Cow Dung

It was nearing sunset. I was returning from a walk in the hills overlooking the ashram. As I walked along the river, in the distance, I could see that BabaJi was taking his daily bath. Two old men were tending to him. Visitors were told that we were not to go near the river during this was a very special time. No one except those two guys were allowed to take part or to observe the event.

Since BabaJi had had not told me anything himself about this rule, I approached the scene. One of the men turned and waved me off. I pretended that he was saying hello and instead of turning back, I waved hello back at him! Then, the second man joined in and they both turned to me, waving their arms frantically, signaling for me to go back. I waved hello with both arms!

Their growing panic was obvious as I got within 60 feet of them. Then, I felt BabaJi's compassion and humor, and as if to calm his devotees and put their minds at rest, he himself turned to me, and with one arm, motioned for me to sit (in much the same way that I trained my German Shepherd years earlier).

In that same instant, I stopped. I felt myself gently collapse to the ground. My feet simply froze and my legs bent on their own. (I got the message!) I sat there for the next ten minutes taking in the event, studying BabaJi's body, his huge sparkling aura, and watching the two devotees complete the ritual.

When they were finished, the three of them walked toward me. As I rose to greet BabaJi, he patted me on the head and I felt his words. (He was right, I did enjoy teasing his devotees.) His tap felt like a kind and patient mother who could only shake her head and smile lovingly at her mischievous son.

They continued on toward the ashram and I followed. Watching BabaJi from behind, I decided to walk in his footsteps. I carefully place my feet exactly over the place where his had been. Without turning, he began to skip and dance.

Then, he deliberately stepped onto every pile of cow dung between the river and the ashram! By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs leading up the hill, my feet were filthy and caked with crap up to the ankles. BabaJi's feet however, were as clean as could be!

Several workers were gathered there, leaning on picks and shovels. They all greeted BabaJi, and he engaged them in conversation. He would point to me and say something obviously funny, and they would all laugh. I sort of joined in with a confused, uncomfortable laugh--not really knowing what the joke was.

I was immersed in thoughts. I had not asked BabaJi a single question in all the time that I was with him. And now the questions were burning: What was my purpose? What was my mission in life? Why was I here?

Suddenly, as if in answer to my thoughts, BabaJi took a shovel from one of the men, and handing it to me, said: "Dig!" I was momentarily confused, and just sort of froze there with a dumb look on my face. So, he repeated: "Dig!"

I began to dig where I stood. He continued his jokes and conversation with the workers. After several shovels full of dirt I found an Ever Ready battery. I was so excited, and I examined it as if it were a treasure! How was this the answer to my question? I searched for some great mystical meaning in this rusty old battery.

BabaJi was reading my mind. He must have told the men something awfully funny, because they all laughed hysterically! Then he turned to me and yelled as if angry and impatient: "Dig. Dig!"

I snapped to attention and automatically dove into the task. I shoveled quickly, and began to sweat. Not a normal sweat, but a stinking sweat unlike anything I had ever smelled before! I couldn't believe this smell was coming from me. I am sure that the odor was so strong that it carried for miles! And I imagine that any birds flying over would have dropped from the sky!

Then my shovel hit something hard. It was a step that had been buried by the soil when the river had swelled. I scraped all the dirt off it with pride. I had the strangest sense of fulfillment, though I hoped that the wind would carry my smell away from the group. But it was impossible to miss, and the men gestured to each other and laughed about it. But BabaJi simply repeated his mantra: "Dig! Dig! Dig!"

I uncovered another step, then a third. Three steps in all! The first step was uncovered and cleaned with great awareness and attention to detail. The second step was uncovered as I relaxed and surrendered to the sweat that poured out of my pores, to the stench that was coming from me, to the laughter of the men, and to the instructions of BabaJi. The third step was uncovered deliberately, on purpose, as I really got into the work at hand, coordinating my breathing to each thrust and swing of the shovel.

And there was my "Formula for Transformation!" Awareness, Relaxation, and Breath Control. It would be almost three years till it was completely clear, and I could communicate it. But there was my answer. There was my purpose. That is why I had come.

As I scraped the last bit of dirt from the third step that was buried by river silt, I noticed that the smell was gone, my breath was quiet, soft and delicate, my heartbeat slow and light: despite the fact that I had been laboring extremely hard. I looked up a bit surprised by this, expecting BabaJi to crack another joke I couldn't understand, when I realized that I was alone.

I looked around, there was no one. I looked up the one hundred and eight steps leading to the ashram. There was no one. I looked in all directions, there but there was only me. BabaJi and the workers had simply vanished. I leaned the shovel against the rocky cliff and headed straight to the "barber." I forget his name, but he was the devotee officially in charge of shaving people's heads.

A half hour later, I was laying in the river with a shaved head, filled with ecstasy, feeling the water and life itself flowing thru me, in the top of my head and out my fingers and toes. I can still see the image of BabaJi's back and his footprints in the cow dung.

Bhole Baba Ki Jai!