*ONLY THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS

GRAY MIST AT DAWN

THE STORY OF KRIYA YOGA'S HIDDEN MASTER

SRI SHELLYJI

DEDICATION

To my wise and loving benefactor Sri Shellji for revealing, lightening and clearing the path for me. To Marjorie and Deborah, his first and second wives for their continued loving-kindness. Also to Paramahansa Yogananda, Babaji, Mataji and all the Kriya Masters for their silent and steadfast guidance, which has kindled my Liberation. Finally to the Transfinite Masters, Ultraterrestials, Angels and all "Unselfish Service to Other" beings whose invisible hands helped shape my life

And the LORD spoke to his children through the lips of Chacti, saying: "In the course of your "becoming" you have disposed of your kingdom that was my crown, and of your freedom that was my spirit, and your Grace that was my blood. Now it is spilled into the Earth where lies my heart, and through the veins of lighted stars, so it shall once again feed my brain, and stay the hunger of my eyes. For, as you now are no longer the cells of my body, but the chain of the Earth, yet my children shall not forever dwell in the earth, they shall "race upon starlight," pushing back into my flesh, as a child struggling to reenter the womb, and there it is said that the time of man will close."

From the 30 million year old "Book of Ii" from the land now under the Pacific, Mu or Eden, translated by Maia+ Christine Nartoomid - Copyright 1978

Many times I have pondered on how I might convey the sacred wisdom that I received from the heart and mind of my benefactor Shelly Trimmer. I, realize that the transmission of this teaching is now in the past/present. An important future/past task looms before me. How to present the written dissemination of this knowledge?
          The experience of telling a special, but personal, story and then seeing the confused or blank look on the other person's face is, I believe, quite common. What is usually said is: "I guess you had to have been there". This is my challenge: "To somehow bring you there." Every writer is confronted with trying to recreate an experience real or imagined. In this situation the descriptions are complicated by the fact that we have multi-dimensional presentations that comprise a collation of thoughts, feelings and symbols happening in the present, past and future!
          With that being said, the experiences contained in these pages encompass a rare variety of transcendental messages. Being oral teachings, these utterances will of course suffer the limitations of language; yet I feel they will retain their transformational tone. They are only words if you choose to look at them in such a way. Yet from time immemorial, mystical teachers have attempted to convey a deeper and hidden meaning that always seems to remain within the symbols and between the lines.
          I have striven to bring forth these teachings in their unadulterated and original format. However, certain poetic license and grammatical alterations were necessary. For example, certain sections of information needed to be put into a more understandable chronological order. I have endeavored to keep all alterations to a minimum.
          I had the extreme good karma to be able to visit with Shelly twenty-two times over a period of twenty-seven and a half years, (from 1969 to 1996). My visits were as short as one hour and as long as nine days. About 60% of my time with him was recorded. These recordings comprise well over 150 hours of audio archives. About 100 of those most important hours have been transcribed for these volumes. The very best of these conversations are contained within this volume.
          Shelly had a unique and unconventional form of communication. He often said his manner of speaking was a form that was mathematical in its expression. I can concur, and add that his mind was filled with the most abstract concepts imaginable. As best as we can figure, he often thought in German, while using internal symbols from Hebrew, Chinese, Sanskrit and a few angelic/magical/mathematical languages. Given his propensity for seemingly unrelated abstract statements, it all had to come out as conversational English at some point!
          Toward the end of his earthly stay he called himself the "Answer Guru." He would say; "Remember, it's the type of question and the way you phrase it. That's the secret in getting the desired answer. I have more answers then I realize. I also need to know these answers." I can only hope that I asked as many of the important questions as possible. I do know one thing, I never ran out of questions, nor did he ever tire in answering them.
          Mystery after mystery unfolded before me in an endless panorama of directions, possibilities, and discoveries. It wasn't possible or necessary for him to explain them all in detail, but with most of the greater teachings many excellent clues were given. They have served as needed advice when dealing with subtle strategies of the path.
          I recall him saying that information was one of freest things in this world, but that the type of information that he was really interested in did not always come from this earth.
          So dear reader, if, it happens that you are interested in a fancy new "marketing technique" for spiritual growth, or maybe a "franchise Guru" near you, or possibly a "we got all the answers, nobody in heaven but us" kind of attitude, then you should continue your search because that stuff is NOT here in this book. Shelly and the lineage of Kriya Yogis have always been, and will continue to be interested only in the quality element within teachers and students. In the final analysis quantity has very little meaning.
          That being said, this is the information he gave me while on earth. It is for you to pick and choose in the harvest of ideas and simple truths herein presented. Some information you may find digestible, while certain concepts may go to seed, only to sprout within your future memories. It is my sincere wish that this book will cause you to reflect on the concepts outlined in the following pages, and that your spirit will profit immensely from doing so.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1.           BODISATTVA IDEAL

CHAPTER 2.           INITIATION

CHAPTER 3.           THOUGHTS ARE THINGS

CHAPTER 4.           A GOOD LITTLE BIT ABOUT MANY THINGS

CHAPTER 5.           AVATAR OF LOVE

CHAPTER 6.           KNOWING KRIYA

CHAPTER 7.           HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE

CHAPTER 8.           A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF TRUE SCIENCE

CHAPTER 9.           THE MAGICAL REALITY OF LIFE

CHAPTER 10.           OCCULT MYSTERIES

CHAPTER 11.           DEPARTURE FROM PHYSICALITY

EPILOG

APPENDIX

EDITOR - Special thanks to Linda M. DiNoto, M.A.

CONCEPT FOR COVER DESIGN - Anthony K.Cozzi

ISBN #

COPYRIGHT 2002 Steven J. Cozzi

It was autumn, and the sounds were different now. There was a covering and a revealing of sounds. It was the leaves; they were the ones that caused it all. They masked the many sounds with their wind driven noise. They also showed the movement of things: birds, squirrels, rabbits, dogs, cats; all could be heard, and then seen. Under the clear skies of October, they were seen.
          The refreshing coolness was vividly present. Nature was slowly and perceptibly in a mild slumber, not yet in its deep sleep of winter. It was an in-between time, a time filled with moments of light and shadow. The bounty of summer and harvest of fall somehow gave a balance to things. People were happy but it was a different happy, a strange happy, a happy they had come to accept.
          It was an in-between time and almost everyone knew it. They knew it like they had always known things, not from books or gossip, but from somewhere inside. Maybe it was the light on the leaves that created this quiet place, a still place of knowing. They all held these ideas in their minds, but rarely did they share. What was the point? It was so obvious.
          Then there was the need to be careful, and it was something you learned early on. Careful without fear, but non-the-less cautious about what you said. People knew things here, a great many things, things that people in Cleveland or Buffalo did not know existed.
          It was the natural magic of this season, and it reflected something hidden, something strange and different. After all, that's what was important, because the unusual was elevated here, and the common was just accepted. That unusual stuff, that is what made you think, that's what made the feelings turn into questions. Well, there were always those undercurrents, the eddies of rich feelings, and the oddity of certain emotions.
          Many of these knowing perceptions were contained in the simple movements of the eyes. It could at times unnerve you and make you uncomfortable. You had to get used to it, but everyone knew you could never really get used to it. As the years passed, you developed a strategy to deal with it, and that "it" was energy. It had to be energy, just look at all the things that have happened. They all heard the stories and they remembered them. They were not the stories you could really forget. Sometimes for mental comfort they would pretend to forget.
          On the surface of things it seemed like a typical American town. Was it an average town, with average problems?
          Every town has its disputes, conflicts and differing points of view. The legal system handled some of these and the churches take a portion of the others. Many disputes in this part of the state were still handled in the old fashioned way, simply by talking it out and finding some way of mutual compromise. A man's word and handshake meant something. Of course, all this was what a superficial observer might see. Limited in scope, they really didn't see the whole picture. Oh their eyes may have worked fine, but that's not the type of seeing that some of the people used.
          The psychic light energy was read and it was used in a variety of ways. Not everyone was adept in doing it, yet most would acknowledge that it was the basis of many unusual and extraordinary occurrences. It could heal and it could hurt. No matter what went on it was used to solve problems and you prayed to God that you were not on the receiving end of its malicious intent. Some folks had an abundance of it, and others very little. Certain people used it wisely, and others, those nasty, spiteful, revengeful "others," did not. You could stand clear from them, or be courteous or even play stupid. Yet it was actually quite difficult to ignore all the on-going dramas and their accompanying phenomena.
          This region of Pennsylvania where he was born was called the Dutch Country; it extended from Erie in the north, to the south central part of the state. Deutch (meaning German) was the actual word, but since WWI the phrase "Pennsylvania Dutch Country" was most often used. German immigrants had been arriving there for over 75 years. They carried with them few belongings. The most important item that they had in their possession was a point of view, an attitude stemming from an old and proven way of life. Most called it the ancient way of their forefathers, but everyone knew it was pagan. You didn't say the word, but you knew it was the primal, potent and proven way. They came from all parts of Europe but mostly Germany. They all had their country tales, folk medicine and an ardent belief that true spirituality always trumps organized religion. Sure they called themselves Christian, and many went to church, but there also was a private side to this community. There, the deeper meanings of life were expressed in contemporary stories that started and ended with whispers and glances.
          History had shown that the Roman legions and the armies of the great Ghengis Khan did not kill their ideas. The Church of Rome with its inquisition and the radical intensity of the Protestant revolution didn't stop it either. Nothing really could stop this tribal wisdom, this inspired geomancy of life.
          In this part of America the clash of cultures was somewhat lessened. There was a real common bond that developed between some of the immigrants and the indigenous peoples. Earth magic, pagan beliefs and a naturalistic philosophy united a small group within each camp. This unique, cooperative sharing resulted in the techniques of what has been called "Pow Wow Magic". It was the distilled wisdom from two continents and it really worked well for both cultures.

          It was the fall of 1921, and soon he (Shelly) would have a birthday, his fourth. He liked his birthday time because it was close to All Hallows Eve. It was a strange time in an even stranger place. A time when the various dramas of the past year were acted out. You got the definite impression that some of the acting and customs were not really flights of fantasy as much as expressions of something real, something sublime, but terribly real.
          He knew his life was different. He was very aware that his parents and others did not necessarily share his perceptions of certain events.
          Early on, he had noticed that everyone heard sounds that came out of the mouth. After all, you could see the lips move and it was clear that there were the deeper father tones and the higher mother tones.
          He also heard the other sounds, the sounds that were words, but in this case the lips didn't have to move. It was really amusing to watch people using words and thinking thoughts. The difficulty was that he heard them both! People didn't say what they were thinking, and not only that, they often said the opposite. It was confusing, as well as being disappointing. They thought one thing but said another, and sometimes did things different from the first two. No wonder the people of this world have big problems, he thought. There is something wrong with them, and it's not right.
          He knew that one of the major difficulties was those containers: the shells or compartments that people called bodies. He tried so hard to get used to that fact; it wasn't easy. It was not like this before, he thought. It was not so difficult in the other places, the many, many, other places he had visited. This was a challenge and it was a very difficult adjustment to make. It was definitely confining this body he had. It had to be fed, washed, and one third of the day it had to rest. It was a limiting circumstance and a permanent one for now. Somehow he would have to deal with it, and he knew it was a 24-hour a day job.
          Then there were the interactions with his parents. This was another complex issue, and like the rest of his life, nowhere near the so-called normal. The intellectual division between his parents was obvious. His father had a photographic memory for numbers and a strong scientific aptitude. However, he never capitalized on these strengths. Instead he worked in an ice cream factory.
          His mother was a different type of person. She did not have a developed intellect, but, her intuition was very reliable and her psychic abilities pronounced. She also had a striking physical and spiritual beauty that radiated from her. Her pleasant and concerned countenance imbued a feeling of confidence within him. He also liked hearing his mother's voice and her thoughts. She was caring, nurturing and very protective toward him and others.
          His father, well that was a difficult story. He had a hidden resentment, and at times a cruelty that was undeniable. Oh sure, he would brag about his son at times, saying how smart he was, yet never coming to the obvious. "This boy is exceedingly smarter then I am". This didn't stop him from stepping right up to gloat about the praise that others bestowed on his child.
          He remembered well the prophecies that foretold of his son's birth. The rumors and utterances were well known among the people who had the gift. The gift that they wisely used, and for some the gift they chose to abuse. They talked about a highly advanced soul, a leader, and one whose military abilities were unmatched. He's going to be a great general; the seers would say. They had divined it in dreams, and through various signs, and they knew it would happen.
          During the last minutes of the birthing hour his father remembered the watches, those fine timepieces that were set to the reliable railroad time. He and the boy's grandfather both kept a vigil at the bedroom door, and at the first cry they recorded the time. It had to be correct so that the casting of the horoscope would be accurate, then life's events could be timed with precision.
          He seemed like a normal baby, crying and red, with eyes mostly closed. His mother and the midwife knew differently. They had seen them; they had noticed them right away. It made them both wonder: are they a blessing or a curse? Were they some sort of strange sense of humor or a hidden omen? It was the ears of the baby. They were the average size, but both of them came to a very distinct point! It was odd, alien, and enough of a curiosity to create ridicule.
          His mother had to remedy this. She must do something. Keeping his head covered was a temporary solution, but as he grew she employed another. The family, neighbors and friends all wanted to see him and they would talk. They would talk about her baby, her strange and beautiful baby. She began to rub the pointed tops of his ears. Sometimes they would bleed from the rubbing, then she would let them heal before she started again. His mother repeated this process many times with determination and with love. The stories about his ears subsided, but the other stories about him never did.
          Then they started to come, the visitors. They came to see him and to speak to him. They were family, extended family and friends of both. It wasn't everyday, but it was consistent. It started just before he was three and it lasted till he was about seven. His mother knew why they came. They were polite but they always asked for the same thing. They wanted a few private moments with him, five minutes or more was usually enough. It was her darling boy child they wanted to speak with, but she knew all too well that it was much more then that.
          It was partly ritual, and a little worship but mostly deeper psychological needs that brought them. They all needed to confess, to verbalize their real and imagined sins, their mistakes and problems. They spoke of thoughts and deeds that they kept hidden. It was a wonderful feeling of release when they were done. They really felt better on the inside, and they knew that now they, at least, had a chance to be forgiven. The sharing of secrets and the upliftment they felt afterwards, that is what it was all about, and that's what brought them back again.
          His mother and father asked him to listen, and his own curiosity inspired him to hear their words. In the beginning of this process he didn't understand what they were saying. He understood the words but often the meaning was clouded with emotion and innuendo. He soon found out that, the majority of what they felt was sin, had to do with sex. Many felt that something about the act itself raised doubt. They felt that the primal emotions that drove them were at times beyond their control. Then they also had to deal with the overwhelming ecstatic feelings of the act itself. The lying and betrayal that became part of the process was the real problem, yet most seemed unconcerned with this area. Many of the words rode on torrents of emotion. They found the whole sexual drama to be a powerful and scary occurrence, and to the confessors this meant that it probably was wrong and sinful.
          He didn't say hardly a word; he just looked into their eyes, nodded and occasionally smiled. It was obvious that they felt relieved and calmed by the visits. He knew he was doing something good for them and he learned from each visit. He was beginning to see what made humans tick and it was disturbing. It was clear to him that their minds were undisciplined and prone to a variety of emotional compulsions. He was beginning to see that there were the ordinary problems and behaviors and the other extraordinary ones. This second group he felt was the one that he understood more. He could see that most people played their various roles and acted in certain ways, yet, behind it all he noticed that a few were more conscious of their actions. They were the ones that went through the motions as if life were a game to be played without losing themselves in the drama. They were the ones that had the gift; the gift of seeing and knowing. It most often came through the parents, where one or both had received it from their parents. Although he had just started to study science, he did realize that spiritual tendencies were intimately connected to genetic inheritance.
          During this period he had one memorable and frightening visit from an uncle who confessed to him about an affair he was having. When he finished he took a handgun out of his coat and put the barrel into his stomach. He told him that if he ever revealed what he had said, he would kill him. There was more fear in his uncle then in himself. Now he knew what some humans were capable of doing. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning of a life where he would encounter ruthlessness and violence, sometimes at an unprecedented level.
          He was a child who loved books, but his education was also richly supplemented by his keen observational abilities. Quite often he would crawl out of bed at night and put his ear at the crack of the bedroom door. He was then able to hear his parents talk, and if they had guests, then this was an added bonus. It was more informative and entertaining then radio and most books. What he heard was the most interesting rumors and events, the ones that were really significant in the community. In was truly a local report on the paranormal occurrences that were taking place under the pretence of an apparently not-so-normal town and region. It was great fun and exciting. He found the stories to be very insightful as well as stimulating to his imagination.
          He always felt that his mother knew he was listening, somehow she could feel him. After all she had seen his other body, the light double many times. His spirit/dream body was very active, and she readily accepted it as an attribute of an exceptional child. Anyway, he was determined to get the information he needed both from this world and the other.
          His physical growth was a slow process and it was obvious he would be on the short side in height. He had a delicate built and clear radiant skin. He preferred vegetables, cheese, fruit and bread. He had to be careful how much he ate because he would, on occasion, get pains in the upper intestinal area. Later on in life he would discover that he had three kidneys. The third one was semi-dormant and it pressed against his upper intestinal area.
          He soon learned that the local witches had wars when the normal ways of settling disputes was found to be inadequate, or just because their spiteful nature caused them to do it anyway. He also learned that many times there was no logical or proper way to reconcile the variety of differences that arose. At the basis of these problems were the usual things: sex, power, and money.
          Everyone knew who the witches were and each one had her temporary or somewhat permanent allies. There was the general magic that many knew, and then there was the magic that was specific to families or individuals. Spirits were summonsed, natural forces were employed and spells were cast. He could hear all about it at least two or three nights a week, at his bedroom door. Being a little Scorpio Sun Sign, he loved the secrets he discovered, and he had carefully hidden their precious lessons deep within his memory.
          School was another matter entirely. It was "ok to boring" in the early grades, but as time went on, he began to openly question his teachers. His spontaneous aptitude for debate was usually not accepted. This was why the visitors stopped coming, as his intense individuality set in more and more. Mentally and spiritually, he past quickly from a very young child, to a boy, who was really a young man.
          His father's cruelty came and went, and it was obvious that he was the first of many opponents he would have to deal with in this life. His father could not deal with his significant presence and all the subtle yet powerful feelings it evoked. The strategy of interacting with his son made him realize that he had to deal with a level of intelligence that was beyond what he had thought possible. Living in the same house with such a child meant that he had to be careful of what he said and did.
          The oddity was that there was very little real dialog between his son and he, especially when it came to his behavior. There really didn't have to be, he could feel that the child knew his tendencies, and further that he didn't like many of them. "This boy has such a probing way of looking at me," he thought. "He knows all my secrets and imperfections and he expects me to try and improve." Well, I am the father, and I will deem what is right and wrong," he grimaced.
          All of this war of wills brought out his father's sadistic side. When the boy was still quite young, he would tie him up and beat him on his bare feet. When he had grown older he forced him into very hard labor around the house. He had him lift so many bags of coal that his intervertebral discs had been severely damaged before he was twelve.
          The child's opposing reactions were always caught in crossfire of emotions. There was his protective concern for his mother and younger sister. He wanted to keep them out of harm's way by engaging the tyrannical moods of his father by himself. What little respect he had for his father evaporated early on, as a mature boy painfully learned what his father was capable of doing. Years later there was a very overdue and decisive confrontation which settled matters.
          His younger sister was somewhat of another matter. Although she respected him as an older brother, he noticed that she had an unusual psychic energy field. He loved her, but because of this fact he had to deal with her in special way.
          There was certainly a plethora of suspenseful dramas that seemed to fill his life. So, quite naturally, he viewed life as a complex series of mysterious events. He was also keenly aware that a certain power was what made things happen. The power of whom, and the power to do what, that was the real question. He loved science but he realized that it only had part of the answers that he sought. Life had revealed to him that the magic of spirit had the highest knowledge. This was the knowledge that he so ardently longed for, in his dreams, and during all his waking hours.

          The plane was beginning to descend and so was I. It had made a slow turn west and so had I, and it was near its destination and I was too. It was really only the beginning of another journey, which was contained within many journeys. It was a voyage into some unknown something. Some strange and yet comfortable place. It was a curve in time and space that would forever change my destiny.
          The "brand new" and innocent excitement was there. It was like the first day of summer vacation, the new bike on Christmas morning, a spring day in the forest. The anticipation had all of these wonderful feelings and something deeper, an unfathomable awareness of entering a new world.
          The turquoise water was made clearer by the white sand beaches. It was March 1969, and a series of fortunate events were now culminating. I could only wonder how this amazingly good piece of karma had somehow opened a new door for me. The nature of the trip was filled with a certain mystical synchronicity. My seeking, I felt, had finally placed me in an uncommon awareness field that was dedicated to growth.
          There was palm trees and jungle on both sides of the runway and there were no jet ways protruded from the terminal. The moveable stairway came up to the plane's door. The heat of the Sun and the warm moist air enveloped me at the same time. I started to walk the 50 yards of so to the terminal, when a woman seemed to stand out. She was middle aged and she looked to me like a librarian, and a Sunday school teacher as well. Our eyes locked in on each other and I continued to walk toward her.
          Her face beckoned me to approach her and the kindness that poured forth from her was quite magnetic.
          "You are Steve Cozzi," she said in a certain voice.
          "Yes," I said and we both smiled on cue.
          "I'm Marjorie, and I am Shelly's wife". We both turned toward the terminal. "My car is this way," she said
          "Let me get my bag and we can go," I answered.
          The car was a 1952 Buick. It was old but well cared for, it had a lot of chrome and it held to the road like a tank with wheels. There was mostly jungle on both sides of the road and I had the impression that she had taken the back scenic road. We exchanged some pleasantries, but I was apprehensive to go even a small step further.
          I could feel that she was reading me like a book. Every little body movement and each nuance of tone in my speech was intuitively recorded and analyzed. She was playing with me in some unknown and remote sort of way. It was like there was some sort of experiment going on and I was the subject.
          There wasn't anything phony or pretentious about her speech or actions. However, she did create an air of expectation, an anticipation of something that was definitely unexpected by me. It was pure fun to her, like some kind of spontaneous ritual; or maybe a hidden surprise that she seemed to guard so carefully. Somehow, I felt that she was playfully pretending to be whom she was. It really wasn't that noticeable, yet she was allowing me to see this for some reason.
          The drive was less then 5 miles and we turned down a shaded street that was still more country then city. We approached a modest, small white house that was more of a vacation cottage then anything else. Two enormous oak trees stood near it. One of them was on the south side and the other near the street to the east, thus completely shading the house. The Florida smell was strong here. It was a mild rotting smell combined with a fresh foliage smell and a wisp of sail air for seasoning. We entered from a rear storeroom; it had a workshop bench but the room was surprisingly uncluttered with things. We walked through a very simple and small kitchen and dinning room combination.
          She then turned right and motioned, while saying, "This is your room." It was small but the bed looked decent and I could smell something exotic that was growing outside the window. I thought I was finally here, or home, or someplace that had deep meaning. An intense feeling of joy welled up within me. I laid down on the bed not realizing that I was in a altered state of awareness. I think I must have slept maybe an hour.
          I awoke with a similar awareness of deep stillness that I was only semi-conscious of when I fell asleep. It was quieter now, a deeper calm seemed to be overlaid upon what was normal. It was a strange hush, contained within the common absence of noise that was now more familiar, because of the profound feeling of quiet that it was part of.
          There seemed to be some muffled noises coming from the kitchen. I slowly got up not really noticing that my actions were quite slow. I left the room and walked in a cautious manner toward the living room
          I didn't want to ignore Majorie in the kitchen, so I said a quick "Hi." She casually gave me a brief look as if she wanted to say something.
          "Why say hi when we both know that you are up and walking to the living room," was the mental message I got.
          " O.K., O.K.," I thought. I don't have to be overly friendly when she obviously knows what I am doing anyway. Would she know what I was doing without seeing me?" Back in my hippy days I would have thought that she was high and maybe a natural high at that. It wasn't really appropriate to say anything in the present circumstances. It's just that I didn't know many people over fifty that had her type of clear awareness.
          The living room was a comfortable size and I could see that it opened to a screen porch in front of the house. There was a couch on the south wall with one of three fish tanks to the side of it. The other two fish tanks were opposite of the couch, with a chair on either side of them. The T.V. was in the front of the room on an angle from the couch. I surmised that Shelly must sit on the couch somewhere. I had not noticed it before but the house had a faint smell of tobacco. Shelly smoked? My mind took a skeptical turn. Why should a holy man smoke? Did this mean he took drugs too? No he couldn't be into that. After all, he had meditated for so many years. He was with Yogananda for over three years.
          Marjorie's voice interrupted my thoughts. "We will go and pick up Shelly from work in about an hour," she remarked. I got that tingle in my stomach but a slight pressure in my heart offset it. Non-the-less my adrenaline started to fire.
          At that very moment Marjorie said, "You can go for a walk if you want."           I think I was out the door in less then two seconds. She wanted to get rid of my nervous energy. It must have been very obvious, but I'm not sure how. I think that I walked around the block in just a little over five minutes, but to me it seemed to go in slow motion. When I walked in she had an odd look on her face.
          "Back so soon"? she said. I also heard, "Why is he back so soon?"
          I realized that I had almost run around the block. I left without a word and this time I walked slowly.
          We both got into the Buick and I remembed I didn't have enough manners to open her door. I was buoyant but still nervous. I simultaneously felt like I was getting on a roller coaster, getting an exam back, and being really high in a very different place. Like maybe in a graveyard, or in a traffic jam, or with my relatives. Then I corrected myself; no it really wasn't like any of those places. Why was I thinking like this anyway? My mind was racing on one level, and peaceful on another.
          It was less then a year since I had given up all drugs. That's why I was thinking about what being high was then, and what is was now. I was presently in a different state, but it was so functional, I had to keep analyzing it over and over. We were in a car moving down a road, but I wasn't meditating, nor was I dreaming, but it seemed so much like it. That's what was confusing. I wanted to accept it as normal, and maybe I would at some point. Time was definitely something that I was moving in and out of, so what time was I really talking about? They say perception IS reality, but back then many of my perceptions, concepts, and habits were radically changing. Changing so fast I found myself doing a number of mental reality checks.
          We had driven past downtown Bradenton and we were now on the bridge to Palmetto. We passed one light and made a left, then a quick right behind a T.V. repair shop.
          "Shelly is a T.V. repairman?" I asked.
          "Yes" Majorie said with a very slight chuckle.
          I just didn't realize that he had to earn a living, somehow. Didn't anyone give him donations? I thought, "Doesn't he do astrology readings? Why does he have to work in this conventional shop"?
          I sat motionless in the car for a few seconds until Marjorie said, "You can come in, you know."
          We entered a room where various televisions were lined up on counters. I saw a man short in stature looking into the back of a TV. I could see from the back that his almost completely gray hair was braided in two strands and tucked down into his black sweater. It appeared that his hair went all the way to his waist. I thought, "All that hair and he's an old guy; this is really different."
          Marjorie walked over to him and at the same time I took a few steps closer. When he turned around I got shocked, stunned and elated, all in the same instant. His eyes were the largest and most penetrating I had ever seen. I hadn't noticed before hand, but he was wearing thick bifocals for the close up work. The effect and the affect were quite sensational.
          "Hi Steve," he said in a voice that was so wonderfully friendly and knowing. I don't really remember if I said hello or just stood there quietly and stared.
          Shelly drove on the way home and I sat in back like a little kid they were taking somewhere. I really felt good to be that little kid again. It was a warm and protected feeling. In reality I was a student, and very soon now I would learn what it meant to be a student of Shelly. I realized right then, that in many important areas I was uninformed, somewhat immature and presently quite ignorant. My ego could not stand the idea, but it was true. It was only six months ago that I had read my first book, at the age of twenty-three.
          Shelly's eyesight was not the best so he drove very slow between 25 and 30 MPH. I thought back to when I was a wild teenager and we used to sound the horn and yell at old people driving on the highway. A ting of guilt welled up in me.
          It was all small talk between them both on the way home. However, I did notice that during the conversation they would answer each without one of them questioning first. I never heard the question! It was amazing; they were having a half audible and telepathic conversation about everyday stuff. It all seemed perfectly normal. Shelly turned the old Buick into the drive way and parked half way under the oak tree on the side of the house.
          "The dog would like its walk," Marjorie said.
          "Dog, what dog I thought." Well it was a little black longhaired Skipper Key that came up to Shelly.
          "How are you little girl," he said.
          The dog seemed very happy to see him.
          "O.K., we will go out," he said.
          We went out the front door and the dog gently pulled Shelly to the side of the house where she was busy sniffing out something.
          Shelly turned toward me. "You know a dog can catalog over 250 different smells. She is always trying to find new smells, just like all life forms, they try and extend the limits of what they know. I presume that is why you are here?"
          "Yes," I said.
          After a few quiet nervous moments, he said, "Let's go in and have dinner."
          We sat down at the table, and again I felt like the resident child.
          "Shelly is having vegetarian beans and stewed vegetables, is that OK?" Marjorie said. I was about to say yes when she addressed Shelly and asked, "Do you want jam?"
          "Yes, beautiful" he said.
          "Beautiful?" "What's this beautiful stuff?" I thought. He never called her by her name, as it turned out. It was always "beautiful" said with a variety of inflections and tones.
          While eating I had a chance to observe how Shelly was dressed. He was almost all in black, starting with his engineer boots, simple black pants, a long sleeved black sweater and a long white silk scarf. He wore the silk scarf under the sweater and it resembled an ascot. The scarf covered the central portion of his chest under the sweater. Later I found out that this was his daily attire, and I do mean daily, he never wore anything else! He had about three sets of each, except the shoes, and he just washed and rotated them. It didn't matter whether it was hot or cold, or for any occasion really, the cloths remained the same. (My guess is that he wore this mystical garb for at least forty years or more).
          Towards the end of the meal Marjorie made an open comment:
          "Look how he eats everything on his plate like a good boy."
          She said it in a humorous yet mocking way, and it seemed to call forth a response in me. I did not respond. I didn't want to, because I realized it had irritated me. "Does she think I am a little boy, and why is she playing with me?" I was quiet during most of the meal. I just listened to them talk about simple daily affairs. Toward the end I did manage a question.
          "Shelly, did you ever eat meat?" He looked at me in a very relaxed way and said,           "Yes I had a pork chop once when I was 13 and I didn't like it very much" was his reply.
          It was somehow evident in the tone of his voice that it was the only time he had knowingly eaten meat. I was, of course, very impressed with this fact, not realizing that it was taste plus necessity that made him a vegetarian.
          After dinner we both migrated to the living room. Shelly sat at the end of the couch. The dog followed as if attached somehow, she snuggled up right next to him. He reached over and took an unfiltered cigarette out of the Pall Mall pack; in a split second it was lit. He took a deep drag followed by a shallow inhale while letting most of the smoke out of his nose exhaling. The cigarette was in his right hand, and when it was free it was gently stroking the dog.
          His talking and the ever-present smoking and stroking became an enduring pattern in those early years. The smoke had stained the upper part of his long beard. It made his black and gray beard look blond, at least around the mustache and chin area. His beard was mostly white with small ribbons of darker hair. (He quit smoking in 1976).
          I had no beard at the time, but it made me think of when I was hippie and I remembered my mother calling me Rabbi because my beard was quite long. Now I could see that the word Rabbi was totally appropriate for the present situation.
          I started talking first, which was the wrong thing to do. I told him that I was in the Air Force and then I was a hippie for a couple of years. In August of 1968 I met his student/disciple Swami Kriyananda (of Chicago, NOT California or India) at his new temple. He listened quietly, but I got the distinct impression that he already knew all of what I was saying.
          When he began to speak I realized that there was something powerfully hypnotic about his voice. It was his teaching voice and one that very few could forget. It had a deep male pitch to it, with a cadence that was remarkably consistent and rhythmic. It really was something to listen to because it was somehow mildly disturbing yet soothing at the same time. It made me feel awake yet I could have easily fallen asleep at any moment.
          I was at that time so completely happy that I was beside myself, figuratively and literally.
          "I knew you had taken LSD, I could tell by your voice," he said.
          I must have had a questioning look on my face.
          He continued, "There's a certain pitch that I can hear in your voice," he said.
          "What does it sound like?" I asked naively.
          "It sounds rather moronic," he said bluntly.
          This was not the answer I was looking for. After all, LSD was a big part of my awakening. It had helped me see a part of a new world.
          "Well, I only took it about 15 times," I said.
          "That's enough to affect your cervical center," was his answer.
          "OK", I thought, as I quickly stated," I never had a bad trip."
          "Well that's good," "he said in a voice that seemingly didn't care at that point.
          Now I was puzzled, but undeterred, I boldly stated: "Getting high had its moments." I can remember the great bands playing, and the strobe lights flashing and all the beautiful people (as they were called then) were dancing together as one. I found it to be an amazing experience."
          "I find it sickening," he interjected.
          I immediately told my mind, "Shut up!"
          "I tried to go to one of those love-ins," he said. When I got within a block or so, the music was so loud I could feel the various spaces in my intestinal tract between the digesting foods! It was so disturbing I had to turn around and leave," he said.
          I was lost for words, and it wouldn't do any good being defensive either, I thought.
          After about a half-minute pause he lit another cigarette. I don't know how he did it, but it seemed that the smoke never came my way. Not only that, it had an odd, yet vaguely pleasant smell to it, like someone's homemade incense.
          He looked toward me.
          "This world, this reality, your reality is not what you think it is," he said.
          "Yes," I confidently said.
          I knew there were other states of awareness and different realities. Shortly, and in an unsuspecting way I was to find out that I was totally ignorant and completely unprepared to deal with these vast realities of life.

          (Shelly wanted to cover a lot of bases on that first visit, but unfortunately I was not ready to grasp most of the concepts. There seemed to be a lot of lost time. I do remember many stories, and no matter what he was talking about, he always managed to come back to those shocking stories. The first visit was not taped, however over the years he repeated almost all of the stories at least once, so they will be covered throughout this volume.
          These stories of that first visits were the most incredible collection of the unexplained, macabre, bizarre and unusual events that anyone could possibly imagine. All of them were of the supernatural. Many were directly related to him, but most he collected from a great variety of sources. They were scary and informative, revolting and inspiring, and always shocking, yet insightful. The process was specifically designed to shatter, alter and completely change my concept of reality. The only conclusion I could come to, was, that life was becoming a wonderful, spontaneous and unfathomable mystery yet to be explored.
          It didn't matter what he was talking about, my awareness didn't seem to be there completely. I knew that I knew what he was saying; at the very moment I heard his words. I could recite them exactly within an hour of hearing them, but much to my frustration they did not stay in my memory. I always remained very attentive to what he was talking about. Yet it all seemed to enter a place of higher memory, inaccessible in the present. I often wonder if they both left me in the living room staring at the wall in a trance while they had a cup of tea in the kitchen. Shelly was the epitome of politeness, so he wouldn't just leave the room. However, I am quite sure that there were times when he stopped talking for up to 15 minutes. At such times I stared into space in a futile attempt at understanding. This amused him to no end.)

          It was dark now and the fish tank lights gave off an eerie aquatic glow. He began to speak again.
          "The way to greater Self Conscious Awareness (SCA) is through meditation. The problem is that most people approach it in the wrong way. They sit down to practice it with all kinds of ideas that are incorrect."
          "Look, he said, meditation is to be enjoyed! They forget that it's to be enjoyed, so once the astrological aspects that inclined them to experiment with meditation end they then stop doing it. It could be weeks or months, but they stop. Then some start again but very often they will stop yet again."
          "You can't force anything in meditation," He continued, "It's not done to atone for sins, or to punish one's Self. It's also not done to prove to yourself how saintly and pious you are. It has to be an enjoyable, daily habit, so how can we do this, he said?"
          I had an idea of what he would say next, but as usual my thinking was off the mark.
          "You have to slowly build an enjoyable habit," he said in his rhythmic speech. "You start by meditating, only a few minutes, maybe just five minutes. Even though it's the greatest tool we in this life have, you should approach in a relaxed even causal way. Just sit there for five minutes and watch the breath. It's too long of a time for you to feel restless. There are all kinds of emotions that will interfere, but in just a few minutes of time, they really can't interfere for that much. You can sit on the floor or in a chair but keep the spine straight, stomach muscles slightly in. Then simply focus on the third eye just above and between the eyebrows"
.           I had learned Kriya meditation at the Chicago Temple, but I had to admit that his suggestion of "building enjoyment" was the missing ingredient.
          "There are just too many thoughts and emotions at play, and if you start to battle with them, you'll get nowhere."

          (I remembered the old East Indian Yogi story I had heard: It was the story of the impulsively curious disciple. He had heard his Guru say that there is a most secret mantra, which would evoke a wish-granting demon. The disciple begged and pleaded with Guru to give him the mantra, but out of deep concern, the Guru always said no.
          Then one day the Guru realized that there was no way around it, the disciple had to learn a great but dangerous lesson.
          The disciple in solitude proceeded to chant the mantra with much excitement and anticipation.
          Very soon a powerful demon appeared, and in a deep and echoing voice he said, "Give me work or I will devourer you."
          The disciple said, "Build me a great castle," and behold a beautiful castle appeared.
          Immediately the demon bellowed, "Give me work or I will devourer you."
          "Well then fill it with precious stone and metals," and woof it was done.
         Again the demon uttered his threat, and again the disciple wished anew. This went on for some time until finally the exhausted disciple could not think of another thing.
          The demon said, "Now I will devourer you for sure."
          The disciple, with nowhere to turn, called his Guru's name, and he appeared at once.
          "Please, please help me master," the disciple pleaded.
          Quickly the Guru whispered something. Then the disciple proclaimed to the demon that he had a few more wishes.
          "Make a large and straight bamboo pole," he said assuredly, and magically it was done. "Now climb up the pole and when you reach the top climb down the pole and continue to do so until I say stop."
          The demon begrudgingly climbed up and down the pole. Many years later he became the most tired demon possible.
          He then said to the disciple, "Please have mercy on me I promise never to threaten you again if you command me to stop this endless journey up and down."
          "So be it," said the disciple. You may stop now, then depart and never return.
          The demon is the mind and the bamboo pole is the spinal column. Lifting and circulating the primal energy through the spine will cause the demon thoughts and emotions to calm down so that the silence of the Self can be perceived.

          "Meditation in its pure and simple form is effortless control of the awareness. The beauty of it is that nothing can be forced or demanded. You may have to order yourself to sit and do it, but even that changes. It changes because you have learned that it is a very enjoyable experience, an experience that you want to repeat again and again. Pretty soon you find yourself sitting there for thirty minutes or more. In the beginning you are usually unaware of the depth and power that is available to you; it's just something you like to do. Then you slowly and undeniably start to feel something, a steadily increasing pleasurable inner sensation. It's the bliss current, the balanced current in the center of the spine."
          He paused and lit a cigarette, allowing me to ask a question or make a comment.
          "I think I am beginning to feel that current," I stated.
          "If you have been meditating for the last six months then you should start to feel it," he said.
          He knew that I had been doing the Kriyic breath for about six months. It was in fact, the reason that I got to see him. He somehow checked on the people at the temple.
          In November of 1968 Swami Kriyananda quietly approached me and gave me Shelly's address. (He didn't have a phone, and as it turned out he never got one in his name). "This is for you and not for the world," he said cautiously. "I understand," I answered, and I kept quiet about it for a while.
          It was dark now and the incessant beat of the insects was quite loud. All the doors and windows were open but it remained quite hot. Shelly's house was never air-conditioned, so it always was about 80 to 85 during the day and about 70 by morning.
          Lady, the dog, started to growl, ever so quietly.
          "Do you think someone is coming over here little girl?" he said without ever looking at her or me.
          His eyesight was poor, so he couldn't really see me, at least the physical me. He seemed to be able to direct his inner gaze at me instead. I got very used to this fact and found that eye contact was very over-rated.
          "Meditation can be expressed in a formula," he said.
          "Formula," I thought," I don't know if I am ready for any formula."
          Aware of my sentiment he said, "It's really a basic and simple formula that needs to be understood. Duration times intensity, (D x I), then he quickly added, "And by intensity I don't mean a lot of mental activity. It's the focus and intent of your mind times the length of time you spend in practice," he said.
          "Well this seems simple enough," I thought.
          "You are the meditator, right?"
          He demanded an answer.
          "Yes," I said, thinking that it was some trick to make me feel stupider then I already felt.
          "O.K., and you have an object of meditation."
          "Yes," I said.
          "Then there is the act of meditating," he said, with some building affect.
          "Yes," I said again. "
          "I was on a real roll now," was my silly thought.
          "So then your goal is what," he added?
          "Not to make mistakes," I blurted out."
          "No," he said calmly, it's to have a perfect meditation isn't it?"
          "Yes," I said, without feeling rejection.
          Shelly continued; " So you have the meditator, the act of meditating, the object of meditation. When these three merge, then a perfect meditation ensues. You could also say it's the interplay between the Self and the Not-Self, he added."
          I wasn't getting it, but I continued to listen attentively.
          "The meditator or M is over the object (O) of meditation and this equals the act or A. When the meditator and the object merge there is no act any more, he said in a matter of fact tone. The person meditating doesn't cease to exist in the perfection of the meditation, does he?" He didn't expect an answer.
          "There is a dimensional movement here, and it can be expressed as the square root of minus 1. Through complex numbers you can show how a real entity becomes an imaginary construct and then back again."
          He went on for a while on how the meditator, over the act, equals minus O for object, and equally how -O over M = A or act.
          I asked Shelly if he could write it down. He agreed.
          I sat next to him as he filled a whole page with the equations. (See Appendix A.) Of course he left me very far behind on the first line.
          "This equation is something that I developed. If you are discussing meditation with someone who is interested in science it helps explain what is going on," he said.
          Marjorie had walked from the kitchen to the bedroom and then back again a number of times. Each time she had a book in her hands. I would turn my head slightly to acknowledge her but there was no exchange of words. This was really good I thought, she is leaving us alone to talk.
          Shelly's trend of thought shifted more directly to Kriya Yoga.
          "Theoretically Kriya Yoga is the fastest path to Self Realization. It is very scientific in its techniques. They are designed to go directly to the basic flow of currents in the spinal centers. Contrary to what people think, a persons belief system is somewhat immaterial, as long as the spinal currents flow properly. You could be a religious person, an agnostic, or even an atheist," he said.
          "Doesn't it matter at all how a person thinks? I asked."
          "Not that much. After all, if they are inspired to meditate they have already realized something very important. Meditation will eventually change the way they think anyhow. Look at history, some agnostics were much more humane then the religious bigots," he said.
          "There are different types of Yogas. The service path of Karma Yoga is very slow compared to Kriya, he said. Laya Yoga is perhaps the closest in technique to Kriya. The Kriya path is not the best for everyone due to the speed and power of the currents that are released. The dynamic increase in ones Self-conscious awareness can be somewhat unnerving."
          "There is also the problem of specific blockages in a person's spinal centers, and these can cause psychic and emotional problems. This is why the teacher much check the Kriyic breath, give mantras and suggest a chiropractor or work on the spine himself. The kundalini can forcefully open the centers in a imbalanced way with the same problems that drugs have caused, he added."
          "Most of the true teachers of Kriya don't care about the amount of students they have, they are only interested in the quality of the student. I remember Yogananda saying that when he went to St. Louis to give a lecture and he only found one student, but he considered it a success!"
          "Yogananda had a lot of students anyway," I said.
          "Yes that is true, he had contacted nearly a million. This was his outer group, in the middle; it was nearer to one hundred thousand. I know his inner group was quite small," he said.
          At that moment I realized the obvious; Shelly was part of that inner group.
          He stayed on the topic of Kriya Yoga.
          "One Kiryic breath is variable, it really depends on the condition of the person, he said. The Kriya is very individualistic; breathing 10 Kriya's can be dangerous for some and breathing 140 not dangerous for others. It all depends on the condition of the person's psychic centers, which is shown in the karmic patterns of their natal chart."
          "The intensity of the average students Kriyic breath during Yogananda's time was not that great. Now the average person's Kriya is more intense."
          "Most people make noticeable audible sound when they breathe major Kriya." "Mine is rather quiet," he added.
          He paused a moment and stroked the dog a few times. From across the room I could see that the dog's eyes were seemingly now rolling back. It was reacting to a full evening of petting.
          "You could omit any or all of the philosophy associated with the actual technique if you wanted too. The important thing is that the results of the technique are scientific fact. The many ideas that are associated with the Kriya are usually O.K. but using the technique; that's where things begin to happen in a big way, he said."
          "Some people get impatient with the process. I know at one point Yogananda did."
          "He did?" I probed?
          "Yes, he got real impatient and he vowed that he was going to get to God consciousness right then and there. He then began to breath Kriya non-stop for many hours. At one point he felt something bumping the top of his head. When he finally opened his eyes to see what it was, he realized it was the ceiling. He pushed on the ceiling and his body went down to the floor, then he would rise back up there again. You see he had breathed so much Kriya that his body was defying gravity. When the lunar and solar spinal currents merge this can happen. Breathe a lot of Kriya and then get on an accurate scale before and after, and you will weight less".
          "You have to remember that Yogananda had been meditating since he was a little boy, plus he had been practicing Kriya for a number of years. This is why he didn't hurt himself, he added."
          "He is lucky he was inside", he said, with a face that suddenly turned red.
          Shelly begin to laugh quietly, it was a most joy filled laughter.
          It became clear that because he was talking about Yogananda he relived the experience at a deeper level.
          I had been keeping quiet up till now, fearing that if I asked a question he would decide to challenge me in some fashion, and in doing so this would reveal some personal shortcoming of mine.
          Shelly began again with a slight shift in the theme he had been on. "This Guru and Disciple stuff is really overdone. You either are connected to the person or not. Over a period of time it becomes obvious that the special relationship is there", he said.
          "Did you know right away that Yogananda was your Guru?" I asked.
          "Not exactly, because he was the one who immediately recognized me first. He said: "You have come, you have finally come, I saw you in my dreams and now you are here."
          "What happened then?" I inquired.
          "Well he just put his arms around me and gave me a big hug. So that was it, we had met."
          I could see that his eyes were filled with an undeniable blissful reverence.
          "Shelly, do you know when a person comes to see you if they are your disciple or student?" I asked.
          There was a very short pause, which seemed longer then it actually was.
          "No, not usually," was his answer.
          "I ask Yogananda about it in my dreams and then he nods his head yes or no," he explained in a matter of fact voice.
          This piece of information made me very happy. It had been 26 years since he had physically seen Yogananda, and 17 years after his departure from this world. Yet, All that time didn't seem to make a difference; their friendship and deep spiritual bond appeared to be as strong as ever.
          "You are only a disciple until you reach Self Realization," he said. "Until that time you have a karmic bond with teacher or Guru. When they advance in spiritual knowing, you also advance. Do you see?"
          "Yes," I said peevishly.
          "Even if the technique were lost, and Kriya died out the future psychic scientists would rediscover it again. It is a basic truth, and so in the balance of Self Realization it will be revealed again." (I wasn't really aware then that he was actually stating a fact of past history. It had been Babaji and only a selected few of his devoted adherents that kept the practice going for a number of centuries).
          "Look at the confusing amount of doctrines and theories that are out there now. All you have to do is watch, and wait, and you'll see what is true or not. If they are just cults, well, they usually find a way to hang themselves"
.           It was close to 10:30 in the evening and Marjorie marched in. With a very certain voice she said, "It's almost time for the Johnny Carson show." She promptly went over and turned on the T.V. She kind of acted like she was interrupting to some degree what was going on. I didn't see it that way and I did welcome her concern.
          Johnny's opening jokes were funny and Shelly laughed the hardest I'd seen him laugh. In this laughter his open mouth revealed that there were only a few teeth left. The rest of the show was quite boring. I just sat there and appeared to be interested. I could see that Shelly was doing some of the same. I understood it to be one of their daily rituals they enjoyed doing. I really didn't want to be any kind of disturbance, but I knew that I already had been. After all, nine days is a long time in someone else's house. They had made no mention of a fee or my portion of the groceries, and it didn't seem like they were going too. (I did give them as much as I could afford).
          I knew somewhere inside me that I had embarked upon a most remarkable journey. It was an undertaking that would take emotional maturity, mental discipline and an innate fortitude of spirit. What I had to do in order to keep growing was to listen to the loving and wise advise of someone who sincerely wanted to help me. It sounded simple enough but as I have discovered it was one of the most difficult things to do. Our wayward, obstinate, and narcissistic egos really loathed another person's direct advice. The old saying is "the truth hurts," yet it has always been the way humankind has really helped one another.