843-272-1339

Articles

CCCs
  – Billy Goodrum

Amartithi
  – Bruce Felknor

"You'll find Me in the garden"
  – Jenny Keating

'Heart Tires of Its Gaudy Dress' – Francis Brabazon
  – Buck Busfield

HOLLYWOOD
  – Billy Goodrum

Trust and Intimacy
  – Jenny Keating

Living with Baba
  – Bruce Felknor

When Words Fail . . . Just Use More Words
  – Buck Busfield

Suffering and Service
  – Juniper Lesnik

SPOILER ALERT
  – Billy Goodrum

The charm of His ways. . .
  – Jenny Keating

The Importance of Being Furnished
  – Bruce Felknor

It's Been Fun
  – Steve Klein

Let’s Talk about Love
  – Juniper Lesnik

Cannes
  – Billy Goodrum

In the world but not of it . . .
  – Jenny Keating

Give Me Your Imperfections
  – Wendy Connor

Children of the One God
  – Bruce Felknor

As the Poet Says
  – Steve Klein

Happy Endings
  – Jenny Keating

Thoughts on Furniture
  – Billy Goodrum

Going Home
  – Juniper Lesnik

A Tale of Two Connections
  – Bruce Felknor

The Flowering Seed
  – Wendy Connor

Baby Steps
  – Steve Klein

Patience
  – Jenny Keating

Hold On!
  – Juniper Lesnik

Waiting for the New Humanity
  – Billy Goodrum

Remembering
  – Bruce Felknor

The Beloved's Beloved
  – Wendy Connor

Compare and Contrast
  – Steve Klein

It's in the struggle . . .
  – Jenny Keating

Time
  – Juniper Lesnik

The Tipping Point
  – Billy Goodrum

Learning Poise
  – Bruce Felknor

When "Good Enough" Isn't
  – Steve Klein

Conflict and Joy
  – Jenny Keating

Sleepless in San Jose
  – Juniper Lesnik

Vacation Incarnation
  – Steve Klein

Nerve Endings of the Soul
  – Jenny Keating

"Let the World Wait"
  – Wendy Connor

Religion vs Spirituality
  – Steve Klein

The Bigger Challenge
  – Wendy Connor

Que Sera Sera
  – Steve Klein

To Be Honest
  – Juniper Lesnik

Praise and Blame
  – Steve Klein

Being Right
  – Steve Klein

To Love God is To Love Our Fellow Beings
  – Juniper Lesnik

God is Alive in the World
  – Wendy Connor

Determined to Be His
  – Steve Klein

The Stuff We're Made Of
  – Juniper Lesnik

"I Will Always Be With You": Memories of the East West Gathering
  – Wendy Connor

Half Full or Half Empty?
  – Steve Klein

Love The One You're With
  – Steve Klein

Ordinary Life
  – Juniper Lesnik

Baba Loved Us Too
  – Wendy Connor

Feeling His Love
  – Steve Klein

He is both Father and Mother
  – Juniper Lesnik

A Leap of Faith
  – Wendy Connor

Becoming His
  – Steve Klein

Don't Worry, Be Happy
  – Juniper Lesnik

A Life Worth Living
  – Wendy Connor

Love The One You're With
  – Steve Klein

What a Mighty Beloved our Beloved is
  – Wendy Connor

To thine own self be true?
  – Steve Klein

The Sweets of His Love
  – Wendy Connor

Sickness and Health
  – Juniper Lesnik

Giving Advice
  – Steve Klein

"Garlic-Faced"
  – Wendy Connor

To Love and Be Loved
  – Juniper Lesnik

Talking About The Truth
  – Steve Klein

The Script was Written Long Ago
  – Wendy Connor

Excuse Me, Which Way to God?
  – Steve Klein

Letting Go
  – Juniper Lesnik

The Mosquitoes are Bad Today
  – Wendy Connor

What If A Teaching Moment Never Comes?
  – Steve Klein

Beads On One String
  – Juniper Lesnik

Youth Sahavas '07
  – Wendy Connor

Stop, You're Both Right!
  – Steve Klein

God, Please Give me a Job
  – Juniper Lesnik

"It Just Passes More Quickly"
  – Wendy Connor

Multiple Meher Babas
  – Steve Klein

Winking Back
  – Juniper Lesnik

The Treasure Within
  – Wendy Connor

Holding On, But Losing One's Grip
  – Steve Klein

1969
  – Ann Conlon

Obedience
  – Ann Conlon

Meher Center – The Way It Was
  – Ann Conlon

Armageddon, Anyone?
  – Ann Conlon

What Does Baba Want Me to Do?
  – Ann Conlon

Baba's 'Things'
  – Ann Conlon

What Does THAT Mean?
  – Ann Conlon

The Way It Was – Meherabad
  – Ann Conlon

Broken Heads
  – Ann Conlon

Doing "Baba Work"
  – Ann Conlon

On Being Ill
  – Ann Conlon

Enid
  – Ann Conlon

To Each His Own
  – Ann Conlon

Meherjee
  – Ann Conlon

Youth Sahavas
  – Ann Conlon

Kitty
  – Ann Conlon

The Lonely Path
  – Ann Conlon

Isn't He Enough?
  – Ann Conlon

He Said What?
  – Ann Conlon

Goher
  – Ann Conlon

Taking a Dare
  – Ann Conlon

Seeking Suffering
  – Ann Conlon

Dreams
  – Ann Conlon

Amartithi
  – Ann Conlon

Margaret
  – Ann Conlon

"The Disciple"
  – Ann Conlon

I Wonder ...
  – Ann Conlon

Backbiting, etc.
  – Ann Conlon

Hearing His Name
  – Ann Conlon

Rites, Rituals and Ceremonies
  – Ann Conlon

"Baba's Group"
  – Ann Conlon

His Promise
  – Ann Conlon

Then and Now
  – Ann Conlon

Middlemen Revisited
  – Ann Conlon

Padri
  – Ann Conlon

Gateway Days
  – Ann Conlon

The New Life
  – Ann Conlon

Books, Books and More Books
  – Ann Conlon

Elizabeth Patterson
  – Ann Conlon

His "Last Warning"
  – Ann Conlon

Detachment
  – Ann Conlon

Is That A Religion Coming?
  – Ann Conlon

Manifestation: Did He Or Didn't He?
  – Ann Conlon

A Country of Our Own?
  – Ann Conlon

Remembering Mohammed
  – Ann Conlon

Advice (Sort-Of) for Newcomers
  – Ann Conlon

You're a Baba Lover If...
  – Ann Conlon

Real Happiness
  – Ann Conlon

Baba Lover, Baba Follower or Both?
  – Ann Conlon

Meherazad – The Way It Was
  – Ann Conlon

The Strongest Memories
  – Ann Conlon

All (Baba) Things Considered

Winking Back

The number 225 has always been big in my family. Meher Baba's birthdate was like a secret code, a password between us and the universe, the digits that turn the combination lock to its sweetest spot, reminding us to remember Him. We would look for it everywhere: on mailboxes and buildings, among the long list of numbers on a credit card, in the phone number of a new friend or first date, in flight numbers and on hotel room doors. And, of course, on clocks--the one place we had a twice a day chance to catch the magic number, look again at our surroundings and suddenly feel connected to what was mundane a moment ago: the glint of the sun off the car's hood, the gait of a teenager swaggering home, the curve of a tree branch, a bird singing love songs in the afternoon . . . all as if Baba was personally saying, "did you notice that . . . ?" with a wink and a caress, His hand gracing the exact place and time where we happened to be.

Tonight, for instance, I was in a hotel in Los Angeles, a roadside chain near LAX. After a day's work, I was on the treadmill, wondering how it was that my physical life was getting its play by running on a belt and staring at a wall. It doesn't get more unholy than a hotel gym by the Los Angeles airport. I was listening to my iPod like a good young professional and playing it on "shuffle," so as not to have to make one more decision that day. Plus, I like the randomness of a machine flipping through 4000 songs I at some point chose and liked: Jurassic Five next to Louis Armstrong. The Gypsy Kings opening for Sam Cooke. Right (and I mean to the second) as I hit mile 2.25 on the treadmill--a point, you might have guessed, that I always look forward to on these runs--my personalized radio show of hip-hop and old soul suddenly switched gears and out came the hearty strum of Jaime Newell's guitar and his voice singing of the New Life. And I felt Baba--that wink, that utterly transcendent smile--on the treadmill beside me, saying "Yep, L.A. Aren't these machines funny? Come on, let's see how fast we can go!"

This relationship with 225 is, of course, simply one of the ways I try to remember Him. It keeps me at the ready to be graced by His company any old place in the everydayness of life, like a game of peek-a-boo. But remembering Him amidst my daily life is something I'm continually trying to work on and it is always changing. Sometimes feeling Baba's company takes so little effort I feel like I should whisper to Him that He can stop babying me--His face in the grain of the kitchen table, Begin the Beguine playing in my morning coffee haunt, someone seeing His picture in my office and asking about Him, church bells chiming me awake just when the afternoon slump sets in. And then there are the days when the train comes late, my socks don't match, my work piles up too high, I disappoint a friend or feel disappointed and realize I haven't thought of Him, not once, not even when I woke up in the morning, not even at 2:25 in the afternoon. In those moments, when it feels like He's disappeared behind the curtain of the world, I want to whisper, "come back, come play, I need help living this day." Lately, instead of waiting for Him to peek His smiling face back out at me, I've been thinking about what I can do to make this game more of a conversation, to court His company, to do more than wait for Him to surprise me.

My old answer might have been: look at a photo of Him, talk to a Baba lover, say the Beloved God prayer, repeat His name, read poetry. All good fixes to be sure. But my search for His presence keeps pulling me past the sweetness of His photograph or the company of His name--to unexpected places, like I'm trying to find where He hides. Lately I've felt pushed to recognize and know Him in the things that feel least "holy"--a mother slapping her child, a man left to sleep out in the cold, miles of strip malls and SUVs and tired eyes in hotel bars. What I am trying to learn is to look for my Beloved not only in the presence of great beauty or pain, but in places where God feels absent, places I have mistakenly excluded from my vision of what He is. At the same time, I know that, at the deepest level, I am trying to find Him not only in the parts of my heart that leap and long but the parts that sink and freeze. Maybe that 225 practice, my invented game of hide-and-seek where He always found me first, has made me want to discover Him in places I forget to look. Baba loves us without dividing our lives into good and bad, holy and not. I would like to learn to look into those dark corners of the world, of myself, and see His shine.