Penniless in the Arctic

Nuuk, Greenland. 1983. I was the first worker to visit this Arctic colony, the biggest island in the world. Previously I worked in the southern part, but this is my first time in Nuuk, the capital.

I have no contacts here and no return ticket. Back in Denmark I purchased a round-trip ticket from Copenhagen to Sundre Stromford.

For a bit of fun I only brought enough money for a one-way ticket from there to Nuuk. I’m scheduled to be here for 10 days.

In the meantime Baba, you’ll have to create enough Margis to pay for my missing plane fare, and my daily expenses. To add some spice to this brew, one of the Danes I met today said, “Good luck to you. It’s a rare Eskimo who’s mind is not lost in booze, dancing and motorcycles.”

The winter is harsh here. Half the flights usually get canceled due to bad weather. As I walk through the streets, I sometimes have to grab onto a tree to stop myself from being blown over.

It once took me 45 minutes to walk a distance which should have taken 15 minutes.

Coming back, I needed only 5 minutes — I was almost flying. Even the women wear pants here, so I am doubly unique in my orange lungi, which billows in the wind like a full skirt.

I don’t know why I remain warm even while trudging through deep snow.

Nuuk is called “the big city”, though its population is a mere 10,000.

In total, Greenland has a population of about 50,000, of which 80% are Eskimos and 20% are Danes. By World War II the majority of Eskimos had converted from nomad-life to town-life, though not out of preference.

The shift was primarily to assist doctors who were facing difficulties trying to protect the people from diseases caused by “civilization”.

Since it is my policy not to stay in hotels while teaching meditation. Baba kindly arranged for me to “accidentally” meet a man who invited me to stay in his house.

One way or another, no matter where I am. He always provides a house for my stay. I began setting up lectures immediately.

Next day. While walking in the snowy streets, I was surrounded by a group of about 20 teenage boys. They were a rowdy bunch, itchmg for a fight. When they began pushing one another, it became clear that their real intention was to get around to pushing me. They were keen to test this strange man with a turban.

Later I came to know that it’s considered comical in Greenland whenever anyone falls down in the snow, especially if one gets hurt.

When they were just about to fling themselves into me, I had an inspiration.

“I say! Do any of you know a good song to sing?”

A few of them knew enough English to understand me, and they fell into a parley. Seconds later they burst into an Eskimo tune, complete with gesticulations.

That completed, I requested another song, and they complied with increasing enthusiasm.

Then they demanded a song from me so I regaled them with my latest frozen version of Baba Nam Kevalam. I made them sing it together with me, and soon we became fast friends.

By evening, word had gone around about that fine Dada fellow.

Coldest cold

Last night I had to perform my kapalika meditation. The only graveyard is dead-center in the middle of the town, flooded by electric light, so I opted instead for a tiny dark peninsula where long ago the people used to bring sick babies who would be left in the cold for some hours.

If they survived, they were considered strong enough to deserve care. If they died, that proved they were better off dead.

Before beginning meditation I already felt chilled to the bone due to the freezing breeze. The wind was so strong that it tore off my lungi, which I had to dive to catch.

Before I could grab it, the sea almost claimed it, and in the process I slipped on the ice just on the edge of the water, a dark mass of heaving waves.

In the last moment, my foot caught on a jutting piece of ice, stopping my fall. I slowly edged my way backward a few feet, and arranged for my meditation without benefit of cover or blanket.

After a minute or two I no longer noticed the intense cold. Indifference to temperature is a common experience for those practicing kapalika meditation.

Thirty minutes later, when I had finished, I again became aware of my body, which began shivering so strongly that I could not hold my equipment. Hardly able to stand, I dragged myself toward a nearby house especially arranged for my stay on this night.

After crossing the threshold, I laid thawing out on the floor about 10 minutes, before moving toward my room.

The next morning I was fine. No matter what difficulties I face during meditation, I never seem to fall sick.

We had group meditation this evening. Because no one moved even slightly, and because there was heavy snow around the house, we experienced complete soundlessness. Impressive, especially considering it was their first such meeting.

Nothing unlikely

During my previous visit to southern Greenland a good number of people learned meditation. I didn’t think to contact any of them, however, because the only way to travel between cities in winter is by plane.

Yesterday, my first initiate down there had a strong thought of me and Baba. On the strength of that feeling alone, she flew here hoping to find me.

When she saw me today, she was just as surprised as anyone else that her intuition had been correct.

They say for the devotee nothing is impossible, or even unlikely.

Faith and fortune

A unit committee was formed tonight, selected from among the 40 Margis who have learned meditation in the nine days since I’ve been here. The prediction about Eskimos lacking interest in meditation was wrong. About 80% of these new Margis are Eskimos, exactly reflecting their proportion in society.

I spoke to the most inspired sister, “I don’t have money for my return fare to Sundre Stromford. And I have to leave tomorrow evening.”

“Dada!” she said. “What are you going to do?”

“No, no,” I laughed. “That’s my question to you.”

“But I’m just a student…”

“Can I see your tongue?”

She stuck it out.

“It looks like a healthy tongue. Perhaps it will be of some use in asking the other Margis for help. But don’t press them. They should only give according to their feelings.”

She flashed a big smile and immediately left the room.

Next day. That sister ran up to me late this morning, saying. “Dada, look! We collected half of your ticket money! Here, please take it.”

“Thanks. Just see how Baba helps.”

“Yes…. Now what are you going to do to get the rest?”

I laughed and said, “Again, that’s my question to you.”

“But… I already asked everyone for money.”

“Well, how about going back to them, and asking for ideas how to get the rest?”

“But the airlines office closes in just 4 hours.”

“If you do your best, Baba will arrange everything. And remember, no pressure!” I said.

When at last she proudly presented the necessary amount for my ticket, we only had time to run to the airline office and slip in the door as it was about to be locked.

Who’s depending on whom?

Oslo. Today was the second and closing day of a skiing weekend that I had organized here in the Norwegian Alps as part of my regular sports and adventures program.

This was only the second time I’d been skiing. The first time was earlier this winter when I conducted a one-week outing in the Swiss Alps.

Norwegians are a people said to be bom with skis on their feet. We held racing competitions. To allow me to participate, they gave me a liberal handicap of one minute on each run.

Toward the end of the day. in an effort to see how fast 1 could go, I ordered my feet not to turn inward, i.e. I would not allow myself to slow my downhill speed. I was soon moving faster than anyone else on the mountain. It was exhilarating.

The only problem was that I had not yet mastered sharp turning.

Because I could not turn around each of the skiers I was passing, I had to yell at those in front of me, “Look out! Look out!” Once they saw me they jumped out of the way. A neat, albeit, self-centered system.

At this time I was working as sectorial secretary of the Spiritualists’ Sports and Adventures Club, Two or three times a month we conduct weekend outings in different regions of the sector These programs ranged from mountain climbing, horseback riding, boating, forest hikes, and sports matches on up to full scale training camps teaching relief skills, first-aid, self-defense, survival ski I Is and higher philosophy.

At last I came to the final turn, sure that I had cut at least two minutes from my previous best time. As I rounded the comer I had a shock. Directly in front of me was a group of about thirty students, surrounding their teacher, who was lecturing them on some subtle point which demanded their full attention. When I yelled “Look out! Look out!” none of them heard.

Within a moment I was on them. At the last moment they noticed me and scrambled out of the way. One of them, however, was not quite quick enough. My skis latched onto his; my head continued forward while he was thrown down; and then my feet, still wearing the skis, flipped over my head as I flew through the air over a fence.

While most of the route is open, fences are erected only where the fall is precipatedly steep. Thus, as I merrily winged my way over that fence, thinking of Baba, I was blissfully unaware that I was courting sweet death. What trouble some of us children make for our Father.

He was compelled to save me by arranging my head-down-feet-up fall in a tree in such a way that my skis caught in the branches; I finished my route hanging upside-down with the top of my skull a few centimeters from the ground.

Throughout the weekend a fourteen year-old lad had taken a special interest in me; we usually skied together. This time, however, I had left him far behind in my flakes. Now, as he caught up, he saw me dangling from the tree, and shouted, “Wow, Dada! How’d you do that?”

“I’d prefer to tell you a little later,” I said. “Now how’s about lending me a hand, brother?”

It was nearly as dangerous getting me down as it had been getting there, but after a few minutes of nerve-racking efforts, my young friend had me back on my feet.

Unbeknownst to me, the entire escapade, including my brief flight, had happened in plain view of the 200 or so skiers who were waiting for the ski-lift. I was met by loud applause while finally skiing down to the bottom.

The only explanation I can think of why He bothers to save such zany people like me time and again, is because normal conservative people are unwilling to lead this sort of Tantric lifestyle in which one never knows what will happen next.

Baba simply has no alternative.

Entertainment at government expense

Paris. Last night, while traveling in a train and sleeping alone in a six-seat compartment, I was woken in an unprecedented manner. A strong flash of light hit me directly in the face. Immediately I opened my eyes, sat up, and saw a man still holding a camera. Without even donating a few francs for the privilege of taking my portrait, and without offering a smile, he turned on his heels and high-tailed it out of the compartment.

And I, without any idea as to what I was after, jumped up, and ran in pursuit. As I James- Bonded my way down the corridor, I passed a man walking in the opposite direction.

Arriving at the link between two cars, I suddenly thought.

What a dope I am! That was the camera-man, throwing me off his scent by acting opposite my expectations. I swung around, and raced back, just in time to see him disappear through the door leading to the next car. I rushed forward and turned the door handle, but he had locked the door behind him.

Well, I’m not so easily deterred, I thought, and dashed back to my room, opened my bag, and took out the key used for the doors between cars. (Because I spend so much time on trains, it is convenient to have this key.) Hurrying back to the locked door, I opened it. and entered the next car.

Though I looked at everyone in that car, I could hardly guess which of the apparently sleeping suspects was the real spy.

Full of wonder, but not downcast, I returned to my cabin. Id given it a good try. but once again those fellows had gotten the upper hand.

I laughed at what expense and trouble they were going to in building up their files on such a carefree, harmless guy. They consider me a dangerous radical, not realizing the true nature of the spiritual revolution for which I am struggling.

Calcutta. Today, during reporting, Baba divided the Dadas into 2 groups:

1. ERAWS (Education, relief and welfare section)
2. TRIO (a conglomerate of the three other major trades).

I took my place with the rest of the Trio group.

Baba instructed each group to condemn the members of the other group for insufficient speed in our work.

Criticism is a natural lower tendency. So everyone passionately threw themselves into the allotted task.

I stood directly 2 feet in front of Baba. The other Dadas, all Indian, yelled accusations back and forth in Hindi and Bengali.

Since these languages are not my forte, I remained silent, preferring to feast my eyes only on Baba for 10 minutes.

Baba’s expressions varied throughout, shifting from frowns to smiles to head-nodding to “Here here!” and so on.

All of a sudden He looked straight at me, then pointed and said, “And you! What are you looking at?”

I laughed loudly, then said, “I’m looking at my favorite person.”

“Eh, what do you say?”

“I’m looking at You, Baba.”

“No, no, no. You also have to play the game. You are not exempt.”

Immediately, without waiting for any further prodding. I turned away from Him, and, looking at the ERAWS workers, I said loudly, “You are all just like a bunch of dirty ants, not using a drop of your potentiality; you only swim in the muds of staticity, becoming more and more grimy with each passing day, enjoying your useless existence, and speaking highly of how you moved a few twigs and leaves here and there; and then jumping on the nearest sugar cubes and licking and licking until you become sick and have to fast (‘well it’s fasting day, and we had to fast anyway,’ you say), and proud that you move from place to place, diligently making a mess everywhere you go!”

While I was speaking, everyone was laughing, and Baba said, “Just see … Just see …”

“In short,” I said, “the pigs who roll in filth are better than you, because in the end at least they provide a bit of protein to the meat-eaters.”

I swung back around to Baba. He stuck out His chin and pursed His lips, saying, “Yesss. Rightly said.” He waved His hand at the others, and again they started up. I was left to return to my silence, and dived even more deeply into my contemplation of Anandamurtiji.