1893-1968
During the mid 1960's as a whole generation turned toward the very ideas that Mercedes De Acosta had expounded and written about for so much of her life she was secluded and in ill health. She was without the great wealth of her youth having even sold the last of her jewelry to pay medical bills and playing out her last remaining years in a small apartment in New York City. Most of her former lovers resented her honesty in her 1960 memoirs and abandoned her to die alone. Still she tried to get out when possible, and many noted that her spirit remained youthful. Late in life De Acosta befriended a young Andy Warhol and true to form, introduced others to his talents. To the end De Acosta was thinking and trying to transend, calling friends on the phone in the middle of the night to discuss the meaning of life and other vexing questions.
From the biographical essay attributed to Laurence Frommer
As you will no doubt find out as you read and explore the excerpts from her memoirs below, Mercedes De Acosta, although not friends in the classical sense with the British author and playwright W. Somerset Maugham (who knew De Acosta's older sister Rita De Acosta Lydig through their interactions in Paris during the postwar 1920s), had at least a loose or somewhat more than passing relationship with him.
De Acosta's holy man, the venerated Indian saint the Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi, who both Maugham and Mercedes met in 1938, albeit several months apart, had died in 1950 and Maugham at the very end of the year of 1965. During those intervening years most of her spiritual connections were all but gone or dissapated. She was nearing the end of her years and still she had not obtained the level of Attainment she had always sought and knew personally could be reached.
Using what was left of her society and Hollywood connections she began searching for leads to the only two remaining links in the scheme of things she could think of. The first of her links was a man by the name of Guy Hague, discussed below in her memoirs and thought by many to have been the role model for the Larry Darrell character in Maugham's novel The Razor's Edge. Nobody in India from the broader Sri Ramana circles had seen or heard from Hague since he left the ashram for the United States sometime just before the outbreak of World War II.
The second link, ironically enough, led her to the ACTUAL real life person Maugham used as the role model for the Larry Darrell character.
Sometime prior to the time De Acosta began her search to talk with the person who was the REAL role model for Darrell, which she heard through friends was living in the general Southern California area, he had --- albeit unrelated to her quest --- re-absconded himself on one of the Channel Islands off the coast of California and was, for the most part, at the time, nowhere to be found. Later, as others heard about him, small numbers caught up with him here and there and he gained a small but lasting reputation as the "holy man of the Channel Islands." However, during the period we are talking about here he was unreachable. Backtracking, the trail led De Acosta to an obscure American Zen master living not far from her by the name of Alfred Pulyan (d. 1966). Pulyan had just finished having the only person remotely close to De Acosta's loop visit his wooded country compound during the summer of 1965 for study-practice. That person was the Wanderling. The person Somerset Maugham had used as a role model for the Darrell character had become the Wanderling's Mentor some years earlier and it was he that sent the Wanderling to Pulyan --- hence the connection. De Acosta was sure the Wanderling still maintained some sort of a working or spiritual-type relationship with his mentor and would be able to arrange a meeting. At the time De Acosta was in the process of searching down the Wanderling he was just nearing the end of the so-called twelve year rule and had not yet reached the Full Attainment that eventually befell him three years later as outlined in Dark Luminosity. He and De Acosta set a meeting at her place at 315 East 68th Street in Manhattan, New York City to figure out how she and his mentor could cross paths as well as for the Wanderling to meet Andy Warhol. However, on May 9, 1968, before the two were actually able to finalize any arrangements, Mercedes de Acosta died.
Mercedes De Acosta's first knowledge of the Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi:
...I used to go constantly to Adrian's. When we came from the studio we often had dinner by ourselves in his house or he would give parties and ask me to help him arrange the table or receive his guests.
At one of these dinners I met Paul Brunton who had written a book called A Search in Secret India. When I read this book it had a profound influence on me. In it I learned for the first time about Ramana Maharshi, a great Indian saint and sage. It was as though some emanation of this saint was projected out of the book to me. For days and nights after reading about him I could not think of anything else. I became, as it were, possessed by him. I could not even talk of anything else. So much so, that as a joke, Adrian made a drawing of me peering out from behind a group of Indians and wrote under it A SEARCH IN SECRET INDIA. But nothing could distract me from the idea that I must go and meet this saint. From this time on, although I ceased to speak too much about it, the whole direction of my life turned toward India and away from Hollywood. I felt that I would surely go there although there was nothing at this time to indicate that I would. Nevertheless, I felt I would meet the Maharshi and that this meeting would be the greatest experience of my life.
Voyage to India - Conversations with Meher Baba and Sri Aurobindo:
And this time I wanted most of all to go to India to see the great Indian sage and saint, Ramana Maharshi, and I felt that I must go at once.
I had very little money, far too little to risk going to India, but something pushed me toward it. I went to the steamship company and booked myself one of the cheapest cabins on an Indian ship, the S.S. Victoria sailing from Genoa to Bombay toward the beginning of October. In the meantime I flew to Dublin to see my sister Baba and her husband, Freddie Shaw, and their two children Frederick and Mercedes. Like many youngest sons, Freddie had no money, but he was a remarkably good and fine man. They were living in a modest little house and I never saw a family so devoted to each other or so happy together.
Alfredo Sides' wife Consuelo sailed with me to India. She intended to stay there several years with Sri Meher Baba, but Alfredo, when he came to the station to see us off to Genoa, said, "Don't let Consuelo do anything foolish and please take care of her." Before Alfredo, Consuelo had been married to Charles Nungesser, a dashing, devil-may-care French World War I pilot of legend. He was reputed to have spent more time in the hospital and in various women's beds than he did in the air. He did however spend enough time in the air to shoot down 43 German aircraft. He also talked himself into the American Lafeyette Escadrille for one month, from July 14 until August 15, 1916 where he relaxed and showed the American pilots and crews his gold teeth, teeth that were necessitated after being shot in the mouth during a dogfight with the Germans. After the war he tried to fly west over the Atlantic at the same time that Lindbergh flew east. Nungesser was lost on the flight. But it was not until she married the unmarriageable Alfredo that we became close friends. I will never know what made Alfredo suddenly marry. He was out of character in doing so and was certainly not the husband for Consuelo.
I had booked passage to Ceylon intending from there to cross over to southern India and go directly to Tiruvannamalai where Ramana Maharshi lived. But when the ship called at Bombay, Princess Norina Matchabelli came on board to see me with a message from Meher Baba saying that Consuelo and I must get off the ship and come to see him in Ahmednagar, about two hours from Bombay. I did not want to do this as my real purpose in India was to see the Maharshi, and I was impatient to get to him. But Consuelo was going to Baba and she and Norina pressed me to do the same. It was an appallingly hot day and I had a migraine headache, so I let them pack my things and, in a daze, followed them off the boat. I remember edging my way through masses of people whose dark faces stood out in the brilliant sunlight against the white which the men wore. There was also a great deal of color among the crowds -- turbans and saris of brilliant pinks, blues, greens, every imaginable color, and after the incessant black one sees worn in occidental countries, Bombay gave me the impression of a gay festival.
The next day we motored to Baba's ashram in Ahmednagar. This a place he had built a number of years ago, even before he had European disciples. He had built it for what are called in India "God-mad men and women" These are people who become possessed by God and the spiritual life, and go out of their minds. A great many of them had become insane at an early age. Thousands of them wander all over India, sleep in the fields and are fed by anyone who gives them food. Most of them are harmless, but their physical condition becomes tragic. Although they are considered holy and like the Sacred Cow allowed privileges, down through the ages nothing had been done about them by the government or by individuals.
Meher Baba is the first person in India who has taken care of them and attempted to cure them. He sends his Mandali (men disciples) throughout India to bring as many of them as they can to his ashram. Here he puts them in order physically, and then works spiritually and psychologically to cure them. He has cured hundreds of them and many of them, after coming to their senses, have become his Mandali and helped to cure others. When I arrived in Ahmednagar, Baba had a great compound where about five thousand of these mad people lived. I saw him bathe many of them, a technique he uses to work spiritually through water, which seems to calm a great many of them in an extraordinary fashion. I was very much impressed by these sessions.
I was, however, not at all happy my first night in the ashram. Baba had many times spoken to me about it, and he had always promised me that if I ever went there I would have a room or a cabin of my own. This point had been brought up because Norina had told me that all the women slept in dormitories. I am a poor sleeper and I knew that under these conditions I would not be able to sleep. Also I have a horror of a lot of women herded together. This is one of the reasons why I have always hated convents and the life of nuns and any kind of dormitory school life. So I was extremely upset when I was told I would have to sleep in a dormitory. I mentioned this to Norina, who brushed my objections aside and said that I had to be "like everyone else." Looking back on it now I realize that I had no right to expect special treatment. Baba was possibly teaching me a lesson, but I felt that a man who was a spiritual teacher should not break his word.
In any case I spent a miserable night. The heat was terrific, many of the women snored, and all of them had pots under their beds which they used during the night. This was about the last straw for me. I arose at five and I was in no good mood when Norina told me that Baba expected Consuelo and me to stay with him for five years.
Five years!" I cried. "Are you out of your mind? I came to India to see the Maharshi and I am leaving here today."
I went to Baba's cabin. He was sitting on the floor in the Buddha posture with bare feet and a garland of flowers around his neck. He embraced me warmly and I sat down on the floor before him. He spelled out on his board, "I see you have slept badly." I shrugged my shoulders. I was not going into all that again. He continued. "I want you and Consuelo to stay here with me for five years. I hope you will agree to this."
"I regret terribly to have to refuse you this request. I could not possibly remain here and I must not deceive you, Baba - In case you don't already know it, I must tell you I came to India to see Ramana Maharshi."
He asked on the board, "Do you consider the Maharshi a Perfect Master?"
"I don't know anything about such things. I am no judge of Masters or of the fact that they exist. I only know that I long to see the Maharshi with all my heart, and I must go to him."
"When do you want to leave?"
"I would like to leave today."
"There is no car to take you to Bombay today. You will have to go tomorrow. But Consuelo will remain."
"I hope she will not. Alfredo put her in my care and I think after a few months she should go back to Europe."
Baba made no comment on this and I felt dismissed. Suddenly I knew I was no longer within the inner circle. The European disciples withdrew from me and their attitude strengthened my wish to leave. I did not feel any spirituality in such a lack of understanding.
That night Norina walked up and down with me in the compound. She made one more effort to change my mind and used all her charm and force of personality--and she had an abundance of both--to accomplish this. When Norina spoke of Baba or God she became ferocious. She told me laughingly once that Professor Jung had called her a "God- beast" because, he said, he feared she might devour God. It was a dark night and as we walked she swung a lantern back and forth in her hand. She told me that by refusing Baba's request I would face ten terrible incarnations. I laughed and said, "I'll take my chances." She said, "Surely you are not thinking of going back to that horrible Western world and to that terrible Hollywood!" I told her that after I had seen the Maharshi it was quite likely I would return to Hollywood. She threw her hands up in disgust. "There is nothing to be done with you. You are lost."
The next day I had a battle with Consuelo. Norina had persuaded her to stay. But I won out. As we were leaving, Meher Baba was very gracious to us, which was more than the others were. He kissed us both good-by and enacted a promise from me that I would not go to see either Gandhi or the Maharshi before sightseeing all over India. I afterwards regretted this because it caused me to miss meeting Gandhi.
When we left Bombay, Consuelo and I kept our promise to Baba and went on quite an extensive tour of India. Among the many places we saw I was most charmed, in a worldly sense, by the little city of Jaipur built entirely of pink stone. Here was a fairy tale world--a world from a Bakst ballet. In front of the pink palace with its ornate door of gold stood Indian guards wearing only short white skirts and white jaipurs, and the most beautiful green turbans draped in a very special manner. I saw a string of elephants belonging to the Maharajah sauntering past the palace. Thrown over their backs were blankets of the most exquisite gold material, while on their heads sat naked boys in the Buddha posture wearing brilliantly colored turbans, and directing the elephants with sharp cries.
Because of the paintings and photographs I had seen of the Taj Mahal I had expected to dislike it. But we had the good fortune to arrive in Agra by full moon, and as I stood in front of the Taj I was overcome by its white beauty. It seemed to me a living thing, and when I touched it the stone was warm and lifelike. The heat of the sun on the stone did not cool off at night.
Benares, of course, is an unforgettable experience. There too we were fortunate, as we arrived for an eclipse of the moon, an event considered sacred by the Indians who are tremendously influenced by astrology and the heavens. Millions of people crowded down to the Ganges and plunged into it, many of them carrying their sick and dead. Regardless of the consequences they were determined to submerge in the river at the moment of the eclipse.
We went to Ellora, and Ajanta. Here, in the caves of Ellora, and especially Ajanta, I felt art transcended beyond art. Here was some blending of mysterious forces that went beyond the human. Here was the testimony of the divine heights man can reach. This was an experience for me beyond Greece and beyond the greatest Gothic cathedral.
Meher Baba wired us to go to Poona, and when we got there he sent us a message to go to a certain cave and meditate for several weeks. This I flatly refused to do. I told Consuelo she could do so if she wished, but that I was on my way to southern India and the Maharshi. So she came along with me. We went to Bangalore, Mysore, and Madras and then to Pondicherry, hoping to see Aurobindo Ghose in his ashram.
Oddly enough, we arrived in Pondicherry on November 21 not knowing that Sri Aurobindo always held darshan on the 22. This word, in a sense, means what Christians would call a blessing or benediction. It is derived from the Sanskrit darshana, meaning cognition or even sight. And yet it is not exact to say it is a blessing or a benediction because darshan is neither given nor received--it occurs. It may appear to be given by a saint or a sage, but it is not. It is really an experience. An experience which may occur at the sight of the river Ganges, or at the sight of a holy temple, or at the sight of a sacred hill such as Arunachala --any one of these may give darshan as well as a person. The thing to understand is that any spiritually-minded Indian will travel hundreds of miles and put up with any discomfort if at the end he is to receive darshan. Thousands of people had already arrived; many of them had been walking for six months from villages in the north to arrive in time for darshan. The town was already crowded and masses of people were sleeping in the fields. Consuelo and I, not knowing what the crowd was about, went to the ashram and rang the bell. A disciple, dressed in a sort of monk's costume, opened the door. I asked if it would be possible for us to see Aurobindo. He could not have been more surprised. He explained that no one ever saw Aurobindo and that he lived in complete seclusion except on the day of the darshan, which happened to be the next day and was the reason for the great crowds in the town.
It would seem now that Consuelo and I should have known all this, but twenty years ago very few people outside of India knew much about great Indian sages such as Gnanananda, Aurobindo and the Maharshi. I had read everything that Aurobindo had written, although it had not always been easy to get his books in Europe or America. But I did not actually know about his habits as I did about Ramana Maharshi's, in whom I was intensely interested and had taken the greatest pains to find out every- thing about. I do not wish to attempt a comparison between these two sages. Aurobindo was an intellectual and in his early years he had been in politics. In his later years, in his years of seclusion, he had, I believe, allowed himself to be dramatized by the Mother, a Frenchwoman who ran the ashram and had an enormous influence on him and who under stood the value of creating the legend around him that he never saw anyone but her, except at darshan, which he gave twice a year--November 22nd and March 22nd.
When I understood that I could not see Aurobindo alone and would have to wait till the next day to see him with thousands of other people, I asked if we might see President Wilson's daughter Margaret Wilson, who was living in the ashram and whom Consuelo and I both knew. She was, of course, surprised to see us but immediately said she could arrange for us to go to darshan and would also find a place for us to spend the night, as the ashram and the hotels were already crowded. As we passed through corridors I had an unpleasant sensation. To me it seemed like another convent and I have always wanted to forget my convent experiences. Women in nunlike costumes were whispering in corners and the whole place had a deadly atmosphere as well as a theatrical one. This was not surprising, as the Mother, who was the supreme influence there, had been on the stage in France. She had evidently not lost her sense of theatre over the years.
I asked Margaret Wilson, who had been a professional soprano that often performed before army camps during the war and had served as the First Lady in the White House for her father after her mother died, if she was happy. She said she was and that not for anything would she want to leave the ashram. She said she hoped to die there and only a few years later she got her wish.
That night Margaret arranged for us to stay in the house of a French lady--a Madame Yvonne Gaebele. Darshan was to be at five o'clock in the morning. Madame Gaebele graciously served us tea and cakes at three o'clock in the morning and around four we went to the ashram with our garlands and fell into line with the many people who had been holding their places all night. Madame Gaebele was well known at the ashram and because of her and Margaret Wilson we were allowed to go almost to the front of the line. There was great tension and an extraordinary silence as everyone waited for Aurobindo to appear and take his place on a huge chair on a high platform. Everything was in readiness when suddenly a disciple appeared and made the astounding announcement that Aurobindo would not give darshan. He explained that Aurobindo had sprained his ankle and was in too much pain to give it. He said the Mother would give darshan in his place. I could hardly believe my ears. Thousands of poor people who had traveled hundreds of miles, many Of whom had been journeying for months, were to be disappointed because of a sprained ankle. There was a hush, and a wave of depression ran through the crowd that was almost staggering. Many people wept, but I was angry. "If a spiritual leader can disappoint so many people how can one find fault with a government leader or a politician?" I asked out loud--but no one answered me.
The Mother appeared and mounted the platform. Made up within an inch of her life, her lips scarlet and her hair brightly dyed, she wore a trailing chiffon dress, and as she took her place on the chair I wondered if anyone in that crowd could experience darshan. But we all filed past her, placing our garlands at her feet. I felt like a first-class hypocrite. Some years later Vincent Sheean told me that when he was in the similar position before the Mother she had slyly winked at him. I was glad to hear this. It at least made me feel better to know she had some humor. But strangely enough, opinions differ. Consuelo was impressed by the Mother and by the whole place. She wanted to stay there. I, however, said good-by to Margaret, and sadly enough it was really a last good-by. As I left the ashram I wondered how such a great man as Aurobindo could have allowed himself to be so exploited. He is now dead, but the Mother still carries on in the ashram even though the Light has gone out.
Meeting The Great Sage Ramana Maharishi:
I left Pondicherry and spiritually turned my heart toward Tiruvannamalai where the Maharshi lived. To get there, however, I had to return to Madras. On my way to Madras I had an amusing experience. This particular day I traveled third class in order to study the native types, but the only occupants of the coach besides myself were an old Indian (wearing a loincloth) and a well-dressed young Indian barrister. Presently the conductor appeared and began to talk very excitedly to me in the language of southern India--Tamil. I shrugged my shoulders and said in English that I did not understand Tamil, at the same time displaying my ticket and making signs that I hoped there was nothing wrong with it. The old man leaned forward and, in the most scholarly English, asked if he might translate for me and explain what the conductor was saying. I was delighted and asked if anything was wrong with the ticket. "It is not your ticket he is asking about. He is asking if you believe in the unity of the Divine and the individual soul."
Not a little staggered by this question, I tried, however, to appear as though such an inquiry from a railroad conductor was the most natural in the world. I then replied that I was of the opinion that there is no separation between the Divine Source and the individual soul. My interpreter conveyed my sentiments to the conductor who beamed at me and nodded and bowed, making me understand that he, too, held these same views. He then mumbled something and rushed off into the other coach. "He says he is going to collect the tickets," the loinclothed one remarked, "but he will soon return for further conversation." He not only returned, but he settled himself down next to me, peering into my face, and until I reached my destination we four discussed the Vedas, the old man translating from time to time to the conductor.
In Madras I hired a car and, so anxious was I to arrive in Tiruvannamalai that I did not go to bed and traveled by night, arriving about seven o'clock in the morning after driving almost eleven hours. I was very tired as I got out of the car in a small square in front of the temple. The driver explained that he could take me no further as there was no road up the hill where Bhagavan could be found. I learned then to call the Maharshi "Bhagavan," which means Lord and is a title by which he was always addressed. A religious ceremony was in progress, and men wearing bright-colored turbans and women in their festive saris were already surging into the square, carrying garlands of flowers and images of Siva. I did not linger to watch them, but turned toward the hill of Arunachala and hurried in the hot sun along the dust-covered road to the abode about two miles from the town where the Sage dwelt. As I ran those two miles up the hill, deeply within myself I knew that I was running toward the greatest experience of my life. I was no longer tired and I was unaware of the distance and of the heat of the sun on my uncovered head. I ran the whole way and when I reached the ashram I was not even out of breath.
Though only 2,665 feet high, Arunachala dominates the landscape. It looks as though a giant hand had quietly opened and dropped it into place. From the south side of the ashram it is just a symmetrical hill with two almost equal foothills, one on either side. But its aspect changes as the sun moves and the light varies. It has many faces and early in the morning a white cloud often drapes what seems to be its brow--in reality its summit.
The Ashram was a small place. I remember only a stone hall where day and night Bhagavan sat on a couch. Not far from this hall, scattered around the hill, were small houses where some of the disciples lived including his brother. I am told that all this has greatly changed. Once the Sage's great spiritual reputation began to spread, the ashram grew larger. In my time comparatively few people journeyed to see Bhagavan and only a few Western women had ever been there. In 1943 Heinrich Zimmer, the famous authority on Indian spiritual thought, wrote a book about the Maharshi called The Way of the Self for which Jung wrote a preface. In recent years, and especially since his death in 1950, Bhagavan has become widely known all over the world.
The Sage in Somerset Maugham's book The Razor's Edge is supposed to be Ramana Maharshi. It is possible that this is so as a few weeks before my visit to the ashram, Somerset Maugham had been there (see WMS: Travels In India). I was told that an English author had come to see Bhagavan and had fainted when first coming into his presence. I asked his name but they did not know how to pronounce it. One of the disciples retired and came back with Somerset Maugham written on a piece of paper. A few years later I saw Mr. Maugham in New York and inquired if he had actually been to see the Maharshi. He said he had, but I did not feel I should trespass on a possible spiritual experience by asking if it was true that he had fainted (for additional insight into Maugham's "fainting incident" click here).
GUY HAGUE AND SRI RAMANA MAHARSHI
When, dazed and filled with emotion, I first entered the hall, I did not quite know what to do. Coming from strong sunlight into the somewhat darkened hall, it was, at first, difficult to see. Nevertheless, I perceived Bhagavan at once, sitting in the Buddha posture on his couch in the corner. At the same moment I felt overcome by some strong power in the hall as if an invisible wind was pushing violently against me. For a moment I felt dizzy. Then I recovered myself. To my great surprise I suddenly heard an American voice calling out to me, "Hello, come in." It was the voice of an American named Guy Hague, who originally came from Long Beach, California. He told me later that he had been honorably discharged from the American Navy in the Philippines and had then worked his way to India, taking up the study of Yoga when he reached Bombay. Then he heard about Sri Ramana Maharshi and, feeling greatly drawn to him, decided to go to Tiruvannamalai. When I met him he had already been with the Maharshi for a year, sitting uninterruptedly day and night in the hall with the Sage.
He rose from where he was sitting against the wall and came toward me, taking my hand and leading me back to a place beside him against the wall. He did not at first speak to me, allowing me to pull myself together. I was able to look around the hall but my gaze was drawn to Bhagavan who was sitting absolutely straight in the Buddha posture looking directly in front of him. His eyes did not blink or in any way move. Because they seemed so full of light I had the impression they were gray. I learned later that they were brown, although there have been various opinions as to the color of his eyes. His body was naked except for a loincloth. I discovered soon after that this and his staff were absolutely his only possessions. His body seemed firm and as if tanned by the sun, although I found that the only exercise he ever took was a twenty-minute walk every afternoon at five o'clock when he walked on the hill and sometimes greeted Yogis who came to prostrate themselves at his feet. The rest of the time, day and night, and for over half a century, he had been sitting on his couch. He was a strict vegetarian, but he only ate what was placed before him and he never expressed a desire for any kind of food. As he sat there he seemed like a statue, and yet something extraordinary emanated from him. I had a feeling that on some invisible level I was receiving spiritual shock from him although his gaze was not directed toward me. He did not seem to be looking at anything, and yet I felt he could see and was conscious of the whole world.
"Bhagavan is in Samadhi," Guy Hague said.
Samadhi is a very difficult state to explain. In fact I do not think anyone has ever explained it. Doctors have tried to analyze it from a medical and physical point of view, and have failed. I have heard it described as "a state of spiritual ecstasy in which consciousness leaves the body." But this is not the whole phenomenon, as the breath stops and so does the beating of the heart. But it is not a form of trance as in the trance state both of these continue. It is claimed that Samadhi is a state attained only by highly Enlightened people--people who have reached Spiritual Illumination. It is a state where the spirit temporarily leaves the body and goes into one of bliss. All the Enlightened Ones who have attained Samadhi describe it as Bliss. In the last century the great saint Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa often went into Samadhi. The Maharshi would go into it for hours at a time, and often for days. When I arrived at the ashram he had already been in it seven hours.
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Although the meeting between De Acosta and the Wanderling did not come off as expected, not long after her death, an unusual sized package, about three feet by three feet square and around three or four inches thick, arrived in care of him at the studio of an up and coming artist he knew in the Santa Monica/Venice area of California, somewhat west along the coast from Los Angeles. In that package, from De Acosta through Andy Warhol's studio in New York, was a three foot by three foot signed by Warhol artist's proof print of Marilyn Monroe similar in color, tone and texture to the following:
MARGARET WILSON
Margaret Wilson was born 30 April 30, 1886, in Gainsville, GA., the daughter of the twenty-eighth President of the United States (1913-1921) Woodrow Wilson. After reading a book written by the great Indian spiritual master Sri Aurobindo titled Essays on the Gita (which is about Sri Krishna's conversations with Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita), she was extremely moved and decided to meet the author.
She arrived in Pondicherry in October 1938 against the advice of her doctors, who warned her of the ill effects of the tropical climate on her acute arthritic condition.
In those days, the late 1930s, Sri Aurobindo was in complete seclusion; he never left his room. Nevertheless, she went to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, eventually staying there permanently. Four times a year she would see the Master, as others did, for two or three seconds each time. She continued to be deeply moved by Sri Aurobindo's books, by his philosophy, and by his yoga. So she stayed at the Ashram.
Margaret Wilson
Sri Aurobindo eventually gave her the name Nishtha, which means faith-divine faith, intense faith. One who has total faith in the Divine, in God, in the Supreme, is Nishtha. Nishtha became the perfect embodiment of divine faith. She led an exemplary life full of devotion and had a surrendering attitude towards the inner, spiritual life.
In 1940, after the United States joined the war, President Franklin D. Roosevelt sent instructions to evacuate all Americans from India on reports of Japan's threatened invasion of India. But she resisted all pressure from family, friends and the United States government to return to America, and stayed on in the Ashram to fulfill her dream.
In her later years Nishtha developed a serious illness. The Indian doctors, in spite of their best efforts, could not cure her. So one of the doctors suggested to her: "Why don't you go back to America? American doctors are far more advanced than we are in the medical field. If you go back to America, the doctors there will take care of you and cure you." But Nishtha's immediate answer was: "True, the doctors in America can take of my body, but who will take care of my soul? My soul is infinitely more important to me than my physical body. I shall stay here." So she stayed in Pondicherry. She delayed death for a few years more while leading a most dedicated, most spiritual life. She died in Pondicherry, India, February 12, 1944.
Excerpted from Reality-Dream by Sri Chinmoy. [Sri Chinmoy Library] Copyright © 1976
See also: Margaret Wilson
ADRIAN (Adrian Adolph Greenberg,1903-1959), American; Hollywood costume designer who married actress Janet Gaynor in 1938. (back)
