We're all on a journey to find out who we really are and what our purpose is. You've probably noticed that the path usually isn't clear and direct. Read this book and be inspired by the story of someone who has suffered and is now living a life he loves. Be touched by his experiences and informed by the lessons he's learned. One big lesson: act now and don't wait! There's no time to waste, so learn more about yourself, decide where to focus your attention, and take steps to reinvent your life.

In the Path of Light with Maa

A Journey of Love and TransformationBy Swami Parameshwarananda

BALBOA PRESS

Copyright © 2011 Swami Parameshwarananda
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-3763-4

Contents

Foreword..............................................viiDedication............................................xiiiAcknowledgment........................................xv1. The Early Years....................................12. And Then Came Maa..................................113. Come Fly With Me!..................................254. Getting To The Bottom Of It........................435. Bridging East And West.............................536. From East To West To East..........................637. Taking Off For India...............................798. Creating Community In Crestone.....................899. Transitions........................................10710. Atmiji and Atmiyaji...............................12111. Becky and Me......................................13712. It All Comes Around...............................16313. Practice or You'll Get Rusty......................17314. Let There Be Light!...............................19315. My Favorites......................................21516. Let's Come to the Edge............................229Appendix: Reminders...................................233

Chapter One

The Early Years

What's a nice Jewish boy from the Midwest doing as a swami devoted to a guru and wearing whites with a shaved head?

First of all, there wasn't and isn't much for me to shave each day to end up with no hair. Second, I'm going to give you some clues about how this happened by explaining my background leading up to meeting Maa.

Start by taking a look at me below before and after Maa. Maa and I have joked for years about providing everyone with before-and-after photos to help them appreciate their transformations. Notice my hair in the older photo. A friend of mine during that period called me the draper because I draped my hair over to cover up what wasn't there (the wind wasn't my friend). You'll see this is symbolic and indicative of how I covered up a lot in my life at that time.

I was born in Chicago into a traditional Jewish family and moved to the suburbs, like many, when I was eleven. My life in Niles wasn't very eventful or too different from the norm. I had my bar mitzvah, mainly for the gifts. I went to movies, a pastime that hasn't changed. I went to Burger King; my diet has changed. I went to summer camp. My strongest memory is being thrown into the deep end of the swimming pool to learn how to swim. It didn't work. I just choked, swallowed a lot of water, was embarrassed, and hated going to the pool.

I always did well in school, but not in sports. I didn't have too many friends. I was bullied in those days by greasers, as we called them, and let's just say I didn't look forward to riding on the school bus. My extracurricular activities included choir, of which I was president in my senior year of high school, and theater, where I was a member of both the cast and crew. I understudied for Rolf in The Sound of Music, buy I didn't go on and become a star.

During my childhood and young adult years, I was very attached to my mother and thought I would never leave her. I got on all right with my father, who was pretty quiet and withdrawn, but I didn't really know him. I didn't get on well at all with my brother, who was angry and depressed for many years. He told me years later that I followed him around when I was young, and he ignored me. I never really knew him, either.

I was what one calls the "good child," meaning I wasn't a problem at school or at home. No cigarettes, no drugs, no alcohol, no sex. No fights, no rebellion. I was sensitive to the moods of the family and kept things as light as I could by joking, pleasing, and doing and being as was expected. There was an undercurrent of anger in the house, usually unexpressed. There was heavy silence during meals. The anger, resentment, and sadness continued to fester inside me for many years.

When I went to Beloit College in Wisconsin in 1972, it was the first time I'd been really independent. I continued with my love of French as a major. (I began studying French when I was eleven.) I added in psychology later as my double major. I met Leslie, my wife-to-be, that first year, on the first day of classes, appropriately in nineteenth-century French Romantic literature. I was excited by my first intimate relationship. We were friends at first, and I even let Leslie's boyfriend stay in my room during his visit to the campus. It then developed to something more during a visit to New York when I stayed with Leslie and her parents for the first time. Leslie's mother predicted this when we met; she was always very perceptive.

Leslie and I spent our junior year abroad in France on an exchange program with other students. We studied at La Faculté des Lettres in Rennes, Brittany, and stayed with different families. I lived in a little château with a gruffyet kind lieutenant colonel, his funny and eccentric wife, their beloved dachshund, and a maid. One of my exchange parents was a descendant of Lafayette, and one night after dinner Monsieur and Madame went to the salon armoire and pulled out letters written on yellowed parchment paper between Lafayette and General George Washington during the Revolutionary War. I was impressed. As for everyday living, I relished having a maid, dipping Nutella sandwiches on baguette into steaming hot chocolate in the morning, and running up the winding, red-carpeted staircase to my bedroom.

Leslie lived with a large, friendly, and boisterous family with many children. I relaxed being with them, listening to their heated political conversations over delicious meals. They represented diverse political factions, including Marxist-Leninist, Communist, and Fascist. I didn't catch everything they were saying and joined in when I could. This was in stark contrast to growing up where silence reigned supreme during meals.

After four months, Leslie and I finished our exchange program and moved to Paris, a city I loved immediately for its elegance, history and diversity. We lived in the first-floor servant's quarters of a townhouse on a gated street by the Seine and Eiffel Tower. It was on Rue Gaston St. Paul. I would have other Saint Pauls in my life (see two paragraphs below). By the way, my birth name was Paul, not that I'm a saint. My middle name was Harry, not that I'm that, either.

Leslie worked with a charter flight company on the Champs-Elysées in Paris, and I worked in a suburb, Neuilly-sur-Seine, as a bilingual receptionist at the American Hospital of Paris. I didn't use many skills, but I fought for tips and made some. I didn't enjoy taking the newly deceased's wealthy relatives to the morgue. After Paris, Leslie and I traveled for several months on a Eurail Pass throughout many different cities in Europe. We got engaged in Berne, Switzerland, diamond engagement ring and all.

We left Europe after almost a year overseas, lived in New York City with Leslie's parents, and worked as typists at Teachers College for college credit. Leslie's father, who was a brilliant intellectual and loved to drink and debate, put me to the test. Her brother was hostile and made it apparent he didn't like me. I kept as quiet as I could, continuing my pattern of holding in what I felt. My compensation was getting free tickets to the theater from her father, and eating terrific corned beef sandwiches and pickles at his...