Chapter 40 pp 380-390
Within few years before and after Thakur had left his body so many others joined him --- Bholanath Sarker, Sushil Bose, Kesto-da, the scientist, Goshai-da, --- the last of the big three –Ashu Joerdar. Radharaman Joerdar, Anil Ganguli, Robi Roy, Chakrapani das, Jnan Goswami, Chuni Lal Roy Choudhury and so many others. It seemed as if Thakur had taken his team away with him. It was a whole new ball game, and a game with more regulations at that. My unstructured nature made me reluctant to do more that support from the sidelines. Often I thought of that message which Thakur had given beore I had gone to America a decade earlier :
“Standing in the whirlpool of necessity
That seeks to serve the life of man today.
My prayer, my appeal to the Supreme Father is
May you be blessed and make all blessed
Ever stretching your steps toward eternal becoming.
This beggar’s naked plea is not for your alone
But for every single being in the world.
O, Father the Supreme!
May none in the world of man be deprived
Nor be the cause for others’ deprivation.
I have answered to your quest
‘What I see, what I think, what I know
Is beneficial to our life and growth
With every blazing, outspoken reply
As far as I conceive.
Do what you think good
For yourself, your family, your country.
May you be anointed with bliss.
And always do remember ;
Wherever good in all respects
Is invoked and imbibed
There, bliss blazed with God resides
With a soothing shower of smile.
To find out what might be good for myself, my family and my country, I, along with Andre Louise, a resident of the Pyrenees near Lourdes, my old friend, Spence, who agreed to transfer his constant travelling from India to the U.S.A., started out by road for Europe and then by air to New York. Arriving in New York in March, 1970, we quickly discovered that Thakur’s ideas were more contemporary in the seventies than they had been in the sixties.
The apartment on Manhattan’s upper West Side which belonged to a devotee and former Peace Corps volunteer, Bob Cumming, was the first address of Satsang in the U.S.A. Neil Selden, a teacher and writer, who had been initiated in 1960, quickly started the ball rolling. Thakur’s profound yet simple concepts devotion were useful to Neil in his activities with a drug rehabilitation program in which he was a founding member. He inspired his wife and then a number of co-workers involved in the program to take initiation. Soon there was a group of about thirty people from various religious persuasions and economic backgrounds who helped establish Thakur’s Community of the Lovers of Existance in New York. I quickly discovered that the experience of unexpected and unplanned assistance spontaneously arriving at times of need could happen in American as well as India.
One month after our arrival, a gathering of about twenty of the new disciples was arranged at the home of a long-time Quaker friend, John Kaltenbach on his 35 acre, 28 room house in Lydnell, Pensylvania about halfway between New York City and Philadelphia. He with his wife, Ruth, and yongest daughter, Patience, lived there where he ran a small flower nursery and lectured at different Garden Clubs along the Main Line. Like so may Quakers, they were gentle, kind and hospitable. They didn’t realize what such hospitality would involve that week-end before Easter in 1970. On Wednesday, Neil mentioned that a rew more than twenty wanted to come. Could they? Thinking of John’s unlimited space and ignoring his and limited financial resources, I said, “Certainly. Invite anyone who wants to come.”
I went to John’s place Friday evening. “How many are coming?” John inquired. “I don’t know.” My voice was a little uneasy. John looked at me silently for a moment and reached in his pocket and brought out a 20 dollar bill. “Ray, it’s all we have.” With great assurance, I brought out a hundred doller bill I’d borrowed befor I left from David Carpenter, whose steady, never-failing encouragement and practical help have been truly a blessing for many many Indian and American disciples of Thakur.
“Don’t worry, John. It’ll all work out.” I was surprised how conficent my voice sounded.
The first cars began arriving about 9-00 N.M. by twelve there were more than thirty-five people. By 2-30, the cars were blocking the road and all the bedrooms, hallways and even the attic rooms were full. John’s taciturnity was being tested. He looked at me quizzically. “I didn’t realise so many would come.” My voice sounded flat.
Then, without direction or any command, an ever-present but often unmanifested elemnt in nature took over. Spontaneously, songs and discussions started. Hikes were organized. Some people went fro food; others to work in the kitchen. The evening meal of spaghetti and salad plus two cakes for birthday of a couple of guests managed to feed over one hundred people. Sunday there was a movie of Thakur, talks about him and the future of Satsang, another big meal and at 11-30 Sunday night when the last car left for New York, John put his arm around my shoulder. We walked back to the house where Ruth was sitting by the big open fireplace in the kitchen. I began pulling bills out of my pocket which various people had stuffed there as they left. So did John. When we counted them, we found 435 dollars. “afew hundred meals, around a hundred guests, people saying good-by with tears in their eyes and we end up with 315 dollars more then we started with!” Tears glistened in John’s eyes. I smiled lamely. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “his system work here too.”
Our numbers grew rapidly. Neil and lee Selden, penny Thompson, Don Booth, Jay Gordon, Dolores Dennis, Frank and Louis Vaforn, David and Gesela Lichtgarn ….. one by one they came – psychiatrists, students, singers, professors and taxi drivers. Satsang moved from the upper west side to the lower east side of Manhattan. The commonsense Gallic conviction of Andre Louis, the practical palmistry and Brahminical faith of Hari Narayan Chakraborty and the saint-like appearance of Spencer combined to make the small 7th Street apartment in the East Village, the second chapter of Satsang, U.S.A.
Bruce Beaver was having a ‘bad-trip’ from LSD. He know he was going to jump out of the window of his third story apartment. He said to himself : “Before I jump, God, you can help me if yo want to … “ Then he didn’t jump but used the stairway instead. In the lobby he met Hari Narayan, had his palm read and heard about Thakur. Then he learned how the Name neutralizes drugs from Andre and took initiation from Spencer. One of many who started the second wave of devotees of Thakur in America.
A trickle of new disciples began making the pilgrimage to India to visit the Ashram – now without Thakur’s physical presence. Reassuringly, the ashram and the people who remained there still seemed to hold much of the old magic.
Stig Hjelmsgaard, a Danish youth who had joined Andre, Spencer and myself on our way back to New York in 1970, took initiation and shortly after, visited the ashram. His four month visit wakened a sense of purpose, and new inner discipline. He was deeply imporessed with Bor’da’s commanding yet loving presence, Kazal’s intense sense of mission and of all the stories of Thakur he recounted to those in New York who had never been to India, the story be heard from Chandreswar Sharma, now a prominent advocate in the Deoghar Court, he felt was the most enlightening and inspiring.
Stig had been questioning the reason for the daily morning offering which followers give to Thakur. It is called ‘Istovrity’. The following is Chandreswars’s account of Thakur’s explanation:
An old disciple approached Thakur in 1957. He knelt and between sobs he said, “Thakur, your mercy saved my life …” Thakur waited until the regarded some control and then inquired what had happened.
“I was walking down Bowbazar Street in Calcutta and the rain came. I rushed under an overhanging balcony. And then… “ I heard a voice .. your voice in my ear : ‘Get out !’ and I went back in the rain. I’d only gone twenty yards …” sob “when the building …” sob “… crumbled down and buried twelve people under it…” he broke down again, Finally, “all Merciful…”
“…. Not my mercy, “Thakur interrupted, “your mercy. Doing that morning offering every day has been giving a daily nudge to your urge for existence. After all these years, your urge for existence is stronger than your urge for comfort. The urge for comfort took you under the balcony ; your urge for existence, feeling threatened, pushed you back in the rain. Any overpowering urge develops its own intuition --- a drunkard or drug addict intuitively recognizes another. So I say : it was your mercy. I love your existence sincerely. Because you love me, you’ve grown to love your existence too.”
Stig’s recounting of Chandreswar’s story resulted in many of the American disciple calling this offering an ‘exercise for existence’.
It was fascinating to observe how the contrasting yet complimentary temperaments of Bor’da and Kazal served to fulfil the respective needs and varying temperaments of these new Americaan disciple : David and Gisela Lichtgarn returned from their visit to the ashram with a zealous, exclusive devotion to Bor’da. It impressed some, frightened a few and gave a stability to their marriage and an integration to their lives.
Dr. Penelope Barnes-Thompson on the other hand. Who had planned to all her problems to Kazal, ended up having to listen to all of hiss …. And then feeling her own problems had been solved. “… a real psychologist” … Ded Dennis received a ‘stick’ from Bor’da, inspiration from Kazal to become a Registered Nurse and fell in love with Bapun and his mother.
Lee Selden returned with an intense emotional and intellectual commitment Kazal. His nonchalant assimilation of Lee into his surgical operation team to assist in a kidney operation seemed very similar to the easy Imbrie way of doing big things. Her husband, one of the spark plugs of the American Satsang movement, found his gregarious and dynamic nature responded to one and all. He particularly enjoyed a discussion with Prafulla Das, one of that shrinking band of old devotees.
He had asked Prafull hwo he justified his many years of recording Thakur’s conversations since this was not usually the function of a business man. (Prafulla was by birth from the ‘Vaisya’ ro business community)
Prafulla explained : “I also asked Thakur about this. My family has been in business fro hundreds of generations; yet I alone from childhood searched for God. Thakur explained that since I was the only one amongst his disciples who had continually and sincerely recorded and preserved all his conversations. That Vaishya instinct toacquire materially had changed in my case from money into notebooks of his conversations. Why? Thakur said that perhaps my mother was in an exalted state at the time my conception, so my acquisitive instinct became attracted to religious material things. Rather than worldly material things.” Selden with is adaptability had no difficulty in explaining that the therapeutic community concept : ‘different stroke for different fold’ perhaps originated in the womb, if not before.
By the end of 1970, Satgsang USA was located in a large loft on Sixth Avenue in mid-Manhattan. Besides being a source of strength and inspiration to many, it was a shelter to some of the helpless students from India who were assisted to get gradualte degrees and return to work for Thakur in India.
It was here on New Year’s Eve, 1970, that another of those ‘happenings’ took place. Andre Louis had often proudly recounted the number of times he had crawled along the Stations of the Cross in Lourdes on bleeding knees. With that faith, he was confident that ‘Thakur would arrange’. And so posted notices in various places inviting everyone to Satsang for a party. He had, however, neglected to inform the people living there. At nine o’clock, people began drifting in. We weren’t prepared. We didn’t need to be. Andre was right. By midnight the large loft was packed with people singing, talking about Thakur and another wave of young people learned about the tools that could nurture them in their own faith and develop a responsiveness to the needs of their parents. By four A.M. when the last guests were leaving, I had grown accustomed to hearing : “Thank you very much. This is the first New Year’s Eve Party I’ve been to where there was not liquor, no drugs and very little food. But … but … it’s really been fantastic!”
What is the chemistry that suddenly sweeps over a group of people with not artificial stimulation from drugs or alcohol ? Suddenly an atmosphere of exaltation and freedom spreads fro heart to heart. Was this called love ? Or faith ?
Or God ? Wo knows ?
It didn’t happen every time, but it was happening often enough to make some of us hopeful that it might someday be a permanent acquisition.
By 1972, Satsang had moved to Queens, had been incorporated under the religious corporation laws of the State of New York, was income tax deductible. But more important, it has remained one of the few religious importation from India that has nurtured non-practicing Jews back into Judaism ; cynical Catholics back to their Church and rebelling sons and daughters to regain a fulfilling relationship with their parents. And this besides the usual recoveries from drugs, alcohol, mental depression --- a common effect in all religious groups …
“But, Ray, I don’t like to think about him ! He’s ruined my life !” “I know that.” I interrupted, “but I was wondering if you want to make an experiment so you can get rid of the bad feeling that seems to be eating your heart out. After all, the bitterness isn’t affecting your father, it’s hurting.”
“What experiment ?” Her voice was wary. “First say you’ll try, then I’ll tell you … but you have to agree to continue it for one month.” The girl bit her lip thoughtfully and finally blurted out “ “Alright ! I’ll do it … just to see … a experiment … “ “You’re sure ?” I insisted. She nodded.
“Alright, then beginning tomorrow morning, after you get up and wash, but before you eat anything, just take nickel or a dime in your hand, close your eyes and say to yourself : “Dad, I’m giving you this because I love you __”
“--- I kdon’t love him ! I hate him !” Her face was flushed. “I know, I know,” I gently insisted, you’re doing this as an experiment- not for him, but to get ride of your own bad feeling, remember” She nodded hesitantly. “So, after you say this, then put that nickel or dime into a little box. Do this every day for a month. At the end of the month take the accumulated money, go to the store, buy something for him that he likes and then, just like a mechanical doll walk up to him, hand it over and repeat like a tape recorder : ‘Here, Dad, I’m giving you this because I love you;” “ – Oh, I just couldn’t ! In the first place. I couldn’t put any feeling into it ; and in the second, it would be dishonest !”
“Remember … experiment … remember ?” Her head shook. She kept rubbing her chain with the back of her hand and staring at a crack in the follr. Finally she looked up grimly. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
Two weeks later I received a phone call. “Do you know something ?” She said, ‘I’, going to increase the amount from a dime to a quarter … then I can get him a carton of cigarettes … Kents…”
Another two weeks went by and the phone rang. “Are you Ray Houserman ?” a deep male voice asked. “Yes.” There was a long silence. “Well I just wanted to thank you. I’m Elinor’s father. She gave me a carton of cigarettes yesterday …” Another silence. “Well, I got your number from her and just wanted to tell you it’s the first gift she ever gave me and it was … well, it was very nice … she told me she got the idea from you .. now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t go for all this Indian yogi stuff and Mantras … I just wanted to call and thank you for getting me back my baby girl.”
other posts on Ocean in a Teacup - Ray Houserman IIIrd edition
Chapter 36
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html
Chapter 37
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html
chapter 38
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html
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