Autobiography of a Yogi
her face wore an expression both tortured and divine. She appeared
thinner, changed in many subtle as well as outward ways. Murmuring
words in a foreign tongue, she spoke with slightly quivering lips
to persons visible before her inner sight.
As I was in attunement with her, I began to see the scenes of
her vision. She was watching Jesus as he carried the cross amidst
the jeering multitude. {FN39-4} Suddenly she lifted her head
in consternation: the Lord had fallen under the cruel weight. The
vision disappeared. In the exhaustion of fervid pity, Therese sank
heavily against her pillow.
At this moment I heard a loud thud behind me. Turning my head for
a second, I saw two men carrying out a prostrate body. But because
I was coming out of the deep superconscious state, I did not
immediately recognize the fallen person. Again I fixed my eyes on
Therese’s face, deathly pale under the rivulets of blood, but now
calm, radiating purity and holiness. I glanced behind me later
and saw Mr. Wright standing with his hand against his cheek, from
which blood was trickling.
“Dick,” I inquired anxiously, “were you the one who fell?”
“Yes, I fainted at the terrifying spectacle.”
“Well,” I said consolingly, “you are brave to return and look upon
the sight again.”
Remembering the patiently waiting line of pilgrims, Mr. Wright and
I silently bade farewell to Therese and left her sacred presence.
{FN39-5}
The following day our little group motored south, thankful that we
were not dependent on trains, but could stop the Ford wherever we
chose throughout the countryside. We enjoyed every minute of a tour
through Germany, Holland, France, and the Swiss Alps. In Italy we
made a special trip to Assisi to honor the apostle of humility, St.
Francis. The European tour ended in Greece, where we viewed the
Athenian temples, and saw the prison in which the gentle Socrates
{FN39-6} had drunk his death potion. One is filled with admiration
for the artistry with which the Greeks have everywhere wrought
their very fancies in alabaster.
We took ship over the sunny Mediterranean, disembarking at
Palestine. Wandering day after day over the Holy Land, I was more
than ever convinced of the value of pilgrimage. The spirit of Christ
is all-pervasive in Palestine; I walked reverently by his side at
Bethlehem, Gethsemane, Calvary, the holy Mount of Olives, and by
the River Jordan and the Sea of Galilee.
Our little party visited the Birth Manger, Joseph’s carpenter shop,
the tomb of Lazarus, the house of Martha and Mary, the hall of the
Last Supper. Antiquity unfolded; scene by scene, I saw the divine
drama that Christ once played for the ages.
On to Egypt, with its modern Cairo and ancient pyramids. Then a
boat down the narrow Red Sea, over the vasty Arabian Sea; lo, India!
{FN39-1} The remarkable inclusion here of a complete date is due
to the fact that my secretary, Mr. Wright, kept a travel diary.
{FN39-2} Other books on her life are THERESE NEUMANN: A STIGMATIST
OF OUR DAY, and FURTHER CHRONICLES OF THERESE NEUMANN, both by
Friedrich Ritter von Lama (Milwaukee: Bruce Pub. Co.).
{FN39-3} MATTHEW 4:4. Man’s body battery is not sustained by gross
food (bread) alone, but by the vibratory cosmic energy (word, or
AUM). The invisible power flows into the human body through the
gate of the medulla oblongata. This sixth bodily center is located
at the back of the neck at the top of the five spinal CHAKRAS
(Sanskrit for “wheels” or centers of radiating force). The medulla
is the principal entrance for the body’s supply of universal
life force (AUM), and is directly connected with man’s power of
will, concentrated in the seventh or Christ Consciousness center
(KUTASTHA) in the third eye between the eyebrows. Cosmic energy is
then stored up in the brain as a reservoir of infinite potentialities,
poetically mentioned in the VEDAS as the “thousand-petaled lotus
of light.” The Bible invariably refers to AUM as the “Holy Ghost”
or invisible life force which divinely upholds all creation. “What?
know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which
is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?”-I
CORINTHIANS 6:19.
{FN39-4} During the hours preceding my arrival, Therese had already
passed through many visions of the closing days in Christ’s life.
Her entrancement usually starts with scenes of the events which
followed the Last Supper. Her visions end with Jesus’ death on the
cross or, occasionally, with his entombment.
{FN39-5} Therese has survived the Nazi persecution, and is still
present in Konnersreuth, according to 1945 American news dispatches
from Germany.
{FN39-6} A passage in Eusebius relates an interesting encounter
between Socrates and a Hindu sage. The passage runs: “Aristoxenus,
the musician, tells the following story about the Indians. One of
these men met Socrates at Athens, and asked him what was the scope
of his philosophy. ‘An inquiry into human phenomena,’ replied
Socrates. At this the Indian burst out laughing. ‘How can a man
inquire into human phenomena,’ he said, ‘when he is ignorant of
divine ones?’” The Aristoxenus mentioned was a pupil of Aristotle,
and a noted writer on harmonics. His date is 330 B.C.
CHAPTER: 40
I RETURN TO INDIA
Gratefully I was inhaling the blessed air of India. Our boat
RAJPUTANA docked on August 22, 1935 in the huge harbor of Bombay.
Even this, my first day off the ship, was a foretaste of the year
ahead-twelve months of ceaseless activity. Friends had gathered
at the dock with garlands and greetings; soon, at our suite in the
Taj Mahal Hotel, there was a stream of reporters and photographers.
Bombay was a city new to me; I found it energetically modern, with
many innovations from the West. Palms line the spacious boulevards;
magnificent state structures vie for interest with ancient temples.
Very little time was given to sight-seeing, however; I was impatient,
eager to see my beloved guru and other dear ones. Consigning the
Ford to a baggage car, our party was soon speeding eastward by
train toward Calcutta. {FN40-1}
Our arrival at Howrah Station found such an immense crowd assembled
to greet us that for awhile we were unable to dismount from the
train. The young Maharaja of Kasimbazar and my brother Bishnu
headed the reception committee; I was unprepared for the warmth
and magnitude of our welcome.
Preceded by a line of automobiles and motorcycles, and amidst the
joyous sound of drums and conch shells, Miss Bletch, Mr. Wright,
and myself, flower-garlanded from head to foot, drove slowly to my
father’s home.
My aged parent embraced me as one returning from the dead; long
we gazed on each other, speechless with joy. Brothers and sisters,
uncles, aunts, and cousins, students and friends of years long past
were grouped around me, not a dry eye among us. Passed now into the
archives of memory, the scene of loving reunion vividly endures,
unforgettable in my heart.
As for my meeting with Sri Yukteswar, words fail me; let the
following description from my secretary suffice.
“Today, filled with the highest anticipations, I drove Yoganandaji
from Calcutta to Serampore,” Mr. Wright recorded in his travel diary.
“We passed by quaint shops, one of them the favorite eating haunt
of Yoganandaji during his college days, and finally entered a narrow,
walled lane. A sudden left turn, and there before us towered the
simple but inspiring two-story ashram, its Spanish-style balcony
jutting from the upper floor. The pervasive impression was that of
peaceful solitude.
“In grave humility I walked behind Yoganandaji into the courtyard
within the hermitage walls. Hearts beating fast, we proceeded up
some old cement steps, trod, no doubt, by myriads of truth-seekers.
The tension grew keener and keener as on we strode. Before us, near
the head of the stairs, quietly appeared the Great One, Swami Sri
Yukteswarji, standing in the noble pose of a sage.
“My heart heaved and swelled as I felt myself blessed by the
privilege of being in his sublime presence. Tears blurred my eager
sight when Yoganandaji dropped to his knees, and with bowed head
offered his soul’s gratitude and greeting, touching with his hand
his guru’s feet and then, in humble obeisance, his own head. He rose
then and was embraced on both sides of the bosom by Sri Yukteswarji.
“No words passed at the beginning, but the most intense feeling was
expressed in the mute phrases of the soul. How their eyes sparkled
and were fired with the warmth of renewed soul-union! A tender
vibration surged through the quiet patio, and even the sun eluded
the clouds to add a sudden blaze of glory.
“On bended knee before the master I gave my own unexpressed love
and thanks, touching his feet, calloused by time and service,
and receiving his blessing. I stood then and faced two beautiful
deep eyes smouldering with introspection, yet radiant with joy.
We entered his sitting room, whose whole side opened to the outer
balcony first seen from the street. The master braced himself
against a worn davenport, sitting on a covered mattress on the
cement floor. Yoganandaji and I sat near the guru’s feet, with
orange-colored pillows to lean against and ease our positions on
the straw mat.
“I tried and tried to penetrate the Bengali conversation between
the two Swamijis-for English, I discovered, is null and void when
they are together, although Swamiji Maharaj, as the great guru
is called by others, can and often does speak it. But I perceived
the saintliness of the Great One through his heart-warming smile
and twinkling eyes. One quality easily discernible in his merry,
serious conversation is a decided positiveness in statement-the
mark of a wise man, who knows he knows, because he knows God. His
great wisdom, strength of purpose, and determination are apparent
in every way.
“Studying him reverently from time to time, I noted that he is of
large, athletic stature, hardened by the trials and sacrifices of
renunciation. His poise is majestic. A decidedly sloping forehead,
as if seeking the heavens, dominates his divine countenance. He
has a rather large and homely nose, with which he amuses himself
in idle moments, flipping and wiggling it with his fingers, like a
child. His powerful dark eyes are haloed by an ethereal blue ring.
His hair, parted in the middle, begins as silver and changes to
streaks of silvery-gold and silvery-black, ending in ringlets at
his shoulders. His beard and moustache are scant or thinned out,
yet seem to enhance his features and, like his character, are deep
and light at the same time.
“He has a jovial and rollicking laugh which comes from deep in his
chest, causing him to shake and quiver throughout his body-very
cheerful and sincere. His face and stature are striking in their
power, as are his muscular fingers. He moves with a dignified tread
and erect posture.
“He was clad simply in the common DHOTI and shirt, both once dyed
a strong ocher color, but now a faded orange.
“Glancing about, I observed that this rather dilapidated room suggested
the owner’s non-attachment to material comforts. The weather-stained
white walls of the long chamber were streaked with fading blue