SUSTAINED BY FAITH
Chapter Fourteen excerpt
YOGANANDA
Ah, holy man, my sight is filled
from your single star,
yet I cannot hear your voice
in the shining silence,
however strong your pull
within my heart.
As I walk in the midst
of infinite moments,
may I sing upon the gentle breeze,
to shower you with words of love.
The evening of Yogananda’s birthday, as I went into the Retreat dining room, I felt myself shift into a state of meditative euphoria in which I was aware of being one with everything. My memory clear . . . I remember it vividly, as if I were back there again.
Almost startled, I looked up as I entered. Everything and everyone in the dining room was lit up, as if a light had been turned on, outlining every form in brilliance beyond what was physically possible. All movement slowed down. As I sat with others for dinner, everything was clean and bright and stood out. I felt surrounded and permeated by the light, unsure where I ended and it began.
People were chatting and eating, seemingly in a manner that was not different from the norm, and yet I saw it differently. As I watched the slowed performance, no one seemed aware of this phenomenon, nor was I moved to share it.
George, unaware of what I was experiencing, sat at my right, and we ate a beautiful meal within the glow, in slow motion. . . . As everyone was eating, I saw that each mouthful was truly an act of devotion, yet they were totally unaware of this.
Through the open kitchen door, I watched Carrie, who loved making desserts, place dessert on individual dishes with loving care. I was mesmerized by her undeviating focus on her task. She was simply, meticulously placing pieces of pie on individual plates, with unswerving devotion to her task. I could feel her reverence. She glowed within the scene, unaware of everything around her, unaware of me watching. Her movements were in slow motion, as each crumb was removed or put in its place, each piece of pie perfectly centered on the plate. The light of God poured forth grace through her into plate after plate of pie, as she orchestrated perfection, and energy resonated outward, everywhere, encompassing all. This was truly soul food in its highest form.
Within the moments between moments, I realized, from her beautiful, loving essence, that she was preparing to serve God. And I realized that truly every action we take is in the oneness and presence of God. Observing the action encompassed in the brightness as time slowed down, I was amazed at the unity of the whole as life went on.
I watched as each person was silently attended to. I watched this beautiful, egoless woman devotionally serve this dessert to each guest, as if it were being placed before God. I watched as they ate it, seemingly unaware of its blessed state. I remember being served this love-filled pie. I don’t remember what kind of pie it was. I don’t remember eating it.
This phenomenon of brilliance-seeing and the euphoric feelings that accompany it has occurred in many instances throughout my life. And sometimes, as if waiting to be noticed, this light surprises me in unexpected places, in everyday life. We dwell in it, most often unaware.
The meal ended and everyone stayed around the table to chat. No one had even mentioned that it was Yogananda’s birthday. I thought it was odd that this was a yoga retreat center, reportedly based on Yogananda’s teachings, and they didn’t mention or publicly announce a celebration for his birthday.
I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you celebrate Jesus’ birth with a six-hour meditation, and the New Year with a three-hour meditation, and for Yogananda’s birthday, nothing?”
I received a sound retort for that one with the reply, “What do you want, presents?” I said no more, but for some reason it bothered me.
I admired how Yogananda referred to Jesus as an avatar of supreme magnitude in his book, Autobiography of a Yogi. It felt comfortable that a new teacher was becoming near and dear to me, even with Jesus at my side.
I was pleased when, finally, I was told the evening meditation was to be devoted to Yogananda. Before it started, we were each handed a flower.
I immediately held the flower up to my nose to smell it. George came over to me and said, “For this celebration we keep the fragrance for the Master, so we don’t smell it.” I love to smell flowers—they seem to speak to me—but I reluctantly abstained from smelling it any further. However, I looked upon and felt its loveliness. And then, hesitating, I wondered if I should have left even those perceptions to the Master also. How could I restrain myself from such beauty in hand? I held the flower and attempted to not pay attention to it.
During the service, at the appropriate time, I laid the flower on the altar as an offering to Yogananda in celebration of his birthday. I knelt there for a moment in prayer and thanked Yogananda for his presence in my life.
When I returned to my place, I suddenly felt very cold and looked to see if the entrance door was open. It wasn’t open. My tinnitus became deafening, like a train rushing through, and immediately I had a headache. Time stood still. I turned my head toward the altar, and I saw Yogananda before me in shining, ethereal form—with welcoming arms, smiling at me—accompanied by a heavenly fragrance of flowers so aromatic it overpowered the flowers already in the room. It entered me, I felt it throughout my body and I could taste the fragrance in my saliva.
The noise, the pain and the cold simply were no more. As I kept my eyes fixed on Yogananda, I felt overwhelming love, and silent tears of joy flowed down my face as the fragrance lingered within me. And as I breathed the fragrance over and over, I felt a vacuum building within me. My pelvic floor clamped shut, and energy shot up my spine, radiating throughout my body.
Into the source of all God made,
in boundless void displayed!
What was hidden from my mortal eyes
I saw through the eye of my soul.
Ah, sweet communion this did impart
on the strings of my immortal heart.
As if I were an instrument to be played,
what filled my heart was clearly conveyed.
All this as Yogananda stood there with arms outstretched, smiling, seemingly thanking and welcoming me. “Home at last” resonated in my heart. And all the while, I was oblivious to the birthday-commemoration meditation continuing on around me.
Keeping this experience to myself, for I did not know how much I should share with my new friends or even what to say, I simply grew closer to Yogananda and Song of the Morning.