My next adventure is back in Andhra Pradesh, after a respite in Bombay and Pondicherry. My first encounter with Jeevashram seemed to be a coincidence, but the Hindus say there are no accidents. Once while I was visiting Usha, I happened to glance at a newspaper laying on the dining table. Usha occasionally buys a newspaper, but I rarely have time to look at it when I am in Pondy since I am preoccupied with researching and editing. However, the page happened to be opened to an unusual ad that caught my eye. There was to be a one week spiritual retreat in Madras, at a low cost of only 100 Rps. ($5). But the intriguing part was a blurb that promised a trip to Satya Loka. As we know, there are seven heavens, for we have the expression in English, “the seventh heaven.” In this “realm (loka) of truth (satya),” one receives the highest esoteric teachings—we did not know that.

I become quite intrigued: “Usha, did you see this ad? They promise a trip to Satya Loka. . . Well, it’s not enlightenment, but it may be next best thing while someone is hanging around waiting.”

Usha comes over to check out the ad. “It does sound interesting doesn’t it?” she has to admit.

Then as she reads the ad closely and notes the address, she exclaims, “Nancy, you’re not going to believe this, but I think these are people from the school in Andhra where I taught for two years. You know, the one where the director was an interesting guru-type. He was purchasing land to start a spiritual community, which he intended to support with the income from the school. Even then they were making plans to have meditation retreats.”

“Did you ever go to Satya Loka while you were there?” I immediately query her.

“Oh, no. They never discussed their plans with me. I just caught bits and pieces.”


So following the directions on the map, which I received with my registration, I find my way to a gate labeled “God’s Garden” in a tiny village near Madras. I sign in for the retreat on the shady verandah of a small white cottage. Krishna, a teen-ager with a wide friendly smile, grabs my suitcase to carry to the women’s quarters. There I find myself inside a large thatched hut with a high-pitched ceiling of beautifully woven palm leaves. In this shady, airy space, I will eat and sleep—in silence—for the next week. Krishna later confided that my response to their newspaper ad had been the first one—this put me in the auspicious category. Everyone was eager to see who Nancy was.

In the group of twenty-five participants, there were a half dozen Europeans. As typical here for any spiritual lecture or retreat, three-fourths of the Indians participants are men. Of course, the events I attend are oriented to the intellectual aspects of Hinduism. If I were visiting a temple, the women would probably predominate.

In spite of the spacious quarters, that first night I cannot sleep for the noise. Evidently, a host of creepy crawlies appreciate the thatched ceiling for reasons other than beauty. Every time I am about to sleep, a strange noise sends a shock through my nervous system and wakes me up. It’s mostly the lizards running about, and they also squeak. Then sometime past midnight, a car arrives, evidently with the main teacher, so a group of men are talking outside for over an hour. I will not be able to spend another night like this, I lament, as I crawl out at the 4:00 a.m. bell, feeling sure I have not slept at all. Me—without sleep—becomes the worse creature imaginable. By constantly watching to keep myself in relaxed state, somehow I make it through the first day. Thank goodness, that night I collapse into such a deep sleep that an army brigade marching through the room could not have awakened me.

I am glad I managed to sleep because I am finding the material and the techniques are quite unique. The basic goal is make contact with one’s inner Guru. A concept that certainly rings true for independent me. Best of all, I am able to meditate all day without any particular problem. That in itself is a positive experience for me.

Meditation hut with thatched roof

After several days, twenty or so participants are settled into quiet meditation, while the others have left. Shankar, the teacher, guides us into re-experiencing the enlightenment experiences and consciousness of a number of saints and sages. I know it sounds impossible, but Shankar proved to us that you can actually re-experience firsthand any event that you have knowledge of—like purposeful active imagination. The value of this particular exercise is to recognize the difference and uniqueness of each spiritual teacher. Even that concept intrigues me, for I had never really thought of enlightenment as being unique for different individuals.

Since I had been to the ashram of Ramana Maharshi recently, I had specifically read the description he wrote of his realization—so powerful it caused him to leave home. I find that his experience is particularly easy to tune in on—or imagine—if you prefer. Again, I am well informed about the realization of the Buddha; therefore, I had an incredible experience of quiet expansion in running that memory tape. Of course, I know I have a vivid, and a sensitive imagination—that’s why I never ever watch violent or horror films. However, everyone in the room seems to be successful with the technique.

Toward the end of the week, we all get ready for the big “trip” to Satya Loka. First, we have to go through several procedures for the purpose of clearing our chakras (energy centers along the spine). Also to prepare ourselves, we have been eating a sparse vegetarian diet and maintaining total silence, except for the one-hour classes of theory that Shankar gives each morning and evening when we can ask questions. When Shankar describes it, the trip seems easy, but I still have some intrepidity about my ability—good imagination or not. So to make it easy on myself, I create a huge golden eagle in my mind to carry me there. It was quite a trip; we even passed through an area with high rocky cliffs.

When I finally make it, I discover Satya Loka to be a totally golden region; that is, even everyone is radiant with a golden essence. I landed right in the central courtyard, which is a huge temple of golden columns just like the ones of the ancient Greeks. Across the front of the court is a wide staircase with about twenty steps. A verandah stretches across the top of the stairs with columns decorated with intricate golden festoons. In the center of this platform, I see the high court area—the real power spot. Later I seem to remember there were several people there, but at the time all I am aware of is a majestic throne with a deity, who appears to be the ruler of this region. At that moment, I feel too shy to approach him, so I sit quietly over to the side, beside a tall column. At this moment, I am not sure what to do. I wish I had thought of some question to ask. Obviously, this experience is in my own consciousness and it is up to me to use it for my benefit. I was so worried about making the trip that I am simply not prepared for being here!

The Vedas are fundamentally monotheistic, that is all gods and powers rest in the one fundamental supreme Brahman who is without any attributes. To the Hindu, if another religion worships another god, it’s a “join the party; there’s room for everyone” sort of attitude. For example, the Old Testament portrays an attitude in which the prophet Elijah killed the priests of Bal after besting them in a contest. In contrast, when Gautama Buddha defeated the scholars of his time in philosophical debate, they placed him in a place of honor in the Hindu hierarchy as one of the great Incarnations of Lord Vishnu. Again, centuries later when Adi Shankarcharya defeated the Buddhist thinkers, they became his disciples.

Apart from the intellectual debates and treatises, the populace kept worshipping their old gods. The old gods were needed; they were energy fields created for begetting earthly wealth in any and all forms. Nonetheless, no one doubts that Brahman was the Supreme. Even the most illiterate villager will know that the idol he worships is a symbol for a reality he cannot comprehend.
To illustrate this point, an intriguing story is given in the Kena Upanisad, one of the ten major philosophical treatises in the Vedas. In an insightful allegory, the teacher clearly elucidates the relationship between the gods and Brahman. The story goes like this:

One day there appeared in the heavenly realms a beautiful apparition, rather nebulous, but very pleasing to the eye. The gods were intrigued, so straight-away one of them set out to investigate the phenomenon. The first to approach the form was Lord Fire.

To introduce himself, he boasted, “I am Agni Deva; I am so powerful that I can burn up anything on earth with just the touch of a finger.”

“Oh, really. I am certainly impressed,” replied the apparition. “So why don’t you just show me what you can do.” With those words it produced a straw out of thin air and laid it at Lord Agni’s feet. “Let me see you burn this straw.”

With full confidence at the easy task, Lord Fire nodded his head, rolled his eyes, and struck the straw with his finger. Nothing happened. He trembled with disbelief, gathered his energy, and touched the straw again. Again nothing happened. Something very strange was going on. He shook his head in disbelief as he slinked back to the other gods who were observing from the sidelines.

When they heard the details, they could hardly believe such a strange thing. Incensed at this challenge to their power, Lord Wind volunteered that he would go and check out the apparition. He approached it and introduced himself, “I am Vayu Deva. I am so strong and powerful that I can make anything fly through the air at great speeds.”

“Oh, really. I am certainly impressed,” ventured the apparition. “So why don’t you just show me what you can do.” Uttering these words, it produced a straw out of thin air and laid it at Lord Vayu’s feet. “Let me see you move this straw.”

Vayu Deva huffed and he puffed, but he could not move that little straw. He tried again and again. His head hung in embarrassment as he returned to his cohorts and told them that he certainly could not explain what was going on.

They all agreed that this was an assignment for Indra, the king of the gods (at least in the Vedic period before the gods of temple worship were created). He agreed to get this phenomenon straightened out once and for all. But strangely, as Indra proudly sauntered over to the form, it disappeared completely. Moments later, in its place materialized the Goddess Uma, who is both consort of Lord Siva and a teacher to the gods. They all fell at her feet and begged for an explanation of the strange occurrence.

When she spoke, she admonished them, “Where do you think you get your power? Have you forgotten that you are only instruments of one Supreme? Without that power, you can do nothing.”

Later, Shankar questions me about my trip to Satya Loka to see if I had any particular encounter with the deity. He is quite scientific about keeping records to see if everyone experiences the same phenomenon. We discuss my reservations about deities and how I can find such a trip useful. Then, he mentions that if I keep my golden eagle, I can return any time I want to because there is even a huge library I can visit. “Oh, the eagle is not necessary, Satya Loka is just a thought away,” I retort with a smile. “I just made things hard on myself.” The devout Hindus have the concept of the “Lord of the Heart.” This Lord will have a mantra associated with it that will have been handed down through their family or given by a Guru. To them this deity, who has long term associations, qualifies as their inner Guru. So I am not sure how the concept of inner Guru will apply to me. At the moment, I feel happy to sit in a very peaceful silence, and not to concerned about contacting any “inner guru.” Therefore, I am quite surprised, when suddenly, I see in front of me the shape of a swami, dressed in orange, sitting cross-legged, looking me straight in the face. It’s not anyone I recognize, so at first I wonder if he has any significance. At the moment, with this question in my mind, the swami pops right into my heart center. About that time, Shankar turns on some music, which means we have five minutes until the session ends.

As the music begins to play, the swami begins speaking to me very softly in rhythm with the music: “My child, my child, my dear, dear child. Don’t you know I’ve always been with you, always watching, always waiting. When you reached out to help someone, it was only I. When you reached out to hurt someone, it was only I. Always watching, always waiting. Never judging, never condemning. I was there—always watching, always waiting.”

Suddenly, my mind flashes back to a silly incident from the past. “See, my child, wasn’t I there even then, showing you the hollowness of life. You think much of your life was a loss and waste of time, but you were observing, you were learning. You were learning more than you think.”

Tears start flowing down my cheeks as I feel the compassion and love. My mind feels as if it could accept the whole world without any complaint. What is it that makes us want to judge and limit this big beautiful panorama of a myriad of people places critters experiences. It is just too incredible to ever want to disturb. After a few minutes, I perceive that people are moving around a bit to limber up for the next 30-minute meditation session. I lie back on my straw mat and melt into a conscious contentment and peace. I sit easily through the next two or three 30-meditation periods in a truly deep silence. Later when I discuss the experience with Shankar, he feels that it was a relevant contact with my “inner guru.”

I left the retreat feeling quite enthused that my meditation practice had reached a new level. However, it was not the case. I was unable to sustain the energy on my own, so my meditation practice continued in its usual mode of ups and downs.

Over a year later, I have an opportunity to go to Jeevashram School to meet Vijay, the progenitor of the retreat system. I wrote him of my desire to visit the school and meet him. Although I had not maintained the level of meditation, the experience of the retreat continued to remain a vivid memory. The school secretary had replied by return mail that I would be most welcome. Although Vijay is the principal Guru, I had not met him because he does not attend the retreats himself. Wishing to avoid the propensity of the Indians to hang onto Gurus, he remains at the school continuing his work as director and does not change his schedule at all during the retreats.

Since I wrote ahead, they know the approximate date of my arrival. The bus from the train station stops right in front of the school where I trudge up a dirt path to a long verandah with an office. The clerk there seems to know who I am, so, without any explanations, he accompanies me to a room further down the verandah. As we step inside with bare feet, I encounter a stout long-haired man about forty years old, seated behind a short-legged, rectangular table. The table seems to serve as a fortress to keep people at arm’s distance.

Vijay is the brains and inspiration behind the meditation retreats. As he recommends to others, he lives a normal life in the world. He takes very seriously his job of running the residential school with one-hundred residential students and another fifty from surrounding villages. He is married to a dynamic woman who helps him immeasurably with his work of keeping up this little community. Vijay is definitely not the quiet scholarly type; in fact, he is quite talkative and animated. Every day he impresses me with his broad span of spiritual knowledge from every religious tradition.

During our first meeting, I mention to him my curiosity about my experiences in the retreat the past year. “As I had written you in my letter, when I came to India this time I really wanted to find an environment for regular and more intense spiritual practice. Not that I think I can sit and meditate all day; I know I can’t—actually, I wouldn’t even want to. However, when I sit to meditate, I want to be able to cut myself from the external and mental world to be at peace. That is my meditation goal.

“I had been in India for over a year when I saw the ad in the newspaper promising a trip to Satya Loka. Having studied Vedanta, I told myself: Well, it may not be highest enlightenment, but it’s better than Bhu Loka [the earth realm]. At least it’s a step in the right direction.”

“I would say I went to the intensive with an open mind, willing to listen to the teacher, try the techniques, and then judge for myself. I’ll have to say during the intensive I was quite pleased with the whole program. I found it easy to sit for the long periods, even though we did not even have a cushion. My meditation was quite deep and peaceful—even blissful part of the time. I felt good, like ‘I am on track.’ But the truth is, after the retreat, the lights went out completely.”

“I see,” Vijay comments. “Of course, we wondered what happened to you.”

“I was quite disappointed when I was not able to keep up the momentum of that week. Of course, any experience is helpful in giving one a little faith. So this brings me to my essential question: Can one person actually help another on the spiritual path? Of course, I know it is possible to give another some guidance. At times, something a Guru, or even an ordinary persons, may say something that is helpful for another. But is it possible to really uplift another spiritually? How is it possible? That is what my basic question.

“Also can the upliftment be permanent or is it some ‘golden carrot,’ so the seeker then has some courage to plod on for himself.” I seem to keep rattling on until Vijay picks up the thread and starts answering me.

Finally, he reacts, “Okay. I get your point. I know you must have heard of the morphogenetic field. If something happens to one member of a particular species, it can have some impact on the other members of the species even at a distance.

“To me the individual does not exist. There is no such an entity as a Nancy, or a Freddie, or a Shankar to me. The existence of different individuals is only a mental concept. In the intensive, we create an energy field, like a large balloon. If a human being is able to reach a high level of consciousness and hook onto that expanded energy field for some time, then indeed there can be a permanent change. We expected to hear from you, but you didn’t turn up. So that indicates it was only temporary in your case.”

I interject, “In the intensive, Shankar said to practice the techniques for one year, then come back. So when I did not practice at all, there was no reason for me to contact you.”

“Shankar was pleased with your experiences and your level of silence during the retreat. Actually, we expected to hear from you before now.”

“You know one issue is my Vedantic no-god concepts. I knew that a trip to Satya Loka was not the highest, but I did not expect to see a deity there.”

“Why not? Satya Loka has many teachers. If you would have investigated further, you would have found quite a variety of sages there.”

The second day, I have a real surprise when I go over to the office to meet Vijay for afternoon tea. I find that Shankar has arrived and is sitting out on the lawn talking with Vijay. He expresses quite a surprise too; Vijay had not informed him of my arrival. We spend a great week discussing India, philosophy, and spiritual masters for hours on end. . . long into the night. I am continually impressed. They have unlimited knowledge of the many teachers and schools of thought, even European ones. However, Shankar’s major influence was J. Krishnamurti. His mother has even translated some of Krishnamurti’s books into an Indian language. On the other hand, Vijay has spent his whole life in spiritual inquiry and did not have one particular teacher.

Of course, I recount some of my adventures in spiritual India, but we do not speak of anything of a personal nature. However, one morning after Shankar returned to his home in Madras, Vijay takes the opportunity to make some personal comments to me.

“Your problem is you have no self-confidence. You think small concerning yourself,” he begins.

“The truth is I have had no feedback in my life to build any self-confidence. Even in scholarly or creative endeavors, any praise has been extremely rare. My family has been particularly determined to see me in an inferior light.”

“But you have a lot of clarity. You are quite precise when you communicate. Your intellect is quite fast in understanding my points. I feel we have been actually communicating this past week.” He looks me in the straight in the eyes and asks, “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, I do understand what you are saying.”

Then he goes on to comment, “Your heart center is very good, especially for an adult. An adult’s heart center will never have the purity of a child’s. The quality of the heart center determines how others react and relate to you.

“Your agneya [third eye] center is good. This enables you to think so clearly.

“Your vishuddi, or throat, center is also good, so spiritual experience is possible. The throat center is the seat of communication. It must be open and in good condition to have spiritual experiences.”

“Well, if you consider the heart center as compassion, the throat as communication and the third eye center as intellect, that is definitely where I live,” I comment with a chuckle.

“So if these three higher chakras are in good condition, one can become a spiritual seeker. But then your muladhara, base chakra, is not as sound, so you do not get the required kundalini energy. Your chakras are bright, but the muladhara is not supplying the needed voltage to the other centers.

“So your concern now is the muladhara, the power supply. So that is the first step, to energize it, so the energy is maintained in the other centers.”

“What are the causes of weak power in muladhara?”

As always, Vijay answers quickly, hardly pausing to think. It’s amazing to observe such an incredible brain in action. I wonder how he can stuff so much information into one small space. How is his brain different than mine?

“It could be due to your diet. At times, it could even be due to atmospheric conditions. It can simply be due to not having the right human company. Even being an object of another’s frustrated thoughts can suppress the muladhara. Another problem is, here in India, you have not been eating the high protein and nutritious diet that you are accustomed to, that could make a difference.”

“Really, I don’t know if that is the problem. The truth is, although I have a strong muscular frame, I have had low energy and lack of stamina all my life,” I comment.

Again he gives an immediate reply, “Also, your tendency not to have the confidence to think you can make your goals will definitely cause lack of energy. When I look at your aura, I see that you have spots on the area of your hands and your throat. Both the spots and streaks represent disappointments and frustrations—in general. In particular, the spots on the hands relate to frustration in action, and on the throat in communication. So although you have acted and communicated, even though it may have been appropriate, it has not been accepted by those around you.”

I return to my room with a lot to think over. I am sharing a room in the back of the large complex of buildings with a thin dark young woman, who turns out to be the teacher of Telegu, the language in this area. Exceptionally kind and cheerful, she totally takes me in tow to show me around. She always makes sure that I get my share of the food, saving a plate for me if I am delayed because of talking with Shankar and Vijay.

Interestingly, I am present one afternoon when her father shows up with a young man. I am wondering, it’s the last week of school, why did he come all this way when she will be home in a couple of days? She takes one look at the men and walks out of the room. I follow her, asking what is going on. Then she explains that her father has brought the young man to be considered as a prospective husband. I am utterly amazed that a father would just show up with an engagement proposal. But she is not fooled, she explains that since classes are nearly over, there is some time pressure. Her father wants to impress the young man by showing him that she is a school teacher. She then sends me to motion her father out of the room, so that she can confer with him privately.

Of course, the father is dumbfounded at being motioned at by a white face and approaches me very humbly. When he gets outside, he sees his daughter and understands, so they start conferring in the shade of a tree. Obviously, the young man has no idea what to do since he is left just sitting there in the room looking at me. After a few minutes, he gets the picture; he leaves the room and disappears down the path into the mango grove.

“But the young man appeared quite agreeable. Why didn’t you at least meet him?” I query her after her father left. After all, we are in India. Young people are lucky to be able to even have a look at their husband or wife ahead of time. This is progress.

“I’m not about to marry that idiot. I have picked my own husband—my cousin. My father doesn’t know it yet, but my mother does,” she informs me.

“And she approves?”

“Oh, yes. No problem there. But we aren’t so sure about my father. He has his own ideas.”

“And your cousin will be able to support you?”

“Yes, he has a shop. I will not have to work. I won’t be returning here to teach next year.”

The following day, an unpleasant incident informs me that the young woman is an untouchable, or a Harijan, as Gandhi called them. I had gone for a walk over to the nearby village—specifically to get a cup of tea. On my return, I run into the young teacher, so we return to the school together. June is India’s hottest month; this one is no exception. It is devastatingly hot, so when we reach the school, I stop off at the nearest spot next to the girl’s meditation hall to get a drink of water. I motion to her to come on and have some water. I notice she hesitates, but then she does follow me. Just as we are downing the water—Indian style, you do not touch the cup to your lips—Vijay’s wife comes roaring up to us. She shouts something in Telegu at the young lady, who obligingly takes off.

I am aghast. How can anyone treat another in such a manner, especially a teacher in the establishment? Vijay’s wife shrugs my astonishment off with the comment, “Those people can’t come in here where we have our meditations.” Again, this is India with all its contradictions. Fortunately, I have personally witnessed very few incidents of overt discrimination like this one in all my three years of travel.