Today we mark the mahasamadhi of a great soul, Swami Satchidananda of Anandashram. Swamiji is my second “spiritual Mother,” being an indispensable help in my sadhana to realize God. His life is a shining example of perfect humility, a dedicated and loving disciple of Papa Ramdas and Mother Krishnabai, and a tireless servant of God.
So many thoughts of him flood into me, each memory a thread that by itself is wonderful—and making a woven fabric that is far more than the sum of its parts and past description. So, the puny human mind can only take up a strand at a time and sense its quality—it is all that it can do, and it is so inadequate for the task of knowing the greatness of his beloved Soul.
When I first went to Anandashram in 1998 I was there to do deepened spiritual practice. After two months of pilgrimage around India I was exhausted from travel and looking forward to being at the Ashram for the next four months. I had thought that I would have my room, chant at the mandir, and practice meditation while there. However, I was to discover there was a hidden treasure at the Ashram. Daily I came into contact with Swamiji, his inner worth slowly making itself clear to me.
Somehow I made my way into his room one evening, the door was open and I came in and sat on the matted floor, my back against the wall across the room from Swamiji. Swamiji, Gopi (later Swami Muktananda), Ananthraman and a small group of his intimates carried on the business of the Ashram, answering letters and attending to endless details. I pronamed on the floor across from him when I came in, sat for an hour, then pronamed, silently rose and left. Someone came to know that I was doing this and told me no one was allowed in his room at that time! I wondered if I was doing something wrong, but Swamiji gave me a nod when I came in, and another nod when I left—at the Ashram inmates are not shy about telling you if you sit in the wrong place; so I continued my nocturnal sittings.
One evening I did not attend Swamiji, I was not feeling well. The next night he asked about my not coming, it was only then my mind was completely settled that I was not an unwelcome intruder! One night I entered and Swamiji immediately said, “close the door and lock it,” to one of the attendants. This was new, totally unexpected—what is happening! “Tonight, we are going to show David how to wear a dhoti,” a single cloth that wraps around the waist and hangs to the feet. After giving me a cloth and showing me how to fold it at the waist, Swamiji gave me his own belt for keeping it secure. Swamiji said, “Papa said it is ‘dangerous’ for Westerners to wear dhotis!” That night I discovered that I managed very well without the training wheels of a belt and wore the dhoti quite comfortably for most of my time at the Ashram after that.
At another time Swamiji presented a wooden carving of Ganesha to me; such a lovely and unexpected gift. He told me about a statue of Ganesh in India that drinks milk when it is presented to its trunk. He then called for a glass of milk and a spoon; they were soon brought to his room. So childlike, so innocently he took a spoonful to the wooden statue’s trunk, we both watched in expectation, but alas no milk disappeared. Finally, without any self-consciousness Swamiji said, “He is not taking today.” Swamiji’s role was that of a CEO of a large ashram, responsible, conscientious, well in command of the ship he navigated, yet standing there together, watching the trunk and spoon full of milk, we were two divine children looking to see what God might do. It left a deep impression on my soul.
Returning to the Ashram every few years Swamiji and the Ashram treated us with such love and solicitude. Swamiji was holding satsang outdoors after his walk. A chair was brought out for him under the banyan tree that Papa had sat under years before. I sat on the ground; mats would appear as if by magic for everyone to sit on. Swamiji called for another chair, all wondered who the visiting dignitary was? Then Swamiji asked me to come and sit on the chair next to him! He reached over and took my hand, and we sat hand in hand for the rest of the satsang; this was repeated at each satsang thereafter. Oh, what treasured moments, my heart fairly bursting its banks, wordlessly singing in awe and gratitude; no thought could intrude upon this feeling of upliftment from this remarkable God-man—my second spiritual Mother.
The next memory thread comes at the end of my last darshan with Swamiji. I ask him for permission to leave. He says, “No, I want you to stay always.” I am touched and surprised by this response, but I will not leave without his permission. Suddenly my mind has to consider living at the Ashram only—is this what God is willing for me? Then, after a few minutes he says that he knows that I must go. “Swamiji, will I see you again?” “Not likely.” These simple words wrench my heart, tears brim in my eyes. I am aswim in grief at the prospect of not having Swamiji living here on earth. Cruel master time is pushing us to make our departure. I bow at his feet, I take a few steps back and bow to the floor again. With all the Ashram in attendance on either side, I bow again after a few more steps. During the recession from the long room, seven times I take a few steps and bow to the floor. It feels like tearing my own skin off to leave, but God has ordained the moment.
Once Swamiji said, “Whenever you think of being here, you are.” It was his blessing for me, and it has proven to be true. And when I think of being with him, I am—not just in memory or thought, but in living spirit. These memory-threads are pulled out of my heart and shared with you in all love and reverence. May you taste his spirit, feel his quiet, and know who he is in God—for he was, and continues to be a great blessing for one and for all.