What spoils ecstasy

Fredrikstad, Norway. I am guiding an adventure-camp here. Last night I had a dream:

I was sitting on the floor in the front of a large auditorium. A few thousand Margis were present for Baba’s darshan. In the midst of His speech. He turned His face directly into mine and spoke to me.

His sweet words acted like an exotic aphrodisiac, making me lose my head. I found myself throwing my arms around His neck. Baba was a magnet of love, and I an iron doll. I was so strongly attracted to Him that I unintentionally pulled Flim off the stage, and we began to roll on the floor in a tighter and tighter embrace. My face was buried in His and I could see nothing. A burning-bright white spiritual fire coursed through me. I was consumed by a feeling beyond all the joy and sorrow I had ever known.

In the midst of this ecstasy, a whispering thought entered my mind: What will all the people think?

Embarrassed, I slightly withdrew my face from His. But I still saw nothing, because He had caused the lights to turn off. We were in complete darkness, and no one could see us anyway.

Still feeling Him in my arms, I thought. What a fool I was to worry about the thoughts of others!

In that intense bitter-sweetness I awoke. For a long while I lay there—awed.

Every problem is no problem

Birmingham, England. It was the Sunday night of a weekend seminar. Dada Sudiipta approached me around midnight, just as I was about to go to sleep.

“Sorry, Dharmavedananda. I forgot to give you this letter from Dada Japananda.”

Dada Japananda, one of my higher authorities, was in dire financial need for his work in Africa, and was begging me to bring to India some assistance for him. It was a great clash for me, since I didn’t have any extra funds and was scheduled to leave for India the following Wednesday.

If I had received the letter in proper time, I might have requested donations from some of the Margis at the retreat.

Now everybody must be asleep, I thought, and early tomorrow morning most of them will leave. I won’t have any chance. What am I to do? Baba, any ideas?

Suddenly I saw the face of an Irish brother who was attending the retreat: Sundara.

Must be my own imagination, I thought. He’s just a poor student.

But the image persisted so I walked down the hall. I found all the rooms dark; everyone was asleep. Except… in the last room a light was on. I looked in. Someone was reading with his back to the door. As I walked up to him, he turned to face me.

“Good evening, Dadaji.” It was Sundara. I felt like I was dreaming.

“Sorry to disturb you, brother.”

“No, no problem, Dada. What is it?”

“Well, I doubt you can help, but, you see, a Dada needs financial help for his work.”

“How much does he need, Dada?”

“About 400 pounds.”

“Well, I just received the check from my summer job, but it’s back in Cork— in Ireland.”

Within a few minutes everything was fixed. He agreed to wire the money to me in London on Tuesday.

No higher purpose

Back in Calcutta. When I arrived at the workers’ meeting today, the General Secretary approached me.

“What’s this, Dharmavedananda? You’re here again?” he asked. “Who gave you permission to attend the workers’ meeting? You know only Sectorial Secretaries are to come.”

I had wondered when he would notice that I had come to every workers’ meeting over the last few months. I pulled a paper from my shoulder bag. “Please, read this Dada.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a photocopy of a circular you sent out eight months ago. See point #17, please.”

He read aloud: “All chief secretaries of every trade from all sectors are to attend senior workers’ meeting every two months. Hmmm … But not a single other chief secretary of any other sector paid attention to this item. It was a technical point dictated by Baba.”

“And?”

“Well… but… everyone understands such a directive is not to be taken seriously unless it is repeated. And… well… Dharmavedananda, isn’t it expensive for you to come to India every two months?”

“Sure it’s expensive. But what do I care if it gives me the chance to see Baba? Somehow He always arranges the money for me. Are you saying I shouldn’t come? Are you going to approach Baba to change the order?”

“No no.” He smiled. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, “Very clever,” and walked away.

As long as I’m the Service Department chief secretary I shall attend every workers’ meeting unless and until I’m specifically ordered to stop. As long as duty does not conflict, what purpose is higher than to be with the guru?

Useless fellow, useless stick

“Your work is far below the mark!” Baba yelled at one of the senior workers of Delhi Sector. “Give some justification, stupid!”

Usually this Dada was sharp and active. But today he was silent in front of Baba, grinning like a five year old boy just complimented by his father. His turban was lop-sided, he stood off balance, and in general looked—what can I say?—he looked drunk.

“Idiot fellow!” Baba continued. “Only two schools opened under your supervision over the last two months! Don’t you deserve punishment?”

Baba readied His stick.

“Say, say! Have you become a mute animal? Nonsense, do-nothing donkey!”

Normally, anyone undergoing such treatment from Baba becomes fearful, or at least sober. But this Dada’s eyes only glittered as he innocently stared at Baba. At first we were all a bit uneasy, waiting for Baba’s stick to come down with a whirring slap. Now the scene took on a comic note. This Dada was clearly in another world, enjoying Baba immensely.

“Foolish fellow. Useless fellow. Leave him to his dream.” We all smiled.

In the next moment. Baba was castigating another worker who trembled under His onslaught.

Innovation approval

Today I approached Dada P, an old worker, with a difficult question regarding my meditation. I had discovered a new innovation in my technique, and wondered if it was right. Dada gave no clear reply, but essentially discouraged me. Somehow I wasn’t satisfied.

A few hours later we were having darshan with Baba on the roof-about two hundred Margis were there. During part of the kiirtan, Baba was sitting with His face down. Without intending it, I suddenly and spontaneously thought, Baba, if I should use this new method in my meditation please look up now.

In that exact instant. He broke His downward stare, looked up at me, and gazed into my eyes for about twenty seconds. Then, without looking in any other direction, He again cast His eyes down.

Could anything be clearer? Without telling anyone, I continued using the technique with full inspiration.