The Abode of Yoga

Until my mom pulled Autobiography of a Yogi off her shelf, I had been an avowed atheist. I remember as an eight year old playing with some friends and telling them with contrarian glee that I didn ’t believe in God. The idea of God -- some white-haired, bearded old man sitting on a throne of gold in the sky -- made no sense to me. So, I rejected it. Since there was no other conception of God that I was aware of, I figured I was an atheist. Swami Yogananda changed that. His Autobiography (which you can read online here ) introduced me to a more complicated, personal and natural conception of the divine -- one that would shape the rest of my life. The first thing about Autobiography that grabbed my attention was Swami Yogananda ’s picture on the front cover. He’s beautiful. Even as an insecure 13 year old boy I could admit that. Swamiji radiated beauty. Despite his long hair and orange gown he didn ’t project an effeminate vibe. Plus, inexplicably, Swamiji seemed familiar to me.

Shortly after David Moretti's act of courage, I went to live with my dad for a year, which required me to change schools for sixth grade. By the next year though, I was back living with mom and attending Union Junior High School in San Jose. At Union I played football, wrestled, ran track, and in the process made new friends, the best of whom was Brett Jackson (pictured above). I met Brett on the track team. He was a middle distance runner who went on to set the school record for the half mile. Sadly, a few years later Brett would move away to Alaska with his family, where he suffered a horrible bike accident which left him severely disabled. Brett's physical problems were later compounded by negligent medical care, for which he was eventually compensated. Unfortunately, however, it resulted in his early death. While at Union though, Brett introduced me to a new friend of his: Charlie (pictured below, right). It was through meeting Charlie that my inner life was about to get

On October 18, 1981, I got the word that Sri Chinmoy had accepted me as one of his disciples. I was 16, a junior in high school. Young as I was, the story behind my applying to join what some in my family believed -- perhaps correctly -- to be a Hindu religious cult stretched back a few years and is a story of happenstance, serendipity and interesting personalities. Over the following nine years of my discipleship, I would meet some of the most unique individuals I've ever met and I'll do my best to draw attention to them as my story unfolds. First, though, I want to acknowledge my boyhood friend, David Moretti (pictured above). Dave was my best friend through grade school. His father worked for the Almaden winery when there were still vineyards in Silicon Valley, and his mother worked for a local bank. Unlike my parents, Dave's mom and dad hadn't divorced. I spent just about every day after elementary school hanging out at the Moretti's house. When the whole

On Sunday night, October 14, Jeevan and I walked past Guru's open casket at the appointed hour. Afterwards, as we had done the night before, we mingled outside the tennis court with our many friends. It was then that I sat down with Sahishnu (pictured above, in race director mode) and he told me about Guru's last hours. I wrote the following account from memory the following evening, October 15, once back in California: According to Sahishnu , on the night of Wednesday, October 10, 2007, Guru had a meditation at the tennis court. Aside from being Wednesday night -- an historically important night for Center meditations -- it was also the night before the Nobel Peace Prize was to be awarded, an award long cherished by Guru. At the end of the meditation, Guru asked for volunteers to stay for a few extra hours, after he had left the tennis court, to meditate at the court with the Peace Prize in mind. Eighty-five disciples volunteered and Guru then went home. Sahishnu , and Guru

By the afternoon of Friday, October 12, I was on a plane to San Jose, where I met up with my brother Jeevan. We then embarked for JFK, arriving there around 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning. After renting a car, our first stop was the Smile of the Beyond for breakfast. Between August 1985 and January 1989, I worked at the Smile of the Beyond full time -- 13 days every two weeks. For those three and a half years, I had two days off each month. At the start of my tour of duty, I worked under Shushoban, but soon thereafter Guru asked Sahishnu to take the reigns, and for most of those years it was Sahishnu, Satyajit, Ketan and me that made up the varsity squad. As Jeevan and I walked into the place that Saturday morning, not much appeared to have changed in the last 18 years. Sahishnu's towering presence was at the grill and Satyajit was at the salad bar. (Ketan was just up the street at his new cafe, The Panorama of my Silence Heart .) The mood in the place, however, was decidedly differen

Twenty-six years after he had accepted me as his disciple, Sri Chinmoy passed away at the age of 76. My good friend Sudhir Gilbert called me at work on the morning of October 11, 2007 to give me the news. I had just arrived at the office. Sudhir said that he, too, was at work. Apparenty, Guru had had a seizure of some kind and had died early that morning. Sudhir and the other workers at Victory Factory were closing down for the day. Sudhir said he'd call me when he'd heard more. I thanked him, hung up the phone, and moved to my office window, which looks out south and west from downtown San Diego towards the San Diego Bay, North Island, and the Pacific Ocean. I had a sense of finality, of moment, but no sadness. I called my brother Jeevan in Santa Cruz first and left a voicemail. I then called my sister Nirbachita in Puerto Rico, who picked up. I don't remember what was said or her reaction, other than surprise. It was a short conversation, though, and with it over I sat