First Meeting: A Personal Story

At age fifteen, I sustained a near-fatal motorcycle crash that left me physically disabled and in emotional shock for years to come. I was high on some reckless combination of alcohol and other substances when I careened headlong into a car at sixty miles per hour. Of the array of painful images that have remained with me ever since, the most striking is that of looking up into my mother's anxious face, just as I was about to be wheeled into emergency surgery. I simply said to her, "I'm going to die tonight, aren't I?" I spoke feebly, but with a tone of certainty and resignation. I can only imagine the shocking impact those words had on her, but there was no resistance or struggle in me against my impending death.

As it happened, it took eight hours of surgery and several blood transfusions for the surgeons to reconnect the shattered nerve endings and piece together the compound, multiple fractures I had sustained all over my body. Afterwards, I was confined to a hospital bed for nearly four months, much of the time in traction, while my broken limbs and nerves began to repair themselves. Avatar Adi Da has remarked that every event contains a test, a lesson, or a blessing, even if seemingly hidden and obscure. In this case, I was compelled by my physical confinement and by the sheer magnitude of what had happened to reappraise the course of my life. I'm convinced that had I not been so severely injured at the time, I would have died soon thereafter by some other violent means — which should convey to you something of the recklessness and desperate confusion of my early adolescence.

After a full year of convalescence, I had recovered sufficiently to somehow endure the remaining year of Catholic high school. This was despite my defiant resistance to authority figures, my damaged physical condition, and an increasing alienation from virtually everyone and everything. Remarkably, I even managed to complete my university studies, making my way by playing drums, despite my injuries, in local rock bands and indulging in as much sex and drugs as I cautiously dared. I also dabbled in TM and various other meditation techniques and yogic practices. I grew determined to discover a deeper meaning to life — something more profound and comprehensible to me than the middle-class trajectory toward an empty career, a quiet retirement, and a burial service at the local cemetery. By graduation, I still had no plans, no career, and was entirely clueless about my life and future.

Culturally, it was a time of exuberant self-indulgence, which afforded me the luxury to become a formal seeker after "truth" and "ultimate knowledge". I studied philosophy with an attitude known only to the self- enamored hippie generation of the late sixties and early seventies. All the while, life's problems, uncertainties, and injustices weighed heavily on me, and I readily criticized the conventional ways that others — especially the super-straight types — presumed to live. Had I read Will Durant at the time, I would have objected to his characterization of the philosophic quest as a kind of romance associated with the "golden days in the June of life" [Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy, p.1]. My own seeking after truth seemed the only real and self-validating necessity. I was too vain and naïve to see that the cynicism driving my philosophical quest was simply romantic idealism. Nor could I appreciate how readily time conspires with human tendency — and with the practical concerns and pressures of ordinary living — to temper one's passion for truth.

By the time I was twenty-two, my philosophic dilettantism had been thoroughly exposed and worn thin in me. I was only troubled and disheartened. Seeking had led me through several unnerving encounters with spiritual groups, teachers, and new age paths. I had sat in T-groups, heard lectures on the chakra body and kundalini, chanted mantras, studied scriptures and arcane texts from ancient esoteric traditions, and was initiated into several forms of yoga and meditation. I had read all I could find by several modern spiritual teachers, endlessly pondered the meaning of life and death, struggled to discreetly negotiate an active sexual intimacy along with several outside affairs, and wondered why I was so bewildered and unhappy.

In the end I was disillusioned with it all. I grew moody and withdrawn — a character trait I struggle with to this day. I remember talking to a friend who candidly admitted that he could not see what my "troubles" were all about. After all, my recovery from the motorcycle crash was virtually complete, I had a fetching and talented girlfriend and all the sex I could manage, a hot rock and roll band, a college degree, and what seemed like a wide-open door to the future. So what the hell was my problem?

I could find no way of explaining myself to him. And rather than attempt a psycho-spiritual self-study here, it's best, I think, to recount a revealing and poignant incident that happened at the time.

One summer evening, I stood on the front steps of the house I shared with my girlfriend, facing her as she stood in the doorway. I was saying good-bye to her before heading off as usual to a late-night gig at a local nightclub. Suddenly, as I looked into her eyes, I was stricken with unbidden despair and a sorrow deeper and more intense than any I had ever known. These feelings surged in me like a flood of raw emotion. I began to weep and sob uncontrollably. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and my girlfriend was visibly shaken and alarmed. "My God," she cried, "What's wrong with you?"

For a moment I stood speechless, crying effusively and gasping for breath. How could I possibly express to her the depths of my despair and sense of futility? All of this had suddenly burst in me like an enormous dam of untouched sorrow. Somehow I managed a few faltering words, attempting to give voice to my feelings. "Look," I pleaded, gazing at her with upturned arms. "This whole scene is just not working out. My heart is just not in it anymore." My face was one of utter pain and helplessness. I only hoped that she could somehow understand.

But her alarm only increased, since she naturally presumed that I was talking about our relationship. I managed to explain that our intimacy was not the problem, at least, not the principal one. The root of my dismay was the stark mortal fragility so forcefully pressed on me by the motorcycle crash. But along with it was my inability to deal with the insane machinery of human life — not just the endless wars, atrocities, and senseless conflicts in the world, though certainly these — but humanity's unspoken conspiracy against love and real happiness. It was our collective denial of the unbearable suffering endured by everyone, our refusal to squarely deal with mortality and death. And it was all the illusions and distractions we have created to immunize ourselves from the tenuous reality of our condition. I simply could no longer reconcile the trivial pursuits and attitudes of the world, even all its temporary pleasures, with the fact that we are all going to die — and all of life will vanish in an instant.

This is what so deeply distressed me. And while she breathed a sigh of relief to know that our deeply bonded relationship was not in jeopardy, I was all the more distraught and stood in front of her feeling as empty and alone as an ancient ruin.

Somehow I managed to overcome my dejection and persist. But as time passed the gnawing desperation in my heart only increased. I knew I had to connect with a reality that was infinitely greater than the social expectation to work hard, raise a family, get an occasional buzz on, and attend the local church. Indeed, I required something even more to the heart of things than my fascination with TM techniques, J. Krishnamurti, astral planes above the earth, and improbable myths about God, Satan, heaven, and hell.

Now, years later, I can recall that moment on the doorstep with my girlfriend not as some kind of clinical breakdown, but as a spiritual crisis penetrating the depths of my being with inexorable intensity. I knew that I required the unqualified knowledge of God, truth, and reality to the fullest satisfaction of my heart. But where and how could I possibly find such a thing? Who would reveal to me, plainly and for real, this great and urgent truth?

The Meeting

Some weeks later I chanced upon the book that contained for me the answers to my heart's deepest questions and urgent longings. As I look back on it now, some of the answers came in the form of printed words, but the fundamental one came as a silent communication, a transmission, blessing, and intelligence that touched me in my depths, beyond my emotional turmoil, troubled mind, and endless verbal abstraction. The book, now entitled, My "Bright" Word, was by Adi Da Samraj, who was then known as "Bubba Free John" — perhaps the most offensive self-styled "spiritual" name I had ever heard!

Skeptical yet curious when I first saw the book, I began to read. Page by page, I was captivated by the most remarkable voice of clarity and wisdom. Avatar Adi Da's words restored me to my senses, awakened my humor, and relieved my growing fears of perpetual alienation and madness. At the level of His verbal communication, He not only validated my despairing experience of life and the world, He exposed the specious logic and self-imposed reactions that were its basis and support, and He fully corroborated my troubled state of mind. In so many words, He was saying: "Of course you're upset! Human life is not only mortal; it is, at its very core, an irreducible dilemma, reinforced and made all the more tragic by the desperate drama of all our misguided seeking."

Indeed, life, as we commonly live it, is a relentless round of pain and suffering. This was Gautama's (the Buddha's) principal discovery, made plain to all in his first noble truth: "All life is ill; all life is suffering." Everyone feels it and tacitly knows it to be so — if only because all have been issued an immutable death sentence at birth, but few squarely accept this fact, and fewer still deal with its spiritual implications. We prefer illusions over our real situation.

Indeed, we either deny or struggle to overcome mortality by every kind of seeking effort. Some seek for wealth, others for sex partners and drugs, the winning lottery ticket, or simply the consolations of fine food and good friends. Still others for thrills and new adventures, a house, a car, a better job; a happy family, a miracle cure for some dreadful disease, artistic achievement, success and power, a safer, more congenial world. We also seek for God and salvation through religion, prayer, mysticism, and meditation, and we seek to live not just well and happily, but for a very, very long time.

And yet, everyone dies and everything passes away. To ponder this, to come to terms at heart with it is to know for certain that there is no final satisfaction in this world — only a progression, however slow or quick, pleasurable or painful, toward death and dissolution.

Thus, to be solely preoccupied with the distractions of this world (or some hopeful heaven beyond) is a kind of insanity, like indulging one's addictions and pretending that all is fine — until we find ourselves lamenting as Macbeth famously does when stricken with the irretrievable news of his wife's tragic death:

As I became able to look beyond the religion of my childhood, I saw that the common myths and dogmas about an eternal after-life, either of happiness or damnation, are not convincing to the heart in its primal condition of raw spiritual need. In such a disarmed state, God and Truth must be immediately obvious — and absolutely Real — or not at all.

Remarkably, to be so deeply troubled by what Avatar Adi Da merely calls "the usual life" is both sensible and appropriate. Paradoxically it is also unnecessary. Our suffering, He says, like the seeking we indulge in to avoid it, is actually a self-imposed contraction. And that contraction, which registers as "I" or "me", or the ego-"I", can itself be understood and transcended. Indeed, the primary impulse of the human heart is to exceed the limitations of mortality and to Realize Infinite Love, Boundless Freedom, and Radiant Happiness. This, however, cannot be accomplished by any form or method of seeking. In Avatar Adi Da's words:

When I first read Avatar Adi Da's description of suffering and seeking, I felt He was speaking an unknown truth to my heart. I recall a forceful surge of excitement and energy in my body. I knew I had chanced upon a singular source of spiritual wisdom. Every word of His Teaching resounded with clarity, depth, and compassion.

He spoke of Narcissus, the self-enamored youth of Greek lore, renowned for his beauty, but also for his pride and disdain of admirers. As the myth goes, after a long day of hunting in the forest, Narcissus stops at a pond to refresh himself. As he gazes into the water, he mistakes his own reflection for a beautiful nymph and instantly falls in love with it. He is so entranced that he cannot tear himself away. Never suspecting he is only looking at his own image, days and weeks pass. Eventually he dies in abject solitude at the pond's edge.

Narcissus, Adi Da says, personifies the self-absorbed condition of all human beings. We too mistakenly presume the thoughts and images reflected in our own minds to be reality. In fact, Reality Itself is infinitely greater. Yet like Narcissus, we are distracted by ourselves, viewing everything through the lens of our own self-involvement. By doing so, we recoil and contract from all others and from Reality Itself, which stands always present, free, and available, if only we will turn from ourselves to the Light of Truth.

The antidote to this contraction, Adi Da says, is Satsang (the Company of Truth), the living relationship enjoyed between the Realized Master and every devotee. Out of an infinite compassion and by virtue of His own Divinely Realized Freedom, Avatar Adi Da attracts others beyond the act of self-contraction (or constriction of attention) in every moment. In doing so, He Gracefully reveals the liberating Truth, the Condition of Self- Existing Conscious Light that is "always already the case" and also patently obvious whenever this self-contraction is undone.

I soon noticed that the persuasiveness of Adi Da's argument was not merely in His Words alone. There was, and continues to be, a primary, living, and experiential dimension to it. I felt intuitively drawn to Adi Da Himself, as if a magnet were tugging at my chest and heart. It was profoundly tactile and compelling. And yet despite my best efforts, I could not explain or account for any of this to my friends and family, not even to my girlfriend at the time. It came down to a deeply personal and spiritual matter between Avatar Adi Da and myself. I knew only one thing for certain: I had to go and meet this remarkable being in person.

And here we come full circle to the spring of 1975, when I first arrived at Avatar Adi Da's retreat Sanctuary in northern California and took my place among the other devotees in His spiritual community. I recall walking into the Sanctuary's dining hall wearing an East Indian style shirt that hung mid-calf over a pair of faded blue jeans. I also recall my throbbing headache and my fear and apprehension, like surges of electricity coursing through my head, chest, and belly. And I recall my astonishment as I entered that hall.

It was large with great high ceilings. Along the back wall were rows of tables with colorful tablecloths. These were brimming with beer and soda, a lavish assortment of liquor, trays of cigarettes and party foods, all nicely arranged. People — most seemed to be around my age or slightly older — were milling around smoking, drinking, talking, and laughing. I could hear rock music playing at a moderate volume in the background. And for my first impression, I might as well have walked into a suburban cocktail party!

I was shocked, dismayed, and annoyed. What did any of this have to do with spiritual life, with the pristine wisdom and genius I found in Avatar Adi Da's books, and with the intuition of Divine Truth in His Words that sounded such a deep and sympathetic chord in me?

Despite my initial offense, I was soon captivated by a man in his mid-thirties reclining on a davenport at the far end of the room. He was more regal and serene in His countenance, more easeful in His demeanor, more visibly radiant than anyone I had ever seen. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing uproariously with several others who gathered around Him and were obviously delighted to be in His presence. He wore a red and white striped caftan and was lavishly adorned with silver and turquoise jewelry. Anyone else similarly attired would have looked ridiculous, but I recall the effect on Him to be strikingly hip and appealing.

Of course, I recognized Avatar Adi Da Samraj at once. And I also knew right then and there that it was definitely Him — the living, breathing Being and Person now Present before my eyes, and not only His profound and wise Teachings — that had drawn me to this place. I began to watch Him intensely, observing His movements and gestures, His robust, infectious laughter, His ease, and the indefinable luster and energy that radiated from His body. He was, it seemed to me, completely un-self-conscious, given fully over to the present moment and freely related to everyone and everything. To my eyes, Avatar Adi Da was exquisitely beautiful in every way. In all of my previous meetings with teachers, gurus, masters, and yogis of every sort, I had never seen anyone remotely like Him. Avatar Adi Da was perfectly Radiant, Happy, Powerful, and Free.

And then suddenly the crowd of people in the room parted unaccountably to reveal an aisle, much like, it strikes me now, the biblical parting of the Red Sea. For a timeless instant, there was not a single person in that large and crowded room obstructing the line of sight between Avatar Adi Da and myself. He instantly turned to meet my gaze full-on with the most clear and penetrating eyes, like translucent pools of deep and fully conscious water, extraordinarily large and riveting. I was transfixed. His gaze carried with it a tangible, vibrant, and powerful Force. Later I was to learn that this was His Ruchira-Shaktipat, or Spiritual Blessing and Transmission. It emanated from Him to me — and then all through my body, mind, and beyond with incredible intensity.

His simple glance pierced me to my depths, so that — and this was my actual experience — time stood still and space dissolved, along with all sense of what was happening to me and around me. Avatar Adi Da and I were suspended, for what seemed to be several long minutes (but in reality could only have been a matter of seconds) in the most penetrating visual exchange of love and mutual recognition I have ever known. I was stunned, more disarmed and vulnerable than I had been in all my life. I knew that He saw and comprehended "me" completely, not just physically or even psychologically, but down to the very last detail of secrecy, suffering, and doubt in my body, mind, and heart.

At first I felt totally mortified and ashamed, as if caught naked under a blinding spotlight. But the feeling quickly vanished in the healing streams of compassion and love that flowed from Avatar Adi Da like cool, soothing water. I felt His gaze of blessing wash through every part of me — my body and mind; my entire past, present, and all future time; all my pain, longing, and seeking; all the struggles of my life, and all the sufferings I had endured even previous to this lifetime. He saw all of it — received and accepted it all with no judgment, only the most extreme compassion, acceptance, understanding, and love.

And then, in a wordless transmission of tenderness and calm, He reassured and relieved my troubled heart. It was as if He were speaking vocally to me: "I understand, my beloved. I know your deepest heart and all your suffering. Give these to me now and know that everything is all right. Accept my blessing and know for certain that there is only this pure love, this deep and unspeakable heart-bond between us. I can help you. I can liberate your heart, and if you stay with me, if you will love and trust me, I most certainly will." I received this gift of blessing from Him entirely and to my depths.

Then the clear line of sight between us closed again. Avatar Adi Da was hidden from my view, and I was left to ponder that (while the world I had previously known was forever vanished in an instant's gaze) a new and profoundly spiritual world stretched out before me — full of demands and challenges beyond my ken and ability, but grounded indelibly in Avatar Adi Da's matrix of infinite love and radiant light.

This was the great meeting that marked the end of my early life. Incredibly, I had been initiated into a spiritual depth and vision of Love and Truth that exceeded everything in my previous experience. I had the unshakable conviction that Avatar Adi Da Samraj was a True God-Man. Indeed, He was the Divine Heart-Master. While apprehensive, I was also overcome with inexpressible happiness and gratitude. I recall a sentence spoken by Avatar Adi Da some months later that brought this home to me in words that pierced my heart. He simply said, "Realize what it is you have stumbled upon while wandering in the wilderness: the True Guru is only the Function of God."

It was this fortuitous meeting that initiated the spiritual adventure and unfolding process that was to be my life from that moment on. I had been touched in my very depths by Avatar Adi Da's unqualified love, blessings, and grace. There was an instant healing in my heart. Looking back, I now see that everything that has happened in my life since that first meeting has been a gradual, increasingly conscious reception of all that Avatar Adi Da Transmitted to my heart with His initial loving gaze. This is the Master to whom I surrender my heart and life — the Very Divine Being Who, I am convinced, will Awaken the heart of all beings to the Happiness, Freedom, and Truth of Real God.

Beloved Adi Da Samraj, Master of my heart, I bow in joyous gratitude at Your Divine Feet.