The following is an excerpt by late Aikido master Terry Dobson in the anthology “The Peaceful Warrior,” edited by Rick Fields (Tarcher/Putnam, 1994) as retold by Ram Dass in An Experiment in Awareness – Mile High Church, Colorado, June 24, 1994.

The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy Spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty, a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab houses and dusty hedgerows. At one station the doors opened and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into our car, he wore laborer’s clothing and was big, drunk and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple, and it was a miracle that the baby was unharmed.

 Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled towards the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman, but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk the he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of it’s stanchion, I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding, and the train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up. I was young then, some twenty years ago and in pretty good shape. I had been putting in a solid eight hours of Aikido training every day for the past three years. I liked to throw and grapple, I thought I was tough. The trouble was that my martial skill was untested in actual combat, as students of Aikido we were not allowed to fight.

“Aikido,” my teacher had said again and again “is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind of fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate people you’re already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.”

I listened to his words, I tried so hard, I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the kids, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me. I was both tough and holy (laughter). In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.

“This is it!” I said to myself as I stood up. “People are in danger, if I don’t do something fast somebody will probably get hurt.”

Seeing me stand up the drunk recognized the chance to focus his rage, “Ah hah!” he roared “a foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!”

I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.

“Alright” he hollered, “you’re gonna get a lesson!” He gathered himself for a rush at me, a fraction of a second before he could move someone shouted “hey!” It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous lilting quality of it. As though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something and he had suddenly stumbled upon it “hey!” I wheeled to my left and the drunk spun to his right, we both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as if he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.

“Come here” the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk, “come here and talk with me.” He waved his hand lightly, the big man followed as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman and roared above the clacking wheels “why the hell should I talk to you?” The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter I’d drop him in his socks.

The old man continued to beam at the laborer, “whatcha been drinking?” His eyes sparkling with interest. “I been drinking Sake,” the laborer bellowed back, “and it’s none of your business!” Flecks of spittle spattered the old man. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” the old man said, “absolutely wonderful! You see I love Sake too. Every night me and my wife, she’s seventy-six you know, we warm up a little bottle of Sake and we take it out into the garden and we sit on our old wooden bench and we watch the sun go down and we look to see how our Persimmon tree is doing, my great grandfather planted that tree and we worry about whether it will recover from those ice storms we had last winter. Our tree has done better than I expected though, especially when you consider the poor quality of the soil. It’s gratifying to watch when we take our Sake and go out to enjoy the evening, even when it rains.” He looked up at the laborer, his eyes twinkling.

As he struggled to follow the old man’s conversation, the drunk’s face began to soften, his fists slowly unclenched. “Yeah” he said “I love Persimmons too…” His voice trailed off. “Yes,” said the old man smiling “and I’m sure you have a wonderful wife.”

“Nah,” replied the laborer, “my wife died.” Very gently swaying with the motion of the train the big man began to sob “I don’t got no wife, I don’t got no home, I don’t got no job, I’m so ashamed of myself.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, a spasm of despair rippled through his body.

There I was, standing in my well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my ‘make this world safe for Democracy’ righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. The train arrived at my stop and as the doors opened I heard the old man cluck sympathetically “my, my” he said, “that is a difficult predicament. Sit down here and tell me about it.” I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man’s lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair. As the train pulled away I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen Aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it is love.

Original Article

In 1972 Babaji once complained that there was something wrong with his heart. It was painful and he could not sleep at night. Of course, there was no question of his sleep—he would be awake all night whether ill or not. Someone suggested that he be taken to Dr. Joshi, the Civil Surgeon, at Nainital. Babaji just looked at me and said, “Joshi is coming this morning.” He was a devotee and some¬times came to Kainchi and had actually said he would be coming on that day.

When Dr. Joshi heard the story, he said Maharajji should come to have a test at Ramsay Hospital in Nainital. The next day the devotees took Babaji to the clinic where the electrocardiogram machine was kept. All the talk was about the machine, where it was made, how it was made, and Babaji wanted to see how it worked. There was no talk of disease or illness. The test was made and nothing was wrong.

Before Maharajji took his mahasamadhi there was such a drama created in Kainchi. For two days all the devotees were confused and upset because it seemed that Babaji had had a heart attack, but the doctor had come and said he was all right. On the ninth of September when Babaji said he would leave, Inder at first refused to take him to the train station because Baba had not been well. However, Babaji insisted and it was done. On the day that he took his samadhi, he visited his devotee in Agra, the doctor, who examined him and found everything—heart, pulse, everything- perfect. How is it to be explained?

Excerpt from By His Grace

by Dada Mukerjee

Original Article

Question:  How can I judge myself less harshly and appreciate myself more?

Ram Dass:  I think that part of it is observing oneself more impersonally.  I often use this image, which I think I have used already, but let me say it again.  That when you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees.  And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever.  And you look at the tree and you allow it.  You appreciate it.  You see why it is the way it is.  You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way.  And you don’t get all emotional about it.  You just allow it.  You appreciate the tree.  The minute you get near humans, you lose all that.  And you are constantly saying “You’re too this, or I’m too this.”  That judging mind comes in.  And so I practice turning people into trees.  Which means appreciating them just the way they are.  And, there was a period of time where I used to have a picture of myself on my puja table.  Later I had Caspar Weinberger, but earlier on I had me.  And people would come and say “My God, what an ego this guy has got.  He has got his own picture on his puja table.”   But really, what it was, was a chance for me to practice opening my heart to myself.  And to appreciate the predicament I am in.  I mean I could see the whole incarnation.  If I am quiet enough, I can see his story line.   I mean history is his story.  Or herstory.  And herstory is just the story line of our predicament.   And it’s finding a place from in yourself where you see the unfolding of law.  Dad did this; Mother did this; economics did this; education did this; opportunity did this; drugs did this; Maharajji did this.

All of this cause and effect, previous incarnations.  All of this is just an unfolding of a story line.  A drama.  The Ram Dass story.  There he is.  How will it come out?  How did it come out?  And you are just sort of watching this story unfold.  It has nothing to do with me.  Because I’m not that.  That’s just a set of phenomena happening.  And when you look at yourself as a set of phenomena, what is to judge?   I mean is that flower less than that?  It’s just different than that.  And you begin to appreciate your uniqueness without it being better or worse.  It’s just different.  And cultivating an appreciation of uniqueness, rather than preference, is a very good one.  It’s just when you get inside identification with your personality that you get into the judging mode, because then you are part of that lawful unfolding.  You are not stepping outside of it at all.  The witness or the spacious awareness is outside of it.  It is another contextual framework.

As you are more quiet inside so that you notice and you can see your own thoughts a little more clearly, you will see your father’s voice and your mother’s voice and all your education principles voices inside your head constantly saying things to you.  And you will see that — what Freud calls  the Super Ego.  You will see that that judge is inside.  And you keep giving it power by identifying with it.  And you feel yourself at war with yourself.  That there is a part of you that is doing it, and there is a part of you that is judging what you are doing.  And as you are quieter, you see the dynamics between the Super Ego, the Id, the ego.  And you see it all as just phenomena.  Because they are phenomena.   As a psychologist, I can study those phenomena in another person; why not study it in myself?   And part of what drugs did for me, and then mediation did for me, and all the spiritual things is it helps me stand back and get outside of it.  To see it for what it is.   As just stuff — phenomena.

Original Article

A young Englishman named Lawrie once stayed in Babaji’s ashram at Hanumanghar for about a year. He had been interested in India’s spiritual heritage and had come to India to learn about it. He had met Babaji, secured his grace, and was allowed to stay in the ashram, studying with Haridas Baba.

One day some devotees were talking to Babaji about Lawrie and his spiritual practice. Babaji said he would soon be going away—his “maya ” was coming and would take him back to England. Some days later, Lawrie’s lady friend, Susan, arrived in Nainital. Babaji told Didi that they would be visiting Allahabad and would stay in the house for some days and she should arrange for them.

Didi arranged a small room for their use. When she had opened the door to fix up the room, she found that one wall was full of footprints. She was astonished to see them and was convinced that they were Babaji’s. Many devotees came to see the footprints and believed them to be Babaji’s, but could not understand what they indicated.

A few days later, Lawrie and Susan arrived. Every attempt was made to make their stay comfortable, but there were some difficulties about their food. Lawrie was used to pure vegetarian cooking, but Susan was not. She complained to Didi directly that she was losing her health because her food was being neglected. This was hard for Didi, who had taken so much care with all the arrangements. Tears came in her eyes.

Shortly after, a devotee came with his car. He had received a phone call from Baba, asking him to take Lawrie and Susan to his house for a few days. They had been “transferred.” Babaji arrived after a few days and consoled Didi. He explained that Lawrie and Susan were old friends who were planning to marry. When Lawrie did not return from India, Susan came to bring him back. They had no money and didn’t know what to do.

They were given the passage money. On the day they were to leave, Babaji left for Chitrakut with some devotees. He told me to accompany Lawrie and Susan to the station that afternoon. With tears in his eyes, Lawrie begged to be excused for all their lapses.

The devotee in whose house they had been staying also came to the station and then gave me a ride home in his car. We sat on the porch and he told me about the strange behavior of his guests. They had stayed in their room all the time, bolting it from inside. This created some suspicion in his mind. It was the time of the Indo-Chinese
conflict and he thought they were spies, transmitting radio messages from the closed room. When he made that statement, I could not listen to him any longer. He had his tea and prasad and then left.

Soon after, another car pulled up with Babaji in it. He sent the people who had come along with him into the house, and he came and sat with me. He asked about the whole episode. “You went by rickshaw to the station? Did Didi accompany you? They went in the car? What did Lawrie say?” All these things he recounted to me, rather than asking. “How did you return? You came by car? It was good of him to bring you home. You-must have offered him tea and prasad.” These were all preliminaries. “You were talking? What was he saying about them? Why did he go away so early? Weren’t you talking to him?”
After repeated inquiries, I had to disclose that man’s suspicion about Lawrie and Susan being spies. “You became angry with him because you did not believe that? Why didn’t you believe him? Why?”

After that kind of hammering I said I was annoyed because I could not imagine how a person who claimed to be a devotee could think that Babaji would put him in such a dangerous situation. I said to Baba, “You knew everything about them and you could not do anything that would create trouble.”

He was stroking my head while I was talking. When I stopped he laughed and said, “Do you think that everyone is a fool like you? There are wise people who look at things differently.”

Original Article