Finding a Guru

Introduction
Acknowledging the Elders: 
Recently, a devotee brusquely dismissed me when I mentioned that my family had long been devotees of Bhagavan Nityananda. She said, “I don’t care.” In that moment, something stirred deeply within me. I was reminded of how much the elder devotees truly mean to me.Without them, I would never have gotten Him.
It is through their devotion, their surrender, and their silent endurance that the path was made clear for us. They stayed when it was difficult. They served without seeking recognition. They accepted Him in His most unfathomable form. Because of them, we received Him freely—without effort, without cost, and without trial.
Sant Namdeo once spoke to Lord Vitthala with boundless love:
“O God Vitthala! It is because of us devotees that You are known as God. Were it not for us, where would Your divinity be? Just as a child gives birth to a mother, we devotees created Pandharpur—and in doing so, we created You, my beloved Mother!”
In the same spirit, I bow to all those who came before us—
those who bore the fire of His presence, and still remained.
Because of them, He came into my life.
Bhagavan once said,
“If you want to reach Rama (God), hold on to Hanuman’s tail (the devotee).”
It is through the devotee that the Divine becomes accessible.
And through the hearts of the elders, He walked into mine. Our position, our pride, our status in society, our ego—they are of no use. If we do not love and care for the devotees, how can we ever hope to reach the Sadguru? And why should the Sadguru ever come to us?

When Bhagavan Nityananda was in Vaikuntha, Darshan came easily.
His room had no doors—just a large, darkened chamber with windows and an entrance that opened into the hall. The light barely entered, and nothing inside could be clearly seen. There was a simple wooden bench near the window where He occasionally sat, gazing out silently. But more often, He chose the humble stone steps outside His room as His seat. In those early days, when few people visited, we would quietly serve Him food there, on those very steps, with no ceremony, no crowd.

The Vaikuntha Ashram was more accessible than Kailash, yet that didn’t mean Darshan was assured.
There were stretches of days when He wouldn’t emerge from His room. And no one—no one—dared to enter unless He Himself invited them in. He sometimes threw stones as they just stepped into the Ashram.  Waiting for His Darshan could mean sitting silently for hours, or even days, with no certainty. And even when He did appear, He might abruptly ask us to leave. All our elaborate preparations—packing, the journey, the mental anticipation—would dissolve in a moment. Yet, just as unpredictably, a brief, casual visit might turn into a blessed stay of several weeks at His bidding.

Today, the scene is different.
Crowds gather at the places He once moved in silence. Photos and idols of Him are worshipped with love and devotion. His words are quoted. His stories are told.

But I often wonder—how many of us today would have stayed through those raw, unpredictable moments of His physical presence?
How many would have had the inner strength to take His piercing gaze, His stern rebukes, or even His complete silence?
How many would have accepted His sudden absence after travelling miles, only to be turned away within seconds of arrival?
Would we have recognised Him if we met Him walking the streets, clothed in dust or simply in a loincloth, silence, and mystery?
Would we have welcomed Him into our homes uninvited, with no warning, no introduction—just presence?
Would we have smiled if He refused to touch a meal we had labored to cook with love?
Would we have accepted the moodless mystery of a being who acknowledged no social graces, no customs that catered to our ego?

He was not here to comfort our ego—He was here to dissolve it.

He was He—utterly unique, utterly beyond comprehension.

I am on the lap of Shree Kuttiram Swami. Bhagavan with a peacock feather fan

Our elders faced all this—
And they remained.
They stayed when it hurt.
They returned even when sent away.
They loved Him in His silence.
They accepted Him in His utter unpredictability.
They went beyond themselves—
And because they did, we got Him.
I got Him—freely, unconditionally, and openly—because they withstood all these tests.
I got Him because they made Him available to me.

Why must we bow to these elders?
Why must we respect those early devotees?
Because they made the impossible possible for us.
They received Him and revealed Him to us.
They passed Him on—not as a concept, but as a living presence.
Because of them, we found Him easily, freely, openly, and unconditionally.

On this sacred culmination of Gurupurnima,
I offer my deepest pranams to all such beings—my parents, my elders, and the countless unnamed devotees who carved the path with their humility, endurance, and unshakable love.
Be they monks, householders, or the simplest of seekers—I bow down to all of them.
Because they held the lamp steady, we see the light today.

Thank you for making Him available to us.
May we prove worthy of the grace we have received so freely.