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Updated: May 10, 2025
It is September, 1936; I am in England to fulfill a promise, given sixteen months earlier, to lecture again in London. England, too, is receptive to the timeless yoga message. Reporters and newsreel cameramen swarmed over my quarters at Grosvenor House.
There is nothing less impressive from a height of two hundred feet than a pot-bellied man in black broadcloth walking on the ground. There were men in uniforms which were not of the United States armed forces. They ran heavily to medals, which glittered. There were more arrivals, and more, and more. The newsreel and TV cameras nosed around. The cranes worked methodically.
The milling crowd in front of the Capitol suddenly grew quiet. A tall portly figure came out onto the porch of the building and stepped before a microphone erected on the steps. A battery of press cameras clicked. A newsreel photographer ground away on his machine. Wild cheers rent the air. The President held up his hand for silence. As the cheering died away he spoke into the microphone.
One day I entered a motion picture house to view a newsreel of the European battlefields. World War I was still being waged in the West; the newsreel recorded the carnage with such realism that I left the theater with a troubled heart. "Lord," I prayed, "why dost Thou permit such suffering?"
They are the cosmic motion picture, as real and as unreal as the theater newsreel you have just seen-a play within a play." My heart was still not comforted. The divine voice went on: "Creation is light and shadow both, else no picture is possible. The good and evil of MAYA must ever alternate in supremacy. If joy were ceaseless here in this world, would man ever seek another?
To my intense surprise, an instant answer came in the form of a vision of the actual European battlefields. The horror of the struggle, filled with the dead and dying, far surpassed in ferocity any representation of the newsreel. "Look intently!" A gentle voice spoke to my inner consciousness. "You will see that these scenes now being enacted in France are nothing but a play of chiaroscuro.
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