
It amazed me to see how Swamiji could help so many people at the same time, even if they weren’t relating to him, but were just faces in the crowd.
I noticed it first during the informal gatherings that Swamiji would host at his home in the early years.
An occasion stands out – it was an all-community party.
When I arrived, I noticed a woman sitting in the lotus posture, spine straight, eyes closed, her face set in an expression of intense concentration, with furrowed brows, not moving a muscle. I sensed that she was being tested.
Lord knows, it had happened to me. In fact, no sooner had I joined the party…but I’ll save that story for later.
Back at the Village, I ran into a friend who told me that he had undergone a big spiritual test at the party.
Suffice it to say that it could happen to any of us at any time – you would suddenly find your spiritual progress being uncomfortably advanced, even though you were merely a cipher in the throng. There was no chance of eluding the Spirit when it decided to help you grow.
I remember a strange thing that happened. It was during a lecture that Swami Kriyananda gave at our temple in Palo Alto.
The temple was packed with more than three hundred people. At one point in his talk, Swamiji said, “Keep up with your neck tuck.”
It seemed a perfectly natural thing for him to say as part of his lecture. Yet it applied only to me. Weird doesn’t begin to describe it.
Thanks to two surgeries fifty years ago, I’ve had difficulty opening my upper spine in meditation so that the energy can flow harmoniously. At one point I discovered that it helped greatly if – you guessed it – I would tuck my chin and forcibly straighten the back of my neck.
It was a relief to discover this trick. I reckon God wanted to encourage me in the practice, hence, “Keep up with your neck tuck.”
The strange thing is that I heard Swamiji’s voice clearly, yet I will happily put a hundred dollars in the collection plate if you can hear him say those words in any of his recorded talks.
Another curious thing happened while I was living at Ananda Village.
Swamiji would occasionally be available to counsel us individually. Whenever I went for a counseling session, I would bring along a tape recorder and ask for his permission to turn it on.
In the course of one of our talks, he paid me a compliment – I don’t remember what it was. Later, I discovered that the recording was perfectly clear except for the few seconds where he complimented me, at which point the words became inaudible. I don’t remember him lowering his voice. I reckon God didn’t want me to get a fat head.
I’m reminded of a left-handed compliment that Swamiji once paid me.
“You don’t take yourself too seriously, Rambhakta,” he said. “And that’s good.”
Before I could stand a bit taller and tilt my head back in pride, he continued, “You should do more of that.”
I reckon there was even less of me to take seriously than I had imagined!