Why the New Quotes by Master?
8. “Why do you quote Master as saying things that SRF does not officially quote or even endorse?”
Why shouldn’t I? I also lived with him personally. With my own ears I heard what he said. Much of it was addressed to me personally, some of it when we were alone. Certain things he told me to guide me in my future service to his work. Of course I will—indeed, I must—repeat what he said to me. Not to do so would be to abdicate my responsibility to him as his disciple. I am not the beneficiary merely of printed lessons and instructions from the “Mother Center.” And if I am an embarrassment to SRF, it is an embarrassment they themselves created by throwing me out. (You can read that whole story, if you’re interested. It is told as honestly as I was able in my book A Place Called Ananda.)
[See also The Essence of Self-Realization, Kriyananda’s compilation of sayings by Paramhansa Yogananda]
“Who Are You to Speak for Yogananda?”
9. “What right have you to speak on behalf of your Guru, when what you say contradicts certain things that are said by his disciples of many years?”
Doesn’t any disciple have the right—indeed, the divine duty—to quote what he heard from his guru?
There is a further aspect to this matter: He himself told me to speak on his behalf. He appointed me. He said, “You have a great work to do, Walter.” (That was the name he called me.) If Daya Mata denies that he ever told me any such thing—in fact, she does do so—I can only reply, “She wasn’t there.” Again, I explain these matters in detail in A Place Called Ananda.
Daya emphasizes her seniority over me as a disciple. What does that mean? She was with him seventeen years longer than I. Is that so very significant? Fifty-three years have passed, now, since I met him. I’ve devoted all this time to trying to understand him and his teachings on ever deeper levels. It has been my job—one, moreover, that he gave me himself—to teach on his behalf.
Would one consider Einstein’s wife more knowledgeable in his scientific theories than the physicists who endorsed his discoveries, merely because she’d known him longer and been physically closer to him than they? Long familiarity with Master on a daily basis, without having to explain his teachings to others, may also, as I’ve already suggested, have been a disadvantage in presenting his teachings later on. It could easily bias one’s understanding in favor of his human personality, if one’s own experience was so focused on that personality. Therefore Ramakrishna often said that a light (of the kind they used in those days) shines at a distance, but creates a shadow around its base.
Master’s way of teaching each disciple was highly individual. The way he spoke to the monks was particular to us, also, as a group. With us, he placed more emphasis on the impersonal aspect of God. With the nuns, he gave more emphasis to God’s personal aspect.
A monk once asked him in my presence (only the three of us were present), “Who was that saint who appeared to you in Encinitas?”
Master said he didn’t know to whom the young man was referring. So many had appeared! The disciple was astonished by these words, whereupon Master replied, “Why be surprised? Wherever God is, there His saints come.”
I recorded this verbal exchange, and later submitted it to the editorial department for inclusion in a new book, The Master Said. Tara Mata, the editor, changed Master’s answer to read, “Wherever a devotee of God is, there His saints come” (italics added). The Master’s words, however, had been far more impersonal. They carried no suggestion of the humble devotee seeking union with his Creator. Master’s reply, in Tara’s edited rendition, had no real meaning. (Isn’t it common, after all, for saints to come to devotees of God, and bless them?) As he actually phrased it, he was saying that the Lord Himself was manifested in that form. The significance of this statement was very deep.
Nothing I’ve done is presumptuous. Master said to me several times, “You have a great work to do, Walter.” At Christmas, 1949, during the all-day meditation, he said in front of everyone present, “Walter, you must try hard, for God will bless you very much.” [See Chapters 27 and 29 of The Path]
Was I, as SRF today likes to think, a “Johnny-come-lately”? The above facts, and many others besides, contradict that self- serving belief.
Daya’s job has never been to teach on our Guru’s behalf. She ran many aspects of the organization while he was alive, as office manager. Later, after she was made president, she did of course speak publicly on his behalf. To teach, however, means to explain: This has not been her role, nor has it even been her interest. An example of this disinterest may be seen in a reply she gave me some fifty-two years ago, to a request for clarification of the meaning of Christ Consciousness. Anyone desirous of giving a well-thought-out answer would have been more careful. Daya simply said, “It’s when you see all humanity as your brothers and sisters.” Her reply was correct, as far as it went, but it hardly scratched the surface of Master’s teachings on the subject.
Why the Changes in His Techniques?
10. “Why have you introduced changes into Yogananda’s meditation techniques and energization exercises?”
The answer is, I have not. I’ve been rigidly orthodox in my teaching of them. Since the reply to this question must necessarily involve a detailed explanation, and in order not to make the present paper over-burdensome for the reader, I suggest you contact Ananda for more information. One note that might be added here: Master sometimes made a new suggestion to me for how to practice and teach a technique. On one of those occasions he added, “You may teach it that way, if you like.”
Why a Separate Organization?
11. “Why have you presumed to create another organization, apart from SRF?”
The answer to this question is simple: I was inwardly guided to do so. Besides, I was given no alternative. I created Ananda six years after my “ouster” from SRF; its creation, then, was hardly impetuous. SRF had closed every door of opportunity to me for serving Master within the organization.
I once even asked the SRF directors if I might distribute his books to bookstores near me, in the San Francisco Bay Area. The reply came by telegram: “No, it is impossible you represent SRF as jobber or in any other capacity. [signed:] Self- Realization Fellowship Board of Directors.” Their total refusal to accept any service from me freed me to follow my own inner guidance without further references to their wishes.
Why, then, did I do anything on my own? Because I am his disciple. It is the duty of every disciple to serve the guru. It was, moreover, in obedience to Master’s own oft-repeated command to me: “You have a great work to do, Walter.”
Why Two Versions of the Rubaiyat?
12. “Why did you publish your own version of Yogananda’s commentaries on The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam?”
The book I edited and published under the name, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Explained was authored by Paramhansa Yogananda, not by me. It was emphatically not “my own version” in the sense of being different from Master’s. It was entirely based on his original work, even to the point where, if I had a thought to add that might, it seemed to me, help the reader to understand a point more fully, I put it separately under the heading, “Editorial Comment.” I took great pains not to add a single thought to the text, nor to detract a single thought from it. I was as faithful to his meaning as I could possibly be.
Was my editing in any case, however, presumptuous? Hadn’t Master requested Tara Mata and Mrinalini Mata to edit that book? Daya Mata insisted that such was the case. For myself, I had to be guided by the following facts:
A) Tara Mata’s editing, as demonstrated by her ponderous and far-from-poetic editing of Whispers from Eternity, had shown her incapable of editing this particular work, which Master in his own commentaries had clearly intended to be also a work of poetry.
B) I was an “insider” at Mt. Washington for most of my fourteen years there, and knew only that Master had wanted Mrinalini to edit his lessons, not his books. (The lessons, incidentally—as far as I know—have yet to be offered to the public.)
C) Tara died in 1970, two years after a massive stroke. Works that hadn’t been completed by that time had to be undertaken by others. In my opinion, as one who has devoted most of his seventy-five years of life to expressing his Guru’s teachings through the written word, the publications that have appeared since that time have been disappointing.
I had already seen SRF’s version of Master’s commentaries on the Rubaiyat. They had appeared for several years in the SRF magazines. To me, their editing of this book fails to do credit to our great Master. Beautiful phrases in the original often became, in their edited form, dull and unchallenging, as though great pains had been taken not to surprise or offend anyone. (Good writing, however, demands surprises occasionally to keep the reader awake and interested.) Strained expressions found their way into the text, such as, “Gaze with envy on the saints.” (Is not envy a spiritual flaw? Competent editing would have made the sentence read something like, “Emulate the saints.” But in fact, Master hadn’t expressed even that thought, himself. Who, then, had a right to insert it?) Mixed metaphors, even within a single sentence, burdened the text. Changes of wording failed to clarify the meaning, and sometimes actually obscured it.
A comment I frequently heard while those commentaries were appearing in the SRF magazines was, “Whenever an issue arrives in the mail, I eagerly open it to his Rubaiyat commentary. And each time, a few paragraphs later, I’ve put it down, unable to proceed. Perhaps, I felt, I was just sleepy!”
There’s another side to this story. For I don’t want you to think I merely blundered in with the thought, “This work needs better editing.” Master had asked me himself to help him with editing.
When he went out in 1950 to Twenty-Nine Palms, his desert retreat, to work on his commentaries on the Rubaiyat, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Holy Bible, he took me with him. Before we left, he told me in the presence of some of the monks, “I asked Divine Mother whom I should take with me to help with this work, and your face appeared, Walter. To make doubly certain, I asked her twice more. Each time, your face appeared. That’s why I am taking you.” [See Chapter 30 of The Path]
People always laugh at the words, or perhaps only at the self-deprecating way I relate them, “I asked Her twice more”—as if it hadn’t been believable to Master that Divine Mother would choose me of all people! In fact, of course, what he wanted to do was say he was satisfied that he understood Her wishes correctly.
Divine Mother must have known I wasn’t ready for such an important work! I was only twenty-three, a “greenhorn” especially in my discipleship. I wasn’t yet fully steeped in his teachings. How could I possibly grasp subtleties that could become clear to me only after years of meditating on him, on his teachings, on his words, his very tone of voice, his actions, his gestures, his very facial expressions? I should add that my life as a disciple has been spent meditating on these things. Never have I done anything important without first inwardly consulting him and asking, “What would you do in this circumstance? What deeper meaning could you have intended in that sentence?”
Having heard him speak and teach on numerous occasions, I feel it safe now to say that at least I would not be likely to mis-interpret him. My understanding in these matters has matured gradually over the years.
Here is an example of the clarification that may be needed especially of the spoken word: I heard him say on one occasion, “I slept and dreamed life was beauty; I woke up and found life is duty.” The meaning of that statement is not so simple or obvious as may first appear. Indeed, there are deep waters here. For duty, too, is not the last word in his teaching on this subject. Beyond duty, as he often reminded us, lies rest in the eternal divine beauty.
Again, he once said to me, “The dreamer is not conscious of his dream.” It is not enough to recognize that, of course, the dreamer must be at least somewhat conscious, to dream at all. What he lacks is awareness of it as a dream. Tara rendered this sentence, for The Master Said, as, “The dreamer is not cognizant of the hallucinatory fabric of his dream.” Thus, although clarifying the meaning, she sacrificed simplicity and rhythm. No one would, or even could, speak in such a way. Better, it seemed to me, because truer to what Master actually did say, to edit his statement thus: “The dreamer is not aware that in fact he is only dreaming.”
All of the above raises a question: Why should a master’s work require editing at all? Being a master, wouldn’t his every word be exact? Well, it simply wasn’t always. And as someone who has devoted over sixty years to editing his own writing—often not satisfied with a piece until I’d gone over it fifty times—I can say with confidence that words are simply beasts of burden for the ideas they express. Master spoke intuitively, not with the careful precision of someone wedded to intellectuality. Much of what he said wasn’t actually stated by his words at all: It was only implied by them. One had to tune in to his meaning and grasp it on a soul level. Much of it, indeed, was multi-leveled: intended to be understood by the individual according to his or her own degree of spiritual refinement.
I’ve grown increasingly sensitive over the years to what a burden it must be for a master even to think in prosaic, logical sequences, when his intuition takes him soaring far above ratiocination and the plodding, logic-obsessed intellect. In reading the words of any great master, one quickly notices that his words were either carefully edited—too much so, usually—to make their meaning perfectly clear to the reader, or the cumbersomeness of the master’s expression suggests that much was left unexpressed.
To me, the editing process is rather like plumbing. It arranges words in such a way as to make their flow right. Ultimately, the true editor’s goal is to call attention, not to the words themselves, but to the ideas they express. At the end of the process, he or she must often feel, “This is all so obvious, I’m not sure I’ve really done anything at all!”
How Can There Be a New View?
13. “How can you presume to hold views different from Daya Mata’s of Master’s work—of what he intended and what he meant? Don’t you know that Master transferred his spiritual mantle to her at his death? And don’t you respect the fact that she is God- realized?”
We arrive here, friends, at a sticky point. I know Daya claims that Master, at his death (an event at which I too was present), transferred his mantle to her. Master himself, however, on several occasions declared, “I’ve transferred my mantle to St. Lynn [Rajarsi Janakananda].” This transferral is consonant with a deep mystical tradition, which singles out only one disciple. Indeed, I wonder whether Master didn’t make this declaration so often out of anticipation that others might later claim his mantle for themselves. Rajarsi was alive at the time of Master’s death. Daya’s presidency was not even made by appointment: She was elected to it.
|December 2003 – Paramhansa Yogananda’s Predictions for the SRF Presidency, by Swami Kriyananda|
Moreover, this position was first offered to Durga Mata, even if only as a courtesy in recognition of her years of seniority. There could be no question here, then, of a second mantle having been bestowed.
Daya may, for all that, be expressing her own understanding of the event, for it is quite possible she received a deep blessing on that occasion. It’s normal for the disciples to be specially blessed at their guru’s passing.
Is Daya Mata, then, God-realized? A tradition has developed in SRF that Master foretold that every SRF president in future would be God-realized. To this tradition I can only reply that it is new, and apocryphal. I lived in the SRF monasteries for ten years after his passing. I was far more an insider than most of the monks and nuns. During all that time I never once heard him quoted as having made this prediction. Had he made it, I would certainly have known the fact. What he actually said was quoted first by Tara Mata at a Christmas banquet during the 1950s, several years after his passing. And I am not confident of her quote, for she showed herself in several ways willing to make his words serve institutional policy. Her quote, then, may be approximated as follows: “No future SRF president will fall from my ideals.”
It would be absurd, of course, to think that election to the presidency automatically elevates one to the state of divine realization. This, to my mind, is another of those “organizational myths” which so conveniently sprout up within every institution.
Has Daya Mata fallen from Yogananda’s ideals?
No, certainly not, though in my opinion she has drifted from some of his intentions for the work. Were she God-realized, however, she would have shown insight into things beyond the normal human capacity to perceive them. In my long years of experience with her, she has not shown such insight. Rather, I’ve been astonished sometimes at certain misconstructions she has placed on my own thoughts and actions, and at things she has averred to be facts that never occurred at all and that could not have occurred. In plain truth, she has even lied for motives she equated with the protection of the organization. Would a God-realized being have been able to do so? Surely not!
People bring up the question of a photograph of Daya Mata depicting her, supposedly, in a state of samadhi. That photo reveals tension in her body. There would have been no such tension had she actually been in samadhi. In that lofty state the soul absents itself from the body. What that photograph shows, rather, is an exalted emotion; certainly not samadhi.
I do not consider Daya Mata to be spiritually enlightened, or even necessarily wise. Her actions don’t show it. Astute, yes. But everything she says has the deeper purpose of buttressing the organization she leads. It is also turned, to an astonishing degree, toward buttressing her own position in the organization.
These are not statements to be tossed off lightly. Many people consider her enlightened, and therefore by definition wise. I do not want to attack their faith. At the same time, if faith is not supported by clear reason it may be that blind faith which leads to lack of clarity regarding what the spiritual path is all about.
Let me give a few points that have influenced my thinking on this subject.
Many years ago, a young man lived at Mt. Washington named Walter Dennis. Walter was inwardly torn between the life of a monk and a worldly life of marriage and family. He worked in the garden, and was a hard worker. One day Walter said to me, “I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not working.”
I reported his words to Daya Mata, in the hope that she might give me a few words of advice on how I might inspire him to balance hard work with God-remembrance. Instead, she astonished me by replying with a sigh, seemingly blissful, “Ah, what wonderful spirit!” Walter Dennis served the organization tirelessly: This, to her, was his “wonderful spirit.” In fact, however, he left the monastery soon thereafter, and also disassociated himself from the organization. Wisdom on Daya’s part, surely, would have led her to consider his inner life, not his physical work. It was to develop that inner life that he had come to Mt. Washington.
Another example is taken from years later. I was having a little difficulty with another of the monks, and mentioned this fact to Daya in order to get her advice on how to handle the situation. Instead, she replied brusquely, “Well, he’ll have to go!”
What was she saying? Did she mean that this monk, who had devoted years of his life to serving Master’s work, should be dismissed for the mere reason that he’d had a run-in with me? I don’t think she really intended that anything so callous be actually done. I think she spoke in that way only to please me. I’d been newly made a director and first vice president of SRF, and she wanted me to feel that I had her full backing. That she could think, however, that I’d be pleased with a support that could be ruthless toward others seemed, to me, doubly offensive.
I prefer not to give more details on a matter that, after all, involves her own spiritual life. The point here is that in many ways Daya fails to express wisdom, as Master exemplified the word. Wisdom sees God centered in everything and everybody. It tries to bring out the divine presence in all. Daya Mata, by contrast, sees God centered primarily in herself, and in her own position of institutional authority.
In her service to our Guru Daya Mata exalts the organization, and her own position in it, to the level of a principle. No mere thing or person, however, can ever be a principle! She shares this delusion with numerous orthodox churchmen, past and present: Whatever advances her religion is right and virtuous, and whatever threatens the organization, at least in her eyes, is wrong, and indeed, evil. To a thoughtful person, however, this “threat” may not seem threatening at all. Her philosophy in these matters seems no different from that of all those committed to rigid orthodoxy. Daya Mata appears to equate SRF with God Himself. The very fixity of her belief, however, is contradicted by the fact that divine consciousness is fluid and, in material manifestation, ever-changing.
Above all, the good of a spiritual organization should never be allowed to take precedence over a person’s devotion to God, and over one’s liberty to express that devotion according to the heart’s feelings.
Daya’s way of answering a statement like this is simply to imply it is not worthy of comment. “We respect people’s devotion,” she’ll tell you, if you make this statement. She’ll then gaze dismissively out the window, ignoring altogether the challenge your question poses. End of conversation; no reasons given: only aloofness. To her, and to those who have learned this suppressive technique from her, the statement doesn’t deserve the dignity of a reply.
Daya cries fervently, “Master! Master’s will! Master’s organization!” I cannot help feeling, however, that what really moves her is pride in her own position, and attachment to the power she wields. She treats condescendingly anyone whose views don’t coincide with her own.
Did Master himself speak of Daya in the same glowing terms as he used in speaking of Rajarsi? Not in my hearing. To the monks one day, after referring to some of his highly advanced disciples, he added (I suppose the thought had arisen in someone’s mind), “And Faye [Daya Mata]? Well, she still has her life to live.”
If there is one quality, finally, that I imagine everyone considers a mark of wisdom, it is magnanimity. Master, certainly, demonstrated this quality. A disciple once wrote him a scathing letter, virulently criticizing what he imagined to be Master’s failings. When our Guru saw him a day or two later, he remarked in a tone of real respect, “You ought to take up writing. That was the best letter Satan ever wrote me.” [See Chapter 21 of The Path]
Is magnanimity revealed in the following episode?
In 1961, Daya Mata visited India. I was in trouble with my fellow directors for having, in their opinion, exceeded my authority in my work in India. (These facts are presented in my book, A Place Called Ananda. As far as I’m concerned, they exonerate me.)
I’d formed a center in New Delhi, which was attracting hundreds of people. A large number of us got eagerly together to prepare for Daya’s arrival. Rani Bhan and her son Indu guided this activity, taking responsibility for everything that was done. I’d received word, as I’ve explained in A Place Called Ananda, from Tara of the board’s displeasure with me, but I didn’t want to dampen all these co-workers’ enthusiasm over Daya’s coming by relating my grief at Tara’s condemnation. I assumed, too, that Daya would be gracious at least in her appreciation for what had been done in preparation for her visit. The strain that had sprung up between Daya and me could be discussed by us privately. And the disappointment at having to abandon our “Delhi project”—if such was Daya’s decision after she’d seen the property—could be laid on the members’ shoulders following that discussion. I myself could hardly dare to present them with this discouraging news. My own hurt was too deep at having been—as I’m still convinced—so wrongfully condemned.
Thus, as our train pulled into the Delhi station (I was traveling with Daya Mata and her party), enthusiasm among our New Delhi members was at fever pitch. Rani Bhan and Indu ran alongside the compartment until our train stopped. Hundreds of people behind them were smiling, waving, and chanting in joyful welcome. Rani held up a flower mala, or lei, with which I believe she succeeded in garlanding Daya as she stood in the doorway. “Welcome, Mother!” Rani cried.
I say I believe Rani was able to garland Daya, for in fact Daya ignored her completely, while looking out over her and Indu’s heads to greet the crowd. Rani, as far as Daya seemed concerned, didn’t exist.
Crowds flocked later to Brigadier Ghasi Ram’s home, where Rani had arranged for the party to stay. Throughout her visit Daya treated the acclaim she received as though it were only natural, and nothing less than her due—not, in other words, an event carefully prepared in her honor. It was me whom the people knew, not Daya Mata. It was Master they were honoring, and Daya Mata only as his representative. That I, too, was subsequently snubbed by her was something, at least, that wasn’t incomprehensible to me personally, but to those who had come to Master through my efforts it must have been something of a shock.
The whole thing was so intensely embarrassing for those who had worked hard to make the occasion a joyful one that it has been hardly possible for me even to speak of it again. Even today, Rani and Indu refer to their deep hurt at the way Daya behaved toward them, and toward me. Rani spoke to me years later about that encounter at the train station: “I did not feel attracted to that woman,” she said. Pride, indeed, and insensitivity to the feelings of others, are not attractive qualities. I could not prepare Rani and Indu for the ice bath they received. I hadn’t expected it myself.
After my dismissal from SRF by Tara Mata, I simply dropped out of circulation. Tara had ordered me not to contact anyone, and I myself was too deeply pained to want to involve anyone in my suffering. Later, I learned with sadness of the deep grief people in India had felt over my total silence. But what could I have done?
A personal hurt that I have borne for many years has been Daya’s inability to give quarter on anything; her determination to see no virtue in any person or idea that doesn’t support her own position. She opposed me adamantly, once she’d accepted my position as no longer part of her domain. Yet in 1970 she admitted to me, “I never accepted Tara’s charges against you.” She, who once had said to me, “There isn’t a crooked bone in your body,” has been willing to denounce me as dishonest, untruthful, deceitful, and a Judas for, as she claims, betraying my Guru. The hurt I feel is due more than anything else to her betrayal of me.
These are strong words, I realize. The fact is, I could make them stronger. I do not like to attack her, for we are both, to the best of our own ability and understanding, serving God and our guru. We have always been spiritually close to one another. Daya, however, now forces me openly to defend myself and this work Master has given me to do, for her and SRF’s attacks on me have become lately more hostile and open than ever.
What Daya has done is put out the dogma that, now that Master is no longer physically with us, SRF is the guru. To re- emphasize this point, a person’s relationship to the organization cannot be a principle. The guru-disciple relationship, however, is a principle; it concerns no particular guru or disciple, but is centered universally in the soul’s search for God, and in the need to receive divine grace through special divine intercession. The true guru-disciple relationship is an inner thing, having to do entirely with attunement. No outer affiliation can take the place of this relationship. Rightly understood, of course, outer affiliation may enhance that attunement. Again, however—needless to say—it cannot guarantee, nor can it take the place of, that attunement.
SRF (I’ve said this before) is a secretive organization. For many years, all they’ve offered to explain my separation from them has been the litany, “Oh, if you only knew what he did!” Even today they give this as their only “explanation.” Innuendo is their specialty. Endless, mantric repetition is their way of driving a point home. And while they demand loyalty of others, they themselves demonstrate loyalty to no one except as it suits an organizational convenience.
It is frustrating to speak into such a void. One is reminded of people who never listen. Such a person may remark, for instance, “It’s a tough world.”
“True,” we may answer, “but think, on the other hand, how much can be learned by facing up to one’s difficulties.” Perhaps we describe at length the blessing that tests can bring us if we face them with courage.
A moment of seemingly thoughtful rumination follows. Then: “Yup. Its a tough world.”
What can one do?
Didn’t Yogananda Give the Directors a “Blueprint”?
14. “Isn’t it true that Master gave the board of directors the ‘blueprint’ for the future of the work?”
He gave a few hints and suggestions, true. A carefully drawn blueprint, however? No. What Master said many times was, “The blueprint is in the ether.” His way in training us was to indicate directions, but then to leave it to us to discover the way. Only thus would we deepen our attunement with him.
For example, when he put me in charge of the monks he forced me to tune into his guidance inwardly, rather than go to him constantly for advice. He approved of what I was doing, but in the way he answered whatever questions I put to him he showed that he wanted me to deepen my own understanding by inner attunement with him. The disciple’s job is to bring the “blueprint” of his guru’s mission down from “the ether” into outward manifestation.
I bless all my fellow disciples, in any case. We all serve the same Guru, in our own ways. May whatever errors either party has committed be corrected in divine love.
Meanwhile, do please read my book, A Place Called Ananda. You’ll see how through these and other “trials by fire,” the principles and attitudes were forged that built the communities jointly called Ananda.For details of the changes made by SRF to Yogananda’s work and legacy, and a free 64-page PDF book that you can download, see www.yoganandafortheworld.com.