The book

Fire of Transformation - a story of love between a woman and the Divine, between soul and spirit, between earth and sky, unique and precious. this is a deeply moving and personal account of challenge and revelation, of joy, struggle and surrender, of the outer and inner journeying towards self-discovery.

Valeria Bonnazola (Gora Devi) was a young student in Milan when an inner prompting called her to India in a search for love, the love for God. There she encountered the legendary Hairakhan Babaji -- referred to by Yogananda in his book, Autobiography of a Yogi -- the revolutionary teacher and acclaimed Mahavatar who transformed her life completely.

The author

Gora Devi was born in 10th April 1946. She obtained a Doctor of Philosophy degree at the University Statale in Milan with a thesis on Utopia and the New World. Travelling to India in 1972 she spent 12 years with Babaji, the renowned Yogi of the Himalayas. she was one of the first Western people to meet Babaji and his first Italian disciple. The life journey on which she embarked is both mystical and entrancing, simple and yet extraordinary; a story of courage and endurance, of human frailty and the absolute wonder of human potential. She continues to live primarily in India.

Gora Devi

Fire of Transformation

My life with Babaji

Table of Contents

Cover

The book / The author

Title

Table of Contents

Foreword

Editor's note

Preface by the author

Community Life

Trip to India

Mother India

Meeting the Great Master, Babaji

Vrindavan

New Encounters

Tibetan Initiation - Lama Sakya Trinzin

Love Story

Return to Babaji

Trip to Nepal

Lama Tubten Yeshe

Returning to India

Training at Hairakhan

Experiences in Dina Pani

A Winter at Hairakhan

Okhaldunga, Madhuvan, Almora

Benares - Assam

Return to Hairakhan

Return to Italy

At Hairakhan Again

The West has come to Hairakhan

Mahasamadhi

Babaji Invisible

New Beginnings

Glossary

Imprint

Foreword

by Peter Dawkins

In this book Gora Devi writes of her personal experiences as a disciple of Shri Hairakhan Wale Baba, the Mahavatar Babaji who appeared publicly in India at the end of the last century and millennium. It is a beautiful account - beautiful in its honesty - and is based upon the diary that Gora Devi kept during her time with Babaji. As she says herself in her own preface, this diary is intended to be a personal witness to a divine encounter. I always find it very touching, very moving, to hear or read about someone's personal encounter with Babaji, and even more so with Gora Devi, who was one of the few people in the 1970's to become a disciple of Babaji rather than just a devotee, and to be by Babaji's side during the last crucial years of his public appearance as Hairakhan Baba. This diary concerns Gora Devi's life and experiences with Babaji as a disciple during the years 1972-1984, and gives a unique insight not only into Babaji and his way of teaching (or one of his ways, as he himself is beyond limitation), but also into the transformational process undertaken by his beloved disciple.

Hairakhan Baba is known as a Mahavatar - a Great Avatar. Avatar means 'incarnation or manifestation of God', Maha means 'great'. In the Hindu Saivite tradition, Babaji is the Mahavatar of Samba-Sada-Shiva, the Supreme Being who is described as 'He who gives happiness at all times'. When he appeared in 1970 in the Indian foothills of the Himalayas, at Hairakhan, Babaji was recognised as such by many great yogis and saints, who were called to him and who had been preparing for his reappearance. Babaji has many names to describe him, amongst them being the Mahayogi (i.e. the Great Yogi or Yogi of all yogis) and Visva-Guru (i.e. the Guru of all gurus), who gave the world the yogic teachings and who has been with this world from its beginning, manifesting himself whenever appropriate throughout the ages. It is said that such manifestations rarely occur and that when they do it is when a major crisis confronts humanity and the planet, and the world needs greater help than can be given by an ordinary Avatar. Such a time is now, as we move from one Great Age (i.e. a 26,000-year cycle of twelve zodiacal Ages) into a new Great Age, and out of the Kali Yuga or Dark Age that ends each Great Age with a death and purifying, transformational process.

In the Hindu tradition Shiva is the god-name usually associated with that aspect of Deity which brings about death of the old form and transformation (or transmutation) into a new form of expression. However, because this process brings about the birth of each new creation, Shiva is known as the Creator as well as the Destroyer/Transformer. He is also the Maintainer or Preserver of what He creates. In other words, Shiva is the divine Trinity of Creator (Brahma), Preserver (Vishnu) and Destroyer (Rudra). He is often referred to as Samba-Sada-Shiva ('the Ever Holy Shiva'), or as Mahesvara ('the Great Lord'), names that correspond to Jehovah, the Lord God of Hebrew and Christian tradition.

Shiva is that divine Spirit or essence of life, light and consciousness that is everywhere and out of which all things are made. Sometimes it is called the great ocean of life, sometimes the holy breath of life, sometimes the Word or 'Om'. We all share this same essence, and in varying degrees we manifest it consciously and beautifully in our human forms of expression. To the degree that we can understand and truly manifest this divinity we become devotees, disciples, initiates, saints, Adepts, Masters and Great Masters - or, in Hindu terminology, sadhus, jnanis, yogis, Rishis, Sidhas and Avatars. The greatest of these in our world is Babaji ('Beloved or Holy Father'), the Mahavatar and Teacher of all teachers. It is very likely that he is the same great soul as the one known in Western tradition as Idris or Enoch, who is described in Rabbinical literature as the first human being in this world to achieve full enlightenment and rise to the highest level of evolution, to become the supreme Messiah or Christ and the Teacher of all other teachers, Master of all other masters. I believe that this is so; but even this is too limited a viewpoint, as realisation of the Divine is simply the moment in time when we as human souls consciously apprehend and are able to manifest to others our own divinity, which has always existed from the beginning of time.

Although he has chosen to always be in this world, in order to help it, normally Babaji resides behind the scenes, seen and recognised by only a few. It is said that he, as Mahavatar, materialises his body directly when needed and is not born physically of any woman. Normally he maintains his youthfulness even whilst embodied, appearing as the ever-young and beautiful youth; but this is clearly not always the case, as Babaji can do whatever he pleases and sometimes he chooses otherwise. He has appeared young, old, thin, fat, in sequence or simultaneously, in one body or several, to various people. Likewise, as Mahavatar he is said to be immortal even in his physical form or forms, yet this cannot be understood in the ordinary way: death is not always what it seems. Babaji plays a divine drama. He plays with elements. He can appear where and when he wishes, in one or more bodies simultaneously, physical or subtle, and of whatever appearance and age he chooses, and can dissolve them into light or otherwise as and when he decides.

In his last public manifestation - the one in which Gora Devi was involved and which is the subject of this book - Babaji was referred to as the '1008 Baba'. In this he had an exquisitely beautiful form, but one which he continually changed during the fourteen years of his public appearance. The public manifestation previous to that one (1800-1922), which was referred to by Paramahansa Yogananda in his widely distributed and influential book, The Autobiography of a Yogi, was as the '108 Baba'. Both manifestations were as the Hairakhan Baba, for Babaji chose Hairakhan as his place of manifestation, for a specific purpose.

Hairakhan (a name derived from Hiriya Khand, meaning 'sanctified area') is a place close to and including a tiny, remote village in the Nainital District of Uttar Pradesh, in the Himalayan foothills of India, twenty-six kilometres east of the market town of Haldwani. The village lies on the bank of the holy river Guatama Ganga, opposite a sacred cave that lies at the foot of the Kumaon Mount Kailash. This mountain is the original Kailash, the physical representation of Mount Meru, the sacred mountain marking the central axis or heart of the world and home of Lord Shiva. It was much more recently in human history that the second Mount Kailash (i.e. the Tibetan Mount Kailash) was 'found' further north in the higher peaks of the Himalayas, on the northern side of Lake Mansarovar, as a kind of substitute for the original. The Guatama Ganga flows underground from Lake Mansarovar and surfaces not far from Hairakhan. The sacred cave, like the Kumaon Mount Kailash, is said to date back to the time of creation, and is described in the Shiva Puranas as a dwelling place of the Gods and the place where Shiva (or Babaji) periodically retreats for meditation and tapasya (ascetic practices).

As '108 Baba', Babaji appeared in about the year 1800 to Hairakhan villagers as a bright light on top of the Kumaon Mount Kailash. Eventually the Mahavatar emerged from this light as a beautiful youth, condensing his body out of the dazzling light. Having stayed at Hairakhan for a few years he then travelled around the Kumaon region, gathering to himself certain devotees and disciples, great saints and yogis, and at times crowds of people came to celebrate festivals with him. In the 1840's he constructed with his own hands and the help of the villagers an octagonal temple (representing Shiva's eightfold manifest power) on a small hill opposite to and on the other side of the river from the Kailash cave. Besides being at Hairakhan, Babaji was seen by many people in different places, and performed many miracles through the power of his love. Having promised to return again, in August 1922 Babaji went with some of his devotees to the confluence of the Kali and Gauri rivers and, stepping into and then sitting on the surface of the water, he dematerialised into a ball of light in front of their eyes and 'disappeared'. In the following years, however, he appeared to many of his close devotees in dreams, visions or even direct physical form.

The great saint and sidha-yogi, Mahendra Baba, who spent his life searching for and preparing for the return of Babaji, was one of those to whom Babaji appeared physically. Babaji gave him certain signs and a unique, secret mantra by which he, Babaji, could be recognised when he next appeared publicly. Mahendra Baba passed on this knowledge to his disciple, Shri Vishnu Datt Shastriji, who duly recognised and confirmed the reality of Babaji in the Mahavatar's next public appearance. Shastriji subsequently became Babaji's 'priest'. Mahendra Baba also foretold the year, 1970, when Babaji would make his appearance, and prepared the world for this event through his writings, teachings and building of ashrams.

In June 1970 Babaji was duly 'discovered' in the sacred cave at the foot of the Kumaon Mount Kailash. Gradually he drew to himself more and more people, to visit him at Hairakhan, to undergo purification and training under his guidance, and to build an ashram and further temples. After fourteen years of extraordinary activity and demonstrations of divine love, and having foretold the date of the event, he underwent mahasamadhi.

It is said that we all need a guru to help us achieve liberation from mortal attachments and impurity of living, and thus to realise the Divine. Guru means 'the remover of darkness'. Sometimes the guru is seen, sometimes not seen. Sometimes he is physically present, sometimes not. Sometimes he is male, sometimes female. At all times he is within us, as we are each part of the Divine, and likewise we are always within the Guru. But we have to gradually realise this and what it means. Several of my friends and acquaintances met the 1008 Hairakhan Babaji in his physical form, and Gora Devi was one of them. I did not do so: I met the Great Master in another way, and he guides me still. I did not have to undergo the huge shock and lesson of detachment from the Master's physical presence when he left his body in 1984 - which is one of the final things that disciples have to learn - but Gora Devi did. This story of hers is a wonderful story of courage and devotion, and of love shared between two friends, one divine and the other human.

Peter Dawkins

Roses Farmhouse

January 2002

Editor's note

I first met Gora many years ago, a humble and unassuming person, peaceful yet with a quiet strength. In time I discovered other facets; a very animated person with a playful sense of humour, determined and sincerely dedicated to God. Out of this contact and friendship came the opportunity to be involved with the production of this book. If I had any doubts, they dissolved after reading the text. It is remarkable in its honesty, beauty and intimacy, appearing almost childlike in its innocence; a woman's search for identity and for love, and through her encounter with Babaji and his continuing presence her heart opens to the flowering of divine love.

Gora's diary is as much a mystical journey as it is a distinctly human story, in which simple everyday events are interwoven with a divine presence that is extraordinary, infinite and mesmerizing, where the tangible is entwined with the intangible. Alongside immeasurable joy there also exists pain, hardships and continual challenge. At times her story is provocative, difficult to understand or accept, sometimes it all appears like a magical fairytale, at other times a heavenly utopia or bizarre drama, yet within the humanity of the events there are echoes in all of our lives, within the words an energy that subtly finds its way to the heart of the reader. The presence of Babaji, felt if not completely understood, increasingly pervades the text and transports meaning beyond the words on the page.

A number of years passed before Gora considered writing this book, before realizing that the period of time spent with Babaji had also been a preparation for the role of author as well. She recalled that it had been Babaji who, in so many ways, had encouraged her to keep her diary, and when initially asked if she would write her story she replied, 'When Baba tells me to...' The original Italian version was finally published in 1993 and is updated in this English edition by the inclusion of an extra chapter both at the beginning and at the end.

It has been suggested that union with the Divine, whether in form or formless, is the relationship for which the heart of each and every human being truly yearns. Within this book the reader finds that they themselves are travelling on a profound and illuminating journey, one that is truly experiential, at times challenging, not always comfortable and rife with the unexpected; and what emerges so abundantly clearly is that the Fire of Transformation which emanates from the essence of Babaji is truly eternal. It is as vibrant, alive, accessible and transformative today as it has always been.

M.H.

Preface by the author

I hesitated for a long time before deciding to write this book, as it is very difficult to speak about Babaji in words. His essence is subtle, occult and can only be grasped by opening oneself to another dimension of consciousness, to the magic of one's heart.

Babaji often taught through a gesture, a smile, an incident. What impressed me most when I first met Him was His great silence and His capacity to communicate through it. Babaji is 'the Presence', the manifestation of the eternal mystery, the other shore of existence. His infinite love is the bridge between us and the great Truth, between the human and the Divine. His physical form is a marriage of heaven and earth.

Many people have been touched forever by His call and our lives have been completely changed. The first word He spoke to me when I met Him, was 'God', and immediately after He added, 'God is love.' From that time on my life has been a search to realize the meaning of these words.

This diary is intended to be a personal witness to a divine encounter, and it is hoped that it will give some understanding of Babaji and His message.

Gora Devi

[Gora Devi - from the Sanskrit meaning 'white goddess',

pronounced: Gor'a Day'vee]

Community Life

Milan, 15 September 1970

Yesterday evening, for the first time since returning from my summer holidays, I went to Brera. It's an interesting part of the city where artists live and gather together, an old quarter of small streets, elegant buildings and numerous restaurants, in many ways not unlike Montparnasse in Paris. I decided to be truly courageous and wear all my hippie clothes, my long Indian skirt, the elaborate sandals from Amsterdam. People from Milan generally have a decidedly narrow outlook on life, they are bourgeois and look disapprovingly at me when I walk down the street dressed like this. No matter, I have decided that I will be indifferent to their reactions, even going so far as to be provocative if possible, and turn this into my own small, private revolution.

In Brera I met up with everybody again, all my old friends, some of them recently returned from India. They all go around dressed even more outrageously than myself, with multicoloured clothes and very long hair. We eat at Fiorinos, a small, cheap restaurant, just perfect for us. It's as if we take refuge in the small streets of this old quarter of the city because it remains cosy and homely, unlike the rest of the metropolis of Milan, which is grey, cold, hostile and sad. Most people's lives appear to revolve around earning money, just so that they might continue living in a small flat in which they can enclose themselves, as if in a prison; a safe, small prison. People appear afraid of each other, of communication, of love. They are fearful of love and of sex, because love means to open up, to expand, to break through so many barriers. I don't want to end up like them, and that's why I haven't looked for a job yet, even though I'm afraid it could all lead to possible imprisonment.

The radical political movement is also falling apart, the student movement, the revolutionary groups. They have been unable to achieve or even propose anything really new for our society. I feel that the only hope for change and for a new world are the 'hippie' groups that are around, my flower children friends, because they have the courage to search deep within themselves for answers.

I remember Sylvia, my psychoanalyst, telling me that no outside revolution is possible before an inner revolution takes place. It may be that these people smoke dope, take LSD, but it is said that marijuana helps to expand one's consciousness and that LSD is able to open the heart. These experiences can reveal a wider dimension of oneself, a psychic dimension, where one can feel the existence of a divine reality. I have always refused to believe in God, but these days so many magical things are happening to me and realizations are taking place, that it's beginning to break down my insensitive, rational mind. Many of my friends have been to India where they have met spiritual masters, gurus, holders of a forgotten ancient wisdom.

I've met a man called Lorenzo, who wanders around Brera as if he inhabits an Indian temple, dressed in long, orange robes, holding a trident in his hand. Tiziana and Zizi, two capable and independent gypsy women, sit on the pavement knitting and chatting. Zizi has an earring in her nose and she knits rainbow-coloured woollen caps for everybody. A very old friend called Gianni also spends time in Brera. He is a beautiful being with large, green eyes, gentle and ethereal, who is a painter and is presently planning to paint all the bare walls of Milan with designs and messages to change the world. He acts just like a child, thirsty for there to be a magical dimension in his life. Life for him resembles a play and he wants to discover a joyful drama in which we can all take a part, street theatre, a continuous happening. Perhaps we are childish, but what is the purpose of living if we don't search for the real meaning of existence? At least we are prepared to make an effort, to try, rather than ending up little more than wealthy animals only happy with material things; in fact not even that, more likely to be unhappy and greedy.

17 September 1970

Many people visit our community house in 'Via Mayr', especially in the evening. We talk, smoke, make travel plans. It's still summertime in Milan, but the air in the city is polluted, suffocating; nowhere is it possible to find a pleasant, green space. The lyrics of one of our songs says: 'My friend, I have never seen a cemetery so full of life.' At night people want to go out, meet friends, exchange ideas, be loving towards each other.

In the community we try to live in an innovative way by being creative with our daily routine and working together; it's difficult but we are full of enthusiasm. Much of the time we don't seem to be able to maintain a sense of order though, we are lazy, indisciplined, we don't keep the place clean. The other day the sink was full of unwashed dishes and Marco pinned up a piece of paper on the wall with a teaching for us all: 'An unclean house is a house without love.' We are attempting to change our lifestyle and thereby our sense of humanity.

The 1968 student movement failed because the individuals themselves hadn't yet changed and so enable a real transformation; as one of the slogans in France in 1968 prophesied: 'The revolution will be total, or will not be.' There have been many people who have believed in the ideal of communism, but is it really possible to share everything in life, to love and help each other, overcome selfishness, have integrity in everything that we do and also be warriors of truth? Once again the revolutionary groups of 1968 used the outmoded Marxist ideology instead of creating fresh ideals for a possible new world.

Our house is very beautiful, big, with a terrace; it would be cheap to buy, because it's old and hasn't been renovated for a long time, but to us it's already a palace. There is a communal living room, seven metres long, in the middle of which is a decorous yellow brocade tent resembling a theatre stage, our magical show of life. Normally nine or ten people live here, all of us coming from different backgrounds, some involved in politics, while others are psychologists, students, a lawyer. We have open discussions about many things, mainly psychology and revolution and the future of our world. Recently I finished my exams at the University and I am now researching my thesis based on 'Utopia in the history of man', a subject very close to our own experience. We resemble a large, alternative family, looking especially for a quality of love amongst us, our greatest ideal. It is as if we are sharing in an important, historical experiment, unique, new, like explorers of a New Age. We cook vegetarian food, smoke dope, organize parties and workshops, and publish various underground magazines, all the time reading, writing, talking.

The house is not only close to the University but also to Brera and everything that happens there. So many friends come to visit us and sexual relationships are a very important means of expression, our discovery of freedom and love, of contact, union. Even though he knows I'm still quite an atheist, my boyfriend Giuliano has given me some Buddhist books to read, and I do accept that the rational, scientific mind isn't able to know the whole of reality, it can't explain feelings in the heart, can't explain telepathic communication. Science and technology have taken human beings far away from nature, linking people to a reality that is mechanical, robotic, without a soul. Our cities have become stressful and depressing places, people living in isolation from each other, captured by television and the mass media, busily engaged in the pursuit of material toys, like restless children never to be satisfied. In order to earn money, humans are devastating the earth, cheating other people, adulterating food, polluting the natural resources through a lack of awareness, poisoning themselves. In some countries on the earth people waste so many resources, while elsewhere other people still die from hunger; where has humanitarianism gone nowadays?

I know that what we are really seeking is a change in people's hearts, for a revolution of the soul of the earth, and that it is communities like ours which are spiritual research centres. I believe that it is now possible for us to change our society, but only if we create change from inside it, slowly, slowly, with groups of people beginning to live in a different way.

3 October 1970

I am considering the idea of visiting India in order to study Eastern philosophy for a while, maybe it can offer some different answers to the puzzle of life.

Giuliano explained to me that the East and the West have very diverse opinions about life. In the West people pursue all their desires thinking that to fulfil one' s desires will bring satisfaction, bring them happiness, whereas in the East people think that desire itself is the cause of all suffering and that peace and real happiness are only found at the end of desire, in Nirvana.

The author 1970

18 February 1971

I have completed my degree in philosophy and my professor had nothing but praise for my thesis about Utopia. Now I would like to organize an experimental kindergarten, because I believe that in order to bring about change in people it is necessary to begin in childhood, when ideas and feelings are first shaped. I no longer have any contact with the political groups, because they have adopted very violent tactics and I don't agree with that approach at all.

Giuliano has spoken to me about Mahatma Gandhi, the great Indian saint and politician, who defeated a mighty country like Britain through a widespread and well organized non-violent movement. Our true strength is spiritual and if we really want to achieve something we should become spiritual warriors because our true power is the power of a new consciousness. We must live truth and show it to the world. Our revolutionary spirit need not die, but we should be able to change reality with new tools. Violence is an old technique and belongs to the past.

10 June 1971

It's summertime again and once more large groups of people meet up in the various haunts in Brera, many returning from India, describing their encounters with Indian gurus and Tibetan lamas. I have met Piero and Claudio, two young men who became Buddhists in Nepal and when they recount their experiences to me I find myself beginning to be really curious about India.

We invade the little streets like a new tribe, with our guitars, posters, outrageous clothes, smoking joints together, similar to the ritual pipe of the Native American tribes. We talk endlessly about India as if we'd discovered a new planet, about our dreams, our longing for an authentic existence, for a distant, mysterious wisdom. Many people have taken LSD and tell of psychic, inner journeys, exploring the deep mystery of the human mind, infinite in its potential. It seems that LSD can open up certain areas of the brain which otherwise remain unexplored, resulting in telepathic, divine experiences, unknown beforehand. It's like sudden enlightenment, a new knowledge of oneself. One has to be ready to risk everything, to die psychologically in order to be reborn in to a new reality, like the hero prepared to combat any peril in order to discover the truth, willing to undergo all manner of darkness in order to find the light.

Conventional members of the public think we are crazy, addicted to drugs, but in fact we prefer to be outsiders and risk ending up in jail or prison, rather than be addicted to television and advertising. Regular society rejects the psychedelic drugs, but readily accepts alcohol, because alcohol makes one oblivious to everything, unconscious, just ready to buy the advertiser's products.

Our movement is becoming an underground organization, virtually secret because society at large is unwilling to accept us, but we work on with a growing awareness of the deep changes happening and the possibility of a different world. Some of my friends have gone to live in the countryside, discovering a simpler way of life close to nature.

I think we can only change others by offering an example. People criticize us, call us freaks, drug addicts, but the psychedelic drugs are a medicine for our minds, a cure against mental rigidity and hardness, they help us to discover our soul, our heart, blocked by the lack of pure love. We begin to feel that life is a cosmic film, directed by a divine power to which we have been blind for too long.

Sometimes I become afraid, doubts surface, I think I may go mad, but our so-called normal society seems even more insane. Most people take a powerful drug on a daily basis that creates a strong addiction: the television screen, nourishing themselves with contrived fantasies, useless panel games, sport. Some spend thousands on buying a couture dress or a car, while at the same time so many millions are dying in the Third World.

I want to take a risk, to go 'on the road', like a pilgrim, or a beggar. I am thirsty for truth and for real love, but at least at present my life is joyful, full of warmth and friendship, of human exchange, of adventure.

We move around the city wearing our beautifully coloured clothes, endeavouring to give a message to the people, a message of freedom and creativity, of fresh hope. We have plans to construct alternative villages on the planet based on universal love, practical steps, whereas in the past our political movement has just been an act of great passion.

Sometimes there are difficulties to be faced, lazy people in our groups, parasites, people who escape from the responsibility of life into morphine and other heavy drugs, but one day we shall overcome. I know that we are the pioneers for a new world. In the meantime we are learning to help each other, to share everything, money, a house, a job or a business, friends and love, much love, again and again; it's the discovery of a new solidarity, a new human cooperation.

Formentera, 4 July 1971

I am here with Giuliano and Dinni, on this tiny Spanish island where hippies from all over the world have come to find new purpose in their lives. The island is arid, sunny, homely, with wonderful little beaches and the sea turquoise-blue. The landscape is flat and many people move around on bicycles, the houses are small and white, rather like Greece and on some of the walls people have written the forbidden word: 'LSD'. The three of us spend all day by the sea only eating fruits, nourishing ourselves with the energy of the sun and in the evening eating some brown rice. We have decided to take LSD together.

29 July 1971

The experiment with acid has been a huge revelation for me, I have seen all my past lives, or at least I thought I could see them. I had the experience of having been a thousand beings and that now I can be at one with everybody and everything if I can just expand my consciousness. At the end of the experience I saw only light, a blazing, white light enveloping all of reality. I feel a cosmic consciousness breathing through the universe and through myself. Dinni has also undergone a similar experience and Giuliano had visions of certain Christian saints.

We bathe naked on the beach in absolute innocence. Having sex is not so important any more, but we are thirsty for our fantastic, spiritual visions. I sensed an unknown voice talking to me from inside my body and telling me I should leave everything behind and go to India. It frightens me and yet I am also really tempted by the call. This island resembles a laboratory where people experiment with the light of the soul on a high frequency. Suddenly I perceive the magic of a new energy within myself, guiding my life.

Milan, 25 September 1971

On my return home I hurried to Brera once again in the evening to meet everybody and share my new discoveries. Piero and Claudio are visiting the community and have shown me some photographs of their Tibetan teachers, standing close to the snow-covered Himalayan peaks. There is something about the images that is both remote and familiar at the same time. When Piero and Claudio come to visit me in 'Via Mayr' they impress me, because I recognize something very serious and concentrated in them that is not present in other people, a special depth. Piero made love with me the other day in a soft, gentle way, detached, as if it were a strange meditation. They asked me if I would like to go to India with them, soon.

Last week we organized a huge, underground rock concert at 'Ballabio', in the countryside. We gathered all our hopes and all our songs: old revolutionary and anarchist songs, the American ones and our new repertory, Claudio sang Magic Fly. The concert turned into a huge gathering of people and in the night fires were lit and sitting around them I saw the new tribe of earth' s people: the Indians, the Tibetans, the freaks, the students, the artists, the musicians, the politicians, the journalists, all sitting together, like ancient gypsies looking for a new land. So many friends were present and their eyes were transparent, full of light and love and I sat around the many fires, to talk, or just share the presence, communion on a common path.

15 November 1971

I am working in the experimental kindergarten I organized with Giuliano's help, but I'm finding out that it's not easy for me to work with the children. We want to give them maximum freedom and fantasy, instead of repressing them with an orthodox, heavy-handed authority, but it's a difficult task. The children are very restless and I don't feel mature enough for this job.

I lead a crazy life not regulated by time, never eating or sleeping regularly, always meeting up with friends until late in the night. Gianni now lives with me and has transformed my room into an oriental shop, filling it up with clothes he is buying from Turkey and Afghanistan. Quite often there are four or five other people sharing the carpet on the floor with me to sleep on.

We continue to experiment with LSD and Piero has taught me some Tibetan and Indian prayers, which I have begun to repeat, and I even teach them to the children in the kindergarten. I still feel uneasy about the idea of God, but I have started to have many visions, seeing beautiful mandalas with perfect colours, hearing incredible music and mysterious voices talking to me. Sometimes I am afraid of going crazy, or becoming addicted to drugs, but at other times I feel I have been initiated into a hidden reality only revealed to a few people, to those who have the courage to risk everything, even their own life. What is certain is that we are looking for knowledge and for the mystery of life and death. Our projects take us so far away from the usual pathways of this world.

I have started to think seriously about going to India, to find the masters of the ancient wisdom, to seek an answer to all the many questions that are arising in me. I'm finding it extremely difficult to travel alone on this psychic path and at times even dangerous. Recently I read a Buddhist book about the life of Milarepa, where this Tibetan yogi explains that it's impossible to reach enlightenment without the help of a guru, without his knowledge.

My life here is exciting in many ways, but I've begun to feel very tired and restless. Something is missing; real love is such a difficult thing to realize. I feel that we are still too deeply involved on the physical level in our search and our minds are in no way clear enough to visualize the truth.

I would like to stop running around, to be able to be quiet for a while, even live alone so as to look deep within myself. We are continually meeting up with each other, over and over again making love, touching each other and talking endlessly, but I feel I want to stop this pattern.

During the day I work in the kindergarten, at night I hardly sleep, I experience so many sad moments in Milan and often I feel exceptionally tired. I am sure that an inner journey has begun, an adventure that is without boundaries, capable of taking me anywhere that is required. When I sit with people, often smoking together in a circle, I exist as if in a dream, and the oriental music, sweet, languid, resounding within me, invites my soul to another dimension. We are being called to be sure, maybe by God! Even though the thought of that is still difficult for me to accept, I'm beginning to believe that it's only Him we are searching for, only Him we want to see.

* * *

Trip to India

Milan, 5 March 1972

Today I am leaving for India and I'm really frightened. I made the decision all of a sudden when I discovered that Piero and Claudio were going. Gianni wants to come as well so that he can start up some sort of business buying and selling clothes.

A few nights ago we were sitting in the big community room in the commune with the dome of yellow brocade in the centre: Angelo, Tiziani, Serena, Gianni, Zizi and Marco, a group of friends lying on the carpet with a Joan Baez record playing. Angelo started to make sexual advances towards me again and suddenly I felt as if it was an old theatrical performance, too repetitive, leading nowhere, like one of the narrow, dark streets in Brera at night and it annoyed me.

I felt tired, bored, exhausted as well as feeling unable to find truth or experience real love any more; trying to rediscover it through sex, again and again, is exhausting and a pathetic illusion. Also I'd become tired of smoking dope interminably, even my thoughts seemed smoky and I had no peace of mind. What I would have preferred was to have a place of my own, to be able to take a break and stay somewhere where I could be alone for a while, look within myself. I'd also realized that the work I did with the children in the kindergarten couldn't continue the way it was, I was too restless, confused, not mature enough for such responsibility. Then the other day Piero and Claudio showed me the pictures again of Nepal and the Tibetan masters. I imagined a mysterious and magical place, ancient; it felt like a déja vu experience looking at those photographs. Piero has a special light in his eyes and I wondered if I should follow him.

So, yesterday evening I left my house to sleep with Gianni in his attic flat, in order to decide definitely what to do. As always we slept close together but like brother and sister, like children, and the next morning I went to the travel agents to buy a ticket to India; I secured the last vacant seat on the plane. Tonight we are travelling to London by train and then we will fly to India, to Bombay. I am afraid and who knows if it will work out! People think I've gone mad, because I am leaving behind my job in the kindergarten where I've worked for six months, my loving relationship with Angelo, my house and my friends. I have very little money, no return ticket, no luggage, but even so it still feels right that I should be leaving in this way, taking nothing with me. All I carry is a bag and one dress, the one Gianni brought me from Afghanistan.

Gian Paolo has given me a book entitled, Barefoot in India and whatever the cost to myself I have no doubt that I should just throw myself fully into this adventure. I know I must be extremely courageous to be 'on the road' completely, especially because at times I feel absolutely terrified. Even so I intuitively feel that on the 'other side of the river' I will discover an answer that will make sense of the mystery of my life; that somewhere there is another reality waiting for me. What's the point of living otherwise? Life here in Milan lacks truth and no longer has any meaning for me any more.

The whole situation feels extraordinarily magical as if a wise voice is calling me. In a way it seems that my journey had already begun a few months ago with my first experience of LSD in Formentera. Or maybe it occurred in a more subtle sense with Guiliano in Morocco, sitting on the beach, stringing beads together and watching the gulls flying over the sea. Their flight reminded me about freedom, a freedom that I had forgotten or perhaps never known and now, about to travel to India, I begin to experience those same spontaneous sensations of infinite freedom. I know that I will find the courage to jump into the void and the mystery, to search for and discover some sort of solution, maybe find a teacher.

Last summer in Formentera during my experiences with acid I had visions of many of my past lives as well as a realization of a unified universal consciousness. I envisaged an enormous light comprising of seven perfect colours and saw my soul exiting my body and immersing itself in space. From there I observed the immense flow of life, the lives I have lived, finally realizing that to remain in that state was the all and everything. A voice spoke to me, unequivocally telling me to leave everything behind and depart for India immediately, for a new adventure in consciousness.

The outer journey began by my being in Milan for these last few months; the inner journey involves seeking an answer, perhaps finding a Master.

* * *

Mother India

Bombay, 7 March 1972

Our arrival in Bombay was almost too much for me to take and I wanted to run away. Near the airport there are squalid huts, the weather is incredibly hot, the streets overflowing with people. The hotel is exceedingly dirty and full of hippies from Goa, crazy-looking, fascinating people. Outside the streets are teeming with beggars, lepers and children who tease me all the time, calling me a hippie, or shouting 'Hare Ram, Hare Krishna' in a mocking tone. I feel terribly uneasy, with my long dress, my wild hair; it's a completely different world here, a huge, incredible bazaar and I'm scared. Standing in front of the hotel is a strange hippie, a sort of holy man, with long blonde hair and a beard, dressed in dirty, white clothes and I'm afraid of him as well. I found myself thinking that he could take possession of my mind, and I automatically began to repeat a mantra which Piero had taught me, a prayer to the many Indian gods: 'Hari sharanam, Shiva sharanam, Ram sharanam, Prabhu Krishna sharanam...' - my refuge is in Shiva, in Ram, in Lord Krishna...

It's so terribly hot and I have to constantly fight off a feeling of drowsiness. Everybody is smoking dope in our room and it is hard to resist. We drink copious amounts of boiling hot, milky tea and stuff ourselves with sugary sweetmeats that are very greasy, and I feel nauseous. The restaurants are filthy and I don't like the food at all, everything fried and spicy. I try to console myself a little with some fruit juices, but the beggars standing around me with their hands held out take away all my pleasure. I am afraid to walk down the streets alone and Piero and Claudio laugh and make fun of me; Gianni has already lost himself by taking opium and morphine.

Today I saw a snake charmer; and what impressed me the most were the beggar's eyes, ironic, almost happy, smiling at it all. People here seem to live as if in a dream, in a different kind of reality, with the knowledge that everything is relative, some sort of game. In my mind I compare their faces with those sad and pale faces of the wealthy people I used to see in the mornings on the tram in my home city of Milan, so tense and cold.

11 March 1972

Today I met a group of fascinating people from California, the young men dressed in white clothes and having long hair: they appear to be at home in India, sure of themselves. I also came across Lillo, a young Italian woman who resembles a little magical elf and she encourages me to throw away all of my existing clothes and wear white instead. Then I discovered the 'Rainbow Gypsies', people from every corner of the world, travelling continuously, with little money, almost no luggage and suspect documents. They travel around dancing and singing in the streets; they are very beautiful and rely on the hospitality of others in order to live. There is something magical about the way they live and I find myself enchanted by them.

One of them, Rosa, a striking young Italian woman, walks around with a monkey on her shoulder sucking at her breast, but I am especially attracted to Daniel and Sitaram, two Americans, who even though they are young appear so experienced and wise. I would like to become like them, courageous, fearless, sure of myself and to have the consciousness that they have. I've decided to colour my hair with red henna and have my hand tattooed, I feel it's my first act of courage.

12 March 1972

This morning while sitting in my room there was a knock at the door and in came Carlo. These days he is called Shanti and I hardly recognized him, I hadn't seen him for six years. He still has his childish smile, but that is now mixed with the expression of an elderly, wise man. Also he wears Indian clothes nowadays and his unexpected arrival has made a deep impression on me.

Shanti was one of the first people I knew who left Milan in order to discover the East. He travelled overland through Afghanistan and Pakistan to India six years ago when he was sixteen, in the same way that many other people did at that time. I really admired their courage and faith, travelling 'on the road', practically without any money, risking everything for their search. People tell me that Shanti has been in the company of many Indian gurus during the past few years and that he has now become a guru himself. He speaks in a strange way, slowly, very quietly. I want to stay close to him, because I feel he will be able to show me something.

In 1966, in an old part of the city of Milan, a group of us had our first experience of community in a small, impoverished attic that was freezing cold. That's where we smoked our first joints together and dreamt for the first time about the mystery of the East. Shanti and a few of his friends were among the first long-haired hippies around at that time. People derided and insulted them in the street, calling out: 'Hey layabout, go and get a job!'

I first met him together with Gianni at a restaurant in Brera. I offered them a meal and after that met them frequently. We got involved in all sorts of crazy activities on the streets of Milan, 'happenings' and cultural encounters for which we were eventually arrested a few times. Gianni actually got thrown out of San Vittore after having been attending there for a year and a half, because he was caught in possession of a small amount of hashish and he eventually ended up in jail. Then Shanti suddenly left for India hitch-hiking overland and so I parted company with them. During the time that followed I concentrated on my studies in philosophy at the University and became involved in the student movement of 1968.

For a few years I forgot about the Indian dream and even my old friends, but now Shanti has found me and here we are together again, I can hardly believe it. Shanti starts to tease me, because I am with Piero and Claudio, two people interested in Buddhism. He tells me that Hinduism is a much more advanced yoga, but at the moment I don't really understand the difference. I just feel I should stay close to Shanti, partly because Piero and Claudio are not so willing to take care of me. They are busy with preparations for their trip and I feel lost and alone, particularly because I can't really speak English yet. In the end though I've decided to stay with Piero and Claudio for the time being and attend a Buddhist meditation course in Bombay. It's a Vipassana course, led by a famous teacher, Goenka and even Gianni has decided to give up his morphine and participate.

15 March 1972

Today the course started: never before in my life have I embarked on such an experience and I am really curious about the whole thing. Here everything is clean, orderly, well organized Half of the people are Westerners, the other half Indians, but the Indian people here are very respectable, mainly dressed in spotless, white clothes and they pay great attention to discipline. I realize that every gesture that they make in their lives, from eating to bathing, is some form of ritual.

I'm also a little frightened and feel rather emotional, because it's the first time I will meet a master, a guru.

17 March 1972

I have been here for three days and it's not been easy for me, it's incredibly hot and the routine hard going.

We wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning, take a shower and try to meditate in silence. We are supposed to concentrate solely on the breath, but for me it's almost impossible to sit on the floor cross-legged and to stop thinking, yet I am still determined to try. Once a day we meet all together in a large hall, seated in front of the teacher, Goenka.

He is a man about fifty years old, with a strong-looking body and the round belly of a Buddha. He emanates an exceptionally quiet energy, peaceful, good, solid and we sing a beautiful song with him. At the end of the singing he repeats this sentence to us in English a few times: 'Love, infinite love for all beings.' It's his teaching every day. He also lets everyone sit in front of him individually for a few minutes in silence, engaging each person in a brief, direct, telepathic encounter. When it is my turn, I become scared. I sit in front of him and am aware of my restless mind, as well as my negative and even aggressive thoughts towards him and am afraid he can see it all. I feel as if I am sitting in front of a mirror and I realize that there are many things that require to be purified within me.

24 March 1972

It's the last day of the meditation course and I am pleased to have completed it. After returning to the hotel I meet up with Shanti again and ask if I could stay with him, because Piero and Claudio want to proceed to Nepal. I have decided I want to leave the city but feel there are many things I have yet to learn about India. I say to Shanti that I would like to meet a guru and he invites me to accompany him to Almora where he has rented a house with his friends, the 'Rainbow Gypsies'. He tells me that a lot of the masters and saints of India live in the mountains and I feel happy about going with him.

25 March 1972

We have been wandering around the bazaar in Bombay, teeming with humanity, people of all colours and types. There is a great pulsing vitality, an expression of love and warmth. The women are so beautiful and I never become tired of looking at them. They are the perfect expression of complete femininity, both harmonious and graceful, their manner chaste and virtuous, the colourful saris they wear absolutely wonderful. India is beginning to fascinate me and I have a strong desire to continue with my adventure.

Today I leave with Gianni and Shanti to go to Rajasthan. First stop on our journey to Almora, which is our final destination, is to find a guru that Shanti knows called Hari Puri who lives near Jaipur in Rajasthan.

New Delhi, 27 March 1972

We arrived in Delhi by plane. It's not as hot as Bombay and seems a little more civilized. We are staying in a very comfortable guest-house and down in the street we stuffed ourselves with tropical fruits served with ice. I've been told that it is dangerous to consume food prepared in this way but I feel protected by some power and don't want to be fussy. I'm determined to throw myself wholeheartedly into this situation without any holding back in order to try and get to the bottom of it all.

Jaipur, 29 March 1972

Here we are in Jaipur in the state of Rajasthan. We journeyed here by train, travelling slowly, stopping continually, the train overfull, dusty and dirty, the benches and couchettes hard and uncomfortable, made of wood. Fortunately I had some training in enduring this sort of discomfort during my travels in Morocco.

We take a rickshaw to the jungle outside the city to find Shanti' s teacher. It's a wild place, full of Sadhus who look as wild as their surroundings. They have extremely long hair in dreadlocks that they never comb, their bodies resemble the big cats of the jungle and they smoke hashish all the time. I don't understand a word that they are saying but it makes no difference, they continue to talk to me quite unconcerned, telling us stories about how they kill tigers with their bare hands, and so on. I go to lie down to rest with Gianni and one of them lifts my skirt to see if I have any knickers on. They also insist that I smoke and I am taken aback by their manner, shocked by their behaviour.

Later on they introduce me to the master, who is ill, extremely thin, small in stature and clean-shaven, lying on a bed. He has languid eyes and from him there emanates an incredible love. I'm deeply moved and would like to give him a present. The only thing that I have which is precious to me is a silver bracelet and so I give it to him. Although it is not possible to communicate with \ him directly, we exchange looks and waves of love pass between us. Perhaps he will die soon because they say he cannot be cured.

2 April 1972

Today we've been to the bazaar to buy material. It is here in the shops that everything comes to a virtual standstill, where you sit, drink tea, chat and tell your life story. Eventually the shopkeepers pull out all the merchandise they have for sale, spread it out and in the end you buy something. The women are never seen in the shops, only the men who sit cross-legged or stretch out on large white beds. It seems as if time stands still for them, as if they are not really waiting for clients but simply living, almost in a state of meditation.

We went to eat in a luxury restaurant in the grand style of the maharajas, waited on as if we were important people. It's incredible to observe the great humility of the Indian servants, who completely identify with the sense of service. I am embarrassed, I feel like an old colonialist, one who is privileged. I think I would rather stay with the poor Indians in their own homes.

* * *

Meeting the Great Master, Babaji

Almora, 3 April 1972

This morning we reached Almora, after another interminably long journey. It's a mountain town, at an altitude of about I800 metres, but the weather is not cold as it would be in the European mountains. The bazaar is filthy, the hotel squalid and it's really difficult for me to drink or eat anything in the small, dirty restaurants that are here. I did not expect to see such poverty, the poorly constructed wooden buildings rotting. Also the hotel is full of fleas, biting us all night; it is terrible.

The mornings are chilly and the water in the shower is freezing. It has all been a very great surprise to me because they had told me it was an idyllic place.

5 April 1972

We are now living in a house in the forest, rented by Shanti and his friends, the 'Rainbow Gypsies'. It is a much more pleasant place to be and the landscape around here is extremely beautiful. Nevertheless it's still uncomfortable and inconvenient; there is no running water, no electricity and no toilets. I have taken on the duty of cooking and washing up the pots and plates, because I feel it is good for me, but I find it extremely tiring doing everything squatting down on the earth the way the Indian people do. They have such agile and supple bodies and are used to working all their lives in this way. Although I admire them, trying to work like this makes me feel awkward and clumsy, but at this moment in time I feel I have to learn to do something for others and be of service.

The 'Rainbow Gypsies' are such lovely people and the two young American men from California who I met in Bombay are here as well with their girlfriends, together with a collection of other people from different parts of the world. Every morning Rosa, the young Italian woman, teaches us some yoga postures to help us become more supple: she moves like a dancer.

Most of the time our diet consists of rice and vegetables and we all eat together sitting on the floor. Shanti helps me a great deal, translating for me and patiently explaining all about the Indian tradition. He takes me around with him and I feel that he is a teacher for me. Daniel often sings some very moving songs accompanying himself on his guitar and I especially love the words of one song: 'We are One, for a universe of love.'

I am slowly getting used to this new rhythm of life and to the simple practical things that need to be done: cooking, washing clothes, cleaning, or just sitting to admire the majestic valley, the green hills and the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas in the distance. At night the weather turns cold and we all sleep together, close to each other on the floor of one room.

Shanti invites me to accompany him when he visits some of the Indian families he knows in Almora. He introduces me to them with pride, explaining that I am a doctor of philosophy and that my mother is a member of the Italian parliament; it seems that these things are very important in India.

When I see the village women walking along the streets in their long, green skirts, with bundles of grass on their heads, I feel strangely at home, as if I have already seen all this somewhere before.

10 April 1972

Shanti explains to me something of the complicated religious Indian pantheon, but adds that the science of yoga is something different again, it's the knowledge of oneself, an inner discovery. Today I accompanied him on a visit to Tara Devi, an elderly American lady, who has lived in Almora for the last twenty years.

She has invited us to go down-town with her to meet an Indian saint, Babaji, who is supposed to be the present incarnation of another famous yogi from the past, Hairakhan Baba. She tells us that Babaji has overcome death and rejuvenated His body, appearing to be about twenty when in reality He is one hundred and thirty years old. What is more, He exists without eating anything or sleeping: can this be true? I begin to be curious about Him. She says that Babaji had asked her to invite all of the Western people she knows in Almora to come and meet Him, because He is looking for someone amongst them who is His disciple from a previous life. Shanti makes a joke and suggests that maybe I am that person.

The other day, looking at the palms of my hands, he told me that I have the lines of a yogini, the same lines that he has, three united together, which signifies the union of heart and mind. He also said that he feels I am a person who may spend a long time in India, but who can tell if all this is true; sometimes I am very sceptical.

15 April 1972

Today we have been to Almora, to meet Babaji. There were some other Westerners present together with certain important spiritual teachers who live around here: Shunia Baba and Guru Lama, a Tibetan. I must confess that my first thought on seeing Him, with His long, black hair down onto His shoulders, made Him look like a hippie, someone very familiar, one of our tribe, a prophet, an angel of the new world sent here for us.

As soon as I entered the exceedingly crowded room I immediately noticed Him, seated on a raised dais, dressed in white, immobile like a statue. I was enchanted as I watched Him. He is extremely beautiful, radiant like an ancient Christ-like figure, very serious, severe, with sharp, dark, powerful, penetrating eyes. I started to look into His eyes and felt myself becoming hypnotized to such an extent that I began to be afraid of His power. Then suddenly I observed Him lowering His eyes, with such humility and an incredible tenderness. For two, maybe three hours I looked at Him continually, as if magnetized, just like the rest of the people in the room.

Many of those present continued singing religious songs the whole time without any interruption, accompanied by the Indian harmonium and hand cymbals. At one point people began to stand in a queue in order to pranam, to bow down at His feet. Every time a person bowed to Him, Babaji raised His hand in blessing, slightly smiling with compassion. I didn't feel that I wanted to go and pranam to Him, I just sat there staring at His beautiful, perfect form, absolutely still, as if He is not even breathing, like a statue. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, He just looks into everybody's eyes. I have the uneasy feeling that He can read my thoughts, see what I'm thinking, see into my mind, as if He is capable of telepathic communication with me. Silently I spoke to Him inside my heart: 'Please give me the truth.'

Later on, Babaji stood up to leave in order to go to His room. He moves in a fascinating way, like a panther, swift, powerful, precise, with long, slender, brown legs and bare-footed. They called Shanti and myself into the room where He was and with a little reluctance I hesitantly pranamed to Him for the first time. Babaji asked which country I came from and gave me a radiant smile; I felt as if I had received a severe electrical shock, as if struck by a wave of luminous light, and a voice inside me told me that I would see Him again.

I went back to the house where we were staying, deeply affected by this encounter. Even Shanti, who has already met many gurus, also noticed the especial beauty and purity of this Being.

16 April 1972

Last night I had a dream. I was in a dark, deep forest and suddenly Babaji appeared, emerging out of an intense light, surrounded by some disciples. He walked with the help of a stick and He told me: 'I am your guru.'

'What will You teach me?' I asked Him and He replied: 'To wash dishes well.'

I woke up deeply impressed because His message is very clear to me: the importance of learning to accomplish simple, humble tasks, useful to other people. In the past, in the life of our community in Milan, we were continually faced with this problem, nobody wanted to do the washing-up or carry out the simple jobs. People always left dirty plates and other things lying around, out of selfishness, laziness or egotism. I know that it is necessary for me to work through these problems. When I told Shanti about my dream he proposed that I go and visit Babaji where He lives, at His ashram in Hairakhan, and to speak to Tara Devi about it.

Babaji 1972

23 April 1972

We saw Tara Devi, the American woman, and asked her if we could join her on her trip to Hairakhan. She looked me up and down and told me I needed to dress a little better and not to wear these hippie clothes; she added that she doesn't even know if women are welcomed by Babaji in His ashram, since He is a brahmachari, a celibate. Shanti also told me I must be especially careful with my female energy, because the Indian people can easily become hostile and would even kill a woman trying to seduce a brahmachari Baba. I am so surprised by this kind of talk, because to be quite honest sex is the last thing to come into my mind in the presence of somebody like Babaji.

Hairakhan, 26 April 1972

We reached Hairakhan yesterday after an exceedingly long walk and I am exhausted. There were five of us who travelled from Almora, Shanti and myself, a Danish man, an American, Tara Devi and also her Indian cook. We reached a certain point on the road and then began walking through the jungle. The journey seemed to go on for ever. We walked for six hours, barefoot on the hot stones, continuously criss-crossing the Gautam Ganga river, an interminable distance, carrying our luggage on our heads. On more than one occasion I thought that I'd not be able to make it, and because I'm afraid of feeling the cold I had also insisted on carrying a quilt on my head as well.

The jungle here is really charming, the water in the river so pure and transparent one can drink it. Then all of a sudden we caught a glimpse of a white temple on the top of a hill, Hairakhan, a small village, looking as if it belonged in a fairy tale. When we came closer to the temple, we saw Babaji dressed in white coming down the steep steps to welcome us. With great embarrassment I found myself to be the first in line. Babaji took me up the steps with Him and then around the temple in a circle, ringing all the bells. I had the impression I was enacting an ancient, forgotten ritual. Using Shanti as interpreter He asked me if I was a hippie and I answered, 'Yes,' with a certain pride. Then He wanted to know if I smoked dope and when I nodded He told me that here in Hairakhan it was strictly prohibited.

A few minutes later we were approached by an old sadhu called Prem Baba, who took me with him to smoke some hashish and he gave me something strange to eat as well. I sat on the outside wall feeling quite stoned, looking out onto the valley. It is a magnificent place, the landscape archaic and mysterious, the hills covered in terraces, fertile, green with crops and in the background the mountains are covered with pine trees. The movement of the river running through the valley sounds like an exquisite melody and a huge bodhi tree arching its branches down towards the sound completes the scene.

Everybody lives in the open under the trees, the only buildings are the temple and one small hut where Babaji lives, which is open on all sides and has a ceremonial fire-pit at its centre.

While I remained sitting on the perimeter wall, absorbed in my contemplation, Babaji came near me and taking a stone He drew the shape of a small temple on the ground, telling me just one word: 'Dio', God. I felt very embarrassed, since I am still quite an atheist and the idea of God remains difficult for me to accept. Babaji motioned for me to sit with Him in His hut, His dhuni, and said to me in English: 'God is love.' The concept of love is maybe easier for me to accept. His eyes were deep and shining, luminous and He gave me an orange and some nuts to eat. In the evening the people gave us chapatis and a large quantity of halva, a delicious sweetmeat, to eat for our meal.

The temple in Hairakhan

27 April 1972

Yesterday afternoon some of the Indian people wanted to serve us tea, but Babaji shouted that tea is poison and is not permitted in the temple.

I find myself looking at Him all the time, but there remain doubts in my mind and I analyse all His movements, largely because He seldom speaks. He has a magnetic energy, such perfect beauty and Shanti teases me, suggesting that I am merely attracted by His physical presence, but it's not that at all: I feel overcome by a powerful psychic wave, a vibrating light. Sometimes I am afraid of being hypnotized, at other times I receive a deep, exquisite energy within my heart that is overwhelming.

Today, while we were sitting in the dhuni around the sacred fire, some of the village women arrived to visit Babaji. They are very colourful, wearing long, green skirts like myself and when they saw me they laughed. Babaji told them that my name is Lalli, which means 'little girl'. He asked me how old I was, I said twenty-six and He told me that I looked about fifteen.

In the evening, what I witnessed during the ceremony in the temple made a lasting impression on me. Babaji sat motionless, dressed in white, like an exquisite statue, while an Indian man began to sing and lifted a lighted lamp towards His face, which assumed a mysterious radiance. While praying in this way by waving the lamp the man started to cry and I could tell that he felt the presence of a Divine Being. Shanti has also been greatly moved by what he has seen, even if he tells me that I have to be careful not to be led astray by all these rituals.

Prem Baba, the old sadhu, invited us to sit with him around another fire, so that we could all sing together the mantra dedicated to Shiva, 'Om Namah Shivaya', and Shanti laughed at me, commenting that I have so easily become caught in the enchantment of the place. Some of the women were cooking chapatis, Indian bread, on a small improvised fire in the open and everything felt very simple and pure. Tonight we sleep within the temple area, looking up at the dark, tropical sky.

28 April 1972

This morning they woke us up at four o'clock, virtually still night-time. The air was chilly and I went down to bathe in the river. As I descended the steps I met Babaji, already coming back up. I jumped into the river, immersing myself in the cold water, under the bright stars. Later on I sat in a corner of the temple, thinking that I would like to continue being part of this magical story and follow Babaji, but that I would never dare to ask Him; just a few minutes later Babaji called me over to Him and asked me if I wanted to come with Him on a trip to Vrindavan, an extremely ancient city sacred to Lord Krishna. I am more than happy to go, even if I do feel scared about being all on my own and travelling alone, leaving behind Shanti and my friends. First though I must return to Almora to collect my money and my passport. Shanti is a little perplexed by my enthusiasm for Babaji, but I am really fascinated by Him and start thinking that maybe He is my guru.

* * *

Vrindavan

Haldwani, 4 May 1972

I am waiting for the train that will take me to Vrindavan. It's the first time I am travelling alone in India, but I have noticed that in the main Indian people are kind and willing to help those of us travelling in their country.

On leaving Almora this morning I observed myself walking barefoot down the road lined with pine trees, dressed in white, carrying a bundle of clothes on my head, all that I have; I possess very little money and no return ticket. For the very first time I really feel alone, 'on the road' in India, going to a guru. It feels like a dream.

Vrindavan, 6 May 1972

I am in Vrindavan and the city is charming, a remarkable place, reminiscent of an image from the pages of a fable. I arrived yesterday by train, which stopped continually on the journey here. Then I travelled by rickshaw through the small streets of the city, nothing less than a vision of paradise to me, remote but somehow known already from some past existence. The houses are all old-fashioned and artistically decorated, with tiny, narrow streets and small, colourful shops selling fruits, sweets and clothes. The people are joyful here, always greeting me with big smiles. Everywhere there are exceedingly ancient temples, thousands of years old, resounding with songs and Sanskrit prayers. Many sadhus, saints and women dressed in white walk around the city in a continual state of prayer, everything existing in an atmosphere that seems timeless.

When I entered Babaji's temple, I caught sight of Him immediately, seated on His dais, dressed in white, always so beautiful, unreal, etheric, radiant. He called an Indian man over and told me to accompany him to the bazaar to drink a large glass of milk taken from a huge terracotta vessel. I am amazed to be in such a wonderful place and I don't feel afraid any more, I feel secure, embraced by Babaji's love and the warmth of the people around me.

In the evening, when I sit in the temple, the Indian women and the children come up close to me and appraise me with great curiosity. They look at me, touch me, they caress me, admire me: to them I am the woman with a white skin and they make me feel very beautiful. Babaji called me over and told me that my name is Kali, the warrioress, the Black Goddess, but then immediately afterwards He changed His mind and said with tenderness: 'No, your name is Gora Devi,' which means, they told me later, the White Goddess.

I am particularly moved by the music and the songs, by Babaji's splendour and the devotion of the Indian people. They stand in a long queue holding garlands of flowers in their hands as an offering, then place them around His neck before they pranam to Him and receive a gesture from Him, a smile, a word or some prasad, blessed food.

I also stand in line and I feel extremely emotional just by coming in close proximity to Him. An energy of great intensity emanates from Him and I experience an incredible sensation, sensing as well that He can read all my thoughts. His eyes are magnetic, shining, full of love, strength and knowledge. I never become tired of looking at Him and notice that everybody else does the same. For two or three hours Babaji continues to sit virtually motionless. He doesn't speak, doesn't do anything, He just makes Himself visible for us to contemplate and adore; He gives darshan, which Indian people explain to me as being a vision of the Divine in a human form.

The impact of this experience touches everybody in an intimate way; I can see it in people's eyes and from the energy in the temple. People sing continuously, sometimes Babaji's mantra, 'Om Namah Shivaya', sometimes other devotional songs, until late in the evening.

At night we sleep on the roof of a small building constructed next to the temple, lying on a straw mat, the place surrounded by monkeys. It is still dark when we are woken up at four o'clock in the morning as devotional chants begin resounding from all of the temples in the city, more than seven hundred of them. After a shower I meditate in a corner for a short while, then we go to the temple for the aarati, morning prayers. We wait with trepidation for Babaji's arrival, for Him to emerge from His room and be seated on the modest dais prepared for Him. The temple is extremely clean, full of flowers and smelling of sweet incense.

We don't have breakfast or dinner, only a large lunch, as well as pieces of halva and fruit that are distributed during the day. Some people continue singing until late in the morning, other people work, either cleaning, washing, cooking or carrying drinking water from the well that is situated in the square opposite the temple. Babaji often speaks with individual people, just a few words here and there, very quietly, softly. After lunch everybody has a short afternoon nap and at about five o'clock we bathe and meet again in the temple, in order to clean and prepare everything for the evening worship.

In the afternoon many people choose to go to the river to bathe, in the Jamuna, a river sacred to Lord Krishna. In the evening the aarati ceremony is performed again and afterwards people sing until late in the night, beautiful, sweet songs. I don't understand the meaning of the words, but I surrender to the melody, to the feeling of a divine dimension.

It's tremendously difficult for me to adjust to the daily routine and to the strict discipline, to the Indian capacity for hard work, particularly because the weather is extremely hot and it makes me feel tired. The month of May is torrid in India, an especially oppressive time of the year and I often escape to the bazaar to find something cool to drink, even if I know that Babaji doesn't approve of it.

Babaji - '...dressed in white, always so beautiful, unreal, etheric, radiant.'

15 May 1972

I am beginning to find it difficult to withstand the way of life here. The daily routine is tiring, monotonous and some of the young Indian men are very brusque and treat me badly, they don't allow me to work with them and they treat me as if I am a stranger. Babaji always fascinates me, but even He keeps me at a distance, is unapproachable. It is almost impossible to communicate with anybody, since I don't know Hindi and can speak only a few words of English.

In this intense heat I always feel thirsty but the water from the well is tepid and a little salty; it does not quench my thirst. When I bathe in the river, which is cloudy and muddy, it leaves me with a strange sensation and I don't really feel clean after washing. In the morning I have to wait in a queue for an interminable length of time in order to be able to take a shower in the guesthouse. In the evening in the temple, everybody is sweating, the temperature rises to more than 40 degrees centigrade, it's sweltering but Babaji seems totally indifferent, not sweating Himself.

In Vrindavan there are hundreds of ageing widows all dressed in white saris, who live all together in various temples. They pray continuously, accompanied by the sound of small cymbals and other instruments. Some of the old women are extremely poor, their saris white-grey, and they ask for alms. It reminds me of a scene from Dante's Purgatory. People explain to me that in India a widow cannot marry a second time; she has to renounce the world, she loses her home, her possessions and spends the rest of her life in prayer. It seems extremely cruel to me and ironically I remember the women's liberation movement in the West. I start to feel restless and a strong sense of nostalgia arises in me to see my Western friends again in Delhi; I ask Babaji if I can go away for a while and He allows me to leave.

* * *

New Encounters

Delhi, 18 May 1972

I have started to travel around on my own without any fear or uneasiness. The other day, while waiting for a train in the railway station, I spread a piece of cotton on the platform like the Indians do and I sat down patiently to wait, using the time, as they do, to contemplate life and myself.

Railway stations are meeting places in India, joyful and familiar, and people talk to each other all the time. The Indian people regard me as a curiosity, they ask me where I come from, why I have come to India, what I am looking for. They are surprised that I have left the West, which in their minds is a paradise of material comforts, in order to come here and share their poverty. Some of them ask me if I am looking for mental peace, invite me into their homes, offer me food and shelter, all with a great sense of hospitality and humanity. In India to be hospitable is regarded as a sacred undertaking and people offer it with much warmth, their eyes gentle and full of love.

21 May 1972

I have been in Delhi for a few days and I feel comforted by the city. In old Delhi, in the Crown Hotel, I meet up with my friends again, Piero, Claudio, Shanti and some other people recently arrived from Italy. The hotel is on three floors, old and dirty, but rather grand in its way and from the terrace there's a commanding view of the railway terminus in the old part of the city. It's also the crossing place for numerous roads, the point of departure for numerous destinations, the location of many Hindu temples alongside Muslim mosques. It seems like the meeting place of different civilizations, India, Muslim countries, the West, China, and Tibet. Down on the streets there's a continual movement of people, rickshaws, horses, carriages, cows and cars, there seems no end to it all. Cows are regarded as holy and are shown great respect, so if they decide to cross the road the traffic comes to a standstill.

Many Westerners are camping out on the big terrace as well as occupying the small, hot, humid rooms where they keep the fans on all the time. As in Bombay, people smoke a lot and consume large quantities of fruit juices, tea and sweetmeats, taking numerous showers to fend off the heat. It's not a beautiful or a comfortable place, but it has a certain magical charm despite the dirt and chaos, not least because there are people here like me, searching for truth, ready to risk everything, to suffer, even to go so far as to lose themselves completely for the sake of this spiritual adventure.

People come and go all the time, exchanging news, addresses, tricks for acquiring visas and how to survive in the jungle of the Indian city. Many of them have found Indian or Tibetan teachers and I also talk to them about Babaji and His beauty. I show them photographs of Him and as usual Shanti teases me saying I am only attracted to Him because He is young and beautiful, but it's not like that at all. Later on Shanti proposes that I visit one of his teachers with him, a Dr. Koshik, who is an ordinary man, married with children, but who is very wise and enlightened. He is a disciple of Krishnamurti, who doesn't favour the cult of the guru, or their rituals and mantras; I decide to go.

23 May 1972

Shanti continues to question me and asks what Babaji is teaching me. I have some difficulty in explaining it to him: about singing the mantra I say, and to wake up early in the morning to pray. Suddenly I recall what happened one day in Vrindavan. It was late in the morning, the temple had become empty and I realized that only Babaji and myself remained there, alone together. Immediately I panicked and felt extremely nervous. Then Babaji suddenly called me to sit with Him and we sat in silence. I was aware of my mind continuously active, frenetic, unable to make it stop, when Babaji told me to repeat Om Namah Shivaya. I tried, but even to repeat the mantra seemed impossible, artificial. Then all of a sudden my mind stopped for a few seconds and I experienced a strange calmness; Babaji gave me a broad smile and stood up. In that moment I sensed a silence inside me and realized the completeness of what Babaji had been teaching me. When I recounted what had happened to Shanti, I could see that he was impressed; he told me that, in effect, this experience of silence is what every master tries to impart.

It's incredibly hot and we spend almost all day in the hotel, only going out in the evenings. Living here is incredibly cheap and so we feel wealthy, going out to dine in different restaurants, travelling by taxi, buying clothes. But I am learning to understand many things, including for instance to accept the idea of poverty, which has a dignity over here. It's respected and even appreciated, because it's close to simplicity. In the Western world life is based on competition and arrogance, on the ego, and the poor have no place in society, neither do those who are old or infirm. In India there is room for everybody, including us crazy freaks. India has always had a capacity to accept different religions and traditions with a great deal of tolerance. The caste system is still present, it's true, but it also exists in the West, in a hidden way: the rich and the poor have an entirely different place and role in society. India is open to everybody, like a great mother and it is especially open to the spiritual pilgrim. It's like an ocean where many rivers merge from different civilizations. Here one feels so free that even poverty can be beautiful, colourful, joyful, and any strange behaviour is accepted.

Sonepat, 24 May 1972

I am at Sonepat with Shanti and a large group of his friends, in order to meet his teacher, Dr. Koshik. The doctor is a sweet man, full of love, with a blissful smile like the Buddha, wise and somewhat ironic. We are welcomed by his family with great simplicity and overwhelming hospitality. Like everywhere else in India I've always found that no matter how many guests there may be, they are treated with tremendous hospitality and offered somewhere to sit and an abundance of food.

For most of the time we sit with the doctor in a kind of meditation, talking from time to time, but very quietly and slowly. He expresses a keen interest in me, about my purpose for being in India so far from my home and has introduced me to his neighbours. When I sit with him, I feel immense peace and show him photographs of Babaji and tell him about the temple and my experiences there. I know from Shanti that he is a disciple of Krishnamurti and that he doesn't believe in the use of rituals, mantras and so on, only in self knowledge and self enquiry, but I feel a great respect from him. He talks about the importance of experiencing the spiritual in life and tells us that he attained a certain degree of awareness by simply sitting under a tree for some days, observing his own mind, seeking his own true self with eyes wide open, fully conscious.

After remaining with him for some time, I seem to have the same smile on my face that he has all of the time, a particularly quiet energy engulfing me; the doctor feeds us with Indian sweetmeats and showers us with love and affection.

Delhi, 26 May 1972

I've returned to Delhi again, before leaving for Rishikesh with Piero and Claudio to visit a great Tibetan lama. It feels right for me to know about other teachers and their diverse teachings, so as to deepen my understanding of Babaji and through this comparison come to value Him and His teachings even more.

Rishikesh, 27 May 1972

I have arrived in Rishikesh with Piero, Claudio and some other friends. On the train journey Rosa and I slept together on the same wooden bench.

Rishikesh is beautiful, green, and the water of the Ganges is clean, the river bordered by a wide beach of white sand. We are staying at the small ashram of Swami Prakash Bharti, surrounded by mango trees. The Indian people seem extremely pleased that we have come here and last night we cooked them a delicious feast of Italian rice with tomatoes.

The Swami has large, peaceful eyes, dark and warm. He plays a game with us: to each of us in turn he stares into our eyes to see who can look without blinking for the longest period of time, and he always wins. His eyes resemble the water of a tranquil lake.

The other day an extremely old sadhu arrived here, with exceptionally long hair knotted on his head, his body tall and thin, his skin brown. He walks particularly slowly on some strange wooden sandals and he seldom speaks. The Swami explained to us that he has been in a state of samadhi for one year, for all that time closed up in a cave, without consuming any food and even stopping his heart from beating and halting his breathing. Is that possible? Who knows if it's true, but the sadhu certainly seems like a being from another planet, he is extraordinarily gentle and detached from everything.

The other day Rosa was practising hatha yoga postures in the garden, completely naked. The Swami was embarrassed and laughed awkwardly, but the old sadhu continued watching her with complete indifference. The people here are extremely kind and they offer us food all the time as well as tea to drink, and they often smoke hashish. During the day we frequently take showers under the mango trees, trying to fend off the interminable heat and in the mornings we go to the river Ganges. The river is truly wonderful, the water pure and transparent, with a strong current.

The Swami is teaching me the Indian alphabet and some devotional songs. The other day he placed around my neck a rudraksha mala, a string of seeds from the tree dedicated to Lord Shiva. He told me that he is my guru but I don't feel this to be true. As yet I am not sure whether Babaji is my guru either, but I continually find myself thinking about Him and am surprised how difficult it is to take my eyes off the photograph of Him that I carry. There is a special beauty in His form, a purity that I have never encountered before, the energy of an angelic being.

In India, sadhus, the ascetics, are highly respected since they have dedicated their lives to God. People welcome them, give them food and hospitality. They often travel around the country having renounced a normal life, doing ascetic practices, like living on very little food or sleep, and meditating for long periods of time. Real sadhus are free spirits, beyond every rule and regulation, even if they follow their own spiritual discipline. They look, even physically, different from the rest of the Indian people, they have beautiful, supple bodies, often grow their hair very long and possess special eyes, warm and intense, with a particular light. They maintain a high degree of cleanliness, observing special rules of purity.

* * *

Tibetan Initiation - Lama Sakya Trinzin

Mussouri, 1 June 1972

Yesterday, with Piero and Claudio, I travelled from Rishikesh to Mussouri, high up in the mountains. We have come to live in a place called 'Happy Valley', a Tibetan village. Piero and Claudio want to take initiation from Sakya Trinzin, one of the four Dalai Lamas, head of the Sakya order, and they have brought me with them. They told me that this is a serious matter and that I should ask the Lama personally for permission to receive initiation. In the meantime we are staying together in a tiny room in a Tibetan house, sleeping on the floor on some straw mats.

There are only Tibetan people living in this area and I find them extraordinarily beautiful. I am attracted and fascinated by their lovely oriental faces, with high cheek-bones and almond shaped eyes that always express joy. The men often have very long plaited hair usually tied with a ribbon, they are incredibly kind-hearted and some of them even spend time knitting. Otherwise they continuously pray using long rosaries of wooden beads. Unlike the Indian people they don't have an excitable energy, neither do they make a lot of noise or invade the privacy of others. They are quiet, respectful, always smiling, and one feels safe with them. We use their small restaurants because the food is familiar to us Italians, light and without any spices, noodles and vegetable soup much like home, prepared with a mother's care. They also cook momo, a white, soft bread and continually drink salted tea with butter. The women are particularly elegant, clothed in long, traditional dresses, wearing ancient jewellery made of silver, coral and turquoise. On one occasion we went to eat in an elaborate, Western-style restaurant, but I prefer the small simple, Tibetan ones with the welcoming aroma of vegetables. Far away in the distance we can see the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, pure and majestic.

3 June 1972

Today we went to visit His Holiness Sakya Trinzin, in a Tibetan monastery, half-way towards Derhadun. We were permitted to talk with him alone for a few minutes, I felt very shy, particularly because I hardly speak any English. The impression he made on me was of a young man, rather fat and motherly, with a large, rotund face and long hair tied back at the neck, revealing large, turquoise earrings. He symbolizes the perfect integration of both male and female energy in a single human body and has green eyes, very clear, amiable and peaceful. I bowed to him and he placed his hand lightly on my head; small, graceful hands. He smiled softly, encouraging me to overcome my fear and said to me in Italian: 'Dio' - God, which made me feel safe and relaxed.

Then he told me about Mario, the first Italian who ventured up here a few years ago to be with the Tibetan masters. He asked if I wanted to follow the Dharma, the Buddhist path, and I answered that I probably felt more attracted by Hinduism. He nodded. Even so, I still asked him if it was possible for me to take the Buddhist initiation on the following day with Piero and Claudio and he replied that he would be pleased to give me permission. I felt extremely happy and came out from this encounter feeling uplifted, comforted.

Mussouri, 4 June 1972

Today we were initiated by a great Tibetan lama, Sakya Trinzin's teacher. Piero and Claudio have told me that it's a great honour and blessing. In fact I realize that many special things are happening to me, one after the other, as if this trip is invisibly guided.

The three of us were the only Westerners present for the initiation along with a large number of Tibetan monks, dressed in their yellow and dark red robes. The ceremony lasted for eight hours, all day long, and it became almost impossible for me to endure, patiently squatting on the floor cross-legged, experiencing great pain in my legs, not able to understand the language or the meaning of the different rituals. The sound of the tinkling bells and the smell of incense I found quite overwhelming. Tibetan people sing in a particularly unique way, a deep and reverberating tone, in perfect harmony.

The culminating moment of the initiation, when the lama placed a length of red-coloured string around each person's neck, as if sealing the ritual, made a lasting impression on me. He smiled at me, an ancient, wise smile, with a kind of complicity, as if he had known me forever. I came out of the room filled with a new power: something unusual had occurred, an indefinable effect difficult to describe. We have been instructed that we must now meditate and practice the teachings for fifteen days. During this period we can always go to see Lama Sakya Trinzin if necessary, talk with him and ask for further clarification. I feel honoured. From today the three of us are to be confined to our small rooms. The meditation is quite complicated: we should visualize a Buddha, adorned with certain symbols and each time recite a very long mantra with the help of a mala, a rosary.

6 June 1972

The main difficulty is to remain seated correctly and Claudio is teaching me how to sit with my back straight, crossing my legs in the proper way so that they don't feel paralysed. The Western body is used to sitting on chairs and sofas all the time, not seated on the floor, which strains all our muscles. The Indians however are incredibly supple, their joints flexible, both the men and the women quite used to living in close contact with the earth, squatting down, walking barefoot, eating with their hands, sleeping on the floor and cooking and cleaning by crouching down on the ground. The other big problem is to curb the activity of my mind and I try desperately to do that.

We visited the Lama for guidance and I asked him why the Buddha always sits on a lotus flower. He answered that the lotus is the symbol of our soul: as the beautiful lotus opens it's petals, resting on the stagnant, muddy water, so our soul can open to light and knowledge, opening beyond the darkness and ignorance.

Delhi, 20 June 1972

We are in Delhi again and have linked up with all our friends once more. It is strange how we keep meeting up with each other, as if an appointment is arranged through some telepathic message. Soon we will be returning to Mussouri for a further initiation, but I have begun to think about Babaji again. I remain in a dilemma about Him, because He doesn't speak, doesn't give any spoken teachings, doesn't teach meditation. He seems to do nothing and yet there is an inexplicable magic around Him. Every time I look at His photograph I perceive an intense light: maybe it's an hallucination - who knows?

22 June 1972

I have acquired a high fever and so I cannot leave with Piero and Claudio. At the last minute, before they departed, Claudio gave me a small image of Shiva, the deity of Yoga, maybe Babaji Himself. Perhaps I am being called: I begin to think of going to meet Him again in Vrindavan.

Vrindavan, 27 June 1972

I have come back to Babaji with feelings of deep emotion. He called me over to talk with Him by the temple door, touching my bracelets and asking me why I wear all these ornaments. He looked at the tattoo on my hand forming the Om sign and told me in English: 'Full power.' In the evening He had me dancing in front of the Indian people who were present, smiling and telling them that I am a hippie.

Delhi, 30 June 1972

I don't know why but I had to come back to Delhi. I am too restless and the life in the temple is too difficult for me, I am not ready for the discipline especially. I miss my friends, the sense of freedom and comfort that I have here.

* * *

Love Story

Delhi, 5 July 1972

As soon as I arrived at the guest-house I came across Sitaram, the young American who I had encountered in Almora with Shanti. I asked him to help me, because there were no other people around and I felt lost in Delhi on my own, especially with my poor grasp of English. Something crazy happened, I don't know how but it did: we are having a love affair after taking an LSD trip together. I don't know whether it will be a successful relationship but we intend to leave for the mountains in order to find a house and live together for a while.

Simla, 7 July 1972

We are in Simla, high up in the mountains, the monsoon has already started and it rains all day. We went around barefoot carrying a large umbrella in search of a house where we could pass the rainy season and now we have discovered a lovely place in the forest with a river and a small lake nearby.

11 July 1972

We've been establishing ourselves in our new home for a few days now and have been busy cleaning, cooking, meditating, taking baths and swimming in a natural pool in the river. When Sitaram travels he carries with him a small suitcase containing inside it a complete temple with representations of many of the Indian deities. He has met many gurus and has learnt a great deal, and now he is teaching me English. It feels good for us to be together, but I also find it impossible to forget Babaji.

Vrindavan, 22 July 1972

Here I am, in Vrindavan again, to kneel at Babaji's feet. This time He talks to me very seriously and tells me that I cannot leave again without His permission. I protest, show Him a photograph of Sitaram and tell Him about our house, but Babaji says that he is not the man for me and that the house is not my home. He goes on to say that in future I'll only be able to live in Hairakhan or in Almora; that is where my home will be. What He says has a tremendous impact on me and I think about it for much of the night. I have decided to try and obey Babaji, but first I must go back to Simla to get my luggage, although I have made a promise to return.

Simla, 25 July 1972

Strangely enough, nothing seems to work out right with Sitaram any more and remembering Babaji has become a kind of obsession for me. Before I left He gave me a painting He had done depicting the temple in Hairakhan, simple, naive, delightful and I keep looking at it.

* * *

Return to Babaji

Vrindavan, 29 July 1972

I have returned to Vrindavan, without knowing that today is Guru Purnima, the full moon dedicated to the guru throughout India. This evening Babaji had me dance the whole time in the big temple where we went for the occasion. Every time I looked at Him I saw Him suffused in a brilliant, vibrant light. A young Danish man was dancing with me, trying to catch me, but I always eluded him; I feel light, free.

When I pranamed to Babaji on this occasion, I truly had the impression that He really is the only one to be my guru and that it would be futile to continue wandering around in circles looking for someone else.

Ambaji, 4 August 1972

Babaji took me with Him together with many Indian devotees on a trip to Ambaji, in Gujarat, to visit a famous and ancient temple dedicated to the Divine Mother Amba. It is an incredible place and inside a huge crowd had assembled with hundreds of people standing in line waiting to pranam to Babaji. We all sit for hours on end singing and looking at Him and I ask myself why we do this, why we continue to watch Him all the time, while He just sits and looks back at us. There exists a strange, magnetic attraction, difficult to describe, and in His presence many things are happening inside me, as if He is a powerful catalyst for our collective energy. Everything about Him speaks of harmony and perfection: His gestures, His movements and His form are completely seductive. The mind is brought to another dimension, to a state of peace and inner awareness.

The Indians here adore Him as God manifest on earth and prostrate themselves before Him offering their souls, their humility, their prayers and hopes. I would prefer to be like them, not so intellectual but with greater simplicity and purity. Every time I pranam to Him there is pandemonium in my mind, a turmoil of absurd and conflicting thoughts, at times violent and unpleasant. I feel guilty in His presence and would so much like to be at peace.

10 August 1972

Today we travelled with Babaji to Koteshvar, to an ancient temple in the jungle. The building is constructed of white marble, with all the niches and statues carved out of the stone. Babaji resides here in a small underground room. In the evening I dance in front of hundreds of people, the majority of them coming from the villages nearby and living a simple and extremely basic existence. They look at me, this visitor from the West, the white stranger, as if I am a magical being. They gather around me, touching me, prostrating themselves before me: I must be very careful and pay close attention to my ego.

Datha, 20 August 1972

Today we have moved on to a Maharajas palace, a real fortress; inside there are many grand rooms decorated with tiger skins. The way in which the women live here has had a considerable effect on me: they live in isolation, never going outside the palace or seeing any man other than members of their own family. They sit together all day long, chatting, or busying themselves with small tasks, reminiscent of a scene from the Middle Ages. Babaji is treated as if He were a great king and suddenly I see Him behaving just like that, sitting on an elaborate throne, dressed in royal clothes and with a regal countenance.

Vrindavan, 25 August 1972

We have come back to Vrindavan and the police have paid me a visit, having discovered that I am living here without a visa, which expired a long time ago. The fact is that I haven't even bothered to do anything about it, following my impulsive anarchistic nature, wanting to stay here without the necessary papers as a matter of principle, an expression of my sense of freedom. But now I am in trouble and the police have told me that I have to leave India within three days.

I run immediately to Babaji, who asks me what I want to do and if I would like to go to Nepal. I agree, since I wish to meet the Tibetan Lamas there and smiling He asks me if I know any Tibetan mantras. He also told me that I could ask a question of Him if I wish, and so I inquire if I should go back to Italy or if I should stay in India. Babaji replied softly: 'You will stay all your life in India at My feet.' I also asked if He could see my past lives and He said that in my previous life I was an Indian woman in Almora with a family and children and before that, a Tibetan queen devoted to Lord Shiva. He told me not to worry, because I have His blessing and that I will come back to India and to Him.

* * *

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