ing me to come down. I followed his advice. In my room on the right wall was a small color photo of Baba. It faced an open window through which the sun poured during the day and the moon peered in at night. Meredith told me not to feel disturbed if I were to see beams of light projecting from Baba's picture. This was a good sign. Alas — all I saw were beams of moonlight through the glass window.

Meredith did not impress me in the same way as he had my brother. However, because of the very close friendship and love that existed between us I was determined to try and go along with him in his sincere interests and belief in Baba. Rightly or wrongly, I felt that Meredith thought the very strong bond between us was a hindrance to my brother's spiritual progress and probably to mine, and he would maneuver things so we should not see too much of each other. Of course I resented this inwardly, but an interesting point is that while destiny led us later to follow separate paths to Truth, this love between my brother and myself throughout the intervening thirty years has remained unaffected and unchanged — perhaps deepened.

Evenings were spent sitting around the wood fire on the floor or on chairs, and Meredith would read aloud from his book of inspired poems, Arrows of Flame, dedicated to Shri Meher Baba. It was clear as Meredith read that he believed Baba to not only enjoy the Christ state of consciousness, but to be a reincarnation of Jesus. The most often-read poem, I recall, was Song of the Dust, dedicated to "Sadguru Meher Baba":

 The days of work and meditation passed quickly. Meredith asked all to think continually of Baba and meditate on him. He told all that Baba was expected in the West within two years and this the place where he would