In this year of Swami Kriyananda’s centennial, we continue to share stories from our experiences with him—in part to help you know him better, but also for the joy of recalling these incidents, as Yogananda wrote, in “the easy resurrection of memory.”

The first story takes place during a period when Swamiji had been in residence at Ananda Assisi for quite some time. We began to miss him deeply and decided to pay him a visit. Unfortunately, our timing was poor—we arrived during a stretch when he was absorbed in writing and teaching. Though he was always gracious, he had little time for personal connection.

One evening as he was leaving the temple after a public satsang, he must have seen the disappointment (and hurt) on my face, for he called me over to him. “Devi,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes, “no one is special to me. I’m not even special to myself.”

And yet. . . . Paramhansa Yogananda wrote in Autobiography of a Yogi that divine vision is “center everywhere, circumference nowhere.” Swamiji’s life, centered as it was in unceasing service and devotion to his guru, was for that very reason centered everywhere. He never lost sight of all those who sincerely opened themselves to him spiritually. His care for his students wasn’t rooted in personal emotions, but was deep and unwavering: a living demonstration of divine love. In truth, he made each one of us feel we were special to him in some meaningful way. During that visit, I felt more strongly than ever before how much we truly meant to him—not in the sense of outward interaction, but through a deep, soul connection.

The second story reflects another facet of divine love. It occurred during my first few years at Ananda. I had faced several setbacks during this time, and I was in a period of discouragement and confusion. It was someone’s task each day to bring Swamiji’s mail to his home at Crystal Hermitage. One day the person who usually did this had another commitment and asked me if I could fill in.

Knowing my mental state was not at its best, I hesitated to bring my inner turmoil into Swamiji’s presence. “Don’t worry,” the regular courier told me. “Swamiji will be writing, and he won’t even notice you. Just put the mail on the table next to the front door and slip away.” I figured even I could do that.

But that was not what happened. After setting down the mail, I turned quickly to leave—when Swamiji, who was in silence and busy writing, glanced up and saw me. Motioning for me to come over, he pulled the sheet of paper that he was working on from his typewriter. (Yes, Swamiji wrote a number of his books in the Dark Ages before computers.)

Inserting a piece of notepaper into the carriage of the typewriter, he typed a single line: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added unto you.” That was all. Pulling it out and handing it to me, he watched as I read it in amazement. Then he smiled, nodded for me to leave, and returned to his writing. Even in the midst of concentrated work, he perceived my confusion and took time to help. From that brief exchange, my energy and perspective dramatically changed, and I was able to move forward into brighter days.

A friend of mine shared with me this final story as we were walking together one day. When I mentioned that Swamiji had called Jyotish and me the previous night, she sighed and said, “He’s never called us”; then she grew thoughtful and quietly added, “but he did once.”

When I looked at her questioningly, she continued: “My husband and I had had a big disagreement one night. Each of us stubbornly refused to concede, and we went to bed without speaking. Then, early the next morning the phone rang—and to our surprise, it was Swamiji. ‘I just want to thank you both for your beautiful spirit,’ he said. That was all. We looked at each other in amazement, then tears filled our eyes, and all the tension and disharmony melted away. We embraced in the aura of Swami’s divine love.”

In Yogananda’s poem “Samadhi” he wrote: “The sparrow, each grain of sand, fall not without my sight.” My friend, the days to experience this did not end with Swamiji’s passing. His presence is always within reach for those who sincerely call on him, for he was a channel for Master’s all-encompassing, eternal love. Each of us is a little sparrow in God’s sight—this is His greatest gift to all His children.

With joy and gratitude,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:18):

Throughout 2026, Ananda will be celebrating the Centennial (hundredth anniversary) of Swami Kriyananda’s birth. Major events honoring his life will be held at Ananda Village in June, Ananda Assisi in August, and in India in September. Besides those attending these celebrations in person, everyone will be able to watch via live streaming.

In the months ahead, Jyotish and I will be dedicating many of our blogs to Swamiji: how he changed our lives, and how his humble discipleship brought Master’s teachings to the world. Today I’ll share with you some lessons I learned during my first few years at Ananda, and offer ways you might apply them in your own life.

I arrived at Ananda on July 4th, 1969, and began regularly attending the talks that Swami gave every weekend at the Seclusion Retreat. Having had a good education, I wasn’t sure what more he could offer me. But from the very first time I heard him lecture, it was as though a door opened in my mind. I knew he was offering me a higher wisdom than I had ever received before.

He spoke about the true nature of reality, the purpose of life, how to achieve our goals, and the way to find lasting happiness. Everything he shared—and the way he shared it—was filled with a deep understanding of history, the arts, literature, and science. I felt that my true education had finally begun.

During my college years, existential philosophy—which holds that there are no objective truths or values—was widely accepted. Swamiji convinced me so thoroughly that true values and purpose do exist that it changed the entire course of my life from that point onward.

How can you apply this to your life?

Take time to study these teachings by reading Yogananda’s and Swamiji’s books, and by listening to their talks. When you do, give it your full attention, and take notes on whatever seems most meaningful and relevant to you. I took notes at nearly every one of Swamiji’s talks I attended, because doing so helped me absorb his wisdom more deeply. Then, introspect on how you can bring this higher wisdom into your daily life.

Hearing Kriyananda lecture was transformative—but so was hearing him chant. The first time I experienced it, I again felt that a door had opened, but this time in my heart. Swami was gifted with a beautiful voice, yet it was much more than that. The sweetness, simplicity, and devotion of the chants were like nothing I’d ever heard. I could feel that he was singing not as a performance for others, but from the depth of his love for God, and graciously allowing us a glimpse of it.

I remember one very warm Sunday morning in August when Swami was leading the satsang at the Retreat. Because the temple was hot and packed with people, it felt rather stifling. Then, as he began to chant, I felt a cool breeze wafting gently through the room—as though we were being refreshed and uplifted in a wave of God’s love.

Though I’d never studied a musical instrument, I bought a harmonium and taught myself how to play so that I could chant on my own. I can’t say I ever mastered the art, but I learned enough to spend hours happily playing the beautiful chants I had heard Swamiji sing. Chanting helped me awaken my own natural devotion, and gave me confidence that I could learn and enjoy new avenues of self-expression.

How can you apply uplifting music in your life?

Listen to the recordings of Master, Swamiji, and others chanting. Try to feel the depth of their love for God, then sit quietly in meditation and offer your own love to God. If you can, take part in kirtans in person, and try playing an instrument—harmonium, drums, kirtals (cymbals), or simply rhythmically clapping your hands. The important thing is to awaken devotion in your own heart.

During my early years at Ananda, Swamiji taught us to look for God’s wisdom and love in everything. As Yogananda writes in his Autobiography: “God is Love; His plan for creation can be rooted only in love. Does not that simple thought, more than any erudite cosmological tome, offer solace to the human heart? Every saint who has penetrated to the core of Reality has testified that a divine universal plan exists, and that it is beautiful and full of joy.”

These two qualities I learned from Swamiji—wisdom and love—have formed the foundation of the rest of my life.

With gratitude,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:22):

Swami Kriyananda had a wonderful way of preparing people for their life’s calling. Jyotish and I had personal experience of this in many ways, but one story stands out in my mind.

In the mid-1980s, when Swamiji was in residence at Ananda Village, he was scheduled to lead the Sunday service each week at 11 a.m. We began regularly receiving a phone call from him on Sunday mornings at about 9. He would say that he was busy on a writing project, or wasn’t feeling quite well, and ask if we could give the talk that day in his stead.

Listen to the story of the monarch butterflies during the visit to Mount Shasta in the podcast commentary, below.

Gulping down our hesitancy, we answered, “Of course, Swamiji. We’d be happy to.” Before long, every Sunday morning found us sitting nervously by the phone awaiting that 9:00 call. And so began our career of giving “talks on demand,” and serving as stand-ins for Swamiji.

Fast-forward a few years. Ananda Village was part of an interfaith council made up of local ministers, priests, and rabbis from different congregations. One morning, at a breakfast gathering for council members, I found myself seated next to a Fundamentalist woman minister. Glancing at my name tag, which identified me as being from Ananda, she asked somewhat condescendingly, “When did you get the call?”

I couldn’t restrain myself. “Usually about 9 a.m.,” I replied. Puzzled, she turned to the person seated on her other side, and began a new conversation.

There was, however, another kind of call from Swamiji—one that has become increasingly important to me over the years. It happened shortly after I had come to Ananda in the early 1970s.

From the first time I heard Swami Kriyananda speak, I knew that he could teach me about the true meaning of life. Yet being new to Yogananda’s teachings and uncertain of my own spiritual worthiness, I felt shy in his presence and tended to keep myself at a distance.

One Sunday morning after service, Swamiji was having lunch with a group of people in the dining room at the Seclusion Retreat. I was walking by his table carrying my lunch tray when he looked up and beckoned me over. “I’ve been invited to give a talk at a bookstore in Mt. Shasta and have asked a group to come with me,” he said. “We’ll be camping out for a few days on Mt. Shasta, then going into town for the talk. Would you like to join us?”

In my lack of self-confidence, I replied, “I think I have an eye doctor’s appointment at that time.”

He looked at me with kindly awareness of my mental state—and with divine love—and simply said, “Don’t you think you could change it?”

He was opening a door for me: extending an invitation to be in his vibration, to feel at ease in his presence, and to understand that the demands of this world should never take precedence over spiritual opportunities. It took me a moment to grasp what he was offering, but then I answered quickly, “Yes, Swamiji. I will change the appointment and come.” The trip was a glorious experience on many levels, but I’ll save that story for another time.

The reason this call has stayed with me so deeply is that I increasingly realize that this choice is before us every time we meditate. The restless mind, so filled with what the Bhagavad Gita calls “ego-instigated plannings” (VI:4), is always looking for reasons to avoid turning inward to our soul nature. “I need to do this, to solve that,” we constantly think, yet God is always calling us to rest in the peace and bliss of His presence.

It’s puzzling to me why this choice is so difficult to make—but I suppose that is the central challenge of the spiritual path. The state of ego-consciousness feels familiar, while soul awareness seems uncertain. And so we hesitate to surrender into it.

Swami Kriyananda expresses this beautifully in the lyrics to his song “God’s Call Within”:

Listen! Listen!

Learning to hear God’s call within—and to follow wherever it leads—is the choice ever before us. Though we may hesitate, deep inside we know that only this will bring us the soul happiness we have forever been seeking.

In divine friendship,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:15):

Have you ever had a series of seemingly random events that, taken together, carried unexpected significance? Recently I had just such an experience.

To tell the story, I have to take you back thirty-three years to the time of my mother’s passing. She was a kind, loving, and purehearted person who in many ways was a role model for me. During the last few weeks of her life, my brother and I sat by her bedside, happily reminiscing about the experiences our family had shared.

As the days of her life drew to a close, she took my hand and said, “I know that you don’t wear much jewelry, but please take this ring to remember my love for you.” She slid from her finger a simple gold band with six little diamonds set in a row. I wore it ever since with loving thoughts of her.

Now fast-forward to the present. A month ago our eldest granddaughter Riley and her fiancé Andrew came to talk with us about their upcoming wedding. They asked if we’d lead the ceremony, shared their plans, and showed us photos of the rings they were considering. We were very happy for them and grateful that they’d asked us to officiate.

Then things began to get more interesting. Two weeks ago, I was in my home office struggling to open an old metal file box. I finally had to force it open by pushing hard on the jammed lock. Shortly afterward, I was shocked and dismayed to discover that one of the little diamonds from my mother’s ring was missing.

Though I carefully searched the floor and carpet in my office over and over again, no diamond was to be found. Since the prongs that had held the stone were now sticking out and catching on things, I sadly took off the ring and put it on our altar. Somehow I knew I would never wear it again.

“What is the meaning of this loss?” I wondered. I asked myself, “Are those of us on the spiritual path meant to release even the most cherished symbols of love?” Needless to say, my heart was heavy. A week passed, and I was still troubled and searching for why this had happened.

But the answer was about to come. Jyotish and I were enjoying a walk on our favorite path through the woods, when we saw a friend coming from the opposite direction. Something told me to stop our walk and chat. After a pleasant but brief conversation, my eyes were drawn to his wedding band, which sparkled with tiny diamonds and rubies.

“What a beautiful ring!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” he replied. “The little stones belonged to my grandmother. She loved my wife from the moment they met, and gave us a ring shortly before she passed. We had the stones from her ring set in our wedding bands.”

Suddenly I understood the meaning of everything that had happened! I turned to Jyotish and exclaimed excitedly, “My mother’s ring is for Riley!” As soon as we got home, I texted her with a photo, and asked, “Would you like this for your wedding ring? It belonged to your great-grandmother.”

“I would love it,” she wrote back immediately. “It’s a family heirloom!”

A few days ago, we gave her the beloved keepsake. As she happily held the ring, my heart was filled with joy and a sense of freedom. I began to understand that the ring was only a symbol—a condensed form—of my mother’s love. I realized once again that love needs to be shared, or it can be taken for granted or diminish. When we share it, our hearts expand, and we feel a deeper connection with others—in fact, with all life.

I also saw that nothing is ever truly lost. Life’s seeming setbacks and losses are only stepping-stones to a deeper understanding. This world that God has created—apparently so filled with solid and lasting things—is only His dream. All things pass—cherished possessions, dear friends, even civilizations—to help us realize that in the end the only reality is God’s love.

All this wisdom came to me from the loss of one small diamond.

With joy and gratitude,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (9:59):

Crystal Clarity has just released a wonderful new app. If you would like to deepen your attunement with Master, give it a try.

“Give me a light to light my way.

These are the lyrics to one of Swami Kriyananda’s songs, “Give Me Light.” Seemingly simple, they contain deep wisdom: Truth is the light that shows us the way forward. More than ever, we need the guidance of truth to navigate today’s world and to find ways to be of help to others. Yet, given current circumstances, many ask themselves: Is there really anything I, as an individual, can do to help in these turbulent times?

Paramhansa Yogananda gave a powerful answer: “Individual effort can be even more important than mass karma. One who in every way tries to uplift himself, harmonizing body, mind, and soul with the Divine, creates positive karma not only in his own life, but in his family, neighborhood, country, and world.”

What do these words tell us about how we can bring the light of truth into our own lives, our families, our countries, and the world, so that we can truly make a difference?

First, we need to seek truth within ourselves—in our own soul nature—through the daily practice of meditation. Yogananda said, “Understanding is the most precious possession of each soul. It is your inner vision, the intuitive faculty by which you can clearly perceive the truth—about yourself and others, and all situations that arise in your path—and correctly adjust your attitudes and actions accordingly.”

Attunement with a true guru who is anchored in truth is also a great aid. Yoganandaji said that even if he was in a distracted state of mind, as soon as he entered Sri Yukteswar’s ashram he felt uplifted and centered within himself. As your attunement deepens, you will find the guru’s guidance inwardly helping you make your every decision in alignment with truth.

Next, with our family and friends, Master teaches that the true purpose of family life and friendship is not merely personal enjoyment, but learning selfless, impersonal love that excludes no one. He said: “Be loyal to your friends, and feel love for everyone. God gave you a family that you might expand your consciousness by caring and doing for others. In family life we learn love and self-sacrifice for our loved ones, and thus attain some expansion of consciousness. But this is not enough. Love that becomes personal is exclusive, confined; when love becomes impersonal, it expands.”

The light of truth, then, shows us how our love for family finds its true fulfillment by including everyone as part of our larger family. Our home environment should be filled with integrity, honesty, love for all, and devotion to God. In this way, our home becomes a shining beacon, sending God’s grace and blessings out to the world.

What is the guiding truth in our awareness of ourselves as citizens of a nation? Politicians and policies change over time, but we must seek to express the deeper truth upon which our nation is founded. Saints have spoken of guardian spirits that guide the destiny of nations—some based on spiritual values, others on refinement and culture, and still others on compassion and care for all citizens. We can strive to live as citizens who embody the highest values of our country.

Finally, we come to the truth guiding this world: We are all children of the one Father-Mother God. Master wrote: “The wisdom garnered by India, the elder brother among the nations, is a heritage of all mankind. Vedic truth, as all truth, belongs to the Lord and not to India. The great rishis, whose minds were pure receptacles to receive the divine profundities of the Vedas, were members of the human race, born on this earth, rather than on some other, to serve humanity as a whole. Distinctions by race or nation are meaningless in the realm of truth, where the only qualification is spiritual fitness to receive.”

And as he said in 1951, the year before his passing, “We must learn that it can no longer be Asia for Asiatics, Europe for Europeans, America for Americans, and so on, but a United States of the World under God, in which each human being can be an ideal citizen of the globe with every opportunity for fulfillment in body, mind, and soul.”

I’d like to close with a story from a member of Ananda Village that illustrates how we can live as citizens of a United States of the World. The woman who shared it manages a small boutique at the Village that sends photos and statues of the Masters around the world.

She wrote: “We received an inspiring email from a man in Qatar, which is near Iran and experiencing increased security threats and regional conflict. He wrote, ‘With profound joy and gratitude, we wish to share that the Babaji statue arrived safely today. The moment we opened the box and beheld Babaji, our hearts were filled with peace and a sacred presence. It felt as though a divine blessing had entered our home. Words cannot fully express the grace and joy we experienced in that moment.’”

God has given us messengers of truth to guide our way. Let us then, with faith in what “wise men say,” follow that truth, so that through us His light may shine more brightly out into this world.

Your friend in God,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (8:59):

“To be, or not to be—that is the question.” These words, spoken by Hamlet in Shakespeare’s play of the same name, are perhaps the most widely recognized sentence in all of English literature. In this soliloquy, Hamlet wrestles with the existential question of whether or not to continue living, or to enter “the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.”

Yet for the devotee, this question takes on a deeper meaning: whether to continue living in the ego, or to brave that “undiscovered country” in search of soul consciousness. Though being in the state of the ego cannot provide us with true happiness, it is at least familiar territory—terrain we know well.

We might think of the ego as a spoiled child who constantly asks, “What about me? Where’s mine?” Our soul nature, by contrast, is more like a loving mother who says, “All that I am and have, I give unconditionally to my children.” So we need to decide, not whether “to be or not to be,” but what we wish to be.

Crossing the bridge from ego to soul awareness takes faith and courage. When we begin the spiritual journey, we’re not certain what we will discover at the end. We are told that we are a spark of the Divine, but how does this relate to the current state in which we find ourselves? As Hamlet said in the same speech: “Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.” The quest for God is not for cowards, but for those who are willing to accept the challenge, and persevere with determination to the end.

Yet once we begin, the journey may prove easier than we imagine. A friend once remarked, “People think that the spiritual path is long, but actually it’s only about three feet—from the base of the spine to the spiritual eye.” We can shorten it even further, for ego consciousness is centered in the medulla oblongata at the base of the brain. The true journey then becomes the movement of energy from the medulla through the brain to the spiritual eye.

Swami Kriyananda wrote: “When you feel any concentration of energy there [at the medulla], make a determined effort to relax at that point. Release the energy, and let it flow forward to the forehead at the point between the eyebrows.”

In Sadhu, Beware! A New Approach to Renunciation, Swamiji gives many practical tips for ego-transcendence. Here are a few:

These are only three of the thirty-three suggestions in his book, but they illustrate the principle: Be vigilant about quieting the “spoiled child” of the ego, and choose instead to dwell in the expanded Self.

Equally important in drawing us from ego to soul consciousness are the techniques of meditation—especially Kriya Yoga. The more we meditate and bring energy to the spiritual eye, the more natural and familiar our soul nature becomes. All the techniques of yoga have essentially this goal: to show us who and what we really are. Over time, as we persist in our efforts, old egoic habits and attitudes fall away like a snake shedding its skin. Gradually, we become more at home in the peace and joy of the soul than in the ceaseless turmoil of the ego.

Finally—and perhaps most important in our effort to identify with the soul—is the grace of the guru. Continually guiding us with loving hands, the guru always holds up to us our highest potential, no matter how often we stumble. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna says to Arjuna: “Absorb yourself in Me; be wholly devoted to Me; worship and bow to Me alone: So shall you undoubtedly reach Me. This I promise you faithfully, for you are dear to Me. (18:65)

Let’s rise above the clouds of Hamlet’s uncertainty and mental paralysis, and stride forward as spiritual warriors in Yogananda’s army. With confidence and conviction, let us live Master’s words: “When this I shall die, then shall I know who am I.”

With joy and gratitude for God’s gifts,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:37):

The line to the gate extended far into the distance. As each one waited in line with ticket in hand, one could observe various states of mind. Some were excited and eager to get to their destination to see what would happen. Others, perhaps recalling painful memories from the past, were hesitant and unsure about taking the trip. And still others—though these were very, very few—stood with calm detachment, knowing that it was their chosen duty to help others they would meet at the destination.

Jivan waited his turn with mixed feelings. Part of him was drawn to the comfortable familiarity of what awaited him, yet another part felt uncertain, with a faint recollection of having made this same, fruitless journey many times before. Finally his turn came, and he handed his ticket to the attendant at the gate.

The attendant, dressed in simple white robes, looked thoughtfully at Jivan and said, “Let me check your file.” Pulling open a drawer that seemed endless, he eventually found Jivan’s file, and began flipping quickly through page after page. From what Jivan could see as he leaned forward inconspicuously, nearly every page was stamped “Completed.” At the end of the file, however, the attendant paused to read the few remaining pages carefully. He placed them into what appeared to be a copy machine, and out came a manuscript.

“Here’s your script,” said the attendant, handing Jivan the bound document. “It will give your daily plot and lines, but will reveal them only one day at a time. Good luck.”

The gate opened, and Jivan stepped through—only to behold a figure standing before him. He was a beautiful being, his blue skin radiant with light, a flute at his side. His twinkling eyes and gentle smile hinted at infinite wisdom and eternal love.

Jivan instinctively knelt before him, and the divine being blessed him with these words: “As the ego keeps the thread of self-awareness unbroken through infancy, childhood, youth, and old age, so also the embodied soul maintains its awareness uninterruptedly, not only through the stages of earth life, but through the appearance of successive bodies.” (Gita 2:13)

He concluded: “Make the Lord alone, with all eagerness of heart, your refuge. By His grace you will attain the uttermost peace, and find shelter for all eternity.” (Gita 18:62)

Somewhat stunned, Jivan stepped onto the platform, script in hand, and waited to begin his journey. As he dissolved into the light of the transporter beam, past roles flashed before him. Some were lives spent seeking the pleasures of the world; some were filled with confusion as to life’s purpose; others were dedicated to seeking a happiness not found in this world.

When he arrived at his destination, he found himself in the home of high-minded parents, who lovingly cared for their newborn child. At first, the daily script and his lines were simple: sleep, eat, be cuddled, try to move your limbs, and make indistinct cooing sounds.

As time passed, and he entered childhood, the plot grew more complex. Just as the attendant had said, each day revealed his role: go to school; play with his friends; try to obey his parents. Moving into adolescence and young adulthood, Jivan did his best to act well the part he was given, though he encountered many tests and challenges along the way.

Then, one day, something different happened. As he opened his manuscript, a faint image appeared on the page behind the words: a small face, barely visible at first. On successive days it grew larger and more distinct. It was a beautiful face with Indian features, eyes that spoke of a loving awareness of who Jivan truly was, and a silent promise of eternal guidance throughout his journey.

From the moment this face appeared, both the plot and Jivan’s lines began to change. No longer were they in reaction to what others did, but seemed uniquely his own. The tests he faced became harder, and took more effort to overcome. Still, his choices were guided by a higher purpose, and one of his lines was something he had never expected to say: “I want to be your disciple.”

As more time passed, Jivan—whose name means “the embodied soul”—realized that the manuscript guiding his life was nearing its end. Each page now bore a larger image of his guide, changing according to what was being imparted to him, and contained only a few words for him to speak.

Finally, he came to the last page. It held no image, no plot, no words, only a calm, expansive light. Wonderingly, he asked himself, “Is this the end of the journey?”

At that moment, another figure appeared before him. He, too, was a divine being, but dressed in the simple garb of a carpenter. Once again Jivan knelt instinctively before the being whose eyes overflowed with infinite compassion and forgiveness. Placing his hands on Jivan’s head, he spoke: “Him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall go forth no more.” (Revelation 3:12)

Then the transporter beam lifted them both into a realm of light, and all was silent.

***

The line was still long as people waited to reach the gate with their tickets in hand. Most would make many more trips, but a few would follow Jivan’s journey and “go forth no more.”  For whenever a soul reaches the journey’s end, he leaves behind a trail of light for others to follow.

With loving thoughts,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:14):

Each January, Ananda Ministers gather for a retreat to draw inspiration for the year ahead. During the gathering, we choose a guiding theme; for 2026 it is “Be a Channel for the Light.” It feels especially timely now, in light of global events, as well as prophecies and predictions about what lies ahead.

A number of psychics, like Edgar Cayce, along with people who have had near-death experiences and communed with higher beings, describe a similar vision. They speak of 2026 as a year of upheaval and turmoil—but also as offering humanity a profound choice: unity, harmony, and forgiveness over divisiveness, discord, and condemnation. Encouragingly, the predictions agree on the ultimate outcome: After a period of struggle, humanity will in time choose the light and move forward spiritually.

At the Ministers’ Retreat, we outlined four steps to help us to become channels for the light. Several people asked if we would share these steps more widely, since all of us can become beacons—illuminating not only our own life, but those of others as well.

Step One: Longer, Deeper Meditations. We can’t share what we don’t have, so the first step is to strengthen the light in our own consciousness. This is done by putting more time and energy into our daily sadhana.

Recently Jyotish and I took a weeklong period of seclusion, in which we separated ourselves from outward demands and tried to rest in the thought of God as much as possible. It was remarkably rejuvenating, and we saw that this is really the way forward for us.

Take a period of time—even if it’s just an hour—and reset and raise your spiritual goals. Create a schedule of sadhana, commit to it, and stick to it. Every time you overcome the temptation to give in to distraction or laziness, you will find that you grow stronger, and that further progress becomes easier.

Step Two: Bring Light to Current Events. It is good to be aware of what’s going on in the world. This doesn’t mean doomscrolling or obsessively following the news, but rather maintaining a clear, general idea of what’s happening.

Then, without judging, or responding with anger or fear, respond with light. Pray for those making decisions. Forgive those who are causing harm to others. Feel God’s love and compassion for the world. Follow Christ’s example when he said on the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Step Three: Be a Secret Service Agent. Share your light with everyone around you. Be proactive: Don’t wait for people to reach out to you. If you see a friend, or even a stranger, who seems to be in need of help, then without being obvious, quietly help them or send them peace and love.

Remember, too, that the light is conscious: If you are a willing channel, it will use you in ways of which you’re not even aware.

We heard a beautiful story from a devotee friend in India. After a long, busy day, he was just getting into bed when he heard an inner voice telling him to drive to a particular freeway overpass. Since it was already late at night, and reaching the spot would take at least ninety minutes, our friend tried to ignore the inner voice, but it persisted.

He got up, dressed, and drove to the spot—to find a young man standing there on the overpass. They began talking, and after more than an hour the young man admitted that he had been planning to commit suicide. When he heard how and why our friend had come, it renewed his faith in God, and he became a follower of Yogananda.

Step Four: Pray Daily for World Peace. At the end of your meditations spend five, ten, or fifteen minutes sending light into the world. Start by feeling God’s light within you, then expand it outward to your community, your country, across nations, and throughout the world. Consciously join your beacon of light with others, until you feel a sense of global unity with all those who are praying. The power of souls united in seeking and sharing God’s light is invincible.

May these four steps to the light offer you a roadmap toward God—and toward bringing His transforming light to a world that sorely needs it now.

With joy and blessings in God and Guru,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (9:00):

It was the evening of January 5th—Yoganandaji’s birthday. We were driving home after a beautiful celebration in which many devotees had renewed their discipleship vows. Afterwards, a number of people said that they’d felt Master’s presence and blessings filling the temple.

From time to time after an evening program, Jyotish and I have had the joy of momentarily spotting a little fox running into the woods—usually we catch only a brief glimpse of it. That evening as we drove through the darkness, I thought to myself, “We haven’t seen a fox in a long time. Maybe Master will bless us and show us one tonight.”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we spot a fox?” I said to Jyotish.

He replied, “I was just thinking the same thing!”

Filled with anticipation, we drove home, but, sadly, no fox appeared. Then, just as we were turning into our driveway—there he was. A magnificent silver-gray fox sat calmly by the side of the road, fixing his beautiful eyes on us. After a few moments, he stood up in a relaxed manner and trotted into the woods. We sat quietly in the car for a while, feeling Master’s loving answer to our little request.

First Day of Spring, by Nayaswami Jyotish.

Later the thought came: Remember that moment! Not that the fox was important in itself, but the feeling that God knows our least thoughts is very important. How often have we all felt a divine response in subtle ways: some guiding words from a friend, or even a stranger, when wee needed them; a beautiful rainbow appearing when a loved one passes; or simply seeing the light of His presence in a radiant flower.

God is talking to us all the time, but we need to learn His language. Sometimes He speaks to us through words we perceive within, but often it’s in beautiful moments when time seems to stop. All too often we forget these moments, feeling only His absence in our life, but nevertheless His presence is there.

Master gives us a wonderful example of this in his chapter “Two Penniless Boys in Brindaban” in Autobiography of a Yogi. Yogananda’s skeptical older brother, Ananta, challenges him and his friend, Jitendra, to a test of their faith in God: They must go to Brindaban with no money; without begging, they must have their meals, see the sights of the city, and return to his house by midnight.

They are miraculously fed a sumptuous lunch. And yet, scarcely a moment later, Jitendra has already forgotten God’s hand in it, and says, “A fine mess you have got me into! Our luncheon was only accidental good fortune!”

Yogananda replies: “You forget God quickly, now that your stomach is filled.” Then he goes on to write: “How short is human memory for divine favors! No man lives who has not seen certain of his prayers granted.” Through God’s grace, Mukunda and Jitendra are able to fulfill every aspect of Ananta’s challenge.

So, friends, let’s cling to the memories of God’s loving intervention in our life, until memories transform into moment-by-moment realization of His Presence everywhere. Some years ago, I wrote a simple poem, which I’ve shared with some of you before. It seems appropriate now to close with it:

     The Prize

I can’t promise that I’ll finish,

Build on each moment of grace, for as Patanjali says, divine awakening comes by a process of smriti, or memory.

With joy and blessings in God and Guru,

Nayaswami Devi

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (9:36):

I’m going out on a limb here, sharing something quite personal: a letter I wrote to Master. Ordinarily, it’s best to keep such communications private, between oneself and one’s guru. Yet I wanted to offer you an example of something you could—and perhaps should—do for yourself.

Take some time at the end of the year for a spiritual review. Reflect on what stood out, what challenged you, and what uplifted or transformed you. Then share these reflections with God or with your guru. Such a review can become the beginning of an ongoing inner dialogue—one that may continue, quietly and faithfully, for the rest of your life.

So, with a little trepidation, here is what I wrote:

________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Master,

As the end of the year approaches, along with my birthday, I would like to sit with you for a few moments and share some reflections on things that have been especially meaningful to me in 2025. This year has stood apart from all others—both for its intensity and for my heightened awareness of your presence. Perhaps the two go hand in hand.

In many ways, Jyotish and I both feel that we have worked harder this year than at any other time in our lives. The first part of the year was an all-out effort to complete the books we have been writing—Jyotish’s The Heart of Service, and mine, Divine Awakening: The Mission of Paramhansa Yogananda and His Disciple, Swami Kriyananda. Our goal was to finish the first drafts before leaving for Ananda Assisi in late July, so that the editor, Prakash, could begin his work.

For me, working on this book required the most concentrated effort I’ve ever made. Yet throughout that time, I felt you and Swami constantly guiding my thoughts. I would search for a quote, and my eyes would be drawn to a particular book; opening it at random, there the quote would be. When my thoughts felt unclear, or I wasn’t sure how to proceed, I would pause—and clarity would come. It was a deeply uplifting period, and often I felt your presence guiding me from within.

When we arrived in Italy in late July, we had to shift abruptly from a highly interiorized, focused rhythm to a full schedule of classes, gatherings, and joyful time with friends from around the world. It felt a little like waking up in a different incarnation, as if you were giving us several lives all packed into a few months.

In early September, we participated in a weekend Kriyaban retreat and a pilgrimage in Spain. It was both fun and inspiring to travel with a group of eighty people from twenty different countries. Yet the greatest gifts were the deep and unexpected blessings we received while visiting holy places associated with St. Teresa of Ávila, St. John of the Cross, and King Ferdinand III and his son Alfonso—who were you and Swami. We felt uplifted in ways we had not anticipated, and also sensed a deep connection with past lives of seeking God—lives that have led us, at last, to your feet.

Then, in late September, came India. For us, it is always indescribable to serve you in the land of your birth. We have so many deep friendships there, and can see how your teachings are spreading throughout the country. You filled our days with the joy and blessings of seeing hundreds of new devotees serving your work, and thousands more are being trained on your path.

By the time we returned home in mid-October, we were both ready for a rest. Yet somehow, even amid jet lag and fatigue, we decided to lengthen our meditations each morning and evening in order to spend more time with you. Gradually, something began to change. There were moments when the restless mind withdrew, and the calm inner Self made itself known. I felt peace, joy, and a quiet certainty that this is what I have been searching for all my life.

One beautiful fruit of these deeper meditations has been a new way of meeting challenges, whether with people or with situations. Suddenly, it felt natural not to criticize or reject anyone or anything. Instead of judging, I found myself praying and sending love to whatever seemed problematic. Due to your grace, I began seeing everything in a different light, and I felt inwardly free and joyful.

Like you and Swamiji, we’ve also been immersed in the final editing of our books. When I reread mine after not looking at it for four months, I saw that while the ideas were sound, the writing needed more magnetism and more beautiful imagery. With our deadline at the end of the year, I’ve been working steadily to bring that about.

And so, all that remains is gratitude. Thank you—for guiding our thoughts as we share your teachings with others; for opening inner doors in meditation; for changing our consciousness so that we feel your presence more and more throughout the day; and for revealing the long inner journey that has led us to be your disciples.

I have one final prayer to offer: Please let me feel your loving presence more deeply as the years of my life unfold, until all that remains is the thought of you. As you say in “Samadhi,” may “knowing, knower, and known” become one.

With humble love and gratitude,

Listen to Devi as she first reads the blog, then expands on its meaning and messages for readers with behind-the-blog commentary. Subscribe to the podcast or download the audio recording by right-clicking here. Or listen to it here (10:02):