[Tavern-Talk] CHRISTMAS 2009 - MEHERAZAD

[Tavern-talk]

Dear Friends,

With Amartithi fast approaching, we are treated to a lovely glimpse of 
the Christmas celebration at Meherazad just a short month ago, by Leah 
Johnston.


CHRISTMAS 2009 - MEHERAZAD

On Christmas day at Meherazad, 2009, pilgrims in wrinkled western shirts 
and well-pressed saris and kurtas poured out of six buses. We were 
greeted by beatific volunteers who directed the crowd to form a line 
that snaked past a row of eastern and western toilets and into Mehera’s 
garden. Fat, celestial blossoms of bougainvillea and roses and other 
blooming florals pumped the air with color. Against the house, outside 
of Baba’s bedroom, the sacred Umbar tree where Baba’s face appeared to 
comfort Mehera after He dropped His body, sat in regal splendor; 
indifferent. This Umbar, the highest and extremely rare breed of ficus, 
can only root and grow once the seeds have passed through the digestive 
tract of birds. Now, it sat encircled by garden fencing and a thick 
cluster of spiky, green snake plants.

One by one, pilgrims climbed the steps to Baba’s bedroom. Inside, 
handmade ornaments dangled from the bed canopy – handmade glitter 
creations that housed photographs of Baba and Mehera and Baba with His 
arms wrapped around village children. There were a few extra vases of 
pink and red roses, and carnations resting on the furniture. In 2003, 
this room was the place where Baba showed me that He was Jesus. That 
year, I sat in the corner by a painting of the Messiah lifting a man out 
of the sea. The caption read, “Help Lord, or I perish.” I looked at 
Baba’s photo on an adjoining wall; our Avatar as a young man, his face 
turned skyward and surrounded by a corona of light. In my mind I said, 
“Baba was Jesus.” The words were intellectual, awake only in my brain 
like a recitation of a fact read in a book. But Baba took those words 
and moved them into my heart; He made them alive there and I had an 
actual experience that Baba was Jesus, the Ancient One who lived inside 
of me and loved me. That day, all I could do was cry.

Six years later, I stood on the threshold; one pilgrim in a row of 
pilgrims that entered a pink and cream room on Christmas day, the day of 
Jesus and Baba, and I placed my head down on the floor cushion by the 
bed and breathed in the cinnamon-scented pillow. I breathed in the 
hallelujah of God and felt gratitude.

Outside again, I walked toward the front porch. Meheru, in a floral 
shirt and pants, her legs draped with scarves, greeted each of us with a 
luminous smile. Close to her, a platform was built on top of 
dirt-colored tarps. A green banner and a wind-blown row of tinsel stars 
hung above the piano and microphones. Guitarists strummed guitars and 
singers sang, “fall on your knees…oh hear…the angels voices.” They sang, 
“Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord” and “a partridge in a pear 
tree;” their voices like doves flying toward the sun.

On the way to Mandali Hall, under a Tamarind tree, twelve terracotta 
pots of rooted ornamental bushes were amassed into one giant Christmas 
tree, replete with multi-hued tinsel garlands and a silver star. Inside 
the hall, ten wooden chairs with cushions divided the room in half to 
accommodate the flow of traffic.

Beside Baba’s chair, Susie Iimura reached her hands into a wicker 
basket, wide as an oil drum and pulled out prasad packets filled with 
nuts and candy and Baba fortunes. She handed them to Santa, who blessed 
the treat on the floor cushion by Baba’s chair and handed them to people 
after they bowed down. In a German accent Santa said, “Jai Ho! Jai Ho! 
Merry Christmas!”

Once the treat was in my hand, there was nothing left to do but wander 
past a wall of metal cabinets full of Baba books and a case of Baba 
treasures – a china saucer and drinking glass that once pressed against 
Baba’s mouth, a red wooden box containing two packs of playing cards 
that Baba used to play “Larisque” and four cups, largest to smallest, 
that Baba used to illustrate that all creation is contained within and 
dependent on God.

And after the nuts and M&Ms had been consumed? After the Baba fortunes 
were read and the songs sung? After two little girls had danced their 
fill on the dirty tarps and ran away toward Baba’s bedroom, holding 
hands and I hugged many friends and wished them well on this day of 
love? It was time to go. Bells rang and the crowd dispersed. Buses 
filled up again and horns honked. Dust choked the air and Baba lovers 
drove away shouting the greatest prayer in existence: Avatar Meher Baba 
Ki jai! Avatar Meher Baba Ki jai! Avatar Meher Baba Ki jai!

-- Leah Johnston
For Tavern Talk
27 January, 2010