Swami Kriyananda Stories — Ch. 19: Becoming Simple With Swami Kriyananda’s Help

“Cosmic Ascension,” by artist Omar Sahel
“Cosmic Ascension,” by artist Omar Sahel

I’ve mentioned that when we were in Swamiji’s company, God would often use him to help us loosen our hold on the ego – a surgical operation that was seldom without discomfort.

At times, in his presence, it felt as if the world had disintegrated beneath me and all my familiar supports were torn away. Suddenly unfamiliar to myself, my habitual identity shattered, my ego unable to find a firm and familiar perch, it felt like being lifted off the planet and floating free in space, without air for my ego-identifications to breathe. I was forced, gasping and writhing, to let go of the ego and find my true identity, my true place in the whole, as a very simple person, humble and happy.

How could I cope at such times? What was the right response? What could I do to lessen the sense of utter disorientation?

I could never tell, with my rational mind, how I should respond. There was no smug plan or fixed routine that I could follow – “Do these steps, say these words, think these thoughts, and the pain will go away.” My identity was blown to bits – I was as helpless as a baby, unable to help myself. No thought, no feeling, no action was adequate; all the familiar instruments of thought and action were blasted away.

And, well, that was the point. I’m struck by two phrases that I heard Swamiji utter in his last years. On one occasion he spoke of the need on the spiritual path for “humble service.” And on another, he used the phrase, “childlike devotion.”

Childlike devotion and humble service.

When I arrived at Ananda, I had a completely blank picture of who Swami Kriyananda was. Watching how others related to him, I saw that there were a number of extroverts in the community who seemed to have a close personal relationship with him. They were at ease with him, cracking jokes, laughing, and generally being the life of the party.

Because they stood out, playing their roles at center stage, they seemed to be the models for how the rest of us should relate to Swamiji. My ego wanted desperately to be part of the action! But whenever I tried to behave in a jolly, good-humored, hail-fellow way in his presence, I failed miserably.

I remember a gathering at Swamiji’s where I walked in the door and immediately felt completely out of sorts, my ego suddenly torn from its usual moorings. I’m put in mind of a Paul Simon song.

There is a girl in New York City
Who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I’m falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Oh, so this is what she means.

   – Paul Simon, “Graceland”

I was desperate to be accepted, to be acknowledged, to be found worthy and praised and encouraged and have my poor little trembling ego stroked and comforted. And, instead, in Swamiji’s ego-less presence, I found the rivets of my psychic framework being ripped out, my cloak of self-identity torn to shreds as I fell tumbling in turmoil without firm ground to stand on.

After the gathering, I stumbled out into the night. Trudging over the hill to the Village I reeled in confusion. Who was I? Where were my feet? Where was the earth? I went to the small temple above the market and stayed up all night, meditating and praying for answers.

Finally, as the dawn began to lighten the sky, I saw myself in a kind of waking vision. There was Rambhakta, walking self-importantly into Swamiji’s house, expecting everyone to like him, craving Swami’s approval. He looked like a complete clown, swaggering under the weight of his bloated ego!

I suddenly saw the hilariousness of it all, and I began to laugh aloud from the depths of my being. It was so funny!

The “answer,” I realized, lay in childlike devotion and humble service.

The tests didn’t abate, of course. My ego didn’t suddenly melt away amid clouds of cosmic laughter. Time after time, my self-focus returned, holding me in its sere and unhappy claws.

Swami Kriyananda in blue habit
Swami Kriyananda — the dearest friend, his love for us was God”s love.

I continued to find it extremely hard to be in Swami’s presence. Around him, there was something in the air that was wholly incompatible with self-regard. It was an atmospheric mixture that offered no sustenance to our ego-identifications.

After yet another ego-flattening event at Swamiji’s, I walked home in the evening gloom, feeling the excruciating pain of having my identity reduced to ashes and blown away by cosmic winds. I could only pray with childlike simplicity, “But I only want to serve! That’s all I want to do. I just want to serve!”

Instantly my confusion vanished. I had found the answer.

Around that time, I had a private conversation with Swamiji.

He said, “You don’t have to be the life of the party. You can sit a little apart and just observe what’s going on.”

I discovered that I could be very happy in Swamiji’s presence if I could truly be myself – an introvert to the Nth degree. I found that I could feel great joy by sitting quietly, somewhat apart, while the Leos and Capricorns and Taureans laughed and chattered with the spiritual teacher.

From then on, whenever I arrived at Swami’s, I would straightaway look for a place to sit. I would then plant myself firmly in that spot and make a solemn vow not to move until I had changed my consciousness.

I would pick one person out of the crowd and begin to pray for them silently. I would start with a generic, “plain vanilla” prayer.

Yoga tells us that God has given us five instruments by which we can find happiness and inner freedom.

The instruments of self-transformation are the body, feelings, will, mind, and soul. They correspond to the five branches of yoga: hatha, bhakti, karma, gyana, raja.

I realized that they correspond also to the five essential blessings that everyone in this world is seeking. We all want to achieve happiness, and freedom from suffering – gifts that can come to us through the five instruments of our being, in the form of greater health and energy for the body, greater love for the heart, greater inner strength of will, and greater wisdom, calmness, and good cheer for the mind. And finally, the joy and selfless love of the soul.

I would begin my prayers by asking God to bless the person I had chosen with these five “generic” gifts.

I would then spend a long time expanding on each separate gift, asking God to give the “target” person health and high energy for their body, accompanied by freedom from pain and disease; the love of true friends for their hearts, and the ability to give love to others – but especially the ability to love God with deep devotion, which draws all other blessings in its wake.

After working hard on these prayers, a strange thing would happen. First, I would gradually begin to feel the inward truth of the prayer – I would slowly, gradually, truly and actually begin to feel a deep, pressing desire that the person receive the blessing. And as I began to identify with their happiness, I would find the tight little focus of my self-concern begin to loosen, and a wonderful inner freedom opening in its place. I would often feel that God Himself was joining my prayers and blessing the person. Feeling His blessings pass through me was wonderfully liberating, healing, and inwardly expansive – it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience!

And then another strange thing would happen. After I had prayed intensely for a long time, someone – but never the person for whom I had prayed – would come and sit beside me, and we would have an enjoyable conversation.

I knew that it had happened entirely by God’s grace, with Swami as its perfectly attuned instrument.

Swamiji worked with my nature. He never tried to get me to be other than I was: to be more like the “social lions,” those who could relate to him in an easygoing outward way. Swamiji encouraged me to grow into the highest expression of my own nature.

I remember two occasions when I said words to Swamiji in praise of Asha. I admired her greatly, in large part because she was such a wonderful example of the right way to relate to Swamiji and Master, with complete, fearless openness, ready and eager for any lesson they might be willing to impart.

On one occasion, I said to Swamiji, “Asha is wonderful!”

Swamiji replied, “Yes, she is – and so is Seva. And so are you.”

I realized that Seva was a role model that I could naturally relate to. She was wonderful – a quiet, inward soul who was deeply devoted and whose presence was always a delight. As for myself – well, Swamiji loved everyone in exactly the same way, for he saw the God in us.

A meeting was scheduled of the Ananda Publications staff. Several of us arrived early and chatted while we waited for Seva to appear. As soon the door opened and Seva entered, a wave of joy swept through us, lifting us onto a plane of happiness and good cheer.

The second time I praised Asha to Swamij, his response was stern and matter-of-fact: “It’s going to take you a long time to gain that kind of freedom!” Swamiji paused, then said, “She has had the training.”

I’ve meditated often on his words. I live in the Ananda community in Mountain View, California, where Asha is the spiritual director. I’ve known no one who was able to relate to Swamiji more naturally, or who was as open to his guidance and discipline. Only Jyotish and Devi, among those of my acquaintance, come to mind, though I’m sure there must be others.

Late one night I went to the little temple in our Ananda community to meditate. I found Shurjo and Narayani there, sitting in meditation. An overwhelming bliss permeated the temple. It had the unique and unmistakable flavor of Swamiji. I knew with absolute certainty that he was present in the room. I didn’t try to absorb it into my own being, knowing that it was the gift of their own communion with him, and that if I were to achieve a similar depth of self-offering the fragrance of my communion with him would be uniquely my own.

Swamiji had invited the community members to a gathering at his home at Ananda Village. Before he began his talk, he shouted in the direction of an upstairs room, “Asha! How are you feeling?”

From the loft came Asha’s voice, “Well…I’m feeling kind of lousy.”

Swamiji’s cheerful response: “Well, carry on!”

I realized that Swamiji was demonstrating the right way to relate to him and to God and Guru: to be completely natural, never trying to put on a guise or assume a reality that wasn’t our own.

Few of us could be as real and open with him as Asha was. I realized that it took great, courageous love, great trust, and long experience as a disciple to be able to let go of the masks that most of us wear, and that we try to hide behind in an effort to hold onto our trembling little self-definitions.

I remember a talk that Brother Anandamoy gave during a weekend retreat for men at the SRF Encinitas Hermitage. At the time, I was feeling unworthy and self-critical. Anandamoy talked about James Coller a direct disciple of Yogananda who had a marked disinclination to conform to the rules of the monastery. Yogananda had said of James that he would be liberated in this lifetime. “I don’t know how,” he joked, “but Divine Mother says so.”

I felt that through Anandamoy, Master was addressing my need for greater self-acceptance. He talked about how the senior monks would ask James to do some task, and hours later they would find that he’d completely forgotten it. Master described James as “like hot molasses – too hot to swallow and too sweet to spit out.”

Swami expressed another necessary quality for self-forgetfulness when he said in a public talk, “Before there can be an expansion, there must be a certain grounding first.” Before we can embrace a reality beyond our own, we must make room for it in our hearts by restraining the impulse to be busily engaged with our own thoughts and feelings.

After I moved to the Mountain View community, I was driving down Alma Street one day in my truck, singing Paramhansa Yogananda’s chant, “Will That Day Come to Me, Mother?”

As I sang, I pondered what it must be like to really sing to the Cosmic Mother as Her little child.

I remembered how, when I was seven or eight years old, I had spent happy hours in the kitchen with my mother while she told me stories, often very funny ones, about her life growing up in Chile, and the strange and eccentric members of our family.

As I sang, I identified with that little child, and I found that I was able to sing to the Mother of the Universe in that simple way, as Her little boy.

Suddenly I felt the inner skies parting and the Divine Mother Herself smiling in blessing. For hours afterward, I was in an intoxicating state of bliss where the boundaries between myself and others were dissolved and there was no separation or difference. I knew that we are part of the same one thing. I felt my oneness with the single entity that exists and that sustains us all.

I stopped by the East West Bookstore. A Tibetan teacher happened to be visiting, a respected rinpoche. Seeing that I had received a special blessing, he was sweet and loving.

Years ago, in the late 1960s, I met a direct disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda. Gene Benvau served as the principal minister at the little SRF church in Redondo Beach. Gene had lived at Mt. Washington as an infant with his mother. When I knew him, he was a big, burly man who ran a trucking company. Master had told him that his life would not be that of a renunciate – he had chosen a wife for him, and seeing them together, it was clear that they were very happy.

In his talks, Gene would often say, “The spiritual path is veeeeeery simple.” Then he would pause and chuckle, “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy!

It isn’t easy to be a simple person, full of childlike devotion and always eager to serve. But, speaking for myself, I’m never happier than when, by Divine Mother’s grace, I know that I am Her little boy.

 

 

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