Every morning, I save some food from breakfast to go to the river to feed the fish. I wander along the broad and quiet Kauveri while chanting the Gayatri Mantra. What a difference in the river here and in Kumbakonam. Here the streamlets are almost as wide as the river bed there. From this side the bed is so broad, I cannot see the other bank. However, I find a few shallow spots to cross in knee-deep water. I walk through the maze of sand banks until I am quite out of sight of the shore. Then I strip off my top layer of clothing and lie in the deep still water of one of the pools. Unfortunately, the only place I have found water deep enough for swimming is along the bank closest to the ashram—impossible without a bathing suit and the exposure of female parts is even questionable with one.

Cranes, small brown plovers, bee catchers, plus an occasional tern and myna frequent the whole complex of streams, pools, sand banks and grassy knolls. The water is just cool enough to be very refreshing, but the coolness lasts just long enough for the quarter-mile hike back to the ashram. Usually, I go to the meditation hall to meditate, with a break for yoga if I start to feel dull. Then I take a trip over to the library to partake of all the books on the wonderful European Christian saints, the knowledge of whom is quite enlightening. They have actually described the mystical path as good as the Hindus, and with lots of similarities; for example, the description “as the river disappears into the ocean, the individual merges into the Godhead.”

I sleep in a dorm-style room with seven or eight beds. Most people come through and just stay a night or two. Since this place is listed in the tour books, it is a regular stop for all European, particularly British tourists. However, one roommate, an American, plans to stay for a period of serious sadhana. Mary had just completed a year working in Pakistan helping the Afghan refugees, that is the refugee government, happily living on American aid. She says it is obvious why they were thrown out of the country: they are the greediest people imaginable. However, they are quite satisfied now, for they quickly discovered that they can suck much more out of the fount of American aid than out of some peasant dirt farmers. I cannot comprehend why Russia and Britain have been fighting over Afghanistan for centuries. Mary feels really disgusted, disgruntled and off-center after her experiences and is taking time off to spend in this peaceful atmosphere to get back on track.

Since the Gulf War continues to be escalating, the U.S. Embassy sent someone out here to post a notice that it could be dangerous for Americans to travel. Nevertheless, an American gentleman arrived last night. Judging from his business suit and his tons of luggage, I bet Mary that he was a professional photographer, planning to video-tape Father Bede. I was wrong, for the next morning in the prayer service, we spot him sitting in the front row with the Indian Fathers.

For no particular reason, other than I am inclined to want to get to know interesting people, I have a whim to meet the newly arrived Father. I usually do not drink coffee, but I go over at coffee time just to see if the Father is there. The timing is good because I arrive just at the moment that the Father does. By coincidence, I sit down by a person he knows, so he joins us.

Within moments, he and I are drawn into a profound exchange, so intense that the third person quickly drifts away. In response to his question of what is my purpose of being in India, I explain to him I am in a personal dilemma. After leaving Atheetha Ashram, I have just been stumbling around from place to place, going through the crazy situations that only India can produce. Then when it looked as I had at last found the perfect situation, I had a real disappointment. Then I go on to describe my crisis at Ram Sadhu’s ashram.

“Did you feel rejection?” he questions me.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“I had the same experience of rejection once when I tried to join a monastery and they refused me. I experienced terrible rejection,” he shares with me.

“How did that happen?”

“I was actually a novice at a large monastery. One day for apparently no reason at all, the Abbot just told me to pack my bags and get out.”

“No explanation?”

“No explanation. The Father in charge of my group even spoke up for me. He went to the Abbot and asked him for an explanation. The Father felt that I was a good student; I had always obeyed all the rules. But the Abbot wouldn’t even give him a reason.”

“How devastating. In one moment, one man could totally change your whole life plan. I had not vested so much time and energy into my plan.”

After a few moments of silence, I continue, “I had dared think, at least momentarily, that my rambling had finally ended, that I had found something of value. So in the end I told myself, ‘You really didn’t deserve it after all.’”

“But that is very Christian; the ‘guilt’ and ‘deserve’ nonsense. You should feel there is something new opening up for you,” he wisely advised me.

“Yes, I see your point. But first, there was the undeniable feeling, ‘I didn’t deserve this.’” I pause, then continue, “You know Hindus also have the same concept that what you encounter in the world is a reflection of your own mind. So you are only meeting outside what you have in your own life plan, predestined from previous actions. Now I’m not saying that I accept the theory of karma is written in stone; however, it seems to be a viable hypothesis that can help one retain equanimity through the blows of life. That’s the important point: peace of mind.”

For over an hour, we discussed many aspects of Hinduism, the four stages of life versus celibacy, Adi Sankaracharya and his monasteries, study of Sanskrit, and long-term visas for India. He appears very open and really wants to comprehend the Hindu view of life. He seems, like myself, to be curious to know what it would be like to look at the world through an entirely different mindset.

Sometime in the conversation, I mention that I am now collecting information on the subject of enlightenment. “Actually, once I did have a profound mystical experience. So I am also trying to figure out how that fits into the marketplace of life,” I mention.

“You know I thought that you must have had a real experience when you said you were in India for three years. When I was a young man, I had an wonderful experience of ecstasy. Prior to that time, I was having a very difficult time with celibacy, but I controlled myself. Then I had a beautiful ecstasy that lasted for days. That experience has sustained me.”

“I certainly would not have stayed interested in a spiritual outlook on life if I had not had such an experience. I would have lost faith long ago, for sure,” I agree.

“And the longing to know that experience again is a tremendous impetus—but it is desire too. Even the wish for enlightenment is desire,” he reflects.

“Definitely, but we donkeys have to have some carrot—the golden carrot, I call it. Then the time comes for dismissing even the goal, but it won’t be easy.”

“You know Father Bede had a tremendous experience when he was spontaneously healed from a stroke last year. He said that he felt so much love that it is impossible to describe. He’s actually a different person now; everyone thinks so. Before he remained the stoic, reserved, stiff-upper-lip Brit. You cannot imagine the change in him.” A thoughtful look crosses his face before he continues, “We do not know how to love. We have never really experienced it. As Father Bede mentioned in his homily last night, love is the basis for all.”

I comment, “Oh, when I had that experience, I felt so much love that I could have bowed down to hug an ant. All around us is so much struggle and hardship, but through those eyes everything and everyone looked so beautiful and so perfect, even here in India—a true test.

“See, that’s what I want—that love. To me that’s more important than enlightenment. So I would rather have that love, even with darkness, although with light would be best.”

“You do have a good point,” I agree with a smile.


Father Bede continued to have lapses of memory and to feel weak, so he left this morning for the cooler temperatures of a hill station, for he is hoping it will help his condition. This means I will not get an opportunity to talk with him, even though in the course of the last couple of days I have come up with a question for him.

One night when a woman brought up the question of redemption, I was taken aback. I had really begun to comprehend and accept Christianity because of my study of Hinduism and my contact with European Christians. However, in my religious comparisons, I had entirely forgotten the “original sin—redemption” thing. Apparently, I am succeeding in my quest for a new mindset. In Hinduism, and its sister religions, Jainism and Buddhism, there is no concept of original sin. To them, our origin is divine. Yes, there is a veil that we have superimposed over that divinity, but our divinity is never touched by the veil—no matter how dirty it gets. The Hindu sages never dwelt on the sinner stuff, they always called their flock the “children of light.” They were the ancestors of Bharatha, a historical king, who was of the lineage of Lord Vishnu. King Bharatha’s enlightened rule is said to have endured for some twenty-seven thousand years.

The Hindus actually believe that the life on the planet is in a state of devolution, not evolution. The peaceable kingdom has already happened. King Bharatha’s time would probably fall in the Silver Age, after the heavenly kingdom of the Golden Age. Third was the Bronze Age, then the Iron Age, or Kali Yuga. Yes, you guessed it, we are now in the doldrums of the Kali Yuga. This downward trend is also symbolized in the Hebrew Fall, but in Hindu thought it is a process, instead of a spontaneous occurrence, as in the Bible. In contrast, Hindu theorists consider that the creation was spontaneous and not a process as do the western scientists.

Daily I continue to walk by the river while chanting the Gayatri Mantra. It expresses such a beautiful thought, “may my actions be in sync with the highest good.” After a few days, I feel that I am floating along the sandy banks. This “Forest of Peace” is in such a beautiful, quiet setting; I feel I have found the Garden of Eden right here on earth. I begin to feel the peace so profoundly that it becomes alive. So vibrant that it seems to quell everything else, like a long, broad gaze at the world, rather than a close, focused study. Swami Nirmalananda was right; it comes straight from the heart. It is just an attitude, but an attitude that is impossible to manufacture. At Pondicherry, I often felt that the silence was descending on me; but now I feel that it is spilling out of me.

With Father Bede gone, everyone is clearing out of the ashram, so I return to Pondy. There I am shocked to read a report in Newsweek (available in the library) that Bush’s popularity is at an all time high because of the victory. Even the British voted Churchill out after the war. So the ole’ competitive spirit brings us to celebrate victory in war, instead of lamenting the war reality. Is that all we learned from Vietnam? It’s not that we do like war, we just do not like to lose wars.