Kauai Calls

The staff was so exhausted by the journey around the world that Master delayed their return to San Francisco and flew them to Kauai, where he had held the Ashram Kauai retreat in late 1968. They checked into a hotel at Poipu for much-needed rest. But Master seldom did well at that, and he immediately undertook a project to explore buying the idyllic Tropical Inn they had fallen in love with.

When Master asked a monk to inquire about such a purchase, the response came back, ‘But, it’s not even for sale.’ ‘Never mind that,’ Master consoled, ‘just go there and ask.’ The monk dutifully drove the 45 minutes to the place and, on his return, reported, ‘The owner said it’s not on the market.’ ‘I see. Now go back and ask him, just theoretically, how much he would sell it for if it were ever to go on the market.’

Back at the Tropical Inn, the monk dutifully spoke with the owner, retired Col. Albert Roesch, asking for a what-if price. ‘As my manager told you twice, it’s not for sale, young man.’ ‘Yes, I know. But if it were…,’ the monk sheepishly offered. Seeing there would be no respite until a number was forthcoming, Col. Roesch grumbled in a slightly threatening voice, ‘If it were to be sold, and I’m not saying it ever would, we would want no less than $300,000.’ Back at Poipu, Master heard the number and decreed, ‘Go back and tell him we can’t afford that much, but we can offer him $165,000 right away. No more. Tell him that.’ ‘But…’ ‘Trust me. Just go and make the offer.’ An hour later, the monk stood before the man and made the counteroffer with great hesitation. ‘Hmmm! Let me talk with my wife,’ came the unexpected retort.

The offer, amazingly, was accepted, and Master moved to the new property on February 5, 1970, spending the first night alone on the property to take psychic control before inviting the monks to join him the next day.

America’s First Hindu Monastery

In the early hours of February 15, 1975, lying on a tatami mat in his Ryokan room, Master had one of those profound periods of sleep that is neither awake nor full of dreams. In that clear space above physical consciousness, the 48-year-old Satguru experienced a threefold vision: the spiritual birth of the great Shiva citadel called Iraivan Temple and its surrounding San Marga Sanctuary.

‘I saw Lord Shiva walking in the meadow near the Wailua River. His face was looking into mine. Then He was seated upon a great stone. I was sitting on His left side. This was the vision. It became more vivid as the years passed. Upon reentering Earthly consciousness, I felt confident that the great stone was somewhere on our monastery land and set about to find it.

Guided from within by my Satguru, I hired a bulldozer and instructed the driver to follow me as I walked to the north edge of the property, a tangle of buffalo grass and wild guava. I hacked my way through the jungle southward as the bulldozer cut a path behind me. After almost half a mile, I sat down to rest near a small tree. Though there was no wind, suddenly, the tree’s leaves shimmered as if in the excitement of communication. I said to the tree, ‘What is your message?’ In reply, my attention was directed to a spot just to the right of where I was sitting.

When I pulled back the tall grass, there was a large rock—the self-created Lingam on which Lord Shiva had sat. A stunningly potent vibration was felt. The bulldozer’s trail now led precisely to the sacred stone, surrounded by five smaller boulders. San Marga, the ‘straight or pure path’ to God, had been created. An inner voice proclaimed, ‘This is the place where the world will come to pray.’ San Marga symbolises each soul’s journey to liberation through union with God.’

Timeless Legacy

In the spring of 1987, Gurudeva’s vision for Iraivan Temple evolved from a mystical revelation to a real-world plan. Working with sacred spaces architects in South India, he was defining its physical form, establishing the principles of its creation, and considering the style of the massive stone edifices built during South India’s Chola Dynasty a millennium ago. The big question was still pending: What form of Shiva would inhabit the inner sanctum? It was a meditation that continued for months, for he knew the relevance of this decision. It would define the temple more than any external style. It would be its life and essence, the holiest and most powerful force around which all else would circle.

A Clear Crystal Vision

One day, in an early-morning vision in his private quarters, Gurudeva saw the future, as he would later say. He often said, if you want to know what you should do, do this: In your mind, travel into the future, and from there look back and witness what happened. The present-day decision will be obvious.

In this vision of the yet-to-be, Gurudeva saw a giant crystal Shivalingam shining brightly in the sanctum of Iraivan Temple, radiating out to the world. It was a titan among crystals. It seemed in this first seeing to be impossibly large, unbelievable, and beyond reality. Perhaps, he thought, it is merely the spiritual form of the Shivalingam and not the physical one.

Downstairs a few hours later, he shared this vision with the monks, letting them know he had his answer as to which form of Shiva that Iraivan Temple would embody. It would be a crystal Lingam, known in Sanskrit as sphatika Shivalingam. In the ancient texts, a Lingam, which is the aniconic form of the Creator-Preserver-Destroyer of the universe, is the highest of worshipful icons. It represents That which is beyond representation, beyond form and even imagination. It is the All in all, the Self beyond time, form, space, and cause.

The Agamas say one can worship this Great God Shiva in the form of a Lingam made of mud or sand, of cow dung or wood, of bronze or black granite stone. But the purest and most sought-after form is the quartz crystal, a natural stone not carved by man but made by nature, gathered molecule by molecule over hundreds, thousands or millions of years, grown as a living body grows, but infinitely more slowly. Such a creation of nature is itself a miracle worthy of worship.

The monks were delighted to hear of their Guru’s revelation and imagined the meanings behind it. Kadavul Temple already housed God Shiva as Nataraja, the divine dancer who creates and inhabits every atom of the cosmos. Iraivan Temple would host Shiva as the transcendent beyond, immanent and transcendent, form and formless. It was perfect. But the monks were not at all prepared for what would happen next.

Gurudeva paid a visit the next day to the Crystal Journey shop at Kilohana on Kauai. He was there looking at the wares, asking the proprietor about crystals, looking for a large one he had visualised. She did not have such a crystal but eagerly shared her similar vision of a giant crystal.

Some weeks later, she called requesting to meet with Gurudeva, arriving at the monastery mid-morning. She was a mythical character, a child of the 70s, a cherubic, intelligent lady about 40 years old. In her long dress, looking a bit Roma, her round cheeks pink with the pleasure of her visit, she shared that she had an important message for him. She was taken to Gurudeva’s office, where he listened to her tale. ‘Gurudeva, I had a dream last night. In my dream, I saw, even more clearly than before, a giant crystal. Very tall and perfectly formed, just like the one you described. Not only that, I saw where it is. If you allow me, I want to go there. I want to find the crystal and bring it to you. Will you buy me a ticket?’

Never in his life had Gurudeva bought a ticket for a near-stranger on a dream-induced mission. But this was different. Gurudeva then told the visitor of his own dream that same morning, of how he had seen the giant crystal, too, but never imagined someone else might have the same vision at nearly the same time. He took it as a sign and did the unthinkable. He bought her a round-trip ticket to Arkansas, the Natural State.

Soon she was on a crystal quest. Along with Brazil, Arkansas is the world’s most abundant crystal source, and there were dozens of mines to be tracked down at the end of long, unpaved roads. Having never visited Arkansas, she took the logical course and began calling on the various mines in the area.

Ultimately she found the crystal at the mines of one James Coleman, a hard-scrabble man dressed in denim with a scrappy beard and calloused hands, whose father and grandfather had mined crystals and who knew the business like no other.

Striding to his Jeep, the taciturn miner motioned to her to get in. Off the two drove, about a mile on a pitted coral path some called a road that ended at an old wooden warehouse. Getting down, Coleman walked through the double doors and headed to the back of the open space, stopping at a pallet in a dark corner. On it was a musty mattress, worn and worthless, rolled in a circle, and tied with a hemp rope.

Coleman cut the rope with a pocket knife without so much as a word and threw open the mattress. There lay the massive, milky white quartz crystal. It was a marvel to behold, a perfect thing that could be an artifact in a museum of art or a masterpiece in the foyer of a billionaire’s mansion. But it was here, not far from nowhere.

His customary reticence overcome by the urgent need to relate his story, Coleman turned to the woman, who stood speechless, with happy tears washing down her cheeks.

‘In 1975 my brother and I were digging for crystals. Below these hills, there are honeycombs of caves where our rocks are harvested. We were 65 feet under that day when we found our way into a new cave. It was nothing unusual about it at first; it was twenty feet across and five feet high, all dark and dank. But then our light fell on this crystal. It had fallen and lay on its side, broken away from the cave floor. Around it on three sides was a colony of smaller crystals, ten or so, all still intact and growing. This one had stopped growing, of course. As you can see, it has six sides and is perfectly pointed, and its surface feels like cool ice, day and night. We went up to get the mattress and wrapped the crystal in it, dragging it inch by inch to the surface. It took us all day.

It was, to both of us, a fantastic discovery. Though our family has been mining crystals for three generations, no one ever heard of such a gem. My brother and I knew it was one of a kind, and we both sensed it had a destiny, though we didn’t know what that might be. Something extraordinary. We kept it in the mattress and brought it here, out of sight, vowing not to tell a soul about it. But somehow, you saw it. How else would you know? We figured that one day we would learn what the crystal was meant for. I think it was meant to go with you to Hawaii and be with that holy man who saw it. The crystal has been waiting, and I’m glad you came to get it.’

The crystal seeker was exultant. She called Gurudeva, who asked for photos to be sent. When he saw them, he said, ‘Yes, that’s it!’ She arranged for the purchase and packing of the crystal, then flew home. The 700-pound, 39-inch-tall sphatika Shivalingam arrived at the monastery on August 14 and was formally installed in front of Lord Kadavul Nataraja two days later, awaiting the day Iraivan Temple would be completed. Gurudeva’s morning vision had manifested magically.

Crystal Significance

One afternoon years later, a deva with whom Gurudeva often communicated signaled that he was present and asked if there were any questions. The monk with him asked about the significance of the enormous crystal. With the same ease that ordinary people listen to a friend speak, Gurudeva clairaudiently heard the inner-plane deva’s answer and dictated it to his amanuensis in two- and three-word volleys:

‘Now, the large crystal we have is very special, having been especially prepared for its mission as a relay station for peace on Earth, harmony, contentment, healing and patience, freedom and goodwill and close cooperation among the life forms and humans beings on this planet. It is at this very moment relaying trillions of messages through every crystal on this planet, energising and educating even the smallest insect.’