Fire of Transformation. Gora Devi

flowering of divine love.

      Gora's diary is as much a mystical journey as it is a distinctly human story, in which simple everyday events are interwoven with a divine presence that is extraordinary, infinite and mesmerizing, where the tangible is entwined with the intangible. Alongside immeasurable joy there also exists pain, hardships and continual challenge. At times her story is provocative, difficult to understand or accept, sometimes it all appears like a magical fairytale, at other times a heavenly utopia or bizarre drama, yet within the humanity of the events there are echoes in all of our lives, within the words an energy that subtly finds its way to the heart of the reader. The presence of Babaji, felt if not completely understood, increasingly pervades the text and transports meaning beyond the words on the page.

      A number of years passed before Gora considered writing this book, before realizing that the period of time spent with Babaji had also been a preparation for the role of author as well. She recalled that it had been Babaji who, in so many ways, had encouraged her to keep her diary, and when initially asked if she would write her story she replied, 'When Baba tells me to...' The original Italian version was finally published in 1993 and is updated in this English edition by the inclusion of an extra chapter both at the beginning and at the end.

      It has been suggested that union with the Divine, whether in form or formless, is the relationship for which the heart of each and every human being truly yearns. Within this book the reader finds that they themselves are travelling on a profound and illuminating journey, one that is truly experiential, at times challenging, not always comfortable and rife with the unexpected; and what emerges so abundantly clearly is that the Fire of Transformation which emanates from the essence of Babaji is truly eternal. It is as vibrant, alive, accessible and transformative today as it has always been.

      M.H.

      Preface by the author

      I hesitated for a long time before deciding to write this book, as it is very difficult to speak about Babaji in words. His essence is subtle, occult and can only be grasped by opening oneself to another dimension of consciousness, to the magic of one's heart.

      Babaji often taught through a gesture, a smile, an incident. What impressed me most when I first met Him was His great silence and His capacity to communicate through it. Babaji is 'the Presence', the manifestation of the eternal mystery, the other shore of existence. His infinite love is the bridge between us and the great Truth, between the human and the Divine. His physical form is a marriage of heaven and earth.

      Many people have been touched forever by His call and our lives have been completely changed. The first word He spoke to me when I met Him, was 'God', and immediately after He added, 'God is love.' From that time on my life has been a search to realize the meaning of these words.

      This diary is intended to be a personal witness to a divine encounter, and it is hoped that it will give some understanding of Babaji and His message.

      Gora Devi

      [Gora Devi - from the Sanskrit meaning 'white goddess',

       pronounced: Gor'a Day'vee]

      Community Life

       Milan, 15 September 1970

      Yesterday evening, for the first time since returning from my summer holidays, I went to Brera. It's an interesting part of the city where artists live and gather together, an old quarter of small streets, elegant buildings and numerous restaurants, in many ways not unlike Montparnasse in Paris. I decided to be truly courageous and wear all my hippie clothes, my long Indian skirt, the elaborate sandals from Amsterdam. People from Milan generally have a decidedly narrow outlook on life, they are bourgeois and look disapprovingly at me when I walk down the street dressed like this. No matter, I have decided that I will be indifferent to their reactions, even going so far as to be provocative if possible, and turn this into my own small, private revolution.

      In Brera I met up with everybody again, all my old friends, some of them recently returned from India. They all go around dressed even more outrageously than myself, with multicoloured clothes and very long hair. We eat at Fiorinos, a small, cheap restaurant, just perfect for us. It's as if we take refuge in the small streets of this old quarter of the city because it remains cosy and homely, unlike the rest of the metropolis of Milan, which is grey, cold, hostile and sad. Most people's lives appear to revolve around earning money, just so that they might continue living in a small flat in which they can enclose themselves, as if in a prison; a safe, small prison. People appear afraid of each other, of communication, of love. They are fearful of love and of sex, because love means to open up, to expand, to break through so many barriers. I don't want to end up like them, and that's why I haven't looked for a job yet, even though I'm afraid it could all lead to possible imprisonment.

      The radical political movement is also falling apart, the student movement, the revolutionary groups. They have been unable to achieve or even propose anything really new for our society. I feel that the only hope for change and for a new world are the 'hippie' groups that are around, my flower children friends, because they have the courage to search deep within themselves for answers.

      I remember Sylvia, my psychoanalyst, telling me that no outside revolution is possible before an inner revolution takes place. It may be that these people smoke dope, take LSD, but it is said that marijuana helps to expand one's consciousness and that LSD is able to open the heart. These experiences can reveal a wider dimension of oneself, a psychic dimension, where one can feel the existence of a divine reality. I have always refused to believe in God, but these days so many magical things are happening to me and realizations are taking place, that it's beginning to break down my insensitive, rational mind. Many of my friends have been to India where they have met spiritual masters, gurus, holders of a forgotten ancient wisdom.

      I've met a man called Lorenzo, who wanders around Brera as if he inhabits an Indian temple, dressed in long, orange robes, holding a trident in his hand. Tiziana and Zizi, two capable and independent gypsy women, sit on the pavement knitting and chatting. Zizi has an earring in her nose and she knits rainbow-coloured woollen caps for everybody. A very old friend called Gianni also spends time in Brera. He is a beautiful being with large, green eyes, gentle and ethereal, who is a painter and is presently planning to paint all the bare walls of Milan with designs and messages to change the world. He acts just like a child, thirsty for there to be a magical dimension in his life. Life for him resembles a play and he wants to discover a joyful drama in which we can all take a part, street theatre, a continuous happening. Perhaps we are childish, but what is the purpose of living if we don't search for the real meaning of existence? At least we are prepared to make an effort, to try, rather than ending up little more than wealthy animals only happy with material things; in fact not even that, more likely to be unhappy and greedy.

       17 September 1970

      Many people visit our community house in 'Via Mayr', especially in the evening. We talk, smoke, make travel plans. It's still summertime in Milan, but the air in the city is polluted, suffocating; nowhere is it possible to find a pleasant, green space. The lyrics of one of our songs says: 'My friend, I have never seen a cemetery so full of life.' At night people want to go out, meet friends, exchange ideas, be loving towards each other.

      In the community we try to live in an innovative way by being creative with our daily routine and working together; it's difficult but we are full of enthusiasm. Much of the time we don't seem to be able to maintain a sense of order though, we are lazy, indisciplined, we don't keep the place clean. The other day the sink was full of unwashed dishes and Marco pinned up a piece of paper on the wall with a teaching for us all: 'An unclean house is a house without love.' We are attempting to change our lifestyle and thereby our sense of humanity.

      The 1968 student movement failed because the individuals themselves hadn't yet changed and so enable a real transformation; as one of the slogans in France in 1968 prophesied: 'The revolution will be total, or will not be.' There have been many people who have believed in the ideal of communism, but