The plan to leave Ananda Marga
Jackson. 1972. I have decided to leave Ananda Marga. Why? To answer this, I put another question: is it correct to meditate on the idea ìI am Godî? Day by day I am convincing myself of this statement, though honestly I know nothing. My purpose in following a
spiritual path should be to go beyond my limited beliefs and realize the truth. Whether or not the idea ìI am Godî is right or wrong, I donít know. Maybe this idea also is just a belief.
I shall go to an uninhabited place, leave all my worldly possessions behind, and throw myself open to Being. Before joining Ananda Marga I did this sort of exercise several times. But this time it wonít be for a few days only. Why should I trap myself with any kind of dogma?
Unfortunately, I am bound to stay in Jackson three more weeks because Dada Yatishvarananda is coming here, and Iím responsible for setting up his programs. As soon as his visit is finished, Iíll leave.
...
Three weeks later. Over the last ten days, I havenít done Ananda
Marga meditation. I simply sit four times daily, trying to think of nothing.
When he arrived today, Dada Yatishvarananda said, ìYour face is drained of light. Whatís troubling you?î
ìDadaji, I want to leave my post just after your visit is finished. To continue would be hypocrisy.î I explained my dilemma, and why I had to go.
He tried to help me, but nothing he suggested did any good. Finally he said, ìWe will do all of our meditations together for three
days, and your questions will be answered.î I doubt it.
47
During these three weeks, though I had no personal interest in the work, I did it efficiently. One hundred and fifty people came to the lecture tonightóa grand success. Is it possible that I was efficient not despite my non-interest but because of it, because of the absence of anxious expectation?
...
Two days later. Today was Dadajiís final day here. Iíve been so busy these past three days that Iíve had no time to worry about whether Iím correct or incorrect. But just before Dadajiís departure, I had nothing
to do for a few minutes except sit and wait for him to get ready. It was then I noticed that I was feeling fine, very fine. What happened? I donít know. But I told Dadaji, ìIíll stay at least a few more days ... to find out the cause of my good feeling.î
...
Two days later. Today my intellect caught up with my feelings and I understood. I had been thinking it was a dogma and blind belief to meditate on ìI am Godî. But in fact I donít even know what is ìIî, what is ìamî, and, though Iím aware of an infinite Entity, I certainly donít know what It or ìGodî is. These words, this systemóitís not the point. Even if I try to think of nothing and be open, itís also a system.
We cannot avoid walking in some sort of direction, both physically and mentally.
My purpose is clear. Ananda Marga stands for self-realization and service to others. It is trying to do good in every conceivable manner.
So Iíll continue with it, unless and untilóunless and until what? Plainly speaking, I think nothing could ever cause me to leave, unless I found that Baba Himself was false.
The curtain opens on a great drama
February. A mind-wrenching circular arrived from our office in Wichita. Baba is in jail in India. It states:
Though Baba was arrested on 29th December, we delayed to inform you in the hope that He would soon be released. But itís taking time. Together with four workers, He is charged with conspiracy to murder. Of course itís a frame-up manufactured by the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation) to crush Ananda Marga. The ideas and ac-YOU HAVE TO WORK FOR YOUR REALIZATION
48 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
tivities of AM have always been a direct threat to public figures who hunger for personal power without concern to benefit the society....
The sole direct witness is Vishokananda, an ex-Dada who claims to have been one of the murderers. Instead of being in jail, however,
he is free and enjoying luxurious living standards. His evidence is acceptable according to a fluke in Indian law which permits a criminal
to testify against others, in which case he is called the Approver. According to the discretion of the court, the Approver may be released
and richly rewarded for his cooperation.
The four so-called murder victims found in a forest are unidentifiable.
The post-mortem cannot even determine if they are male or female....
There is not one piece of authentic evidence in the case, and therefore our lawyers expect Baba and the co-accused to be acquitted very soon....
Baba is not only unperturbed by His incarceration, He was clearly prepared for it. When the police came to His house on the 29th to arrest Him, they proposed that they wait a few hours for Him to arrange His suitcases. He replied, ìI was expecting you, and am already
packed. Let us proceed without delay.î
Strange as it may sound, I am encouraged by this news. If the CBI is prepared to undergo such trouble to try to stop us, it proves Ananda Marga is doing excellent work. It goes without saying that the prosecution will eventually fail. This drama promises to be interesting.
All night all right
A few days ago, I read an inspirational book that mentioned the
mindís capacity to maintain the continuous repetition of mantra even while sleeping. Tonight while lying in my bed, I concentrated on my mantra as I fell asleep.
In the morning I had a wondrous experience. I had not the slightest of my normal tiredness on waking, and instead felt as if I was simply passing from one state of mind into another. I could distinctly recall the presence of my mantra all night, as if it was playing a witnessing role throughout all of my dreams. Because my awareness was identified with the mantra, I had watched my dreams as a kind of spectator.
I am beginning to tap into an entity of infinite perspectives.
49
The Lord resorts to extreme measures
Another volunteer, Paul, has been working with me these last few weeks. Today he left for India to undergo training to become a Dada.
I thought it was a mistake, and tried to tell him so, but he refused to listen or talk about it.
Paul has a wife and two small children who live in New York. He did not divorce his wife, but only left her for the sake of the spiritual work. I donít like this. I even asked him directly once, ìPaul, what about your wife and children? Are you thinking to communicate with them?î He gave me such a scowl that I dared not mention it again.
Throughout his stay here, his behavior was strange. He was almost
always silent, and barely helped except physically. When he sat in meditation, he moved constantly, often groaning in psychic discomfort.
Surely he is suppressing much. On the other hand, it does seem he loves our mission, and wants to do something noble with his life.
...
Two months later. I received a long-distance telephone call today from a government officer in Washington D.C. He said, ìDo you know Mr. Paul Stockman?î
ìYes.î
ìHe wrote your name in his passport in case of accident, and, well, heís had a serious one.î
ìWhere? What happened?î
ìHe was found unconscious, suffering from head wounds and a concussion in an alley in New Delhi, India.î
ìOh God.î
ìHis wallet was gone, so we guess that he was attacked and robbed.î ìWhat do you mean ëwe guessí? What does Paul say happened?î
ìHe doesnít remember what happened. In fact, ah, he doesnít remember anything. The doctors say he has almost total amnesia.î
ìWow! How...î
ìAnd thatís why Iím calling you now. Heís in a hospital in New Delhi, and we would like to know if he has any family to whom he should return. Itís preferable he receive treatment near his own home.î Luckily I happened to have his original address in New York City
including his wifeís name. I read it to the officer, and asked him to inform me when Paul arrives in New York, and in which hospital heís staying.
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50 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
...
Five days later. Paul arrived in New York yesterday. I called him
at the hospital. Heís still a bit weak, but said that small bits and pieces
of his memory have returned so that he can vaguely remember me and his family. His voice, however, sounded different. He always used to speak in an artificially subdued manner. Today, though his voice was weak, it was, nevertheless clear and unrestrained, except due to the uncertainty of his memory.
The end of our talk was interesting.
ìIím thinking to go to India soon,î I said. ìMaybe I can pass through New York on my way.î
ìThatíll be great!î he said.
ìDid your wife visit you yet?î ìYeah.î
ìAre you thinking to return ... to your home soon?î
ìThe doctors say I may be able to leave within a week or so.î ìYou mean youíll go home then?î
ìOf course. Do you suggest any other place?î ìNo, no, thatíll be perfect.î
I donít think he caught my delighted surprise. Here was a guy who was so sincerely and forcefully running the wrong way, that the only means by which Baba could correct him was a knock on the head.
Heís the problem, Heís the solution
Iíve run out of money. When itís happened before, Iíve always taken a short-term job: as a taxi driver, an accountant, a government census taker, a manufacturer of alfalfa sprouts, a Santa Claus handing candy to children in a department store.
But this time itís different. We have two major social service programs which will collapse if I withdraw from them in order to earn
money. First we are busy arranging a public concert to raise funds for the famine-stricken population of Bangladesh.11 Second is a twice-weekly cooking class for poor people, to teach them how to prepare nutritious tasty food on a minimal budget.
11 This program turned out to be the largest outdoor-concert ever held in Mississippi until then.
51
Iíve told my problem to nobody, except Baba, and to Him I said and say, ìI am working for You only, offering everything for You. This yoga house is Yours, and these projects are Yours. I shall not jeopardize the projects by taking a job. If I donít have money to pay for the
center, itís Your problem, Baba, not mine. If I end up in the street homeless, itís okay for me; it might even be interesting.î
Thereís no trouble getting food because Iím receiving government food stamps.
...
Three weeks later. The rent is due tomorrow, and I still donít have the money. Baba, be careful. Itís Your loss not mine if I canít pay the rent. That will be a good lesson for You.
...
Two days later. I suppose any moment the real estate company will call me, and ask for the rent. Iím ready to leave. The jokeís on You, Baba.
...
One day later. Today a letter arrived from Chris. Since he went to Eugene to study nine months ago, Iíve had no contact with him.
He writes: ìEveryone at the university here was fed up with the movies
arranged weekly by the University Cultural Affairs Office. So Larry
and I began booking first-class films on our own. We charged our audiences a nominal fee, thinking only to recover our expenditure. Without
expecting it, we pulled in some profit. When I was thinking what
to do with this money, I suddenly thought of you. Iíve got a feeling you could put it to better use than anyone I know.î
Inside was a check for $210, exactly enough money for the next
three months rent. As I walked to the real estate office I laughed. Good joke, Baba.
An ancient yogi makes trouble
Dadaji is here for his second visit. Again, plenty of people are attending the lectures and learning meditation.
One man, about 50 years old, came to our door, saying, ìI saw the sign on your house: Ananda Marga Yoga Society. What does it mean?î He had never heard of yoga. I took a few minutes to explain a little to him, and he immediately wanted to learn.
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52 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
ìI think itíll be better,î I said, ìif you first attend a lecture and read some of our books. You donít know what youíre getting into.î ìBut this is my only chance. Tomorrow I go out of Jackson for one month. Please leave the risk to me.î Hesitantly, I agreed to schedule a meeting with Dadaji.
Immediately after his initiation he did long meditationónearly one hour. Then he came to me and said, ìI must see Dadaji again.î ìIím sorry, Dadajiís doing his own meditation now, so youíll have to wait.î
ìBut I have an appointment; I canít wait. Iíve got a problem with the meditation. At least let me explain it to you.î
ìIím not qualified to deal with these matters.î ìLook, youíve got to listen!î
I shrugged my shoulders.
ìFrom the first moment, my meditation was very pleasant. But after some time a tall bearded Indian dressed in white appeared in my mind.î He demonstrated the sitting position of the Indian which was a yoga posture for doing higher meditation.
He continued, ìI was doing meditation on the mantra which I
learned from Dadaji. But the Indian man in my mind was loudly repeating a different mantra.î
He told me the ìdifferent mantraî. It was strange and unknown to me.
ìA conflict rose in me,î he said. ìI didnít know which mantra to use. It created a heavy tension, which was painful. Finally I decided that since my meditation had led me to the vision of this Indian man, I should follow him. So I started repeating his mantra. Immediately I felt wonderful, as Iíve never felt before. Do you agree that I am doing the right thing?î
I did not agree. ìIn my opinion you should continue only with the mantra you learned from Dadaji. I believe this vision is coming from your distant past. Perhaps from past lives. But Iím not sure, so please telephone me tonight, and in the meantime Iíll ask Dadaji.î
Dadaji agreed with me, so when the man called, I suggested he continue to follow Dadajiís instructions only.
...
53
Next day. The man I wrote about yesterday is a traveling salesman who sells equipment to farmers. Tonight he called again saying, ìIím
finding the meditation experience too taxing. That Indian yogi still appears every time I sit and loudly chants his mantra. What should I do?î
ìAs we already told you, please keep on struggling.î Of course that was easy to say, but.
...
Next day. The salesman called again late tonight. He said, ìAs usual the yogi entered my meditation this evening. This time, however, it was absolutely hellish. He applied such a power on me that it seemed unbearable. Somehow I continued with my mantra. Just when I thought I would explode if I continued even one second longer, he exploded!
His clothing, flesh, blood, even bones burst apart in every directionó nothing remained except a bright blissful luminosity. It was beautiful beyond words. I felt that all my worries and fears were gone. Did I merge in God?î
...
Two weeks later. The salesman called me again. He said, ìI feel
guided. Almost every farm I go to I find either the husband or the wife is particularly interested in meditation. And so I teach him or her the universal mantra12 . Is it okay?î
ìItís more than okay,î I said. ìItís perfect.î
Now I understand why this man had such difficulties in his meditationóto strengthen his mind for the work of reaching these farmers
who would otherwise never come in contact with Ananda Marga.
New education techniques
All of my social service responsibilities were taken over today by a new volunteer who will soon replace me. On a whim I visited a local primary school to see if I could help in any way. By their shabby clothing it was obvious that the children were from poor families. Almost
all of them were black. A secretary in the administrative office told me I was free to look around. As I walked through the hallways I heard children talking, laughing and yelling through every door.
12 The universal mantra is Baba Nam Kevalam
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54 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
When I entered a classroom for nine year-olds, I found nothing short of chaos. Not only were all the children busy in loud games of their own, ignoring the teacher, some were chasing others around the room, knocking over chairs, desks, whatever got in their way. Meanwhile, the teacher was sitting at her desk, reading something. I approached her.
ìExcuse me, maíam,î I said, ìI wonder if there is any way I could help you.î
She looked up, surprised. ìWell, thatís right kind of yoíall,î she
said to me. ìAlrightee, thank yoíall. Iíll just be on down to the lounge for a cup of coffee, and yoíall can take over the class.î
Before I could express my astonishment, she stood up and left the room. The students didnít even notice.
I looked at all of them, sat down at the teacherís desk, and closed my eyes. As I thought of Baba, an idea entered my head.
ìChildren!î I said loudly above all their racket.
Most of them spun around and shouted, ìYes!î ìWould you like to play a game?î
ìYes!î
ìOkay. Come and sit down near to me.î
Immediately they all ran forward, pushing and knocking against each other, laughing and arguing over who could sit nearest to me. A desk was knocked down, and a new fist-fight erupted for a few moments.
ìThis is a very special game you never played before. Are you sure you want to do it?î
ìYes!î
ìBut you have to be very different than usual to play it. Can you really do that?î
ìYes!î
I dropped my voice low and said, ìYouíll have to be very very quiet to play. I donít think you can do that. Do you really think you can play this special game?î
ìYes!î they yelled in a whisper.
Two boys pushed each other. Pointing at them, I said, ìYou two can play a different game, itís okay. You go over to that corner, and play your own game.î
55The two jumped up and ran to the far corner of the room. For about ten seconds they pushed each other. Then they sat down and looked at the rest of us.
55The two jumped up and ran to the far corner of the room. For about ten seconds they pushed each other. Then they sat down and looked at the rest of us.