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Chapter 2 — Realization

I settled down at home then, to a world of vision and color that I had never seen before. But things got worse. Many times I would sit on chairs that weren’t there and, of course, hit the floor. Seeing people in a room, I would very craftily make sure that everyone else saw them too before I talked to them. Understanding came to me of the Zen saying: "Before one studies the self, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers — then one gets a glimpse — then mountains are no longer mountains and rivers are no longer rivers — then after some practice, mountains are again mountains and rivers are rivers again." My trouble came from being in the middle; nothing much made sense to me. On top of that, the terrible push of the study of Yoga kept my mind busy day and night. But worst of all was the insistence of my husband that I was insane. Neither of us was ever free from this thought.

One man appeared in these visions more and more often. Sometimes in dreams I would see him earnestly talking to me, and I would awake trying to remember what he had said. Then he came more and more during the day. He would appear next to me when I was doing the dishes. At first, I felt such terror that I thought I would pass out. Eventually I became braver about the whole thing and even began to watch for him. I got so involved in watching for him that it began to show in quite a few ways. When arthritis in my hands began to make me miserable, we decided that a few days in Florida with my parents might do me good. I left with my younger son, and it was arranged that the rest of the family would meet me in a week or two.

In a strange sort of way, I think something in the back of my mind felt that perhaps this man that I was seeing in visions would stay in the house; that perhaps he just manifested there and was part of it. At any rate, I left and my parents met us at the airport. The sun was so nice, my parents looked so brown and calm, and I took a deep breath. I remember thinking, as we crossed the beautiful Sunshine Skyway Bridge in St. Petersburg, that everything was so easy and all would be right now.

When we arrived at the house, I was talking and laughing like my old self, but when I walked into the bedroom to put my luggage down — there on the dresser in my room sat my man. It would be nice to say: "There sat my little man." However, this has the connotation of my being a little under the weather, or perhaps a little alcoholic — not seriously, just enough to not communicate well. All wrong. This was not a little man; he was in fact quite large. He smiled at me in the same way I had seen all winter, and this time I talked madly, openly, not caring who heard me: "Please go away. You don’t fit into my life. I don’t want you I don’t know why you are here." Eventually I realized I was becoming quite incoherent. He smiled and disappeared.

I guess it was about this time that I finally began to feel the silence begin to grow in me. There was no more flurry to escape or explain. Acceptance is a strange thing. Suddenly I knew that I was not insane, and, because I had nowhere to go, I would have to face this in the best way I could. Probably it was the fight against this feeling of silence that gave me this last flurry. It was something I sensed and it scared me. Everything I was seemed threatened by it and I was fascinated and repelled at the same time. The realization was complete now. It had toyed with me long enough, and finally, just as I thought I had run away from it, it caught up with me, engulfed me, and laughed.

Our vacation was nice. No one mentioned Yoga at all, and I got brown and rested. My family all watched me quietly and breathed a sigh of relief. There was vague talk of how high-strung people take a little more time than others to adjust and how good sunshine is for "people." We left Florida happy and ready to return to work. However, I sensed within myself the feeling that I would return to deep study and work in what had taken over my life. I had put up a fight and had lost, but somehow I was happy about it — maybe with just having the fight over.

I went hard at it when I got home. I set definite times for reading and studying. I spent a couple of hours a day studying the postures and exercises that I found formed the basis of Hatha Yoga, which is the school primarily concerned with exercise. All the books that I was able to obtain pointed out that it was impossible to really study without a teacher, also adding — in the quizzical way of Yogic thought — that "When the student is ready, the guru appears." I read a little further and found these books also said, "One gets the teacher one deserves," but by this time nothing could frighten me too much, and in my ignorance I pressed on.

I know that if anyone reads this who has children, work, and other commitments to keep them busy, the first thing they will think is that all else was neglected in the desire to learn. I had no trouble with this. I kept a ten-room house, made my own bread, sewed my own clothes, and took good care of my family. Yoga gave me tremendous concentration; I sometimes used to practice by cooking five recipes at once, both hot and cold, and have them all come out right at their different temperatures, all at the same time. I found myself doing things better than ever before. I became very efficient and sorted out all the things in my life that I felt were not necessary. I settled down to concentrate on what had meaning for me and for those around me.
Probably the most wonderful thing about it was that I became well. All my life I had suffered along half sick; the idea of being well was a totally new concept. Now I know that everything is a concept, even life itself — but I won’t go into that now.

Then one day the man appeared again and began to talk. Having become quite brave by then, I listened instead of trembling, and my Yoga lessons began in earnest. I would bow; he would bow; and the lesson would begin for the day. Progress came rapidly. My neighbor, who was a dear friend, was very careful not to disturb me during the three hours in the afternoon set aside for meditation.

The man appeared one bright fall day and told me to go to the library near me and get a certain book. He told me that he was described in the book. I practically ran to the library. I had thought by this time that I had read everything nearby on this subject, but evidently I missed one, for it was there just as he had said. He hadn’t missed a trick. Even his address was given in the book, and of course I wrote at once.

His letter came back quickly, and he accepted me for training. His name was Swami Sivananda, Sage of the Himalayas, doctor, author, Saint of India. I can remember so well the next letter saying very gently that I really should not eat meat, as violence cannot be in Yoga. The very next day I vomited the meat that had looked so good to me, and I have not wanted it or longed for it since.

I had never thought of myself as one of the strong people who can discipline themselves through hardships. I preferred the easy way of drifting along and doing just what was really necessary to get by. Even now, I find when I look back that I never really gave anything up; it gave me up, and I had nothing to say about it. The happy look on the ascetic’s face is this, I think. He finally accepts what he is and has been all the time. He suddenly finds himself complete unto himself. He has no need to reach out for anything.

Do not misunderstand me on this. I did not become unfeeling or unsympathetic. On the contrary, I found that I had just begun to know what love was. I became so sensitive that words were no longer necessary. I found that I talked very little, and such a rapture of happiness was with me most of the time that people seemed to feel it around me. On the advice of the kind doctor, I learned not to talk too much about Yoga; he explained that people do not talk about these things here because they do not fit into our society.

About this time, I went into a comprehensive study of the religions and philosophical ways of the world. I discussed these points with anyone I could find in my small world, and eventually my mind began to emerge in a steady pattern of mysticism. It sustained me in all discussion, gave me tremendous energy, and comforted me. It began to show me that love is the only thing that lasts. When you are really honest with yourself, you can see that everything is transient. The hunger leaves, the life changes, and we grow old. Children leave, parents leave, even husbands leave. The body never stays the same. What really lasts?

It is said that one sure way to find the path of Yoga is to be "world-weary." This sounds like an unhappy path of negative thinking, turning one away from Yoga before the start. When the emptiness that one feels in this kind of thing sets in, the usual reaction is to fear it. But this feeling is very valuable because it allows you to fill with new concepts. It is the beginning of a new life — like being born again. The slightest thing can give you happiness, and you live for the moment. The flower has never been so delicate, the wind was never there before. The eyes look out on a new world, and you never miss the part of you that dies, the part you fought so hard to keep alive. You become extremely strong yet extremely vulnerable. It is a risk you have to take.

My practice went on; progress came steadily. Sometimes I did not think so, but I found that once the Yoga bug bites you, it goes inside and does its work with or without your consent. It is easier with consent. I found that I began to dream in Sanskrit. I didn’t know what Sanskrit was then, but I would remember the words from my dreams, sometimes seeing them being written for me carefully and slowly and strangely seeing myself solemn and silent trying to absorb them. I wrote these dream experiences to my teacher Sivananda, who informed me that the language was Sanskrit and gave me the translation and also his instructions on what to do about it. When each of his letters came, I would carry it in my pocket until the next one arrived.

I complained of working blindly. Then a letter came:

Reverend Immortal Self, I never meant that the blind is leading the blind. But you are led by a divine power, and that will leave you and those who follow you in the very high spiritual and exalted state of peace, joy, and divine ecstasy. Your first paragraph is itself an assurance that this is happening in your case. You are on the road to spiritual enlightenment. The road or path of the spiritual aspirant is lit by the Grace of the Lord and the protecting hands of the Teachers and Masters.

This was strange news for one who never had any religious background to speak of.

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Copyright 1970, 1978, 1997 by The American Yoga Association. All Rights Reserved.

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