In the 60s my three sisters and I were children growing up in a small New Zealand town by the sea.

My father liked the simple ways and always walked or bicycled to work, shunning the enchantments promised by an emerging new age of television and motorcars. Our home became a fortress sand-castle, defiant against the rising tide of technology – eventually the ramparts crumbled and my father capitulated to the incoming tides of change. Years later though, he would remind us with great pride that we had been the last house in our suburb to get TV.

In this new world, evening scrabble, cards and colouring books were replaced with television and the old bicycle eventually surrendered to a gleaming Ford Prefect motorcar. Scrabble was a huge loss to me – I excelled at concealing essential letters in my clothing, at outrageous inventions with the English language and endless intrigue. And our picture books – with pursed lips, brows furrowed with a child’s concentration, how devotedly we would colour in the black and white sketches with our crayons and pens. Later I came to see how much of a metaphor this pastime was – how much the distinct, theme qualities of our nature would colour in and determine the flavours and experiences of our lives.

I was last to leave our happy childhood home. The bus that would take me out of my parents' lives finally pulled out of the station, and I was peering out of the window, the first sorrows of adulthood filling my eyes. There they were, weeping inconsolably at the departure of their last child, holding each other helplessly by the arms. And years later we children would come together again, silent and weeping before the solemn and sad mystery of their deaths.

So began a long 13 year odyssey, the journey of discovery that we all make in one form or another as we colour in the storybooks of our lives. And discovering as we all sooner or later do that there is absolutely nothing out there, no place, no person, no possession, that can make us lastingly happy. In my own wanderings – that long fruitless detour across the parched deserts of worldliness that would lead to this understanding – I would often hear, whispering in my mind, the words of the Greek poet Cavafy, "No ship exists to take you from yourself..." and T. S. Elliot's sombre words would echo in refrain: "We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time..."

Yes, the longing to see everything clearly as it is, without ego, mind, thought or the colouring book crayons of a consciousness unillumined yet by spirit and true understanding.

Then in 1980, standing in a busy street in South Australia, I saw for the first time a face that would become dear to my life and a guiding beacon in my journey. It was a framed smiling face of Sri Chinmoy, there in a café window, and in that one random moment my life would change forever.

Nudged by a grace-filled universe, I shortly after became a student of Sri Chinmoy – what that meant I hardly knew or cared – and thus began a new and marvelous re-colouring of my life.

Very gradually, meditation ushered in a new calm and purpose to a willful, restless mind; and out of the deepening stillness of my practice there emerged a new sense of Self, deeper and greater than any of the selves I had been and known. Exercise, especially during the early, intense years of athletics and running when Sri Chinmoy himself would often accompany us, made the body strong and filled with aspiration. And how I devoured, hour upon hour, the many books of insight, wisdom and inspiration that flowed out of this teacher's remarkably creative life.

Yet it was Sri Chinmoy's own presence and those wonderful moments in his company that were the highpoints in this new adventure. How hard it would have been to experience those wonderful breakthroughs and heights of consciousness on our own, how difficult to believe in the possibility of enlightenment without seeing it first in another, how unlikely an enduring belief in God without seeing, there in human form before you, this great yogi clearly and unmistakably immersed in the divine.

The brush strokes of this new life were filled with the colours and fragrances of the inner world – the soul's delight, felt in the silence of meditation; the heart's expanding love and it's growing concern for others; a new sense of purpose as every part of the being, magnetised by the energies of spirit, swung towards the pole of liberation. A sense too of gratitude, both for this great journey of awakening and to the guide who was leading our footsteps safely along the path. "My Lord," Sri Chinmoy wrote in one of his poems, "You have given me two things absolutely unparalleled. A map of the eternal journey and the courage for the immortal traveling."

Years later, I would come across an old box of childhood things, mementoes and treasures from a distant past – an old shawl, some favourite poems of my mother, a silver broach, the sepia brown photos of unknown grandparents – and there among the heirlooms and memories, one of our old colouring books, still with its' bright colours and poignant innocence. Feeling now the beautiful and hidden perfection of life and marveling at the long journey of the soul with its' many selves and guises; peering intently at the colours I had used, trying to understand how far I might have come; how far I might have to go to reach journey's end. Here, back at my own starting point I remembered once again the words from Elliot's poem, and how the end of all our exploring will be "to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time... Through the unknown, remembered gate when the last of earth left to discover is that which was the beginning..."

How grateful I am to all the teachers of my life whose knowledge has encouraged me along my way. How grateful I am to my own teacher, Sri Chinmoy, the brightest polestar in my life sky, who colours in my journey with the bright things of the soul and leads me through that doorway of spirit – the 'unknown, remembered gate' – on the great quest for God.

    – Jogyata.

Experiences and impressions while visiting Sri Chinmoy in New York.

Midsummer in New York. Our small contingent of runners from the Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team in New Zealand are about to touch down at JFK Airport for two weeks of races, musical performances, meditations, even an amateur circus! Out of the plane window the evening lights and urban canyons of Manhattan recede away along famous avenues into haze, then we're banking across sprawling suburbs, sweeps of ocean, then touchdown. The baggage carousel is dotted with familiar faces from our global family – 1,000 students of spiritual teacher Sri Chinmoy, drawn from over 40 countries are converging on New York to compete in our annual Self-Transcendence Marathon.

Now my host and long-time local friend bundles me into his car and I'm whisked along a busy expressway into a quiet street in Queens, home for the next fortnight – then sleep, much needed after the 22 hour journey from Auckland.

Friday, August 25th

Marathon day! My alarm clock sounds at 4am after 3 hours of light sleep and I wander a few blocks through the empty streets to join others for the one and a half hour ride upstate. At dawn we disembark sleepily from a convoy of ageing yellow buses – before us now a calm lake, three miles in circumference, oak-fringed and dotted with small groups of waterfowl. Sri Chinmoy arrives, climbs slowly onto a small dais at race start. Against a backdrop of still trees he stands quietly in meditation, bringing to the excitement of our 900 strong field of runners a sudden quiet, an intensity of purpose, a sense of sacred journey. We all know the trials that are to come and the silence that has now fallen is not a perfunctory one, a mere absence of voices, but a drawing to the fore in each of us of the inner resources, the power and grace of spirit.

For this pastoral scene with it's pleasant vistas of water and shady canopies of green boughs will soon go unnoticed as the miles of the marathon take their toll. Once past the limits of our training and preparation, we will each confront our private demons of failing body, mind or will – and then attempt to transcend these in our striving to excel.

Seated race-side in a low chair, Sri Chinmoy watches us run by, pride, love, concern and encouragement in his face – I love this recurring encounter and my steps quicken each lap as I see and pass by this inspirational figure and feel his silent blessing, the huge force of his relentless spirit. His words ring in my heart, a mantra of self-transcendence – "There are no limits to our capacity because we each have the infinite Divine within us." Undertrained, I am spent by 20 miles and now begins my own test of character and grit.

Yet it is here at the very limits of body, mind and will that the gateway into another world lies open, beckons, a world beyond the everyday comforts which so constrain the flight of spirit. At this intersection of self and Self, man and God, body and soul, where flesh cries out to spirit and the finite touches the infinite, here it is that we peer into a mystic realm and glimpse the deeper capacities within us, a region where inner power and cosmic energy can be accessed and revive a failing body.

Now at journey's end, people are cheering and clapping each runner and I wobble over the finish line – someone places cell salts and a drink in my hand and I lie on the grass in a cocoon of gratitude and relief, staring up into a great vault of blue sky. I am reminded of the Chinese proverb: "Every treasure is guarded by dragons" and now the marathon behind me and dragons banished, the treasure of a quiet jubilation fills my heart.

Later at an evening function, showered and sumptuously fed, we all pass by a microphone and announce our marathon times – some have taken an epic seven hours to complete the 42 kilometres but Sri Chinmoy treats first and last alike, appreciating the winners prowess and dedication as much as applauding the unflagging determination and will of those last to finish. That night we all sleep like babies.

August 27

Today is Sri Chinmoy's birthday, a high point in our lives and always a day to remember. We are invited down, country by country to file past the seated Master and I slip into a long procession as we slowly shuffle forward. Thirteen hundred people are here, the men in white – thankfully, for the temperature is rising – the women in a bright multitude of colours and wearing saris on this special occasion, a traditional garment honouring the sacredness of spirituality itself.

In the absolute silence of this meditation we are stilling our minds, summoning our deepest receptivity, preparing ourselves for this moment when our hunger for happiness, freedom, enlightenment, grace – whatever aspiration each of us has and brings – is seen, responded to, perhaps fulfilled in this encounter with a true man of God. "A moment with the Beloved" goes the proverb, "and the river changes it's course". Yes, the beatitude of a compassionate glance, the capacity of a genuine spiritual Master to remove the karmic fetters and obstructions of millennia – the samskaras spoken of in the Buddhist texts – can change the course of a life in a fleeting moment. We all know this and bring to the solemnity and sacredness of this occasion our highest sincerity and aspiration.

Now suddenly I am looking into the eyes, the face, the extraordinary beauty of a human consciousness that has merged entirely with God and gone, quite simply, beyond all human comprehension. Inside my mind, like a bell, I hear the vedic mantra Tat twam asi – 'That thou art' – or what I have within, or what I shall become. The thought is comforting and looking for what seems like an age into the calm and loving eyes – eyes that see into every part of my being – I try to feel that in Sri Chinmoy I am seeing the highest possibility of myself. Yes, to see in another the highest flowering of the Divine is to more fully understand the final end of one's own life quest. Beyond all book knowledge, all speculation, all discussion, there, in front of you, a face steeped in God, a being at the end of all journeying, at the summit height of all striving. Deeply moved I slowly walk away, feeling inside me the lovely benediction of the Master's lingering smile and with it the promise of my own liberation. One day, yes, we too shall fulfill our promise to realise and reveal God on earth.

2pm – Lunch is served

Platters of Indian curry, rice, mango lassi and delicious sweets. And now a lovely concert, with Sri Chinmoy performing on sitar, esraj and piano. These solo performances invite audiences beyond a merely passive entertainment into an interactive oneness where performer and listener are co-participants in something they each help to create. Here the outpouring of a music saturated with the serene consciousness of meditation, offered to an audience willingly still in mind and open of heart, creates an energy and a force for inner peace that is tangible But Sri Chinmoy's music is also known for it's wonderful revelations of power – and this afternoon we would witness this firsthand. Seated in front of a grand piano Sri Chinmoy paused as though awaiting or invoking a higher force. Watching, I felt a moments profound admiration at the extraordinary inner poise that he clearly had – and would need – to perform a twenty minute spontaneous piano improvisation in front of 1,300 people, with absolutely nothing other than God-reliance as his guide. Sri Chinmoy himself would simply be an instrument and the music flowing through him would come from a higher world. Like the wind passing through an empty flute, or the sap rising up into the branches of a tree, he would simply convey a current of sound, energy and beauty as a channel of the Divine. Face still, body upright and full of a calm repose he began to play, hands flying over the keys in a cascade of sound. Resounding chords and sweeping arpeggios followed moments of sublime and barely audible sweetness – fingers, arms, elbows, fists were used, thundering away in glorious abandonment in an unfettered fountain of creativity. He was brushing aside the constraints and conventions of Western music and dazzling us with a demonstration of an absolute freedom from all form, all mind. This was pure creativity, music flowing directly from the Source.

That night, some beautiful tributes from world leaders are read out honouring Sri Chinmoy's birthday and his forty years of service in the West. Many are profoundly moving and show a deep appreciation of this most remarkable of lives.

The days fly by – there is a sense of existing in some dimension of time that is not of this world, existing in a haven of spiritual energy and light created by the aspiration of a thousand seekers and the grace of a single illumined master. We feel too a sense of urgency and velocity – two intense weeks here can offer the benefits and progress that only many years of meditation and unguided effort might yield on one's own. And such a blend of modernity – sports, fitness, activity, dynamism – with ancient disciplines – prayer, chanting, a bhakti's focused devotion to the goal, a striving in meditation's silence to more fully unveil the secrets of the soul.

Now departure day arrives and van loads of Sri Chinmoy's students are vanishing out to regional airports and dispersing across the globe to far-away, often remote cities, to lives rooted in other customs. How strong the sense of unity amidst this multiplicity of faces, languages, cultures. For we are a family in spirit and the bonds that join us so often run deeper than those of physical kinship or propinquity. We share the same commitment to the ageless quest that lies at the heart of all human life and raises it up above the ordinary into the realm of the sacred – the quest for God realisation. "There is my life" wrote novelist Lawrence Durrell, "and there is the life of my life." Yes, this journey of awakening is the life of our lives. Leaving the Aspiration Ground for the last time to catch my own flight home, I do not say goodbye to anyone. My Indian cab driver tells me a joke and I ask him "Do you know Sri Chinmoy, he is from your country?" He replies "Oh yes, Guru Chinmoy, he is the great saint from India. It is good to have him in our midst."

    – Jogyata.

Experiences and impressions while visiting Sri Chinmoy in New York.

5:20 am

The first alarm clock goes off in the darkness and people begin to stir. There are 13 of us staying in this small New York house in Jamaica, Queens and space is at a premium. So is the hot water – enough for only ten showers – and outside it's been snowing. The prospect of a cold shower inspires much good-natured rivalry and beds are quickly emptied – then the stillness of the 6am meditation descends upon the house. Now candles one by one are lighting the darkness and the fragrance of incense fills the air – in their individual circles of light the disciples begin the morning meditation, indistinguishable black silhouettes illumined against the candle flames. In a two-mile radius of this New York street some 800 visiting disciples of Sri Chinmoy are also beginning their day, drawn from over fifty countries to the wintering streets of this often daunting city to benefit from the presence of this great living Master. 'A moment with the Beloved,' goes the saying, 'and the river changes it's course.'

Sri Chinmoy will also be meditating and probably has been most of the night – the thought is comforting, as of some infinitely loving being watching over his children and extending to the whole of humanity an unfathomable and divine concern.

7:00 am

After meditation I run 3 miles with two Australian friends, navigating the icy, sleeping suburbs and a gauntlet of snowballs from other disciples. The outer running cultivates dynamism, well-being and clarity of mind. It expedites the inner running, the urge towards progress and a final promising liberation or enlightenment. There is an exhilarating sprint finish, more snowballs and playfulness – some New Zealanders from our Auckland Centre have found their way onto an overhead balcony and in concealment launch a fusillade of snowballs, scoring some direct hits. We are forced to retreat into our local diner, The Smile of The Beyond, already jammed with disciples and steamy with warmth and food smells.

Overhead on the wall some lines from one of Sri Chinmoy's poems which inspired the name of this restaurant catch my eye: 'His smile is the fragrance of the Soul. His smile is the Smile of the Beyond.' Already it feels good to be here, a sense of coming home.

9:30 am

The sun is out, bright and cold, and the streets are turning to slush. Anticipating spring, squirrels are materialising everywhere in the high overhead boughs, scampering and leaping across impossible spaces in games of aerial pursuit. Down below on the Aspiration Ground – once an outdoor tennis court but now a place devoted solely to spiritual practicessuch as singing and meditation – Sri Chinmoy has taken a seat inside a small motorised cart framed in the shape of a Golden Boat. Built by his New Zealand students and transported piece by piece to New York, the charming miniaturised replica boat is a gift honouring Sri Chinmoy's 40 years of service to mankind. The boat is an apt metaphor of the inner, spiritual boat (the Path), of the Boatman (the Guru), and of the journey across life's ocean to the shores of God-realisation.

Eyes half closed in a meditative trance, the Boatman steers his Golden Boat in calm, slow sweeps, circling the court and summoning a profound stillness. Eight hundred people silently observe and meditate. Such moments when the seeker's aspiration and the Master's inner guidance intersect offer rare opportunities for breakthrough meditation experiences – the Aspiration Ground is almost breathless in a silent intensity of purpose.

1:00 pm

In this early afternoon Sri Chinmoy calls us down from our seats to form three long lines in front of him – this is a walking meditation, always a high-point in our visits to New York. Each column of disciples is to choose one song and to sing this aloud as we slowly file past the seated master. The mantric song-chants and the slow meditative pace of the walking generate a sense of sacred ritual – and the Master's searching, momentary concentration on each of his disciples as they slowly file by inspires in each an intense, mounting aspiration. Here the timeless and hallowed Guru-disciple relationship reaches its penultimate expression – for these moments where Sri Chinmoy meditates on the soul of each disciple expedite our development and progress to an unimaginable degree.

The hot afternoon sun and the shuffling procession of feet are now stirring up a thin, grey dust – looking down at my brown feet in their tattered sandals, I am reminded suddenly of the dust and heat of some other place and time, the image floating up and tugging at the edges of memory, an ever so faint echo from some irretrievable past. We were seekers from some timeless inner landscape and I could feel my soul's memory of the long centuries spent in the search for enlightenment and the quest for God. Captivated by this feeling I was stumbling in the wake of the singers, body barely upright, intoning the mantric cadences of song and the words of the immortal melody 'Dak eseche, dak eseche – call has come, call has come, Lord Supreme's call.'

Some were singing with great power, the song a war-cry, others were whispering, as though barely able to speak. We were embodiments of the eternal seeker, the quest for God which lies at the heart of all human experience – and the moment evoked the timeless quest for self-knowledge, enacted in a thousand dusty ashrams, temples, places of pilgrimage everywhere where the spirit of man is awakening.

Then a long AUM sounded from Sri Chinmoy and our voices, one by one, fell silent. Reluctant to forsake my meditative tranquility and utter detachment from body and mind I sat on a nearby bench, eyes closed. It had been a lovely finish to my week with my teacher.

3:00 pm

Later, prior to my departure for the airport, Sri Chinmoy invites those who are leaving today to file by, and we walk past the smiling, reclining figure for a last valedictory blessing. I like this wordless and unsentimental farewell, reminding us that for a God-realised Master there is no separation. "In true oneness," Sri Chinmoy once said, "there is no coming or going, no giving or receiving." Armed with the knowledge and feeling that the Guru and disciple are always together and one, I leave for the airport. My new journey will outwardly take me to the farthest end of the world but inwardly is simply another step in the fulfilment of the soul's promise to serve God.

Later

35,000 feet above the snow drenched mountains of Colorado. I jot down the opening lines of a poem I might someday write, but doze before much comes out. The words sprawl lazily across my notebook, then trail off the page as sleep comes...

SOMETIMES...

Sometimes I feel like a slingshot, hurled,
Flung far into the void.
At last come to rest on some distant shore.

Sometimes I feel like a banner unfurled,
Hoisted aloft, heraldic,
Your victory to proclaim in some distant war.

Sometimes I feel like a child, curled,
Asleep in your arms, Beloved
Dreaming of promises made I can't ignore
Hearing You say "Awake! You must do more!"
Dreaming of promises made in lives before...

    – Jogyata.