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Enlightenment Journal | Summer 2017
he spoke them to me or to others. When I discerned his unspoken thoughts, he
would glance at me with a knowing smile. When I was not physically with him, I
was often mentally and spiritually attuned to his mind and consciousness and felt
his presence.
Late one evening, Master talked privately with me in the living room of his
modest, two-room apartment on the top floor of the headquarters building. As
he blessed me, and assured me that he would talk with me from time to time, he
took a banana from a nearby bowl of fruit and gave it to me. In the men's dormi-
tory a few minutes later, sitting on my bed, reflecting on my good fortune to have
Master as my guru, I slowly ate the banana, including the peel because I did not
want to deprive myself of any blessings that flowed from his hands.
A new building, which Master named India House, was then being built beside
the Hollywood temple. A vegetarian restaurant would be at the street level; a
meeting hall at the lower level would be used for social and cultural purposes.
When the concrete walls were being poured, all of the monks were assigned to
the project. Bernard Cole, a senior SRF minister, came late in the afternoon to
examine the work in progress. As he walked by me, he said, “Master wants to see
you tonight. Be in the basement hallway near the elevator at seven o'clock.”
At 9 p.m., after I had waited for two hours, thinking that Master had been
detained because of other, more important matters, I went to the dormitory and
slept.
“Where were you last night?” The unexpected inquiry was directed to me by
one of the younger monks. “Master had to go out last night and got back late. He
asked me ‘Where's Roy?’ When I offered to find you, he said he would see you
later.”
That afternoon, Bernard informed me, “Master wants to see you tonight at
seven o’clock, in the lower hallway.”
That evening, after I had patiently waited for almost two hours, Master’s car
was brought to the entrance of the building and luggage was put into its trunk.
Word spread that he was going to his retreat house in Twentynine Palms, a three
hour drive east of Los Angeles, and would be there for several months.
Thirty or more disciples lined the hallway to bid their guru a fond farewell.
Before long, someone announced that Master was talking on the telephone and
would not depart until the next day. His car was returned to the garage, the gath-
ering of disciples dispersed, and I was again alone, this time firmly resolved to
remain there throughout the night, if necessary. I did not have to wait long.
I heard the elevator descend, and stop. As the door slid open, Master looked
out, saw me, smiled broadly, and exuberantly exclaimed, “There's my boy!”