My moving to Shariat Farm really began at a reading by David Cousins January 1997, months before I first set foot on the farm. I hadn't heard of Meher Baba, but David told me that He was standing behind my left shoulder, cranking up my heart that was all run-down.* I hadn't heard of David before this either, but my doctor had encouraged me to participate in the readings and workshops that he was sponsoring, and I appreciated his invitation.
At a second reading David said, "As you put on weight . . . ." And so I found the name of a gym used by a young couple in my apartment building and made plans to join.
During this time period, I received a phone call from a man I didn't know, who gave his name as Jesse—and I thought to mention this new name, Meher Baba. The man had hollered a word so loudly (one I didn't understand) that I had pulled the phone away from my ear but then put it back in time to hear him say that when he returned from a trip, he would give me photos of Meher Baba. Signing in at the gym for the first time, I picked up the pen and noted that the name of the woman ahead of me was Barbara Jesse, my first name and that of the man who had phoned. Unusual, I thought, and walked in.
My attendance became regular.
Each week I began at the treadmill, and as I picked up speed, I saw a vision of an older man with thinning dark hair pulled back, wearing a long, white dress aslant on one shoulder, dancing. I didn't know who he was, but I liked watching.*
On the day I was to pick up those promised photos of Meher Baba, I found the lime rock road described in my directions, turned into sparse woods, followed sand tracks through dried grass to a curve in the road, then stopped at the edge of a field. I was taking in my first view of Shariat Farm (although I didn't know the name then and would not for many months). Tall grasses grew back to where two live oaks, large even from that vantage point, made diminutive a low, faded-peach building. As I slowly drove toward a wide, covered front porch, dogs began barking. Then a man came out of the house and stood watching my car's approach. Opening my car door hesitatingly, assessing how high on my legs the grasses might reach, four dogs rushed the car, and I pulled my leg back in.
Seated on the sofa, recognizing Meher Baba in the photos put in my hands as my dancer, I asked if we could go out a sliding glass door and walk back to where I could hear horses neighing. My love of Shariat Farm was born in those moments.
My realization is, "Events or circumstance that appear related, but are without a known cause, are our opportunities to accept that our lives have guiding encouragements."
* My second husband Stephen Michael Camp returned to spirit in October 1996.
* Prema Jasmine Camp, A Flower for God: A Memoir forthcoming.
