In , he returns to India for a yearlong visit. When he returns to America, he continues to establish his teachings, including writing this book. The book is an introduction to the methods of attaining God-realization and to the spiritual wisdom of the East , which had only been available to a few in The author claims that the writing of the book was prophesied long ago by the nineteenth-century master Lahiri Mahasaya Paramguru of Yogananda also known as the Yogiraj and Kashi baba.
It has been in print for seventy years and translated into over fifty languages by Self-Realization Fellowship. Internet Archive's 25th Anniversary Logo. He vanished as m ysteriously as he had com e. On m y knees I was exclaim ing, 'Lahiri Mahasaya! Lahiri Mahasaya! I m ust know this great Lahiri Mahasaya, who is able to m aterialize him self at will in order to intercede for you!
I will take m y wife and ask this m aster to initiate us in his spiritual path. Will you guide us to him? We took a horse cart the following day, and then had to walk through narrow lanes to m y guru's secluded hom e. Entering his little www. He blinked his piercing eyes and leveled them on your father. He added, 'I am glad that you have allowed Abinash to visit m e, and that you and your wife have accom panied him.
Lahiri Mahasaya took a definite interest in your own birth. Your life shall surely be linked with his own: the m aster's blessing never fails. His picture, in an ornate fram e, always graced our fam ily altar in the various cities to which Father was transferred by his office. Many a m orning and evening found Mother and m e m editating before an im provised shrine, offering flowers dipped in fragrant sandalwood paste.
With frankincense and m yrrh as well as our united devotions, we honored the divinity which had found full expression in Lahiri Mahasaya. His picture had a surpassing influence over m y life. As I grew, the thought of the m aster grew with m e. In m editation I would often see his photographic im age em erge from its sm all fram e and, taking a living form , sit before m e.
When I attem pted to touch the feet of his lum inous body, it would change and again becom e the picture. As childhood slipped into boyhood, I found Lahiri Mahasaya transform ed in m y m ind from a little im age, cribbed in a fram e, to a living, enlightening presence.
I frequently prayed to him in m om ents of trial or confusion, finding within m e his solacing direction. At first I grieved because he was no longer physically living. As I began to discover his secret om nipresence, I lam ented no m ore.
He had often written to those of his disciples who were over-anxious to see him : "Why com e to view m y bones and flesh, when I am ever within range of your kutastha spiritual sight? This experience gave intensification to m y love. While at our fam ily estate in Ichapur, Bengal, I was stricken with Asiatic cholera.
My life was despaired of; the doctors could do nothing. At m y bedside, Mother frantically m otioned m e to look at Lahiri Mahasaya's picture on the wall above m y head. My nausea and other uncontrollable sym ptom s disappeared; I was well. At once I felt strong enough to bend over and touch Mother's feet in appreciation of her im m easurable faith in her guru. Mother pressed her head repeatedly against the little picture.
One of m y m ost precious possessions is that sam e photograph. Given to Father by Lahiri Mahasaya him self, it carries a holy vibration. The picture had a m iraculous origin. I heard the story from Father's brother disciple, Kali Kum ar Roy. It appears that the m aster had an aversion to being photographed. Over his protest, a group picture was once taken of him and a cluster of devotees, including Kali Kum ar Roy. It was an am azed photographer who discovered that the plate which had clear im ages of all the disciples, revealed nothing m ore than a blank space in the center where he had reasonably expected to find the outlines of Lahiri Mahasaya.
The phenom enon was widely discussed. A certain student and expert photographer, Ganga Dhar Babu, boasted that the fugitive figure would not escape him. The next m orning, as the guru sat in lotus posture on a wooden bench with a screen behind him , Ganga Dhar Babu arrived with his equipm ent. Taking every precaution for success, he greedily exposed twelve plates.
On each one he soon found the im print of the wooden bench and screen, but once again the m aster's form was m issing. With tears and shattered pride, Ganga Dhar Babu sought out his guru. It was m any hours before Lahiri Mahasaya broke his silence with a pregnant com m ent: "I am Spirit. Can your cam era reflect the om nipresent Invisible? But, Holy Sir, I lovingly desire a picture of the bodily tem ple where alone, to m y narrow vision, that Spirit appears fully to dwell. I will pose for you.
This tim e the sacred figure, not cloaked with m ysterious im perceptibility, was sharp on the plate. The m aster never posed for another picture; at least, I have seen none. The photograph is reproduced in this book. Lahiri Mahasaya's fair features, of a universal cast, hardly suggest to what race he belonged.
His intense joy of God-com m union is slightly revealed in a som ewhat enigm atic sm ile. His eyes, half open to denote a nom inal direction on the outer world, are half closed also. Com pletely oblivious to the poor lures of the earth, he was fully awake at all tim es to the spiritual problem s of seekers who approached for his bounty.
Shortly after m y healing through the potency of the guru's picture, I had an influential spiritual vision. Sitting on m y bed one m orning, I fell into a deep reverie. An im m ense flash of light at once m anifested to m y inward gaze. Divine shapes of saints, sitting in m editation posture in m ountain caves, form ed like m iniature cinem a pictures on the www.
Another early recollection is outstanding; and literally so, for I bear the scar to this day. My elder sister Um a and I were seated in the early m orning under a neem tree in our Gorakhpur com pound. She was helping m e with a Bengali prim er, what tim e I could spare m y gaze from the near-by parrots eating ripe m argosa fruit. Um a com plained of a boil on her leg, and fetched a jar of ointm ent.
I sm eared a bit of the salve on m y forearm. I am testing your ointm ent on the spot where the boil will appear. Um a was unim pressed, and thrice repeated her taunt. An adam ant resolution sounded in m y voice as I m ade slow reply. With a shriek, m y sister rushed to Mother. I have always rem em bered her counsel, and followed it. My boil was surgically treated. A noticeable scar, left by the doctor's incision, is present today. On www. Those sim ple and apparently harm less phrases to Um a, spoken with deep concentration, had possessed sufficient hidden force to explode like bom bs and produce definite, though injurious, effects.
I understood, later, that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely directed to free one's life from difficulties, and thus operate without scar or rebuke. An unequivocal conviction cam e over m e that fulfillm ent would crown any of m y prayers uttered in that sacred spot. Standing there with Um a one day, I watched two kites flying over the roofs of the buildings on the opposite side of the very narrow lane.
Matches are played in India with kites whose strings are covered with glue and ground glass. Each player attem pts to sever the string of his opponent. A freed kite sails over the roofs; there is great fun in catching it. Inasm uch as Um a and I were on the balcony, it seem ed im possible that any loosed kite could com e into our hands; its string would naturally dangle over the roofs. The players across the lane began their m atch.
One string was cut; im m ediately the kite floated in m y direction. It was stationary for a m om ent, through sudden abatem ent of breeze, which sufficed to firm ly entangle the string with a cactus plant on top of the opposite house. A perfect loop was form ed for m y seizure. I handed the prize to Um a. If the other kite com es to you, then I shall believe. I continued m y prayers with a crescendo intensity. A forcible tug by the other player resulted in the abrupt loss of his kite.
It headed toward m e, dancing in the wind. My helpful assistant, the cactus plant, again secured the kite string in the necessary loop by which I could grasp it. I presented m y second trophy to Um a. This is all too uncanny for m e! My guru best owed t he religious t it le of Param hansa on m e in see chapt ers 24 and Dut t on. See chapt er There are nam es for God in t he Hindu script ures, each one carrying a different shade of philosophical m eaning.
Any word spoken wit h clear realizat ion and deep concent rat ion has a m at erializing value. Loud or silent repet it ion of inspiring words has been found effect ive in Coueism and sim ilar syst em s of psychot herapy; t he secret lies in t he st epping- up of t he m ind's vibrat ory rat e.
The poet Tennyson has left us, in his Mem oirs , an account of his repet it ious device for passing beyond t he conscious m ind int o superconsciousness: " A kind of waking t rance- t his for lack of a bet t er word- I have frequent ly had, quit e up from boyhood, when I have been all alone," Tennyson wrot e.
I was about eleven years old at the tim e of Ananta's betrothal. Mother was in Calcutta, joyously supervising the wedding preparations. Father and I alone rem ained at our hom e in Bareilly in northern India, whence Father had been transferred after two years at Lahore.
I had previously witnessed the splendor of nuptial rites for m y two elder sisters, Rom a and Um a; but for Ananta, as the eldest son, plans were truly elaborate. Mother was welcom ing num erous relatives, daily arriving in Calcutta from distant hom es. She lodged them com fortably in a large, newly acquired house at 50 Am herst Street. Everything was in readiness-the banquet delicacies, the gay throne on which Brother was to be carried to the hom e of the bride-to-be, the rows of colorful lights, the m am m oth cardboard elephants and cam els, the English, Scottish and Indian orchestras, the professional entertainers, the priests for the ancient rituals.
Father and I, in gala spirits, were planning to join the fam ily in tim e for the cerem ony. Shortly before the great day, however, I had an om inous vision. It was in Bareilly on a m idnight. As I slept beside Father on the piazza of our bungalow, I was awakened by a peculiar flutter of the m osquito netting over the bed. The flim sy curtains parted and I saw the beloved form of m y m other.
Rush to Calcutta if you would see m e! Mother is dying! I sobbed out the fatal tidings. If we get any bad news, we shall leave tom orrow. One of m y uncles m et us en route at a transfer point. A train thundered toward us, loom ing with telescopic increase. From m y inner tum ult, an abrupt determ ination arose to hurl m yself on the railroad tracks.
Already bereft, I felt, of m y m other, I could not endure a world suddenly barren to the bone. I loved Mother as m y dearest friend on earth.
Her solacing black eyes had been m y surest refuge in the trifling tragedies of childhood. But I scarcely believed him. When we reached our Calcutta hom e, it was only to confront the stunning m ystery of death. I collapsed into an alm ost lifeless state. Years passed before any reconciliation entered m y heart.
Storm ing the very gates of heaven, m y cries at last sum m oned the Divine Mother. Her words brought final healing to m y suppurating wounds: "It is I who have watched over thee, life after life, in the tenderness of m any m others! See in My gaze the two black eyes, the lost beautiful eyes, thou seekest!
Early every m orning I m ade a pathetic m em orial- pilgrim age to a large sheoli tree which shaded the sm ooth, green-gold lawn before our bungalow.
In poetical m om ents, I thought that the white sheoli flowers were strewing them selves with a willing devotion over the grassy altar. Mingling tears with the dew, I often observed a strange other-worldly light em erging from the dawn.
Intense pangs of longing for God assailed m e. I felt powerfully drawn to the Him alayas. One of m y cousins, fresh from a period of travel in the holy hills, visited us in Bareilly. I listened eagerly to his tales about the high m ountain abode of yogis and swam is. He revealed m y plan to m y elder brother, who had just arrived to see Father.
Instead of laughing lightly over this im practical schem e of a sm all boy, Ananta m ade it a definite point to ridicule m e. You can't be a swam i without that! They brought a clear picture of m yself roam ing about India as a m onk. Perhaps they awakened m em ories of a past life; in any case, I began to see with what natural ease I would wear the garb of that anciently-founded m onastic order. Chatting one m orning with Dwarka, I felt a love for God descending with avalanchic force.
My com panion was only partly attentive to the ensuing eloquence, but I was wholeheartedly listening to m yself. I fled that afternoon toward Naini Tal in the Him alayan foothills. Ananta gave determ ined chase; I was forced to return sadly to Bareilly. The only pilgrim age perm itted m e was the custom ary one at dawn to the sheoli tree.
My heart wept for the lost Mothers, hum an and divine. The rent left in the fam ily fabric by Mother's death was irreparable. Father never rem arried during his nearly forty rem aining years. Assum ing the difficult role of Father-Mother to his little flock, he grew noticeably m ore tender, m ore approachable.
With calm ness and insight, he solved the various fam ily problem s. After office hours he retired like a herm it to the cell of his room , practicing Kriy a Yoga in a sweet serenity. Long after Mother's death, I attem pted to engage an www.
But Father shook his head. Ananta was present at her deathbed and had recorded her words. Although she had asked that the disclosure be m ade to m e in one year, m y brother delayed. He was soon to leave Bareilly for Calcutta, to m arry the girl Mother had chosen for him. But in any case you are bristling with divine ardor. When I captured you recently on your way to the Him alayas, I cam e to a definite resolve.
I m ust not further postpone the fulfillm ent of m y solem n prom ise. I first knew your destined path when you were but a babe in m y arm s. I carried you then to the hom e of m y guru in Benares.
Alm ost hidden behind a throng of disciples, I could barely see Lahiri Mahasaya as he sat in deep m editation. As m y silent devotional dem and grew in intensity, he opened his eyes and beckoned m e to approach. The others m ade a way for m e; I bowed at the sacred feet.
My m aster seated you on his lap, placing his hand on your forehead by way of spiritually baptizing you. As a spiritual engine, he will carry m any souls to God's kingdom.
Shortly before your birth, he had told m e you would follow his path. Your little face was illum inated; your voice rang with iron resolve as you spoke of going to the Him alayas in quest of the Divine. The m ost singular event in m y life brought further confirm ation-an event which now im pels m y deathbed m essage. While our fam ily was living in Lahore, one m orning the servant cam e precipitantly into m y room. He insists that he "see the m other of Mukunda.
Bowing at his feet, I sensed that before m e was a true m an of God. Your next illness shall prove to be your last. Finally he addressed m e again: "'You are to be the custodian of a certain silver am ulet.
I will not give it to you today; to dem onstrate the truth in m y words, the talism an shall m aterialize in your hands tom orrow as you m editate. On your deathbed, you m ust instruct your eldest son Ananta to keep the am ulet for one year and then to hand it over to your second son.
Mukunda will understand the m eaning of the talism an from the great ones. He should receive it about the tim e he is ready to renounce all worldly hopes and start his vital search for God. When he has retained the am ulet for som e years, and when it has served its purpose, it shall vanish.
Even if kept in the m ost secret spot, it shall return whence it cam e. Not taking the offering, he departed with a blessing. The next evening, as I sat with folded hands in m editation, a silver am ulet m aterialized between m y palm s, even as the sadhu had prom ised. It m ade itself known by a cold, sm ooth touch. I have jealously guarded it for m ore than two years, and now leave it in Ananta's keeping.
Do not grieve for m e, as I shall have been ushered by m y great guru www. Farewell, m y child; the Cosm ic Mother will protect you. The talism an, round and anciently quaint, was covered with Sanskrit characters. I understood that it cam e from teachers of past lives, who were invisibly guiding m y steps.
A further significance there was, indeed; but one does not reveal fully the heart of an am ulet. How the talism an finally vanished am idst deeply unhappy circum stances of m y life; and how its loss was a herald of m y gain of a guru, cannot be told in this chapter.
But the sm all boy, thwarted in his attem pts to reach the Him alayas, daily traveled far on the wings of his am ulet.
The percent age is high of happy I ndian m arriages. Though she died before t he wedding, her nat ural m at ernal wish had been t o wit ness t he rit es. He perm itted m e, even as a m ere boy, to visit m any cities and pilgrim age spots. Usually one or m ore of m y friends accom panied m e; we would travel com fortably on first-class passes provided by Father. His position as a railroad official was fully satisfactory to the nom ads in the fam ily. Father prom ised to give m y request due consideration.
The next day he sum m oned m e and held www. Unfortunately I have lost his address. But I believe you will be able to get this letter to him through our com m on friend, Swam i Pranabananda. The swam i, m y brother disciple, has attained an exalted spiritual stature. You will benefit by his com pany; this second note will serve as your introduction.
Reaching Benares, I proceeded im m ediately to the swam i's residence. The front door was open; I m ade m y way to a long, hall-like room on the second floor. A rather stout m an, wearing only a loincloth, was seated in lotus posture on a slightly raised platform. His head and unwrinkled face were clean-shaven; a beatific sm ile played about his lips. To dispel m y thought that I had intruded, he greeted m e as an old friend.
I knelt and touched his feet. In astonishm ent, I handed him the note of introduction, which now seem ed superfluous. He glanced at the letter, and m ade a few affectionate references to m y parent. One is by the recom m endation of your father, for whom I once worked in the railroad office. The other is by the recom m endation of m y Heavenly Father, for whom I have conscientiously finished m y earthly duties in life. Does He drop m oney in your lap? I never crave m oney now. My few m aterial needs are am ply provided for.
Later you will understand the significance of a second pension. A sphinxlike air enveloped him. At first his eyes sparkled, as if observing som ething of interest, then grew dull. I felt abashed at his pauciloquy; he had not yet told m e how I could m eet Father's friend.
A trifle restlessly, I looked about m e in the bare room , em pty except for us two. My idle gaze took in his wooden sandals, lying under the platform seat.
The m an you wish to see will be with you in half an hour. Again he fell into inscrutable silence. My watch inform ed m e that thirty m inutes had elapsed. The swam i aroused him self. An am azed incom prehension arose suddenly; m y thoughts raced in confusion: "How is it possible that Father's friend has been sum m oned to this place without the help of a m essenger?
The swam i has spoken to no one but m yself since m y arrival! Halfway down I m et a thin, fair-skinned m an of m edium height. He appeared to be in a hurry. Are you not Bhagabati's son who has been waiting here to m eet m e?
Less than an hour ago I had just finished m y bath in the Ganges when Swam i Pranabananda approached m e. I have no idea how he knew I was there at that tim e. As we proceeded hand in hand, the swam i in his wooden sandals was strangely able to outpace m e, though I wore these stout walking shoes.
You can join m e in m y house, where Bhagabati's son and I will be awaiting you. I walked here as fast as possible. I inquired how long he had known the swam i. I was very glad to see him again today at the bathing ghat. Am I losing m y m ind? Did you m eet him in a vision, or did you actually www. Can't you understand that only through the swam i could I have known you were waiting at this place for m e? His eyes opened widely. I never expected to witness such a m iracle in m y life!
I thought this swam i was just an ordinary m an, and now I find he can m aterialize an extra body and work through it! The subtle unity of the phenom enal world is not hidden from true yogis. I instantly see and converse with m y disciples in distant Calcutta. They can sim ilarly transcend at will every obstacle of gross m atter. Inasm uch as I was destined to undertake m y divine search through one particular guru-Sri Yukteswar, whom I had not yet m et-I felt no inclination to accept Pranabananda as m y teacher.
I glanced at him doubtfully, wondering if it were he or his counterpart before m e. He was Divinity Itself in the form of flesh. I used to m editate with another disciple for eight hours every night. Paramahansa talks about the supernatural and the events that shaped his remarkable revelation as an enlightened being. This book acknowledges some basic principles known to Westerners as well. One of them is to maintain the highest level of integrity, to speak the truth and to witness it with your behavior.
Yogananda brought joy to this world; his words are indeed a true wisdom. Destined to accomplish magnificent things, he established himself as a righteous person — above all. The gentle and kind approach was his method of teaching not only the Indians, but also his words reached the West.
One more reason to start reading it right away: Autobiography of a Yogi is about the gray line between the ordinary and the extraordinary.
Paramahansa Yogananda proves once again that the power of words is above any other, turning the impossible into possible. Autobiography of a Yogi is at once a beautifully written account of an exceptional life and a profound introduction to the ancient science of Yoga and its time-honored tradition of meditation.
Profoundly inspiring, it is at the same time vastly entertaining, warmly humorous and filled with extraordinary personages. Finally, the day comes when he became the monk and begins to spread what he has. The process of learning never ends no matter how much you are qualified for it. There is still a room for something more and he believes in it. He has given many lectures outside India and become popular due to his peace meditations.
Search for:. An originative text that tells the story of Paramhansa Yogananda, this book has been revered for its memorable, incisive and instructive teachings. This spiritual autobiography will take you on an incredible journey of Indian mysticism and spirituality and deliver humbling, comforting truths about life and existence.
Each excerpt, which is coupled with a lovely and delicate scene from nature, is indeed a treasure consisting of maybe only a sentence or two, yet they are words enough to take one to a very deep place.. With black and white photographic art, and a beautiful 4-color cover complementing the original blue cover of Autobiography of a Yogi.
A volume to cherish for all truthseekers! Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience.
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