Autobiography of a Yogi. Paramahansa Yogananda

Kashi, Reborn And Rediscovered

       CHAPTER: 29

       Rabindranath Tagore And I Compare Schools

       CHAPTER: 30

       The Law Of Miracles

       CHAPTER: 31

       An Interview With The Sacred Mother

       CHAPTER: 32

       Rama Is Raised From The Dead

       CHAPTER: 33

       Babaji, The Yogi-Christ Of Modern India

       CHAPTER: 34

       Materializing A Palace In The Himalayas

       CHAPTER: 35

       The Christlike Life Of Lahiri Mahasaya

       CHAPTER: 36

       Babaji's Interest In The West

       CHAPTER: 37

       I Go To America

       CHAPTER: 38

       Luther Burbank -- A Saint Amidst The Roses

       CHAPTER: 39

       Therese Neumann, The Catholic Stigmatist

       CHAPTER: 40

       I Return To India

       CHAPTER: 41

       An Idyl In South India

       CHAPTER: 42

       Last Days With My Guru

       CHAPTER: 43

       The Resurrection Of Sri Yukteswar

       CHAPTER: 44

       With Mahatma Gandhi At Wardha

       CHAPTER: 45

       The Bengali "Joy-Permeated" Mother

       CHAPTER: 46

       The Woman Yogi Who Never Eats

       CHAPTER: 47

       I Return To The West

       CHAPTER: 48

       At Encinitas In California

CHAPTER: 1

       Table of Contents

      My Parents and Early Life

       Table of Contents

      The characteristic features of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru ^1–2 relationship. My own path led me to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages. He was one of the great masters who are India's sole remaining wealth. Emerging in every generation, they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and Egypt.

      I find my earliest memories covering the anachronistic features of a previous incarnation. Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a yogi ^1–3 amidst the Himalayan snows. These glimpses of the past, by some dimensionless link, also afforded me a glimpse of the future.

      The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind. I was resentfully conscious of not being able to walk or express myself freely. Prayerful surges arose within me as I realized my bodily impotence. My strong emotional life took silent form as words in many languages. Among the inward confusion of tongues, my ear gradually accustomed itself to the circumambient Bengali syllables of my people. The beguiling scope of an infant's mind! adultly considered limited to toys and toes.

      Psychological ferment and my unresponsive body brought me to many obstinate crying-spells. I recall the general family bewilderment at my distress. Happier memories, too, crowd in on me: my mother's caresses, and my first attempts at lisping phrase and toddling step. These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of self-confidence.

      My far-reaching memories are not unique. Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from "life" and "death." If man be solely a body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity. But if prophets down the millenniums spake with truth, man is essentially of incorporeal nature. The persistent core of human egoity is only temporarily allied with sense perception.

      Although odd, clear memories