Yogi Satyam Ashram: The search for a living kriya master

Conceived in Kriya, they say. My father prayed to the Divine Mother, Kuan Yin for a girl. The child born next to my brother, Satchidananda - was me. My mother had a miscarriage with her first born, they wanted to call him "Babaji". My parents hypothesized that perhaps they did not ask for the Mahavatar's blessings nor were they ready to bear such a child with that name. I started with this story, to provide a background as to where the "spirituality" was rooted in this lifetime. Both my parents were correspondence members of Paramahansa Yogananda's Self-Realisation Fellowship center at Encinitas, California. I grew up with the SRF altar in our home and was surrounded by Paramahansa Yogananda's books in almost every corner of our home, since our house was chosen as the center of the Theosophical Society's library outlet in our city. Our walls were lined with books on philosophy, religion and metaphysics. I did not want to go to school, as all the books I ever wanted to read were at our living room. I would often rush home to continue with my bookmarked pages. My years growing up, was also filled with the most interesting and loving people who walked the same path. One very particular friend of the family, was Tita Pinky Fajardo, an ardent devotee of Yogananda. She was able to spend time at Ranchi in India before passing away at a very tender age as a young mother, in the Philippines. She named her daughter Mirabai. You could cry hearing her bhajans from the heart. She called Yogananda - Guruji. And so did I. Every time I try to connect to Yogananda, I would simply say "Guruji" and I was confident he knew I was referring to him. Strangely, the day I met Swami Yogi Satyam at the Sangam in Allahabad, and uttered the word "Guruji" to him was the day I could no longer see the picture of Yogananda and call him "Guruji". The energy was just not there anymore, the love stays but the need to call him that, disappeared. Now this is where the story actually begins. My mother had her second heart attack in the Philippines and the doctor could no longer guarantee 100% success of survival on the next one. With urgency, I picked up the hard conversation with her right away after knowing that. "What would be your last wish, shall you won't make it next time, mother?" "I want to meet a living Kriya Yoga master and guru before I pass away." she uttered with sadness but with deep conviction. Set out to fulfil my mother's last wish, I went to Yahoo online in the year 2000 looking for a living Kriya master. Surprisingly, I found a few! I kept my mind as still as I could and surrendered within, praying that we will find the right one amidst the line of photos on the screen. I chose Yogi Satyam in Allahabad at the Sangam. My only criteria? A picture that could render me thoughtless, must be the one! I had no space nor time for doubt. At that time, I had no idea what the Ganga was or the Sangam; and neither did I even remember the part in the book about the Banyan tree where the Mahavatar Babaji met Sri Yukteswar Giri. Our next hurdle was, we were broke. After a series of hospitalisations and my mother retiring, we wondered where can we even find the money to buy tickets for India? My mother had her only life savings of about less than a hundred thousand pesos already including a part of my father's savings. All these years of working so hard, it was all she saved for herself. She pampered her family with delicious food everyday, and did not save enough for herself and for her dreams. She gathered every penny, and off we went to India where we knew no one except the masters who have left their bodies hundreds of years ago. We knew that we would return to the country penniless, and shall she have another stroke either in India or back home, we had nothing left. That was it. Meet the guru or die. We arrived in Delhi bombarded with sights and smells we have never known before. I had no time to be afraid. We spoke no Hindi and knew no one. How we found ourselves at the door of the ashram by the river Ganges far from the city of Delhi, is an entire blog on its own. There were a series of blessed meetings. After a single lecture (There was no YouTube at that time, so we had no way of listening to his discourses in advance) and a meditation session, my mother said: "He is the One." She wanted no more dilly dally in her path. What Guruji offered is what she wanted. A straight short cut. She was in a hurry. I was simply chaperoning at that time, but since everyone called Yogi satyam "Guruji", I had no problems calling him as my guru as well. Seventeen years hence, my mother never had another heart attack since and is now conducting satsangs and kriya meditation in her own little garden ashram back home in the Philippines.