lungs. The night before, my father became restless and uncharacteristically began going through my mother's purse. He discovered a pink envelope with Baba's name on it and asked if it was used for donations to Baba. Mother explained that it contained a strand of Beloved Baba's hair. He seemed pleased and content to hold it and only gave it back because he was afraid of losing it.
After the operation, my mother asked if he wanted to hold a necklace containing Baba's photo. Jack said yes, but soon drifted off to sleep and dropped the necklace. Mother picked it up and put it back in his hand. Again, he faded out and the necklace fell. This time he muttered, "Oh no, I've dropped Baba again." When mother heard this, she felt that Baba was taking care of everything.
News of Jack's terminal illness reached the mandali and an unexpected and most beautiful letter from Mehera was sent to Jack; he cried reading it, spontaneously exclaiming, "It's so beautiful, it is so beautiful."
On a trip to the Myrtle Beach Center, I was given some of Baba's hair for my father to keep. Two days after receiving it, he had to go back to the hospital. His wallet with the hair in it was stolen. Jack was very upset and a week later some more hair was lovingly sent by Jane Haynes. When it was presented to him, he burst into tears. From then on, he kept the necklace with Baba's photo and the precious packet with Baba's hair in it in his pajama top pocket.
This pocket of love resting near his heart was carefully guarded. Jack made sure that every time his top was changed, the precious contents were removed and then put in the fresh shirt. They had to be securely pinned in, too, or he would worry.
In such a pure and natural way, Baba kept Jack's mind and heart focused on Him. A week before he died, he saw his first film of Baba, which was projected on the walls of his hospital room. Shortly before his death, he spontaneously offered this prayer, "Dear Baba, I am one of Your flock. Please prolong my life or take me to be Your own."
With mother by his side, lovingly reassuring him that Baba was with him, Jack died on August 7, 1983 to live ever more in the divine presence of the Eternal Beloved.
In the funeral service, a young Catholic priest who used to often shop in my father's welding shop and talk with him, said my father's shop was like a chapel where all were welcome. He said my father's life ministered to people by its honest, cheerful nature and then he concluded, "Jack is a welder of hearts."
And I like to think that having had the rare good fortune to have his heart awakened by Baba's love, Jack's heart was welded by Baba to Him.
Ed. Bal Natu. © 1984 Bal Natu
