The Confessions And Ramblings Of A Mad Seeker

Photo Taken February 25, 1971/ Ahmednagar, India On The Occasion Of Baba’s Birthday. I’m The One With The Scraggly Looking Beard

Shortly after Baba’s passing (Jan of ’69), I was plunged into a state of enormous confusion. How to bridge the gap? He used to be in India and there was every expectation of seeing Him. In fairness, the relationship was still in its infancy. I was admittedly just a neophyte in Baba’s fold at the time, not fully cognizant of the incalculable subtleties and inimitable ways of the Beloved. Nevertheless, I and many others before me were confronting an entirely different set of conditions now. How to establish contact with the seemingly intangible. He was just beyond our grasp or so it seemed.

Leisurely walking down the corridor of the law firm I was employed with at the time. I was suddenly entranced by the sound of a soft inner voice. For the life of me, I can’t recall the words. It was a rather lengthy message. But one phrase did stand out above all the rest and stays with me to this day: “YOU HAVE TO DIE TO YOURSELF”. That seems apt enough. How else to see Him unless and until He becomes predominant and our small ego-centric self is relegated to the background. For as He has said in various ways, where you are – I am not (or words to that effect).

As a young man I was a bit of a misfit, a rebel of sorts. I was not alone in this experience. Millions of young Americans felt equally alienated; caught up in the experimental period of the ’60’s phenomenon known as the counter-culture movement. It was exploding and palpable. It was the sign of the times. In my mid to late teens we lived in Greenwich Village in NYC from ’65 to ’69. I was right at the epicenter of it all. Luckily, the strong directive from Meher Baba to abstain from hallucinogenic drugs had a wholesome influence that safely guided me away from the perils of artificial stimulus that was rampant and freely available.

I was determined to find solidness within myself. Love and inspiration seemed elusive. In retrospect, I was awkwardly going about it the wrong way. I was on fire, extremely restless. I looked upon all complacency with disdain. The thought of being held captive to a monotonous routine felt repulsive (boy did I have a lot of growing up to do in learning the virtues of acceptance and humility). So much so, that after Baba’s passing in January ’69 and returning from the pre-arranged mass gathering in Pune India in May of ’69 that Baba had arranged the previous year (via chartered flight), I quit my job with Kramer, Lowenstein, Nessan & Kamin (I was a law librarian) and ventured out into the great unknown. With a friend, we drove out to California (the promised land) and explored the possibilities. First with friends in the San Francisco area and then Los Angeles. Eventually running out of funds, I returned to the east coast.

Resuming my life in NYC was not easy. I was marinating in a sea of discontent. After a few months of this arduous effort to integrate back into the mainstream. the compulsion to take off again got the better of me. In January of 1970, I threw all caution to the wind, purchased the cheapest one way ticket to Europe I could find (Icelandic Airlines to Luxembourg) and proceeded to hitch-hike across Europe. The goal was to make my way to India and live there for god knows how long (time is irrelevant when you’re young and foolish i.e. willing to take risks and possessing no thoughts for tomorrow). I met some young men on the flight over. They recognized the Baba button I was wearing and had expressed an interest. I ran into them once again at the Frankfurt Germany train station. They invited me to join them for the drive up to a quaint little picturesque Northern German village called Fulda. The fact was, I was dithering. I was aware of the geographical distance needed to be covered. Like a child first learning how to walk, I was apprehensive and faltering. With only $100.- in my pocket and it being mid winter (extremely cold – not ideal for traveling) the journey appeared daunting.

After a pleasant week in Fulda, it became obvious, my friendly hosts were involved in some questionable business practices. The long distance car deliveries turned out to be hashish and other related drug runs. I was a bit surprised to be frank. They seemed so nonchalant about it. It’s not something you’d expect, you know, the stereotyped images one associates with that kind of activity. They seemed so genuine and likeable. In any case, it was just enough incentive to get me off my haunches and push on to my next destination. They were kind enough to pay for my train ticket to Munich. From there, on to the autobahn, relying on my extended thumb and the generosity of German hospitality for a ride. Perpetual snowfall and ice conditions made it increasingly difficult. I hadn’t anticipated that. Arriving at the Austrian/Yugoslavian border, with virtually little sleep and food, I had to make a sobering realistic re-assessment. I decided to retreat and re-trace my steps. I knew someone in Zurich. Perhaps I can take temporary refuge there? I treated myself to another train journey from Salzburg, Austria to Zurich, Switzerland. A quick phone call upon arrival and much to my astonishment I was chastised for calling so late (9 pm). Oops. That didn’t go down very well. Re-evaluating my options. I knew a number of people in the London area. Once there, maybe I could re-group and figure out a better strategy. Perhaps work on a ship to India? I arrived in Calais France. From there I boarded the ferry to Dover. Being naive, the immigration form I was required to fill out had that one innocuous question – the purpose of my visit to England. Unthinkingly I jotted down – to seek employment. In retrospect, that answer would be ill-advised but I was tired and not at all my usual self. Needless to say, I was denied entry at Dover. They sent me back on the same ferry to Calais. I was told Le Havre (France) had a fairly large shipping port. Surely I can find work there that would offer this sea-faring wannabe a boat ride to India? In a subsequent conversation, I learned I might have better prospects in Rotterdam, Holland. It was by far the largest shipping port in Europe at the time.

So, with no time to lose, I managed to hitch-hike my way up to Rotterdam. Finding the nearest police station I inquired as to how to apply for seamanship papers. I was interested in working on a ship, at least that’s what I told them.. Up to this point I was operating solely on instinct. Not a clue in the world as to how to navigate my way through the usual proper channels or being practical for that matter. Anyway, to make a long story short, the Dutch authorities discovered how much money I had. They impounded my passport, placed me in a low budget but pleasant hotel room (at my expense) and judiciously handed me over to the jurisdiction of the American consulate. The consulate’s responsibility was to repatriate me back to the US. It was clear, for better or worse, the universe (or Baba) was letting me know my vagabond days were coming to a close. Five days passed in the hotel interspersed with occasional sight-seeing, the consulate finally found a Scandinavian ship for me. Unfortunately to my dismay, the destination point was not India. The ship was bound for New York. Nonetheless they were considerate enough to arrange that I work my passage back to the US. There were no monetary obligations involved.

A two week voyage at sea and I was back in New York once again. Eventually I wound my way back to California. Once there, within a matter of a week, I landed a job at a Naval base on San Clemente Island washing dishes/ pots and pans. A menial, but respectable job . The schedule was simple enough. Eight hours a day for ten days straight and then two days off . They provided free room and board on the island. They would then fly you back to the mainland – Long Beach for a two day respite. I stayed with a friend in the Los Angeles area on my days off.

A small digression. I befriended a lovely lady in New York. She, her small 5 year old son and I were staying at a mutual friends in lower Manhattan. While out in California I discovered that I lost my passport. I couldn’t figure out where I had left it. I happened to run into this woman at a Los Angeles Baba meeting (in Pasadena) a couple of months later. I had forgotten about her. I assumed she was still in New York. She had my passport. Our belongings must have inadvertently gotten mixed up. How amazing is that!! A clear signature of Baba’s unique way of working. Baba’s timing. Three months on, I earned a sufficient savings to be able to join a caravan of cars driving cross country to the Meher Baba center in Myrtle Beach SC. One week pilgrimage at the Center and then back up to NYC. Got all the required vaccinations and appropriate visas and then flew the same Icelandic Airlines back to Luxembourg. It was July, a more agreeable time of year for traveling. It took about three weeks. Journeying on trains and buses across Europe, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan and then down into India.

What is largely missing in this narrative are the impressions and rich experiences of my seven month stay at Meherabad. It was a unique period. The opportunity to spend quality time with Baba’s close mandali was truly precious. There were so few visitors at the time, not unlike the period immediately following the death of Jesus. Everything was so fresh and poignant.

The dutiful need to leave India after my visa had expired had finally arrived. Took the train and ferry to Colombo Ceylon (Sri Lanka). A few days after my arrival in Colombo, be it a strange twist of circumstances or grim tidings; take your pick, the entire country was plunged into a civil war. The shipping lanes slowed to a crawl. I was stuck. No available exit except perhaps to seek refuge at one of the local Buddhist monasteries 15 miles outside of Colombo and wait out the hostilities.

The day before my planned trip to the monastery, I happened to run into an American couple I knew who were with the peace corp. I had shared a bungalow with them in India. How interesting. They were flying back into South India the next day. They assured me I would be able to secure a 15 day transit visa upon re-entry at the Indian airport. That’s exactly what happened. We flew into Tirichinapali and made our way back up to Maharashtra by train. About a 20 hour journey. I stayed at Meherabad for a few days and then took the overnight train to Bombay.

AND that is where the real story begins. It’s bewildering to describe it. but the following events were fraught with many twists and turns. Suffice to say, finding a ship to work on (back to the US) was not an easy task especially in the time limit allotted. And, even if there was an opening, because I was not bonded and had no prior experience (except for that one jaunt over the Atlantc Ocean) there is an insurance risk few shipping agencies would be willing to take on. The odds seemed very slim. Over the next couple of weeks, visiting the various shipping agencies, boarding ships in dock in Bombay harbor; it began to dawn on me that I may be in legal jeopardy of overstaying my visa with unknown consequences. The thought of being thrown into an Indian jail cell and/or being deported was too horrible to contemplate. On one of the ships I had boarded, one of the employees, a pleasant engaging fellow, suggested that I look into a certain Norwegian freighter attached to the same Condordia line. He personally knew the captain. He felt the captain might be sympathetic to my plight. For some unexplained reason, I took the advice to heart. Intuitively I was placing my expectations on a rather flimsy, vague notion that the ship described might be “The One”. Its ultimate destination once it left Bombay harbor was unclear.

My exhaustive searches proved fruitless. Critical days were passing by. It was a race against time. Finally, one promising prospect emerged. An English vessel were looking for two crew members. Their proposed next docking point was Tokyo Japan. It would take 9 months before they arrived at San Francisco harbor. They were departing in a few days time from Kandla; a shipping port located 500 miles north of Mumbai. The only reasonable means to get up there was to fly. In the rush to apply, I was told I had to get my visa papers in order. By that point the critical day of my visa expiration had passed (irony of all ironies. It happened to be my birthday). Two days elapsed, no confirmation from Kandla. The added stress of having to take the matter of visa overstay with immigration was an additional concern.. In the mean time, the bloody ship I had cast my hopes on kept getting delayed out at sea due to heavy, rough, stormy weather. The visit to the immigration office was disconcerting. They decided to prosecute. I was given a court date. That seemed to pre-empt any hopes of getting on that ship in Kandla. So, the court date arrives. I appear before the magistrate. The attorney representing me (appointed by the court) gives a speech in animated,but totally unintelligible English (I could only discern a few words). It seemed so odd and funny. Very theatrical. The judge asked how did I plead. I answered guilty. I was fined 100 rupees (approx. $10) and one day in jail, which luckily turned out to be one short afternoon in the office. Also during this period I had contacted the Air India office. I had them telex my mother with the request that she purchase a one way Bombay-New York ticket for me. Numerous telexes were sent over a period of days, but no response. To complicate matters, the immigration office stamped my passport with a visa expiration date the day the ship was to depart from Kandla. They assumed I was boarding the ship, the rest was formality. My visit to the American consulate was no less reassuring. The vice counsel there, an American black woman stated in no uncertain terms that she hoped they would throw the book at me. I can only imagine she was stressed out and fed up with all these hippie types overstaying their visas and their welcome.

After the fifth delay at sea, the much awaited ship finally arrived in dock. I boarded the ship and asked to speak to the captain. After a few formalities, I explained my predicament. The captain was quite taken aback. Sheer coincidence. It just so happened one of his crew members had abruptly left, leaving very little time for a replacement through the usual hiring channels. IN FACT the ship was on schedule to sail directly to New York City. The routing was circuitous. The Suez Canal was closed due to the recent Israeli Arab war and therefore it would navigate its way around the southern tip of Africa and then northwards directly up to New York. The journey would take about a month. He hired me on the spot without seeing any of my credentials. It was based on trust. I explained to him the visa situation. He arranged an assistant to see to the details. There was an urgency for the ship to reload and take off as soon as possible due to the many delays. They were way behind schedule. I would miss the opportunity of boarding the ship if they adhered to the revised time table. One can only do ones best and then leave the rest in Gods hands. The periodic rain came to my rescue (it was monsoon season). Some of the cargo was sensitive. Cashews , spices and other perishables. Every time it would rain, they would have to close down the hatches. Holding my breath we went into high gear taxiing from one government office to another. Alas, some unexpected complication. We were not receiving the required approval. One office after another kept declining. I was bewildered. They were not allowing me to board the ship and refused to furnish any sound reason for their refusal. Whoaaaa!! What was this about? Were they indirectly suggesting a bribe was needed? Come to find out that wasn’t it at all. Through much cajoling and wrangling, we finally reached the top officer in charge. He calmly explained they were declining my request due to the fact that I arrived in India on a tourist visa. Under current regulations and law, I had to leave the country as a tourist. They would not budge on that technicality. The rushing from one government office to another took the better part of a day. We consulted with the captain and explained the dilemma. Some deliberation took place. After an hour or so the captain got back to me. He and his colleagues devised an innovative, unique solution. I was to board the ship as a tourist. On the next docking point after we left India’s shores was Cochin in South India. He would then re-instate me on his roster as a crew member. Everything started falling into place from that point on. We rushed to the airlines office to cancel my request. Strangely enough, the air ticket was purchased that very morning. I was embarrassed. After all, I had been pestering their office for the past five days. They were non-plussed and truly annoyed . And the assistant was equally perplexed. Why would you cancel the ticket that is being offered? He felt he had unnecessarily went to such great trouble because he felt I was in dire need. In hindsight, all of it was true. I had to reassure him that I felt it was divine providence. Boarding the ship was the right thing to do. I offered my deepest apology and profusely thanked him for his efforts. He was pacified. I was still on tenterhooks however. Would the ship leave without me if it left on schedule. My very dear friend Jal Dastoor, a long time devotee of Baba’s met me at the loading dock. I handed him the one hundred rupees to be returned to Mani; Baba’s sister. She had given it to me a couple of months earlier as a safety measure in case of emergency. Jal and I said our goodbyes. The agent showed up a few minutes later. I handed him my last five rupees. I then triumphantly walked up the plank and entered the ship. How extraordinary. All money accounted for – down to the last rupee. The sheer exactness of it all blew me away leaving me speechless. The ship left its harbor just a scant few hours later. I made it just in time.

I left the US with a thousand dollars in pocket the previous year. After our port of call in Cochin, Madagascar, and Capetown South Africa, we arrived in New York harbor one month later passing directly in front of the Statue of Liberty (how is that for an entrance). With $350.- in pocket as salary we docked just a mile from my mothers apartment in Jersey City. She picked me up at the loading dock. That day happened to be July 10th 1971 – It was Silence Day. Quite auspicious. Forty-five visits to India later. I am now a full time resident here.

PS In case the reader is curious, my duties as crew member on the ship were as follows: It consisted of two – four hour shifts per day. 8 to 12 in the morning………. Painting and washing certain designated areas of the ship. 8 to 12 in the evening……… Steering the ship one hour. No kidding. It was a huge freighter. And then alternating with another person to look out on the starboard for lights of oncoming ships. The rotation occurred every hour on the hour until our shift was completed.

I am enclosing a scanned copy of two letters of correspondence below this video to convey the excitement and feeling of the time. . . .

Though much larger in scale than the one I worked on. Here’s an inside view of one of these gigantic freighters. The sheer magnitude of it is breathtaking…….

How it looks inside Container Ship

A Letter From My Mom

A Letter To My Mom

A Song By Audrey Assad

Lyrics to Teresa


The Visit To Nepal: In Search Of A Perfect Cure

We had planned our weeks visit to Kathmandu, Nepal several months ago. As an American expatriate living in India, it is required to exit the country twice a year. As a rule, I never check the astrological ephemeris for positive aspects when traveling, preferring instead to rely on Baba for personal guidance. The priority is more in terms of what is cost effective and convenient in any event.
The week before our departure, I learned that the October 31st Mercury retrograde was occurring within several hours of our scheduled departure (for those unfamiliar with astrology, Mercury retrograde usually denotes delays and miscommunications). Be prepared for any eventuality I thought to myself. My wife doesn’t pay attention to those sort of things, so nothing lost, nothing gained.

The two hour flight from Pune (India) to Delhi went without incident. No problem there. The shuttle from terminal 1 to terminal 3 was equally uneventful, that is, until we arrived at the international terminal. We had a connecting flight to Kathmandu at terminal 3. It had just been evacuated and in lockdown due to a bomb discovered inside the entrance terminal. Hundreds of people were milling about outside the terminal area not sure how to proceed. No clear instructions were given. Flights were being either delayed or canceled. Luckily we had a 5 hour layover in Delhi. Perhaps things would clear by then? To our great relief, things did indeed eventually clear. The police successfully disarmed the device allowing us to board without incident save for the minor inconvenience of a one hour delay. We arrived at my favorite haunting ground in Kathmandu; the Summit Hotel. We were informed that the room we had requested was only available for two days. We might have to switch to a less desired room or so we were told. As it turned out, that too was eventually resolved.
So…. in search of an Ayurvedic doctor for the treatment of a herniated disc. We did find one, but the treatment felt inadequate. What I really wanted was a chiropractor (they are practically non existent in India). We did finally locate a chiropractor; a Canadian-Indian lady (the only chiropractor in Nepal I was told!) at a certain designated hospital. After some pleasantries; we learned that this chiropractor was fully booked weeks in advance. Nevertheless, the visit to Nepal was quite enjoyable. See composite photo…….
The return proved to be equally perplexing. Upon arrival in Delhi we were abruptly informed that the connecting flight from Delhi to Pune was cancelled (no reason given). There were no viable options except to try to fly standby over a period of days, without any guarantees. To a westerner, accustomed to efficient service, the notion that a passenger had to make ones own arrangements without any help from the airline and no compensatory hotel accommodations strained all sense of credulity. After many hours, much persuasion and coaxing, we managed to arrange a circuitous routing; Delhi to Lucknow and then to Pune the following day. Fortunately for us, my wife has family in Delhi. We had a most enjoyable overnight stay with them. My brother in law took me to a physio therapist he recently visited for a herniated disc. His problem was alleviated within 11 days. The session I had with this physio therapist was rewarding and gave me hope. Things were looking up.
Our hired car drive from Pune airport to our house at Meherabad; about a two hour drive a few days ago was another mind bending experience. The man’s driving was erratic and hair-raising. It was early in the morning. He had a tendency to speed, weaving in and out of cars, leaving virtually little room for error with the added disconcerting action of alternately pressing on the accelerator and touching on the brakes every few seconds. And then, just as inexplicably, every so often he would slow down noticeably, letting other cars pass. His erratic behavior caused other drivers to honk their horns. His slightly slurred speech made it fairly obvious he was sleep deprived. It seemed as though he was deliberately driving in this fashion to keep awake. We tried to calm him down and keep him focused. The clincher for me was when he engaged in a long-winded conversation with a friend on his cell phone. At that point, the situation became almost intolerable. I felt he wasn’t paying sufficient attention to the road. I wanted to say something to the driver but my wife kept stopping me from doing so. She felt if something was said we risked being left stranded in the middle of nowhere. She knows the culture or at least that is what she kept insisting. And so a stalemate prevailed. My wife and I would occasionally find ourselves slipping into a loud argument back and forth about this, depending on how close we came to colliding into another car. The driver seemed oblivious to all this (he was too involved in his friendly phone conversation. He couldn’t speak English in any case). Taking Baba’s name was my only recourse. We finally made it to the house, shaken but without mishap. Once we entered the house we laughed and hugged. It seemed so absurd and yet funny at the same time. Toss it up to Mercury retrograde (communication difficulties).
As fate would have it, an American chiropractor just arrived at Meherabad for a long visit. He has agreed to set up appointments for treatment. Situation resolved.
So here is a positive astrological spin on Mercury retrograde…….
Positive Effects of Mercury Retrograde
And here are some notes on a previous visit of mine to Nepal some 15 years ago….
July 4, 2003
A Post Card Impression of Kathmandu, Nepal
Kathmandu resides within close proximity of the majestic high Anna Purna Himalayan mountain ranges and is quite striking when seen in its vast panoramic view on a clear day. It has been a perpetual delight to explore this quaint, ancient land that regally sits high up in elevation, overlooking the Indian subcontinent from the North. There is an inherently strong accented Tibetan Buddhist influence here (although elements of Hinduism are also in clear evidence) lending a unique atmosphere to this region that is absolutely charming and memorable. The culture exudes strong spiritual traditions, but at the same time is unassuming in its tolerance towards other religions. Nepal is rightly called the ‘Himalayan Kingdom’. The people are very gentle and friendly and the architecture is exquisite.
Two friends with whom I am traveling, are staying with a delightful Nepali family in a beautiful suburban district of Katmandu called Patan. This particular family are Indian by birth, but very western and progressive in their way of life (they lived in Canada for thirty years). They mix easily with the social environment and have a wonderful regard for the culture. Urmilla (the wife) is the primary inspiration behind an arts and handicrafts school they own, employing many of the underprivileged locals. They export these handicrafts to many areas of the world; ranging from hand loomed fabrics to pottery. It’s a non profit organization that relies predominantly on grants. It’s a marvelous and touching operation to witness. The selflessness in which everyone contributes to this project derives many of its inspirational guidelines directly from Mahatma Ghandi’s principles (Urmilla lived in the Gandhi retreat in Nagpur, India as a child).
We have been using Urmilla’s driver to negotiate our way around town; visiting the various historic sites that are located in the Kathmandu area and surrounding countryside. My hotel, rests within 10 minutes of walking distance of the guest house my friends are staying in; also located in the Patan area. The nest where I have taken up temporary residence – the Summit hotel, is superb in its attention to detail in the old world tradition of Nepalese decor and architecture. Lavish gardens, tall trees and inner courtyards with its outer perimeter lined with lovely, artistically designed rooms, intricate wooden carved balconies and railings and huge museum-like wood carving pieces located in strategic places on the outer walls, creates a magical, quiet atmosphere. Considered a luxury hotel by any standard – it was procured for only $40 a night (includes breakfast buffet). I managed to negotiate a 30 % discount due to the off season monsoon period.
We visited Pashupatinath today. Many monkeys and quite a fair number of Sadhus inhabit the innumerable temples there. The dead are cremated on the banks of the river with simple fanfare (we arrived in time for one of these cremation ceremonies). In previous days our various visits to the areas where the huge Buddha Stupas (temples) are situated, has been of particular fascination to me. The two eyes and squiggly nose (the nose shaped in the form of a question mark) conveys the feeling that the all seeing Divine eye is forever upon one. In an old, well preserved Tibetan monastery at the Swayambhu hill shrine where one of the most famous Buddhist Stupas reside, we found a comfortable corner in front of a large brass bowl that contained a lit candle and a prayer wheel perched on top. We managed to discreetly, softly repeat Baba’s prayers there.
This land is enchanting. All three of us are in wonderment of the culture; the simplicity and beauty of the people. Although neighboring India does exert its influence (via Hindi films and similarities in the Hindi script etc.), nevertheless at the same time, the Nepalese culture, accompanied as it is by various shades of Tibetan Buddhist influence, seems to evoke an entirely distinct and different cultural experience. It feels like home – very warm and inviting. I don’t think this can ever fully be captured by words or photos alone, but my traveling companions are taking lots of photos. Our week foray into Nepal will come to an end on July 7th and with our arrival at Meherabad on the 9th (just in time for Silence day), these photos can be developed.
Speaking of photos…. portraits of the esteemed Dalai Lama adorn many shops and homes here. He seems to be the embodiment of what this country holds dear. The sensitivity and reverence for all living creatures prevails in this great Himalayan Kingdom.

January 1st, 2023/ A New Year – A New Beginnning?

This is a re-introduction to a subject that may be familiar to some; based on an unusual incident in the life of one of Baba’s close ones; Dr. Hoshang Barucha. Speculation has it, that the incident described here, having occurred some 60 years ago under the watchful eye and instructions of Beloved Baba, could very well have relevance to current unfolding events. The enclosed article was originally written in November 2002 and submitted to the Love Street Lamp Post for publication. Click on the following URL link below (IMPORTANT: once you are on the web page, simply tap your cursor anywhere on the graphics to enlarge the text)……..

A Narrative by Dr Hoshang Barucha


“The time for the world’s crowds to come to me will be when I break my silence and manifest my divinity… After I break my silence and manifest as the Avatar of the Age, there will be no need for darshan program arrangements, as all will then know and feel me within.”

In November 1968 Baba said “The days of my manifestation are nearing fast, and only to Mehera have I mentioned the time of the breaking of my silence”

Mehera commented: “When I asked Baba about it, he smiled and put if off, saying later he would break his slilence, but not now. I never asked again. He changed the subject. He didn’t give the month or year – only that when his work finishes, he would talk. He also made a sign for J, for what, we don’t know – whether January, June or July?”

One day, Mehera asked Baba, “When will all the things happen that you talk about, things like your manifestation?” Baba is already older now, she reasoned, so when will these things take place?” – Baba held up his hand to indicate, “Patience.” And he repeated his earlier explanation, when Mehera had asked about the New Humanity: “When you plant a seed, first you prepare a seed, first you prepare the bed and then water it. Then you wait for it to grow. It takes time and work. I have done all that. The plant grows and bears fruit. In the same way, things cannot change all of a sudden. Even a child you put in school does not know mathematics immediately. He learns very gradually. So everything has its time. What has to be done. I have done. Everything will take place.” Said Mehera: ” How much Baba has done, we do not know. Baba’s work only Baba knows. That is why many come to Baba. It is the miracle of his love.” – Mehera Meher Volume 3 page 458

In February of 1941 Baba issued a circular stating at a certain date He would break His silence internally and that it would reach culmination after 6 months……

I will speak on the 1st of August 1941 the Divine Word to myself and in myself, the word of the will of God that will begin the resurrection of the dead world and start the general adjustment of the world.

This speaking-to-myself operation will continue until the 15th of February 1942, the day that I will publicly and universally speak, the day that my world manifestation will come to full expression, the day that the six months self-speaking operation will bring out the unfoldment of the spiritual revival, and the day that the disciples of my circle will realize the Truth.

On numerous occasions Baba referred to this 6 month gestation period as being an essential part of His manifestation. From Dr Donkin’s diary…


“Baba said yesterday that from November 11th for 6 months there would be chaos among his followers, with lots of ups and downs, illnesses, and doubts even among his staunchest followers. He says he then has
got to be bound by time to free those who are bound by time. He says he will have to do something to create opposition.”

Baba mentions this 6 month phase when He gave out His Final Declaration in 1954, then again in 1955 and 1958.

For those interested in the astrological aspects for the beginning of the new year and why this particular period marks a major milestone for the US and the world at large, I offer the following observation…..

January 1st 2023 is remarkable in many respects. There is an exact Venus/Pluto conjunction at 27 Capricorn precisely on the US Pluto. It is the last in the series of the widely watched US Pluto returns that occurs every 248 years. This could be totally transformative for the US and the world in general. Transiting Saturn (the planet that brings things into sharp focus and manifestation) at 22 Aquarius conjoins Meher Baba’s natal Venus (divine love?). They are at the same degree. There are some hopeful signs there.