Listen To Your Heart

Sweetness flows from Sathya Sai Baba. It is a full and steady stream from which all weary wayfarers may surely quench their thirsty hearts. “Love all and serve all,” He says. Love all and serve all He does. I arrived at Prasanthi Nilayam (Baba’s ashram) rather reluctantly.

The first time I heard His name spoken was from the lips of someone who was greatly impressed with His manifestation of objects. I am not interested in such things. What I sought was to be found only in the realm where the mind could not venture. It could be secured only by an undefeated will that allows nothing to disturb it—not the influence of what others may say or do, or what the world has to offer. Often I would seemingly find myself at odds with the world and people of brief authority. In the end, however, Baba’s will was not to be denied.

He patiently drew me to Him. I wanted to go to India to be with His form. I wanted to feel Him constantly in my heart. Too often we miss the greatest treasure of finding Swami in each and every moment of our day when we feel that we can find Him only in India in that physical form. He is with us, always. When we look for Him, we find Him. And He often pops up unexpectedly. By His grace, however, I have traveled to India to have His blessings. I always go without expectation of reward or seeking an interview. I go just to be there.

There are always so many people at Prasanthi Nilayam that I try to go inside the mandir [temple] only for Omkar [recitation of the sacred Om]. One morning I was among the earliest to arrive. The seva-dal [volunteer] ladies were still sleeping at the doorways to the mandir. I quietly settled next to the wall and drew my shawl close around me. It was peaceful, for the day was not yet born.

The arrival of others and the awakening of the seva-dal ladies broke the stillness. Lines began to form outside the wall. I walked past row after row of silent ladies and joined a new row that was forming. Many lines were ahead of mine, and I doubted whether there was any chance of our line going inside at all. I silently prayed: If you want me inside, Swami, I will be inside. If you want me outside, I will be outside. Either way, I accept.

One by one the rows stood and hurried through the doorway of the temple. A lady who sat three or four places ahead of me, in the line to my left, suddenly turned and asked me, “Do you want to go inside?” “Yes, I would like to,” I replied. “I want you to go,” she said. “If my row is fortunate to be called, quickly change places with me.”

She signaled the seva-dal lady in the front and told her that we would be exchanging places. Her row was called. I stood up, but the seva-dal lady at the back of the lines, who was not in on the plan, quickly hurried forward to grab my arm and pull me back into place. “You can’t go,” she said. “Get back into line.” The seva-dal lady at the front came to my rescue and I found myself walking quickly toward the mandir. I was one of the last to enter. My regret has always been that in the confusion of the moment, I was unable to thank the lady who so kindly gave her place to me. At the same time, I am sure that she gained more from her selfless action than I could even express. However, the experience is very vivid in my mind.

Back home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, U.S.A., I resumed attending Bhagavad Gita [an epic on Krishna] classes. The Gita is to be treated as a many-faceted jewel and whatever facet one saw will be his or her field of play. Others should respect that. At the same time, one should attempt to see the other facets, too, and not be stuck with one facet only.

The primary relationship was to be between the individual and Swami, be it friend, father, guru, Avatar, or one that was just budding and was not yet formed. The group should facilitate that and not interfere with the private relationship.

Attendance at the Gita classes was optional. But I felt that this was to be Swami’s class, and I wanted to be there. It is not a pastime, but a dedication of two hours or so every Friday night to open our hearts to Him. He is always there, so how could I not be always there? He is never late, so how could I be late?

If one surrenders completely to Him, nothing stands in the way. But when one has not made a firm commitment, all manner of circumstances intervene—family, friends, all kinds of things that become excuses to not attend. But that is the way with all of life. There must be conviction, dedication, and commitment. If I did not feel this way, I could have found numerous reasons not to attend the class.

For the most part, our study has been orderly. Only occasionally did it seem to get off track or out of control. But there were lessons to be learned in those times, too. People who were disruptive were quietly removed without action on our part, and others for whom the Gita class was a pastime drifted slowly away. In time we found ourselves with a stable, loving group, dedicated to studying Gita. We learn from the book and we learn from each other. But most of all, we learn from Swami. He inspires each of us according to our need.

Swami’s humor in reminding us that He is watching came recently when a friend brought from India several copies of a photograph of Baba’s eyes. I gave everyone a copy prior to class and we remarked on how powerful Swami’s eyes are.

The beginning shloka [verse] that evening was: With hands and feet everywhere, with eyes, heads, and mouths everywhere, with ears everywhere, He exists in the world, enveloping all. [Bhagavad Gita XIII 14]

We have no doubt that Swami not only knows all, but is all.

Come just one step forward,
I shall take a hundred toward you.
Shed just one tear,
I shall wipe a hundred from your eyes.
                                                                ~ BABA

~Ms. Mary M. Wilson – U.S.A.
Source: Sathya Sai—The Eternal Charioteer