"I CANNOT EAT FOR YOU. YOU HAVE TO EAT FOR YOURSELF."
OUR GURU, SWAMI VISHNUDEVANANDA, WAS COMING.
The entire ashram, which he founded in 1967, was abuzz with excitement and delicious trepidation. Our director and his secretary, both long-time disciples, kept impressing on us the necessity to complete all unfinished projects.
"Swamiji will want to see every little scrap of paper," my usually laid-back but efficient office colleague told me. "If something is not right..." Instead of finishing her sentence, she drew her right forefinger across her neck. Her usually laughing eyes bulged in mock terror. I laughed but could not help but be affected by the general sense of uneasiness, albeit mixed with generous doses of joy, excitement and pride, which I sensed in my more senior fellow ashramites.
I was only recently on board at the Sivananda Yoga Retreat, situated on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. After seven years with one of the local newspapers, I began the year 1988 as a full-time member of the Yoga Retreat, where I'd been taking Yoga classes since 1985.
I had not met Swami Vishnu as a member of his International Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Centers and Ashrams, but I'd met him in 1985 in my capacity as a news reporter. I'd met him again later on another of his visits to his Bahamas ashram.
On another occasion, a journalist friend and I attended a lecture by Swami Vishnu, delivered after an evening meditation in the Yoga Retreat's temple.
We were both excited and anxious to meet the master yogi, whose books we'd both read. At the end of his talk, it seemed an endless line of guests and staff members came up to greet him and my friend and I waited patiently.
Finally, after the last person was happily received and sent away by the laughing Indian, he sat by himself, legs crossed, eyes closed, atop a small square seat.
My friend and I, the only other people in the temple then, consulted quietly about whether we should approach Swami Vishnu. We decided to leave him to his private meditation, and, saluting him in the eastern fashion with raised hands, palms pressed together, we left.
Now, I was a member of his world-wide organization. Getting caught up in the ambivalent excitement surrounding his usual annual visit to the Paradise Island, Bahamas ashram.
He was due to arrive at night and I tried to stay up to be among the welcoming committee. But time passed and there was no call from the airport alerting us to his arrival. A tremendous thunderstorm broke out and as rain poured in torrents, lightening flashed and thunder crashed throughout the four and a half acre garden property.
I fell asleep in my loft bedroom, above the office where I worked at checking guests in and out, taking reservations, preparing advertising for our upcoming annual festival.
That night I dreamt of Swami Vishnu. I was a baby, and as he walked along the beach that bordered one side of our ashram, he carried me gently in his arms.
The next morning I awoke to find the property transformed. Swamiji had arrived late the night before. Everything was awhirl in that mysterious mix of ecstasy and careful attention.
I still had not seen the Guru as I left the office to attend to my regular out-of-office duties. I was down by the temple area for some reason, maybe taking a message to someone. As I returned to the office, I glanced into the garden area directly in front of it - and caught my breath.
There was a flash of distinctive orange...the color worn my Swami Vishnu at all times.
He was walking leasurely through the grounds and chatting with a short lady in white, the German head of our European division.
I wondered if they'd seen me or if I could sneak back into the office unnoticed. Should I go over and greet our founder and guide? Should I just get back to my duties without disturbing the senior guiding lights of our organization?
At the point where I had to choose to go left or right - I smoothly took the right turn, out into the garden where Swami Vishnu was standing and talking quietly to the German lady. They were both short in stature, probably five feet tall or less. I - about five feet two inches - approached briskly and headed for Swami Vishnu.
He was laughing gently as I approached.
I'd seen the Indian greeting of a holy or highly respected person. The way the honored person's feet are touched with the fingers and then the fingers touched to the supplicant's forehead or eyes - as if transferring some unseen energy.
I bent and touched Swami Vishnu's feet in the same way. Touching my fingers to my forehead, I then saluted him with "namaskar" - the prayer-like hand formation - before turning and walking briskly back to the office.
Throughout my greeting, the Guru bubbled with quiet humor. "He looks like a brahmin boy!" he chortled. "All he needs is his ...." He used his hand in a sweep across his body to call to mind the brahminical cord worn by members of that group.
One morning, I was busy in the office even after the bell for breakfast rang out across the property. Swami Vishnu ambled up and sat on the bench outside the open reception window. He greeted me and I returned his greeting. "Om Namah Sivaya!"
As I continued to putter around the office doing this and that. Swamiji asked: "Have you eaten?"
"Not yet Swamiji," I replied.
"Go and eat!" he commanded. "I cannot eat for you. You have to eat for yourself."
Again and again I prostrate at his feet. And at the feet of all the masters, saints, sages, maharishis and lovers of life throughout time and space.
May their blessings be upon us all.