In a recent seclusion, this one in a little bungalow below the Ananda monastery, I felt especially close to Christ and our line of Masters. Occasionally footsteps could be heard approaching, then receding— outside the door I would find food, and an aura of kindness, self-offering and divine friendship so palpable that tears would come to my eyes. Into my … Read More
Sunday Service at Ananda Village with Brahmachari Jitendra.
Grief is not a linear experience. It is not something that you leave behind. As a wise friend who lost her son in a tragic gun accident once said to me, “You do not move through grief, you move in it.” Grief does not recede like a tide, you never move past it. The goal of its recovery is not … Read More
The sun and moon and earth and all things are held together by the love of God. If we want to know God, we must not isolate our love but join it to divine love. In spite of life’s sorrows, and the dance of life and death, we know that God is love. Love cannot be described; it can only … Read More
Because I was born Jewish, there have been many times when I’ve had to talk with folks who’ve come to Yogananda’s teachings from Jewish roots, only to find themselves thoroughly befuddled by the picture of Christ on our altars. If you’re Jewish, you can handle images of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesha, far better than […]
Swami Kriyananda’s children’s songs touch that deep inner place — in adults just as much as in children — where the untrammeled soul longs simply to live in God, where our essential response to life is gratitude to the Giver of all, where sharing what we have with others and with God flows as naturally as breathing: Thank You, God, for the smile of … Read More
The New Year has come to greet you with new hopes, new determination, new will-to-achieve, new activities. In the Temple of the New Year renew your reverence for the unlimited hidden power of God within you.
Just twenty-six years ago this month I wrote a very special song, one that has remained for many people a favorite among my compositions. I still recall repeatedly wiping away the tears that I might see to write. It was a carol, and I gave it the name, “The Christmas Mystery.”
Padre Pio decided to build a hospital in a desperately poor region of southern Italy.
I was in Washington DC with my high-school class on a field-trip during one of the most intense snow-storms the city had seen in nearly a decade (or so we were told). We were having dinner at a host’s house one evening when it began to snow. By the time we finished dinner, there was six inches of snow on the ground, and the storm only appeared to be worsening!