These past two weeks spent working on the description of the days leading up to the mahasamadhi of Paramhansa Yogananda has taken me into a feeling of loving closeness with Master that is wonder-filled. His God-centered personality shines through the descriptions by various people, giving glimpses into his varied divine moods and ways that he lived his life.

One simply cannot measure a spiritual master by outward signs, although those signs may give a hint of his or her inner glory. We love to hear stories of any great saint, but to hear the story alone is a bit like looking into a room from the other side of a glass window—nice, but not the same as being in the room itself.

To enter the room where Master dwells means to enter deeply into your yogi’s cave of meditation and deep communion with God. In a world of suffering and isolation it comes as a great amazement to find that right within your own consciousness lays a treasure trove of union with the eternal, all blissful Consciousness of God. Without the clarion call of great souls who have themselves discovered this greatest of open secrets, who would guess at this truth?

This world acts as a maze of a thousand turns that keeps us from the hidden Goal. However, these same great knowers of God that tell us about the glowing kingdom within also give us the means for traversing the maze quickly and safely.

Master came to make you know that with intelligent use of your will you can jumpstart your journey; instead of plodding steps you may fly to your goal! A lofty promise, great words, and a moving testimony from his own life and experience that is proof of this truth.

In order to fulfill that promise we must apply the same principles with the same vigor as the great master did. We may doubtfully look through that glass window and say, “Well, that is alright for him, he is exceptional, but not for such a one as I.” This is delusion’s voice hissing to you that you cannot attain what Master accomplished. However, we must take our cue from the great Master’s life, attitude, and love for God: and strive as he strove, love as he loved, be willing to shake heaven and earth to uncover the hidden treasure trove!

Let us so transform our lives that we feel that we are living as kindred spirits with all the great spiritual masters. Mother felt that Master was so great that he was Christ come again. Boldly dare to claim your kinship with these greatest masters. Be inspired by Master’s life and example and know the greatest open secret in all the world.

Picture: Master-1950-Encinitas

Last Speech Given by Yoganandaji

Delivered at Hotel Biltmore on March, 1952

Your excellency, our Ambassador, illustrious and understanding Ambassador of free India. . .I bow to God in you.

I am not here in an advisory capacity. So I will relate a few snatches of my experiences. I remember my meeting with Mahatma Gandhi. That great prophet brought a practical method for peace to the warring modern world. Gandhi, who for the first time applied Christ principles to politics and won freedom for India, gave an example that should be followed by all nations to solve their troubles.

You, your Excellency, represent the great spiritual India. I wish that you bring the very best of my India to my America, and take the very best of my America to my India. But that is a very difficult task, not doubt, for in this world nations and men are all a little bit crazy, and they don’t know it—because people with the same kind of craziness mix together. But, when differently crazy people get together and compare notes, they find out their particular craziness.

Indeed your Excellency can discover the goodness of different nations. I think if we would gather together the great men of all lands—we could build such a model civilization that all nations would eventually form a United States of the World, with God guiding them through their conscience. (Applause)

India has great things to give to you, as you Americans can very greatly help India. But we often concentrate on our faults and not on our good qualities. I remember that when I first came to America in 1920, I was warned never to go in dark alleys, lest my scalp be removed by Red Indians! And whenever I saw a bald-headed man I thought some Indians had been at work! (laughter)

I remember, too, that when I first came here, I was riding one day to the seashore when I noticed some “Hot Dog” signs. In imagination I saw all kinds of dogs going through the meat chopper! And I thought, “My Lord, why did You bring me to the land where people eat dogs?” I asked a man what was inside those mysterious bags and he said, “Pork and beef.” I gasped in relief to find that Americans don’t eat dogs. (laughter)

One morning I was passing by an empty field next to a store. That evening as I passed that same way again, I saw a house standing in the field. I inquired of a man if the house had been there in the morning. “No,” he replied, “They just put it up.”

When I think of such energy, I like to be an American. But when I hear of so many American millionaires who die prematurely after making a business success, then I like to be a Hindu—to sit on the banks of the Ganges and concentrate on the factory of Mind from which spiritual skyscrapers can come and to think of the great masters of India who are her glory. Somewhere between the two great civilizations of efficient America and spiritual India lies the answer for a model world civilization.

It seems there is plenty of money for war, which brings in its wake great sufferings. We don’t seem to learn from these. If we have plenty of money for wholesale killings, couldn’t we picture the possibility that if all big leaders and all peoples got together, they could collect a vast fund that would banish poverty and ignorance from the face of the globe?

I do hope and pray, your Excellency, that you will always emphasize the airplanes of mercy from one country to another instead of airplanes that carry bombs to destroy. Let us work for peace on earth as never before. We want a congress of scientists, of ambassadors, of religious men who will constantly think how to make this world a better home, a spiritual home with God as our Guide. (Applause)

I am proud that I was born in India. I am so proud that we have a great Ambassador representing my spiritual India. I am proud today. I often say:

If mortal fires raze all her homes and golden paddy fields,

Yet to sleep on her ashes and dream immortality,

O India, I will be there!

God made the earth, and man made his confining countries

And their fancy-frozen boundaries.

Where Ganges, woods, Himalayan caves, and men dream God—

I am hallowed; my body touched that sod.

(With these last words, from his poem, “My India,” Paramhansaji slid to the floor, a beatific smile on his face. He had often said: “I do not wish to die in bed, but with my boots on, speaking of God and India.”)

Picture: Mrs. Sen pronams to Master; the last picture of his living form.

In our narrative we enter the last act, the evening of the banquet to honor the Ambassador of the “newly minted” nation of India; a fulfillment of Divine Mother’s whispered promise to Master that he would live to see the day of a free India. It has been moving and uplifting to take this journey with you of Master’s last days.

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The banquet at the Biltmore in 1952 was scheduled to start about 7 p.m. Shortly before that time Colonel Steinberg and Mr. Clifford Frederick (a resident disciple at the Mt. Washington Center, who had driven Master in his car to the hotel) went to Paramhansaji’s room to escort him downstairs. This trio entered the banquet hall—the Music Room of the Biltmore—a few minutes after seven o’clock. Yoganandaji was directed to his seat at the speakers’ table. On his right was Mme. Sen, a Bengali, wife of the Ambassador of India; on his left was Mrs. Sharma, an Englishwoman, wife of Dr. J.N. Sharma of Los Angeles. On this, the Last Supper of all, Master was thus symbolically placed between East and West.

About 240 guests were present, including thirty five SRF students from Los Angeles and nearby cities. Twenty persons were seated at the speakers’ table, long and comparatively narrow, which was placed on a platform that elevated the guests of honor above the floor level. The majority of the guests sat at circular tables. To accommodate those for whom no seats were available in the Music Room, additional tables were set up in an anteroom.

The Misses Fay and Virginia Wright (sisters who, with their mother Mrs. Rachel Wright, have been resident disciples at the Los Angeles headquarters for more than twenty years) were present at the banquet. They had made reservations for seats directly in front of Master’s place at the speakers’ table. Through some error their seats were given to other persons. Faye, Virginia and Sally (Miss Sahly) therefore sought out a table in the anteroom.

Yoganandaji looked at the tables in front of him and did not see the three disciples. He beckoned to Mr. Frederick, who was seated two tables away, and inquired, “Are Faye, Virginia and Sally here?” Mr. Frederick replied, “Yes, Sir,” and unobtrusively pointed them out to Master as they stood at the distant doorway of the anteroom.

“An expression of deep kindness, of very great blessing, then came over his face,” Mr. Frederick recounted later. The beloved Master, who never forgot any goodness shown him, thus remembered, by his look of farewell benediction, to thank three disciples who had long served him faithfully.

Mr. Frederick, who generally photographed Master and his guests at any SRF gathering, had been instructed by Yoganandaji not to take any pictures at the Biltmore. Probably Master had made that request because the banquet was to be given not by SRF but by the India Association of America. Unfailingly, in every situation that arose in daily life, Paramhansaji manifested an exquisite sense of propriety and courtesy.

Insignia of the handiwork of the Master Playwright may be detected in all the details in the drama of Yoganandaji’s passing. To SRF disciples it seems no accident that a commercial photographer was present at the banquet and took many beautiful pictures of the great guru during his last hours on earth.

The cameraman, Mr. Arthur Say, who also photographed Ambassador Sen and other celebrities, had never met Paramhansaji before March 7^th. The young man has long been interested in India, however, and spent several years there during the war. He attended the banquet as a guest of Mr. Ram Bagai, former president of the Hollywood Foreign Correspondents’ Association. “When I received a printed invitation from the India Association,” Mr. Say later told the editor of Self Realization Magazine, “I felt a strong inclination to accept it. The young lady who had planned to accompany me decided at the last minute not to go, but I was determined to be present.” He added. “I have never regretted it when I have obeyed the urgings of the still small voice within.”

Guests at the dinner were given their choice of several courses. Master was served with fruit salad, a vegetable plate, and strawberry parfait. But he ate very little. SRF disciples who were seated at nearby tables observed that their guru scarcely touched his food. He was attentive, however, to his dinner companions, and conversed affably with Mme. Sen and Mrs. Sharma. Halfway through the meal he summoned Mr. Frederick to fetch some butter for the Ambassador’s wife.

Mrs. Sharma later stated: “Paramhansaji was very kind and thoughtful. He said to me once or twice: ‘Please excuse my talking in Bengali with Madame Sen. We are having a wonderful time chatting in our mother tongue!’ Then the three of us would talk together for a while in English.

Paramhansaji was perspiring about the face but seemed happy and composed. He was in good health, apparently, and presented no signs of being tired, faint, or in pain.”

She added, “We talked of deep things—of mankind, and philosophies, and the Infinite God. The last words Paramhansaji said to me were these: ‘Always remember: life has its beautiful roses and also its thorns; and we must accept both.’”

We may perhaps surmise from these final words to Mrs. Sharma that Yoganandaji was attempting to soften slightly the shock that the gracious lady was soon to feel at his passing.

Paramhansaji was always an ideal guest, considerate and appreciative, whether in a private home or at a public function. But then, was there any way in which Master failed to display the beauty of a life that is attuned to the Divine Will?

[A description of various speakers is deleted here. We pick up the narrative once again]

. . .Tonight at the banquet, however, Yoganandaji did not gaze about him with his usual heartwarming smile, nor did he laugh at any of the amusing anecdotes in the various speeches. He was not stern, and only occasionally grave, but an aura of strangeness surrounded him that was quickly detected by all his disciples at nearby tables.

After the talk by Mr. Ford, Dr. Saund introduced Colonel Steinberg. This great friend of Self-Realization Fellowship spoke with fervor of its influence for peace and goodwill among the nations, and referred lovingly to Master as a “spiritual giant.” He then announced that Yoganandaji would address the assemblage.

As Paramhansaji rose to go to the speaker’s stand, Mme. Sen offered him a gesture of respect by placing her hands together in a pronam. It was a true symbolic tribute. By it one feels that the wife of the Ambassador conveyed the gratitude of India to its son in the West who was a living embodiment of its ancient spiritual culture.

(A few minutes later Yoganandaji was no longer a living embodiment. Mme. Sen’s touching tribute happily did not go unrecorded. Mr. Say caught in his camera lens the fleeting scene of the pronam. This photograph is auspicious not alone for its symbolic value but also because it is the last picture taken of the great guru’s living form.)

. . .Master had followed with intense ardor the efforts of Mahatma Gandhi to rescue India from foreign rule without recourse to war, and as the Divine Mother had assured Paramhansaji many years ago that “India will be free in your lifetime,” it was naturally a proud night in Master’s life when he could publicly welcome to Los Angeles the Ambassador of India. Echoes of that pride in his native land are to be found throughout his brief talk. “I love India,” he tells us in a poem, “because there I first learned to love God and all things beautiful.”

Yoganandaji’s talk was short. (It was over at 9:30 p.m., having lasted less than ten minutes.) He spoke more slowly, more measuredly, than was his wont. The attentive audience was seemingly caught in his magnetic web of love and harmony.

Paramhansaji finished his speech with a few lines from his poem, “My India.” Then, his eyes lifted, he turned slightly to his right and sank quietly to the floor. The great guru’s mission was ended.

I was made for Thee alone. . .My hands were made to serve Thee willingly. . .My voice was made to sing Thy glory. . .My feet were made to seek Thy temples everywhere. . .My eyes were made a chalice to hold Thy burning love. . .My ears were made to catch the music of Thy footsteps echoing through the halls of space. . .My lips were made to breathe forth Thy Praises.

These lines written by Master tell of the ideal use of the human body. Now his hands and feet, his eyes and ears and lips—all were stilled. As he departed from that physical form, surely its every atom sang to him in gratitude: You have used me well.

Picture of Ambassador Sen and Paramhansa Yogananda 

[Narrative of the day Master Left the body]

Another devotee recalls a few incidents of the following day—Friday, March 7^th, the Day of Destiny not only for the incomparable Master but for all his disciples. She writes:

“On the morning of the banquet, Master said, under his breath, ‘I have a very important engagement in March.’ I reminded him, ‘This is March, Sir,’ and he said, ‘Yes, it is.’ What engagement do you have that is so very important, Sir?’ I went on. ‘Is it the one with the Ambassador tonight?’ ‘No,’ he replied, ‘this one is very important.’ I questioned the other disciples, but no one knew of any engagement except the banquet for the Ambassador that evening.”

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Miss Faye Wright, Yoganandaji’s disciple since 1931, gives her recollection of his last day at the SRF headquarters: “Throughout the long day of March 7^th, Master was very quiet, asking that no one speak in his presence, and that those in adjoining rooms tiptoe softly about their work. Through the years the devotees had come to recognize this request as one that indicated that his consciousness was inwardly withdrawn to an even greater extent than usual. Often that day the disciples saw his eyes turn upward to the spiritual-eye center in the forehead. When he spoke at all, it was in terms of great affection, appreciation, and kindness.

“Most noticeable of all was the influence, felt by everyone who entered his sitting room, of the vibrations of intense divine love that emanated from him. The disciples felt as though they were standing in the presence of the Great Mother Herself. She had taken complete possession of him, it seemed and was using him as a perfect channel to send out waves of love to all creation.

“His prayer, the one he quoted most often, is: “May Thy love shine forever on the sanctuary of my devotion, and may I be able to awaken Thy love in all hearts.’ To the very end, then, Master’s ardent desire was fulfilled—that the hearts of others be inflamed with love for God.”

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Miss Sahly has written the following account of March 7^th: ‘On the morning he sent for me about 10 a.m. My first impression as I entered his room was of an unusually  deep and holy quiet, pervaded by  Aum vibration. He was meditating. I sat down and meditated with him—blessed privilege?—for ten minutes.

“He gave me some instructions about the trip to the Biltmore Hotel. A suite of two rooms had been engaged there for him, because it was his plan to go early and rest until it was time to take his place at the speakers’ table in the banquet room of the hotel.

“An incident occurred that showed how Divine Mother granted Master’s little wishes. He had asked me to be sure to get possession of the key to his hotel suite so he would not be delayed in reaching it. But the desk clerk had refused permission for the key to be taken away. However, two disciples went to the hotel on Friday afternoon to register for Master and to see the suite. The room attendant, they discovered, was a man who had long wanted to meet Master and was eager to be of service to him. He readily granted permission for the key, then in the door lock, to be carried off.

“At Mt. Washington that afternoon I packed an overnight bag for Master in case he decided to remain all night at the hotel, since the banquet and reception would not be over until late. I then went to my room. Returning to Master’s sitting room about 3:30 p.m., I opened the door quietly. A feeling of shock or apprehension came over me, for Master was lying in his large reclining chair in a position of such relaxation as to suggest the stillness of death. This was the thought that fled across my mind. I softly spoke a word of greeting. He opened his eyes a little, smiled, and touched my forehead with his blessed little hand. About four o’clock he went downstairs and, after a talk with several devotees, smilingly entered his car. The rain had stopped earlier, but the day was still misty. Nevertheless, as Master left the Mt. Washington Center, the sun came out briefly. It was the hour of heavy traffic; we did not reach the Biltmore until nearly 5 p.m. Having the room key with him enabled Master to go directly to his suite. He had been silent for the most part during the drive; the deep quiet still prevailed in his hotel room. I made one or two remarks, but he only replied: ‘Do not disturb my thoughts. My thoughts must not be disturbed.’ He spoke very softly and slowly, conveying to me a sense of his remoteness. I seated myself to wait till he was ready to go downstairs.

“As I look back over this day I see a singular significance in many apparently trifling happenings, all of which struck me with a queer little shock at the time, for fleeting seconds, as though it were all a picture; something ‘crystallized in time’ were the words that later came to my mind.’”

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“’On the last day,’ according to another disciple, ‘Master sat in his chair with his eyes half-closed almost the entire day, wanting no talking around him, and no one to speak until he spoke. He appeared to be completely withdrawn from everything, as though a veil were forming between him and the mundane world.

“In his hotel suite that evening, I noticed a strange look in his eyes, and asked him questions, hoping to receive satisfaction that all was well. But he evaded the questions many times. Looking back now, I realize that he knew he was soon to leave the body, for his eyes were veiled with a faraway look that I had never seen in them before. I asked him if he planned to remain at the hotel all night, and he replied, ‘I won’t be staying here tonight.’

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“Another disciple recalls that, just before Yoganandaji entered his car at Mt. Washington Center, he spoke to various monks and sisters, reminded them of the prime importance of their spiritual progress. Then he said: ‘Imagine! I have a room at the Biltmore. I am going back to where it all started.

(He was referring to his early days in Los Angeles, when he lived for many months at the Biltmore Hotel. From his room there, in 1925, he was able to look out of his window and see the many thousands of people queued around the block on each night that he was scheduled to lecture at the nearby Philharmonic Auditorium. “It looks like Times Square in New York during the rush hour,” one Los Angeles reporter wrote at the time. One evening in 1925 Master gazed down from his room at the waiting crowds near the Philharmonic and said to a disciple: ‘Babaji told me it would be like this.’)

Picture: Master eating lunch with India’s Ambassador Sen

I hope you have enjoyed reading these descriptions of Master’s Last Days as much as I have. As I type these notes in it feels as though I am there with Master and the disciples. Truly, Master has swept me into his Spirit, and it is pure bliss, even as it portrays so many human aspects as well.

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“Master got out of the car at the side entrance to the headquarters building, and began walking through the ground-floor hallway to the elevator. On the way he spied a crate in a corner. ‘What’s in that box?’ he cried at once. A disciple opened it, informing Master that it had been sent from Florida by air express by an SRF student, Mr. George, and that it had arrived at the Mt. Washington Center that very afternoon. The box was filled with green coconuts.

“’Divine Mother told me in the car that I would find something for me in the house here,’ Master said. ‘That is what she meant. I wrote to George a long time ago, asking him if there are any green coconuts in Florida. He didn’t reply and I forgot all about it. But Divine Mother didn’t forget! George will be much blessed for having sent these.’

“The top of the largest coconut was chopped off. Master gave a little shout. ‘Now for the juice!’ He drank it with relish, and shared the meat with all the disciples around him. He went on. ‘One coconut is a big meal, very healthful. This is the first time I am having green coconut juice since I returned to America from my trip to India sixteen years ago.’

“Though Master was chuckling merrily, the monks very strangely, were not smiling with him. We sensed a certain unreality in the atmosphere; was Master playing a part for our benefit? Though he spoke of material things, around him was an air of complete detachment.

“He continued, ‘I am just fulfilling the last little desires—desireless desires. If you have something, you enjoy it as a gift from God; if you don’t have it, you don’t mind.’ He stared toward the elevator, saying as he went, ‘I have a big day tomorrow.’ He added—using a popular American phrase that sounded casual but was indeed not so—‘Wish me luck.’

“On the third floor Master met a few devotees near the elevator. They told him a crate from Florida had come that afternoon for him by air express. ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied. ‘My last little desire has been fulfilled. I wanted to drink green coconut milk, just as I used to do in India, once more before I went.’

“This hint was broad enough, yet the disciples did not grasp its meaning. Yoganandaji wrote in the Autobiography that Babaji possesses a power by which he can prevent any specific thought from arising in a person’s mind. The devotees now believe that Paramhansaji exercised that same power in connection with their own minds, lest they be thrown into unbearable grief at a forewarning of his imminent departure.”

“I joined Master as he was walking toward his car. He cautioned the disciples to use special care in lifting gifts of chutney and India sweetmeats made by him and several disciples that he was taking to Ambassador Sen and Consul General Ahuja. Master was very joyous on the way, giving me instructions about the work of the SRF Center in Phoenix and discussing plans for its future. He told a few stories about his early years in this country: his first transcontinental lecture tour, in 1924 by automobile, when three young men accompanied him; his visit to inspiring Pikes Peak near Denver; his experiences with different makes of autos (‘I prefer a Ford to a Roll-Royce’).

“He was bubbling over with divine love. The vibrations of peace and bliss coming from him were overwhelming. He took my hand in his, and said:

‘If you all work together with love, harmony, kindness, and humility, the work will sweep the world.’ He was referring, of course, to the SRF teachings and of self-liberation through Kriya Yoga.

“Master told Cliff, who was driving, and me that we might have our breakfast in the Ambassador Hotel Coffee Shop while he kept his appointment with His Excellency. Giving us some money, he inquired, ‘Are you sure this is sufficient? I want you to eat enough.’ We assured him we had plenty of money for breakfast, but he insisted on giving us more.

“Master began a slow walk through the beautiful hotel, with Cliff and me helping him. Mr. Bhandari, one of His Excellency’s party from Washington met us haflway and led Master to the private breakfast room. The Ambassador and the Consul General were waiting courteously at the door, not wanting to enter the room until after Master had arrived.

After our own meal Cliff and I returned to the breakfast room, to find Master just coming out, with Mr. Bhandari at his side. We all stopped in front of a large display of the hotels anthuriums, the glossy flowers from Hawaii. Master smiled and remarked how beautiful they were. I said, ‘Sir, you are walking too much; may I please order a chair and push you?’ He shook his head, but I pleaded again. He looked at me with a piercing gaze and said, ‘Mind can do anything.’ Master and Mr. Bhandari carried on a lively discussion about India until we reached the car.

“We then drove out to the SRF Lake Shrine in Pacific Palisades, to see how the repair work was coming along after the recent damaging rains. It was Master’s first visit in six months to the Shrine. He greeted everyone, expressing pleasure at the work that was being done. We took him around the lake. ‘I want to see it all,’ he said, and his observant eyes didn’t miss a single detail along the way. We stopped often so that he could get a good look at the different plants, shrubs, and trees.

“We walked up the gangplank to the Mississippi houseboat. Master sat in the living room and talked at some length with the Lake Shrine disciples who were happily grouped around him. We had become engrossed in a discussion of the grave world situation when Master said, ‘It is all God’s play,’ and gave a talk on the cosmic delusion and how the Lord uses different actors on the stage of time to portray certain parts.

“Stanley announced that lunch was ready, so we left the houseboat. While walking Master continually commented on articles to be repaired or repainted, and about new things to be added to the grounds, including a fish pond. He told us to be sure it was protected from ‘souvenir-hunters’ so that the fish would not eventually end up as ‘fish-fry.’ We laughed, and Stanley assured him the fish would be well looked after.

“A moment later we were going down an incline and walked a little more rapidly than before. Two of us hurried Master forward. He said, ‘Be careful. Food you will always have, but me you will not always have with you.’

“We soon arrived at the windmill house for lunch. Master enjoyed it, and told us little stories about food, and that the proper-eatarian diet is best. ‘There are so many good meat substitues,’ he remarked.

“Afterward Master sat before the organ and played several of his chants and other Indian music. Over and over he sang the ancient Bengali chant for which Tagore wrote the words: ‘In my house with Thine own hands light the lamp of Thy love. . .Change my darkness to Thy light, change my darkness to Thy light.’ He and the disciples chanted this repeatedly, and our hearts were filled with rapture. A real devotee of God was singing to the Divine Mother, and we felt his love and devotion and the bliss flowing from his hallowed temple. He played the organ for at least an hour, perhaps longer. Perspiration was streaming down his face; his eyes were radiant with joy.

“We went outside by the lake’s edge, and Stanley called the ducks. Master threw bread and corn to them. Later he decided on the right spot on which to place one of the art treasures of SRF—a large reproduction in mother-of-pearl of Christ with his disciples at the Last Supper.

“Little did any of us realize, as we chatted about the best location for the picture, that at the windmill house we had just had the Last Supper that Master was to eat at an SRF retreat with his young men disciples.

“Master, Cliff, and I drove off about 4:45 p.m., having visited the Lake Shrine for nearly six hours. As soon as we entered the car, Master became inwardly withdrawn. He was grave and silent for the most part—the opposite of his morning mood.

“When we arrived at the driveway of the SRF headquarters, Master said, ‘Oh, are we here already? Let us go back and around. I want to get back and around. I want to get a good view of the building. I will direct you.’ Cliff drove down San Rafael Avenue to a spot where, across a canyon of shrubbery, the Mount Washington headquarters could be seen to good advantage, standing bold against the sky. The sun had nearly set. The building looked magnificent and very white. Master said, ‘The new paint job is wonderful. It needed it.’ He told me how the SRF students had done it themselves and saved tremendous expense. Then he fell into a reverie and mused, with a sigh, ‘It looks just like a castle.’ ‘It is our castle, Sir,’ Cliff said. Master smiled and replied, ‘Yes, a castle for men and women of God.’ Then he looked at the Mt. Washington Center for a long time in silence.

“We drove back to the headquarters, where a number of the monks, just finished with their period of exercise on the tennis court, were waiting to greet Master. He gave a wonderful talk on the spiritual path, and how to keep steadfast on it, even after he would depart. I became a little sad, thinking that some distant day his physical presence would be gone; but the tremendous zeal and dynamic enthusiasm that now emanated from him seemed reassuring. I had no inkling that he would be leaving the earth so soon. I realize now that he was preparing us for it. I did not then connect all his remarks as I did later, after he had gone.