I Return to the West

“I have given many yoga lessons in India and America; but I must confess that, as a Hindu, I am unusually happy to be conducting a class for English students.”

“I have taught many yoga classes in India and America. But I must admit, as a Hindu, I am unusually happy to be teaching a class for English students.”

My London class members laughed appreciatively; no political turmoils ever disturbed our yoga peace.

The members of my London class laughed appreciatively. No political unrest ever disturbed the peace of our yoga practice.

India was now a hallowed memory. It is September, 1936; I am in England to fulfill a promise, given sixteen months earlier, to lecture again in London.

India was now a sacred memory. It is September, 1936. I am in England to keep a promise I made sixteen months earlier to lecture again in London.

England, too, is receptive to the timeless yoga message. Reporters and newsreel cameramen swarmed over my quarters at Grosvenor House. The British National Council of the World Fellowship of Faiths organized a meeting on September 29th at Whitefield’s Congregational Church where I addressed the audience on the weighty subject of “How Faith in Fellowship may Save Civilization.” The eight o’clock lectures at Caxton Hall attracted such crowds that on two nights the overflow waited in Windsor House auditorium for my second talk at nine-thirty. Yoga classes during the following weeks grew so large that Mr. Wright was obliged to arrange a transfer to another hall.

England, too, is open to the timeless message of yoga. Reporters and newsreel cameramen crowded into my rooms at Grosvenor House. The British National Council of the World Fellowship of Faiths organized a meeting on September 29th at Whitefield’s Congregational Church. There I spoke on the serious subject of “How Faith in Fellowship may Save Civilization.” The eight o’clock lectures at Caxton Hall drew such crowds that, on two nights, not everyone could fit inside. Those unable to get in waited in Windsor House auditorium for my second talk at nine-thirty. Yoga classes over the following weeks grew so large that Mr. Wright had to arrange a move to another hall.

The English tenacity has admirable expression in a spiritual relationship. The London yoga students loyally organized themselves, after my departure, into a Self-Realization Fellowship center, holding their meditation meetings weekly throughout the bitter war years.

English determination shows itself admirably in spiritual relationships. After I left, the London yoga students loyally organized themselves into a Self-Realization Fellowship center. They held weekly meditation meetings throughout the bitter war years.

Unforgettable weeks in England; days of sight-seeing in London, then over the beautiful countryside. Mr. Wright and I summoned the trusty Ford to visit the birthplaces and tombs of the great poets and heroes of British history.

We spent unforgettable weeks in England, sightseeing in London and then traveling through the beautiful countryside. Mr. Wright and I took the trusty Ford to visit the birthplaces and tombs of British history’s great poets and heroes.

Our little party sailed from Southampton for America in late October on the Bremen. The majestic Statue of Liberty in New York harbor brought a joyous emotional gulp not only to the throats of Miss Bletch and Mr. Wright, but to my own.

Our small group sailed from Southampton to America in late October aboard the Bremen. The majestic Statue of Liberty in New York harbor brought a joyful lump to our throats. Miss Bletch and Mr. Wright felt it, and so did I.

The Ford, a bit battered from struggles with ancient soils, was still puissant; it now took in its stride the transcontinental trip to California. In late 1936, lo! Mount Washington.

The Ford was a little battered from its struggles with ancient terrain, but it was still powerful. It now handled the cross-country trip to California with ease. In late 1936, there it was: Mount Washington!

The year-end holidays are celebrated annually at the Los Angeles center with an eight-hour group meditation on December 24th (Spiritual Christmas), followed the next day by a banquet (Social Christmas). The festivities this year were augmented by the presence of dear friends and students from distant cities who had arrived to welcome home the three world travelers.

Every year, the Los Angeles center celebrates the year-end holidays with an eight-hour group meditation on December 24th (Spiritual Christmas). A banquet follows the next day (Social Christmas). This year, dear friends and students from distant cities added to the festivities. They had come to welcome home the three world travelers.

The Christmas Day feast included delicacies brought fifteen thousand miles for this glad occasion: gucchi mushrooms from Kashmir, canned rasagulla and mango pulp, papar biscuits, and an oil of the Indian keora flower which flavored our ice cream. The evening found us grouped around a huge sparkling Christmas tree, the near-by fireplace crackling with logs of aromatic cypress.

Our Christmas Day feast included delicacies brought fifteen thousand miles for this joyful occasion. There were gucchi mushrooms from Kashmir, canned rasagulla and mango pulp, and papar biscuits. Oil from the Indian keora flower flavored our ice cream. That evening, we gathered around a huge, sparkling Christmas tree. In the nearby fireplace, fragrant cypress logs crackled.

Gift-time! Presents from the earth’s far corners-Palestine, Egypt, India, England, France, Italy. How laboriously had Mr. Wright counted the trunks at each foreign junction, that no pilfering hand receive the treasures intended for loved ones in America! Plaques of the sacred olive tree from the Holy Land, delicate laces and embroideries from Belgium and Holland, Persian carpets, finely woven Kashmiri shawls, everlastingly fragrant sandalwood trays from Mysore, Shiva “bull’s eye” stones from Central Provinces, old Indian coins of dynasties long fled, bejeweled vases and cups, miniatures, tapestries, temple incense and perfumes, swadeshi cotton prints, lacquer work, Mysore ivory carvings, Persian slippers with their inquisitive long toe, quaint old illuminated manuscripts, velvets, brocades, Gandhi caps, potteries, tiles, brasswork, prayer rugs-booty of three continents!

Gift time! Presents from the far corners of the earth: Palestine, Egypt, India, England, France, Italy. How carefully Mr. Wright had counted the trunks at every stop along the way abroad! He wanted no thief to steal the treasures meant for loved ones in America. There were plaques made from the sacred olive tree of the Holy Land, delicate laces and embroideries from Belgium and Holland. There were Persian carpets, finely woven Kashmiri shawls, and sandalwood trays from Mysore whose fragrance never fades. There were Shiva “bull’s eye” stones from Central Provinces and old Indian coins from dynasties long gone. There were jewel-studded vases and cups, miniatures, tapestries, temple incense and perfumes, swadeshi cotton prints, and lacquer work. There were Mysore ivory carvings, Persian slippers with their curious long toes, and charming old illuminated manuscripts. There were velvets, brocades, Gandhi caps, pottery, tiles, brasswork, and prayer rugs. Treasures from three continents!

One by one I distributed the gaily wrapped packages from the immense pile under the tree.

One by one, I handed out the brightly wrapped packages from the huge pile under the tree.

“Sister Gyanamata!” I handed a long box to the saintly American lady of sweet visage and deep realization who, during my absence, had been in charge at Mt. Washington. From the paper tissues she lifted a sari of golden Benares silk.

“Sister Gyanamata!” I handed a long box to the saintly American woman with a gentle face and deep spiritual understanding. She had been in charge at Mt. Washington during my absence. She lifted a sari of golden Benares silk from the tissue paper.

“Thank you, sir; it brings the pageant of India before my eyes.”

“Thank you, sir. It brings the grand spectacle of India to life before my eyes.”

“Mr. Dickinson!” The next parcel contained a gift which I had bought in a Calcutta bazaar. “Mr. Dickinson will like this,” I had thought at the time. A dearly beloved disciple, Mr. Dickinson had been present at every Christmas festivity since the 1925 founding of Mt. Washington. At this eleventh annual celebration, he was standing before me, untying the ribbons of his square little package.

“Mr. Dickinson!” The next package contained a gift I had bought in a Calcutta bazaar. “Mr. Dickinson will like this,” I had thought at the time. Mr. Dickinson was a dearly loved disciple. He had attended every Christmas celebration since Mt. Washington was founded in 1925. Now, at this eleventh annual celebration, he stood before me, untying the ribbons on his small, square package.

“The silver cup!” Struggling with emotion, he stared at the present, a tall drinking cup. He seated himself some distance away, apparently in a daze. I smiled at him affectionately before resuming my role as Santa Claus.

“The silver cup!” Struggling with emotion, he stared at the gift, a tall drinking cup. He sat down some distance away, seemingly in a daze. I smiled at him affectionately before going back to my role as Santa Claus.

The ejaculatory evening closed with a prayer to the Giver of all gifts; then a group singing of Christmas carols.

The evening, filled with exclamations, ended with a prayer to the Giver of all gifts. Then a group sang Christmas carols together.

Mr. Dickinson and I were chatting together sometime later.

Mr. Dickinson and I were chatting some time later.

“Sir,” he said, “please let me thank you now for the silver cup. I could not find any words on Christmas night.”

“Sir,” he said, “please let me thank you now for the silver cup. I couldn’t find the words on Christmas night.”

“I brought the gift especially for you.”

“I brought the gift especially for you.”

“For forty-three years I have been waiting for that silver cup! It is a long story, one I have kept hidden within me.” Mr. Dickinson looked at me shyly. “The beginning was dramatic: I was drowning. My older brother had playfully pushed me into a fifteen-foot pool in a small town in Nebraska. I was only five years old then. As I was about to sink for the second time under the water, a dazzling multicolored light appeared, filling all space. In the midst was the figure of a man with tranquil eyes and a reassuring smile. My body was sinking for the third time when one of my brother’s companions bent a tall slender willow tree in such a low dip that I could grasp it with my desperate fingers. The boys lifted me to the bank and successfully gave me first-aid treatment.

“For forty-three years I have been waiting for that silver cup! It is a long story I have kept to myself.” Mr. Dickinson looked at me shyly. “The story began dramatically: I was drowning. My older brother had playfully pushed me into a fifteen-foot-deep pool in a small town in Nebraska. I was only five years old then. As I was about to go underwater for the second time, a dazzling, multicolored light appeared, filling all space. In the middle of the light stood a man with calm eyes and a reassuring smile. As I sank for the third time, one of my brother’s companions bent a tall, slender willow tree toward me. He bent the tree low enough for me to grab it with my desperate fingers. The boys pulled me onto the bank and successfully gave me first aid.

“Twelve years later, a youth of seventeen, I visited Chicago with my mother. It was 1893; the great World Parliament of Religions was in session. Mother and I were walking down a main street, when again I saw the mighty flash of light. A few paces away, strolling leisurely along, was the same man I had seen years before in vision. He approached a large auditorium and vanished within the door.

“Twelve years later, when I was seventeen, I visited Chicago with my mother. It was 1893, and the great World Parliament of Religions was in session. Mother and I were walking down a main street when I again saw the powerful flash of light. A few steps away, the same man I had seen years before in a vision was walking leisurely. He approached a large auditorium and disappeared through the doorway.

“‘Mother,’ I cried, ‘that was the man who appeared at the time I was drowning!’

“‘Mother,’ I cried, ‘that was the man who appeared when I was drowning!’”

“She and I hastened into the building; the man was seated on a lecture platform. We soon learned that he was Swami Vivekananda of India. [^47] After he had given a soul-stirring talk, I went forward to meet him. He smiled on me graciously, as though we were old friends. I was so young that I did not know how to give expression to my feelings, but in my heart I was hoping that he would offer to be my teacher. He read my thought.

“She and I hurried into the building. The man was sitting on a lecture platform. We soon learned that he was Swami Vivekananda of India. [^47] After his deeply moving talk, I went up to meet him. He smiled warmly at me, as though we were old friends. I was so young that I did not know how to express my feelings. But in my heart, I hoped he would offer to be my teacher. He read my mind.

“‘No, my son, I am not your guru.’ Vivekananda gazed with his beautiful, piercing eyes deep into my own. ‘Your teacher will come later. He will give you a silver cup.’ After a little pause, he added, smiling, ‘He will pour out to you more blessings than you are now able to hold.’

“‘No, my son, I am not your guru.’ Vivekananda looked deep into my eyes with his beautiful, piercing gaze. ‘Your teacher will come later. He will give you a silver cup.’ After a brief pause, he added with a smile, ‘He will pour out more blessings for you than you can now hold.’

“I left Chicago in a few days,” Mr. Dickinson went on, “and never saw the great Vivekananda again. But every word he had uttered was indelibly written on my inmost consciousness. Years passed; no teacher appeared. One night in 1925 I prayed deeply that the Lord would send me my guru. A few hours later, I was awakened from sleep by soft strains of melody. A band of celestial beings, carrying flutes and other instruments, came before my view. After filling the air with glorious music, the angels slowly vanished.

“I left Chicago a few days later,” Mr. Dickinson continued, “and never saw the great Vivekananda again. But every word he had spoken was permanently etched in my deepest awareness. Years passed, but no teacher appeared. One night in 1925, I prayed deeply that the Lord would send me my guru. A few hours later, soft music woke me from sleep. A group of heavenly beings carrying flutes and other instruments appeared before me. After filling the air with glorious music, the angels slowly vanished.

“The next evening I attended, for the first time, one of your lectures here in Los Angeles, and knew then that my prayer had been granted.”

“The next evening, I went to one of your lectures here in Los Angeles for the first time. Then I knew my prayer had been answered.”

We smiled at each other in silence.

We smiled at each other in silence.

“For eleven years now I have been your Kriya Yoga disciple,” Mr. Dickinson continued. “Sometimes I wondered about the silver cup; I had almost persuaded myself that Vivekananda’s words were only metaphorical. But on Christmas night, as you handed me the square box by the tree, I saw, for the third time in my life, the same dazzling flash of light. In another minute I was gazing on my guru’s gift which Vivekananda had foreseen for me forty-three years earlier-a silver cup!”

“I have been your Kriya Yoga disciple for eleven years now,” Mr. Dickinson continued. “Sometimes I wondered about the silver cup. I had almost convinced myself that Vivekananda’s words were only a metaphor. But on Christmas night, as you handed me the square box by the tree, I saw that same dazzling flash of light. It was the third time in my life I had seen the flash. A minute later, I was looking at my guru’s gift. Vivekananda had foreseen the gift forty-three years earlier: a silver cup!”

47-1: The chief disciple of the Christlike master Sri Ramakrishna.

47-1: The main disciple of the Christlike master Sri Ramakrishna.