Jesse S. Hanson's Blog

Changed the name of my blog—but the “Name” is still the same

 I’ve changed the name of my blog to jesse s. hanson Words.

 The Link seems to have remained the same.

A Grateful Man─a lyric

All best wishes for the New Year to my Dear Readers.
New Year’s Eve─2016─and I’m sick with  stomach flue, or some approximation of that ailment. But I’m feeling good enough, for now, to want to post another lyric on my lyrics page. I’ll put it here as a blog first as my little contribution and acknowledgement of the New Year. Hope you won’t mind a bit longer than usual introduction to the lyric; I think it will aid in the reading of it.

Lilasuka is out grocery shopping with her son, Narottama, and his wife Lyndsey (visiting from Portland). Tomorrow we’ll be celebrating Christmas at our house with them as well as my three, and their five, collective children. They’re all doing mostly well─relatively (pun intended and both meanings implied) speaking.

My Dad’s gone several years now. Mom’s doing mostly well and is cheerful, for the most part, and even jolly frequently though she has, in the last couple of years, had to relinquish her house and car and move into an assisted living facility. It’s a good one, as those places go and it’s in her home town so she knows all the others there.

I’ve been married to Lilasuka now for fifteen or sixteen years─I’m not at all good with dates. They’ve been, in many ways, the best of my years. We’ve lived just outside of the Krsna community for the last few of these; it was a returning home for her. Myself, I have very few long time friends. I’m sad about that. Apparently, things in common have fallen away with absence. My most dear rescuer/benefactor/spiritual Master has never left me, has tirelessly followed me around, even when I neglected to follow Him or His behests.

But so much sadness and pain over the years from broken marriages and separated family and friends. I’ve written so many songs and poems in dealing with these things, in attempt to make them “larger that life”. Because life can so easily become small and weak. So I’ve made anthems to the tragic. I know I’m not alone in that endeavor.

─Once, Master Kirpal Singh was sitting with some disciples and one of them said to Him: “Master, thank You for everything.” and Master looked at the disciple and said, “for Everything?” The disciple had to reflect for a moment, but then replied in the affirmative.─

So that is the spirit of my song here, A Grateful Man (Yes, for everything). The word vichorde, in the lyrics, is a form of the Punjabi term for separation.

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A Grateful Man
          Jesse S. Hanson
Vichorde, vichorde; I’ve been in love for so long

My colorful life has gone grey; I know there’s things I’m doin’ wrong

But… someday my ship come in; my confidence is not misplaced

This is the song of a grateful man, for every trial that I’ve faced
 As I look out on these misty hills; so many things they call to mind

A man goes where his Maker wills, and then he leaves it all behind

A wisp of smoke in a lonesome dream, though it seems quite strange and real

I sing this You this song, a grateful man, for every sorrow I’ve been made to feel
              Once again I’m gone to pieces

              In the face of everything that I can see

              My mind has always done just as it pleases

              Unfaithful mind, I don’t know how you can be

             

              Once again I’m gone to pieces

              In the face of everything that I believe

              My mind has always gone just where it pleases

              Unfaithful mind, I don’t know how you can be
Vichorde, vichorde; He separates the night and day

I feel that I’ve been cast away, so long ago but who can say

In the market place or on a desert island, if by chance our paths should cross

I’ll sing you this song of a grateful man for everything that I’ve lost
Vichorde, vichorde; I’ve been in love for so long

My colorful life has gone grey; I know there’s things I’m doin’ wrong

But… someday my ship come in; my confidence is not misplaced

This is the song of a grateful man, for every trial that I’ve faced

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Charm

Just got back from a 3 day meditation retreat in Lexington, Virginia―a place in the forest called Sat Guru Dham. The photo here is not from that trip, but in a similar way, I played some of my songs for the other satsangis at the outdoor langar (free kitchen). It was very nice to have even the most cryptic of my lyrics understood and appreciated.

I told a few about how I had traveled to Bangalore last winter and met Baba Ram Singh Ji―spent two weeks meditating and attending His satsangs―how jolly and beautiful and how full of authority He was. How to tell people about Him without proselytizing? haven’t quite figured it out. But here it is, almost a year later and I’m still under His charm.

Under the Charm

 I can see my desires rising up so clearly

I can feel my loss; falling down so dearly

the gift of love, again, missed so nearly

It seems that life is a game that no one can win

It’s all arranged so cleverly and queerly

Are we born to live?

Or are we born to die?

Some say we can choose our view

yet both the young and the old

still wonder why

and neither know what to do.

Whether we look at the earth

or look beyond the sky

none of it, real or true

Then You come with Your revealing story

with Your mystic love and Your graceful glory

into the world for some time

of all things forgotten, You remind

Then all our weary old hearts are breaking

with Your every familiar glance

Then the very earth begins shaking

just like our trembling hands

Then the pains of all the ages aching

pour forth at such a chance

All relatives and dreams of relatives we are forsaking

as You walk upon these ancient and bitter lands

Then, no more plans are we making

under the charm of this romance

But, what of our failures; what of our crimes

Every moment our guilt is exposed in these hard times

You say, “Judge not!” but all we do is judge

We wipe the mirror, but we only make a smudge

My friends say, “Jesse, don’t take it so seriously, man!”

My answer is that we all do what we can.

Then You come and Sweet Justice falters

goes out the back door with his chains and his altars

with his curse of impending doom

and now, at last, we can breathe in this room

Now the timid day dreamers are free to make friends

Now the desperate self-defeaters can make our amends

We lowly floor cleaners will stand as women and men

Even these of ghostly poor demeanor may come forth again.

           

Love Like the Spring

Wow, I published this without a title. If forgetfulness was the goal, I’d probably be quite successful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As stated in a previous post, my upcoming memoir and my upcoming collection of song lyrics and poetry is now an upcoming work of the two as one.

So, in this post I’ve included both a song lyric and a poem:

The lyric is full of the gloom of winter. It has a pretty and melancholy little finger picking melody which carries it along I think. I hope readers will be able to appreciate it standing alone here.

Yet it doesn’t entirely stand alone, as the poem is a hopeful one of a spiritual Springtime.

As always, I really appreciate your coming by to read. Please leave a comment if your so inclined.     Namaste, jesse

p.s. The photo is from Seattle in my street musician days, back in the 70’s.

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Winter

(a song lyric)

Every day I have to come back

Every day I have to bring myself back

from this love or some other

from my cold-hearted brother

the untrue friend

We spend these years together

We search for God and then He finds us

Yet now you write and call me never

You fill the empty miles on this crowded bus

with all this nothing to discuss

fair weather, fair weather

Every day I have to wake up

Every day I have to shake myself up

from this love or the last

from all daydreams of the past

      the faithless lover

With the innocence of the intimate

in the spring we planted a child

In expectation of the benefit

we believe that nature has smiled

but your heart is never reconciled

and that will mean the end of it.

Every day I have to come clean

Every day I must admit what I’ve seen

of this love and all the rest

No love can pass the test

     the false God

creates the hope that lasts so long

as we dance by the midnight oil

as we sing the traveler’s song

where in the garden of  love we toil

where we grow like dreams in the fertile soil

until the winter comes along

Every day I have to write a verse

Every day I have to fight the curse

of this lie and every one

for the truth that must begun

      for the only one

Only the hopeless have reason to hope

Only the lost can be found

When finally we come to the end of our rope

at the end of the world there is a sound

something to stand on when feet leave the ground

some light in the darkest… where we grope.

Love Like the Spring

(a poem)

Baba Ram Singh Ji of Bangalore giving darshan to a four-legged friend

Maybe now Spring will come, now that news of You has preceded

Winter has been left with all the burden

he was given no choice

he could give but little comfort, yet he gave what was needed

We’ve dreamt of you in colors white and true and pure

We’ve imagined You—we didn’t know who You were

when we would go to bed crying from the cold

when we’d wake up, still dying from growing old

Are these the days of old, or is the world yet young?

For all we know, we’re in the dark

just primitives around the fire

all simulation, full of wow and flutter

ending lonely, homeless, reduced to mutter

while the world races along on fuel and spark

When my Master left, I had not yet begun

I stood alone on the hot sand beneath the burning sun

I turned stupidly, confused, and in all directions

not another living soul to understand my objections

When Winter came, it was good to be buried

under the snow so deep, under the frozen grass

until the longing could stir again

But as a seeker I have no skills

I go this way and that; so vulnerable against strong wills

But could my weakness prove to be Your strength at last?

You begged Him to accept that man on the end

who had consumed alcohol and meat, so then

Maybe, for me too, You could put such a request

that could soften His heart—since I can’t pass the test

since I’ve never become strong like the rest

since all my failures, I’ve confessed

Maybe You will appear like the Spring

bringing the sun and the rain in contrast

over the windswept hills of this time

Maybe love will have no choice

but to sing of my pain and loss with Your voice

but to answer with the future and to leave behind the past

 

           

As stated in a previous post, my upcoming memoir and my u...

As stated in a previous post, my upcoming memoir and my upcoming collection of song lyrics and poetry is now an upcoming work of the two as one.

So, in this post I’ve included both a song lyric and a poem:

The lyric is full of the gloom of winter. It has a pretty and melancholy little finger picking melody which carries it along I think. I hope readers will be able to appreciate it standing alone here.

Yet it doesn’t entirely stand alone, as the poem is a hopeful one of a spiritual Springtime.

As always, I really appreciate your coming by to read. Please leave a comment if your so inclined.     Namaste, jesse

p.s. The photo is from Seattle in my street musician days, back in the 70′s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter

(a song lyric)

Every day I have to come back

Every day I have to bring myself back

from this love or some other

from my cold-hearted brother

the untrue friend

We spend these years together

We search for God and then He finds us

Yet now you write and call me never

You fill the empty miles on this crowded bus

with all this nothing to discuss

fair weather, fair weather

Every day I have to wake up

Every day I have to shake myself up

from this love or the last

from all daydreams of the past

      the faithless lover

With the innocence of the intimate

in the spring we planted a child

In expectation of the benefit

we believe that nature has smiled

but your heart is never reconciled

and that will mean the end of it.

Every day I have to come clean

Every day I must admit what I’ve seen

of this love and all the rest

No love can pass the test

     the false God

creates the hope that lasts so long

as we dance by the midnight oil

as we sing the traveler’s song

where in the garden of  love we toil

where we grow like dreams in the fertile soil

until the winter comes along

Every day I have to write a verse

Every day I have to fight the curse

of this lie and every one

for the truth that must begun

      for the only one

Only the hopeless have reason to hope

Only the lost can be found

When finally we come to the end of our rope

at the end of the world there is a sound

something to stand on when feet leave the ground

some light in the darkest… where we grope.

Love Like the Spring

(a poem)

Maybe now Spring will come, now that news of You has preceded

Winter has been left with all the burden

he was given no choice

he could give but little comfort, yet he gave what was needed

We’ve dreamt of you in colors white and true and pure

We’ve imagined You—we didn’t know who You were

when we would go to bed crying from the cold

when we’d wake up, still dying from growing old

Are these the days of old, or is the world yet young?

For all we know, we’re in the dark

just primitives around the fire

all simulation, full of wow and flutter

ending lonely, homeless, reduced to mutter

while the world races along on fuel and spark

When my Master left, I had not yet begun

I stood alone on the hot sand beneath the burning sun

I turned stupidly, confused, and in all directions

not another living soul to understand my objections

When Winter came, it was good to be buried

under the snow so deep, under the frozen grass

until the longing could stir again

But as a seeker I have no skills

I go this way and that; so vulnerable against strong wills

But could my weakness prove to be Your strength at last?

You begged Him to accept that man on the end

who had consumed alcohol and meat, so then

Maybe, for me too, You could put such a request

that could soften His heart—since I can’t pass the test

since I’ve never become strong like the rest

since all my failures, I’ve confessed

Maybe You will appear like the Spring

bringing the sun and the rain in contrast

over the windswept hills of this time

Maybe love will have no choice

but to sing of my pain and loss with Your voice

but to answer with the future and to leave behind the past

 

           

Spirituality ◊ a poem or something

Stepping out on a limb with this one. Hope you will appreciate it. Had to get it out; it was weighing me down. As always, I am very grateful to my readers. Please comment if you feel so inclined. I’m glad tomatoes are out of season. (:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spirituality

It seems like the closer we get to people on the outside

the farther away they are on the inside

I would gather my friends about me

but I can’t bear to feel that lonely

I heard my friend crying out

in the mournful way of the forlorn

and I ran to bring some comfort

but when I arrived, that voice was dying out

and I was greeted with such scorn

Spirituality is a lonesome battle

don’t kid yourself, old son

Spirituality is a bitter pill

don’t look at anyone

Spirituality is a chain gang, man

the worst is yet to come

Spirituality comes as a hypocrite, saying

This is the way it’s done

Spirituality is a blind eye turned

to the dying embers of the sun

Spirituality is an empty park

where the children used to run

Spirituality is a well of impatience

where we drink our leaders’ poison

Spirituality is a pecking order

where the strongest beast is the one enjoying

Spirituality is a parade of masks

in which, all secrets are revealed

Spirituality is a fairy tale

where the hearts of fools are sealed

Spirituality is the sport of the pompous

of the gurus and the pundits

Spirituality is for the hairy apes

My god, I’ve been there, done it

Aren’t you tired of what spirituality is?

of what it has become?

Aren’t you tired of, even religion being more pure

I thought maybe you were

Aren’t you tired of dying in false promise?

of your brother being your enemy?

I’m tired of spirituality, I tell you

I’m a spring wound tight to breaking for spirituality

I’m a lunatic with hands a’shaking

Get me out of this god dammed spirituality asylum

where no one has a clue!

Think all you have to do

is say God, God, God

Well… I’ll hide it from you

If you want them to think you’re crazy

just tell them one thing that’s true

Spirituality is a firm and stern correction

for reaching out to anyone

Spirituality is the distant echo

of a graveyard full of fun

Spirituality is the common thread

of the burned out bitter ones

Spirituality is perpetual movement

toward nothing ever getting done

Spirituality is at the gates of fear

where the pitiful wailing songs are sung

All I wanted was to love and be loved

How did I get involved with this spirituality?

I heard my friend crying out

in a voice so lost and real

and I ran to bring some comfort

but when I arrived, that voice was dying out

as if, after all, it was no big deal

 

 

The BlueHome Artworks Tea House Project

Dear Readers,      This is a re-post from The BlueHome Blog (the blog I write for bluehomeartworks.com). If you follow that link you can read about BlueHome Artworks, which is—in a nutshell—a consignment outlet in support of the artists and craftspersons in the New Vrindavan, West Virginia community and surrounding area.

I just wanted to share the post here also, as it relates and is important to me personally, as a songwriter, musician, and poet. I hope you’ll enjoy the read, and if you’re local, come out and join us. As always, thanks for visiting my blog, and please leave a comment if so inclined.   Namaste, jesse

The BlueHome Artworks Tea House Project

The following is a blog in two parts:

The first part serves as an announcement of an event that will be held bi-monthly in New Vrindavan.

The second part is Lilasuka’s article (Lilasuka—as the Communications Director for New Vrindavan—writes most of the NV news articles) in the Brijabasi Spirit Blog. I’ve simply re-posted that blog article.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Dearest Friends and Devotees,

Jesse and Lilasuka Hanson would like to invite you to be part of a new bi-monthly    coffee     Tea House Project, hosted by the   BlueHome  Artworks Gift Shop:  

Essentially, it will be a Songwriters, Musicians, and Poetry Circle. This will be a very unique and informal group, plus the public will be invited to attend—no charge—come and go as you please. New Vrindavan’s own remarkably talented cast of songwriters, musicians, storytellers, and poets will be taking turns, sharing their work and their talents in an informal setting. The event will be easy on the ears—acoustic (meaning without amplification or drums, other than a microphone for the vocalists or readers, when necessary, and the possibility of low volume bass/lead guitar or other instruments requiring electricity, played at low volumes). Hand percussion, such as mrdanga, tabla, djembe, etc. will of course be welcome.

Musicians, don’t worry if you’re not a songwriter. When it’s your turn, play whatever tasteful music you like. Our intention is just that this project is open to creativity, and kirtan will not be the focus, but neither will it be excluded.

The Teahouse Project was inspired by an informal gathering held at the gift shop last Sunday, when Jaya Rishi gathered a few musicians together.

The next event will be held in the music room of the school on Thursday evening, February 14 (happens to be Valentines Day), at 5:30 pm. Subsequent events will be held on the 2nd and 4th Thursdays of each month.

We wanted to get the word out, asap, but we will, of course, send another reminder before the first Tea House event.

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A Delightful Impromptu Song Swapping Circle

Posted by ls
January 28, 2013

by Lilasuka dasi

The other day,  after the Sunday feast, some of New Vrindavan’s finest musical talents dropped by the BlueHome Artworks Gift Shop. They went there to share their music and to jam along with each other’s songs.

The night before, Jaya Rishi had approached Jesse, “I’ve invited some musicians to my room in the temple after the Sunday feast to get together for some music. Would you and Lila like to come?”

“Sure, thank you. But, hey, why not have it at Bluehome Artworks Gift Shop, where it might be more roomy and comfortable? And besides, since your room’s in the men’s asrama,  then Lila will actually be able to come.”

And so it was.   Everyone sat in a circle in the Gift Shop, and one at a time, each musician led a song of their choice.  Most of the musicians there sang songs that they themselves had written.

After they’d gone around the circle about 3 times, everyone seemed very satisfied. Some were pleasantly surprised hearing their godsiblings’ music for the first time.

Jason, a new devotee at New Vrindavan who has been a drummer for some time, said, “I’ve been very interested in getting involved somehow in music in New Vrindavan, so this gathering has been especially nice for me.”

Jesse explains, “This music event tonight really inspired me toward a project in which I’ve been interested for some time. Lila and I have wanted to host gatherings of musicians, songwriters, poets and writers, since N.V. is a community full of talent. Tonight turned out to be a great start!”

Jesse added, “I especially liked the way everyone took turns and paid attention to each other’s offerings.”

Look for an invitation to be sent out soon, inviting everyone, including listeners, to future gatherings of this type.

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Well… the invitation is, of course, in the first part of this post.

Setting My Sights

Setting My Sights

Yes, I’ve been conspicuously absent. I’ve been working night and day to establish our  BlueHome Artworks consignment shop within the New Vrindaban Community.  I started a blog there as part of the online store/website: The BlueHome Blog, where I talk about the value of thinking small, in terms of supporting small and local businesses, artisans making hand crafted products, agriculture, etc. Village economy, really.

So you can check that sight and blog out if you’re inclined to. Here, I intend to maintain my personal stuff, including my writing, my spiritual quest and ponderings, etc. I know; it’s a summer picture, but the current view is a little bleak right now, since we don’t have snow yet—at least not any that’s stuck.

So here’s my new poem. It does, in fact, contain some of those ponderings. I hope you enjoy it. As always, I invite you to comment if you feel like it.

Setting my Sights

Jesse S. Hanson

My Father is dead but my real Father lives

My real Father is dead but my even more real Father lives

Jesse is gone but then he never was

I never could find him

Just some vague familiarity with someone who always disappointed

Where is my family, my kin?

I wait for them on the shore where the boats come and go

But not them, no

Where are my dogs and my horses?

I don’t see them run and bark and whinny

Over the hills, willy-nilly

Where are my girls, where are my boys?

My songs are dead but my real song sings

My dreams are dead but my real dream waits

For me to wake up

From dead and dying dreams

I have to set out

I have to go on a fearsome adventure

I have to set out across the wilderness with only faith

Since I lack courage

Since I lack vision

Since I lack identity

I’ve always had to cry as the years have gone by

Where are my rolling prairies?

Well, those men have plowed them

Where are my towering hills and splendid valleys?

Those men cut them down, dug them out, they were sold out for baubles

And a plastic future

Where is my beach, my little house on the ocean?

All washed up, built up, soiled, overgrown, weeds and litter

My land is dead but my real land lives

My Father is buried but my real Father lives

My real Father is cremated but my more real Father lives

Jesse is gone but then he never was

I have to go to another land

I will grow weary of this childish tantrum

These sentimental tears

I will become forgetful of all things behind me

Become tired of mourning a life that did not care for me

A home that was not there for me

I’ll set my sights on the unknown distance

Across the ocean of this lost existence

My Father is dead but he’ll be forgotten

My real Father has gone on ahead

My even more real Father is here waiting.

Here We Are Wandering

Walking on the Earth

In my continuing, if sporadic, effort toward a volume of poetry and song lyrics, I was last night inspired by revisiting an email sent to the One who inspires me. 

Separated from our true home we wander over the earth in seeming perpetuity. At times, it seems a cruel fate indeed. Our only recourse is to cry out for rescue and liberation.

Here I’ve likened the separation from our Creator to an earthly separation as the time draws near for our Guru Ji to journey across the sea to America: http://jesseshanson.wordpress.com/sirio-carrapa-ji/information-about-sirios-august-2012-visit-to-usa/

As always, I appreciate your stopping by my blog and I invite you to comment, should you be so inclined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here We Are Wandering

                     jesse s. hanson

Here we are wandering upon an ancient land

with every step our feet come down

where countless feet have tread before

where ages and dreams of ages have come and gone

species creeping, walking, thundering, blundering

Here we are, together and alone

Where has the God gone

who planted us here

who sold us over to this place

for great devotion

far beyond our means

we cannot pay the price

we don’t even understand the price

Where has this God gone who is said to love us

to care what happens

We don’t want to be cynical

we don’t want to be sarcastic

or to know hopelessness

or depression

In Your country things are tended to

maintained

the gardens are watered

the weeds pulled

the roofs are repaired

the roads in Your country are not full of holes

the old things are preserved

as dignity requires

Here we fall down drunk

on misrepresented history

with misguided priority

we wear the masks of nationalism

harnessed with the yoke of insecurity

sated by the gluttony of insufficiency

driven by the fear of losing our grip

as we wield an iron fist gone to rubber

We don’t want to be drunks

addicts

braggarts

bullies

death wishers

incompetents

who fall down

we really don’t

we want to be lovers

but what are our chances

these habits have ruined us

even as we strut about

like sillies

but big enough to hurt others

to be trouble

We want to be lovers

we want to be sevadars

who contribute

students of truth

sisters and brothers

family

spiritual warriors

spiritual athletes

full of modesty

and compassion

and trust

even separated from You as we are

by that great unknown ocean

Oh Sirio Ji, we are lost in this poor and broken country

Please come and repair us.

Concerning the Masters of my Spiritual Path

Here I have listed a selection of websites with Information concerning the Masters of my spiritual Path. This ancient Path has been known by various names down through the course of history, including: Sant Mat—Surat Shabd Yoga—The Path of the Masters—The Way of the Saints—Science of the Soul—Radasoami Satsang—Ruhani Satsang, and many others, depending upon the lineage and culture of the Living Master of the time.

http://www.ruhanisatsangusa.org/ruhani.htm       –a USA based site in memory of Kirpal Singh of Delhi, India [1894-1974](first Sant Mat Master to visit the Western world. Master Kirpal first came to America in the 1950′s.)This is a great site for obtaining Master Kirpal’s books and other media.

http://www.santji.allegre.ca/4-index.html         –USA based memorial site for Ajaib Singh of Rajasthan, India [1926-1997] (Gurumukh disciple of Kirpal Singh­—Jesse’s Master)

http://www.santji.allegre.ca/lifesj/lifesj.html       –this is a page from the previous site, but I listed it here because it contains both a beautiful brief biography of Sant Ji and a lineage of the Masters, going back to Kabir, Who was the first Sant Mat Master to appear in the age of Kali Yuga.

        http://www.ajaibbani.org/        – this India based website was created and is maintained by the residents of Ajaib’s home and ashram in Rajasthan. 

http://www.mediaseva.com/        –this website is a great source of the books and other media of the modern Masters. It is run by the devotees of Sadhu Ram Ji.

http://www.santbani.hu/      –a website concerning Sirio Carrapa of Ribolla, Italy [1952-    ](Italian Gurumukh disciple of Kirpal Singh and Ajaib Singh­—this is the Master Jesse is now following after Ajaib left His Body.) This is the English version of a site that originates in Hungary.

www.santbaniashram.it        –the original Italian website about Satguru Sirio Carrapa (a beautiful and informative website, but difficult to navigate for non-Italians)     

http://jesseshanson.wordpress.com/sirio-carrapa-ji/     Jesse’s blog, which includes numerous posts about Master Sirio, including the story of his trip to Italy to meet the Master,  and also a page dedicated exclusively to Sirio Ji   

There is a great variety of sites with information regarding Sant Mat. It’s a natural fact that when a true Man of God, or Godman, leaves the earthly plane, there are often a number of successors who carry on the work of their Master. Sometimes there are controversies among the devotees over the authenticity of these successors.

With that in mind, but having no intention of in engaging in controversy, I have noted here only a certain few websites that concern the Guru lineage, as I understand it leading to my Masters, Ajaib and Sirio. The authenticity of other branches: I honestly know little of them. I understand spirituality as a very personal experience, and that, in all reality, we do not choose or find our Master or Guru, but rather He finds us. He leads us to Him. He makes us come to the satsang. He makes us sit and meditate. He makes us do His seva (service). It is all in His Will and pleasure.

Most fortunate are the recipients of the Guru’s undying, unconditional, and all-encompassing Love.