Leela Articles

A letter by Margot

Dear Gangaji and Eli, A letter seems to want to be written, so here it is: a report to let you know how this form is being used, how the Truth moving through this form is being used. Gratitude wants to be expressed over and over and over. The Leela School has been a...

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A Mysterious Love

Dear Gangaji and Eli, Meeting with you was mysterious and miraculous - indeed, driven by Grace. I am so lucky. As I said as I was weeping at your feet, it was against all odds that I could be there.  Really.  My husband agreed to take care of our 1 yr old...

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A Reflection of Grace

Dearest Eli, i just wanted to say thank you for everything. I feel completely transformed since I have gone back to my job. For the first time I feel fully engaged and out of the way. Whatever needs to be done, some sort of drive...

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How Can We Have World Peace?

Perhaps in the past our tendency has been to have a concept of ourselves as a peaceful person and then discipline ourselves to try to look or act as we thought a peaceful person should. When we have not lived up to our own...

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Iran’s Cry for Freedom

Gangaji and I are in Amsterdam right now. We love it here. Besides loving the people, and the culture, we love the freedom here. The Netherlands is perhaps the most advanced human society at protecting both individual freedom and...

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Awakening Everywhere!

I have been coming to Europe to teach since 1983. As an outsider I could feel the atmosphere of the different cultures that I passed through. Teaching in Budapest, at a communist youth camp and community center, it was unavoidable...

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A poem by Michael

Lunch With Eli The master fed the servant With simple elegance No wasted words were spoken As he softly plied his dance His presence was so natural No footprint fell to ground More like the early morning Breathing ether into...

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A letter by Adrienn

Dearest Eli and Everyone, No escape :). Last weekend I was literally taken to a sangha where I was asked to give a video-satsang and talk about my insights. Mysteriously a friend of mine called me last week to join him and talk...

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A poem by Michael

Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night Early in the morning before the sun expressed itself before blackbirds stopped singing in the dead of night the bells began to ring candles on windowsills pushed the darkness out gently but...

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“When you can recognize who you are not, then there is a possibility to wake up and discover who you really are.”