The Atma Jyoti Blog

“And this that you call mirth is but a phantom of the night; but flashes of the fire of passion, painting pictures on the walls of time” (Aquarian Gospel 51:24).

From childhood I have been amazed at how dreary and weary most people’s “good times” and “fun” really are, and how dreary and weary they themselves are, too, no matter how frantically they claim to be happy and enjoying themselves. Beneath the glitter all is drab and hopeless. Few things are more deadly awful than a party.

A friend of mind was visiting in New York City. One evening her host asked her: “Would you like to see the Four Hundred?” (The “Four Hundred” is a term used for those at the very top of New York City society.) Having heard of Them all her life, she naturally wanted to get a look. It was Monday night–subscription night at the Metropolitan Opera where the Four Hundred were seated in the Diamond Horseshoe. (The “Diamond Horseshoe” was the first row of boxes where only the wealthiest sat in their glory.) So about half an hour before the end of the opera, a doorman who was a friend of her host let them in, and they stood to one side to watch the Four Hundred as they left the opera house.

My friend told me: “The one thing that struck me most, was how unhappy they all looked. Their eyes were so dull and their faces were masks of despair. All the jewels and fabulously expensive clothes looked like something found in a tomb. The old ones especially looked pathetic. It was an awful sight. But as we were driving through the streets afterward we saw people coming from working the late shift in factories and suchlike. They were striding along, swinging their lunch boxes, whistling, talking, and laughing. Their eyes were bright and smiles were on their face–even though they had just finished eight hours of hard work. The contrast was so great, I can never forget it.”

I think the two dreariest places in this country are bars and dance halls. Looking into them is like looking into Dante’s hell where all have indeed abandoned hope. There simply is no real future in phantoms of the night, flashes of the fire of passion. They really are only painted pictures of a non-existent reality.

Writing of Negendranath Bhaduri, the “levitating saint” in Chapter Seven of his autobiography, Yogananda relays this conversation:

“‘Master, you are wonderful!’ A student, taking his leave, gazed ardently at the patriarchal sage. ‘You have renounced riches and comforts to seek God and teach us wisdom!’ It was well-known that Bhaduri Mahasaya had forsaken great family wealth in his early childhood, when single-mindedly he entered the yogic path.

“‘You are reversing the case!’ The saint’s face held a mild rebuke. ‘I have left a few paltry rupees, a few petty pleasures, for a cosmic empire of endless bliss. How then have I denied myself anything? I know the joy of sharing the treasure. Is that a sacrifice? The shortsighted worldly folk are verily the real renunciates! They relinquish an unparalleled divine possession for a poor handful of earthly toys!’

“I chuckled over this paradoxical view of renunciation—one which puts the cap of Croesus on any saintly beggar, whilst transforming all proud millionaires into unconscious martyrs.

“‘The divine order arranges our future more wisely than any insurance company.’ The master’s concluding words were the realized creed of his faith. ‘The world is full of uneasy believers in an outward security. Their bitter thoughts are like scars on their foreheads. The One who gave us air and milk from our first breath knows how to provide day by day for His devotees.’”

Hidden Gems:

• Reincarnation: Choosing Our Costumes in the Drama of Life
• The Two Essential Pillars of Yoga
• The Nature of Samadhi Experience