Transformation of the Heart - Chapter 1

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CAN GOD HEAR ME?(By : Jack Scher)"It

is not enough to calculate the amount of your sadhana or the hours you

spend in study or meditation. The Lord comes more for the

Transformation of your heart into a reservoir of Love. He does not

count the recitations and adoration you offer as more valuable. The

heart filled with compassion is the temple in which He likes to install

Himself."- Sathya Sai Baba -When

I was a little boy, they told me, "Be good or God will punish you; God

is watching you all the time. He can see everything you do; you can't

hide from him." They told me he looked like a man, but you couldn't see

him. I thought he had to be very large, big enough to see everyone on

earth, very strong to be so powerful because he could do anything, and

very old to be so wise.They said, "Close your eyes and pray to

him." So I got the idea that it really wasn't important to see him. It

seemed as if praying was like making a big or very special wish. First,

you had to ask for forgiveness; you had to say you were sorry for all

the bad things you had done. I would name the few that I remembered,

and then ask for forgiveness for all my other sins.The good

part about praying was being able to ask for anything that you wanted.

I would lie in my bed and think about all the things I would like to

have and then ask for them. If there was something I wanted more than

anything else, I would get down on my knees and clasp my hands

together. I wasn't even very disappointed when nothing seemed to

happen; I would just continue to hope and pray and ask for more.Somewhere

I got the idea that asking for things just for myself was wrong. So I

would pray to God to bless my mother, my father, and the whole family.

In that way, I was included. I went on like this for years. Praying

became something I had to do before sleep. I had to do it just in case

it might work and also to protect myself if there really was a God

watching.My father was an orthodox Jew. He took me to the local

shul where the women sat upstairs. The men sat below with their little

black skull caps and silk striped tallithim. They rocked back and

forth, moaning their prayers in some low, foreign, rhythmic cadence.

There was nothing I could understand, but I knew it was important to be

in the temple, just like making sure to say my prayers each night.My

father died suddenly when I was 5. Many men came to the house to say

kaddish. I was given a book, a skull cap and tallith, told to face east

and pray : Shma Yisroel Adaunai Eloheynu... Repeating the magic words I thought something special might happen; but God did not come, nor did my father.Three

years later, my mother remarried and was paralyzed by polio. My

stepfather was a Christian Scientist, and he believed it would help my

mother if I went to his church. Here they taught me about Mary Baker

Eddy and the Ten Commandments and how to sing "Onward Christian

Soldiers." My mother had a Christan Science nurse plus a little old

lady dressed in black who would come to the house to read the Bible to

her. But their prayers were never answered. My mother remained

paralyzed from the waist down until her death twenty years later.My

Aunt Bertha was a potential source of spiritual guidance. She had a

doctorate in philosophy and lectured coast to coast about the "Oneness

of God." She had a large following during the 1930's, particularly

among women's groups. She wrote a number of books. I remember one

called Joseph, He Has Never Left Us.

It was dedicated to my father, her brother. The cover had a picture of

a naked man crouching in the distance with a spiral of smoke rising

from the top of his head and going up into the sky. My parents thought

she was crazy, and I was forbidden to see her because she made it clear

that she didn't approve of my mother's new marriage. I continued to

meet her in secret because she was the only person I had ever known who

loved me unconditionally. However, I never was interested in, or

followed, her teachings.I grew up then without any real concern

or belief in God. When I got to college, I was briefly interested in

understanding how the world began. There were three basic arguments or

propositions :1. The world always was, and always will be.This was impossible. Surely there must have been a time before the world began.2. The world started itself, and it is finite or it goes on forever.This was also impossible. The world had to start itself with something, and where did that "something" come from?3. The world was started by an outside source, probably divine and therefore unknowable.Another impossibility. If God started the world, where did he come from? Who or what started him?I

learned that when you have several arguments of equal impossibility,

you use Occum's law of the razor. You choose the simplest. I was never

satisfied with the concept that the world always was, not was I happy

with a belief in a God whose existence was impossible to prove and

depended entirely upon blind faith!By the time I graduated from

college, all thoughts of God had receded to an unconscious level.

Perhaps because of this loss, I had an overwhelming fear of dying.

Without God, my death meant total obliteration. The idea that I would

never breathe, feel, see, touch - or more importantly, know myself

again, consumed me with an unrelenting fear that fed on itself. No one

else seemed to have my degree of concern. Yes, they knew in the end

they would die and that there would be nothing left, but since there

isn't anything that you can do about it, you might as well forget it

and concentrate on the present.I remember lines from a poem by Walter Benton :Because our day is of time, of hours -and the clockhand turns,closes the circle upon us :and black timeless night sucks us in like quicksand,receives us totally -without a raincheck or a parachute,a key to heaven or the last long look...(Walter Benton, This Is My Beloved (New York : Knopf, 1943)Psychotherapy

didn't help. The therapist said my fear was due to the fact that I

wasn't getting enough out of life, that the fear would go when I became

more involved in living. Then there wouldn't be any time to think about

dying.The best consolation my psychiatrist could offer were the

tales of the Kalahari. This nomadic African tribe is constantly on the

move. When their people get too old to travel, they voluntarily stay

behind knowing they face certain death from starvation. As the old

people sit and wait to die, they somehow make their peace with this

earth life... and their eyes turn blue like the sky above them.I

tried to accept that we are here for just one brief moment. My goal was

to live each day fully, try to be happy and, above all, make a lot of

money. My fear of death took a back seat. It only surfaced when I was

sick, had a pain of unknown origin, or learned that someone I knew had

died.Within twelve years, I had become one of the best paid

medical advertising space salesmen. I was married and had three

children. At age 39, I decided to quit my lucrative job and try to

become a publisher. Life seemed too short to live and die just to make

money. The whole experience was like a dream; one successful medical

newspaper followed another; I was listed in Who's Who,

and became a millionaire. My only problem was I still didn't believe in

myself. It took years of psychoanalysis to finally accept that I hadn't

fooled anyone, that I won because I worked hard and was good at what I

did.When I was 19, I promised myself that if I ever really made

it in this world, I wouldn't hang in there trying to have more money or

more success. Instead, I would quit and enjoy it. At age 49, I sold the

company and was completely free to do anything I wanted.In

1976, five years after my divorce, I met Judy, the woman who is the

love of my life. For seven years we played at discovering what the

world has to offer. I thought I was very happy, but I was drinking too

much, and smoking too much marijuana. I left New York, built a

beautiful geodesic dome in Virginia, and started doing research in

parapsychology. I thought I had everything I needed except, perhaps,

eternal life!I took several courses at the Monroe Institute in

an attempt to have an "out of the body" experience. If I could only get

out, this would prove that I was more than my physical body. I didn't

make it; but somehow in the process, I started to be more open. I

realized the only way I could continue to grow as to suspend judgment;

and the people who did get out seemed to have similar experiences :

Love is the answer to everything, and we are energy personalities

incarnating for the purpose of growth and exploration. A whole series

of synchronistic events began to disassemble and restructure my belief

systems. Reading Seth, reports of near death experiences, chance

meetings with healers, channels, people with spiritual guides - I was

surrounded and I liked it.I first heard about Sai Baba from a

friend who is a pyschic healer. She had several of his pictures around

the house. She said he was her Master. I never asked her any questions.

Another time she gave a dinner party where I met a man who had just

returned from Baba's ashram. Again, I didn't even ask who he was.

Clearly, I wasn't ready. They say the only people who come to Baba are

those whom he has called.In October 1984, Judy and I picked up two Baba books : Sai Baba, The Holy Man and the Psychiatrist, by Sam Sandweiss, and Avatar,

by Howard Murphet. We were both more than enthusiastic to make India

our next trip. Judy, while happy with her life, yearned to feel

connected to the God force. I liked the descriptions of Baba's

Christ-like existence and the miracles. My casual thought was if

someone like Jesus was really alive and walking the earth, then what

could be better than checking him out.I felt some trepidation

before we left. I loved what I had read about Baba, but he had so many

rules : "Do Good, See Good, Be Good"; "Work is Worship"; "Duty,

Devotion..." I kept finding it difficult to remember the word

"Discipline"! I was afraid; I really didn't think Baba was God, but

suppose he was and he captured me? I'd have to do all those things...

"Watch my Words, my Actions, my Deeds." My whole life would change.Just

before we left, I saw Baba in a dream. He looked at me very sternly,

and in a deep voice said, "What do you want?" I said that I wanted to

know that death is not the end and that I will have a continuing

awareness of myself after death.To say that life in Baba's

ashram is austere reflects a newly found gentleness in my thinking. I

was angry, hopeful, disappointed, fascinated, and sometimes very

lonely. Most of all, I wanted a personal interview. I longed for Baba

to tell me things about myself that would prove to me that he was God.

Each day, twice a day, I would line up and wait. Whenever I was lucky

enough to sit in the first row, my fatigue fell away and the trees

seemed to sway and dance in the breeze. Baba would come so close I

could reach out and touch him, but he never even looked at me. I

watched as eager devotees grabbed at his footprints in the sand,

joyfully throwing the holy sand on their hair, heads and children; and

some, even eating it. What did I have to lose? I sprinkled some on my

head, too.Judy tried unsuccessfully to be helpful. "Baba knows

what is best; perhaps you just aren't ready for an interview." This

kind of talk was infuriating. Everyone always had positive answers as

to why things didn't go the way I wanted.I saw the Australians

with their green and white scarves, the Argentines all dressed in pale

green, the Nepalese all wearing their funny little hats. It seemed that

groups had the best chance for an interview. We even considered forming

a group of lone Americans.I tried the mandir. The vibrational

sounds from the bhajans are supposed to transport and nourish the soul.

Instead, I sat there all scrunched up, knees and bodies prodding me

from every direction. The walls were lined with statues of animals and

pagan looking gods looking down at us, and hanging overhead were

several giant hotel chandeliers. I was surrounded by a sea of shiny

black heads all singing, clapping, and joyously chanting their hymns to

the Lord. Why weren't they all Jews, singing Jewish songs?Baba

sath there on a red throne, his hand keeping a rhythmic beat to the

sound. In my agony, with all the heat, I looked at him and smiled. He

was only 59, one year older than I was and he had some twenty million

followers. If he wasn't God, he certainly was doing well!Later

that night, I met Jon Gilbert. I had first heard about him in Murphet's

book. Jon's story was particularly moving and meaningful to me. Most of

Murphet's reports of Baba's miracles related to Indians. Here was Jon,

an angry Jewish boy from New York (like me), who had been miraculously

cured by Baba. Jon told us that he had gotten sick again and had

returned to the ashram. Baba was helping him, but he was also taking

some medication. He said he had volunteered for work in the kitchen

pulling bean sprouts. He would say "Sairam" each time he pulled a

sprout. Baba says that repeating the name of the Lord is a short cut to

divinity.I was shocked o find Jon looking so pale and deathly

thin, saddened to find him back here and sick again, confused because

it seemed that Baba had failed him.When I told him about my

mandir experience, he was sympathetic. He smiled gently and asked me if

I had met Drucker. "Look for Drucker; you're going to like him."He

was right. Drucker is a God intoxicated man; his love for the Lord is

infectious. Drucker said, "Don't waste your time here trying to figure

out if Baba is divine; look for the divinity in yourself. First you

must have faith in God and then you may have an experience. Many people

come here and feel nothing at darshan and go home with nothing. They

are looking for the experience first, then they will believe. You must

have faith first. Jump in with both feet."Drucker was a turning

point for me. The magic of the place started to take hold. I would sit

smoking outside the main gate watching the beautiful beggar children

play, the roosters on top of the laundry shed, the funky cafes, the

goats, the cows, bullocks, donkeys, and hairless dogs wandering the

street. The little souvenir store shacks lit at night by a bare bulb,

all blaring out Indian bhajan-like music. Surely this must have been

the way it was two thousand years ago.Finally Baba came by at

darshan and not only looked at me, but in a stern voice asked, "Where

are you from?" I was shocked, I blurted out "New York," instead of

Virginia. He just nodded and stopped again nearby asking another man

the same question. The man said, "El Salvador," and Baba beckoned him

to go for an interview. I thought, "Well, he probably needs it more

than I do."Another time Baba stopped in front of me and I

gently reached out and touched his foot. It just felt smooth and warm,

but no great rushes of feeling or revelation came. He even took one of

my letters, but the only miracle I saw was his constant manifesting of

vibhuti. I saw many people who had rings and pendants that Baba had

made; they all had wonderful stories.One personal leela from

Baba was my discovery that during bhajans I could close my eyes and

suddenly the whole scene I had been watching turned into beautiful

shades of intense rose, pink, mauve and orange. At first I thought it

was an after-image, but the scene kept changing. The audience would

fade and I'd see huge palaces with gigantic walls and turrets. When

Baba came outside, I could close my eyes and the whole scene would turn

into a soft and yet vivid pink. He lit the sky with his presence.I

also started to see an eye. It would suddenly appear in front of my

closed vision, sort of between my real eyes. I found that I could bring

it in so close I could see the capillaries. I would stare at the pupil,

looking for a message from the Lord. Is God watching me? The eye looked

very familiar, the shape, the lines... yes, it was my very own. It was

comforting. I had a new friend and focus for meditation.One day

at darshan, I saw Drucker in the distance tending to a sick man on a

stretcher. I strained but couldn't see who he was. Nervously, I looked

around for Jon Gilbert, but he wasn't in sight. Baba came by, stopped,

chatted with Drucker, and then moved on. A group of men I recognized

then came up to Drucker and together they carried the man out. Later, I

learned that Jon had died. I was told that he had a beautiful death;

all of his friends gathered round his bed chanting "Sai Ram". Jon died

with a gentle smile on his face.Tears welled up in my eyes; I

cried uncontrollably. How could Baba let him die? How could death be

beautiful? Judy said later, "You don't know about Jon. You don't

understand what happened in his life or about his past lives."I

sobbed, "No, I don't, but I do know Jon wanted to live; that's why he

was here; that's why he said one thousand Sairams a day every time he

picked a bean sprout. Certainly he had karma; he was in a lot of pain,

but he wanted to stay alive and pay his dues. If Baba is God, why

didn't he lit him live? I am tired of all these Indian miracles. I'm

not going to read the books anymore. I'm fed up."There was a

funeral service. The people who knew Jon met at the Ganesha Gate.

Drucker led the procession out of town, men and women walked

separately, all carrying incense. Drucker and the bookstore man, Burt,

chanted the vedas. I liked their deep awesome sound; it reminded me of

Jews dovening.We walked to the grave site, a deep hole in the

sandy dry riverbed. I was startled to see that I knew most of the

people who were there. I stood next to Massimo. He once gave a stranger

his place in the first row at darshan. There was Robin, a man I used to

watch play with his beautiful young blond son. So many faces that I had

met or watched during these past weeks... all people I had written

about in my journal.The heat was unbearable. Drucker put on a

gold and white yarmulke. He said we were there, not to mourn Jon, but

to celebrate the Lord. He told how Jon had come as an angry young man

in 1973, a terminal case with Hodgkin's Disease, how Baba had cared for

him and given him eleven more years to develop spiritually. We said

kaddish and sang Jewish songs; and Drucker passed around Jon's vibhuti

box which was filled with Jon's ashes. One by one we sprinkled them

into the gaping hole in the ground.That night, in the middle of

the night, I woke up suddenly. I could see Drucker with that gold

yarmulke on his head. I asked myself, "How often does a man die here?

How often does a man die here and have a Jewish funeral? How often does

Drucker, a man I know, conduct the ceremony? How often does a man die

here that I know!" At that moment, all of the faces of all the people

from the funeral suddenly came to life like characters in a movie. I

sobbed with joy. This was Baba's divinity play. Baba knows me. He

cares. He orchestrated the whole scenario for my learning, for my

benefit, so that I could understand and lose my fear of death.I

felt, at last, I had made a dent in my protective armor. There were

even moments when I thought Baba was God; but in the next instant, I

would ask myself, "How could God's eyes be bloodshot? He coughs, he

sweats..."Kasturi says that Baba likes to churn us up. Baba likes butter. The only way you get butter from milk is to churn.As

we left Puttaparthi, I was feeling very clean after being without

marijuana and alcohol for almost a month. No promises; I didn't even

tell Judy; I thought I would just see how it felt to go without them

for a while. We stopped off in Hawaii and stayed at a beautiful beach

resort where I would normally start drinking before noon. I used to

have at least two or three very large drinks before dinner, then a half

bottle of wine with my meal followed by white brandy. In between, I'd

be smoking a joint, just to feel a little more out of it... I liked the

feeling of drifting off into a deep sleep. Strange, considering all my

fears about my life being snuffed out.I stopped completely,

cold turkey; it was effortless. At first I didn't feel very different.

I was just pleased with how easy it was.Judy was overjoyed. She

had never told me, but before going to see Baba, she had prayed to him

saying, "Baba, if you are all these books say you are, I only want one

thing - to have Jack stop drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana."I

began to notice a few subtle changes, like deciding not to lie anymore;

or I'd find my feelings just welling up inside me, find myself crying

while telling stories about some of my Baba experiences.It was

very gradual. I read many more Baba books, started listening to bhajan

tapes; and I actually began watching my words, thoughts and actions.

When I felt impatient, I would remember waiting on a line at the ashram

and start repeating, "Sairam, Sairam" over and over again. I'd forget

to say thanks for my food, so much so that I had to promise myself that

if I forgot again, I would have to get down on my knees to give thanks.I

was, and still am, of two minds; mine, and the monkey's. Sometimes I

talk about Baba as if he were God. I tell my children that God has

incarnated as a human to light the lamp of love and bring back a

rebirth of spirituality.My son Adam brings me up short by

saying, "Well Dad, you always have been into power!" My children are

young adults. They are pleased that I no longer smoke grass and drink,

but they find all my talk about God too much.Adam says, "Why

does he need a bodyguard, you know, the big guy who keeps the people

back? If he's God, why can't he hold them in line with his mind? Why

doesn't he get on television, appearing on every channel at the same

time? Then everyone will know he's God!" I tell them it is not possible

to prove that Baba is divine, that you just have to accept it; but

sometimes I wish it were possible.Other times my kids asks, "If

Baba is God, then why doesn't he do something about all the wars,

famine, injustice, and suffering?"I try to tell them that Baba

is here to raise man's spiritual consciousness, that then, and only

then, can there be peace and harmony. Baba says that if he were to

simply wave his hand and make everything perfect, we would soon return

to the same conditions we have now. He says it is up to us to find our

own spiritual rebirth. Sometimes I wounder why Baba can't or won't

include the perfection of human consciousness in this wave of his hand.

Perhaps if he did, there wouldn't be any reason for us to incarnate.I

want to live by Baba's five principles of truth, right conduct, love,

peace and nonviolence. I have started to pray and say the gayatri

mantra each morning and before sleep. When thinking bad thoughts, I

catch myself, and say "Sairam." I used to love to gossip, but now I

stop myself, at least most of the time.I truly believe that our

ego and attachments are the root cause of pain and suffering. Without

attachments we can loosen desire; without desire we can be free of

anger, hate, jealousy, greed, envy and pride. Without our egos, we can

be humble, and hopefully seek and find God. Baba says that he knows our

past, present, and future. Then how can there be free will? Where is

the basis for praise or blame? I liked my old rules. It took me a long

time to feel good about myself. Now that I have finally gotten a sense

of pride from worldly success, it seems it wasn't "me" or "mine" at all

- but it was God's grace.I've read that the only choice we have

is to turn towards God or away from him. It's really not a bad tradeoff

because if I place myself in God's hands, then I am protected; I don't

have to spin the dice anymore. I am his! But if everything has been

decided, then why try and do anything? The answer seems to be that

being a human, or in a physical body, means that most of us will not

always turn towards God, so we need to live our lives as if we had free

will.Baba says, "Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a game, play it. Life is love, enjoy it. Life is a dream, realize it."Baba

tells a story about a dog entering a room where all of the walls are

mirrored. The dog seeing many dogs, barks. When a man enters the same

room, he sees his many reflections. He takes pleasure in discovering

the different aspects of himself. Baba explains that in the world we

see billions of people and objects appearing to be different. He says

that these differences are like the reflections in the mirror; they are

illusory. Baba says there is great joy in getting acquainted with, and

learning to love, the many aspects of ourselves in the people, and

objects around us. He says he is in our hearts; I hope to find him.Baba

says, look at the ocean. See the waves swelling, rolling, breaking into

foaming surf. You see different forms : water, waves, foam, and

bubbles, yet you do not question for an instant that all you see is the

ocean. You can understand because of the brief span of time it takes

for the different forms to merge and blend as one. If only we can make

a leap of faith, we will know that everything is his creation and that

we are part of him. To see ourselves as separate is to miss the joy of

knowing that we are him, that we are all divine; surely then, we can

see and love ourselves in every person, blade of grass, and star in the

universe.My values continue to change. In all my life I have

never done any service work. I have never intentionally hurt anyone,

but doing good for others was an activity I either ignored or hoped

others would handle. At Baba's 60th birthday, I was asked by Hal Honig,

a Regional Director, if I would try and set up a Baba Study Group in

Virginia. I hesitated. I didn't want to say yes and then not do it. You

can get in big trouble lying to God! The more I thought about it the

better I liked it. Here was a built-in opportunity to test myself, to

find out if I could make it on this spiritual path. I welcomed the idea

of meeting and being around Baba people.I always liked the quote : "Hands that serve are holier than lips that pray."

Now I would have my chance; only this time, I vowed not to run this

group like one of my former corporations. I hoped to do the work with

love and trust that Baba will do the rest.I no longer feel I

have to make it happen. Our study group started with twelve, and now we

are down to seven regulars. Our first service project was to build a

vegetable garden at "Liberty House", a local nursing home for the aged.

I was a bit nervous seeing the majority of the 109 patients in

wheelchairs. As a child, I had to push my mother everywhere, and I

guess I didn't get enough, or at least I didn't do it with love, so now

Baba is giving me another chance. On our very first day, I sat with an

old patient who just liked to sing hymns. We sang "Onward Christian

Soldiers." I remembered it from the time my stepfather made me go to

the Christian Science church.Soon another old man, looking

depressed, joined us. I asked him how he felt and he said, "Not good, a

man just died." I nodded trying to offer some comfort, but I wondered,

how come the first thing out of this man's mouth dealt with my own fear

of dying? In the next second, the man started to tell me how afraid he

was of losing his money. Again, the man had tapped directly into my own

major concern with money. At that moment I smiled, realizing this was

surely Baba's way of saying hello and indicating he was indeed watching.Another

of Baba's teachings, putting a ceiling on my material desires, is

slowly becoming a part of my life. I still buy too many things, but

more and more I ask before making a purchase : do I really want it,

does is serve a meaningful purpose, does it hurt or deprive anyone? I

truly want to give up being attached to things. My goal is to treat

objects as if they were rented furniture in a beautiful hotel room -

enjoy, and yet walk away without regrets at check-out time.When

I was a child, I think I gave up God because there didn't seem to be

any way for him to see and know everything and be everywhere. Now I'm

told that Baba is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. He knows

everything; he is everywhere, and he is all powerful. Why not?

Certainly the Lord is more than a giant universal computer. It seems

I've come full circle, and it's with a great sense of relief that I can

begin now to "Let go and Let God." I'm ready to be captured, ready to

stop talking and just do the work I should be doing.In Vedanta

and Sai literature, there are many references to bliss and joy of

becoming one with the Lord. The only liberation I want is complete

freedom from my old fears of death. Merging is like a raindrop falling

into the ocean - it's gone; it's not a drop anymore. I'm not yet ready

to give up my still precious sense of self awareness. I don't want to

be the sugar; I want to taste it.Baba says, "Enjoy," and "End Joy."Slowly

now, when I think about dying, I imagine peacefully letting go and

leaving my body. I keep hearing him say, "You are not the body; shed it

like a worn out overcoat." And I'll think, "That's what I want to do,

go out smiling with Sai Ram on my lips." But suddenly, my old fears

leap out : "Suppose it's all a hoax - that you just die, squished out

like a fly, zapped into oblivion?"Then I laugh, "Even so, there isn't a better way to live than following Baba's teachings."I believe I know now what I want to become. One...Who has no hatred towards any being, is friendly, kind and compassionate; Who does not feel that anything belongs to him, And bears sorrow and joy with equanimity.(The words of Sri Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita)(From : Transformation of the Heart, compiled and edited by

Judy Warner)Copyright reserved by Sri Sathya Sai Books and Publications Trust, Prashanti Nilayam Visit : Sai Divine Inspirations : http://saidivineinspirations.blogspot.com/ Sai Messages : http://saimessages.blogspot.com/ Love Is My

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