by Sonia Linebaugh: Mother Meera:  It was 1994 when I first wrote about my spiritual mother on these pages. I said then that Mother Meera is an extraordinary gardener, silently nourishing a steady flow of visitors to her tidy German home as though they were gardens deserving of the most tender care. Now, I add that Mother’s nourishment continues as constant as rain and sunshine.

On a recent trip, people of many nations and ages gathered at Mother Meera’s home for her silent blessing. As always, each one offered their head to Mother’s waiting hands for a few seconds, then offered their eyes for her loving scrutiny. As always, all were received with unconditional love and undivided attention.

Inevitably, evening silence gave way to morning chatter. At my pension, every breakfast conversation followed an unscripted pattern: Where are you from? How did you learn about Mother Meera? I’ve received so much. Aren’t we lucky? Isn’t it a miracle?

A German woman smiled delicately as she told me, “This is my second visit. I heard about her from a friend. I just want to climb up onto her lap and let her hold me. She is so loving. Aren’t we lucky?”

A German woman smiled delicately as she told me, “This is my second visit. I heard about her from a friend. I just want to climb up onto her lap and let her hold me. She is so loving. Aren’t we lucky?”

Mother Meera’s entrance is preceded by a swish of fabric. Her rust/red sari is sprinkled with gold paisley. Her eyes sparkle as two hundred heads lean to her in turn, as four hundred eyes offer themselves to her scrutiny.

A young French woman, on her way to visit her parents for the first time in ten years, was tense, nervous, unsure why she’d come. Four days later as she boarded the train, she smiled and struggled for words, “I don’t know what I think about Mother Meera. Maybe I’ll come again, maybe not. But-t-t-t there is some kind of shift. Two weeks ago I really didn’t want to see my parents. Now I feel happy. I’m looking forward to it even though it won’t all be easy. It’s lucky, isn’t it?”

Mother Meera holds each head and studies each pair of eyes with infinite patience. The silence grows deeper, the light more golden though the German rain grows more sodden.

An American man tells me, “My office closed and I lost my job here in Germany. I heard about Mother Meera and planned to visit her before I left for America. I called her home and told her my problems. Even before I went to see her, I got a call with a job offer. That was five years ago. I’ve felt her support ever since then. I’m really lucky.”

In the silent room, the parade of heads and eyes continues. In the air, white light is dappled with gold. As I kneel before her, cool fingers coolly grasp my head. Delicious is the only word I can muster. Then her eyes search mine, serious and loving.

A Swiss woman has been coming to Mother’s home since 1988. “She is truly a mother. She brings us everything. Our lives are so noisy with cell phones, email, movies. We come here because we need Mother to teach us in silence. It’s a miracle.”

Too light to reach down to the floor, I float to my seat on feet that barely graze the carpet. I feel myself in a high place full of bliss in a shimmering golden shape. Gradually, gradually my weight returns and the carpet presses my soles.

Cuban sisters arrived together. One, a German resident, was astonished to find the blessings of this beautiful young mother an hour from her home. “Isn’t it lucky?” The other, who lives in Venezuela, wants, she said, “nothing less than unconditional love.”

I remember my first visit: When she looks in my eyes, I feel love from her, more love than I could ever have imagined. Unconditional love.

After the last person, Mother Meera sits for a few moments. Eyes downcast. We seem enveloped in golden light and settled into deeper silence. Then she rises and slips silently out of the room. Her visitors, feeling freshly tended, depart by car, train and plane, back home to busy lives to find out just what has happened to us here. Home to discover how our gardens grow. Aren’t we lucky? Isn’t it a miracle?