His divine invocations continued. I sat rigidly motionless on the
grass amid the pink feathery tamarisk flowers. Temporarily absent
from the body, I soared in a supernal visit.

This was the first of many pilgrimages to Dakshineswar with the holy
teacher. From him I learned the sweetness of God in the aspect of
Mother, or Divine Mercy. The childlike saint found little appeal in
the Father aspect, or Divine Justice. Stern, exacting, mathematical
judgment was alien to his gentle nature.

"He can serve as an earthly prototype for the very angels of
heaven!" I thought fondly, watching him one day at his prayers.
Without a breath of censure or criticism, he surveyed the world
with eyes long familiar with the Primal Purity. His body, mind,
speech, and actions were effortlessly harmonized with his soul's
simplicity.

"My Master told me so." Shrinking from personal assertion, the
saint ended any sage counsel with this invariable tribute. So deep
was his identity with Sri Ramakrishna that Master Mahasaya no longer
considered his thoughts as his own.

Hand in hand, the saint and I walked one evening on the block of his
school. My joy was dimmed by the arrival of a conceited acquaintance
who burdened us with a lengthy discourse.

"I see this man doesn't please you." The saint's whisper to me was
unheard by the egotist, spellbound by his own monologue. "I have
spoken to Divine Mother about it; She realizes our sad predicament.
As soon as we get to yonder red house, She has promised to remind