~ Bay Weekly, December 15, 1994

I worked intently in the fall garden, anticipating winter while looking forward to spring. Then for a few weeks, I abandoned my task as I flew off to Germany to see a gardener of another quality. My journey took me to the small village of Thalheim, to receive the blessing of a young Indian woman, Mother Meera.

While there, I talked with Adilakshmi, companion to the 33-year-old Mother Meera for 20 years. Adilakshmi told me, "Mother Meera is a devoted, wise and tender gardener. She takes as much care of plants as she does of human beings and animals.

"She is exactly aware of all the plants and knows exactly what each needs. She gives them individual care. I've noticed that when she waters plants, she does so with great delicacy, as if they were new born children. She knows exactly what to do in the garden. It is as if the plants themselves tell her what they need."

More...

Caught in

Moon-Flame Oceans

~ Bay Weekly, December 21, 1999

Our human grasping to find meaning in life is nothing new. Our despair of finding those meanings is as old as time. Our lives are lived between gleams and dreams of immortality when our aims reach no higher than security or wealth, fame or contentment, service or pleasure. Sometimes, however, we manage to escape our small minds and breathe for a moment the air of a vaster universe...

Our souls can visit in great lonely hours
Still regions of imperishable Light,
All-seeing eagle peaks of silent Power
And moon-flame oceans of swift fathomless Bliss
And calm immensities of spirit Space.
--Sri Aurobindo, Savitri

For me, the breath of still regions of Light and silent Power comes not only in private moments of prayer and meditation, not only during solitary beach walks but also, and especially, during visits to Mother Meera.

When I sat recently with 150 others in the silent darshan room of Mother Meera's home, I felt again that we were privileged witnesses to majesty.

Mother Meera had come into the room silently as always. This night she was a blaze of orange and red in a sari overlaid with a fine gold pattern. As she took her simple chintz-covered chair, her beauty shimmered. The air glowed warm, thick, white and gold, pulsing out into the dance of humans kneeling one by one before her with their fragile hopes and heavy fears.

More...

Playing with Lightning

~ Bay Weekly, July 11, 1996

In the evening, lightning played for hours out across the Chesapeake Bay over the Eastern Shore. There were no jags but rather, bouncing all over the horizon, a luminous back lighting of clouds. It's the analogy I needed to explain my experience with Mother Meera.

First the circumstances: I was at Mother Meera's home with a crush of international visitors to receive darshan, the blessing of her presence. I think of it as spiritual growth by absorption. Like the others, I had my few silent moments before Mother. She held my head gently as on previous visits, then looked into my eyes, "looking at everything within you to see where I can give healing and power."

With the others, I stood as Mother gravely left the room, then sat in stillness amid the hubbub of leave-taking. Conversations in several languages swirled around me. Inside me, light swirled and played like the recent lightning over the Eastern Shore, emitting the kind of energy that comes with a lightning storm.

More...

Mother's

Gardens Grow

~ Bay Weekly, April 20, 2001

It was 1994 when I first wrote about my spiritual mother on these pages. I said then that Mother Meera is an extraordinary gardener, silently nourishing a steady flow of visitors to her tidy German home as though they were gardens deserving of the most tender care. Now, I add that Mother's nourishment continues as constant as rain and sunshine.

On a recent trip, people of many nations and ages gathered at Mother Meera's home for her silent blessing. As always, each one offered their head to Mother's waiting hands for a few seconds, then offered their eyes for her loving scrutiny. As always, all were received with unconditional love and undivided attention.

Inevitably, evening silence gave way to morning chatter. At my pension, every breakfast conversation followed an unscripted pattern: Where are you from? How did you learn about Mother Meera? I've received so much. Aren't we lucky? Isn't it a miracle?

A German woman smiled delicately as she told me, "This is my second visit. I heard about her from a friend. I just want to climb up onto her lap and let her hold me. She is so loving. Aren't we lucky?"

More...

Away with Words

~ Bay Weekly, May 9, 2002 (For Mother’s Day)

I remember an amusing story my mother told about her neighbors: Mrs. Bennett was confined to a bed in her dining room. From bed, she phoned Miss Lyda Virginia Parker to come to the rescue of her husband who had fallen and couldn’t get up. Miss Parker, who was quite old, called my dad and mom, who were only in their mid-sixties. They all converged on the Bennett house to find that the old man had fallen with his back arched over the seat of a dining room chair.

The paramedics were called and soon appeared at the door. Miss Parker, who still regularly taught acting in New York City, took center stage. She politely introduced all the participants to the medics and asked their names in return, making sure no one was left out. Picture four old people, four paramedics and Mr. Bennett who lay uncomplaining across the chair, a whiskey bottle on the table.

My mother Mary Jane Chronister, a normally restrained person, laughed until she cried while repeating the story of Miss Lyda Virginia’s good manners to anyone who would listen. We all listened and asked for more, delighted with Mom’s enjoyment.

My mother doesn’t laugh anymore.

More...

Home...