Sitting here still saturated in tonight's satsang. It totally blew the doors off my ideas, those matters I thought I had all figured out. I doubted the potential of an online meeting or that I could relate to a group presence. Blammo!!! Everything you addressed this evening felt as though my thoughts were being read out loud. The questions I had for you this evening vanished, totally inconsequential. Never claimed anyone as my teacher. No person I've encountered or been introduced to could ever penetrate the Gate Keeper, my ego -- Yeah, it's that BIG! And no way could my pride ever allow me to call anyone "my Guru." Then, Lakshmi climbed into your lap.
I believe I am losing my mind.
Much of "who" I believed I was has either been taken away, lost or damaged in the last few years. Surely, further changes, particularly concerning matters I've been resisting and very fearful are yet to come. It wouldn't be truthful to claim that I'm totally at ease. Yet, there is this unexplainable ability to find moments of peace. There are unexpected outbursts of joy, just little gushes of happiness experienced for no reason found. Then the sadness comes; but it doesn't stick around for too long.
Months ago, I was drawn to the writing/recordings of Robert Adams after a book review read a year ago first got my attention. After that, it seemed like I would see a references to him everywhere I turned. I ordered CDs and books through Infinity. (Not to be mean-spirited: It's a miracle the propaganda that accompanied that transaction with Infinity, along with subsequent correspondence with "Prem Devi" didn't turn me away from wanting to know more about Jnana Marga. As I began listening to recordings of Robert, I was hit with something totally unexpected. For the last 6 months, every night -- without fail -- as I go to sleep, Robert's voice speaks through a series of 6 CDs. I took my time reading "Silence of the Heart," and honestly admitted I dearly want(ed) what he pointed to. When you say he truly was not of this world -- that speaks to me. That much I get. Though I sense he possessed genuine humility, I have few illusions of really knowing Robert, and I doubt he offered a gentle ride into Self Realization.
And anyone who had the courage to venture the path of a true Jnani, or come anywhere near where Robert spoke from, had to want it more than ego. I sense there are very few folks who really got what Robert was about . . . but you did, Edji. I trust you loved him deeply.
Tonight, sitting in satsang, all my preconceived ideas of what this would be like were wiped out, along with all my very stupid questions. I didn't attend the first satsang due to a panic attack. When I contacted Jo-Ann to forfeit my registration, I couldn't even explain to her what had occurred; I felt ashamed. Something shifted again. I was transcribing some video and hearing your teaching over and over. Listening to Robert every night, making a formalized sitting schedule (upon Rajiv's suggestion), and throughout the day observing --- seeing if I can see who is "seeing."Again words fail me. The paradox is that I've always enjoyed finding just the right words to convey ideas, and I'm continually coming up with NOTHING.
My ego has never bowed down or would admit to sappy praises for another human being. In some way, my ego was held at bay, allowing me to bask in a feeling of profound love during satsang. As I looked at each face in those teeny-tiny Webex windows, I felt an indescribable caring for each person present. I recognized something in "YOU" I wasn't ready or willing to observe before tonight's meeting - a LOVE unlike anything I've experienced. It didn't even feel like a thought or a person-to-person sentiment -- more of a consciousness, however labeled -- the next best word: truth . . . without a doubt. As I looked upon Rajiv this evening, I felt another wave of LOVE, overwhelming gratitude for his patience and assistance with meditation techniques.
I don't know that I'm brave. I do know I am exactly where I am intended to be.
My love and respect to you, dear Edji.
J.
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