In the meantime, I realize that I have much to do before this period of intensive spiritual training begins, for I have a growing feeling that, just as one awakens in the morning much in the same spirit as one goes to sleep the night before, so the way one comes out of a sadhana, or spiritual exercise, depends much on the way one enters it.

Or perhaps it would be better to put it this way: a Perfect Master can confer liberation at will; but - and it is a big "but" - the disciple has to earn the right to receive it. The disciple has to make a supreme effort to overcome his own imperfections. Then the Master enables him to do what alone he could not do.

So I have to make a supreme effort, in these next few weeks, to sweep away the vestiges of pride, austerity, impatience, irritability and all the kindred leeches that feed on my spiritual blood. I want to come out of this sadhana (discipline) like Baba. To do that I must become as nearly like Baba as I can before I go into it. That is at once very simple and very difficult. One becomes like him by merging in him. One merges in him by loving him, serving him, obeying him. That sounds very easy, and, were it not for the millions of "sanskaras" or subtle tendencies to habitual thought and speech and action, it would be simple. But those tendencies pull us into unintended thought and speech and action, imperceptibly, almost, until the action is well under way, and only then can we check it and deflect it.

For example, for three months I am scheduled to perform a series of spiritual exercises, under Baba's direction, the purpose of which is to eliminate the lesser self, that the Real Self may manifest. In the process, all that goes to make the lesser self -- desire, attachment, longing, preference, preconceived ideas, personal opinions -- must be eliminated. Yet when Baba told me that I was to fast on milk instead of water, I felt an immediate reaction of disappointment. I had never found milk easy to digest. I had felt that having only water would quickly eliminate any desire for the sensation of eating. In of my attempt to eliminate preference, my first reaction was to prefer water! In spite of my absolute faith in Baba's supreme knowledge, those subtle habits of thought would mould personal opinion and make us attached to preconceived ideas, made me question, for a moment, his wisdom! There is work to be done, but only Baba can do it!

Another interesting "conversation" with Baba took place in January. I had been finding myself reacting violently against certain people and in certain circumstances. Idle conversation at the dinner table, slowness of perception in the Urdu class -- little things like this annoyed me. I felt myself growing impatient and irritable for no valid reason. I knew it was a subtle form of intellectual pride that made me feel that way, and I tried to eliminate it. Later, I succeeded to some extent, but at the time it seemed as if I could do nothing. My reactions grew more frequent and more violent. Aside from an occasional caustic remark, they did not often gain an outlet, but they surged up within me and disturbed my peace of mind and serenity of heart. I began to loathe myself for allowing them a foothold.

So, when Baba, on a tour of inspection, came into my room one morning and asked how everything was, I replied:

"Very bad. I am full of pride. I get impatience and irritable over unimportant things. What can we do about it?"

I shall never forget the look that Baba gave me! If he had spoken, he could not have said more clearly, "Well, now at last we can get to work!"

"In some ways you are very advanced," he spelled out on his alphabet board. "In others you are very lacking. Pride is your one shortcoming."

"My one shortcoming!" I exclaimed. "But what of my impatience, my irritability?"

"Those are the result of pride. When the pride goes, they will go."

"What can I do to make it go?" I asked.

"Of yourself, you cannot make it go,” he replied, "But I shall do it for you. Nevertheless, you must try. You must make the effort."

"What shall I do?" I inquired.