I Go to America

This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A YOGI by Parahamsa Yogananda I go to america america surely these people are americans this was my thought as a panoramic vision of western faces passed before my inward view Immersed in meditation, I was sitting behind some dusty boxes in the storeroom of the Ranchi School. A private spot was difficult to find during those busy years with the youngsters. The vision continued. A vast multitude, gazing at me intently, swept, actor-like, across the stage of consciousness.

The storeroom door opened. As usual, one of the young lads had discovered my hiding-place. Come here, Bimal, I cried gaily. I have news for you. The Lord is calling me to America. To America, the boy echoed my words in a tone that implied I had said to the moon, yes, I am going forth to discover America, like Columbus. He thought he had found India, surely there is a karmic link between those two lands. Bimal scampered away. Soon the whole school was informed by the two-legged newspaper.

I summoned the bewildered faculty, and gave the school into its charge. I know you will keep Lahiri Mahasaya's yoga ideals of education ever to the fore, I said. I shall write to you frequently god willing some day i shall be back tears stood in my eyes as i cast a last look at the little boys and the sunny acres of ranchi I knew, henceforth, I would dwell in far lands. I entrained for Calcutta a few hours after my vision. The following day I received an invitation to serve as the delegate from India to an international congress of religious liberals in America.

It was to convene that year in Boston, under the auspices of the American Unitarian Association. My head in a whirl, I sought out Sri Yukteswar in Serampore. Guruji, I have just been invited to address a religious congress in America. Shall I go? All doors are open for you,' Master replied simply. "'It is now, or never.' "'But, sir,' I said in dismay, "'what do I know about public speaking? Seldom have I given a lecture, and never in English.' "'English or no English, your words on yoga shall be heard in the West.

I laughed. Well, dear Guruji, I hardly think the Americans will learn Bengali. Please bless me with a push over the hurdles of the English language. When I broke the hurdles of the english language when i broke the news of my plans to father life he doubtless hoped that his question would bring my project to an embarrassing halt I thought of the similar one I had given long ago to my brother Ananta in Agra. Without ever much guile, I added, Father, perhaps God will put it into your mind to help me.

No, never, he glanced at me piteously. I was astounded. Therefore, when Father handed me the following day a cheque made out for a large amount. I give you this money, he said, not in my capacity as a father, but as a faithful disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. Go then to that far western land, spread there the creedless teachings of Kriya Yoga. I was immensely touched at the selfless spirit in which father had been able to quickly put aside his personal desires. The just realization had come to him during the preceding night that no ordinary desire for foreign travel was motivating my voyage.

Perhaps we shall not meet again in this life. Father, who was sixty-seven at this time, spoke sadly. An intuitive conviction prompted me to reply, Surely the Lord will bring us together once more. As I went about my preparations to leave Master, and my native land for the unknown shores of America, I experienced not a little trepidation. I had heard many stories about the materialistic Western atmosphere, one very different from the spiritual background of India, pervaded with the centuried aura of saints. An oriental teacher who will dare the western airs, I thought, must be hardly beyond the trials of any Himalayan cold.

One early morning I began to pray, with an adamant determination to continue to even die praying until i heard the voice of god i wanted his blessing and assurance that i would not lose myself hear the solace of divine permission. I prayed and prayed, muffling my sobs. No answer came. My silent petition increased in excruciating crescendo until at noon. I had reached a zenith. My brain could no longer withstand the pressure of my agonies. If I cried once more, with an increased depth of my inner passion, I felt as though my brain would split.

At that moment there came a knock outside the vestibule adjoining the Gourpas Road room, in which I was sitting. Opening the door, I saw a young man in the scanty garb of a younger Lahiri Mahasaya. He answered my thought, Yes, I am Babaji. He spoke melodiously in Hindi. Our Heavenly Father has heard your prayer. He commands me to tell you, follow the behests of your guru, and go to America. Fear not, you will be protected. After a vibrant pause, Babaji addressed me again. You are the one I have chosen to spread the message of Kriya Yoga in the West.

Long ago I met your guru, Yukteswar, at a Kumbh Mela. I told him then I would send you to him for training. I was speechless, choked with devotional awe at his presence, and deeply touched to hear from his own lips that he had guided me to Sri Yukteswar. I lay prostrate before the deathless guru. He graciously lifted me from the floor, telling me many things about my life. He then gave me some personal instruction, and uttered a few secret prophecies. Kriya Yoga, the scientific technique of God-realization, he finally said with solemnity, will ultimately spread in all lands, and aid in harmonizing the nations through man's personal, transcendental perception of the infinite father.

With a gaze of majestic power, the master electrified me by a glimpse of his cosmic consciousness. In a short while, he started toward the door. Do not try to follow me, he said. You will not be able to do so. Please, Babaji, don't go away, I cried repeatedly. Take me with you. Looking back, he replied, not now, some other time. Overcome by emotion, I disregarded his warning. As I tried to pursue him, I discovered that my feet were firmly rooted to the floor. From the door Babaji gave me a last affectionate glance.

He raised his hand by way of benediction, and walked away, my eyes fixed on him longingly. After a few minutes my feet were free. I sat down and went into a deep meditation, unceasingly thanking God, not only for answering my prayer, but for blessing me by a meeting with Babaji. My whole body seemed sanctified through the touch of the ancient, ever-youthful Master, long had it been my burning desire to behold him. Until now I have never recounted to anyone this story of my meeting with Babaji.

Holding it as the most sacred of my human experiences, I have hidden it in my heart. But the thought occurred to me that readers of this autobiography may be more inclined to believe in the reality of the secluded Babaji and his world interests, if I relate that I saw him with my own eyes. I have helped an artist to draw a true picture of the great Yogi Christ of modern India. It appears in this book. The eve of my departure for the United States found me in Sri Yukteswar's holy presence.

Forget you were born a Hindu, and don't be an American. Take the best of them both, Master said, in his calm way of wisdom. Be your true self, a child of God. Seek and incorporate into your being the best qualities of all your brothers scattered over the earth in various races. Then he blessed me. All those who come to you with faith, seeking God, will be helped. As you look at them, the spiritual current emanating from your eyes will enter into their brains and change their material habits, making them more God-conscious.

He went on, Your lot to attract sincere souls is very good. Everywhere you go, even in a wilderness, you will find friends. Both of his blessings have been amply demonstrated. I came alone to America, into a wilderness without a single friend, but there I found thousands ready to receive the time-tested soul-teachings. I left India in August 1920 on the city of Sparta, the first passenger boat sailing for America after the close of World War I. I had been able to book passage only after the removal, in ways fairly miraculous, of many red-tape difficulties concerned with the granting of my passport during the two months by which I was later to hear my name spoken by the Americans.

Please favour the passengers with a lecture next Thursday night. I think we would all benefit by a talk on the battle of life and how to fight it. Alas, I had to fight the battle of my own life, I discovered on Wednesday. Desperately trying to organise my ideas into a lecture in English, I finally abandoned all preparations. My thoughts, like a wild colt eyeing a saddle, refused any cooperation with the laws of English grammar. Fully trusting the master's past assurances, however, I appeared before my Thursday audience in the saloon of the steamer.

No eloquence rose to my lips. Speechlessly I stood before the assemblage. After an endurance contest lasting ten minutes, the audience realized my predicament and began to laugh. The situation was not funny to me at the moment. Indignantly I sent a silent prayer to Master. voice sounded instantly within my consciousness. My thoughts fell at once into a friendly relation with the English language. Forty-five minutes later the audience was still attentive. The talk won me a number of invitations to lecture later before various groups in America. I never could remember afterward a word that I had spoken.

By discreet inquiry I learned from a number of passengers, you gave an inspiring lecture in stirring and correct English. At this delightful news I humbly thanked my guru for his timely help, realizing anew that he was ever with me, setting at naught all barriers of time and space. Once in a while, during the remainder of the ocean trip, I experienced a few apprehensive twinges about the coming English lecture ordeal at the Boston Congress. Lord, I prayed, please let my inspiration be thyself, and not again the laughter-bombs of the audience.

The city of Sparta docked near Boston. In late September, on the 6th of October, I addressed the Congress with my maiden speech in America. It was well received. I sighed in America. It was well received. I sighed in relief. The magnanimous secretary of the American Unitarian Association wrote the following comment in a published account of the Congress proceedings. Swami Yogananda, delegate from the Brahmacharya Ashram of Ranchi, India, brought the greetings of his association to the Congress. In fluent English and a forcible delivery, he gave an address of a philosophical character on the science of religion, which has been printed in pamphlet form for a wider distribution religion he maintained is universal and it is one we cannot possibly universalize particular customs and convictions and ask all alike to follow and obey it.

Due to father's generous check, I was able to remain in America after the Congress was over. Four happy years were spent in humble circumstances in Boston. I gave public lectures, taught classes, and wrote a book of poems songs of the soul with a pre to the beautiful Alaskan north. With the help of large-hearted students, by the end of 1925 I had established an American headquarters on the Mount Washington estates of Los Angeles. The building is the one I had seen years before in my vision at Kashmir.

I hastened to send Sri Yukteswar pictures of these distant American activities. He replied with a postcard in Bengali, which I here translate. 11th August, 1926. Child of my heart, O Yogananda, seeing the photos of your school and students, what joy comes in my life I cannot express in words. I am melting in joy to see your yoga students of different cities, beholding your methods, in chant affirmations healing vibrations and divine healing prayers i cannot refrain from thanking you from my heart seeing the gate the winding hilly way upward and the beautiful scenery spread out beneath the mount washington estates i yearn to behold it all with my own eyes everything here is going on well through the groups of every denomination tens of thousands of americans received yoga initiation thoughts in nineteen twenty nine whispers from eternity with a preface by amelita galli curzi i give here from the book of slumber, as I ascend the spiral stairway of wakefulness, I whisper, God, God, God, thou art the food, and when I break my fast, of nightly separation from thee, I taste thee, and mentally say, Guard, guard, guard.

No matter where I go, The spotlight of my mind ever keeps turning on thee, And in the battle-din of activity, my silent war-cry is ever god god god when boisterous storms of trials shriek and when worries howl at me i drown their clamor guard when my mind weaves dreams with threads of memories then on that magic cloth i find embossed guard guard guard every night in time of deepest sleep my peace dreams and calls joy joy joy and my joy comes singing evermore God God God in waking eating working dreaming sleeping serving meditating chanting divinely loving my soul constantly hums unheard by any god god god sometimes usually on the first of the month when the bills rolled in for upkeep of the mount washington and other self-realization fellowship centers, I thought longingly of the simple peace of India.

But daily I saw a widening understanding between West and East. My soul rejoiced. I have found the great heart of America expressed in the wondrous lines of Emma Lazarus, Carved at the base of the Statue of Liberty, The Mother of Exiles. From her beacon hand Glows worldwide welcome, Her mild eyes command, The air-bridged harbour That twin cities frame. Keep, ancient lands, Your storied pomp, Cries she. With silent lips give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me i lift my lamp beside the golden door chapter thirty seven