Autobiography of a Yogi: Truth Speaking

A story from the "Autobiography of a Yogi:" Chapter 1: when Yogananda (“Mukunda”) was a little boy:

 Another early recollection is outstanding; and literally so, for I bear the scar to this day. My elder sister Uma and I were seated in the early morning under a neem tree in our Gorakhpur compound. She was helping me with a Bengali primer, what time I could spare my gaze from the near-by parrots eating ripe margosa fruit. Uma complained of a boil on her leg, and fetched a jar of ointment. I smeared a bit of the salve on my forearm.

            “Why do you use medicine on a healthy arm?”

            “Well, Sis, I feel I am going to have a boil tomorrow. I am testing your ointment on the spot where the boil will appear.”

            “You little liar!”

            “Sis, don’t call me a liar until you see what happens in the morning.” Indignation filled me.

            Uma was unimpressed, and thrice repeated her taunt. An adamant resolution sounded in my voice as I made slow reply.

            “By the power of will in me, I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly large boil in this exact place on my arm; and your boil shall swell to twice its present size!”

            Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot; the dimensions of Uma’s boil had doubled. With a shriek, my sister rushed to Mother. “Mukunda has become a necromancer!” Gravely, Mother instructed me never to use the power of words for doing harm. I have always remembered her counsel, and followed it.

            My boil was surgically treated. A noticeable scar, left by the doctor’s incision, is present today. On my right forearm is a constant reminder of the power in man’s sheer word.

            Those simple and apparently harmless phrases to Uma, spoken with deep concentration, had possessed sufficient hidden force to explode like bombs and produce definite, though injurious, effects. I understood, later, that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely directed to free one’s life from difficulties, and thus operate without scar or rebuke.”

Swami Kriyananda, founder of Ananda worldwide and a direct disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda, used to impress upon us the importance of keeping one’s word. A simple example, unimportant in all other respects, took place when we were vacationing with him in Taormina, Sicily. Swamiji had difficulty walking due to his hips (eventually he had both hips replaced, and then one had to be re-done). As we walked the promenade we passed a seller of newspapers to whom Swamiji commented that he’d buy one on the way back to the hotel.

After lunch on the way back, we all forgot about the newspaper. Reaching the hotel at the far end of the promenade, Swamiji suddenly remembered. Giving no explanation and against the pain and difficulty of further walking (when he could have easily asked one of us to get it for him), he retraced his steps to purchase the newspaper.

One of the challenges readers face with the "Autobiography of a Yogi" is that page after page there are stories of miracles: many of them rather outrageous by any stretch! While many (including Swamiji when he first read it in 1948 at age 22) testify that they simply had to hold in abeyance any judgment in regards to these miraculous accounts, they also commented that the patent and transparent sincerity of the author (Paramhansa Yogananda) was such that they were compelled to continue reading and finding great inspiration from the experience.

Patanjali, author of the famous “bible of yoga,” the “Yoga Sutras,” says that when truth telling achieves perfection, one’s words hold sway even over objective nature. This is what we see in the story quoted above: the power of truth over objective nature. Imagine if people were generally truthful: we’d not need lawyers and peace would reign over the earth.

Instead we see an almost violent proliferation of lies, half-lies, wanton speculation, conspiracy theories and, of course, opinions. Mainline news is mostly gossip and speculation. (If this statement strikes you as extreme, listen very carefully to any news broadcast. Count the facts; count the speculations and opinions. See for yourself.)

Made “mad” by the agency of rapid and global communication, we have a crisis of truth in human culture today. The only meaningful contribution we can make against the tsunami-like tide is to make our own personal commitment to truth telling.

But there are deeper aspects to “What is truth?” Beyond simple things like “How many oranges are in my hand,” facts in regard to events to which we are not personally a party are more problematical than we generally consider. Studies of eyewitness accounts validate that what “I thought I saw” may be the opposite of what another person, also present, recalls having seen. Questions like “Who fired first” or “Who shot down that airplane” are surprisingly difficult to determine with much more than an educated guess or a factor of probabilities.

Equally surprising is how few people can distinguish between their opinion and the truth, or even, the facts. It takes courage, clarity, discipline to know the difference. Making a habit of calmly noting the difference can begin to give your words power.

Another deeper aspect of truth lies in the difference between “truth” and “fact.” A friend who is seriously ill won’t benefit by being told “You look like heck!” But your genuine sympathy, expressed in a warm and caring way, your encouragement and your listening ear, and your practical and useful assistance will bring to your friend the truth that even-mindedness, calm acceptance and quiet cheerfulness are not only possible but in fact an essential element to happiness and yes, even recovery of health and vitality. Even in facing death, one can be either morbid, fearful, or resistant, or, one can be accepting, peaceful and, yes, even cheerful. The latter affirms our innate power of transcendence, without regard to beliefs.

Thus it is that the miracles described in the "Autobiography of a Yogi" may be beyond any possibility of verification as to the facts, but the truth of the power of faith to “move mountains” can benefit all truthseekers. Truth is rooted in (intuitive) faith, nurtures hope, and bestows charity (love).

Blessings to you,

Nayaswami Hriman

Justice vs Mercy: Autobiography of a Yogi, Chapter 1

“Autobiography of a Yogi”

Chapter 1 – My Parents & Early Life

One of the more charming episodes related by Yogananda in respect to his parents is this instructive passage about the relationship of the archetypal patriarch and the archetypal matriarch: justice vs mercy! Here’s the account:

“Mother held an open hand toward the needy. Father was also kindly disposed, but his respect for law and order extended to the budget. One fortnight Mother spent, in feeding the poor, more than Father’s monthly income.

              “All I ask, please, is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit.” Even a gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother. She ordered a hackney carriage, not hinting to the children at any disagreement.

              “Good-by; I am going away to my mother’s home.” Ancient ultimatum!

              We broke into astounded lamentations. Our maternal uncle arrived opportunely; he whispered to Father some sage counsel, garnered no doubt from the ages. After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks, Mother happily dismissed the cab. Thus ended the only trouble I ever noticed between my parents. But I recall a characteristic discussion.

              “Please give me ten rupees for a hapless woman who has just arrived at the house.” Mother’s smile had its own persuasion.

              “Why ten rupees? One is enough.” Father added a justification: “When my father and grandparents died suddenly, I had my first taste of poverty. My only breakfast, before walking miles to my school, was a small banana. Later, at the university, I was in such need that I applied to a wealthy judge for aid of one rupee per month. He declined, remarking that even a rupee is important.”

              “How bitterly you recall the denial of that rupee!” Mother’s heart had an instant logic. “Do you want this woman also to remember painfully your refusal of ten rupees which she needs urgently?”

              “You win!” With the immemorial gesture of vanquished husbands, he opened his wallet. “Here is a ten-rupee note. Give it to her with my good will.”

We see an example of the great drama of life that takes place whether in our own hearts or between people (and often both): reason vs feeling. On the subject of reason and feeling Yogananda would often say that “in men, reason is uppermost and feeling is hidden; in woman, feeling is uppermost and reason is hidden.” We see that view reflected in the account above. But even if his descriptions seem “outdated” by the way we speak and view such matters, we can also turn this inside to see the juxtaposition of reason and feeling as something that takes place in our own minds and hearts. 

As this is the Christmas season—the season of giving, and of helping those in need—we find ourselves torn between “what can I afford to give” and “what I would like to give.” Throughout the year, whether as to just causes, support of our spiritual center or church, or the giving of our time to community service, we find the same dynamic struggle. The challenge of balancing our lives between giving and self-care is, at least for people of high energy and compassion, is a very real one. 

Call it the “Joy Meter test.” It is more “blessed to give than to receive” because when we share with others willingly we feel greater joy than if we withhold for ourselves. On the other hand if we burn out always giving, giving past the point of fatigue, we may get grumpy, sick, or even disillusioned. Taking a vacation, resting, having some wholesome fun…..these, too, are necessary for remaining creative and positive. I could quote Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita to the same effect! When we have the balance just right, the JOY METER tilts toward the top!

So this is the dynamic spoken of in the episode above: between Yogananda’s father expressing concern for the household budget (symbolic not only of finances but mental health) and his mother’s abiding compassion for those in need. Her somewhat feigned exit at being mildly reprimanded is charming, no doubt, but it reflects the depth of the sensitivity of her feeling nature. If she was being properly rebuked that was hurtful to her as well; yet, her generosity welled up from her giving nature and that is sacred!

Both must be honored. We don’t know what “sage counsel” the maternal uncle (her brother, I suppose) offered to give healing balm to the rift between them, but I imagine it to be something on the order of patience and acceptance and due consideration of his wife’s noble character and goodwill. 

This is the lesson for all of us. Some of us err in being too fastidious and exacting with our time, our energy and our material resources; others are heedless, perhaps, to the consequences of over extending themselves. Somehow, however, to have a sustainable life that grows steadily in joy and wisdom, we need to seek the razor’s edge of balance. Yogananda said that the spiritual path is like running down the street while juggling! 

Here is a mantra for eternity: for your entire life. It has served me well day in and day out and I have never forgotten it: BOTH-AND! We can both be generous, creative and giving AND find rest and relaxation, recreation and a balanced budget. When we give of ourselves calmly and in a way that reflects a higher, because more expansive, reality, the "universe" responds to meet our needs. 

It’s EITHER-OR thinking that creates for us stress and tension. Why? In part because then we are fearful, anxious, and thinking of ourselves. Think about that. When confronted with “I can” or “I can’t” or “I won’t” think, instead, “Yes! I can do both.” You just need to think creatively about how, when, where, and with whom! 

As my friend and teacher, and founder of Ananda (Swami Kriyananda) said so often and so well: SAY YES TO LIFE!

Joy to you, friend, and a blessed Christmas!

Swami Hrimananda

Chapter One - Concomitant! Making Truth Personal

Concomitant : Making Truth Personal

The first paragraph of the “Autobiography of a Yogi” reads as follows:

“The characteristic features of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru relationship. My own path led me to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages. He was one of the great masters who are India’s sole remaining wealth. Emerging in every generation, they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and Egypt.”

When was the last time you – in a casual conversation – used the word “concomitant?” I assume you know its meaning as “that which necessarily follows.” Being rarely employed, it must have, therefore, a special power.

When the first translations of the Indian scriptures such as the Vedas, Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita arrived at America’s shores in the early 19^th century, sensitive readers were profoundly stirred by the cosmic verities averred in those great and impossibly ancient texts. So large was the view of reality offered that the term “religion” was simply too small. Though the word “philosophy” was pinned to these eastern thoughts long ago in the English language, it is far too speculative and dry a description of what is essentially revelation from higher states of consciousness.

So whence cometh the “concomitant” disciple-guru relationship? I’m not sure this relationship was all that “concomitant” to those early readers nor yet to those millions of westeners who have studied these texts ever since.

We are used to scientific truths which have no “concomitant,” relationship to our personal lives. Well, ok, gravity definitely is personal every time we fall down or drop something that breaks. But it is so whether or not we have a personal relationship with it beyond its unconscious impact upon us. Our dry, abstract, philosophical and speculative use of reason is such that we are accustomed to precepts having no impact or motivation in our personal lives.

Paramhansa Yogananda’s assertion, therefore, that the disciple-guru relationship is concomitant to the search for those ultimate verities is worth, then, examining.

I once heard Swami Kriyananda (see his marvelous text, “Promise of Immortality”) comment that a true scripture must indeed link the eternal verities with our own personal realities. He cites the example of the Bible, Genesis, Chapters 1 and 2. Chapter One describes the creation of the world and Chapter Two descends quickly to Adam and Eve. It doesn’t get more personal: I mean, gee whiz, a snake that talks and a man and woman, naked, walking around a garden paradise!

This, then, is what Yogananda is pointing to: that a truth, though stated impersonally and abstractly, must inspire personal expression and commitment in our own lives. And what could be more personal than to have a divine personage, a true guru, guiding one’s life? What is "revelation" if it is not intended to change one's life? The revelation needs appear to one fit to receive it; and fit to transmit it. This is the power of a true guru. The history of religion is the history of the spiritual power of true masters and many saints in each tradition.

Few of our six or seven billion people will ever meet a God-realized master. But millions, even billions, can take heart in the life, example, and precepts of such masters as Jesus Christ, Buddha, Krishna, Yogananda, just to name a few. The appearance of a true "savior" is, statistically at least, rare in the personal lives of most humans. Rare, in part, because most people are indifferent to, or, ignorant of, the possibility. Were there more "eyes to see" and "ears to hear" there would surely be avatars to go around. Nonetheless, their legacy, life and teachings abound for sincere truth seekers. It may take a few lifetimes before an individual's consciousness is refined sufficiently to magnetize such a one into his life.

In the latter part of the quotation above (which constitutes the first paragraph of the entire “Autobiography of a Yogi”), he makes two interesting comments. One, somewhat mundane, is that he describes the masters as India’s “sole remaining wealth.” This is, so far as I can determine, a barb at the English masters who had ruled India for several centuries. It is well known that at one time prior to conquest by England India was among the wealthiest nations of the earth.

More importantly is the link he establishes in the last sentence between India’s status as the world’s longest, continuously living culture in the world and the presence of great masters in every generation. Reminiscent of Genesis’ story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah in which not even ten good (righteous) men could be found, we see here averred the fate of nations linked with a people's support of truth-seeking as that which produces the conditions for the appearance of a prophet.

The second president of India, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, commented to Swami Kriyananda that “a nation can be known by those whom it admires.” Swamiji noted that in America it is mostly Hollywood celebrities, pop musicians, and sports figures who are the most admired. What does that tell us? Even if, as in the case of India, a nation by its own laxity it loses its material wealth for a time, its culture will continue if “ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru relationship” remain treasured by her people.

When we wonder why we lack inspired and courageous leaders in our country (your country.....any country... today), look no further than those whom your countrymen admire.

Summarizing, then, we can state that "truth must be lived; it must become personal." The highest form of this is found in the lives of true saints but for these even to appear among us, they must be cultured like pearls by the aspirations of at least a recognizable and accepted minority. 

Finishing now with this excerpt from the inspired Sunday Service ceremony at Ananda (written by Swami Kriyananda), called the Festival of Light:

A prayer of love went up from earth, and You responded.

A ray of Your light flashed out from the heart of Infinity,

Burst downward through night skies of consciousness,

And was born on earth for the redemption of mankind

In human form.

Many times has that light descended,

Drawn to earth by the call of aspiring love.

Your “chosen people” have always been those of every race and nation

Who, with deep love, chose Thee.

May the "Autobiography" be a light unto your life,

Swami Hrimananda