I was reminded recently of a story about a Baba lover who resisted Meher Baba’s wish that he change, apparently beyond Baba’s patience limit.
I first met this Indian Baba lover in Myrtle Beach where, to everyone’s embarrassment and chagrin, he proceeded to tout his own virtues and to assure everyone how important it was to meet him.
Americans are basically polite creatures so he got away with this for several days until he gave a talk in the meeting hall about his times with Baba. At this point he made the mistake of belittling those in the audience and their relationships with Baba. In that audience were Elizabeth Patterson, Kitty Davy and Margaret Craske. This proved to be the last straw for Kitty and she stood up and read this fellow her version of the riot act.
Some years later I saw this man again in India. He was pacing back and forth on the verandah at Meherazad, a bundle of papers under his arm, mumbling incoherently to himself. I was sitting with one of the women mandali and I asked her, “What happened to him?”
“Baba expects you to change and he will be very patient, but if in the end you don’t change, he’ll break your head.” That was what had happened to this man, she said, and now he was just crazy, but completely harmless, unable to hurt anyone else.
So what does that mean, “he’ll break your head?” I think it’s not the same for everyone who resists Baba. I expect it depends on the person’s motive in resisting Baba. The Indian Baba lover was obviously intent on getting his own way, leading Baba instead of following him. I know of two other, somewhat similar incidents which had different motives and therefore different results. One involved a woman who for years hated being around other Baba people and actually avoided them. When Baba literately broke her head, she got the message very quickly and her whole attitude changed. To her, Baba lovers became the most wonderful people in the world and she couldn’t spend enough time with them.
I had my own head-breaking many years go but I got the message very quickly, too, and made the changes I thought Meher Baba wanted. So therein lies the central question: Are we smart enough to avoid a broken head by paying better attention to what Meher Baba wants of us? I sincerely hope so, for all our sakes. You might want to remember these stories next time you run across someone whose head seems to have been broken or worse luck, a time when you see your own head cracking.