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Oslo. Today was the second and closing day of a skiing weekend that I had organized here in the Norwegian Alps as part of my regular sports and adventures program.
This was only the second time I’d been skiing. The first time was earlier this winter when I conducted a one-week outing in the Swiss Alps.
Norwegians are a people said to be bom with skis on their feet. We held racing competitions. To allow me to participate, they gave me a liberal handicap of one minute on each run.
Toward the end of the day. in an effort to see how fast 1 could go, I ordered my feet not to turn inward, i.e. I would not allow myself to slow my downhill speed. I was soon moving faster than anyone else on the mountain. It was exhilarating.
The only problem was that I had not yet mastered sharp turning.
Because I could not turn around each of the skiers I was passing, I had to yell at those in front of me, “Look out! Look out!” Once they saw me they jumped out of the way. A neat, albeit, self-centered system.
At this time I was working as sectorial secretary of the Spiritualists’ Sports and Adventures Club, Two or three times a month we conduct weekend outings in different regions of the sector These programs ranged from mountain climbing, horseback riding, boating, forest hikes, and sports matches on up to full scale training camps teaching relief skills, first-aid, self-defense, survival ski I Is and higher philosophy.
At last I came to the final turn, sure that I had cut at least two minutes from my previous best time. As I rounded the comer I had a shock. Directly in front of me was a group of about thirty students, surrounding their teacher, who was lecturing them on some subtle point which demanded their full attention. When I yelled “Look out! Look out!” none of them heard.
Within a moment I was on them. At the last moment they noticed me and scrambled out of the way. One of them, however, was not quite quick enough. My skis latched onto his; my head continued forward while he was thrown down; and then my feet, still wearing the skis, flipped over my head as I flew through the air over a fence.
While most of the route is open, fences are erected only where the fall is precipatedly steep. Thus, as I merrily winged my way over that fence, thinking of Baba, I was blissfully unaware that I was courting sweet death. What trouble some of us children make for our Father.
He was compelled to save me by arranging my head-down-feet-up fall in a tree in such a way that my skis caught in the branches; I finished my route hanging upside-down with the top of my skull a few centimeters from the ground.
Throughout the weekend a fourteen year-old lad had taken a special interest in me; we usually skied together. This time, however, I had left him far behind in my flakes. Now, as he caught up, he saw me dangling from the tree, and shouted, “Wow, Dada! How’d you do that?”
“I’d prefer to tell you a little later,” I said. “Now how’s about lending me a hand, brother?”
It was nearly as dangerous getting me down as it had been getting there, but after a few minutes of nerve-racking efforts, my young friend had me back on my feet.
Unbeknownst to me, the entire escapade, including my brief flight, had happened in plain view of the 200 or so skiers who were waiting for the ski-lift. I was met by loud applause while finally skiing down to the bottom.
The only explanation I can think of why He bothers to save such zany people like me time and again, is because normal conservative people are unwilling to lead this sort of Tantric lifestyle in which one never knows what will happen next.
Baba simply has no alternative.
Entertainment at government expense
Paris. Last night, while traveling in a train and sleeping alone in a six-seat compartment, I was woken in an unprecedented manner. A strong flash of light hit me directly in the face. Immediately I opened my eyes, sat up, and saw a man still holding a camera. Without even donating a few francs for the privilege of taking my portrait, and without offering a smile, he turned on his heels and high-tailed it out of the compartment.
And I, without any idea as to what I was after, jumped up, and ran in pursuit. As I James- Bonded my way down the corridor, I passed a man walking in the opposite direction.
Arriving at the link between two cars, I suddenly thought.
What a dope I am! That was the camera-man, throwing me off his scent by acting opposite my expectations. I swung around, and raced back, just in time to see him disappear through the door leading to the next car. I rushed forward and turned the door handle, but he had locked the door behind him.
Well, I’m not so easily deterred, I thought, and dashed back to my room, opened my bag, and took out the key used for the doors between cars. (Because I spend so much time on trains, it is convenient to have this key.) Hurrying back to the locked door, I opened it. and entered the next car.
Though I looked at everyone in that car, I could hardly guess which of the apparently sleeping suspects was the real spy.
Full of wonder, but not downcast, I returned to my cabin. Id given it a good try. but once again those fellows had gotten the upper hand.
I laughed at what expense and trouble they were going to in building up their files on such a carefree, harmless guy. They consider me a dangerous radical, not realizing the true nature of the spiritual revolution for which I am struggling.
ERAWS
Calcutta. Today, during reporting, Baba divided the Dadas into 2 groups:
- ERAWS (Education, relief and welfare section)
- TRIO (a conglomerate of the three other major trades).
I took my place with the rest of the Trio group.
Baba instructed each group to condemn the members of the other group for insufficient speed in our work.
Criticism is a natural lower tendency. So everyone passionately threw themselves into the allotted task.
I stood directly 2 feet in front of Baba. The other Dadas, all Indian, yelled accusations back and forth in Hindi and Bengali.
Baba’s expressions varied throughout, shifting from frowns to smiles to head-nodding to “Here here!” and so on.
All of a sudden He looked straight at me, then pointed and said:
Immediately, without waiting for any further prodding. I turned away from Him, and, looking at the ERAWS workers, I said loudly:
You are all just like a bunch of dirty ants, not using a drop of your potentiality. You only swim in the muds of staticity, becoming more and more grimy with each passing day, enjoying your useless existence, and speaking highly of how you moved a few twigs and leaves here and there.
You jump on the nearest sugar cubes and licking and licking until you become sick and have to fast (‘well it’s fasting day, and we had to fast anyway,’ you say), and proud that you move from place to place, diligently making a mess everywhere you go!
While I was speaking, everyone was laughing, and Baba said:
I swung back around to Baba. He stuck out His chin and pursed His lips, saying:
He waved His hand at the others, and again they started up. I was left to return to my silence, and dived even more deeply into my contemplation of Anandamurtiji.
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