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There, under the shade of the banyan, and surrounded by a few disciples, sat the great Babaji! "'Greetings, Swamiji! The beautiful voice of the master rang out to assure me I was not dreaming. 'I see you have successfully completed your book. As I promised, I am here to thank you. "With a fast-beating heart, I prostrated myself fully at his feet.
"Swamiji, your presence is just the excuse I need to get out into the garden," Luther said gaily. He opened a large desk-drawer containing hundreds of travel folders. "See," he said, "this is how I do my traveling. Tied down by my plants and correspondence, I satisfy my desire for foreign lands by a glance now and then at these pictures."
Tomorrow I'll make it a point to have a proper meal." He laughed merrily. Shame spread within me like a suffocation. But the past day of my torture was not easily forgotten; I ventured a further remark. "Swamiji, I am puzzled. Following your instruction, suppose I never asked for food, and nobody gives me any. I should starve to death." "Die then!" This alarming counsel split the air.
"To my astonishment, he indicated by a few words of praise that he was aware of the fact that I had written interpretations on various GITA chapters. "'At my request, Swamiji, please undertake another task, the great master said. 'Will you not write a short book on the underlying basic unity between the Christian and Hindu scriptures?
"'Come and see for yourself. "Hesitantly following this laconic advice, I soon found myself near a tree whose branches were sheltering a guru with an attractive group of disciples. The master, a bright unusual figure, with sparkling dark eyes, rose at my approach and embraced me. "'Welcome, Swamiji, he said affectionately. "'Sir, I replied emphatically, 'I am NOT a swami.
My words touched the chord closest to Burbank's heart-child education. He plied me with questions, interest gleaming from his deep, serene eyes. "Swamiji," he said finally, "schools like yours are the only hope of a future millennium. I am in revolt against the educational systems of our time, severed from nature and stifling of all individuality.
The five of us dashed like children to the mango-strewn earth; the tree had benevolently shed its fruits as they had ripened. "Full many a mango is born to lie unseen," I paraphrased, "and waste its sweetness on the stony ground." "Nothing like this in America, Swamiji, eh?" laughed Sailesh Mazumdar, one of my Bengali students. "No," I admitted, covered with mango juice and contentment.
Desai entered the room, "please make arrangements at Town Hall for Swamiji to speak there on yoga tomorrow night." As I was bidding the Mahatma good night, he considerately handed me a bottle of citronella oil. The following morning our little group breakfasted early on a tasty wheat porridge with molasses and milk.
"My sons, it is nothing to me to fight tigers. I could do it today if necessary." He gave a childlike laugh. "You look upon tigers as tigers; I know them as pussycats." "Swamiji, I think I could impress my subconsciousness with the thought that tigers are pussycats, but could I make tigers believe it?" "Of course strength also is necessary!
Memory is not a test of truth; just because man fails to remember his past lives does not prove he never had them. Memory is blank concerning his womb-life and infancy, too; but he probably passed through them!" He chuckled. The great scientist had received KRIYA initiation during one of my earlier visits. "I practice the technique devoutly, Swamiji," he said.
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