I’ve mentioned several occasions when Swamiji’s guidance was strict and uncompromising.
It could be difficult to bear. It was as if a mighty spiritual force was prying my tightly clenched fingers from my ego.
I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Watching Swamiji for thirty-nine years, I found that he fulfilled Yogananda’s definition of a man of God: “Strong as a lion where principles are at stake, gentle as a lamb where kindness is concerned.” I suspect that God only used him as a channel for a more penetrating discipline when we invited it, or for those who, like me, needed drastic spiritual surgery.
We were at Swamiji’s home to record a piece of music. I was more than a little nervous – it would be the first time I would sing before him. And I wasn’t even a singer! I’d been roped in to tag along because tenors are hard to find.
When we arrived, Swamiji announced, “I’m going to audition you individually. And I’m warning you, I’m going to be very severe!”
Wow! Swamiji had, as usual, planted his thumb on one of my buttons and pressed down firmly. Would I sing badly? Would I be painfully exposed?
Swami had never missed an opportunity to tweak my puny self-concern. Before I came to Ananda, I was asked to take a photo of the community members on the final day of Spiritual Renewal Week. They duly lined up in a meadow, surrounding Swamiji. I was cripplingly shy and completely new to Ananda, and as I stood before the group, I was very nervous.
Of course, Swamiji was inspired to say the most catastrophic thing possible – he shouted cheerfully, “Say something funny!”
I was dumbstruck. I clicked the shutter, and that was it. What a bomb!
During the recording session, we would sing “Isis Comes,” which evokes a stately ceremony in a temple of ancient Egypt.
Still your mind if you want to pray,
Send all cares far away.
Isis comes, await the day!
Mother comes, await the day!
When it was my turn to be severely auditioned, my fears vanished. Swamiji was as mild as a lamb. His kindness was all-embracing.
Whenever I’ve been asked to serve in a way that put me in the spotlight, and that normally would have dissolved me with stage fright, I’ve found that my fears would disappear if I could persuade myself to dismiss all thoughts of my own position and offer myself unreservedly to serve others in the way that would best please God. If I could convince my heart to put the audience’s needs first, and offer myself to serve self-forgetfully as His instrument, I was inspired and protected.
This has been especially true with singing. As I’ve mentioned, I sing in our Palo Alto choir and two small groups. I’ve occasionally sung in duets, trios, and quartets. I even performed a solo rendition of “Big Frog, Little Frog,” with Karen and Joycee acting the roles of the frogs who “went hopping out one day to see what they could see.”
I find that if I can get my heart and soul in a simple place, thinking only of offering myself as an instrument for God to nourish hearts that hunger for His joy and love – there is no fear.
In a recent talk at Sunday service, Nayaswami Asha mentioned a mass shooting that had taken place during the previous week at a high school in the Northeast. The mood of her talk was somber. The moral was: “This world is not our home. It will never be. Learn to accept it.”
On a deep level of my heart, I felt that the audience needed an experience of God’s love and joy to balance the dark mood of the message.
I prayed to God and Guru, “We simply must give them something to nourish their hearts!”
We sang Swamiji’s quartet, “Three Wise Men.” Later, Dambara said it was the best he’d ever heard the piece performed. I’m sure that all of the singers felt the inspiration. Dambara said, “I know that the audience wanted to applaud, but they were so deeply into the inspiration that they were silent.” When I returned to my chair, the woman seated behind me tapped me on the shoulder and thanked me with tears in her eyes.
I’ve told how I was asked to go on stage at a major event in San Francisco and take photos of the audience. I turned to Jyotish, who sat next to me, and said, “I’ve got a lot of stage fright.” Swamiji was seated on Jyotish’s other side. When I rose to climb onstage, I was as relaxed and comfortable as a seasoned actor or singer – there was no fear.
At our Christmas banquet, Asha asked if there was anyone in the large audience who knew how to speak German, and who would come up and lead us in singing “Stille Nacht” (“Silent Night”) in German. I raised my hand.
At the moment, my heart was filled with happiness. I had talked with a woman from another Ananda center, trying to help her feel welcome and at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings. And – you guessed it – as I led the singing there was no fear, only the inspiration of the beautiful German words: “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, alles ruht, einsam wacht…”
There was a garden party at Swamiji’s. We arrived early, before the other guests. A small group of us sat outdoors on the patio and chatted with Swamiji. Someone mentioned that Nirmala had run up a big phone bill while booking Swamiji’s speaking engagements – I think it was four-hundred dollars.
“Well,” Swami said, sounding stern, “I’m going to have to talk to that girl!”
I thought, “Uh-oh – now she’s in for it!”
When Nirmala arrived, Swamiji was the soul of sweetness. “Nirmala,” he said softly. “Nirmala…” he pleaded. We all cracked up laughing, including Nirmala.
Swamiji – severe? Hardly. Strong, yes, but ruthless – never!