Baba, A Striking Presence

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by Harry Kottler

I remember Baba

As a soul completely light.

He set folks free

Of turmoil and of fright.

He had a way of being

That would charm and yet persuade.

He spoke with such conviction

That, at that time, all doubts would fade.

(They'd fade just for a short time

For most needed time to learn

To pursue sadhana thoroughly

So, in the future, doubts would burn.)

He had a striking presence,

Quite commanding and quite bold.

He was as warm as warm can be

Though sometimes he seemed cold.

His face could seem quite frozen

Like a stone god with no grin.

Detached and free,

The world he'd see

As just a part of him.

He could be very festive.

He could also cut with words.

He could move his thoughts

Seemingly for naught,

Yet, in the end, he would be heard.

He conformed to gracious etiquette,

But then etiquette he'd ignore;

For the truth was more important ─

It was truth he most adored.

He didn't care if people

Were offended by his words.

He'd shoot desires

And mental wires

As if they were clay birds.

He was a decisive person,

Yet as flexible as can be.

He scared me, yet I loved him.

Just his memory brings me glee.

Have I created a picture

To do justice to this man?

At least, I've tried.

I don't deny,

I doubt anybody can.

He's seared deeply in my consciousness.

I wish I saw him now,

But at least I wrote about him,

So he's smiling in my brow.