A Disciple's Journal: In the Company of Swami Ashokananda

by Sister Gargi

  Me: Why is it that it is more pleasant not to work than to work?

  Swami: It is the nature of man to be self-indulgent. One must force oneself to work. Only those who are highly advanced spiritually can afford to act according to their preferences; for others the mind must be kept alert or it will create trouble for itself. Responsibility keeps the mind alert. I don’t think you people have any idea what dangers there are in the spiritual path. One must be extremely cautious and extremely alert.

  Me: What kind of dangers?

  Swami: Are you really unintelligent?

  Me: You mean the mind can turn?

  Swami: Of course.

  Mr. Shinn has now completed work on the revised plaster cast of Swamiji. He brought it to the new temple in order to see the effect of the light. To spare Mr. Shinn’s feelings, Swami did not tell him how he, Anna, and Dorothy Peters worked on the plaster cast in Mr. Shinn’s absence—only that it had been damaged and that this was his (Swami’s) fault.

  Swami: When one is working with people one cannot always tell the truth, for telling the truth can sometimes cause untold trouble and create all kinds of unnecessary difficulty.

  Me: One must need a great sense of responsibility in order to be able not to tell the truth sometimes.

  Swami: Yes. It is a dangerous kind of thing.

  August 13, 1959

  As soon as choir rehearsal was over this evening, Dora Blaney, the music director, and the singers crowded into the doorway of the back office. Swami spoke about the main worship that would take place at the dedication.

  Swami: It will be terribly complicated. One cannot worship only Sri Ramakrishna; it involves the worship of all sorts of gods and goddesses. There are swamis in India who are past masters at this kind of thing—like singers who have mastered all the technique and can perform effortlessly. It is wonderful to watch them.

  Dora: Everyone is working very hard.

  Swami: Yes, everyone is. Sri Ramakrishna is very pleased.

  Dora (incredulous): Is he really pleased?

  Swami (very emphatically): Absolutely! I will tell you a story. It is about another center. The swami-in-charge had been working very hard and went into the shrine. Sri Ramakrishna came right out of the photograph on the altar and came toward the swami with the speed of an arrow. Like an arrow, Sri Ramakrishna pierced him in the chest and entered into his heart. The swami felt great joy and he knew that Sri Ramakrishna was very pleased that so much work was being done for him—very pleased.

  Telling this story, Swami looked glowing, and he showed just exactly how Sri Ramakrishna had pierced the chest: “He hit the swami just here.” I do not think there is any doubt that this had happened to Swami himself and had happened quite recently—probably at Sacramento, when the altar of the temporary chapel was installed.

  August 17, 1959

  Hard labor has gone into creating a garden behind the new temple. The workers have also been digging new plots along the front and side of the temple. Swami has supervised all these activities.

  At one time Swami did not want the women to wear blue jeans while working in the garden, but when skirts proved impractical, he consented. He still insisted, though, that we wear skirts in the temple auditorium or out on the street. For such occasions, Dorothy Peters wore a voluminous denim jumper with woolen stockings—a strange-looking getup. Yesterday, when Swami asked her while she was in blue jeans to come out on the sidewalk so he could tell her about some work to be done there, she said, “I will change into a skirt in a jiffy.” Swami said, “What is it that you wear? Some sort of Mother Hubbard? What you have on is better than that. Why do you get yourself up in a Mother Hubbard?” So Dorothy was allowed out on the street in her jeans.

  August 19, 1959

  Swami said that he would write his talk for the dedication and read it from the lectern. The devotees objected to this because it was Swami’s custom to speak extemporaneously. Swami answered that in this way he would not lose control of himself and talk too long. There were further objections.

  Devotee: Swami, do you remember what the subject of your Sunday lecture is going to be before you read the title on the lectern?

  Swami: Oh, yes, I know.

  Devotee: Have you thought about what you are going to say beforehand?

  Swami: No, except when I am going to give a biographical lecture; then I look up dates so I will get them right. And when I speak on Christian subjects, I read some Christian commentaries. But usually I don’t think about what I am going to say until Sunday morning. In the morning my mind becomes very intense. I don’t like to be disturbed. Thoughts are coming up and gathering together. There is also a little nervousness, but not so much any more—my nerves have grown slack, sagged down.

  It is better not to prepare lectures, I think. I knew a professor who used to speak wonderfully in conversation. He would answer questions very clearly and logically, but when he lectured he would become stiff and formal. I feel that people come to my lectures with questions in their minds—I just answer them. Thoughts used to come like lightning into my mind, and all ordered, but I always returned to the main theme without any trouble at all after a long digression. Now I sometimes forget what I have been saying.

  When I was in Madras I used to go to the beach at noon to bathe. Later, I learned that the undertow was very dangerous so I stopped going in the water. Once, as I stood on the beach, suddenly my mind opened up and ideas began to come like lightning. They were ideas I had never had before, had never read anywhere—completely new and original ideas. They were of another order than the ideas one usually has, an entirely different order. I thought I would write them down but I had no paper or pencil with me, and later I forgot. They were not related to anything on this plane of thought. It made me think that there is a vast thought world and that our minds are only on the fringe of it.

  It is a wonderful experience to lecture. When my thoughts are coming fast, I feel a great silence. The audience becomes absorbed and all other thoughts are quiet. There is deep silence.

  When I lectured at the Century Club [in San Francisco], I realized that I had a habit of repeating the same idea in a slightly different way; I would say one sentence and then repeat it a little differently. I also noticed that I used too many words to say something that could be said in a few words. I determined to correct those faults. At first it was difficult because the mind wanted to repeat the old habits, but after a lecture or two it became natural.

  August 24, 1959

  This afternoon, in a snit, I went for a long walk and ended up in a Catholic church, seeking comfort.

  Swami (quoting a Bengali verse to me): “Never revile or worship another Ishta. Never take food that has been offered to another Ishta.” That is what Sri Chaitanya said—never partake of offerings to another form of God.

  Me: I didn’t partake of offerings.

  Swami: Never mind that. Just swallow what I say. Swallow it without salt.

  Sri Ramakrishna will accept all the work you do for Him. That is all you have to think about. Whether others like it or not, he accepts it. Just know that you have done your best. You will have to put up with all sorts of things in this work. When you have to cooperate with others, there will be all kinds of things to put up with; but never be upset by it. You must learn that. Some criticism will be valuable and some will be worthless—take what is of value and reject the rest.

  Me: When you are not here to judge, I do not know what I will do. I can’t fight with people.

  Swami: No, don’t fight. If you think what you have done is right, say so and let it go at that.

  (After a pause) Marie Louise, I don’t try to make you suffer; that is not my life’s work. If your heart breaks so often, I don’t know how you will live. You have come to Sri Ramakrishna. Remember that nothing bad can ever happen to you here. That knowledge will be your armor. But if you think that anything
bad can happen to you—then there is already a chink in your armor.

  Late morning

  Mr. Shinn was working in the new temple on the statue of Holy Mother. Dorothy Peters was there to take pictures.

  Swami (to Dorothy): If you have nothing to do, just sit quietly.

  Dorothy (jumping up a few minutes later): I will be right back.

  Swami: Where are you going?

  Dorothy: I want to tell them that I won’t be there for lunch.

  Swami: Sit down. Couldn’t you have told them that before?

  Dorothy: Yes, Swami.

  Swami: One of the skills of work is to do everything at the right time and then sit calmly and peacefully—furious activity and then repose. Sri Ramakrishna had a brahmin cook who used to come in the morning. In the night Sri Ramakrishna would get everything ready for him—everything. When someone asked why he did that, he answered: “Because when he comes I will be meditating and he won’t have to ask me for anything.”

  Dorothy: My, he taught us everything!

  Swami: Yes. Get everything done at once—and then rest in perfect peace. Swami Akhilananda is like that. He works furiously and then, when he has done everything, he sits with complete peace. I am not a good example to you.

  Dorothy: Oh, yes, Swami you are.

  Swami: You are deluded.

  The inauguration in San Francisco of the new temple (now dedicated and referred to hereafter as the New Temple) was celebrated with five days of morning and afternoon worship during Durga Puja in October of 1959. Many of the devotees played a part, either in connection with the puja itself or with serving prasad after the ceremony to the huge audience that overflowed the auditorium into the lobby. Everything took place without a hitch: the choir’s music was sublime, the altar and chancel looked beautiful with flowers and candles, and all seemed steeped in an unearthly glow that one could only call sattvic—possessing the quality of light and purity. I understood for the first time the reason for ceremonial cleanliness in the service of the Deity—no impurity, not even of thought, must touch the altar or the articles of worship. During the five days of this flawless worship, the New Temple seemed transported to a different, purer, world.

  My own part in the dedication was the only sour note; it was a disaster from start to finish. I had been assigned to drive the visiting swamis on sightseeing trips and wherever else they wanted to go. The job was a great honor (and a great terror) to me. I prided myself on being a good and experienced driver, without any accidents or serious violations on my record; but to chauffeur all those senior monks—Swamis Akhilananda, Nikhilananda, Pavitrananda, Satprakashananda, and Vividishananda, none of whom I knew well enough to feel at ease with—was daunting.

  My nervousness bore almost immediate fruit. On the first excursion, when I drove Swami Pavitrananda and Swami Vividishananda to Sausalito, I somehow managed to engage the front bumper of my big Cadillac with the wire fence outside Mr. Shinn’s studio. It was an almost inextricable tangle from which I could move neither forward nor backward without destroying the fence. During my maneuvers the swamis looked on, and from time to time Swami Vividishananda said consolingly, “It is very deef-fee-cult to drive.”

  An outing or two later, I drove all five of the swamis across the Bay Bridge to the Berkeley Temple, where they had been invited to dinner. Swami Akhilananda had an appointment to visit one of his old students at her Berkeley home half an hour before the dinner engagement He had not seen her for many years and she was, of course, eagerly awaiting his arrival. I was just as anxious to get him there on time; but, unnerved by a carload of swamis and unsure of the way to the bridge, I sailed through a stoplight in downtown traffic. The sickening sound of a police siren stopped me cold, and the business of receiving a ticket and getting a stern reprimand from the police officer not only humiliated me but also delayed our progress long enough for us to get caught in stalled traffic on the approach to the bridge itself.

  The car was facing west, straight into the setting sun. Its hot rays shone mercilessly through the windshield onto all the swamis, from which there was no escape. “It is very deef-fee-cult to drive,” Swami Vividishananda repeated. All the swamis were very gracious about their discomfort, assuring me that it was of no consequence; but we were stuck facing the sun for at least half an hour. Finally, the traffic moved and we arrived at the student’s house in time for Swami Akhilananda to have a short five-minute visit before we went on to the Berkeley Temple. I drove home alone. After their dinner, the swamis were driven back to San Francisco by a monastic probationer, no doubt without incident.

  The next day the swamis were scheduled to go sightseeing. I arrived on time to pick them up and they all assembled on the sidewalk in front of the Old Temple, including Swami Ashokananda, who was there to see them off—or was it to deal with me? In either case, the latter is what he did, right there in the open street.

  “So,” he said, and continued in a voice loud enough to bring all the neighboring housewives to their windows, “you have now become a famous writer who doesn’t have to pay attention to traffic signs!” He went on at length about how I had incon-venienced the swamis, had caused them great discomfort, and was altogether unworthy to drive them anywhere. During this reprimand, Swami Akhilananda stood behind Swami Ashokananda’s right shoulder, shaking his head at me and mouthing, “No, no”—as though to say, “Pay no attention; none of it is true.” Swami Nikhilananda walked away in embarrassment and Swami Vividishananda softly repeated, “It is very deef-fee-cult to drive.”

  Finally, Swami Ashokananda finished scolding me. His brother monks got in the car and I, choking back tears, drove them off on a sightseeing tour that none of them really cared about. That was the part I played in the dedication of the New Temple. Notwithstanding these antics in the wings, the Vedanta Society of Northern California entered a new era with a clear and joyful noise.

  14

  A GOOD BOOK

  Throughout the 1960s my journal lay not only unopened on my desk but also hidden deep under stacks of shifting research material for the second book of New Discoveries and other precariously piled works in progress. Now and then, however, Swami Ashokananda would let fall a gem of spiritual wisdom or advice that I felt needed to be preserved. From that sparse collection, I have selected entries that strike me as being of use to spiritual aspirants of all ages and persuasions.

  October 15, 1960

  Me: Does God really exist, or is it just a matter of speaking?

  Swami: God really exists! The One wants to become the many—at that point there is the Personal God. He is the same as the Absolute, but He has a relationship with souls.

  Me: In what sense does Sri Ramakrishna exist differently now than he existed before he was incarnated on earth?

  Swami: He exists now in a subtle body. That is different from his eternal form. There is one opinion that the subtle body of Divine Incarnations lasts till the end of the cosmic cycle. Others say that they go after a time and that probably their power lessens.

  October 1960

  We were gathered around Swami this evening at the Old Temple.

  Ann Myren: The Absolute must have form, since it would not be complete otherwise.

  Swami: You want the joy that order gives. The sense of order, reason, and beauty comes from the Absolute, but there is no order in the Absolute—order implies relations, and there can be no relations in the Absolute. There is only One.

  October 1960

  A group of devotees gathered in the foyer after the Sunday lecture in the New Temple, waiting for Swami to talk with them—often it would be four o’clock before they left after this “second” lecture. A debilitating disease of some kind was being discussed.

  Swami: Prepare for illness. Rise above it in youth.

  Devotee: But in youth one is healthy. How can one prepare then for illness?

  Swami: Rise above health. Don’t
glory in it. Train the mind to rise above the body.

  Devotee: It takes a long time to train the mind.

  Swami: Have patience. What is the hurry? Look at the positive side of things. Think how wonderful it is that every day you have thought of God. Don’t emphasize the struggle.

  November 3, 1960

  When I came to the Old Temple this morning, Swami was in the front room, waiting for me. After a minute or two he looked at me and asked, “Yes? Do you want to say something? What is it?”

  Me: Nothing.

  Swami: You look as though you expected some answer.

  Me (laughing): I always expect some answer from you.

  Swami: What answer?

  Me: Sudden illumination.

  Swami: Why do you want that? It would spoil things for you. You would no longer be able to find pleasure in smoking, or in sleeping, or in serving the Lord, or in being with me.

  Me: If I were illumined, I would not need those things. I would have them—or the pleasure they give me—even more.

  Swami: You are not ready yet to ask for illumination. If you got it, you wouldn’t be able to contain it.

  Me: Well, in that case, I would like just a little more than I have.

  Swami: Be content with whatever you have. In spiritual life one should never be discontent. That spoils everything.

  Me: Yes. What I have is more than I deserve.

  Swami continued to talk to me as we went out the door and walked to his car, parked around the corner.

  Swami: Be content, but be earnest. Many devotees get into a state of discontent and spoil everything for themselves. They read about saints who are always demanding more and who are longing for illumination. They think that is the way to be and they try to imitate it. Yes, there is a stage when there comes a great discontent, when one wants to probe deeper and deeper into reality—but that is a very high state. Discontent is right at that time. Before that state is reached, though, one makes progress more through contentment than through discontentment.