When my husband left me for the minister of my church, naturally I found another church to attend. Out of loyalty to me, and upset over what had happened, many of my friends left too, and soon we were happily settled in a new spiritual home. So when my daughter moved to Ananda Village, I just came to see what she was up to, not out of any spiritual need of my own.
This daughter and I have always been close—spiritually, and in every other way—so when she suggested I read Autobiography of a Yogi, I didn’t hesitate. In my church they told us to meditate, but never taught us how to do it. In Autobiography of a Yogi I saw the promise of meditation in a way I had never heard of before.
Ananda also had a center in the city where I lived, but I traveled a lot for work and could never attend their meditation classes. The leader gave me a special Saturday session, and from that point my spiritual life began to change.
Still, I was concerned. “Is this really my path, or am I doing this just to be close to my daughter?” I went on for a long time in this way, a house divided. I just couldn’t make up my mind.
Finally, on New Year’s Eve 1985, I went to the local Ananda service. I prayed to Paramhansa Yogananda, “Master, you just have to tell me. Am I doing this out of love for my daughter, or do I truly belong to you?”
All through that beautiful service I prayed and prayed and prayed.
Then, suddenly, I saw Master standing in front of me. His arms were outstretched the way I have often stood before my children, calling them to me. Later I saw a painting of Master, standing on a hill, in just the way I saw him.
“Oh, Mama!” my daughter said when I told her, “Do you know how special your experience was?”
I knew it was special, but I didn’t know it was unusual. I thought Master came to welcome everyone. Soon after, I moved to Ananda.