Yogananda and self realization

 When I was little my Mother used to bring me and my siblings to the Malibu location of Yogananda’s Self Realization center. I loved going because I felt the magic there. As a little girl I would dance around the place with the spirits and rainbows never truly aware of how real it all was. It was such a beautiful and serene place, but I hated it when the quiet old man in orange would start following me around. I would complain to my Mother that we were being followed. That an old man in orange would come up close to me nodding his head with his palms skyward looking deeply into my eyes and ask me questions.

Sometimes I would answer his questions, which were mostly about if I knew who he was and where I was from. Each visit, which were many seeing as we were poor and spiritual. And we’re always doing activities that didn’t cost money like going to the beach, hiking, visiting gardens and spiritual centers. I loved the Lake Shrine, yet I would dread the moment the old man in orange would show up. He would follow me around persistently yet mostly quietly and it wasn’t until years later that I truly understood that when my Mother and siblings said they couldn’t see him they really couldn’t see him.

I remember a specific visit when we were in the gallery looking at the museum of pictures, articles, art and personal belongings on display that represented Yogananda’s life. The old man in the orange was following me around standing to close and looking intently at me. He kept asking me silly questions that I didn’t understand, and when I asked him questions he gave me silly answers that didn’t quite make sense. He told me this was a museum honoring his life and mission. I was very young and couldn’t read very well. The newspaper articles were too wordy and boring for my young mind but I loved the pictures and found the man res presented in them intriguing, especially his eyes. “Do you know who that is?” He asked pointing at a black and white photo an adult Indian man sitting in an open eyed yet meditative pose. 

“Is it you?” I asked.

“Yes, it was,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “How do you know?” He asked. 

“You have the same eyes,” I replied innocently.

And so it continued throughout the gallery, he followed me around asking if I knew who people were. I was starting to get frustrated and felt dizzy. I asked him to leave me alone but he still followed me around so I tried to ignore him but finally started whining to my mother that the old man wouldn’t leave me alone and I wanted to leave and have a snack in the car.

“Hush!” my mother would say, “we are in a sacred space, stop whining about old men bothering you when  everyone around you is in a silent state of walking meditation.”

Pointing at him I cried, “But that man won’t leave me alone! He wants to know who I am and if I know him. I don’t know him, should I? Do you?” 

Looking where I pointed, my mother only saw a female docent further off at the end of the gallery near one of the exits eyeing us as I continued my small tantrum.

“What man?” My Mother asked, starting to blush with embarrassment at my outburst.

Fully frustrated at this point I pointed to a photo of an elderly Yogananda and yelled, “that man in the photo!”

The docent walked over and asked us to leave. Red faced, my Mother dragged me outside and spanked me in the parking lot for embarrassing her in a holy space.

I learned to hold my tongue, it only brought pain to mention when he appeared. I resented him even though his presence was calming and joyful. He never helped me when I cried, just stared lovingly at me from a distance.

Eventually I turned it off. I no longer acknowledged what others couldn’t validate. It no longer was important to me to convince people that I could see something/someone they couldn’t, it only brought pain and embarrassment.

Years later I felt drawn to Ananda, I knew I had a connection to the place but couldn’t remember why.

I went inside the studio and felt so much peace and love, and immediately my guard went up. Obviously something was wrong, such feelings usually proceeded moments of physical pain.

I was then approached by one of the two people I saw kneeling in prayer in front of an altar of statues. I recognized one statue as the likeness of Jesus, but the other three I couldn’t name.

The woman approached me, the old man in orange robes stood a little way behind her smiling joyfully at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Why was he so familiar? I had never been to that location before, it was a newer facility though I recognized it as something connected to the Lake Shrine in Malibu that I used to visit as a child.

The woman seemed wary of me. Here I was a young adult looking a bit posh and insecure in her newly opened spiritual center staring over her shoulder barely able to make eye contact.

I apologized for interrupting her prayer session with the Yogi, I had just felt compelled to stop by because I took my dog to the groomer next door.

Confused she turned to look where I was looking, saying I hadn’t interrupted and she was happy to answer any questions I had.

Thrown off by her nonchalance about the enigmatic presence of the orange clad Yogi I stumbled through saying I was interested in learning how to meditate and could come back later since it seemed she was busy.

Again she looked in the direction I was looking as if she couldn’t see the man who had been kneeling in prayer with her in front of the altar and said if later was better for me that was fine with her.

The back door of the center was open and I watched as the man turned and walked into the bright outline of the door. The woman was still speaking to me and gently insisting that I hadn’t interrupted anything and had time to talk now or we could schedule something for later. Feeling odd, I told her I’d come by later that night and have tea and chat with her. I asked if there was a restroom I could use and she indicated a door at the back of the room near the rear exit door that stood open. Not having seen the man exit the building I assumed he must be in the restroom and thanked her but said I needed to leave because I thought the man was using the facilities. 

The woman looked confused, and asked “what man?”

“The old man in orange who was praying with you when I first walked in,” I replied.

She looked shocked, “I’ve been here alone all day, you’re the first person to stop by today,” she said.

We walked to the back of the room she looked in the restroom and I peered out the back door into the alleyway. No one was there. The ringing and humming in my ears and body grew louder and I felt faint so I excused myself into the restroom shut the door and leaned over the sink until the feeling passed and I felt steady enough to attempt a confident smile, thank the lady for her time and drive home.

When I came back later that evening the lady didn’t seem to remember the old man so I didn’t bring it up. We had a nice chat and I signed up for meditation classes.