"At first, God stands at a distance watching your efforts. He is like the teacher who stands aside while the student writes the answer to his questions. When you shed your attachment to the material world and turn to doing good and serving others, God comes encouragingly near. He is like the sun god who stands waiting outside the closed door, like a servant who keeps his place. He does not announce His presence or knock at the door. He simply waits. But when the master opens the door even a little, the sun rushes in at once and drives out the darkness. When you ask God for help, He is right beside you with hands held out to help you. All you need is the discrimination to pray to God, the wisdom to remember Him."
- Sathya Sai Baba -
Part One
Lynn, Bal Vikas Child
When I think of our
daughter, Lynn, a mosaic of
bright images comes to mind;
Lynn, the child of whimsy,
improvisor of games and
stories which delighted her
friends. As one of them
would later say, "Wherever
Lynn was, there was
laughter." Lynn, the true
Bal Vikas who loved to show
reverence for her parents,
serving me breakfast on
Mother's Day and tenderly
caring for her father as he
recovered from surgery.
Lynn, the honor student, who
loved school. Lynn, the
child who at 14 when other
girls her age talked about
boys, preferred to sing
bhajans and yes, climb
trees. And most of all, a
Lynn who loved Baba with a
devotion which would awaken
an introspective quality in
her and a desire for
solitude in which to write
poems and thoughts of Baba
in her diary. Indeed, her
intensity of devotion would
draw her two younger
brothers and her parents
closer to God.
It was in the winter of 1974
that I prayed for holy
company. I know now it was
Baba who answered my prayer;
for, soon afterwards,
through a deaf friend, we
learned about him, and Lynn
and I began going to bhajans
at our Santa Barbara Sai
Baba Center.
It was Lynn who, after
seeing our first Baba film
at the center said, "Mommy,
we must have our own
meditation corner." She
promptly removed all the
books from a recessed book
case in our back hall, and
thenceforth it was our altar
where we meditated daily.
My hopes and unspoken
prayers for the children's
spiritual education were
quickly answered by Baba
when, shortly after joining
the Sai family, our head of
center formed a Bal Vikas
class. Thus, at Thursday
evening bhajans and again on
Sunday at Bal Vikas class,
Lynn's devotion had precious
opportunities to grow and
flower.
Indeed, she was the only
child present at the daily
celebration of Dasara and
was proud and happy when
asked to participate in the
reading of the Chandi. One
the culminating evening of
Dasara that fall of 1975, I
remember seeing tears of joy
in Lynn's eyes as she
offered a flower to the
Mother. And at Shivaratri
some four months later,
while many adults were too
tired to continue, Lynn's
ardor sustained her (as it
had the previous year)
through the night-long vigil
of meditation, prayer and
bhajan.
At times like these, my
pride in her devotion was
tempered by occasional
thoughts that perhaps her
zeal was abnormal for a
child her age. Little did I
realize that Lynn was being
guided tenderly by our Lord
and prepared for the
culmination of her short
life.
It was Thursday afternoon,
ten days before Easter, the
all important date on the
Christian calender which
commemorates the
resurrection of Jesus
Christ. School had finished
for the day. Lynn had gone
to the park, and I knew she
was heading for the tall
pine, her favorite climbing
tree. I remember watching
from the kitchen window as
she darted off, calling in
her sweet voice for our dog,
Jupiter, to follow.
Only 45 minutes later, a
neighbor came to tell me
that Lynn had had a fall. In
her haste to help her
brother David, who had been
bitten by a strange dog and
was crying, she had stepped
on a broken branch and
fallen some twenty feet to
the ground.
As I ran, I heard Lynn call,
"Mommy, Mommy!" And as I
reached her side, she seemed
to know I was with her. She
lay quietly and did not seem
to be in pain; thus I had no
idea she was so near death.
I prayed earnestly as I held
her hand, "Baba, please be
with Lynn, please be with
Lynn..." An hour later, in
the Catholic hospital
nearby, a priest was
administering the last rites
as she quietly passed on.
Numb with grief, I asked
Baba for reassurance. The
first thought that came was:
"Why, it is Thursday, Baba's
day." Indeed, two short
hours after Lynn's passing,
bhajans and prayers of our
Santa Barbara center were
lifting her spirit.
That night, I could not
sleep. I was tormented by
the knowledge that Lynn,
stunned by her fall, had
perhaps been unable to think
of Baba at the time of her
going. The next morning when
I went to her room, Baba had
already answered my anguish.
There on Lynn's desk were
her last words, written just
before going to the park.
They were a fateful
synthesis of the morning and
evening prayers.
"O Lord, I rise now from the
womb of slumber. Before I
plunge again into the daily
routine, let me pray most
earnestly to Thee,
omniscient Self, and seek
thy lap, which confers on me
restful sleep and blesses me
with eternal peace and
everlasting bliss."
Our minister was so struck
by this event that he opened
the memorial service for
Lynn with these very words.
The prayer had been written
in her favorite purple ink,
ready to be inserted into
the new Bal Vikas notebook,
which her teacher had
provided the day before her
death. The notebook was to
be a replacement for the one
David ahd lost on the way to
Sunday morning Omkar at the
center two weeks previously.
Now I know why David had
lost the notebook. It was
all part of Baba's design.
At the time I had marveled
at Lynn. She did not get
angry at David. She had
simply said, "Well, Mommy,
since our center leader is
moving to a new house, I
shall start a new notebook."
I told her how happy I was
that she did not get angry
with David. "You see how
Baba is answering your
prayers," I said. She had
often asked Baba for help in
dealing with, as I told her,
very natural feelings of
sibling rivalry with her
younger brother. But Lynn,
ever the perfectionist, had
been upset by her occasional
negative feelings toward
him, and she had often
prayed to Baba for help.
That's why I now know that
the way Lynn died was also
part of Baba's design: she
had fallen in the act of
hurrying to David's rescue;
her last act was a selfless
one.
It became clear that Lynn's
death was no "accident" but,
like her life, another part
of Baba's tapestry. In the
days to follow, other parts
of the pattern would fall
into place, revealing to me
as I had never experienced
it before, that Baba's
loving network was indeed
the basis of all existence.
The following day, a dear
friend who is a
long-standing devotee of
Baba, brought us an
inspiring message. After
bhajans, having learned of
Lynn's death, she had gone
into deep meditation in an
effort to "find" Lynn. She
reported experiencing great
light, a lifting as on
angels' wings, and
overwhelming joy. Any shreds
of my doubts were swept
away, and we wept together.
And then, a crowing touch:
late Saturday we learned
that Mr Vimu Mukunda,
distinguished musician from
Bangalore, India, and former
atomic scientist, who was
now a kind of spiritual
troubadour for Baba, had
just "happened" to be
visiting friends near Santa
Barbara when news came of
Lynn's passing. He wished to
play the veena at Lynn's
memorial service.
The morning of Lynn's
service, Palm Sunday (one
week before Easter), dawned
fair and sunny after a brief
shower of rain which seemed
like a touch of grace. Well
do I remember the tangible
aura of peace in Lynn's room
that day. Later, after the
service, friends would
remark on it with a sense of
awe.
The service was a beautiful
one consisting of prayers,
readings from the Bible and
the Bhagavad Gita, and
Lynn's own poems. And the
high point was Mr Mukunda's
veena solo which he
concluded by leading us all
in singing Lynn's favorite
bhajan, "Jai Durga, Lakshmi,
Saraswati..."
How grateful I was to Baba
for Mr Mukunda's presence.
It was as if the Lord had
blessed the event to be one
of celebration rather than
lament.
After the service, friends
who did not know of Baba
came up to us with grief in
their faces. How could I
tell them - and yet our
friends in the Baba family
understood - that our
daughter had been blessed in
her short life to come to
Baba in her heart, to love
this avatar, who had now
raised her pure spirit to
him. The tears in my eyes
that day were tears of joy
and reverence. Only much
later would our emotions
catch up with us, and
acknowledge the finality of
Lynn's going.
Shortly after this, a friend
and adopted grandmother
added another image to
Baba's tapestry. Three weeks
before Lynn's passing,
during a special function at
our center, we had seen
inspiring films of India;
and on the way home that
night Lynn had asked her,
"When do you think I shall
go to see Baba? I want to so
much."
That very night, our friend
told me, she had had a dream
in which Baba came to her
saying, "In 21 days she will
come to me." At that time,
our friend was in very poor
health and she thought Baba
meant that she was to die in
three weeks. Then, after
Lynn's death, she realized
that Baba must have been
referring to Lynn in the
dream, because it was 21
days after that Lynn fell
from the tree.
As our head of center
remarked, everyone in our
Sai family was deeply
affected by the love Lynn
left behind; a love she had
quietly and
undemonstratively shared as
a participant in our
worship. Her going made each
of us re-evaluate ourselves
and understand how vital
each individual is to the
life of a center.
And finally, as a legacy of
Lynn's passing, her father,
who had been an atheist,
became a spiritual seeker.
The poetry of paradox was
again released. We usually
consider death a tragic
event; yet in this instance,
as a dear friend would say,
Lynn's life and death were a
beautiful solo in Baba's
symphony. Indeed, Baba sent
my husband a vivid dream
which pointed out to him
that our child had given him
the key to a priceless
treasure, awareness of
divinity within. Some months
later, he would share with
me, "Lynn has given me a
gift - I am now a believer."
I will close with our
daughter's own words which
she wrote on a family
camping trip:
The golden sun climbs up from behind
A round, green hill.
All the sky is blue, cold and open.
Sai Baba stands on a single rock,
Smiling with the glory of dawn.
And this poem, expressing her yearning, which our minister shared at her memorial service:
To Baba, who sits on a golden throne;
Surrounded by snowflakes and frothy sea foam.
Come into my heart
Remove with your touch the tears of my heart
And replace them with a blissful song...
Part Two
Why Fear When I Am Here?
Shortly after Lynn's story
appeared in the Sanathana
Sarathi, I found myself
in a period of depression.
Perhaps the sharing of our
daughter's story stirred up
some residue of grief, or
perhaps it was simply one of
those dry spells that occur
from time to time in the
devotee's life. Whatever the
reason, I found myself
praying to Baba for a
special sign of his love. I
did not specify what it
should be; I simply asked
him for reassurance.
One week later, my prayer
was answered in a most
dramatic way. Coming to
bhajans that Sunday evening,
I was surprised to see Mr
Vimu Mukunda, distinguished
devotee of Baba and talented
musician, who had actually
played his veena at Lynn's
memorial service three years
earlier. We had not seen him
in all this time, for he had
been traveling around the
world. After our bhajans,
the center president asked
Mr Mukunda to share Baba's
words about Lynn.
As she was introducing him,
I could scarcely believe
what was happening. Had Baba
heard my plea? I listened as
Mr Mukunda revealed that he
had just happened to be in
Baba's presence when Mr
Kasturi, according to his
custom, was asking Baba's
permission to publish the
stories slated to appear in
the March, 1979, issue.
Among them was the story of
Lynn which I had submitted
to him. Mr Kasturi then
asked Baba about Lynn, and
Mr Mukunda heard Baba say:
"She was a beautiful child
who brought joy to all who
knew her. Why hold her back?
She has finished her karma.
She is with me."
Tears of joy filled my eyes
as I listened to Mr Mukunda
speak. Although at the time
of Lynn's passing many
miraculous signs reassured
us that she had indeed
"graduated" from this
university of the world,
here was the proof of her
liberation from Baba's own
lips, coming to me as if in
direct answer to my prayer
for a special sign.
As I look back, I now
realize that this dramatic
incident prepared the way
for my first journey to
India to see Swami's
physical form, a journey
which would materialize a
year later; and the process
of transformation hastened
by our daughter's death
would continue.
During the first visit in
Brindavan, Baba would take
me through the ABC's of
spirituality, starting with
his first commandment, the
basis for all spiritual
evolution: "God is one"; or,
in Swami's words: "Unity is
Divinity."
Now at this point in my
life, I certainly loved God
and my fellow man; I had
worked hard to implement
Baba's teachings, and I was
quite sincere when I told
him mentally just prior to
the trip: I desire nothing
from you Baba; I do not need
miraculous manifestations of
vibhuti and the like. I wish
only to experience your
divine love and to share it.
Our longed-for interview
with Baba would take place.
Baba manifested vibhuti for
a sick child, her mother
weeping tears of gratitude.
He asked most people in the
group, "What do you want?"
But when it was my turn, he
asked gently, "And how are
you?"
"I'm happy, Baba. Very
happy," I replied.
"Happy, very happy," he said
sweetly. And I felt a wave
of bliss flooding my entire
being.
That was all; then he went
on around the group, and
when it was my friend's
turn, he asked, "And what do
you want?"
She replied, "Baba, I want
to know if you are the
Godhead."
Baba answered, "Who is God?
What is God? You must
experience."
My friend asked, "Will you
help me?"
"Yes, yes, I will help," he
replied, and then he made
the familiar circular motion
and manifested vibhuti for
her, which he proceeded to
share with some in the
group. He skipped over me,
however; later I realized
that he had honored my
intent: hadn't I told him
that I desired no physical
manifestations?
Baba then went into a
discourse with my friend
about her "monkey mind" and
reminded her that she must
"choose" spirituality.
Finally, he said, "Do you
want Sai Baba?" and when she
said, "Yes", he manifested a
ring for her. The ring was
large and showed Swami with
his right hand raised in the
familiar mudra of
reassurance to his devotees.
At this point, my own monkey
mind took over, and I felt a
sense of dismay. I very
quickly forgot my noble
intentions and thought: I
wish he would manifest a
japamala for me! No sooner
had this thought crossed my
mind when Baba actually
materialized one and dangled
it enticingly in front of
us, swinging it back and
forth like a pendulum! Would
he give it to me? With a
twinkle in his eye, Baba
tossed it to a devotee from
Italy, a stocky lady already
sporting a huge ring which
Baba had given her on a
previous visit. I couldn't
believe it. From there on,
it was all down hill. By the
time the interview was over,
my mind was making the mad
monkey look like a sage by
comparison.
The next day, I found myself
looking into that Pandora's
box which Baba had opened.
What I saw didn't please me
one bit: jealousy,
unworthiness, self pity, and
so it went. Where were all
those "divine" feelings I
had been so sure I would
experience? The day
following this encounter
with my supposedly
non-existent ego, I finally
came to my senses.
"Baba, what am I doing? I
came here to ask of you only
one thing: Please take all
this petty egoism, and let
me be a channel for your
divine love."
And this time, I really
meant it; it was not just a
pious wish. As I waited in
the darshan line that
morning, tears filled my
eyes, and I held up my
japamala. Baba seemed to
know what was in my heart
for he walked over to me
directly and put his hand
firmly on my japamala,
blessing it and filling my
heart with joy. Gone was the
anguish and doubt of the day
before. I was transformed.
It was as if he were saying:
"Now that you are willing to
surrender the self-image
which was so precious, I can
give you what I wanted to
give you all along: the
experience of your own
divinity." That day, for the
first time in my life, I
know I actually experienced
divine love; I felt as
though I were floating six
inches above the ground.
The days of our first visit
were flying rapidly by. On
the 19th of January (we had
arrived on the 4th), Baba
was due to leave for Madras
and then for Bombay. We were
slated to leave for the
States on the 21st; but
there was no way to know
Baba's timetable. We decided
to see the travel agent to
confirm our seats on the
7:30pm flight, which wasn't
due to arrive until 9:00pm
on the 21st. That would give
us ample time to make the
midnight Air India
connection in Bombay. The
travel agent hesitated: "I
think you had better get the
noon flight to insure plenty
of time to make the
connection." My friend and I
looked at each other. It
occurred to us
simultaneously: this was a
sign that we might be seeing
Baba in Bombay after all.
Meanwhile, the theme of
oneness continued to assert
itself during our visit. One
the morning of the 19th
before Baba was due to leave
for Madras, unknown to one
another, each of us had been
inspired with the idea of
presenting Baba flowers
during morning darshan. This
would be our last contact
with him and a way of
expressing our love and
gratitude; however, as it
would turn out, neither of
us did buy any from the
flower sellers that morning.
No sooner had we walked into
the darshan area when a
friend, whom we had met at
the ashram, approached us
holding not one, but two
garlands. She said that Baba
had appeared in her morning
meditation and told her that
our love was a magnet; he
wanted each of us to have
flowers! And, of course, as
events unfolded, Baba did
stop to bless each of our
garlands that morning as we
held them up for a last
goodbye.
The next night, our last in
Bangalore before departure,
we were invited to the home
of Kekie Mistry,
Photographer. We felt it was
another farewell gift from
Baba as Kekie treated us to
slides of the recent
birthday celebration and
World Conference at
Prashanti Nilayam. This was
especially meaningful for us
because Baba had remained at
Brindavan during our entire
visit, and so we had not had
the opportunity to make the
trip to Puttaparthi.
During the evening, my
friend was inspired to
purchase one of Kekie's
photographs. This particular
photo, Kekie told us, was
one of Baba's favorites -
Swami had told him, "This is
the face of God." And so I
followed suit. Suppose we
did have the chance to see
Baba in Bombay, and suppose
he were to autograph them
for us? And extravagant
wish, given the
unpredictability of Baba's
travel itinerary; but by
then we were both learning
that miracles are the order
of the day in a devotee's
life. It's simply a matter
of staying awake.
In the Dharmakshetra, unlike
Brindavan where there were a
few hundred devotees at
most, there were thousands
waiting for a glimpse of
Baba. Our hearts sank; how
could we even hope for
contact with him? We sought
out a volunteer and
explained that this would be
our last opportunity for
Baba's darshan as we would
be departing that evening
for the States. Kindly
enough, she seated us
somewhere towards the center
of the vast throng and
disappeared. But a few
moments later, for no
apparent reason, she
reappeared and directed us
to follow her. This time,
she took us to the front of
the crowd and seated us,
like VIP's, in the first row
behind the bhajan leaders.
Further, she seated me right
on the aisle, so that if
Baba came near, I would have
an opportunity to hold up
the photograph.
Well, you guessed it. Baba
did come to me and sign my
photograph, "Love, Baba" as
my friend and I had prayed
he would. We had agreed that
if Baba should sign my
photograph, I would then
hold up hers, but when I did
so, Baba shook his head and
murmured gently, "Only one."
For just a few moments it
was my friend's turn to feel
left out; and then the true
meaning of Baba's actions
dawned on us both. As we
discussed it later on our
trip home, we realized that
Baba's words, "Only one,"
had been the theme of our
entire trip; the precious
lesson he had given us. And
he had provided
opportunities for each of us
to confront our self-created
obstacles to that awareness
- for instance, my
experience in the interview.
Having provoked these
happenings, he had then
given us dramatic glimpses
of our oneness; for example,
that morning when our
Seattle friend gave us the
garlands; the insight we
shared in the travel agent's
office; and the realization
that had it not been for her
impulse to buy the photo of
Baba at the slide party, and
had she not provided the pen
which Baba used to sign it,
I would not now have this
treasured sign of his love
on my altar.
What does oneness mean? Baba
gives us a practical test.
When we feel pain at
another's pain, and more
difficult, joy at another's
joy, then we can know that
we are experiencing the
divine unity he speaks of.
As if to underscore the
significance Baba attaches
to this teaching, an event
happened several years after
my trip to prove to both my
husband and myself that we
finally "internalized" this
principle.
I was gathering notes and
remembering the highlights
of that first trip to Baba,
preparing for a talk on
"Unity is Divinity" at a
neighboring Sai center, when
out of the blue, my
brother-in-law came to
visit. He had driven all the
way from Los Angeles to
share startling news. After
years of setbacks in
business (which had involved
considerable financial
sacrifice on my husband's
part in order to help his
brother), Peter announced
that his ship had come in. A
major chemical company was
about to produce and
distribute his invention,
and so bright were the
prospects, it now seemed
that he would be a
millionaire in two years'
time.
Our spontaneous reaction to
this sudden news was one of
pure joy. For both my
husband and myself, there
was not even a hint of the
"if-only-it-had-happened-to-us"
syndrome, simply genuine
happiness that Peter and his
family would be enjoying the
kind of life-style they had
long hoped for.
And then I experienced a
flashback - I was recalling
my very different reaction
during our interview five
years ago, at my friend's
grace in receiving a ring
from Baba. At that time, I
had felt contraction and
dismay, but now, on hearing
Peter's news, I was
experiencing a sense of
expansion and joy at his
good fortune; and this in
spite of the strained
relationship which had grown
up between our two families.
I knew now that the timing
of Peter's visit was Baba's.
He had given us the
opportunity to realize that
we were progressing on the
path.
After Peter left, I felt joy
at having passed Baba's
surprise "quiz", and perhaps
it was the catalyst for what
happened next. I had resumed
preparing notes for the talk
on unity, and was recalling
my experience in the
interview with Baba when the
revelation occurred.
In the interview room Baba
had asked me, "And how are
you?" I had replied, "I am
happy Baba, very happy."
Then he had said, "Happy,
very happy." At that
instant, a wave of bliss had
surged up within me, and now
I realized the bliss I had
felt was also his: He and I
were one. Implicit in that
moment of ecstasy was the
knowing, the experience of
divine union. And I had been
foolish enough to regret not
being given a japamala.
This incident was for me a
graphic example of how
Baba's time-frame differs
from our own. Lovingly, he
had saved for me the
"fruits" of my lesson on
unity until, in the fullness
of my own time, I was able
to demonstrate that I had
grasped the principle.
It is typical of Baba in his
role as teacher of his
devotees to validate
learning in this new way. As
he has assured us, there are
no shortcuts on the
spiritual path. Only be
manifesting in our lives and
in our awareness the love
and unity he teaches, can
each of us claim the
divinity within. As the
Course in Miracles
states: "To give and to
receive are one. To know
love, teach love." Or in the
words of Saint Francis of
Assisi, "It is in giving
that we receive."
In my case, he had first
prepared me for the
experience of unity by
putting me in touch with my
feelings of separateness and
the resulting doubts and
fears which, until his
merciful intervention, had
been blocking my awareness
of my true nature - for how
many lifetimes?
For most of us in Baba's
orbit, synchronous events
and happenings - "chance"
meetings and the like -
gradually prepare us for the
experience of unity which he
speaks of. I like to call
these events "cosmic
coincidence"; and over and
over again in the charmed
life of the devotee, Baba
uses these little miracles
to remind us that we are one
with our fellow beings and
one with him.
They will often occur in a
moment of crisis when we are
thinking of him. At such
times, he lifts the veil of
maya - or what we in the
West might simply refer to
as the world being too much
with us; when pressing
concerns can blind us to the
larger reality.
Recently, my older son
experienced an emotional
breakdown. He had moved to a
neighboring county. I was
not acquainted with any
psychologists or support
services, and I was at a
loss and floundering. I
asked Baba for guidance; and
the very first thought that
occurred was to call a
devotee in this nearby
community whose son had
experienced similar
difficulties; and so I
placed the call.
She could not recommend a
specific psychiatrist but
suggested that I call a
psychologist who had worked
with her son in the past. As
matters developed, this
young man responded to my
call in such a way that I
knew Baba was guiding me
step by step. He told me he
was about to have lunch with
his best friend who just
happened to be a
psychiatrist and the head of
the county's Continuing Care
Services. This man, he
assured me, was a highly
spiritual person and one he
would recommend for my son.
To make a long story short,
a week later we walked into
this psychiatrist's office
for my son's first visit.
And what should we see on
his bookshelf but a copy of
the Course in Miracles.
I found myself thinking,
"Thank you, Baba; obviously,
this man is a seeker."
But the crowning touch was
yet to come. As the
psychiatrist began talking
with my son, I noticed four
copies of a book right on
his desk in front of him. I
took a closer look. It was
none other than the
beautiful Supremacy of God
by Ilon - a series of
vedantic essays which
constitute a hymn of praise
to Sai Baba as avatar of the
age. This particular book,
as it happens, was the one
my younger son had given to
his Bal Vikas teacher as a
Christmas gift!
Not only had we been guided
to a doctor who could
identify with my son's
devotion to Baba, but also
he was a total vegetarian
and, in fact, he had just
finished reading Dr Samuel
Sandweiss's book Spirit and
the Mind.
Needless to say, it was one
of those "Why fear when I am
here?" episodes so dear to
the heart of the devotee;
the synchronicity which is
our proof ongoing, of the
eternal bond linking each of
us with him.
As I look back over my life,
it becomes increasingly
clear that only those
experiences which have
inspired love and awareness
of unity have any meaning.
The downers, difficulties,
losses and trials I now
perceive as unique
opportunities which Baba
seized upon to awaken me.
So, indeed, what is good?
What is bad? Most often what
the world considers "good"
has the effect of prolonging
the delusion; while the
"bad" removes it. As
devotees, we are supremely
blessed in knowing that by
turning to Baba, we can
experience the truth of this
cosmic paradox, and we are
thus empowered to weave
whole cloth out of the warp
and woof, the seeming ups
and downs of our lives.
More and more, life in this
world appears to be a
gigantic "koan", unsolvable
by the mind; solvable, in
fact, only by love. Has he
not assured us: "It is the
heart that reaches the goal.
Follow the heart! A pure
heart seeks beyond the
intellect. It gets
inspired."
This is the transformation
Baba brings about in each of
us. He is our divine
psychotherapist, slowly,
gently and surely removing
the blocks to love's
awareness.
"I am always with you, even if you don't believe in me, even when you try to forget me, even when you laugh at me or hate me, even when I seem to be on the opposite side of the earth. I am in you. You are in me. Don't forget that. We cannot be separated."
- Sathya Sai Baba.