 Meeting Meher Baba |
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He was standing at the foot of the steps leading to the front door, dressed in a thin white gown, a short, furry coat and a pink turban; and he was looking at the house very quietly. He passed in through the door and gave me a smile in passing... A little later I went in to see him. I was very nervous, and did not know how to address him, but as soon as I entered the room I was completely won over by the love which seemed to permeate his whole personality. He spelt out on the alphabet board, 'It was your love that brought me.' ... Of the four days which I spent in Devonshire with him and the group, it is difficult to write. The whole time was invested with a dream-like quality of pure love, timelessness and great beauty. |
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Margaret Craske 1931, London Av p134 |
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For the first time in my life, and I have not met another like him, I found myself in the aura of a man who literally radiated love. He combined the profundity of mystical experience with the guileless candor of a child, and his smile was as infectious as the words he used were immaterial. And all the while he radiated such a pure affection that one wondered why, when all religions praise the value of pure love, should it be a memorable experience to meet one man who practised it. If there were more Meher Babas in the world today, war would end for want of causes. This man of love sets all men an example. |
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Christmas Humphreys 1931, London LM4 p1432 |
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"I sat next to Baba at the London Coliseum, but he took very little notice of me. I was shy and nervous at first, and could not find my bearings. I felt as if someone had taken a hammer and knocked me over the head. I was stunned with the wonder of Baba. From just seeing him, nothing else existed for me. From first sight, I had implicit faith and trust in him. I asked no questions. I wanted nothing from him. I felt I had to love him as Jesus was loved by his apostles. I therefore gave my life into his keeping and knew that my search was at an end." "I was stunned with the wonder and beauty of him. I had seen his face before in my dreams; the eyes were startling in their beauty; the face seemed of luminous honey-color, framed by a halo of long dark hair. His hands were most noticeable; they were strong, slim and sensitive... During the week of his stay in London, I saw him every day. Time and place seemed not to exist. Everyone and everything faded from my mind except Baba. He alone seemed real - the perfect human being. Compared to him, everyone seemed like a shadow. He drew me irresistably; his love melted me, and his humor and charm attracted me. His silence was more potent than words." |
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Delia DeLeon London, 1931 First paragraph: LM4 p1434 Second and third paragraphs: Av p135-136 For another version, see MJ 1:5 p42 |
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My sister Delia had met Baba at the theater and was absolutely bowled over. She asked me if I would like to meet him and I said yes. I was not seeking as she was, but when she told me what reactions she had had to Baba, I said I would like to meet him too. The first time I saw him at the Davy's house, I was terribly moved. I can't say why at all; suddenly I found myself weeping and could not stop... Baba spelled out on the board to one of the Mandali, 'Ask her why she is weeping.' I spontaneously said, 'Because you are so beautiful.' From that point on, I only wanted to look at him and be with him, just sit on the floor and look at him. I didn't want to ask anything. Baba was wearing a white robe with his hair long; his face was very, very beautiful. There was an aura of light around him which one cannot really describe. In his presence, I could not look at anyone else... I was really taken with him, and was told I could come again. I went every time it was possible. |
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Aminta Toledano 1931, London LM4 p1436 |
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I was so engrossed in looking at this wonderful man for the first time that everything else faded away. What impressed me most was his rather wild quality, as of something untamed, and his truly remarkable eyes. He smiled, and motioned for me to sit beside him. He took my hand and from time to time patted my shoulder. We sat for several minutes in silence, and I was aware of a great feeling of love and peace emanating from him; also a curious feeling of recognition came to me, as if I had found a long lost friend. Then Baba took my left hand, and some sort of wave of strength passed to me from him. It was as if an electric current of pure love were turned on, which filled me with ecstasy. I began to breathe deeply, as if taking an anesthetic... The feeling in me was that I must serve him in some way. There were many things I should have liked to ask him, but all questions seemed irrelevant and inadequate. |
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Quentin Tod 1931, London Av p134-135 |
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Well, I went upstairs into his little room, which resembled a monastic cell because its stone walls were very thick. Baba was seated on a cot, robed in white. I don't know what happened... All I know is that I found myself on my knees at Baba's feet, crying as I think I had never cried before. The tears were streaming down my face. I don't think I was happy - I don't think I was unhappy. Perhaps the tears seemed to wash away all that happened to me in the past, all that I had regretted. I was empty, in a sense, yet filled with lightness and new dawn - fresh life. I felt clean and light. I don't know how long this weeping lasted, I couldn't tell you - it was timeless. Baba dictated on the board, which I heard Chanji interpret, "She is to stay near me." Somebody picked me up. I was put to bed, and fell into a deep slumber. I can't explain what happened... I always loved Jesus Christ, and it seemed to me that Baba was like the Jesus I had known as a child in the paintings depicting him. I felt this tremendous love, this tremendous compassion. Although there was a great deal to criticise in me, and even be stern about (I most certainly had not always been as good or nice a person as I should have been), in his eyes there was nothing but understanding and compassion, and no condemnation at all. I think it was that that won me over to him. However sensual one had been, however undutiful, ungrateful or careless, whatever one's faults were that he saw, it seemed as if he saw what one might become, and drew this out. |
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Kim Tolhurst 14 September 1931, East Challacombe, England LM4 p1418 |
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I walked to the small courtyard upon which the doorway opened, and lit the hanging lantern, then stood in the passageway waiting. The cars pulled into the driveway. Meredith Starr got out first, and came forward with outstretched hand. I returned his greeting, but my eyes were on the Master, who was directly behind him, looking into me with a deeply knowing smile. How long his eyes embraced me, I do not know, but at some moment Merediths voice recalled me to temporal surroundings: Jean, this is Shri Meher Baba. My most outstanding impression of that first meeting is one of peering into bottomless pools of infinite love and tenderness, as my eyes met his. My heart pounded with tremendous excitement, and for a while I could not speak. I felt that in an inexplicable way, he was the reason for my very existence; that I had never really lived until this moment; that he was deeply familiar and precious to me, even as I was no stranger, and very dear to him. I'm so happy you have come, I finally managed to say... I knew he knew all I yearned to say, but could not utter. Later, I showed him to his rooms, and sat beside him on the divan as I told him of the members of the group, and placed the house and our services at his disposal, to be used by him as he deemed best. Only my words were spoken, because Baba had been maintaining silence then for seven years. Yet to my heart he said many things, and on his little alphabet board, which Starr read for me, he spelled out, I am so happy, so very happy. His eyes were filled with tears... Suddenly a cloud of concern passed over his happy face as he noticed my bandaged thumb. I had cut it deeply that evening with a bread knife. He wanted to know how it had happened. I tried to make light of it, as it deserved. But Baba insisted on knowing the details. Tenderly he placed his hand over the bandage, and spelled out on his alphabet board that it would be entirely healed by morning. It was... ... The next morning, after breakfast, while our friends waited eagerly in the room below, I went up to Babas quarters. I felt I wanted only to be quiet in his presence, and for five wonderful minutes he let me sit silently with him. Then he asked, spelling out the words on his board: What are you thinking about? I could not put my thoughts into words. In truth they were, I told Baba, too abstract even to recall. He replied, You need not try. I know what you were thinking. I know what you thought yesterday, what you will think a year from now. For a long moment I was speechless... Then I found my voice. Is it because you see things whole - unfettered by time? He nodded his confirmation. Again I sat silent for a few minutes before replying: This seems so familiar, to be sitting here with you like this, Baba. I feel as if I had always done it. He assured me it was so. You've been with me for ages. ... I left the room in tears - purifying tears in which joy and pain strangely mingle; unashamed tears which both humble and exalt one. |
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Jean Adriel 6-7 November 1931, Harmon-on-Hudson, New York Av p14-17 |
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He gave me more, far more, in the space of three minutes, than I had gained in thirty years of earnest seeking, because I actually experienced the definite gift of grace and divine love that he bestowed, whereas others could only talk about it. |
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Mary Backett 1932? London Av p136 |
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I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT MYSELF A Portrait of a Happy Man, Silent Seven Years, Who is Seeking to Right the World Through Love by Frederick L. Collins "I want you to come to tea," said my friend, "with Shri Sadguru Meher Baba." "With what?" My friend smiled in her most superior manner. "With the new perfect master from India." I am not much on perfect masters, myself. Or on tea. But my friend was insistent. So off we went to visit her globetrotting Parsee. But in the taxicab my reluctance grew into a sort of terror. "What language does this friend of yours speak?" I asked. "He doesn't speak at all,' was the reply. "He hasn't spoken for seven years." The interview was looking sourer and sourer to me. "What did you say his name was?" I asked in desperation. My companion was very patient. "Shri," she said, "which means Sir. Sadguru, which means perfect master. Meher, which means compassionate. And Baba, which means father." Sir Perfect Master Compassionate Father! That was a large order. But I must say that Shri Sadguru Meher Baba, in spite of the fact that he had dressed up for tea in an imitation chinchilla coat and light gray flannel pants, looked every inch the part. Not very many inches, to be sure; for Baba - that's what I decided to call him - was small, in the oriental fashion; yet somehow strangely impressive. How, in such a get-up, he managed to be anything but funny was more than I could see. Certainly it was not the sartorial or tonsorial effect of Shri Sadguru Meher Baba, as he sat draped over the soft red upholstery of Mrs. Phelps Stokes' best square-backed couch, that kept me from laughing out loud. It must have been - although I was loath to admit it - the man himself. A stunning yellow-headed, ruddy Englishwoman was pouring Baba's tea - on her knees by a small tabouret in front of the Sadguru. Baba is not married. At thirty-seven, he even flirts tentatively with the doctrine of celibacy as a sort of world sedative. But his disciples made it clear that he did not prescribe celibacy for his followers. "Sex for me," he said, "does not exist." Of course, he did not say it; but he communicated it to me by a method I'll explain in a minute. "Modern marriage is too much of a business affair," he continued. "No wonder it so often results in divorce. Husband and wife should put each other first. It is essential for a happy family life that selfless love should predominate over lust." I ventured to suggest that we who live in America had a good many problems right now besides sex problems. Baba smiled sympathetically, humorously. His smile was like an open fire in a cold house. "Things have been messed up a good deal here," he said, "by lack of understanding." The fact that this Parsee messiah was discussing our American problems in American language as naturally as if he had lived here all his life didn't seem so strange as you might think. And the fact that he was discussing them, not with his perfectly good voice, but by means of letters which he pointed to on a small blackboard which he held on his lap, did not seem strange either. Seven year silences, it seems, are not uncommon events among the holy men of India. The uncommon thing about Baba's was that he made you forget it so soon and so completely. He could 'talk' in seven different languages on his little board, and could spell out his words in any of the seven faster than human eye could follow. He was articulate in many other ways, this odd little man who had come out of the East to save the world. He talked with his eyes, which I must say are the largest and softest and shiningest and smilingest I ever saw; and with jolly little grunts; and with affectionate pats of approval and agreement. Then there was his smile. "What are you going to do," I asked, "for this 'messed-up' country of ours?" "It is my country too," he said simply. Apparently he feels that way about every country. When Gandhi came to him and asked him to help him, Baba replied, "Not until you abandon politics. I have no politics." Baba is not an Indian in the sense that Gandhi is. He is a Persian, born in Poona, South India, on February 25, 1895.* He was by birth a racial internationalist. And by profession a religious one. He tolerated, he said, all cults and all faiths. His aim was to make those who professed faith worthy of the faith they professed. It happened that he himself was born in the religion of Zoroaster, but he was apparently no proselytizer for any creed or dogma. *actually 1894 "I intend to bring together all religions and cults, like beads on one string, and revitalise them," he said, "for individual and collective needs. This is my mission to the West." His special reason for visiting us for the purpose of breaking his seven year silence was, he said, that America, being most deeply engrossed in material things, and suffering most in consequence, was the soil in which a new spiritual rebirth would first take place. "When you break your silence," I asked, "how will you do it? By radio?" "Surely not by radio!" exclaimed one of his London disciples in his most horrified British manner. "Why not?" spelled out Baba on his board. Skeptic that I was, I could not doubt his sincerity. Or his courage. When I asked him to particularize about the kinds of messing up to which we in America had been subjected, he might easily have sought refuge behind one of the general, vague assertions of principle with which all Eastern writings are filled. "America has great energy," he said, "but a great deal of it is misdirected; and misdirected energy produces destructive complexes, and these in turn produce fear, greed, lust and anger, which result in moral and spiritual decay." "Those are strong words," I protested. He smiled reassuringly. He certainly could do wonders with that smile. "Is it your aim to help us with our spiritual problems or our practical problems?" I asked. "Our spiritual problems are our practical ones." "And just how do you intend to help?" "The help I will give will produce a change of heart in thousands, and then right thinking and living will result automatically." "Will that solve the depression problem?" "It will solve every problem." "Prohibition?" "Yes - and the problem behind prohibition," he said. "I do not believe in drink, and none of my followers drink. But I know that prohibition should never have been put in effect the way it was." "All at once?" "Yes. Spirits should have been barred, but not beer and wine. Then we might have had a law that could be enforced. As it is, we have a law which makes money for dishonest officials and increases all vices everywhere." You may not agree with this opinion. But at least it is an opinion. I had to admit that, for all his seven year silence, Meher Baba had said more in these few spelled-out sentences than many a senator or party platform maker had mouthed in seven hour speeches. "I believe in self-control," he continued, "not in coercion. Coercion is based on oppression, and results in fear and hatred. Self-control requires courage, and may be induced by love. We will do many things for those whom we love which we would not ordinarily do - which we would not ordinarily have the strength of mind and power to do. How many habits have we been able to break through love, which we would never have had the strength to break without love? And when the love is universal love, all habits which are detrimental, either to the individual or to the social order, will be dissolved in its light. "It is the same way with this economic situation you were asking me about," he added. "There is a very close connection between a man's character and his circumstances, between his internal environment of thoughts and desires and his external environment. 'As within, so without' is the law. "If we are dissatisfied with our environment, it is usually because we do not know how to adjust ourselves properly to the environment. Instead of thinking, 'How can I get out of this?' and becoming discouraged or depressed, we should think, 'What is the lesson I should learn from this experience?' "Poverty, if cheerfully endured, provided one does one's best to find work, develops humility and patience, and can greatly assist spiritual progress. It is a test of character. I know it is difficult to be cheerful when starving, but all the worthwhile things are difficult. "Even millionaires are unhappy unless they have learned to think and live rightly." I asked him if he thought a general acceptance of his doctrine of love would bring about a more equable distribution of what you and I need every day - money. "It must," he replied. "Suppose we all loved each other as deeply as we now love the one whom we love best. The most natural desire of love is to share what one has with the beloved. The desire to share with everyone would produce a condition under which it would be a disgrace rather than an honor for anyone to possess more than anyone else." Sex. Prohibition. Poverty. All were to be banished by love. "Do you expect to do this all at once?" I asked. "No. But sooner than you think. People will respond." "Why?" "They will have to." He did not explain. But he didn't need to: I knew he would say that the compelling force would be love. "What are you going to do first?" I asked. "Go to China. But I shall come right back. I am only staying there a day." I knew he had recently come sixteen thousand miles from his native India by way of Port Said, Marseilles, Southampton and Greenwich Village. And now he was planning to go to China just for a day. To China, by way of Hollywood and Honolulu! "I want to lay a complete cable," he said, "between the East and the West." I did not laugh. I might have, half an hour before. I am sure I would have three years before, when the gospel of acquisitiveness was saving, or enslaving, the world. But now, God knows, we need a cable-layer, a Sadguru, a perfect master - someone to lead us out of the slough of materialistic despond - and if he comes in the guise of a mustachioed Parsee in an imitation-fur pajama jacket and grey flannel pants, who cares? And after all, why shouldn't he? In his ashram in India - an ashram is a sort of retreat - Baba is treated almost as a god. Listen to the words of a disciple: "The devotion inspired by Shri Meher Baba has to be seen to be believed. Practically everyone in the ashram would have laid down his life for the master. A glance or a touch from him was more esteemed than a handful of jewels. Even at a slight reproof, men have been known to sob for days." "Oh, that's all right for India," you say; "but this -" Well, here he was, this "perfect master," in his doubtful chinchilla jacket, on Mrs. Phelps Stokes square-backed sofa. And here was I, the unbeliever, sitting joyously beside him. He just looked at me and smiled. I think I smiled too. We sat that way a long time. I know you will laugh, but we did! Baba believes in meditation; and when you are with him, you believe as Baba does. I can hardly believe it now, but I distinctly remember I was having a good time. Everybody does have a good time with Baba; for he is that rare being, a happy man! |
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Frederick L. Collins 18 May 1932, New York Liberty Magazine, July? 1932, p26-27 Part of this article is reproduced in LM5 p1620-1622 |
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The article began: "(Reading time: 9 minutes 55 seconds.)" A photo of Collins was included in the article, with this description : "Frederick L. Collins is the author of such sprightly books as 'This King Business,' and has been a magazine editor and publisher. During the World War he served in the War, Treasury and Interior Departments." Baba's age seemed to be about thirty-five. His skin was as fair as any European's. His hair and mustache were dark brown, making a vivid contrast to his face, and he had large, luminous eyes. Serenity and strength radiated from his presence, and his face seemed lit up as if by an inner light. He told us not to worry about anything, but just to trust him and follow his instructions, and that if we did so, we could not fail to progress. In a few days we felt completely at home. There were some three hundred people in his ashram, including about seventy boys. On the fourth or fifth day, Shri Meher Baba asked me to keep silence and to spend practically all my time in meditation. I remained silent for six months, only resuming speech the day I left for Bombay. The Master had been silent for nearly seven years. He communicates by means of signs and an alphabet board. After a few weeks, I became unconscious of space and time. The outward world ceased to exist for me, and I experienced immense inrushes of cosmic consciousness. A love so immense flooded my being that for three months tears continually streamed from my eyes - yet I am by no means a sentimental man. The deepest springs of life in my heart had been awakened. My life had been kindled by the flame of divine love which radiates continually from the Master. The springtide of creation was born anew in my soul. The old consciousness dissolved like a mist before the rising sun, and was replaced by a new heaven and a new earth. My life was one continual symphony of inspiration. I could have written poetry all day and night for months on end. |
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Meredith Starr March? 1932 in an article by Henry Forman in the New York Times, LM5 p1631-1632 |
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I met Baba on his first visit to England in 1931... Until a few days earlier I had not heard of his existence. He was awaited with intense excitement. I found him unaffected and natural, and he impressed me as being exceptionally self-poised and with marked ease of manner. He took everything as a matter of course, and yet seemed to bestow meaning on the most casual things... Baba is a small man, five feet six inches in height, slight in build, with a rather large head, or a head that appears to be large, an aquiline nose, and an olive complexion. He is extremely animated, has a mobile face, constantly smiles, and has expressive hands and gestures. He creates the opposite of a sense of remoteness or strangeness, making an immediately friendly appeal to those who meet him. He is indeed disarming in his obvious simplicity, and the atmosphere that surrounds him might be described as that of innocence. He is childlike and mischievous as well as innocent. I discovered, and others told me, that he is a superb actor with quickly changing moods. At times he appears serious and worried, and I have seen him look tired and ill. At such moments he has an air of intense preoccupation. At other times, and normally, he seems to have no cares whatever and invites confidence. His physical changes are rapid: one day he will be ill and worn; the next, well, youthful-looking and lively. His hair is long, and he lets it grow rather wild. In the West he keeps it covered as best he can under a hat when he goes outdoors; but it must be confessed that any hat looks odd upon that abundant hair; and he dresses in ordinary European clothes, but indoors usually wears a white Indian garment. He is a strict vegetarian, takes no alcohol, and does not smoke. Though his tastes in food are simple, he is often difficult to please. Sometimes in Italy the housekeepers would plan a delicious meal of rice, vegetables cooked with hot spices, lentils, grapes, peaches, green figs, and orange juice. To make happy those who had prepared the meal, he would say it was delicious; but afterwards it would be noticed that he had barely nibbled at a few dishes. The only evidence of eating would be a slice of bread with a hole in the centre. He eats, but seems to have no desire for eating. He rises early in the morning, and unless he is in seclusion, almost invariably has one or more disciples sleeping in the same room with him. Unless he is in seclusion he takes a great deal of exercise, walking rapidly several miles every day, and even in seclusion he walks continually up and down the cell or room in which he confines himself. He loves mountain-climbing. He reads and speaks English and four other languages fluently. His use of English is that of a cultivated man. He has read much English literature, especially Shakespeare and the poets Shelley, Wordsworth and Tennyson. He knows, of course, the Persian and Indian poets, his favorite being Hafez. He has himself written many poems and songs... He has considerable taste for music, preferring, of course, Indian music, but liking Western music too. At times he has Indian drums and other musical instruments with him on his travels on which his disciples play, and also a gramophone. Before his silence he often sang... He is fond of games, particularly of a spiritual game based on the evolution of the soul called Atya Patya. He plays many indoor games, including table tennis, and is particularly fond of ball games outdoors. When he plays he is, say his disciples, Ôno Master, but one of us. He delights in the presence of children, and romps with them as one of themselves. He is a strict disciplinarian over those who are nearest to him, not the slightest departure from the rules he lays down being overlooked. He is methodical about business and attends to every detail himself. He makes a practice of requiring apparently impossible things to be done, even what may seem to be trifling and unnecessary. Sometimes, for instance, in the most awkward places he will ask for food. In a train, perhaps, just as it is about to start, he will ask for hot milk, and his disciple must fetch it even though it may mean almost certain missing of the train. His disciples have said to me, however, that he never orders what is really beyond their power to do. He takes almost incredible quantities of luggage with him on his travels, most of it perhaps never being opened. He changes his arrangements constantly, so that none of those with him knows exactly what is to happen from day to day... Baba fasts frequently for long or short periods. During these times of fasting he sometimes sees no one except the two or three disciples appointed to attend upon him. Neither, as a rule, does he attend to any outside affairs, though he does not neglect any detail concerning the Mandali around him. The fast consists of entire absence from solid food, and he takes as a rule only a little weak tea, and sometimes, though not often, a little milk... In such periods he is engaged, he declares, in spiritual activities... It is not for himself that Baba fasts, but for the sake of others. As a result of fasting, Baba naturally becomes weak, and, as I have pointed out earlier, suffers in a normal physical way, though not always, for at times he does more physical work than usual during fasts. His most striking personal characteristic is his silence, which started on July 10, 1925. Since then, instead of speaking, he has used an alphabet board, and points to the letters to convey what he has to say. He uses abbreviations and a variety of signs and gestures with his hands to indicate certain words, so that to anyone familiar with his ways he expresses himself almost as quickly as by speech. When he receives visitors there is usually an interpreter present to explain what he says, but he frequently allows visitors to follow him closely on the alphabet board and to read for themselves... Baba did not undertake silence in accordance with a vow... Baba is silent, he says, as he fasts, for the sake of others... What is his work? To transform human consciousness from the illusion of the world and the self to the reality of the spirit and God; or, to put it another way, to enable men to know by experience the truth of the infinite self which is in all. In particular, it is to train and perfect a few disciples, which is its personal aspect, and to establish contacts with individuals, which is its world aspect. I said to him on one occasion, 'What do you ask of those who come into contact with you?' He replied, 'To realise the self through love.' I said, 'What do you ask of your disciples?' His answer was, 'To follow strictly my instructions to the same end.' He added, 'I ask this of close disciples only.' Babas work, therefore, is to awaken people to the realisation of their true selves. That means, to put it shortly, to be as he is. |
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Charles Purdom 1936, London, England PM p230-236 |