peeling back layers through many tears reveals its core

Friday, December 16, 2011

Ben and Lorna Erskine Visit Yogananda’s Grave and Mt. Washington




Dear Anil,

Just the thought of anyone hurting or snubbing your Mother tears my heart out!! For some reason it took me back to Mt. Washington and I felt inspired to write you a little excerpt from my book:

With our expert, Eagle Scout driver at the wheel, we were soon pulling up to the gates of Forest Lawn Cemetery. Ever attuned to the mood and thoughts of Ben, I couldn't detect tension on his part but I certainly felt it for him! J. who had been here numerous times
led the way to the Mausoleum. He buzzed the door and when a voice answered he said we were there to visit Yogananda. The door opened and my heart pounded as we walked the corridor. The interior of the building was as beautiful as some of the Cathedrals I had so enjoyed in Europe but of course on a smaller scale. This was Ben’s first look at this kind of architecture and I longed to know what he was thinking. I also wondered what J. was feeling, knowing he had once had a profound religious experience here. Suddenly, I felt like an intruder. One man with his Guru, another with the father that could never claim him publicly.  After gazing at the lovely flowers on Yogananda’s crypt and having a few moments of silence, B. and I continued on. Eventually J. caught up with us and said we would leave Ben there to spend time alone. We walked over to the other wing where the 'Last Supper' stained glass was located. An hour later we saw Ben walking towards us in the courtyard. Curiosity consumed me but when I saw the look in his eyes, I decided I would ask him nothing. What had transpired in that hour was between them and really none of my business.

We went in search of my mother’s grave. I wasn't ready for the tears that came when I gazed at her marker. 1915 to 1940, the year of my birth. I had last been here as an eight year old. J. took pictures and as we left I thought of the 'Wee Kirk O' The  Heather' where my Grandmother and the rest of the 'Taylor' clan were buried but this trip was for Ben and I didn’t want to take up precious time on my own sentimental journey.

It was now time to visit Mt. Washington and again I wondered what was going through Ben's mind. We shot around the narrow roads that with cars parked on both sides of
the streets left barely enough room for the Lincoln. If another car approached--someone had to give. We arrived at the beautiful grounds and parked. We covered the entire outside, admired every shrub, flower and waterfall, took many pictures and then climbed the steps to the very well kept former hotel.  In my mind, I went back to the late 20's and early 30's I tried to imagine Mama walking up these steps. What was she feeling and what it must have looked like. Of course, I knew the building was the same but the embellishments had evolved. Was she lugging cameras? Did they call her Adelaide or Gladys? Her friends here had kept in touch with her until she died. Some were very young when they came.

An elderly Lady was looking us over--what a weird feeling I had, the secrets these walls contained. Maybe this woman sitting in a chair, keeping an eye on Masters trappings and treasures had known her and had known her secret. What would she think of these
tourists strolling around if she knew who the very handsome aging man really was? We went back outside, B. and I walked around while the guys stood and talked in earnest conversation for a very long time. People came and went, pulled in and pulled back out, probably many of them doing business for the Mother Center.

It was a good thing we had eaten a large breakfast because it was now time to head
for Lake Shrine and J. was again in the 'navigator mode' with a myriad of maps and his laptop computer.
Well Anil, that’s the second time I have entered a bit of my book in
the computer, and it actually went quicker than I thought it would
but------I have a lot to learn. What do you think?   

Hugs to you both
L and B



Ben and Lorna Erskine Visit Yogananda’s Grave and Mt. Washington

With our expert, Eagle Scout driver at the wheel, we were soon pulling up to the gates of Forest Lawn Cemetery. Ever attuned to the mood and thoughts of Ben, I couldn't detect tension on his part but I certainly felt it for him! J. who had been here numerous times led the way to the Mausoleum. He buzzed the door and when a voice answered he said we were there to visit Yogananda. The door opened and my heart pounded as we walked the corridor. The interior of the building was as beautiful as some of the Cathedrals I had so enjoyed in Europe but of course on a smaller scale. This was Ben’s first look at this kind of architecture and I longed to know what he was thinking. I also wondered what J. was feeling, knowing he had once had a profound religious experience here. Suddenly, I felt like an intruder. One man with his Guru, another with the father that could never claim him publicly. After gazing at the lovely flowers on Yogananda’s crypt and having a few moments of silence, B. and I continued on. Eventually J. caught up with us and said we would leave Ben there to spend time alone. We walked over to the other wing where the 'Last Supper' stained glass was located. An hour later we saw Ben walking towards us in the courtyard. Curiosity consumed me but when I saw the look in his eyes, I decided I would ask him nothing. What had transpired in that hour was between them and really none of my business.

We went in search of my mother’s grave. I wasn't ready for the tears that came when I gazed at her marker. 1915 to 1940, the year of my birth. I had last been here as an eight year old. J. took pictures and as we left I thought of the 'Wee Kirk O' The Heather' where my Grandmother and the rest of the 'Taylor' clan were buried but this trip was for Ben and I didn’t want to take up precious time on my own sentimental journey.

It was now time to visit Mt. Washington and again I wondered what was going through Ben's mind. We shot around the narrow roads that with cars parked on both sides of
the streets left barely enough room for the Lincoln. If another car approached--someone had to give. We arrived at the beautiful grounds and parked. We covered the entire outside, admired every shrub, flower and waterfall, took many pictures and then climbed the steps to the very well kept former hotel. In my mind, I went back to the late 20's and early 30's I tried to imagine Mama walking up these steps. What was she feeling and what it must have looked like. Of course, I knew the building was the same but the embellishments had evolved. Was she lugging cameras? Did they call her Adelaide or Gladys? Her friends here had kept in touch with her until she died. Some were very young when they came.

An elderly Lady was looking us over--what a weird feeling I had, the secrets these walls contained. Maybe this woman sitting in a chair, keeping an eye on Masters trappings and treasures had known her and had known her secret. What would she think of these tourists strolling around if she knew who the very handsome aging man really was? We went back outside, B. and I walked around while the guys stood and talked in earnest conversation for a very long time. People came and went, pulled in and pulled back out, probably many of them doing business for the Mother Center.

It was a good thing we had eaten a large breakfast because it was now time to head
for Lake Shrine and J. was again in the 'navigator mode' with a myriad of maps and his laptop computer.

Lorna

(Note: This is just Lorna's opinion that Ben is Yogananda's son. There is no real proof.)



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