Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Rome and Home

Baba taunted the man, replying, “Yes, you cannot follow because you are in Rome, and I know because I am at Home! This is the difference between you and me. You are in Rome and I am at Home!”

The priest then left, quite puzzled by his encounter with Baba. What Baba meant by “Home” was that he was one with God, and “Rome” was the church – rites, rituals, orthodoxy. God abided in Baba, and Baba abided in God. But to the priest God was in Rome – the church in Rome.

Above is an excerpt from a story from Lord Meher that I received in my inbox today and quite like. The punchline of course is the following:

 You are in Rome and I am at Home

This quote carries more weight for me because I attended a Catholic school and was nominally a Catholic until about age 15 when the penny dropped so to speak. While I'm not in Rome anymore, I'm still far from home or "walking far from home" as the Iron and Wine song lyrics go. What follows is the full story and a wonderful photo of Baba taken in 1936 when he was 42 years old. He looks magnificent. The photo immediately follows the story. 

(March 1937) Baba was in Nasik. Malcolm Schloss had met a Catholic priest at a religious conference in Nasik and he urged the priest to meet Baba, but he declined. When he told Baba, he also seemed uninterested. However, due to Malcolm’s persuasion a meeting was arranged. The following conversation between the priest and Meher Baba then ensued:

When they met, Baba commented to him, “All the Mullajis (Muslim priests) are good; the Pope is good; the Pandits (Hindu scholars) are good. But only the Sankaracharya (1) (head of orthodox Hinduism) can speak for hours on end!”

The priest had recently returned from participating in the religious conference, and hearing Baba’s words, proudly refuted, “It was not the Sankaracharya, but I who spoke during the whole conference. The Sankaracharya could not argue convincingly at all. He could not say a word to me and I rebuked him severely.”

“Yes,” replied Baba, “these Mullajis, and the Sankaracharya, all need to be warned. They deserve lecturing and need to be taken to task.”

“You just said they are good and now you say they need to be lectured,” the priest said. “I don’t follow what you mean.”

Explaining, Baba spelled out, “The Sankaracharya and high priests have big heads – they are intellectuals – but they have small hearts. You, however, have a good heart.”

Baba added, “There are many to teach in the world, but very few to learn.”

“What do you mean?” asked the priest.

“They all teach but none of them wants to learn – and those who teach do not know the Truth themselves!”

Baba then recounted a striking incident concerning Baily: “A chap named Baily was my school friend and he just could not believe how a boy like me who used to play marbles with him, could as a man attain such a high state while he was still in the same state where he was. The difference between him and me was so phenomenal that he wanted to see some miracles as proof in order to gain conviction about me. One day, when Baily was writing something in my thatched hut in Poona, all of a sudden the inkwell began dancing up and down! He was flabbergasted. After a little while, the pen jumped from his hand and also started to dance. He started shouting, ‘Baba! Baba!’ and wept continuously for some days. From that day on, he was convinced of my powers and had faith in me.

“I told him, ‘You are a fool. If this small phenomena could convince you of spirituality, why don’t you go and follow Muhammad Chhel, who was a well-known tantric magician?’

“All miracles are child’s play, whereas spirituality is far above them. Miracles in themselves have no spiritual value or significance. But they are necessary and, at times, performed by the Master as a means to convince people of Truth and spirituality. Jesus performed miracles not for his own gain, but to make people recognize the Truth and to create faith in them. Yet, when he was crucified, he who could raise the dead, did not stop it!”

Changing the subject, the priest asked, “Why do you keep silence? Why don’t you speak?”

“I always speak!” Baba smilingly replied, “I continually speak through you, through all the high priests and through everyone.”

Not following what Baba meant, the priest asked, “Then why do you use the alphabet board?”

“I talk through you and all, and I answer questions through this board.”

The priest looked more perplexed and asked, “How? I don’t understand.”

Baba taunted the man, replying, “Yes, you cannot follow because you are in Rome, and I know because I am at Home! This is the difference between you and me. You are in Rome and I am at Home!”

The priest then left, quite puzzled by his encounter with Baba. What Baba meant by “Home” was that he was one with God, and “Rome” was the church – rites, rituals, orthodoxy. God abided in Baba, and Baba abided in God. But to the priest God was in Rome – the church in Rome.

(1) Footnote: In Hinduism the Sankaracharya is similar in status to the Pope in Roman Catholicism.

Lord Meher, Original Publication, Bhau Kalchuri, Vol. 6, pp. 2129 – 2130. Link.

Friday, March 15, 2024

My Grandfather's Clock

My father gave me his father's gold pocket watch when I left home in late 1973 and it was stolen a couple of years later in a house break-in. He was clearly disappointed when I told him later and I was upset by its loss when it happened but there's was nothing to be done except to accept its loss.

Last night I dreamt that a watch of mine had broken when I dropped it. In appearance, it was some weird composite of a smartphone, wristwatch and pocket watch and I remember trying to get it fixed. There was no resolution of the problem. However, I was quite soon after this splashing about in a pool and diving underwater.


Upon awakening, I associated this with the amniotic fluid of the womb and the broken chronometer, reminiscent of my grandfather's fob watch, was a sign that my time was up. Admittedly the night before, I had been contemplating my mortality as I lay in bed trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

With my birthday a little over two weeks away, I seem to be somewhat preoccupied with my mortality as if turning 75 is somehow more significant than other birthdays. Meher Baba died 25 days short of his 75th birthday and I'm now past that point with about 19 days remaining. 

Daniel Norgren's song "Everything You Know Melts Away Like Snow" playing on my phone as I write this. I play this song quite often on my guitar.

Everything you know

Everything you know

Melts away like snow

Melts away like snow (mm-hmm, mm-hmm)

Everyone you love

Everyone you love

Grass will grow above

Grass will grow above (mm-hmm, mm-hmm)

Cold black starry night

Cold black starry night

Makes my day look bright

Makes my day look bright (mm-hmm, mm-hmm)

Never comes the day

Never comes the day

That keeps the night away

Keeps the night away (mm-hmm, mm-hmm)

New green grass will grow

New green grass will grow

Folks will come and go

Folks will come and go (mm-hmm, mm-hmm)

Speaking of music, the title of this post is also that of a old song that goes like this:

So the old man lived ninety years in this song. Will I last that long?