But I wasn't trying to write poetry then; I was trying to reach the Source. To do that, I knew that I had to pass through the world of creative ideas, whence the seeds of the poems came. I could not allow myself to be bribed to turn back like a child with a beautiful toy. So I refused to accept the bribes. The result was, no more poems -- and what was worse, no union!

Now, still, I wanted union -- not poems.

"But what about beauty?" I wondered. "Why has there been so little of it, in the usual sense, since we have been in India?"

Of course, Baba was beautiful -- indescribably beautiful. So were many of his Eastern disciples beautiful, in themselves. But in the lives that they led, the stress was placed on usefulness -- selfless service to Baba, and, under his direction, to mankind -- caring for the God-intoxicated at the Mast ashram at Rahuri, for example, or dispensing free medical attention to the poor at Ahmednagar. Our own life at Nasik had not been beautiful, in the group sense, although many of us had been creative artists of one sort or another in the West.

"Why so little beauty?" I wondered.

Baba "heard" my thoughts, as he usually does. We had a lovely night and day at Meherabad. I was relaxed and surprised myself by feeling positively mellow! But the amusing part of Baba's response came on our homeward journey the following night.

We left Ahmednagar in the car at half-past nine. An hour later, near Kolhar, the fan of the motor came loose, and a blade broke off. The nearest garage from which a new fan could be obtained was at Ahmednagar. We limped into Kolhar, and inquired for the telegraph office. The closest was at Loni, four miles away. We decided we would try to drive there, and succeeded. We stopped the car on the bank of a beautiful river. The driver and I descended to search for the telegraph master, whose office was hidden in the grounds of an irrigation bungalow nearby. The stars were brilliant. The path we trod led through a garden fragrant with the perfume of mango blossoms. It was as if Baba were saying, "No beauty, did you say?"

The telegrapher, we discovered, had left a short while ago for Ahmednager. We decided to hobble along as far as we could on the chance of reaching another telegraph office, but a few miles farther on the car developed a very bad leak, and we had to stop.

Making the best of our situation, we tried to sleep as much as we could in the car. Three of the five passengers succeeded admirably, one other moderately, I not at all.

At four o'clock a truck drove up. Hailing it, we discovered it was bound for Ahmednagar, where the driver was due at seven. We gave him a message to Baba telling of our plight. We did not know how soon our non-arrival would be noticed at Nasik, and a car sent back to fetch us.

By this time the dawn was slowly spreading through the sky, and it was much too beautiful to think of sleeping. Ruano and I paced back and forth along the road, drinking in the beauty of the departing night and the approaching morning.

"No beauty?" I could hear Baba ask. "And have there been no stars at Nasik? Does the dawn not come there?

So it is with God. You say that you want union with Him, yet He is always within you. Open your heart. You will find Him there."

At this juncture a rescue car from Nasik arrived, and we were driven home.

The next day, Baba surprised us by coming two days earlier than we had expected. Our sick needed his attention, and we, who were well, were blessed with his presence for three whole days. It was on the first of these that he gave us each a fifteen-minute interview.

"How is everything?" he spelled out on his alphabet board when I arrived. "That you know better than I."

"Are you writing?"

"Oh, yes -- only please don't expect me to be permanently interested in anything