The following is a true story of my first meeting with Mata Amritanandamayi in Michigan in 2014. Known to millions around the world as The Hugging Saint, or Amma (Mother), this amazing woman has embraced countless humans with unconditional love.

राम

It’s mid-afternoon. Though the evening program is still hours away, four or five dozen souls have already gathered. A long, cheerful line wraps around the hotel hallway, a palpable buzz in the air. The jubilant glow of newly-placed Christmas lights and wreaths seem to promise better days ahead.

It feels like a first date. It feels like happy flutters.

And…yet…there’s this fear. I can’t deny it. My head throbs and my hands shake. I’ve heard about this saint from my dear friend Caroline, who stands by my side now. She certainly is a trusted source, this person Caroline…and yet…and yet…

My analytical, highly-trained academic brain is bombarded with worries. I’m feeling totally overwhelmed. All the recently-watched documentaries and videos flash through my mind. The voices of both my excited and concerned friends. The rational, skeptical statements of my former, level-headed professors. Such a long chain of conflicting thoughts and sensations. Is this actually a cult? Why is the guy in front of me frowning and wearing all white? Who is this Amma character, anyway? What’s her hug going to feel like? Are they trying to convert me, hypnotize me, capture me? What are they selling? What do they really want from me?

Sweat drips from my armpits and my breath is coming in short bursts. As I look around, I feel totally out of place—most of the people in this crowd are Indians, and I know nothing about Hinduism. Suddenly, a sermon from the long-dead past is anxiously resurrected in my mind: Jesus lived a long, long time ago, and nobody else will ever be able to do what he did. Magic and miracles have fled from this God-forsaken world a long time ago. Don’t trust false prophets.

Finally, a set of wooden double doors are flung open and the pilgrims gleefully begin taking their tickets out of their pockets. My heartbeat noticeably quickens. My eyes are darting to and fro, vigilantly searching for clues, signs of possible danger. I’m on high alert. And… there’s this very strange feeling in my heart. It feels like a giant wall is about crack.

राम

As Amma walks onto the stage, something new takes form. A new life. Breath begins to draw from a new place.

It’s as if I’ve seen this woman, this great bright brilliant being, a million times before. As if my own mother has just walked onto the stage. Such familiarity. Oh yes, this again. This again.  

Tears start to stream down my face. The headache vanishes; my stomach settles. The present moment now is all there is. Clocks are killed forever.

Indeed, there’s nothing material here, nothing Earthly or normal; there’s only this heavenly realm with Amma.  

The next part is a blur. There’s lively bhajans (Hindu devotional songs), as well as a beautiful guided meditation and inspirational talk given by Amma. The chairs are rather uncomfortable and all of the words are in Hindi—but, somehow, none of this matters. I’m spellbound. I’m captivated by every movement of Amma’s, every innocent gesture. The way Amma scratches her arm, the way her smile looks like a combination of a shy schoolgirl mixed with a rebellious teenager. Amma’s white robe; her thick, short frame; and the white & red circle of ash in the center of her forehead. All so beautiful, so unspeakably beautiful.

राम

When Anya’s ticket number is finally called, somewhere around midnight, she leaps to her feet, buoyant with an unfamiliar energy. For the past few hours, she’s been sitting, stunned, watching grown men drop to their knees in overwhelmed, cathartic sobs. She’s been watching children come alive and women dance in ecstasy.

Her mind is now totally free from worry. With every passing inch, every passing footstep closer and closer to Amma, not only does time stop but colors become more vibrant. There are sparkling swirls in the air. It feels like a mushroom trip. An energy portal opens over her head, and the Reiki effortlessly flows.

The hug lasts five, maybe six seconds. Amma whispers Hindi words into Anya’s ear. The meaning is somehow perfectly clear.

Anya releases fully. She falls into the hug with her whole being. It is not a choice. 

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Anya Light is a poet, Reiki teacher, sound healer, and yogi. To receive more writings & support from Anya Light, please subscribe to her blog on Patreon.