It began with a paperback I saw in 1989, Be as You Are – The Teachings of Ramana Maharshi by David Godman, but what caught my eye was the photo of a man's face on the cover, with a mountain in the background. Mesmerized by this face, I bought the book. Within it I found a masterly summary of his teaching. On page two it said, “Venkataram (who was later known as Ramana Maharshi.) often said that it was the spiritual power of Arunachala (a mountain) which had brought about his realization”. At that moment I knew that I would go to Arunachala.

But where exactly was it? In South India, it said, but South India is a big place. In those days, before the world wide web, how would I find out? I went to the library in Bristol and got the biggest atlas of India I could find. No sign of Arunachala at all. Who would know? Well I supposed David Godman would know, but there was no address for him either. I decided to write to him in care of the publishers. I asked him where Arunachala was, and how to get there from Britain, and where I could stay. Everything I could think of. After some weeks a letter came from David. There was a town called Tiruvannamalai, which was not on the map either. I needed to take a plane to the city of Madras and the mountain would be about 125 miles south. Best not to take a train as there was civil unrest in India at the time and trains were being attacked and buses were being overturned and set on fire, often without letting the passengers off first! It would be best to get a taxi for the trip. Ensure, he said, that the driver is not drunk before you start.This was going to be an adventure.

Actually my sensible self was aghast. It already associated India with cholera, poverty and poisonous snakes. I must be crazy. My husband was implacably opposed to my going on all rational grounds. I knew he was right, but I found myself surreptitiously looking for plane tickets. Most were around £700, a huge amount for me. I couldn't possibly spend that amount of our household budget. Then, one day in August I thought of an old friend of mine who had been a hippy wandering through India in the seventies. I had heard him talk about getting a very cheap “bucket shop” ticket. He would know how to do that. He did. “Ring this number,” he said “and speak to Mr Kittu, if he is still in business.”

Mr Kittu sounded busy and in a hurry on the line. Yes he could get me a ticket for the date I suggested in October. I must send him a check straight away for £450 made out to Mr S. Kittu and he would send me the ticket by registered post. My sensible mind was saying NO! NO! This must be dodgy! But I sent off the check with my heart in my mouth. I realized there was no guarantee the ticket would come. And it didn't.

Weeks passed, more than a month went by. I went ahead getting the suggested vaccines, tetanus, typhoid, cholera, yellow fever, and taking malaria tablets. Would this be all in vain? Still no ticket. The date for my departure drew nearer. I rang Mr Kittu anxiously several times. Sometimes I got through – to an Indian lady who was vague and did not understand me. “He not here today!” She would say, and slam the phone down.

Finally, a week before my trip was due I got through to him. “Do not worry madam, it is coming!” he said. Was I to believe him? I didn't know. Then two days before the flight an envelope came by registered post. It was my ticket! I was on my way.

After a hair-raising five-hour taxi ride from Madras, I arrived at the ashram. I was exhausted. My sensible mind was giving me no rest in its constant reminder that I was crazy to be doing this. Ramana himself had died in 1950 after all. What on Earth was I thinking of coming all this way just to see a mountain? I must be mad. Probably was.

But another part of me could not wait, and I went straight from the taxi to the meditation hall where Ramana had held his darshans, where he received visitors, reclining on a long sofa.

As I pushed the door open, I was met by an atmosphere of deep silence and peace. I expected the room to be crowded, so I was amazed to find it empty. The sofa was still there, and on it was a very large full length photo of Ramana, taken in that very place. Emboldened by the emptiness, I went right up to the front near the photo and sat on the floor before it. I closed my eyes for a moment as my breath settled down (I think I had more or less run to the hall).

I had arrived. Finally, I was here and had reached my goal after all that struggle. The memory of the journey dropped completely away and I was totally there in the now.
Then, after a moment, I sensed someone’s presence nearby. I opened my eyes slowly and looked at the photo. To my absolute astonishment, it had come to life. Ramana's head turned and I saw his chest move as he was breathing. He was alive and smiling at me in welcome!

Part of me was protesting “I don't believe this! It can't be happening!” But it WAS happening all the same. I couldn't begin to explain it, but there it was.
I felt , I KNEW, that Ramana was delighted that I had come, like a loving parent welcoming his child, full of affection and acceptance. I, in turn, felt a great opening of the heart in response. It was certainly a miracle, but I have come to accept that miracles happen in India, perhaps facilitated by the strength of people's devotion and belief. David told me later that this had happened to a few other people too, when they were very dedicated.

After some time I got up. The room was still empty. I returned to the ashram office where I had left my suitcase when I had asked directions to the meditation hall. I was shown my little first floor room in the concrete block of cells for visitors, and settled down for my five-week stay.

Next morning, I ventured out to see the temple where Ramana had spent a lot of his time in a little cell when he first came here from his home in Madurai. The temple is huge and there are several gates, each one guarded by a man who ensures you take off your sandals before entering. I had not bargained on that. The ground within the temple precinct was covered in coarse straw, mud slurry and what, by their size, were clearly elephant droppings. I looked down at my little English feet, soft and ivory-clean and vulnerable-looking after a lifetime within the protective confines of socks and shoes. The little toes looked up at me appealing.
“Surely not?” they seemed to be pleading.

“Courage mes amis!” I murmured to them, as I shed the protective sandals. Ignoring my mind's alarmed suggestions about fatal infection if I cut my foot, I picked my way cautiously through the sticky straw, avoiding the large brown lumps as far as possible.

Then I saw the elephant herself, huge and gray. I hurried towards her in delight, at once forgetting about my feet. She turned and seemed to spot me in return. As I approached, she swung her huge head around and lifting her trunk slowly she touched me gently on my head with the tip of it.

It was a blessing! Everyone around was smiling as I slipped a few rupees into the waiting hand of the attendant. I trotted happily back to the ashram.
Later that wee0,k I went for my evening visit to Kunjuswami. This old man had been a close attendant of Ramana and was now ninety three years old, but still full of life and joy. He always had a stream of visitors from all over India, but when I had first been taken to see him our eyes had met and there was a sense of recognition. I realized that this was the personal link with Ramana that I had longed for. He spoke no English, so I had asked through a translator if I might visit him for an hour twice each day, just to sit with him and he smiled in agreement.

This particular day we were alone. I sat in my usual spot in the corner of the room and closed my eyes. I felt a sudden sense of reassurance that EVERYTHING IS PERFECTLY ALL RIGHT AND I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR AT ANY TIME. All is happening according to God's will and that HE will take care of me and do all things for good. I felt strongly that HE had arranged these sessions with Kunju. Sitting there I was filled with enormous gratitude and love.

As I was about to leave, he motioned for me to wait and he offered me a little piece of kulfi, which is a sort of sticky milk sweet vendors sell in the streets. Of course, sensible me would not dream of buying anything from a street vendor. Who knows what infections it might hold, but from Kunju I could not refuse. I took it politely and put it in my mouth.

To my astonishment, I physically experienced the most amazing flow of blessing. It was like standing under a twinkling waterfall of light energy coming down from high above me. The force of it actually pushed me back a bit, and I was rooted to the spot. The hand that held the kulfi couldn't move for a while afterwards. I felt shaky but blissful. Our eyes met and he smiled at me tenderly as he raised his hands in blessing.

I came back to my room with the rest of the kulfi and offered some to Sharyn and Lendra who were chatting there outside. “No thanks! ” they said. “Kulfi is too sweet.”
It was a week or two later that I decided to walk up the mountain to the Skandashram cave dwelling where Ramana had stayed for some time before he came down to live near the resting place of his mother, where the present ashram was built.

The mountain is beautiful. More like a rock garden than a wild mountain. It rises steeply from the flat land around it, reddish pumice-like stone with glittering pieces of quartz that twinkle making the mountain glow red in the sunshine. The name Arunachala means red hill and indeed it seems to shine with its own light. A path up to the caves has been formed from flattish rocks set alongside each other. It looks similar to the remains of the Roman road near Hadrian's wall in Britain. The sandstone-like surface makes it easy to get a grip even when your feet are wet from the rain. Away from the path the hill is clothed in delicate trees, birch and some acacia. There are graceful tall grasses and many small flowers of different colors amongst the stones, star-shaped in white and pink and red and blue. The most wonderful butterflies are everywhere. As well as being more spectacular than flowers at home because they are so much bigger, they are also more numerous. Frequently they are dark coloured with bright white patterns and red sides, or black and white striped, or brilliant orange. The occasional bird calls an unfamiliar song from the top of a tree. But most noticeable is a strong sense of presence on the hill, peaceful and powerful and promising. One feels this is a magical place where anything is possible and anything might happen. A place where one might see visions and dream dreams.

Here your attention is brought to the present moment because on Arunachala there is nowhere else to go. This is the destination. You have arrived. This sense of Being Here Now which one strives to remember in everyday life is easy, indeed inevitable here. I sat for a while on a rock in silence, looking out over the town and temple far below.

Then, suddenly, I was no longer there. Certainly there was a woman still seated on the rock, cattle cropping the vegetation nearby, the butterflies, the beatles, the space, the town and the clouds above, but there was no sign at all of Lyn. No memory even of Lyn. No memory of anything. Just the NOW. Just awareness aware of itself.

I have no idea how long this lasted, if indeed there is any meaning to ” lasted” in that timeless state.

After a while, the woman got up and walked down the hill to the dining room at the ashram and queued up for coffee. Other people spoke to her and she smiled and answered appropriately. There was awareness of this, but no-one was there. It was all just taking place smoothly and easily.

I had wondered how one could live life if there was no self. Now I knew. It was easy. Everything just all took place flowingly. No need for a self at all. So much better without one.

At the time I don't remember thinking about what it “meant” at all. I was not interpreting. I was just filled with amazement and gratitude and astonishment that I could be so blessed as to receive all this love and acceptance, which was clearly so completely undeserved. Just “thank you, thank you!”

In the thirty years since that time ,I have of course looked back and realized some of what I learned there and how it impacted my life.

All that beginning part, the preamble to getting to India was important as it was a real test of patience, persistence and perseverance, and a great deal of trust and courage too, as I am naturally a cautious and careful person, who was obliged to take one risk after another, and go against the sensible and reasonable advice of all my friends and family. It was, in its small way, a hero's journey, and I could see that in the spiritual life you have to be prepared so that you are willing to pay any price, even life itself, if that is what it takes.

Thinking back to the three miraculous experiences, the coming to life of Ramana, the prasad from Kunju and the disappearance of Lyn on the mountain, I realized each took place because I was in a state of perfect relaxation, ease, and contentment with the present moment at that time, demanding nothing, expecting nothing, just totally happy to be present in the now.

Then truly anything is possible.