I remember going to 'Satsang' throughout my childhood with my friend. I didn't understand any of it, nor even knew what was happening. Every weekend that I stayed over, Pushpa - his mother - hurried us out of bed early morning, and this continued for many years (although it became a little more troublesome as teenagers.) Over those years, however, I would often hear people speak of a man named Babaji, either during the lecture, within a conversation, or when Pushpa tried explaining who he was. A photograph of him also hung right at the entrance of their home, which I always figured was a photo of God. A good few years ago, I think I was about eighteen, Babaji decided to visit Sydney. My friend and I figured we'd see him, primarily to satisfy his mother and justify all those mornings she somewhat forced two of her underslept, sugar-filled kids to wake up and get ready. I was curious too. I wanted to see this man, see what the hype was all about - and that hype was unreal. The event was overcrowded; it was a sea of people. Some individuals were shaking, screaming, fainting. It was a scene of hysteria, and when Babaji finally arrived, walked on stage and took his seat, all I saw was a man, an everyday ordinary human. Babaji's presence taught me a valuable lesson; it changed my whole perspective. We're all of the same source, sharing the same ingredients, heading the same way. The only difference between us, other than the obvious surface-level variations such as our physicality, was that I had seen him as something other than me.
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