When I went to Baba I knew he had what I wanted. I did not want to be the person in the back of the Hall soaking in the shakti and learning nothing in the bliss of it all. I wanted all that Baba had to offer. I knew what I was looking for and knew he had it; I had experienced it. There was no stopping me, which meant I was going to force Baba to give it to me. How? By persisting. By being in his immediate presence as much as I could; by and through a personal relationship. Somehow I knew that the man Baba and the Guru were not different, and the closer I got to Baba the closer I got to what I was looking for.
Did I know about surrender? Some—not as much as I was to then find out. Did I know about obedience? Yes. I do not know if Baba liked me; it was off the point. I liked him and loved him. As abstract as I tend to be, I saw the abstract, universal Guru embodied in Baba, so there I was bowing down and surrendering to him. Did and do people see it as a cult? Sure. As giving up my identity? Sure. My voice? Sure. What I knew was that every time I did what Baba said, no matter how unexpected, I became more real and grounded in my Heart. “Rohini” was clearly not important, and to me it was amazing she had not gotten me into more trouble than she had. God and Guru were clearly looking out for me.
So as we approach Baba’s Mahasamadhi, I know the Guru is with me; what I miss is the manifestation of Muktananda. I loved and liked Baba the man as much as the Guru. Wrong? I never cared. I loved him with all my heart, both personal and beyond.
Baba laughed. His laugh was something that made my heart sing. People had to laugh when he laughed.
Baba played. When he played we all enjoyed and played. Baba played on all levels. We needed to be awake to grasp the whole game.
Baba cooked. When Baba cooked we may have been lucky to participate. Even if we did not we got to enjoy the fruits. Baba was a great cook.
Baba yelled. When Baba yelled, I pray I learned. Baba was teaching me.
Baba spoke. When Baba spoke, no matter what the topic, it was sublime. Whether mundane or universal, Truth came through his voice.
Baba walked. When Baba walked, the grace he embodied spread everywhere.
Baba drove a golf cart. When Baba drove, he spread his joy.
Baba carried a stick. He used it appropriately.
Baba had vehicles:
His personality was lively, hot, sharp, and so much fun to engage.
His intellect was fluid, agile, clear.
His mind was open, with a great memory.
His eyes were filled with unconditional love, and, though brown, looked blue even when he was angry.
His skin was luminous.
Baba hugged. When Baba hugged the bliss emanated and was felt from head to toe.
Baba sat on the back steps of his house and shared the universe, while speaking, eating, laughing, questioning, ordering.
Baba called on the phone, and this simple act conveyed a supreme spiritual experience.
Baba surprised us all. He had the ability to see the whole picture. We could only see a small area, so he surprised us by his actions and decisions all the time.
Baba showed the Truth through everything he did.
Everyday living with Baba was a gift I never took for granted.
Baba taught on all levels at all times. The Guru always shined through him.
On the lunar anniversary of Baba’s Mahasamadhi, I pranam to my Guru. Though my Guru dwells everywhere, he dwelled in the form of Swami Muktananda, the great, self-realized being. I miss my Baba.
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