December 11, 1977

The birthday discourse

The morning is crisp and cold and the queue is long. Thousands of sannyasins and hundreds and hundreds of guests seem to have descended on the ashram just to be with Bhagwan on this day. Buddha Hall, scrubbed and polished and looking its very best, receives us.

And then he comes.

“My beloved ones,” he says in opening, “I love you. Love is my message. Let it be your message too. Love is my colour and my climate. To me, love is the only religion. All else is just rubbish; all else is nothing but mind-churning dreams. Love is the only substantial thing in life; all else is illusion. Let love grow in you and God will growing on its own accord.”

Melting. All over Buddha Hall you can feel the melting, the merging of our hearts with his, of his heart with ours. We love him too. Imperfect as our love still is, we love him too.

“I was thinking what I should give to you today. Because this is my birthday,” he continues. “I was incarnated into this body on this day. This is the day I saw for the first time the green of the trees and the blue of the skies. This was the day I first opened my eyes and saw God all around. Of course, the word ‘God’ didn’t exist at that moment. But what I saw was God. I was thinking what I should give to you today. Then I remembered a saying of Buddha, ‘Sabba daanam dhamma daanam jinatti’ – ‘The gift of truth excels all other gifts.’ And my truth is love.”

He just made today everybody’s birthday.

Thank you, Bhagwan.

The birthday day

After the discourse, everyone hugging; everyone kissing.

Happy birthday, Ma! Happy birthday, Swami! Orange entwining orange. Kirtans explode here and there – pails becoming drums, hands beating time – twirling and turning, faster and faster, faster and faster.

A riot of love filling the air.

At first our guests seem a little hesitant, but soon the grey and white and black of the Indian men and the bright saris of the women can be spotted all over the ashram – looking over the creations in the boutique, browsing through our wares in Radha Hall, sampling the Western culinary delights of Vrindavan or the puris and bhaji being served in the beautiful outdoor dining hall that Swami Krishna Mohammed has put together for the day. Very comfy and inviting and terribly palm court.

Radha Hall is amazing, giving me the first glimpse, in one fell swoop, of the tremendous talent we have here in the ashram. Side by side with Bhagwan ‘s books (including nine superlative new releases), diaries, photos, calendars, newsletters, meditation and discourse tapes plus this morning’s lecture, no less – are delicate carved hair pins and intricate wooden boxes, plain and inlaid, from the mala shop, as well as ceramic bowls, clay windbells, flower pots and hand-loomed robes, cloaks, shawls and belts. And much, much more.

Overwhelmingly more!

As the afternoon wears on, so do I. I’m ready for a rest after all the excitement – especially since the climax of the day, the evening darshan, is still to come – so, to relax, I accept an invitation from the ashram gardeners to join them for a quiet little tea party.

To relax? On Bhagwan’s birthday? And with his malis?

More fool me. By the time I leave them my sides hurt, I’m gurgling with tea and stuffed with cake, and I’m totally convinced that Lewis Carroll was a highly underrated man. While he was alive I don’t think anyone knew he could see into the future. They’re quite mad, those malis! The end of the afternoon is the end of Swami Krishna Prem ‘s observations for today. Tonight is Bhagwan’s. And Bhagwan’s alone. The pen and pad pass to my favourite Sufi sister, to Ma Prem Aneeta.

The birthday darshan

It is five-thirty, a winter evening in Poona: the time my name tag says to be at the front gate to usher for tonight’s darshan. I leave my room feeling the flutter of excitement in my heart, not certain if it comes from me or merely reflects the thrill and elation that always pervades everyone and everything on the celebration days here. Somehow it feels like a master control switch has doubled the volts of energy in everything. Everyone feels more alive, more present, more vibrant to me. As I walk to the front gate I’m amazed at how many people are already waiting in the queue. Although they are standing quietly, I feel their energy dancing wildly inside them and when my eyes meet theirs, stranger or old friend, I feel joy bubbling and overflowing between us. An ease, warmth, an openness seems to have become everyone’s nature today,

At the gate everything is running smoothly as usual. In the year that I’ve lived here at the ashram I’m continually amazed and delighted at how well organized and smoothly functioning everything flows here, from book production to feeding hundreds of people daily. I experience an undercurrent of cooperation and competence and willingness to be involved here; attitudes so unfamiliar to me in the other communities I have lived in. Many other ashramites are at the gate. It feels like a small party in an ocean of exuberance. Of this ‘party’ four are sniffers who check for perfume, four are ushers who take ‘the smellies’ to the guards who then seat them at the back of the hall. Two are guards who check. that no one enters with woollen garments and two are collecting celebration passes. Somehow at this moment it all feels like a joke and a humorous drama in which none of us knows the plot or its purpose or even what the next act is about… perhaps that is why there is always so much laughter and playfulness here; it seems especially so today.

My job alternates between playing ‘usher of the smellies’ and collecting celebration passes. Perhaps these ‘walk-on parts’ in this fantastic drama might not appear to be very exciting, yet I found them incredible meditations and wonderful fun. As ticket taker, I could hardly believe how such a simple gesture as handing a piece of paper to another person could be done so uniquely and be so expressive of a person’s nature and awareness. As ‘usher of the smellies’ again I enjoyed such a diversity of reaction it seemed almost too dramatic to be real. Some cried, some laughed, some were angry and argumentative, some playful and funny, some apologetic, some aggressive. I often had the thought that this really is a play and these are the best actors I have ever seen: within a split second one laughs, another cries and another is ready to fight in response to ‘come with me’.

By six forty-five everyone is seated and I too find myself on a cushion near Bhagwan’s chair feeling a bit like I have been in a tornado for the past hour. Now, I suddenly find myself surrounded by hundreds of silent, unmoving, meditative orange people, my family. I gratefully sink into the spacious serenity I feel within and around me.

In minutes Bhagwan enters, brilliant, shining like the sun and inexplicably at the same time empty and cool like outer-space. For over a year I have lived here at the ashram and watched Bhagwan enter the hall each morning. Every day he takes the same slow silent steps, every day I see the same white robe, every day I see his eyes always luminous, every day his mouth always relaxed and smiling and yet his entry never feels the same to me and I cannot indicate any detail to describe in what way it is different, It just is. After his usual long namaste, he sits.

His eyes slowly move around the hall, penetratingly, lovingly. I have the feeling that he is taking in more than most of us know is present. Ma Taru and a group of Indian women sannyasins begin chanting as the gathered crowd of orange echo in response. Bhagwan’s eyes close ever so slowly and something about him seems to have disappeared. I too close my eyes.

After several minutes the chanting stops and the music group begins playing. A wide path surrounding the festive, lighted hall is filled with standing sannyasins who now dance and leap counter clockwise around the hall. For what seems like an endless time I feel that I’ve dropped into a pool of vast silence, empty and simultaneously alive, vibrating with incredible energy. I’m only peripherally aware of the music and abandoned dance of the hundreds circling around me. They move with ever-increasing speed, the energy feels explosive.

My eyes open to look at Bhagwan. His eyes rest on each of us sitting near him pausing for a few moments that feel like eternity when he’s looking at you. The dancers are racing around so fast that the circle becomes a blurred orange-gold-red fire of sannyasins surrounding an equal number seated and motionless. Only Bhagwan’s  fingers move, slowly tapping each other to what seems like one-fourth the speed of the music. I wonder if he is hearing the same sounds I am?

Abruptly the music stops. The dancers stop. Bhagwan stands, eyes open, namaste, he leaves as if on ice-skates floating off in silence. We remain in silence. His car circles the hall and is gone. People rush to the stage, bow or prostrate themselves near where he had been sitting. Vani, my neighbour, and I huddle close together still sitting as the standing mob surrounding us becomes more dense and vocal. My eyes are closed. Crying, screaming, shouting, shaking, dancing, hugging and silence surround us. Arms around each other, heads resting together, Vani and l rest affectionately in this sacred space. There is no desire in us to move as we watch people slowly leave. Even the guards have gone and we remain alone still nestled together in the now dark, grey, empty, cold and silent hall which only minutes before was brilliant light and orange throbbing with movement warmth and sound. Contentment. We share much but no words.

In silence that is fuller than sound we leave, walking slowly arms around each other. The blessing, the immeasurable blessing of Bhagwan’s presence on this planet and the grace that brought us here to be with him. I feel it within me and see reflected back to me in Vani’s eyes, and savour the preciousness of this passing moment.

From the darshan diary, The Open Door, Ch 11

Sound tracks thanks to sannyas.wiki