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Articles

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

Doing "Baba Work"
  – Ann Conlon

Broken Heads
  – Ann Conlon

Enid
  – Ann Conlon

On Being Ill
  – Ann Conlon

Meherjee
  – Ann Conlon

To Each His Own
  – 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

Amartithi
  – Ann Conlon

Dreams
  – 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

His Promise
  – Ann Conlon

"Baba's Group"
  – 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

Is That A Religion Coming?
  – Ann Conlon

Detachment
  – Ann Conlon

A Country of Our Own?
  – Ann Conlon

Manifestation: Did He Or Didn't He?
  – 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

Going Home

Way back in my teens, I wrote my college application essay about Seclusion Hill. It was about how traveling to India since the age of seven had shaped me – seeing lives so different than my own, connecting deeply with people like Mani and Eruch who taught me about fun and honesty and faith, and finding a sense of belonging halfway around the world. I remember the last line was, “I come to let the hill remind me who I am.”

I went to India almost every year growing up, and into my twenties. This year marked the longest I’ve been away from Meherabad since I was seven. My last trip was in 2008, with my fiancé at the time. We were traveling through India together and were only at Meherabad for a handful of days. During those days, dear friends threw us an engagement party and I will never forget the feeling of standing there, being garlanded, while that circle of people I’d known my entire life, who had shared some of my most significant memories, wished us well.

I didn’t know at the time that I wouldn’t be back to Meherabad for nearly six years. We went home, got married, and proceeded to have two children back-to-back. Our lives were full of sleepless nights, silly Sundays and earthly joys. There was no time for a weekend away, let along a pilgrimage halfway across the world.

Then this January, as my youngest turned two, I found myself headed to India for work. Nervous to be that far away from the family, I wasn’t sure about adding on extra days to go to Meherabad – I felt my heart would be torn and I’d just want to go home. On the other hand, I would be so close, and I could also imagine feeling heartsick at smelling and hearing the familiarities of India, and not making the trip to Ahmednagar. I decided to make my best compromise and fly to Pune, then go to Meherabad for the weekend. But I feared this would feel like such a tease – my trips used to be weeks or months, even a year once or twice. How could I go barely long enough to get both feet on the ground?

But it wasn’t like that. I arrived and hopped in a car for Ahmednagar, only to realize my driver had no idea where Meherabad was. I had no working cell phone and my marathi is long gone. I was hopeful I’d “know the way” and be able to direct our path. But the truth was I didn’t even realize we were in Ahmednagar till the driver told me we had arrived. We approached a traffic circle with at least four or five options, and I just happened to look out the window to see a wooden sign that said, “Avatar Meher Baba Samadhi” with a big red arrow pointing the way. 

And the whole trip was that way. Want to see this friend? No worries, he will invite you to dinner. Wishing you’d seen that friend? Oh there she is, the only one at the samadhi when I happen to arrive. In those 48 hours, I got to do nearly everything I could have wanted in my stay – seeing those I love, touring the latest developments on Meherabad Hill, going to Meherazad to take a brief nap in the blue bus, resting with the breeze wafting through the MPR, and laying my face against the cool, fragrant stone inside the samadhi. My final morning, He created some errand to bring me down to lower Meherabad where I got to sit on the porch of the old mandali hall and go into the Rahuri cabin and take the original old stroll up Meherabad Hill. A walk I have often dreamed about, and that always makes me feel like I am going home.

And then I did go home. When my family met me at the airport, my little girl said “mommy, I was looking for you, but I couldn’t find you,” then gave me a joyous hug. I realized, for her, my ten-days-gone was like one big game of hide-and-seek. It wasn’t about the time. It was about the reunion, and the presence. Which is kind of what I felt with Him. “Ah, I was looking for you. Welcome Back. Welcome Home.”