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

One must go deep. You don’t exist on the surface. If I touch you, I don’t touch you but only your skin. You exist deep, deep down in the cavern of your being—deep, deep down. The Katha Upanishad speaks of that. It is literally so. In a certain type of meditation, it is as though one enters into the cave of the heart, deep into the heart. A tunnel of light opens up. You have heard about the nerves that all lead to one nerve that leads to the heart. One literally sees that. It is as though one enters along that nerve to the depths of one’s being, and there one comes into a realm of infinite light, infinite joy and festivity. All the world is filled with light. Trees, sky, the dust—everything seems to be bursting with honey. If you nudged the sky, heavy drops of honey would fall out.

  October 31, 1953

  Mara and I were talking to Swami in the hallway.

  Swami (to Mara): Too much vacation and the mind becomes vacant. (To me) People who have no responsibility, nothing going on in the brain, have placid and serene faces, like your crazy friend, or like deaf people. They don’t hear anything to disturb them; therefore, they are perfectly placid.

  Mara: Sometimes it is an advantage to be deaf. Flossie [who was 100 years old] said it was wonderful. When she wants quiet, she just takes out the earphone.

  Swami: In spiritual life everything can be turned to advantage. Every condition can be used to further one’s progress. Of course, there is struggle, but there is joy in that kind of struggle because it is struggle for a purpose.

  Me: What about pain, physical pain?

  Swami: Yes. The spiritual person learns endurance through it. The mind learns to transcend it. One can turn pain to spiritual advantage. Hindus don’t impose pain upon themselves as Christians do, but when it comes they use it; they learn to rise above it.

  November 1, 1953

  Kathleen, Mara, and Jeanette were sitting in the back office.

  Swami (scolding Kathleen for an ill-advised remark): You have the mentality of a dowager. All you need is a little more fat. You have become irresponsible like a dowager who thinks she can speak out anything and yet be respected.

  (This went on for some time in scathing, lashing tones, after which the conversation resumed where it had left off.)

  Swami (with eyes sparkling): Marie Louise, we have some new material about Swamiji that would make people sit up were it made known.

  Me: Why don’t we make it known?

  Swami: All in good time. You found a lot of valuable things. I have other material. Some day we can put it together.

  Josephine MacLeod [who devoted her life to Swami Vivekananda] always said that she was not a disciple of Swamiji, but a friend. However, she once said that Swamiji had told her to meditate on Om. When he asked her what result she had, she told him that she had seen light. Swamiji did not bother with formal initiation. She had probably heard of how people are ordinarily initiated—with ceremony and a mantra being whispered in the ear. But Swamiji did not have to bother with that rigmarole. Everyone he loved will attain to salvation. The Hale family, for instance, he loved very deeply, but they did as they pleased, thought as they pleased. They never became Vedantists. If Swamiji is true, then they need never worry about salvation. His love was enough.

  November 2, 1953

  Swami: Cheer up! Let the lion of Vedanta roar. Be happy. Make a hole in the world. This troublesome world is just a thin crust; poke a hole through it and the thick, sweet honey of Brahman will pour out.

  Me: How can I make a hole?

  Swami: Make your mind rest on Brahman. Dwell on Him. Know that in Him is all that the heart craves—all sweetness and love. All joy. Feel His presence. He is here.

  November 6, 1953

  Me: On Sundays in Los Gatos there are always guests.

  Swami: Well, Marie Louise, see what you have given up—that life at Los Gatos with people, parties. You like people, don’t you?

  Me: No.

  Swami: Yes. You like parties, acting silly, isn’t it?

  Me: Well, no. I used to hate them. But then I thought it was because I was maladjusted. So I learned to like them; for a while I became “the life of the party.”

  Swami (wryly): I thought so.

  (I had been recently thinking about this phase of my life with some nostalgia, but I had not mentioned it. Swami knew. Those few words drove the whole thing from my mind.)

  November 8, 1953

  Me: I feel that there is some sort of stubborn creature inside of me that is putting up a terrible resistance.

  Swami: What does it want to do?

  Me: It doesn’t want to do anything. That is just it; it wants to do nothing at all.

  Swami: That is the negative side. What does it want to do on the positive side?

  Me: Nothing. It refuses to do anything.

  Swami: That is called spiritual struggle. Do you think there is anyone who hasn’t had to struggle? You are not the only one. It is bound to happen. These periods of depression come because you are not fully enlightened. It is as though in climbing a high mountain you had reached a plateau. It is all level and beautiful there and you walk along without effort for a long time, enjoying the scenery, but you come to the end of it and have to start climbing again through a jungle—but it is all on the way up. Again you will come out onto a plateau on a higher level.

  Me: I feel that I have gone back down into a jungle, not up into one.

  Swami: Certainly. Jungle is jungle; they are similar in appearance. But you haven’t gone back.

  Me: I feel that to do anything at all is an unbearable effort, even to think about doing anything.

  Swami: Take it easy for a few days. Don’t take these moods too seriously; soothe it a little. I used to have a pain in my stomach, and I found that if I just stroked over it gently, it would disappear. (What a familiar gesture this was: Swami stroking his right side gently or—even more familiar—pressing his thumb into his side to relieve the pain.) It will pass; everything passes.

  You must learn to regulate your life. Keep regular hours. That is very important. It doesn’t matter if the work you do is good or bad, but do it regularly. Regularity in life is like the structure of a building. The hidden arches and supports of a building are the most important thing. A regular life, building up of good habits, is the foundation of spirituality. Keep regular hours.

  Me: I can’t.

  Swami: Then there is no hope. (We stared at one another in silence.)

  “I can’t” (giving a perfect imitation of a weak little voice). If you were in a concentration camp under Hitler, you could do it . . . or if you were in the army. Men who have never gotten up early have been straightened around after a week or two in the army. If they don’t get up, a tough sergeant will lash them until they do. When external pressure is brought to bear, you can do anything. As it is, your own mind has to lash you. Force yourself. Actually, you have no choice. You have to go on struggling for God. You are caught in a vice.

  (He turned in his chair to get a book from the bookcase behind him, then back to me, speaking gently.) You will have happiness in life, Marie Louise, but not till later.

  Me: In this life?

  Swami: Certainly in this life.

  (He yawned and leaned back, smiling.) Someday I will be lazy honorably. In three or four years, if I live that long, everything will be finished. Then I can be lazy with a good conscience.

  Me: You could now; you have done so much.

  Swami: No. If the work that has been started is not finished, all will have gone to waste. When the debts are paid off and the new temple and Sacramento are finished, and when Olema is well on its way—then I will be able to rest.

  Me: To speak very selfishly, I hope those things will take a long time. They will keep you here.

  Swami: Yes. If there were not those things, I wouldn’t stay alive. There would be no purpose. Without a purpose, there is nothing to hold me here.


  November 9, 1953

  Swami: You have to face the fact that there is no other way. As long as the mind thinks there is another way, it will cause trouble. You will have to live a spiritual life sooner or later, but you may never get a better chance than now.

  (Swami asked me if I had seen my friend Bobbie.)

  Me: I will see her tonight. The last time I saw her I made the mistake of indulging in talk about the past. It had a bad effect on me.

  Swami: Never do that! There is too much pressure on you. It would be different if you just came to lectures and thought a little more deeply than ordinarily. But you have put pressure on yourself. You never go to parties or entertainments or see any of the people you used to know. That is why the mind has such a violent reaction.

  November 13, 1953

  Swami (to me, on his way out): You have to lift yourself by yourself. In the Gita it says that. (He quoted the verse in Sanskrit, then repeated it in English.) “Let a man be lifted by his own self; let him not lower himself; for he himself is his friend, and he himself is his enemy.” You see, it is the truth. Sri Krishna has said that. It is not just talk or a nice idea. It is true.

  November 14, 1953

  Swami: Are you feeling better?

  Me: Yes.

  Swami: You see. If you push up, things get better.

  Me: Yes.

  Swami (sternly): Never push yourself deeper into a depression. That is indulgence. I have no sympathy with that. There are people who get a little sick and then take to bed and stay there. In that way they get what they want. Everyone waits on them and nothing is expected of them—at least, that is what they think. They avoid all responsibility. There is also a moral and spiritual invalidism.

  Of course, one cannot avoid the original depression, just as one sometimes cannot avoid a slight illness. There is nothing wrong with that; it is bound to come as a reaction.

  Me: A reaction to what?

  Swami: You have been struggling, straining your nerves and mind, trying to mold them into a new pattern. The mind gets tired and wants to go back to its old ways. It wants to contract.

  Me: Yes. It felt like that.

  Swami: Never talk to worldly people about your problems. Do not even talk to devotees who are married or have children. They will sympathize with you and unsettle your mind. Ediben is different. She is a very exceptional person.

  November 26, 1953

  Swami: Feel His presence everywhere and that you are a part of it.

  Me: Is that all that is necessary?

  Swami: Patience, endurance, patience—no matter what the external circumstances, have patience. Do everything exactly right in speech and deed. Always act selflessly. Conduct is very important. Things look brown?

  Me: Somewhat.

  Swami: Not golden?

  Me: As though they should be golden, but they are not.

  Swami: That happens in the middle state. It is a difficult time. Mind is still divided. Be extremely careful. Contact with worldly life is extremely dangerous. The mind could turn.

  Me: I don’t want a worldly life.

  Swami: You don’t—the mind does. That is the nature of the mind. That is why you should not go to Los Gatos when crowds are there.

  Me: The kind of crowd that is there nowadays doesn’t appeal to me.

  Swami (sternly): Nonetheless, some slight thing could turn the mind.

  Me: I feel that something doesn’t wake up inside of me.

  Swami (smiling): It will wake up.

  Me: As I was waking up the other morning, I was half dreaming of how my whole being was an offering to God. But then I saw this self that was the offering; I could feel my whole self through and through, and I was crazy about it. I did not see how I could ever give that up.

  Swami: Yes, but the strength of that is also illusory. In Olema one year we used a spray to kill some weeds, but instead of dying, they grew to tremendous proportions, huge stalks. We tried to cut them down; I myself worked at it. Then it occurred to me that perhaps this violent growth was the way of destruction—they would just exhaust themselves, burn themselves out. Later we found, where we had not cut, there was a cleared space without a single trace of weed; not a shred was left. They had just flared up to be completely destroyed. That is the way it is in spiritual life. Things flare up with tremendous strength before they become annihilated. Find fault with worldly life; deliberately pick it to pieces. Appreciate the value of spiritual life.

  November 20, 1953

  Swami: I am like a rubber band that has been stretched and stretched and stretched and has no more resilience. I used to come back, but now I stay stretched.

  December 27, 1953

  Sally Martin: I get confused with people saying the world is real, then saying it is unreal.

  Swami: Well, if you want a partial answer to this question, I shall say yes, the world is real. It is real because I see it as spiritual substance. Western philosophers say it is impossible to separate form and substance. I don’t care what they say, because I see clearly that form and substance are separate and there is one divine substance behind all this. Do you think I could joke with you, tease you, love you, and care for you if I saw you as form? No, it just would not work. I would become entangled. If you separate your own body from Spirit, you can see everyone as divine substance separate from form.

  5

  DON’T WOBBLE!

  In 1954 my journal was left neglected. I was hard at work, at last, on writing day and night and doing research to boot. The magazine that had been restarted with trial issues in 1952 was a hungry dragon, demanding that articles and stories be delivered punctually. In addition, I was struggling to write about Swami Vivekananda while continuing to do research on his life in America. This last required the hateful task of writing innumerable letters to librarians throughout the United States (who were, as it happened, invariably gracious and helpful). For these reasons, my journal lay unopened on my desk for most of the year, except for sporadic entries that I found helpful on spiritual practice—a sampling of which follows.

  March 3, 1954

  Samples of rubber tile for the new temple were scattered on the floor in the hallway of the Old Temple. Swami sat on a chair and a group of devotees stood around him after the Wednesday night lecture. He was tired, but he talked with us from 10:30 to 11:45 p.m. Elna Olsen remarked upon the hour. Swami said, “Oh my—I have given two lectures.”

  The Sunday before he had also given “two lectures” when we stood about in his office until nearly six o’clock. On that occasion, when he realized how late it was, he said, “If one of the devotees [probably Jo] knew what you had been doing, she would have driven you out of here with a whip.” He had had no food, or drink, or rest since early morning. “We are very selfish,” I said. Swami said, “No, you are not selfish; you are inhuman. A selfish person has some decency left in regard to others. You are just inhuman.”

  Now we were being inhuman again, forcing questions upon him. His words flowed out in such a torrent that I can’t remember them all.

  Swami (to Sally): Did you like the lecture?

  Sally: I found it very interesting. I enjoyed it very much.

  Swami (laughing): My! She is becoming very aware of semantics.

  Sally: I had hoped you wouldn’t ask me.

  Swami: Why—didn’t you like it?

  Sally: I like to hear about spiritual life.

  Swami: What is spiritual life?

  Sally: It is getting away from all the things you advocated in your lecture.

  During his lecture, “The Coming of the Universal Man,” Swami had spoken of the necessity in this age to become familiar with all cultures and ideas and had explained that this could be done only by referring all to the underlying, unifying Spirit.

  Swami: There is a phase of spiritual life in which things of the world should be s
hunned, but later one takes a different view of them. One sees everything as Brahman. Sri Ramakrishna spoke of spiritual life as a ladder reaching to the roof. When you reach the roof you see that the stairs are made of the same material. Then you can go up and down.

  If you want to realize God, the quickest way is to follow His manifestation in the age in which you live. Serve Him according to the spirit of the age. The spirit of this age is expansion and the service of man. There are, of course, many ways to think of service. Some do service to the glory of God or the glory of Christ; some for the purification of the mind, as Shankara taught. In Shankara’s time, and also in Buddha’s time, there was a great urge toward renunciation and contemplation. Hundreds of men and women wanted nothing but to realize God—to turn from the world entirely.

  In this age, Swamiji taught service through the worship of Brahman in man. Some interpret this to mean the worship of the Divine dwelling in the heart of man, but Swamiji meant that man himself is actually Brahman—the whole man is Brahman Himself. Of course, one cannot do this kind of service without some meditation. But one cannot sit and meditate all the time; therefore, work with the consciousness that man is Brahman.

  Miriam King: Swami, is intellectual knowledge a barrier to spiritual progress?

  Swami: Sometimes it can be a barrier. It is a barrier unless spiritual knowledge is known to be the highest goal. It can also be a barrier if all one’s best energies go into the pursuit of intellectual things.

  (It was growing late. Someone had the sense to remind Swami again of the hour. He said, “Yes, all of you must go home now.”)

  March 1954

  Swami: Do your best, every day your best. Don’t torment yourself. I do not believe in that. What is the sense of making resolves and not keeping them? So much energy is lost in regret. Just do your best—that is all. You will be surprised how things will open up. Become a great scholar.

  Me: All right. I won’t despair even though it seems impossible that I should ever be a great scholar.