The Living Presence

Sister Devamata

Sister Devamata, the authoress of “Days in an Indian Monastery”, “Sri

Ramakrishna and His Disciples” and several other books, was an American by
nationality. She devoted her whole life to the cause of Vedanta. In this article,
written in 1936 the Sister places some of the most intimate and sacred experiences
of her life before the readers. She makes her reason for doing so sufficiently plain in
the course of the article. We for our part publish it for the reason that it will go to
strengthen the faith of the numerous devotees of Sri Ramakrishna and reassure
them that the Great Master is still a living personality in our midst, capable of
being contacted by an earnest and prayerful soul.

The day is drawing to its close. The quiet of the twilight hour is upon my
spirit. Evening shadows fall about me. Through a vista of more than thirty years of
active service as a member of the Ramakrishna Mission I look back over life in long
perspective. What I write now, I had thought to leave for ever unsaid. I shrink from
setting down on the printed page experiences so sacred and personal that I have
never voiced them save to one; but what pertains to the Great Ones of the earth
cannot be hidden. It belongs to all men, not to an individual.
I remember when some years ago a letter was found telling of St. Paul. It was
written by an obscure Christian to another unknown follower of the new faith. It
told how the writer had waited all day by the gate of the city, watching eagerly for
the coming of the preacher of the Nazarene. She expected to see him enter, a stately
figure mounted on a charger, and deep was her disappointment and surprise to
perceive in the multitude a small figure, bow-legged, hook-nosed and cross-eyed.
This was the great Paul!
The author of the letter has dropped into complete oblivion, but the picture of
the mighty disciple of the crucified Christ stands out still in undimmed relief. So, I
hope the seer of the living Presence will be forgotten and only the Presence remain,
to bear witness to the glory and bounty of the one who shone through it.
My task is not self-chosen. An oft-repeated urge, both from within and from
without, compels me to it. A letter from Swami Shivananda, for many years the
Head of our Order, also lends it insistence and definiteness. The letter reads:
“My Dear Sister Devamata,
I was so pleased to get your letter of the 20th instant, the day after the
thirtieth anniversary of your entrance into the work. Your letter speaks so much of
the work and I am joyous to feel how unselfishly you love it. I know what great a
part you have played in it and still are doing with a frail body, but with a spirit
which is getting stronger and stronger in conviction. Your connection with the work
is not of thirty years existence, but I think your whole existence is related with it.
Pioneers do not take birth but they come along with the birth of a movement. The
stage gets arranged, behind the curtain of birth. As it rises up, the characters come
one by one to play their part in different climes and countries. You are one of such
characters. Their distinctive features are; their heart impeals them to join in the
movement, and they share the vicissitudes and fortunes of it with full faith in the
cause.
So, to my mind your association with the work and with Paramananda has
taken place at the will of Sri Ramakrishna. You are a blessed one. You will live as
long as his name will be honored here.”
Those who tell of a Divine manifestation are simple chroniclers, not makers
of literature. Their duty is to preserve the tradition that the mighty Ones of God
may live on in the hearts of men. This is my intent in giving out these visions. They
were not psychic visions, they were not dreams, they were not imaginations nor was
the Great one who came in them an apparition. He was a pulsing Presence, a living
personality. The warmth and radiance of his being were clearly perceptible; and in
my being also, when the Presence came, there was a peculiar unaccustomed glow. It
was as if a bright light was flashed on in every atom of my mind and heart and even
in the body. Sometimes the glow preceded the presence, as if to herald its approach;
sometimes it came with it; but always its influence lingered after for hours and even
days.
If the Seers of ancient India, or the mystics of mediaeval Europe, or all those
who have seen and heard, had locked their visions in the deep recesses of their
hearts and kept them secret, the world would have been incalculably poorer. Even
the witness of lesser devotees has value to strengthen the faith of men and lend
them courage to go forward.
So now as the sun nears its setting, I break the silence of years and share
this spiritual confidence of my life, in the hope that through it others may gain a
deeper realization of the spiritual grandeur and boundless mercy of one of the
greatest among the Great ones who have come to earth as Saviours of men.

Holy Mother outlived Sri RamaKrishna by many years, when after his
passing, she was removing her ornaments and her bordered sari to wrap round her,
the un-bordered cloth of the widow, Sri Ramakrishna appeared to her and said
reproachfully: “What are you doing? Do you believe I am dead?” Silently she
replaced the bangles on her arms and wound about her once more her bordered sari.
Her widowhood was ended.
To lesser souls also were granted proofs of this living Presence. Of some of
these I would now tell. I had fled from the hurried life of New York to the calmer
atmosphere of Boston and was spending my days in seclusion and silence. One
afternoon, as I sat alone in my living room, troubling over my aimless future,
suddenly two figures stood before me. The face of one shone with a super-earthly
smile, which seemed to shed an effulgence over his whole being. In quiet tones he
spoke these words: “Do not grieve. You have work to do for me." Then both figures
vanished, but the sense of their presence lingered for many days.
In the early spring I returned to New York and soon after became a member
of the Vedantha Society, being put in charge of the Publishing Department. At that
time books came out in rapid succession; my hours were very full and I was in
frequent consultation with the head of the work. One late afternoon he called me to
his private duty to talk over a new publication. As I entered the room, my eyes fell
upon a photograph hanging over the mantel. I stood still, transfixed. It was the
figure I had seen in Boston. I walked quickly across to the fireplace and asked
almost abruptly, "Of whom is this a picture?” The head of the work replied quietly:
"It is my Master, Sri Ramakrishna.”
A year passed. The anniversary of Sri Ramakrishna's birthday came. It was
observed very austerely at the New York Society. Of the fifty or sixty members who
attend the celebration, scarcely one tasted food or drank water from before sunset
on the previous evening untill after sunset on the evening of the birthday. This was
done, not to mortify the flesh, but to give greater freedom to the spirit. All day we
sat on the floor of the class room without mat or cushion meditating, praying, or
listening to the reading of sacred books. There were brief recesses, but a hush of
holy silence was upon every heart and there was little conversation--that little being
in low undertones.
The atmosphere was charged with fervour. The last hour of prayer had come.
We had been told that whatever we asked for in this culminating moment of the day
would be granted. I could think of nothing for which to ask. No desire entered my
thought, or rather only one-to see Sri Ramakrishna once again. The stillness in the
room was breathless. Something impelled me to open my eyes and there on the
platform amid the masses of flowers, which had been brought in as offering, stood
the living Presence.
It was the same figure that had come to me in Boston, yet not the same for it
was clothed in a single long white garment and both body and robe were so shining,
so transparent that I discern through them the faint outline of the flowers behind.
But the smile on the face was the same and there radiated from it the same power,
the same gentle benediction. The figure stood there for a few seconds with hands
out stretched in blessing, then was gone. I looked about. All eyes were closed, Had
no other seen?
 II

In the autumn I entered on a course of intensive spiritual training. It called

for great regularity, careful diet and above all for firm resolution. I charted my day
as a sea-captain might chart his voyage. I rose early, ate lightly, had fixed hours for
spiritual practices; and stated hours for publication work which involved much
editing, type-writing and proof reading. Sometime was spent in the open, and some
at the Society house, attending to book orders and other publishing business. I was
full of enthusiasm and confidence, but in my heart, there was one grievance.
The training which I had undertaken included the practice of posture,
breathing exercises, an exercise in concentration, and a subject of meditation. This
last was the cause of my grievance. It had been my habit, prior to my new plan of
life, to make Sri Ramakrishna himself the subject of my meditation. The subject
now given me seemed dry and mechanical. I bore with it for several weeks, then I
made appeal to the head of the work, who was directing my studies, and he gave his
immediate consent that I return to my old form of meditation.
I was living in a delightful apartment not far from the Society house. In it I
had fitted up a private chapel. That night I entered this with a new eagerness. I
took my place before the altar, went through my exercises, and was just beginning
my meditation when Sri Ramakrishna stood before me--not the Ramakrishna of
Boston or of the birthday, but a colossal figure made of pure light, with glistening
garments. Over-awed, I fell on my face before it, creyt slowly nearer and laid my
forehead on the feet. I knew no more. When I returned to normal consciousness, I
found I had been lying in front of the altar for more than an hour. I shall never
know: but it left me with a new outlook on life, a new vision in my heart.
At the hour of meditation on the following evening Sri Ramakrishna came
again in his usual form. but surrounded by a glowing light. As I gazed at him in
devout wonder, he cast off his body as he might a garment and stood clothed in
light. He seemed, however, less overwhelming, less awe inspiring than at the first
coming. A subtler tenderness lingered like a fragrance about him, taking away all
sense of awe or fear.
A third day he came, again at the hour of prayer. He looked more like the
photograph over the mantel, which had first told me of him; but his body seemed
only a lantern, in which burned a dazzling flame, sending out broad beams of light
all about him. No word was spoken--neither on this nor on the previous days; but
from a silence that was radiant and charged with meaning, I had learned that
whether clothed in an earthly body or manifest in super-earthly glory, Sri
Ramakrishna was a living Presence, moving among men to aid and bless, to guide
and shield, in the fulness of his love.
 III

Four months later, in February, I was asked to prepare a compilation of the

sayings of Sri Ramakrishna. It was to be done for the head of the work who had not
the leisure to do it himself. No task could have been more pleasing to me. I set out
on it with ardour. I went, column by column, through long files of old periodicals,
searching for a word or a sentence that might have fallen from Sri Ramakrishna's
lips and been recorded in someone's reminiscences.
I read carefully various small collections, some of them out of print. I
exhausted every possible source and finally brought together nearly seven hundred
sayings. To put these into a book in unordered sequence seemed to me unintelligent.
I decided, therefore, to classify them into chapters with marginal headings and as
far as possible to arrange them to make consecutive reading.
It was a long and ardous labour, yet one I was reluctant to leave even for an
hour. I rose at dawn and worked far into the night. I went back and forth through
the sayings, each time culling out those that belonged together in a chapter or
under a marginal heading. This classification had not been attempted before, so I
was doing pioneer work. Day after day the glowing words burned deeper and deeper
into my consciousness. I walked in their rhythm, I ate with them sounding through
my thought I slept with them on my lips, I was consumed by them.
The spring came. April was here and I had promised to have the new
collection of sayings in print before the summer. The final copy of the manuscript
was nearing completion. I was working on it busily one morning when I felt a
tapping on my shoulder. I was alone in the apartment, so I thought that some
moisture had condensed on the skylight overhead and was dripping down--my
living-room was really a studio. I put up my hand to brush away the drops and went
on with my typewriting.
Again, the tapping came. There could be no doubt, -it was a human touch.
Startled I turned quickly and saw Sri Ramakrishna standing just behind me on the
left side. He looked as in his picture and was impressively living. I seemed to feel
the warmth of his hand as it rested on my shoulder. No light shone from him, only
the radiance of his smile made him luminous. He was dominantly a living human
Presence.
He remained for a brief moment, then disappeared.
As it is not possible to surprise the opening of a flower or the unfolding of a
leaf-the plant or tree keeps its secret; so, I was never able to discern how the
Presence came or how it went. It was there and it was gone. The manner of its
coming and going was never disclosed. These words of Avicenna best describe it. “It
was like a flash of lightening shining over the meadow and disappearing as if it had
never gleamed.” But the gleam of the Presence lingered after.

IV

My life became a wandering one. I moved from India in the far East to
California in the far west, with long intervals of pause at intervening centres of the
work. In 1923 Swami Paramananda founded Ananda Ashrama in the bills of the
Sierra Madre range near Los Angeles. It was established as an extension of the
Vedanta Centre of Boston, where I had served for a number of years as the Swami's
assistant. It was now in the same capacity that I took up my residence at the new
Retreat.
Gradually various buildings were erected, among them an impressive Temple
dedicated to the Universal Spirit. I formed the habit of going to the Sanctuary of the
Temple for a quiet hour of prayer after the household had retired for the night.
Thus, it was that late one night I mounted the steps to the upper terrace and
unlocked the side door of the Temple. It seemed very big, very dark and very still, as
I entered. I was glad to escape from this silent outer emptiness to the more
protecting space of the dimly lighted inner Sanctuary.
I knelt before the altar and began a sacred name. I do not know how long I
had been kneeling there, when noise-lessly and quite naturally the walls behind the
altar rolled back. My eyes rested on the vista of hills beyond without surprise or
wonder. It seemed in no way extraordinary that I should see them. As my gaze
lifted from hill to hill, it was drawn to a blazing light on the highest peak. In the
centre of the light stood the living Presence. A long shawl fell about it, the colour of
which was naturalized by the dazzling light; the face shone with a super-earthly
effulgence and from the out-stretched hands there poured a radiant blessing.
The figure stood thus for a moment then began to descend towards the
Temple. It did not follow the slope of the hill, but moved on a direct path of light. As
it drew nearer, I could discern that the light which created the path came from the
feet of the one who walked upon it. Downward the Presence moved on the shining
band of light, majestic, silent awe-inspiring, yet radiating such tenderness of love
that all sense fear or marvel melted.
It approached slowly reached the Temple entered the Sanctuary through the
open walls, which rolled together and took its place on the right side of the altar
with the hand resting on it. The transfiguring light dimmed and Sri Ramakrishna
of the hilltop became the Ramakrishna of his earthly embodiment. He looked as
when he walked visibly among men. He stood in smiling silence for a moment, then
began to speak. What he uttered was spoken to the heart rather than to the ear and
was meant only for the one who heard.
 It was very late when I left the Sanctuary. The figure still stood beside the
altar and for four days whenever I entered the Temple at the hour of worship, I saw
it there more real and glowing than those who knelt in prayer before the Sanctuary
gate. The Temple was charged with the power of its Presence.
Several years stretch between this and Sri Ramakrishna's next coming. The
gap is in the narrative alone. Only a few salient experiences are included in it. To
translate into the written word the close association of the Presence with my daily
life would be impossible. It guarded my safety, guided my effort, enveloped me with
a love that renewed, healed and sweetened. All it asked in return was the devotion
of a humble heart.
I was still living at Ashrama. The winter nights in California are cold and
often stormy. To avoid exposure to the occasional inclement weather, I was
persuaded to abandon going to the Temple for the late hour of prayer and to fit up,
next to my study, a private chapel. The room set apart for it was one of three in a
wing of the cloister where alone. It had served originally as the household
Sanctuary before the Temple was built, and had been unused since the Sanctuary
had been transferred to the Temple.
Ten years' residence in Europe had enabled me to gather many things to
make a Chapel lovely. Among them was a rare hanging, several centuries old, which
had hung in the chancel arch of a Spanish church. It had been woven by the monks
of Salamanca and also embroidered by them. Even the embroidery silk was the
product of their own silk worms. The hanging had taken form and served always in
holy surroundings. Sanctity pervaded it, and it seemed to belong where we placed it
-- on the wall behind the altar.
When the Chapel was finished, it was so filled with uplifted beauty and
power that I could not keep it for myself. I began to share it with others. Those who
saw it asked to bring friends to its door. Others heard of it and begged the privilege
of seeing it. So many came; but not one ever stood at its threshold for a moment of
silent prayer who did not thank me with tear-filled eyes for the blessing received.
There were some in the household, however, who criticized me for showing it
so freely. They felt that a personal Shrine should be kept for the person alone. Their
thought troubled me not a little. I shrank from desecrating anything so sacred as
was the little Chapel to me. I determined to let a higher Power decide it.
I went to the Temple and made appeal for guidance. No answer came, but
later when I opened the door of the little Chapel, I was amazed to find it apparently
empty of furnishings. Only the hanging remained. Before it stood Sri Ramakrishna,
his face alight with that radiant smile which seemed a very part of him. He held out
his hands as if in tender greeting and said to me: "This is the welcome I give to all
who come here." I knew now why everyone who came to the little Chapel felt there
the power of a great Presence.
 V

Buonaventura in his Life of St. Francis of Assisi relates that when St.
Francis received the Stigmata or Christ-wounds, he was troubled as to whether he
should make it known. He called several of the closer Brothers of the Order and
asked counsel of them. One illuminates by name, replied, “Brother not only for
thine own sake, but for the sake of others, the Divine Mysteries are made known to
thee. Therefore, thou shouldst fear to conceal this which thou hast received for the
benefit of many."
The Divine is present in every human heart. It is the eternal part of man.
The forces of Nature must be at its command, since to the Divine all things are
possible. Why then could it not take form as a living Presence and become the daily
companion of the devotee, who through intensity of devotion calls it forth. It may
appear in different forms, it may bear different names, it may come in different
ways. That is determined by the devotee's conception of Divinity, but that it comes,
there can be no doubt.
To Santa Teresa of Spain it came as Christ; to Sri Ramakrishna as the
Mother of the Universe to Saul it was the Voice on the road to Damaseus, to the
Zelanri or 'zealous ones' of the early Franciscan Brotherhood it took the form of
Angels or the Crucified One. To my more modest vision it appeared as Shri
Ramakrishna -- not because I had abandoned Christianity, but because Shri
Ramakrishna by the fervour of his catholicity had made all religious faiths and the
one God behind them more real and vital to me.
I have never tried to analyze or explain the experiences recorded in these
pages. A study of pure mathematics and of recent discoveries in physics and
astronomy has taught me beyond all doubt that there are finer laws and subtler
forces than those evident to our senses, or even to that sixth perceptive sense, the
mind. In so well-ordered and highly evolved a universe as the one in which we live,
even the most apparently impossible may become possible.
The appearance and disappearance of a pulsing living Presence is no more
occult a miracle than the hidden functioning of the human body or the growth of a
towering tree from a tiny seed, or the blossoming of flower on a barren hillside.
Nature does not need to break a law to perform her miracles, she has merely to obey
a subtler law. She may seem to defy the visible, but it is only to call into play a more
effective invisible agent.
All life is a miracle. Even our mistakes have an element of the miraculous in
them, since through them we learn what otherwise we would never know. The
future is a mystery to be solved; the present is another mystery which escapes us
before we can lay our hand upon it. The workings of Nature remain always
mysterious. She builds her laboratories in the hidden places to which she alone has
access.
 Scientists are pressing hard upon her. As they force her to reveal herself,
they find they must deal with both the immeasurably large and the infinitesimally
small---light-years on the one side, protons and electrons on the other, Astronomy
and physics are in process of complete readjustment. Conceptions of time space,
distance, of ether, of the constitution and alteration of heavenly bodies, all hang in
the balance. In this wide sweeping re-organization, undoubtedly room will be found
for many hitherto unexplained and unaccepted phenomena.
The fundamentals of creation are being reduced to smaller and smaller
particles; subtler forces are being released. Science is drawing close to the realm of
spirit. The subtle acts silently and swiftly, it penetrates easily, gathers form and
dissipates it quickly. Why then is it not possible for Christ to appear on the
battlefields of Flanders, seen by many; or for the light which blinded St. Paul to
contain a Holy Presence that spoke to him; or for a celestial being to press the
Christ-wounds on the hands and feet of St. Francis?
Man is uncovering more and more of life. The time is not far distant when he
will uncover death-not by trivial psychic manifestations, not by test tube or
microscope, but by the revelation of subtler laws. In observing the working of these,
he will learn that it is in no way contrary to nature that a Great Soul, highly
spiritualized and highly sensitized is able to walk the earth, whether in the flesh or
in the spirit, a living presence among men.

++++++++++++++++
 QUOTES

Really God can be seen. As we are sitting and talking together in the very same way
God can be seen and conversed with. Truly and sincerely I say so.
Sri Ramakrishna

All doubts disappear when one sees God. It is one thing to hear of God, but A quite a
different thing to see Him. man cannot have one hundred per cent conviction
through mere hearing. But if he beholds God face to face, then he is wholly
convinced.
Formal worship drops away after the vision of God. It was thus that my worship in
the temple came to an end. I used to worship the deity in the si temple. It was
suddenly revealed to me that everything is pure spirit. The utensils of worship, the
altar, the door frame all pure spirit. Then like a mad man I began to shower flowers
in all directions. Whatever I saw I worshipped.
Sri Ramakrishna

A disciple asked his teacher, 'Sir, please tell me how I can see God.' 'Come with me',
said the Guru and I shall show you.' He took the disciple to a lake, and both of them
got into the water. Suddenly the teacher pressed the disciple's head under the
water. After a few moments he released him and the disciple raised his head and
stood up. The Guru asked him: 'How did you feel ?' The disciple said 'oh! I thought I
should die; I was panting for breath'. The teacher said, 'When you feel like that for
God, then you will know you haven't long to wait for His vision.'
Sri Ramakrishna

When is taking Thy name (O Lord) with tears of joy my eyes will overflow, words
(prayers) will be choked in my mouth. and all the hairs of my body will stand erect
thrilled with joy.
Sri Krishna Chaitanya

You see many stars in the sky at night but not when the sun rises. Can you
therefore say that there are no stars in the heavens during the day? O man, because
you cannot find God in the days of your ignorance, say not that there is no God. He
is born in vain, who having attained the human birth, so difficult to get, does not
attempt to realize God in this very life.
Sri Ramakrishna
What is the proof of God? Direct perception, pratyaksha. The proof of this wall is
that I perceive it. God has been perceived by all who want to perceive Him. But this
perception is no sense perception at all, it is Super sensuous, Super conscious.
Swami Vivekananda

Once a bird sat on the mast of a ship. When the ship sailed through the mouth of
the Ganges into the 'black waters' of the ocean, the bird failed to notice the fact.
When it finally became aware of the ocean, it left the mast and flew north in search
of land. But it found no limit to the Water and so returned.
south. After resting a while, it flew There too it found no limit to the water and so
returned. Again, after resting a while, it flew east and then west. Finding no limit
to the water in any directions, at last it settled down on the mast of the ship. It did
not leave the mast again, but sat without making any further effort.
What a man seeks is very near him. Still he wanders about from place to place. As
long as a man feels that God is 'there' he is ignorant. But he attains knowledge
when he feels God is 'here'.
Sri Ramakrishna

Where the mind attains peace by practising the discipline of 'Neti, Neti' there
Brahman is.
The king dwells in the innermost room of the palace, which has seven gates, the
visitor comes to the first gate. There he sees a lordly person with a large retinue,
surrounded on all sides by pomp and grandeur. The visitor asks his companion, 'Is
he the king'? 'No', says his friends with a smile.
At the second and other gates he repeats the same question to his friend. He finds
that the nearer he comes to the inner-most part of the palace, the greater is the
glory, pomp and grandeur. When he passes the seventh gate, he does not ask his
companion whether it is the king; he stands speechless at the king's immeasurable
glory. He realises that he is face to face with the king. He hasn't the slightest doubt
about it.
Sri Ramakrishna