Babaji exited the airport terminal swiftly, almost like a teenager—at least, that was how it seemed to me. A sincere smile, radiant like the Sun, lit up those who had come to greet him, myself included. Everyone rushed forward to welcome him; it was deeply moving to witness. Babaji blessed each person in turn, and as usual, I was the last one for whom the touch of the Himalayan Mahayogi’s hands was meant to come. But it did not happen. Babaji, one might say, slipped past me, heading toward the car. Everyone received a blessing except me. This did not upset me, though there was a strange feeling that I could not explain. Perhaps I had already entered the field of this great being, and my inner state had begun to change. I stood very close to Babaji—I even noticed his shoes and his jet-black hair at close range. And yet, the blessing seemed to pass me by.
Together with the others, I followed Babaji to the place where he would be staying for the next five or six days.
Despite a long flight with connections, Babaji was already seated among his disciples and other attendees just a few hours after his arrival. One by one, people approached him for pranam and received his blessing. Eventually, it was my turn.
Babaji was seated in a soft chair. I approached, bowed, and touched his feet with my hands. Suddenly, while I was still bent forward, Babaji slapped me twice on the back, between the shoulder blades, opposite the heart. The blows were precise, like the movements of a skilled massage therapist. My body reacted like a spring—I straightened up instantly, and our eyes met. Everything happened very quickly and beyond logic. Babaji remained seated, while I was on my knees, so our heads were at the same level. We looked into each other’s eyes, neither of us looking away. What it was, I do not know. It ended as naturally as it began. In that silent gaze, I received much. Since it all occurred beyond the realm of the mind, the mind could later interpret nothing—it lay outside its competence. It was as if nothing had happened, and yet almost everything that was needed had taken place. Gigabytes of information seemed to fill something invisible within me. In the end, Babaji gave me a barely perceptible nod, and I understood that everything was as it should be.
I returned to my seat, and when the pranam had concluded for everyone, we witnessed something extraordinary. Babaji became utterly still; his head lowered to his chest, resembling jalandhara bandha. The room fell silent. Everyone calmed, almost freezing in place, as a special atmosphere settled over us. This lasted for fifteen to twenty minutes, while Babaji remained in that state.
Each day we gathered around Babaji. We received blessings. Some received diksha. Some simply sat near the Teacher. Some asked questions, seeking solutions to spiritual or personal struggles. Others asked questions simply for the sake of asking—such is human nature. Babaji responded to everyone patiently and with great respect. On one of those days, I received Diksha.
That evening, after the diksha, I and the others met with Guruji once again. It seemed that Baba said almost nothing—we simply sat together. When Babaji was preparing to return to his room, everyone stood, and as he walked past, he blessed each person. When he passed by me, however, he did nothing—he simply walked on.
This puzzled me. He could not have overlooked me by chance. I had received Diksha that morning, and now this. I took it as a task and turned inward in search of understanding.
After about an hour of concentrated contemplation, a light of awareness began to break through into my consciousness. In truth, the Guru had not passed me by at all—he had blessed me in a way that offered an invaluable lesson at the very beginning of my journey as a disciple. I realized that one should not wait for blessings as manna from heaven, or like chicks in a nest with open beaks waiting for food from their parents. Blessings, like everything else, must simply happen.
In this way, the Guru also hinted that I should not become attached to him as a person, nor to those around him, for this could become a trap on my path. I later saw many who became deeply stuck at this point, for love for the Guru can easily turn into a sticky attachment, and the surrounding environment can draw one in and leave its imprint.
After grasping this lesson, I felt light and joyful. I sensed freedom, my own path, and the presence of the Guru.
An incredible play between Teacher and disciple—without words, it is even more clearly understood.