Mother of Silence

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I've never stopped wondering what I was doing. After four weeks I could stand it no longer. I phoned Mother Meera and, through her secretary,asked, "Are you with us on this journey?" The answer came back, "Whatever you believe." My heart sank at first, but then began to soar. For the first time I had a glimmer of Mother Meera's presence. I think she was telling me there is something I can do, a part I can play in receiving God.

Responsibility, though onerous, is at least something you have a say in. The walk never got easier. By the time we reached Thalheim I was confused and wanted to go home. I had the depressing thought that I had just put myself through a month of discomfort for nothing.

We bathed and rested and walked the final two miles to darshan , an audience with Mother Meera. It was like walking into Bethlehem, an invisible star over her house. I cried with the sacredness of the occasion.

Day 32 

It's about 10 o'clock, and we've just come out of Mother Meera's house and we're sitting in the village square. Darshan was a very, very peaceful experience for me. She has a very searching look, not the pool of love I expected to fall into, but something I don't think I've seen in another human being: a look that is almost alien, almost nonhuman, not in a spooky way, but in a divine way. I feel probably as peaceful as I've ever felt. I came with hundreds of questions; the questions are still there, but in a way they're not really important. At the moment the most important thing is just to maintain this sense of stillness.

No great fireworks, no epiphany, but a profound shift took place then. Six months later I still feel changed: more solid, more connected. Though I pray less now, and meditate less, sometimes I think that if I turned round quickly enough I'd find Mother Meera standing by my shoulder.

Reprinted from Sacred Journeys: An Illustrated Guide to Pilgrimages Around the World (Henry Holt, 1997).

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