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This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
I became a disciple when I was living in Toronto. In March of the following year, I was invited to New York for a weekend with some of the Toronto disciples who were driving down. It would not be the first time that I had seen Guru, but it was my first time in New York. I had written a poem for him and asked a fellow disciple, with whom I was staying in New York, how best to give it to him. She suggested that I order some flowers at the Garland of Divinity’s Love, a disciple-owned flower shop, and put the poem in a card to be delivered with the flowers.
When I entered the shop, I was immediately impressed with the beauty of all of the flowers inside—especially the enormous roses and the exquisite “gratitude” orchids. Nevertheless, I was a bit shy, as a fairly new disciple, and felt that it would be somewhat ostentatious for me to send Guru such big flowers, as if to say, “Look at me!” I told myself that I should order something “modest.” And anyway, in my mind, the flowers were merely the vehicle for the delivery of the poem. So I chose some simple purple asters (the flower of my birthday month) with some lovely smelling eucalyptus branches.
While waiting for Guru to arrive at that evening’s function, I could see my own flowers with a number of other arrangements on the table by his chair, which was on the stage. As soon as he came in, he sat down, looked at the flowers (though he did not read any of the cards), and began to meditate in silence.
After some time, he said, “Anyone who has ever written a poem for me, come up and read.” Quite a number of people went up and formed a line on the stage. One by one they went up to the microphone and read a poem from the designated book. I did not go. The disciple who had recommended to me that I send the flowers was encouraging me to go up, knowing that I had included my poem with them. But I still felt very shy, and felt that it was not appropriate for me, as such a new disciple, to go up with all the others. I said to myself that I should be “modest”— again using the same word that I had while in the flower shop.
After a while, the line dwindled and the reading ended. Guru meditated for a bit more in silence and then said, “There are still some people who have not come up who have written poems for me.” More people went up—about half as many as had gone before. But once again I didn’t go, for I just kept telling myself the same thing—that I should be modest.
Once more the line dwindled, and once more Guru meditated in silence. Then he said, quite forcefully this time, “No, there are still some people who have written me poems.” About four more people went up, while I sat there doggedly repeating the same old stupid refrain about being modest in my mind, until Guru said, “Don’t be modest!”
What was I to do? I felt that I had been seen through at that point. So I finally went up and read a poem (though I don’t even remember which poem it was, except that it was about silence).
In any case, I was the last person in line on the stage by that time. Thus it happened that, when I had read the poem, there was no one behind me in line to pass the book to. I turned to look at Guru as if to ask him what to do with it. He stretched out his hand, and as I gave him the book, he asked me what my name was and what Centre I was from.
This was the only time that Guru ever spoke to me directly in the outer world, though he has spoken to me many times in my dreams. But from that moment on I knew very well that Guru can easily read our souls, hearts, and the thoughts in our minds. I also knew that what I was calling “modesty” in my mind was really only fear, and not at all what Guru wants from us!
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
Sri Chinmoy
Vijaya, a student of Sri Chinmoy who passed away in 2009, originally came to New York to pursue a career in acting. During that period, an ethereal, mystical figure often appeared to her, offering her guidance and advice in her times of need.
In the summer of 1973, Vijaya attended one of Sri Chinmoy’s public meditations in Manhattan, and was thrilled and amazed when she realised that the guiding figure in her life had been the Guru himself. She loved the deeply contemplative atmosphere, and rushed up to the stage when the audience was invited to meditate with the Master at the end of the evening.
This was the first time time Sri Chinmoy spoke to Vijaya. She asked to become his disciple, and the Master asked, “Why did it take you so long?“
— this story about Vijaya was told by her friend Nilima from New York.
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
Guru was always far over the horizons of my comprehension—and what I could comprehend was always wonderful and breathtaking.
I often marvelled at those hundreds of times that Guru walked alone onto a concert stage before audiences of up to 18,000 people, folded his hands together over his heart, and simply by standing there, through the force of his love, the power of his meditation, his abandonment to God, brought a hushed, pin-drop silence to the entire auditorium. His tranquility, absolute poise, and the great achievement of his God-realisation were felt by everyone.
Then I would marvel at how he would sit in front of an unfamiliar piano or pipe organ with absolutely no idea of what he would play, no sheet music, no keyboard training, no mind or anxiety, entirely trusting in the higher worlds of music to pass through his fingers⎯the same surrender to God.
Guru’s personal example in this area of his life—which he also demonstrated in everything, everywhere—taught us much. He wanted us to understand our own capacity to uplift and serve the world, to live cocooned in God-trust, our confidence and power resulting from our growing oneness with him and God.
Once I was very touched by a small incident that occurred prior to a Peace Concert in Auckland. I went to Guru’s dressing room backstage to let him know that the hall was full and all was ready—there were 3,000 people waiting expectantly in the auditorium. I imagined Guru would have at least a little of our human apprehension or pre-concert nerves, but instead he looked at me with absolute attentiveness, calmly and so lovingly.
“Are you all right, Jogyata?” he asked, and looked deeply at me, wanting me to tell him of anything that might be troubling me. He was about to walk out in front of a packed concert hall and play for two hours, but his only concern was my welfare! I was amazed and tears came to my eyes.
Every day
The Master is
His torrential Heaven-blessings,
His Heaven-love
And his Heaven-concern
For his disciples.
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
Sri Chinmoy at Sports Day
Guru did a very sweet thing for me one Celebrations during Sports Day. Most events had certain qualifications, but one event was open to everyone—a two-mile race around the quarter-mile track. I ran in it, knowing that I would be one of the last to finish but still wanting to participate. Guru had a small pavilion-like tent set up at the starting/finish line so that he could observe all the races.
We lined up, paused for a brief meditation, and were off. Most of the runners immediately outpaced me as I jogged slowly along. By the time I was about halfway through, the winners were already finishing. At that point the first call for the boy’s javelin competition was announced. Javelin is my favorite track and field event to watch, and I’d noticed that Guru always seemed to go watch it, too. But he stayed in his little tent, just watching the finish line.
Around I ran again—three more laps to go. Each time I passed the finish line I inwardly said “thank you,” and glanced over at Guru.
The bulk of the racers were finishing now. The second call for the javelin event was announced. Still Guru did not move. The boys doing javelin were already taking practice throws. By now the two-mile race was essentially over, and if anyone else was still doing it except for me, they were walking and I couldn’t even tell. Similarly, no one would know that I was still racing; to the casual eye, I was merely taking a slow jog around the track just for exercise.
Two more laps . . . and the announcement came for the actual start of the javelin competition. Guru just sat there. One more lap . . . halfway around it I began to sprint, having left just enough energy for a little kick at the end. In the middle of the field the boys were throwing their javelins. I flew over the finish line and turned with folded hands to mentally say another “thank you” to Guru—and at that exact moment he got up, left his tent, and walked over to watch the javelin competition.
Guru was keenly interested in our sports progress
He knew I was still running the race even when everyone else had long since moved on, and stayed to support me right up to the very end. It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but it was an incredibly kind thing for Guru to have done. I was deeply touched by how he had done something so specifically for me, without anyone else even knowing what had just happened. There was an intimate sweetness in it which still makes my heart dance whenever I think about it. It also makes me think about how Guru always did so many things at once, inwardly and outwardly, that we were mostly unaware of.
God’s Eye watches me.
God’s Heart waits for me.
God’s Life feeds my all.
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
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When I was around 20 years old, I went through a difficult period in my young life. I had just graduated from school, a new chapter of my life was beginning, and I was quite unsure of what to do with myself.
Before I went to New York for Guru´s Birthday Celebrations in August 1996, I wrote him a long letter, telling him all my thoughts and worries and, most importantly, about my “not so perfect behaviour” of the past which was not up to the standard of a good disciple.
When I arrived in New York, the Celebrations were in full swing. As usual, there were many activities and functions with hundreds of disciples from all over the world. Guru was, as always during these days, very busy. I was quite uncertain if and when Guru would say something to me about my serious letter.
A famous picture of Sri Chinmoy walking on his training track, in the gully behind Aspiration-Ground
Then one day at Aspiration-Ground (the private tennis court where we all met), after Guru had finished playing tennis, he went down to the gully behind the court where he sometimes did his sprinting training.
I was sitting in the bleachers, when quite unexpectedly one of Guru´s attendants approached me to give me the message from Guru, that I should wait about ten minutes, then join Guru down in the gully.
My heart started pounding, since it was very special and a great honour that Guru would bless me with this opportunity to speak to him personally.
After anxiously waiting for a few minutes, I walked along the path leading down to Guru´s training track, trying to be in a soulful consciousness. Guru was walking all alone in a meditative consciousness, and signaled me to walk by his side. It was a most beautiful and extraordinary moment to be in Guru´s close presence, not even a metre away. I could feel the immense love, power, and infinite concern that Guru was radiating.
As we slowly walked side by side Guru started to speak to me. He asked me firmly: “Do you believe that I have realised God?”
“Yes, Guru.” I replied.
Guru went on for a while and amongst giving me very practical advice he also uttered some most blessingful words. He said: “Your heart and soul are happy, they are for me, for the Supreme; but the mind and vital sometimes look for other things. But my divine love, affection and fondness for you are infinitely more, unimaginably more than any other love, human love. And my love does not decrease.”
Guru went on: “You should never hide anything from me – past, present, future mistakes – I forgive anything; I am all Compassion, I am fully responsible.”
The meaning of Aruna's name as given by Sri Chinmoy: 'The most beautiful and most illumining light of the sun in the heart of the Supreme.'
Then he said something very personal to me: “You are the illumining morning sun that takes away darkness and brings light, whenever I hear your name I get immediate joy and an inner thrill.”
I felt so immersed in Guru's world and felt clearly that he was in charge of everything in my life.
Then Guru said something that will forever stay inside my heart: “I am the ocean and you are the drop! Do you not think that the ocean can take everything from the drop?”
I will never forget this most special and blessingful moment with Guru! He showered upon me his love and concern, and wiped away all my difficulties with a single question. I will be always grateful.
Sri Chinmoy with Aruna, on another occasion
I am a tiny drop
Inside an infinite ocean of light.
I have only to expand slowly and steadily
To become the ocean itself,
And then I shall unmistakably
Be able to claim the entire ocean
As my own, very own.
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
Have you ever had the feeling that everything is just perfect? Where every moment feels almost larger than life? With Guru it was like that—every single second was so precious and beautiful.
Guru loved to listen to songs when he was in the car. He would often listen to a tape or a CD of someone singing songs written by Rabindranath Tagore. One day a few disciples, including me, were driving in the car with Guru when a song by Tagore came on that Guru loved. I watched in awe as his right hand danced here and there while Guru sang the song along with the singer. It was exquisitely beautiful, with his hand just dancing in the loveliest motion.
On such occasions Guru would always get something for us to eat—like a piece of pizza, something sweet, or some other kind of snack. He would give it to us as prasad—food specially consecrated by a spiritual Master—with his own hand, which always felt like an extra-special blessing.
Guru had absolutely no need for himself. All he wanted was to give joy to us. Even on a simple car trip he always wanted to give something to us, and this was quite moving.
One moment
With the Master
Is a soulful hope
And a fruitful promise.
This is one of the stories in our Story-Gems project, a collection of our experiences with our Guru, Sri Chinmoy. Project homepage »
For my first few years on the path I was very protective of my new-found spirituality, in particular deflecting questions from my intellectually agnostic, Harvard-educated parents. They were bewildered by my lifestyle choice, as they had never placed any importance on religion or spirituality, and they had expected me to enroll in medical school upon graduation from Harvard.
After several years, though, I saw an opportunity to share Guru’s philosophy with my mother. Visiting her in the hospital as she was recovering from surgery for a hiatal hernia, I brought along a copy of Sri Chinmoy's book Death and Reincarnation. In retrospect that seems kind of nervy of me, given that a hiatal hernia is hardly a life-threatening condition—it’s more of an inconvenience.
She seemed interested enough, though, so I spent over an hour reading to her about “death is not the end,” the immortality of the soul, and the soul’s progress through successive incarnations. The idea that each lifetime is like a grade in school with certain lessons to be learned (which makes death the equivalent of summer vacation!) appealed to her, as she was a grade school teacher.
And the idea that people carry over talents from one incarnation to the next, like Mozart who was a piano prodigy at a very young age, also appealed to my mother, who had been a concert pianist in college.
I was surprised at how long her interest kept up, until we were interrupted by the phone ringing next to her hospital bed. It was my grandmother calling to tell her that my grandfather, her father, had died suddenly and unexpectedly. What were the chances?
Unconsciously—or perhaps with some higher guidance—I had prepared her with Guru’s soul-soothing words to receive this traumatic news. It was better than anything I could have learned in medical school.
When death challenges life,
Life says to death:
“I belong to a Realm
Far, far beyond your realm.”
Then I would marvel at how he would sit in front of an unfamiliar piano or pipe organ with absolutely no idea of what he would play, no sheet music, no keyboard training, no mind or anxiety, entirely trusting in the higher worlds of music to pass through his fingers⎯the same surrender to God.
We lined up, paused for a brief meditation, and were off. Most of the runners immediately outpaced me as I jogged slowly along. By the time I was about halfway through, the winners were already finishing. At that point the first call for the boy’s javelin competition was announced. Javelin is my favorite track and field event to watch, and I’d noticed that Guru always seemed to go watch it, too. But he stayed in his little tent, just watching the finish line.
After several years, though, I saw an opportunity to share Guru’s philosophy with my mother. Visiting her in the hospital as she was recovering from surgery for a hiatal hernia, I brought along a copy of Sri Chinmoy's book Death and Reincarnation. In retrospect that seems kind of nervy of me, given that a hiatal hernia is hardly a life-threatening condition—it’s more of an inconvenience.
And the idea that people carry over talents from one incarnation to the next, like Mozart who was a piano prodigy at a very young age, also appealed to my mother, who had been a concert pianist in college.