Swami Kriyananda Stories — Ch. 20: Knee to Knee With Swamiji

Photo: A pool party at Swamiji’s. The children dance to Swamiji’s song, “Cherry Blossoms in Kyoto.”
Photo: A pool party at Crystal Hermitage. The children dance to Swamiji’s song, “Cherry Blossoms in Kyoto.”

This is for those quiet souls who feel awkward in crowds and on social occasions.

I was thrilled to move to Ananda. At last! I rejoiced, I could live among people who shared my spiritual ideals. We could talk about anything – Reincarnation! Yogananda! Devotion! When we went to the outhouse, we could shout “Hari bol!” to see if it was occupied.

I’m being silly – I doubt there are any outhouses at the Village now.

My point is that Ananda felt like home. I recognized a quality in the people that I longed to have for myself. It was an unspoken joy and inner composure that I saw in their eyes.

If this was my home and my spiritual family, I felt that I should be part of what was going on. I longed to emerge from my hermit’s shell, and to belong. But as a lifelong recluse, I had no proper compass for how to be an extrovert, and as I’ve mentioned, I went about it in the wrong way.

Swamiji encouraged me not to put on an act, but to be what I was. Swamiji’s “right-hand man,” Jyotish, repeated Swamiji’s counsel. He said, “Your role is not a public one, giving talks and being the life of the party.” He said, “Your role is to be somewhat apart and to write about Ananda.”

What is it about life’s loners and recluses that prompts us to go against our natural grain? A lunatic inspiration takes hold, as we watch life’s natural-born party planners and banquet organizers having so much fun – laughing gaily and conversing easily with the teacher.

If I ever tried to be falsely effusive, Swamiji would become somewhat distant. It was painful to feel that I wasn’t part of the “scene” – until I learned to accept and be comfortable with my nature.

I began to learn how to relate to Swamiji at a time when my wife and I were having difficulties in our relationship. I wrote to him, requesting his prayers for us, and the next day he called and invited me to come to his home to talk.

I didn’t like to take up his time, feeling that he could use it to help people with problems more serious than mine. So I said, “I really don’t have to…” But Swamiji interrupted, “No, it’s important. Come on over.”

I arrived ten minutes before the appointed time and sat on the steps outside his house, trying to get in the proper frame of mind for a serious conversation.

I thought, “I am not here to get a pat on the head. I’m not here for Swami to recognize or praise me. I’m here to ask for his help with the troubles we’re having.”

Swami answered the door and said, “Let’s go to the office in the music studio.”

I followed him through the hall to the office, where he pointed to a comfortable chair and invited me to sit. He then drew a second chair so close that when he sat our knees were nearly touching.

I knew that he was responding to my thought that I didn’t want to be coddled. He gave me valuable suggestions for how I could help create harmony in our marriage.

I’m writing this to help others whose nature, like mine, is quiet and reclusive, and who might not feel that they are wholly part of Ananda.

In that vein, I’ll share another story.

It was a hot summer day, and Swamiji had invited the members to a pool party at Crystal Hermitage.

When we arrived, I jumped in the pool and found a quiet corner, where I began my usual practice of trying to forget myself, by choosing one person and praying for them. Soon I was feeling inwardly blissful and happy, not needing to be part of the scene.

Later, we gathered on the patio for tea and treats while Swamiji talked with us.

At one point, he mentioned the English humorist, P. G. Wodehouse. I’m paraphrasing, but Swamiji said something like, “Wodehouse was a typical writer, in that he wasn’t comfortable in social situations. One time, he was traveling to England on an ocean liner, and the captain asked him to read a chapter of his latest book to the passengers. Well, he got up and sort of mumbled inaudibly.”

Swamiji then looked at me with a kindly smile. He said, “Look at Rambhakta – he’s like that, too. He doesn’t say much, but he can really put it down in writing.”

Wallflower that I was, I wanted to fade into the rock wall behind my chair.

Swamiji then changed the subject. I turned to Asha who was sitting nearby and chuckled, “Well, I guess he’s given me permission to be the way I am.”

Swamiji interrupted what he was saying and shouted across the patio, “What did he say?”

Asha yelled back, “He said you’ve given him permission to be the way he is!” Rambhakta, the hermit, melted deeper into the wall. Swamiji looked at me and smiled happily.

When the party was over, I was exhausted. I had expended so much energy praying for others that I had the energy of a wet dishrag.

I was dismayed to see that Swamiji was sitting by the door where people were filing out, and that we would have to pass and say something to him. I had no energy for a social encounter. I thought about hightailing it over the garden fence. When we drew near, I could only mumble, “Thanks for having us,” and stagger out.

Later, I reflected that I must not have found the best “method” for surviving spiritually in social situations. Praying for others was an excellent way to forget myself, but it didn’t seem to be the final answer. As an all-purpose method, it was too complex and exhausting.

There were too many situations where it wasn’t possible to spend a half-hour preparing to forget myself. Circumstances often required that I interact spontaneously, in the moment. People would pop around a corner and want to talk.

Years later, Asha would give me priceless advice for harmonizing my relationship with Ishani. She said, very quietly, “If you could go to Divine Mother in the moment…”

Whenever I practiced her counsel, I found Divine Mother responding willingly – when I prayed not for myself or to be rescued, but that She give me the kindness and compassion to help others – to be on their side.

Soon I was practicing the “new method” in other situations. If I had to meet people or talk with strangers, it required only a heartfelt prayer, “Divine Mother, show me how to behave!”

If I was sincere and committed to follow the guidance that came, this small prayer reliably brought help in countless situations where I would otherwise have floundered. I recommend it to everyone, not introverts only.

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