Phantom Runner

Before I became a disciple, I attended the weekly public meditation on Wednesday and I ran the "Runners Are Smilers" two-mile race every Saturday— religiously. That went on for a few years. In those days "Runners Are Smilers" was held in Flushing Meadow Park, and I went there by train. The race started at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and it was never cancelled—never. One Saturday when Guru was away on the Christmas trip, I hurried out the door, and as I entered the subway I noticed it had begun to snow. By the time I got to Roosevelt Avenue, the snow was heavy—a blizzard. By the time the train pulled into Shea Stadium, I couldn't see my hand at arm's length for the snow. Luckily I knew my way to the starting line and I trudged blindly through the snow. I had read recently in one of Guru's books about his emanations and inner beings and how he protects his disciple children, and I took some courage in that. As I approached the starting line—about 3 or 4 minutes before the race was scheduled to begin—the Marathon Team car emerged out of the snow. No cancellation. No one else in sight. Sahishnu rolled down the window and I paid the one-dollar entry fee. I didn't know very many disciples back then, but as far as I was concerned, Sahishnu was the incarnation of dharma and the master of understatement. I said, "I guess I'll be running alone today." He said, "Guess so." I stood there wondering how I would even stay on the course. As always, just before starting the race, there was a moment of silence and in that moment there appeared, unbelievably, on my right side, another runner. I could barely see him—only the profile of a figure—and then the race began. I followed that runner and he stayed just ahead of me. At the end of the two miles, he was gone—disappeared into the snow. I was amazed and also curious about who that phantom runner could be. When I collected my medal after the race, I asked Sahishnu, "Who was that runner?" "Never saw him before in my life," Sahishnu said.

Saudamini (New York)