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GURU DAKSHINA ~ a love offering by Sw. Vandana Jyothi ©2011 Foundation for Cosmic Religion
Preface
“Guru Dakshina” is a term which means a payment of some kind, a donation given to the one who imparts spiritual knowledge, that is, a guru—literally, “the dispeller (Ru) of the darkness of ignorance (Gu).” Only light, of course, can obliterate the dark and where the light is, there is no dark. The two do not and cannot co-exist. The word “guru” is often misused here in the West to denote simply a teacher or master of a certain thing, such as a “kitchen guru” who is a whiz at designing state of the art kitchens or maybe a great chef. But Guru is the one who relieves us of our spiritual ignorance, the very veil itself which hides our true identity from ourselves and one another. The Light of Divine Knowledge, Guru, alone has that power. The illumined masters and prophets of the world’s religions since time immemorial speak of that Divine Knowledge coming in the form of Light. It is That Light which the Guru reveals when appropriate and according to the capacity of the individual to receive it. When That Light reflects in a stilled mind and reveals OneGod, it is what you call the “enlightenment.” To the one who gifts you with the knowledge of your soul and its goal, who introduces you to the delights of devotional praise and surrender to OneGod, who by example shows the way of dedicated service and sacrifice, to that one, what can you give? Truly speaking, the enormous blessings bestowed by the munificence and grace of the great Guru can never ever be repaid. Everyone who’s ever been blessed by those gifts knows that. Even the gurus know it. They, too, were once ignorant and owe an unpayable debt to their gurus. All that truly can be offered is the sacrifice of our remaining breaths to mirror without distortion the sublime love and knowledge which Guru perfectly reflected to us. Tatastu, so be it. Sw. Vandana Jyothi
Chapter 1 ~ The Vision
From a quite lofty height in a clear, starlit night sky and not visible to the small groups waiting with varying degrees of patience near arrival gates at the Oakland airport, a Boeing 737 arrives from the east and descends in a slow clockwise spiral. It’s 1:00 in the morning, local California time, July 1981. One particular group of mixed gender, about twelve in number, stands a bit apart. There is low-toned conversation amongst its members, then two of the women separate from the group and take seats nearby. The older one is in her fifties, overweight but dressed well in an ample dress and with dark hair coifed. She looks fondly and smiles at the younger one. “I’ve waited so long for this, Valerie! It’s taken me two years to get you here! I’m glad you finally agreed to meet Guruji!” she exclaims with obvious sincerity. “Guruji?” queries the younger woman who looks to be in her thirties, a multi-colored natural ash blond. She is trim and wears white slacks and a simple raspberry-colored top mostly covered up by a white, loose-weave crocheted shawl. “What do people call him if he isn’t their guru, Martha?” “Oh, Santji or Sant Keshavadas.” “Kesha what? You’ve told me a thousand times and still, I can never remember! What is it again?” Martha watches Valerie intently to see if she’ll be put off by the answer. “Ke-sha-va-das. Sant Keshavadas. Sant means ‘saint.’ Keshavadas means ‘servant of the Lord.’ Saint who is servant of the Lord.” Valerie’s eyebrows stay put and being aware of Martha’s scrutiny, she chooses to keep her reaction to herself. Martha continues. “But don’t worry about what to call him.” She changes the subject. “How’s your job?” Valerie approves the change. “Oh, it’s a job.” She remembers to feel grateful and then feels it sincerely. “It’s fine. The people are nice. It’s only four hours a day so I’m lucky, really.” Martha seems genuinely interested. “Oh? What are you doing?” Valerie sighs. She didn’t really think she’d have to go into it deeply. Then smiling, she responds. “Bookkeeping. For appliances. It’s a retail store in town. The guy owns it and his wife and I do the books.” “Yeah? What’s she like?” Valerie tosses her head, not sure whether to gossip. “Well, I can sum it up in a nutshell. When I found out… this was like four days after I started there… that her son’s birthday was on the same day as mine, I piped up, ‘oh, he’s a Libran too!’ And she draws herself up and says, ‘Oh, no! My Rocky’s a Christian and he doesn’t believe in any of that!’” Valerie looks at Martha. “Etcetera, etcetera.” Martha starts to laugh sympathetically. “One of those….” Her voice trails off. “Yeah, I’m real careful what I say now.” “I’ll bet!” Martha’s lip starts to curl into a derisive sneer. Valerie pats her arm, reassuring. “No, no, she’s all right really. After that, we started talking. She’s one of those who if you said the word ‘guru’ would jump a mile but if you could sit her down long enough to explain that guru means Supreme Teacher, like Jesus was, she could probably deal with it as a concept. She even invited me to attend her husband’s baptism!” Valerie waves her hand discreetly toward the group of devotees waiting for their guru to arrive. “I suppose none of these people smoke, huh?” she asks, a little guiltily. Martha shakes her head no. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t.” “No, I can hold it.” Valerie looks disgusted. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You still smoking marijuana, too?” “Yeah, some.” The admission makes Valerie visibly droop but Martha misses the tell. “Did ya bring any with you?” Surprised and alarmed at the explicit questions regarding an illegal substance, Valerie’s head jerks up quickly and she glances around to see if anyone else has been listening, then back at Martha. She nods her head quickly in the affirmative. “Good!” Martha exclaims. “I haven’t had any since the last time I saw you... when was that?” She turns mildly accusing. “Last July? Has it been a whole year?” Valerie’s guard instantly goes up. Martha is possessive. She responds a little warily, “Yeah, I guess so. We’ve been in touch by ‘phone, though.” Never one much for small talk, she falls silent. Martha, too, drops the subject. They both look over at the Temple group. All of them are American except for one handsome Indian lad of about nineteen, and one bearded, older Indian man dressed in traditional Indian swami’s orange attire. Two of the girls are wearing saris, the rest—both men and women—are in Western dress. Valerie turns back to Martha. “Tell me about this guy, what’s he like?” “Guruji? What do you mean? Does he do miracles and stuff?” Valerie, not registering at first what Martha said, finally does and speaks sharply. “What do you mean miracles? Does he do miracles?” This sounds highly suspicious, not because a guru can’t do miracles but because he wouldn’t just willy nilly perform them, of that she’s certain. At least, not a true guru. The last thing in the world she wants to do is get involved with a charlatan. Martha reacts to her tone. “What’s the matter? You don’t think a guru could do miracles?” she asks indignantly. Valerie replies, “Oh, it’s not that he couldn’t, it’s that he wouldn’t.” Martha snaps, “Why not? Jesus did!” She implies a challenge. “I know that!” Valerie snaps back. “He was supposed to. That’s just the way it was for him.” Martha calms herself. “Well, maybe it is for Guruji, too. But, no, in answer to your question, he hasn’t really performed miracles like you’re thinking. No. At least, I haven’t seen any.” “Well, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m sorry.” Valerie, too, regains her poise. “It’s all right.” Martha looks up as a tall man with thinning hair, but not old, approaches somewhat hesitantly. She beckons to him with one hand, stands and grabs Valerie’s left arm with the other and pulls her into a standing position, too. “Robert! Come ‘ere and meet my friend!” He bends slightly, sticks out his right hand in greeting and Valerie extends hers to shake it. “Welcome!” he says. “Hello! Martha tells me you two work together?” She releases his hand. Robert straightens upright again. “Well, we work at the same school. She and I both work as counselors to the severely handicapped.” “Yes, and I don’t know how either of you do it. I don’t think I could.” “From what Martha says, you probably could.” Robert smiles warmly. “Well, Martha’s not exactly objective about me. But I dunno.” Martha giggles and beams and nods her head emphatically. Valerie grins, too, and puts her arm around Martha’s shoulder. She continues, “Of course, I think she’s pretty neat, too. She was the best babysitter I ever had, bar none, when I was working in Concord. She was my saving angel. I had to work and she took all three of my kids into her daycare. That was a while ago but she and I have kept in touch.” “Oh?”asks Robert. “Where do you live now?” “In a little town called Rough and Ready, northeast of Sacramento. It’s about two and a half hours from here up in the foothills, maybe a little more.” “Rough and Ready? What a name!” “Yeah, their claim to fame is back during the Civil War... the area is known for its gold mines during the Gold Rush days... anyway, the townspeople at the time were a bunch of miners and their whores and so at the outset of the Civil War, they all got drunk and voted themselves out of the Union. Then, come next July 4th, they all got drunk and voted themselves back in! Now they put on an annual Secession Days festival and a play about the raunchy doings of the town madam, her girls and them miners. It’s all in good fun, nothing too risqué.” Robert and Martha both laugh. “Yeah, and Martha! Guess who was in the play this year! She sang a song and was a flower girl.” “I’ll bet it was my pet! How fun!” Martha turns to Robert. “Valerie’s youngest daughter. She should be what, how old now? Seven? Eight?” “Uh, huh. She’ll be eight at the end of September. It’s a good thing the other two are three years apart going on up, or I’d never keep it straight! If I can remember one of their birth years, I can do the math.” Robert chuckles. “Well, I came over to say the plane should be arriving any minute now. It was delayed at the layover.” He points in the direction of Gate 27 as a loudspeaker just begins to announce the arrival of the flight they all wait for. “See?” Most of those waiting in the lounge, except the seasoned waiters, get up and mill toward the gate. A little child squeals and is half-heartedly hushed by his mother. The Temple devotees each seem to put just a little more personal space around themselves and then withdraw to some quiet interior place. Some look slightly worried, like they just know they’re already in dutch; some look eager, like children. The Indian boy looks both pleased and composed; likewise his countryman. Even Martha is subdued, lost in her own thoughts. Although also quiet, Valerie does not anticipate. She does not know what Guruji even looks like, let alone what it’s like to meet him at an airport, but it’s obvious the rest of them are studies in emotional restraint. The disembarking passengers begin to stream through the gate, veering off left and right with their loved ones. Martha and Valerie have managed to locate themselves directly in front of, though fifteen feet away from the gate. It’s not an obvious grab for a choice spot. Others, in fact, are closer to the entrance, although arrayed along both sides of it. But the two women, standing slightly apart from each other, have an excellent view of the deplaning passengers. No one speaks. Valerie becomes aware that she suddenly has butterflies in her stomach. At the same time, the Temple devotees alert. Guruji is nearly the last one of the crowd of passengers and those who know what to look for have seen him. He is immaculately dressed in a long, brilliantly white shirt (kurta) over an equally white dhoti, the long cloth Indian men wrap around their legs like pantaloons. He advances closer and the balance of the passenger crowd thins. Then he alone is face-to-face and ten feet away from Martha and Valerie. He stops in his tracks. Valerie, too, has become completely motionless. Her eyes begin a sweeping, unobstructed appraisal of the short, plump, white-clad guru—not from his face downwards but from the floor upwards. She sees his sandaled feet, no socks. She takes in his crisp white dhoti and pauses at the hem of the long white shirt which cascades loosely over his large, round tummy. Her eyes travel up to a necklace draped on his chest, stop briefly and continue on to his face. Then she sees he’s looking directly at her and their eyes meet. A profound silence settles in her. Breathing stops. Feeling leaves. Time stands still. It’s not like blinking, but more like having a new scene appear in a small, circular viewing aperture between her eyebrows which expands instantly until it almost fills her area of vision. Motion in the old scene, though raggedly unfocused, is still visible at the outermost periphery of her view. Yet it is the new scene which rivets her attention. She is transfixed and absorbed. For there, right in front of her, filling her eye, is a light like no other light she has ever seen. Brilliant, like the fire of the sun, it is shining not on the form of Guruji, but from it. Radiant, pure splendor, golden-white and glorious. A sense of profound love envelopes her and every trace of fear vanishes. Awed and immobile—not even her mouth goes slack—she sees Guruji, who appears nearly weightless, turn to his right side. He bends slightly and with his right hand blesses and caresses the head of a small, golden-haired girl who is looking up at him, rapt with joy, encompassed and illuminated by the Light streaming from him. There is untold, inexpressible love in his gesture and a hint of neither hurry nor self-consciousness. She is seeing without any doubt, Heavenly Father, Lord of the entire universe. The knowledge that God is in charge of His creation and that He has it in perfect order—no matter what it might look like sometimes—settles permanently in her being. Then, more slowly than it opened, her third eye closes and normal vision returns. She sees a delightful, smiling, short, plump, obviously Indian man who completes his entrance and begins to greet the Temple devotees one by one with quiet words and a hug here and there. Valerie is, to put it simply, stunned. Profoundly and completely stunned. Moving back away from the guru, she circles behind and watches Martha receive a greeting from Guruji. All begin to move toward the exit. Valerie still lags somewhat behind. She doesn’t really know what’s she’s seen, she says nothing and rejoining Martha, handles the physical details of exiting the building. Still, she is stunned. Some of the Temple devotees are loosely flocked around Guruji as they anticipate the luggage and the vehicle which will take him to his ashram. The two women position themselves near a lamppost, its light casting plenty to see by, and wait, silent and watchful. Soon a late model non-descript paneled station wagon arrives from the parking garage. Guruji sits in the passenger seat, leaving the door fully ajar. The rest of the devotees disappear to get their own cars and return to the ashram while Robert and the two Indian men hoist luggage into the rear of the wagon. Guruji looks over at the two women and motions to Martha for her to come over to the car. Acknowledging his summons, she hastens to do his bidding. Valerie can see them converse but cannot hear the conversation. “Yes, Guruji?” She is so pleased he called her over. “How are you, Mother?” he asks. “Fine, Guruji. I’m just fine.” Guruji responds, “Good, good.” He lifts his hand in Valerie’s direction. “Who is she, Mother? She is a very pure soul, a mahatma.” Martha looks over toward the lamppost and back to Guruji, then beams. “I know, Guruji. That’s Valerie. She’s my friend. I’ve known her for years. She saved my life when I... when I, when I tried to commit suicide taking all those pills.” Guruji nods his head. “Tell her I want to see her.” Martha chuckles. “Yes, Guruji.” She walks toward Valerie who is still leaning on the lamppost and points for her to go to the car. “He wants to see you. He says you’re a mahatma!” Martha stays by the lamppost. Like her friend, as soon as she hears the Master is summoning her, Valerie, too, is galvanized to do his bidding. Guruji watches her approach. She leans toward him respectfully, questioning. Guruji greets her warmly. “Hello!” Unsure what to say, she repeats his greeting back to him. Without a pause, Guruji reaches up with his left hand to her right shoulder and pulls her to him. A kiss is coming. Surprised, she resists momentarily, then surrenders. She thinks it is a kiss on the lips and leans closer, but Guruji transfers his grasp and tilts her head down to give the initiation kiss to her third eye center. Immediately thereafter, he reaches with his right hand for the main bead hanging at the end of the necklace ‘round his neck and he applies it, too, to her spiritual eye. She has been initiated and is only dimly aware of it. Mute, she listens as Guruji motions her gently upright. “Are you coming later to the Temple with Martha?” Speechless, she indicates yes. Guruji continues. “Good, I’ll see you then.” Again nodding in the affirmative, she turns and floats back toward Martha. Deliberately grabbing the lamppost with her right hand, she kicks up both feet and swings half way around it, ending up with her face toward the car. Martha chuckles and both of them gaze at the guru in the car a few moments longer. It’s Martha who breaks the spell first. “Let’s go get
the car. We’ll meet again at the Temple.” Valerie indicates accord without
speaking. They begin to walk down the sidewalk in the same direction that
Guruji’s vehicle is pointing. At thirty feet or so, they cross into the street
and she looks back toward his car. But it’s more an inwardly thoughtful glance
than an effort to make eye contact. The windshield is dark and reflects what
light there is, so the guru is not seen. She
glances at Martha, but says nothing. Had she seen It, too?  (to be continued) Home | Back Issues | How We Serve | Advertise | Subscribe | Reviews | Cyber-Meditate! | MS Mystique | Links | Contact Info All information and graphic content © 2000-2011 Mount Shasta Magazine. Written or verbal permission from the editor is required to reproduce any material contained in this website.
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