guests were insignificant and could easily be replaced, sent word for us all not to worry. The fire, he said, was actually beneficial, corresponding, externally, to the burning away of inner dross - a process of purification which always takes place in the presence of a Perfect Master.

I must confess that I was not convinced, immediately, of the benefits. I did not like to have my rest disturbed, my guests discomforted, my benefactor's property destroyed. Intellectual explanations somehow did not seem to offset these devastating facts. "A great spirit should bring peace, not chaos - construction, not destruction," I thought to myself, as I climbed back into bed.

Suddenly the word of Jesus flashed into my mind, "I came not to bring peace, but a sword." The warm glow of ecstasy spread softly over me, pervading as it spread. "A peace that is dependent on conditions is a conditioned peace," I seemed to hear Baba say. "The peace I bring is a peace that will remain even in the midst of chaos."

In the morning, I was called to Baba's room while the two social workers were with him. Apparently they had not shared in the revelation which had come to me, for they were still disturbed. The funds which they had lost had been replaced, but their peace of mind had not yet been restored.

Baba spoke to them in the language of their acknowledged Master: "Christ asked much more than this," he spelled out on his alphabet board. "He said, to those who came to Him,-'Leave all and follow Me'."

But the social workers did not appear to be convinced. They seemed glad to return to their community that afternoon -- relieved to be able to restore the two thousand years of time and the limitless expanse of space which separated them from outer contact with a Master.

"I did not know the bliss that was so near to me, for my love was not yet awake." So sang Kabir, the Perfect Master and poet of 15th century India, and I know of no words that more fittingly describe my own first gropings toward an understanding of the mystery of the divine incarnation, when Shri Meher Baba's first visit to America in November 1931 brought that mystery suddenly to life for us.

Baba and his party had arrived at Harmon so late on November 6th that there was little time that evening for anything but dinner and helping our guests to get comfortably settled in what was to be their home for a month. No opportunity to consult with Baba regarding his plans for his work — no time to arrange anything beyond the barest skeleton of a routine of daily living as a group. Consequently, we awoke the following morning to an entirely new world - our old, established order, with all our accustomed habits, nicely arranged to contribute to our comfort and convenience, was gone completely, and a new order was functioning, at first almost imperceptible in the subtlety of its smooth working, to which we were gradually to become adjusted. For me, bathing was deferred - breathing exercising, meditating before breakfast was renounced in favor of assuring our guest’s comfort -- and I was off to the adjoining town of Croton in Julian Lamar's car immediately after breakfast to make some needed purchases for the household.

It was this trip to Croton that gave Baba his first opportunity to impart a lesson so subtle that it was years before I realized that it was a lesson at all!

We returned to the house laden with bundles of provisions and supplies for the weekend, which we took directly to the kitchen, where we found Jean in tears, and obviously shaken by some great emotional experience.

"I'm not crying," she replied to our inquiries, that is, not in the usual sense of the word. I've just had my first interview with Baba, and he asked me to be silent with him for a few minutes. I can't describe what happened, in words, but you will see for