This, Too, Is Baba’s Grace

There are hundreds of stories of Baba’s rescue of devotees on the physical plane. He also comes to one’s rescue on the psychic plane, and He does it in such a way that there is absolutely no doubt of His grace.

My story is concerned with two dreams. But first I must set the stage for the  dreams, for the stage was set on the physical plane in an office. The story is about personality conflicts in an office, two jobs, and an attempt to upgrade these jobs to higher classifications under the governmental body’s rules.

The service’s length of time was approximately the same for both individuals concerned. The responsibilities of both individuals had increased proportionately with the growth of the division. But when the decision was handed down, only one job was re-classified to a higher grade, and it wasn’t mine. It was not fair, but nothing could be done about it under the present director, who consistently had refused to acknowledge that the quality and quantity of my work was more than mediocre. Even though George, my immediate superior, had always given me excellent ratings.

This director sometimes seemed to take a special delight in “baiting” me to see how I would react and even went so far as to shelve a request for leave submitted a month in advance. So that was the state of affairs. My mind was constantly preoccupied with my difficulties, trying to find a way out. Time spent trying to meditate was nothing but a rehash of the same old problems.

One night I had a dream. In it a part of myself was wandering down a hall and came to a room. Here an electric cord was plugged into a wall receptacle. I knew that this cord led to a movie projector in another room and that a picture was being shown on the screen. Much to my surprise, I reached up and disconnected the plug.  Then, unseen by anyone, I walked out of the room with a feeling of guilt, expecting the police to stop me. But no one did, so I proceeded out of the building, which seemed to be in a high school setting, and after a little difficulty I made my way out of the crowd.

In trying to interpret the dream I decided that disconnecting the plug meant disconnecting myself from the job. There would be darkness and confusion while they tried to find out what was wrong with the projector, never looking to see that the power source had been cut off. I thought of myself as a power source for George, since I thought that much of his success had been due to my efforts and cooperation, and his success in turn had contributed to our director’s success.

There was a certain amount of satisfaction in that interpretation, but the feeling of guilt I could not account for. Alas, I did not realize that a part of me in the dream had done mischief—whose definition according to the dictionary is: “Harm, damage, especially trouble or vexation caused by human agency; harmful quality or character; a source of harm, evil, trouble, or vexation.”

George suffered from diabetes and heart trouble and was recovering from an eye operation. I told him about my feeling that I had been treated shamefully. He replied that he would like to see me fight back. But I told him that I couldn’t see the position as worth fighting for and certainly did not want to draw the wrath of the director on my head.

I brooded over the apparent injustice, felt sorry for myself, and came to the conclusion that the dream was prompting a transfer. A constant battle was going on in my mind. I was feeling sick and didn’t want to go to work. Would I be running away if I retired and went to India to be with Baba? What would I do when I had to come back, as come back one must? The small retirement income would soon be eaten up by inflation and depression. I couldn’t arrive at a decision, except to stand on my own two feet for as long as possible.

George came back to work, but was visibly growing weaker.

I had another dream. In it my mother was sick. I was in a cafeteria run by my boss. I looked at all the food, but the only thing that looked attractive to me was a large bowl of grapefruit sections decorated with a cherry. I wanted to take them to my mother, but they were very, very expensive. I also realized that they would not taste as good as they looked because of the preservatives.

The dream woke me. I analyzed it and came to the conclusion that the fruit represented “the fruits of the action” to which I was not entitled. I would pay a high price if I purchased them. My sick mother was a part of myself, the best part, which was sick over the behavior of another part of myself.

Back at work George became weaker and had to go back to the doctor. It looked like death might soon take him away.

This was where Baba stepped in, to save me from harming others and bringing upon myself some far-reaching consequences.

After work I went to the beach to swim. I carefully took off my japmala [rosary] that Baba had placed around my neck, put it in my cosmetic case with jewelry, put the case in my purse and locked the purse in the car. I went swimming, then later sat with my back against a fir tree to recoup some energy, and then I went home. The next morning I reached in my purse for the japmala. It was gone. But the earrings and the rings were there. I searched the places I had been. No japmala.

I knew that Baba had taken it back. Why? To punish me? My thoughts whirled. I wasn’t worthy of Baba’s love, of His time and effort. I was lazy, I was a terrible example, a bad representative. Baba’s purity couldn’t stand my dark thoughts. I wasn’t living the words of the Morning Prayer: “Let me speak sweet, soft words, behave coolly and comfortingly towards all, do deeds which shower happiness on all, form ideals which are beneficial to all.” I examined myself. I prayed. I thought. What to do? A great weight had descended on my heart. I had a sinking sensation in my solar plexus. All joy and happiness had fled.

Then I remembered the dream and disconnecting the electricity. A prankster part of me had done that, and I had experienced a feeling of guilt.

George was dying. Could I be contributing to the cause of his death? He would leave a wife and five children, only one of whom had completed high school. They were lovely children. Joan, George’s wife, worked very hard at an outside job. They needed both incomes to provide their family with food, shelter, clothing and books for school. Was this what Baba had been trying to make me see by giving me a quick blow to end the mischief which had been set in motion?

I made up my mind that since the prankster within me had disconnected the electricity in the dream, in fantasy I would re-enact the dream and restore the plug to the receptacle, with Baba helping me. I must do my best to rectify this situation, which had taken place in the realm of the unseen and must be corrected in the same realm.

I prayed to Baba, taking His hand in mine. In fantasy I walked back to that dream hall, picked up the plug and with Baba’s hand over my hand, inserted the cord into the receptacle. Then I practiced meditation, using the image of the flame to cleanse my body, heart and mind. I sent love and light to George for healing. Lastly, I accepted the situation. The Lord had placed me in this job and here I would stay until He saw fit to move me. I had failed the test in the school of life.

The next day at work George called to report that he was feeling much better and would be back at work on Monday.

Yes, that was the reason Baba had taken away my japmala—the only thing that would wake me up—to save me from the wrong of harming others and the awful consequences that I was bringing upon myself. That, too, was His grace.

Epilogue

I woke up from sleep before dawn and drafted these words. In the afternoon, I got into my car after a period of prayer with a friend. I had visualized Baba with His hand on both our heads. I glanced in the direction of the glove compartment. A wisp of grey, almost like smoke, was drifting toward the floor. As I watched, a Lincoln penny appeared on the floor. That was a sign! Baba had accepted my contrite heart by sending me a penny from heaven!

~Esther Howarth, St. Petersburg, Florida, USA
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, September 1980