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Yogananda, Paramahansa, 1893-1952

"Autobiography of a Yogi"

"How many years
I have waited for you!"
We entered a oneness of silence; words seemed the rankest
superfluities. Eloquence flowed in soundless chant from heart of
master to disciple. With an antenna of irrefragable insight I sensed
that my guru knew God, and would lead me to Him. The obscuration
of this life disappeared in a fragile dawn of prenatal memories.
Dramatic time! Past, present, and future are its cycling scenes.
This was not the first sun to find me at these holy feet!
My hand in his, my guru led me to his temporary residence in the
Rana Mahal section of the city. His athletic figure moved with firm
tread. Tall, erect, about fifty-five at this time, he was active
and vigorous as a young man. His dark eyes were large, beautiful with
plumbless wisdom. Slightly curly hair softened a face of striking
power. Strength mingled subtly with gentleness.
As we made our way to the stone balcony of a house overlooking the
Ganges, he said affectionately:
"I will give you my hermitages and all I possess."
"Sir, I come for wisdom and God-contact. Those are your treasure-troves
I am after!"
The swift Indian twilight had dropped its half-curtain before my
master spoke again. His eyes held unfathomable tenderness.
"I give you my unconditional love."
Precious words! A quarter-century elapsed before I had another
auricular proof of his love. His lips were strange to ardor; silence
became his oceanic heart.


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