A True Story of a Spiritual Experience: Sri Chinmoy’s Smear Against Me

A True Story of a Spiritual Experience: Sri Chinmoy’s Smear Against Me

This is the 4th blog article in my Karma from Smearing Sri Chinmoy series. In addition to karma, these blog articles also discuss a spiritual communication with the Master. In this post, I describe the Sri Chinmoy Burn, a true story of a spiritual experience which resulted in my image being smeared.

It resulted in me losing most of my access to my daughter and having to be supervised by my parents while around her even though she and I had been victims of parental alienation against me all her life. And it resulted in a stipulation in a new specious Court Order (between me and the mother of my child, Erin,) making it impossible for me to help my daughter with the emotional neglect she had been going through (a lot of which involved Erin causing her to have issues with me) through a legal process through the Nova Scotia Family Court.

It sounds bad. But it is actually positive. And it was the result of my bad karma.

It was my karma for smearing my spiritual Master, Sri Chinmoy several times to about 10 or 15 of his disciples due to my vengeful responses to being disciplined by him — an action I found was too humiliating.




Because of the first part of this spiritual experience with God back in 2012, I ended up making a total fool out of myself by publicly warning people all over Facebook about a sickness that I thought was being deliberately started. This and a few other reasons, including a couple close family members fueled by negative emotions against me trying to make me look much worse than I really was to several mental health professionals, resulted in a misdiagnosis of schizophrenia.

Part of the basis for this diagnosis was the fact that, years prior, I spoke to a few psychiatrists on different occasions years prior. Most of them also concluded that I have schizophrenia, and this went into my health record.

Why Would I Ever Speak to Psychiatrists in the First Place?

First I’ll tell you how I ended up speaking to psychiatrists in the first place. Then I will tell you about my spiritual experience with God.

This is important because this ended up in my health record, and as I had gradually learned throughout the years, a psychiatrist’s version of “insight” largely involves looking into your health record to see what previous doctors have said.




The first time was in 2001 when I was in Toronto. I was very mad at Sri Chinmoy for administering “blows,” something which I will describe better in a subsequent article, so I decided that since he would not surrender to my temper tantrum, and I maliciously perceived him as just simply humiliating me or violating me, I would go to a psychiatrist to help “prove” that this is not a mental illness. Call it an attempt to “expose” Sri Chinmoy for doing something “bad” to me. Better yet, it was an attempt to make it appear as though Sri Chinmoy was doing something bad to me.

“The blows of my Master
I take as most beautiful flowers
Given to me by my Master.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Seventy-Seven Thousand Service-Trees, part 20]

Through the help of some kind of letter from a psychiatrist or by somehow making one my “advocate,” I would expose to Sri Chinmoy to his disciples. I would have “official” documents proving my claim.

Sri Chinmoy was, however, doing something GOOD, including helping me with my very bad karma, which I had endured from previous bad behaviour. It was I who was adding the element of destructiveness.




But I wrongly assumed that psychiatrists were far more intelligent than they actually are. I thought I would need to show certain symptoms to be diagnosed with a mental illness. Therefore, I thought I would be able to show that I don’t have this illness by demonstrating that I don’t have these symptoms.

In fact, in order convince the psychiatrists to talk with me, I originally wanted to make them think I was mentally ill. I told them I have a “being” in my consciousness — which would definitely create a false impression of what I was actually experiencing.

Sri Chinmoy is not a “being” in my consciousness. It is an experience of oneness with my Higher Self. There is no separation.

“The Master is the disciple’s own higher reality,”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Sri Chinmoy Speaks, part 1]





“But I am not a different person; I am the most illumined part of your own existence.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: The Master’s Inner Life]

So, right off the bat, I caused the psychiatrists to think I have a mental illness, and they believed it.

I subsequently tried to help them understand how it is not a mental illness, after my spiteful intentions seeped away, but they couldn’t see how it could be anything else.

That was fine (seemingly); I could just forget about them. They were not going to “force” me to take medication.

On a different occasion later that year, I went to a different psychiatrist at a different hospital in Toronto. He concluded that I didn’t need medication. He told me that he thinks all I need to do is stay away from drugs and alcohol. He was the only psychiatrist that came to that conclusion (that I know of) out of the more than twenty I’ve talked to. Subsequent psychiatrists I’d talked to were not aware of this meeting with this particular psychiatrist.

About three years later, after graduating from a college graphic design program in Toronto, I was living with my girlfriend (Spixy) at the time back in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Like many recent graduates, I found myself unemployed.

I strongly felt that if I could just spend time at home studying certain software programs used in the graphic design field and and building a better portfolio in (likely) non-billable ways, I could make myself a better graphic designer. I believe that I would then have a much, much better career in graphic design. Otherwise, I was likely to end up spending years and years working in telemarketing or in some other dead-end job despite my four years of college education.




It was for that reason that I decided to go to a psychiatrist again — this time to convince her that I do indeed have a mental illness with the hope of using my diagnosis (and perhaps a letter from her) to gain monthly disability checks from the provincial government. If I could do that, then I could stay at home studying every day. I would be set!

Yes, I was tricking them.

I met with a couple psychiatrists and asked them to retrieve my health record from my previous meetings with the psychiatrists in Toronto — the ones that concluded I have schizophrenia — with the hope of convincing them that I have a mental illness.

Yup, they were convinced, and this and the notes from the previous psychiatrists all went into my health record.

However, I had completely failed in my attempt to acquire monthly disability checks, because, although Spixy had a menial, pathetic job, she was making enough to support the both of us, according to the government’s protocols.

So, not only did that achieve nothing, now I am officially schizophrenic according to my health record with the Nova Scotia Health Authority. Making matters worse, the medication they gave me caused me to become sluggish, faint and have panic attacks, which made my already cynical girlfriend even more cynical of me.




Naturally, I discontinued meeting with these psychiatrists and discontinued taking the medication, which did nothing but create negative side effects.

Eventually, I decided to go back to college (in Nova Scotia). And my relationship with Spixy ended (being cynical of me definitely a deal-breaker for me).

Before that, however, when my daughter was between one and two years old, Spixy and I were already noticing behaviour problems. Spixy, of course, was quick to blame me. But I knew that it wasn’t my fault, and I will describe in subsequent blog articles things that were going on at the mother’s (Erin’s) house, things Erin was causing our daughter to think — such as that “Mommy knows everything and Daddy knows nothing” and that our daughter should keep secrets from me, tarnishing my daughter’s relationship with me, which, after years of struggling, I learned was also part of my karma for smearing Sri Chinmoy. (Please click here to learn more about what I mean when I say I smeared Sri Chinmoy.)

I am telling you all this because, in 2012, I had a spiritual experience with God, courtesy of my Inner Guide, Sri Chinmoy, which eventually resulted in a Nova Scotia Legal Aid lawyer coming up with the ill-advised decision (which I submitted to due to naiveté on my part) to put a stipulation in my and Erin’s Court Order stating that in order for me to be able to help my daughter through a legal process, I must first get a letter from a psychiatrist to show the Family Court.




It is because of this stipulation in our Court Order that I have not been able to help my daughter through a legal process with the emotional neglect (and parental alienation against me) she has been going through all her life.

The following is the aforementioned spiritual experience, which took place during the early morning hours of June 1, 2012. (There is more about this on this in in Vol. 2 of my multi-volume spiritual memoir.)

Sri Chinmoy’s Smear Against Me

In mid-2012, Sri Chinmoy inwardly gave me some messages about how some kind of illness, one that wouldn’t be an actual illness but actually just some kind of burn with the help of chemicals, would be deliberately started around late-May, early-June 2012. Naturally, I misinterpreted what he was saying, and I assumed some bad people were going to deliberately start this bad thing around the world, which I even referred to my friend, Tammy, as The Burn. Their goal was to kill a lot of people. I assumed they were mixing chemicals, and that these chemicals would burn skin. I was so fooled that Sri Chinmoy wanted me to try to help in some way that I contacted the FBI on their online tip form. This eventually caused me to suspect that the FBI or the CIA were suspicious of me.

Eventually, after zero sleep for about four or five days straight, I plastered publicly all over Facebook how people needed to protect themselves from this “burn.”




In some of my posts, I tried — although didn’t articulate myself well due to severe sleep deprivation — to warn parents that they needed to protect their children. That prompted one family member who read my posts to call up my parents and exclaim that I appeared to be making public threats against children.

Shortly after I did this, Sri Chinmoy inwardly revealed to me that this was his Burn against me. I was tricked and made to look bad. A different way of interpreting “burn.”

Lo and behold, the illness that was being deliberately started was me appearing sick due to a burn — a Sri Chinmoy Burn. But that didn’t quite clue in with me very well at the time.

The following spiritual experience happened shortly after this public self-defaming. I thought my Facebook posts had gone viral and that I had become famous, a perception of reality seriously skewed by my severe sleep deprivation during those days (but perhaps it was also due to something else?).

The following was taken directly from the current draft of Vol. 2 of my spiritual memoir, a true story:




At the end of May, 2012, I was having some divine thoughts and spiritual experiences, but I was not able to write all of them down or type them all to Tammy because my brain wasn’t working right from lack of sleep. I was too busy having the experiences, and my Internet connection was not working right. I wouldn’t be able to articulate most of these experiences for you by memory, but there is one I may be able to tell you about a little bit. I would love more than anything to re-live this spiritual experience with God (except for perhaps when I got attacked) and remember every little detail. This experience was on May 31 and the early hours of the morning of June 1. I had not slept at all for the last four or five consecutive days of May (and I also got very little sleep for the last two or three years, especially during March, April, and May of that year). Anyway, by May 31, I had gone about five or so days straight with no sleep. However, on that last day of May, I finally slept for about four hours. After I woke up, I had this unusual spiritual experience.

I woke up after my four-hour sleep, and felt better after I finally had some sleep, I felt an improvement, like I was sane again. I meditated and took a shower, and then decided to go to find a place, such as a coffee shop, to use the Internet. My condo at the time was in Bedford, a generally upper-middle-class suburban area of Halifax, Nova Scotia, near Bedford Place Mall.

According to my out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, the CIA was not only following me but trying to trick me in any way they could. The only period that I ever had any of these kinds of out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts was during the last two or three days of May 2012. And these thoughts not only caused me to think there were bugs (i.e., recording devices) all around my apartment, they caused me to think that the CIA would not let me know what time it was. I believed none of my clocks were working right because the CIA had messed with every possible device I would normally use to find out the time.




In fact, these thoughts caused me to think that the CIA was using special outdoor equipment to cause me to think that it was daytime when it was actually nighttime and nighttime when it was actually daytime. I thought this special outdoor equipment was making the day seem dark when it was actually light out and vice versa. So, I had absolutely no idea what time it was. It was dark out, but as far as I was concerned, it was the middle of the day.

I took my laptop with me in a reusable grocery bag made of cloth and a few other things that were of no use to me, including a pair of underwear, various useless miscellaneous items, and my cell phone, which wasn’t working right. After I left my apartment, I arrived at a bench at a small park and sat down. There, I took my underwear out of the bag and threw it on the ground by the bench. I also left my cellphone on the bench because that is what my Inner Pilot (God) told me to do. I kind of laughed at him telling me to take the underwear and then leave it. He’s funny, but it felt to me that succumbing to laughter like that I was kind of losing connection with the flow of my Higher Self (God).

I think it’s important to point out that these out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin eventually caused me to have an outer experience, which included interactions with other people. I will gradually build up to that outer experience as I explain this to you, but first I must explain a spiritual experience I had while walking.




After I got off the bench, I walked over to Dooley’s, a nearby billiards bar, to find out what time it was. According to my out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts, everybody was cooperating with the CIA, and so nobody in the bar would speak to me because that is what the CIA told them to do. And I didn’t try to speak to anybody. Instead, I looked at the TV to try to find out what time it was. The news was on, and it displayed the time in the lower right corner on the screen. However, according to my out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, the CIA had somehow changed that time to a time different than it actually was. So, I still had no idea what time it was. That time on the screen was of no use to me, and I don’t remember what it said.

I left the bar and walked behind the Atlantic Superstore, a big grocery store beside Bedford Place Mall. Since I felt the CIA was following my every move and everybody was cooperating with them, i.e. all the malls and stores were closed despite the fact that it was daytime, I walked around pretty much aimlessly, but at the same time, in my mind, outsmarting the CIA. While walking behind the grocery store, I noticed some red tape around a pipe of some sort. My Inner Pilot told me to rip off a piece of the tape with my fingers, and I thought, Why would I do that? There didn’t seem to be any point to it. But my Inner Pilot told me to do it, so I did it. And later I realized there was a very important reason why I was holding this little piece of red tape between my thumb and index finger.

As I walked toward a nearby subdivision nearby, I sang (out loud) “Jesus Christ” over and over again. There were three notes to each of the three syllables of “Jesus Christ,” making it sound like the first three notes of Hot Cross Buns, but sung cheerfully and devotedly. When one chants or sings “Jesus Christ” devotedly or cheerfully, it helps one feel more in tune with his true self and receive blessings from Above. While singing “Jesus Christ” around 1:00 or 2:00 am, I felt that I was having a divine experience, which was aided by what felt or seemed like a red flower petal between my thumb and index finger, the inspiration I felt from that. Yes, that piece of red tape.




While singing “Jesus Christ” and holding this red flower petal piece of red tape, my Inner Pilot produced numerous thoughts and experiences. Most notably, I felt that I was soil. At the top was relatively good soil and down below was shit. And, by chanting “Jesus Christ,” I was cleaning up all the shit and soil to improve the soil, generally speaking. At one point, I felt both Guru and Mother Teresa singing “Jesus Christ” with me. Then I started repeating, “I am the soil,” and felt the sun above shine down on me, the soil. I don’t remember everything, so I can’t tell you everything, but I sensed two flowers in me and growing up above me, the soil. One flower was Sri Chinmoy, the other Mother Teresa. These two flowers together were the Supreme, i.e., God. I continued to sing “Jesus Christ”, and while singing, I had more thoughts and experiences thanks to my Inner Pilot.

I had the divine thought that long ago, God decided to play a Game, like a little child playing with a toy, and in order to play His Game, which is His Creation, He had to Create something. He is the One, and He had to Create something additional in order to play His Game, but I wasn’t quite sure what that was.

Then I began to feel that everything in my consciousness, and perhaps everything in the Universe, is made up of 1’s and 0’s. (It is also true that everything in a computer boils down to 1’s and 0’s.). The 1’s are Truth or God, and the 0’s, according to what Sri Chinmoy inwardly told me recently, are where the seed germinates. While having this spiritual experience, there were times when I had thoughts such as, “I am doing this,” or “I am achieving that,” i.e., preconceived thoughts, which were thoughts that were not true. So, when I awakened more into realizing that I didn’t know what I was achieving or what was happening — in replace of my preconceived thoughts — I felt and saw a 1 going within a 0 at that point in my consciousness where I had that little spiritual awakening. This sort of thing happened again and again. I suspect that the 0’s without a 1 meant ignorance, though I don’t think I had realised that, nor had Sri Chinmoy clarified it.




Eventually, while singing “Jesus Christ,” I went back and forth from my higher self to my lower self. By this I mean I sometimes felt that the higher part of me was singing, in which case I felt Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy singing with me. When the lowest part of me was singing, I sounded like a bunch of drunken bums who sounded as though they were swearing as they tried to sing and that this lowest part of me was either matter or similar to matter.

Then Guru (aka Sri Chinmoy) or my Inner Pilot introduced me to the Supreme. He was like an infinitely pure and wise and lovable great-great-great-grandfather, similar to a wise and pure Native Indian elder. It was as though He smoked and drank, but only because so many of His children (humanity) smoke and drink that it is as though He does it too. Yet, somehow, He was also extremely pure.

During this spiritual experience, the Supreme told me, or made me feel, that the Bengali language and the Sanskrit language are two languages that everybody should learn. They should be the universal languages. These languages complement each other, and it is much easier to understand life, consciousness, Reality, God, and Truth with these two languages in comparison to English. He told me that whoever wrote or created the English language was like the janitor, and whoever wrote or created the Bengali and Sanskrit languages was like the professor*. He also somehow made me feel that the English language has too many words and that it is better to have a language that achieves good communication with fewer words. He somehow referred me to some animals or birds (which I couldn’t see) within the trees beside me and somehow, they said, or He said through them, “We only have two!” While I met the Supreme, at the same time I was the Supreme — not my ego, just my Self.

*You may be interested in reading what Sri Chinmoy had said about the Bengali and English languages (I found this passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings in December 2016.)




[Note: I made the following computer journal entry on June 14, 2013:]

Guru just told me that I was a native American Indian in a past life. He basically said, “Not Geronimo, but (but similar to Geronimo) long, long ago (long before Geronimo).” I was lying down on a bed, chanting ‘purity’, and I received a thought-flash; in about less than a second he told me this.

I suddenly began to feel that I was a Native Indian from long ago. And I felt that I was telling my story of the experiences I had just had, i.e., the soil and the shit, then the two flowers growing in me and above me, then the 1’s and 0’s and the 1’s going within 0’s within my consciousness, and so forth, to other Native Indians in the same way that Native Indians would tell stories about the past while gathered around a fire. I felt that I was passing this story on from generation to generation personally, drifting through the ages to tell them my story. At times, we would act out the story to communicate it better. I was a Native Indian speaking a different language (out loud), a language I am not familiar with, and yet I knew what I was saying.

Then I felt as though I was Arjuna from the Mahabharata and a Native Indian at the same time. I was like a warrior: very strong, confident, and powerful. At one point I thought that since the CIA was following me and that the whole world knew about me (according to my out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts that seemed to have a Divine or Powerful origin), maybe I should just go live in the woods for the time being, perhaps until the CIA went away. This thought came to me while I was walking along a highway, the woods on one side of the road, a subdivision on the other.

Then I had a thought, as the cars zoomed past me: instead of living in the woods, perhaps I should walk to a different town nearby where the CIA probably did not have their equipment set up to make the day appear to be night. Finally, I looked at the subdivision and saw a nice light at a condominium building. It stood out in the darkness around it. And it seemed that God made me feel that this was a good area to go to, although I wasn’t sure if that was my thought. But it was nice and full of light, so why not, there must be something good about it. I felt that maybe the FBI was there, which was good because I believed the FBI to be good and the CIA bad.




I felt I had to get to the FBI.

But, in order to get there, I would have to cut through somebody’s property. I had to go from the highway, across private land, and then to the subdivision where the condominium building sat. I did not even remotely think that there was any problem with cutting through somebody’s property. In fact, technically, since I was some kind of Native Indian, we share the land with everybody, and, since I believed everybody was probably watching me on television anyway, there was nothing abnormal about it. In addition, I wouldn’t have walked through their property if I didn’t think it was daytime instead of nighttime.

I crossed the highway without a problem, and while in the backyard, I picked up a dandelion for no reason. As I walked past the side of their house, I saw in a window above me on the side of their house a woman looking at me. When I saw her, I reached up and offered her the dandelion-flower, because she was a woman and women are feminine and delicate and deserve flowers. According to ancient Native Indian culture, at least according to my understanding, there is no such thing as suspicious-looking strangers. Strangers were not seen as a threat — they were immediately welcomed with open arms, in a friendly manner. And so, I kept walking down their driveway, toward the street.

Again, I don’t remember everything, so I can only tell you part of it. I wish I could tell you more. A woman approached me from the driveway, asking me, “What are you doing on our property?” So, I asked, “What are you doing on MY property?” because I was a Native Indian, or Arjuna, and we own or share the entire land with all the other creatures on Mother Earth. Plus, we were here first. But I still had a strong accent from the foreign language I was speaking earlier.




Then she repeatedly asked me what’s in my bag, and I responded again and again, “What’s in YOUR bag?” pointing or gesturing toward her vagina, and then I’d say, “That’s personal!” (She was asking me a personal question about what’s in my bag, so I was asking her a personal question.) Then her husband came out and started questioning me, as well. And the wife said, “He says he doesn’t speak English.” But that wasn’t true; I didn’t say that. I can understand English perfectly well, I just had a strong accent. The husband questioned me a number of times and, at that time, I started to get slightly nervous.

While I was getting a little nervous, the wife started to become more hostile, most likely because she could pick up on the fact that I was getting nervous. Then she said, “I heard him talking earlier. I think there’s someone else back there.” (While trespassing through their property, I was still talking out loud in the foreign language, so it must’ve sounded to her that I was talking to an accomplice.) So, the husband left us and went to the back of their house to check for the other person that didn’t exist. But when the wife said, “I heard him talking earlier,” the Supreme gave me the thought of the real way, or the better way, to interpret what she was talking about: According to the Supreme’s thought, she was referring to the fact that I was talking a certain way earlier, more confidently, more in tune with my Higher Self. And the Supreme’s thought caused me to completely snap out of my nervousness.




Then the wife insisted that I give her my bag. I said, “No.” So, she grabbed it from me and wouldn’t give it back. I wanted it back and was quite serious about it even though there wasn’t much in it of any value to me. (I had taken out my laptop earlier and left it on the side of the highway because my Inner Pilot advised me to.) But she wouldn’t give it to me. So, then I told her to keep the bag and started to walk away. My wallet was in the bag, but it was not of any importance to me anymore. I saw her take it out of the bag and hold it up in the air, and she seemed a little taken aback that I did not care about that at all.

Then I decided that, although she could have the bag, I wanted the little ball that was in it. It was Abigail’s (my daughter), which she had since she was very young, so it had some sentimental value to me. But she wouldn’t give that to me either.

I then sat down on the curb and began to cry, but it almost immediately became very clear to me that this was just a pretend cry. I even thought that perhaps it would seem obvious to this lady that I was not really crying. It was then that I realized, on what seemed like a lower level, that all I’m doing here is tricking people. But I continued to go along with it — otherwise, I’d lose touch with the Supreme.




After my short cry, I walked away, crumpling up and throwing away the dandelion-flower I had offered her earlier because I was disappointed in her and felt she no longer deserved it.

Never did I suspect that they had any justification to suspect me. I thought that they were probably working for the CIA and were just trying to get me in trouble for something when I didn’t do anything. I would also like to point out that I was wearing a white T-shirt and flip-flops at the time. It would be kind of strange to try to rob somebody at night while wearing what I was wearing.

This all happened around three or four in the morning. I know this because the sun came up a few hours later. I walked down the street a little bit and found a porta potty for construction workers that the Supreme told me to go into. He next told me to sit on the toilet seat (for which the cover was down) because He had something to say to me. I hesitated, but He insisted. So, I sat down. Then the Supreme said, “Now listen. I need you to be tough. Be strong here, okay? This is very important.” I did not know why He said that to me. I felt like I was already being strong. This spiritual experience had infused me with confidence. I thought maybe CNN was going to try to interview me really soon, and I had to be very confident during the interview. But I was wrong — that’s not what happened.




I left the porta-potty and walked through a sort of empty lot or construction area to take a shortcut to get to the condominium building where the nice bright light was. While I was walking through that lot, a taxi cab dropped off a passenger at the condominium entrance. The cab driver looked at me suspiciously, and I suspected he was a CIA boss trying to prevent me from getting into this building where the FBI was and exactly where the CIA did not want me to go. I also thought the guy he dropped off, who also looked at me, was assigned to prevent me from entering the building. I thought he was going to lock it somehow. And I had the thought — an out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thought that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin — that the CIA was getting upset with me because I was outsmarting them. Instead of them causing me to go crazy with the psychological tormenting they were inflicting on me such as with their special equipment making it appear to be night, I was proving how I was unaffected by this and outsmarting them and thus some kind of divine incarnation with advanced psychic abilities.

I picked up a little piece of garbage — a small wrapper of some sort — while walking through this empty lot and headed straight for the cab driver to give it to him as his tip. He looked at me suspiciously, and I said, “Call the police. Someone just stole my bag!” I then added, “Here’s your tip,” and gave him the little piece of garbage, because the truth was, I knew he wasn’t really going to call the police, so he didn’t deserve a very good tip.

By this time, I was right at the entrance of the building, when a Halifax Regional Police car pulled up. They didn’t put their police lights on or anything. As far as I was concerned, I was just minding my own damned business but a policeman approached me seconds before I could enter the building. I thought to myself, There is no way this is a real police car or that he is an actual police officer. It was laughable. It was obvious that he was a CIA agent disguised as a Halifax Regional Police officer. It was an out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thought that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, but I was so sure of it, it was laughable. I even thought that they must know that I know they aren’t real police officers.




The “supposed” police officer, who, for some reason was wearing leather gloves, told me he wants to talk to me about something. I recall backing up a little and moving away from him because he was invading my personal space. He then attempted to grab my wrist to presumably get my arm in a locked position behind my back. That didn’t work because I didn’t like that, so I got my arm free ‘cause I know a little Tae Kwon Do.

He didn’t mention one single word to me about why he was trying to grab my arm. I was not told I was under arrest; I was not told I was being arrested for something; I was not told to place my hands on the vehicle with my legs separated so he could search me. There was no call for backup, nor did any other police vehicle arrive at the scene (at least according to my memory).

The police officer started talking to me a little or asking me some things. Unfortunately, I do not remember what he said. I only remember some of the things that, according to my intuition, or you can call it my out-of-touch-with-the-earthly-scene thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, or you can call it my thoughts from God or my Self, whatever you want to call it, he implicitly communicated to me when he said things or asked me things. I only remember some of the implicit communication according to my special thoughts that were all part of this spiritual experience.

I felt he was implying some things by the way that he was looking at me, the things he was saying, and the way that he was saying them. First of all, the police officer seemed very strange to me.




He didn’t behave like a normal police officer, and the gloves that he wore looked like they really didn’t belong with the rest of his uniform, which gave the gloves a suspicious purpose. The police officer didn’t seem too sure of himself, or that he was very interested in talking with me. He seemed almost passive, or perhaps even slightly nervous. He didn’t seem very strong or assertive in his approach. He tried to approach me again saying something like, “I just want to talk to you about something,” and I backed away. Then I walked toward the entrance of the condo building. I tried to open the door to the foyer, but it was locked, which is very strange because in order for visitors to get into the building they needed to go into the foyer to press the buttons to the various units.

Before my short conversation with the officer, I asked him if he would like to join the FBI with me (explicitly). And he said yes (implicitly). Then, I noticed some boxes on the floor in the foyer. When I glanced at the boxes and tried to figure out what they were or why they were there, the police officer looked very uncomfortable with the fact that I was doing that (according to me) and tried to distract my attention away from them.

When I stood at the front door, which had a glass entrance, there began, according to my thoughts from God or my Self, what seemed to me implicit communication between this particular police officer and me. I don’t remember the exact words we said, but I strongly recall our implicit communication, according to my special thoughts.

First of all, I saw in the police officer’s eyes that he had to kill me, and he was very disturbed by this. He had to follow orders to kill me and he really didn’t want to because he thought it was wrong. I was an innocent person, and he knew it. He not only liked me, he loved me because he already knew who I was, i.e., a very spiritual person, a divine incarnation. He didn’t want to kill me so badly that it showed deeply in his eyes and it appeared as though tears welled up in his eyes.

He implicitly told me that he had to kill me, but wanted some kind of reassurance from me that he would not be successful. And so I reassured him that no, I would not be killed because I knew that my Guru would protect me. Then he had a different thing to say: he was going to get killed if he didn’t kill me. So, he looked for reassurance from me again on whether he would get killed. I reassured him again, that no, he would not get killed either. I knew that if I said that my Guru would back up my promise. And this was the reason he was so emotional or nervous or uncomfortable.




Anyway, shortly after our implicit communication, or what I thought was implicit communication, a second police officer approached me from behind and assisted the first police officer with putting me in handcuffs behind my back. Virtually nothing was said, according to my memory, about the reason why I was being cuffed. However, the first police officer did say, as they were in the midst of putting the handcuffs on me, “I think there’s going to be a fight,” before I even made any slightest effort to fight against them (and, according to me, I never gave him any reason to believe that I would put up a fight prior to that; I didn’t even know he had the intention to put me in handcuffs). To me, according to my special thoughts, he just implicitly communicated to me that I needed to fight this if I wanted to win (i.e., survive their attempt to kill me). So, after he said that, I started to fight with all my might.

During the initial struggle, I almost took off one of the first police officer’s leather gloves (the second one wasn’t wearing gloves), and he became very nervous about that. He momentarily ceased struggling with me long enough to put his glove back on properly. I thought that was kind of odd.

Also, during my initial struggle with them, or shortly after they got the handcuffs on me, they asked me if I was doing any drugs that evening. Since I thought they were working for the CIA, and that they wanted me to look bad rather than a wise or intuitive spiritual person who was outsmarting them, and that our voices were being recorded somehow and broadcasted over live television, I said that I took four hits of acid (which wasn’t true). A few minutes later, they tried to reconfirm that with me, and I thought to myself that maybe four hits of acid weren’t bad enough, so this time I said fourteen.

They eventually got me into handcuffs, which were very tight around my wrists, cutting off my circulation. With my hands behind my back and me face down on the pavement, they proceeded to sit on me for roughly one-and-a-half hours or so that I could not move away. I yelled and screamed for somebody to help me and tried to get them off me the entire time. I was hoping that somebody in the building would hear me and I was fighting for my life.




While I yelled for help and struggled to get them off me, I thought numerous times about what the Supreme told me earlier — how it’s very important that I remain tough and strong. I thought this experience must have been what He was talking about, and although I wasn’t quite sure what He meant, it completely convinced me that they were trying to kill me and that I was fighting for my life. I thought my attempt to get them off me and break my hands free from the cuffs was my being strong according to the Supreme’s advice.

At one point, the first police officer said, “He’s pretty strong,” and I could tell by the tone of his voice (or thought I could) that he was happy I was strong. He was nervous but felt good that they were failing to kill me. In other words, despite cutting off my circulation for so long, I was still not losing consciousness. I had to repeat certain things over and over again to help me not lose consciousness, such as: “I will not give up, I will not give up.” Despite my best efforts, I felt myself beginning to lose consciousness several times. (But I do not know if that was because they were cutting off my circulation, because I was so low on sleep, or a combination of both.)

As far as I was concerned, they were doing everything they could to cut off my circulation so that I would eventually lose consciousness and then eventually die, and I was doing everything I could to stay conscious or to get somebody to help me.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived, although I did not hear anybody radio for one. The ambulance attendees waited nearby for a few minutes. By the time they came to me to help me, I was not very conscious. In fact, I think I lost consciousness a number of times and then came back. While they checked my vitals, I thought they were CNN and that they came to help me, to film from a hidden camera the CIA trying to kill me. They put me in the ambulance and took me to the hospital. I don’t remember much of their attempt to help me or the ambulance ride to the hospital, but I was still technically conscious for a lot of the trip. I do remember demanding over and over again that the police officers, who joined us in the ambulance for the trip, loosen the cuffs. They eventually only loosened one cuff, but wouldn’t loosen the other, despite my repeated demands for them to do so. I actually thought they wouldn’t loosen it because they wanted me to die.




The ambulance took me to the QEII Health Sciences Centre, operated by the, in downtown Halifax. After talking to some doctors and psychiatrists at the hospital, they decided to admit me, involuntarily — pursuant to s. 68 of the Involuntary Psychiatric Treatment Act (S.N.S. 2005, c.42) — to the Abbie J Lane Memorial building, 7th floor, a mental health clinic.

Some of the doctors suspected that I must be suicidal to take fourteen hits of acid. Although truth be known, it would be very unlikely for one to die from an overdose of LSD. But I suppose that was one of the reasons I was admitted. My guess is, they were not sure whether I took any acid, since I told the doctors I didn’t, but, since it still seemed like there was something wrong with me regardless (due to the fact that I felt the CIA was trying to kill me and so forth), they admitted me. Although I had some customized perceptions, I was actually infused with and nourished by the Supreme’s Spirit at the time and felt really good, very positive. Despite being attacked, this spiritual experience felt very good. There was one particular female psychiatrist, I recall, that really seemed impressed with me and moved by my story, more of which I was able to recollect back then.

It is interesting that this Sri Chinmoy “smear”, probably the most significant experience of my life thus far, took place the same year as the beginning of new age of my life as well as the year the Golden Age began.

The Result of This Sri Chinmoy “Smear”

My psychiatrist on the 7th floor of Abbie Lane, partially, or perhaps largely, after looking into my health record (as I later learned at a Review Board hearing) diagnosed me with schizophrenia. I was forced to take antipsychotic medication, namely Olanzapine. My psychiatrist thought that by my taking the medication I would eventually “get it.”




I ended up staying at the Abbie Lane mental health clinic for about two months. I was able to discharge myself in late July due to a decision by a Review Board on July 13, 2012, which set aside the Declaration of Involuntary Status and made me a voluntary patient. Because they spoke their views about me during the Review Board hearing, I learned, as I had already strongly suspected, my parents were speaking negatively about me to the mental health professionals, trying to make them think I was mentally ill. My father did the speaking for both my parents during this hearing, and among other things, pointed out how I must be mentally ill because I had (according to him) been making threats against children on Facebook. He also pointed out the ludicrousness of my asking the lady for my Abigail’s ball back, which he didn’t realize was Abigail’s. Unfortunately, my parents were offended and upset with me due to my behaviour within the last year or two, particularly from one incident a couple months prior, which was my last relapse prior to my detainment at Abbie Lane. With fueled-up negative emotions toward me, my parents made me look like I was much worse than I really was. Despite that, the Review Board felt that I should be made a voluntary patient, with no evidence showing otherwise.

Because I was forced to stay at Abbie Lane, I wasn’t able to attend a June 11, 2012 court hearing on varying my and Erin’s original 2005 Court Order, something Erin was trying to do to pre-emptively and deceptively prevent herself from losing against me in Family Court. Erin deceived the Nova Scotia Family Court that I was completely out of control and an abusive father, and, in my absence, a Variation Order was established which stated that Erin shall have sole custody. They also suspended my access to my child until further order of the court.

I was advised by a mental health professional at the hospital to meet regularly with an outpatient psychiatrist and that I should do this if I wanted to help my daughter through a legal process, which would largely involve me trying to restore my tarnished image impressed upon her, as well as increase the amount of time I could spend with her (which, for the moment, was completely nil). And so that is what I began to do around August or September 2012.




Because I had been stuck in a mental health clinic and had to get an improved Court Order from the 2012 Variation Order, for some reason, as I said earlier, perhaps ultimately due to discrimination, my Nova Scotia Legal Aid family matter lawyer, whom I’ll simply call Susan, felt it would be best to put a stipulation in our new Court Order (which I didn’t even know was being created and which she subsequently signed on my behalf without my knowledge and approval) that I needed to get a letter from a psychiatrist for me to move forward and effectively make any future application to the Family Court. In the meantime, Erin would have sole custody (which apparently I agreed to by Susan signing the Order on my behalf — something I wouldn’t in my wildest dreams do), while I would have to be supervised by my parents for each of my daughter’s visits with me which would now be about 80% less frequent (from about 24% of the time to about 4% of the time). Since early 2013, my daughter has been spending far more time with her stepdad — an ex-con convicted for tying up and robbing an older couple — whom Erin taught to call ‘Dad’. Because of the way Erin treated her since birth, which included brainwashing her to keep secrets from me (and her teachers) about Erin’s relationship with her now stepdad while he was in prison, she has no ability whatsoever to differentiate between decisions she can make herself and those that are the responsibility of her mother’s. Basically, my daughter has mostly no idea there is something wrong with what has been going on.

Since late 2012 until early 2018, I met with outpatient psychiatrists, mainly Dr. Nelson, and took the prescribed medication for the sole purpose of trying to help my daughter through the Family Court. But due to this stipulation, no matter what kind of letter I could get, since I had a diagnosis of schizophrenia, I could not move forward. That is putting it very simply (I’m trying to simplify this story for this blog article). As you may or may not know, proving emotional neglect or that the mother’s arguments were specious is a very difficult thing to do. It requires someone to really pile through evidence, something I couldn’t get anybody to do. To this day, I need to be supervised by my parents due to the fact that Erin is deceitfully and maliciously not cooperating with making any agreement outside of court, something which is absolutely counterproductive to improving my daughter’s mental health. It is hurtful both to me emotionally and to the relationship between my daughter and me. It is not only another example of parental alienation as emotional abuse — both to me and my daughter — it is something which has impaired my daughter’s faith in me and thus limited my ability to help her.

All of this is my karma for smearing Sri Chinmoy to his disciples, his spiritual children, years ago.

What I Learned After Looking At the Police Report

After I got out of Abbie Lane, I asked the Halifax Regional Police Department for the police report on the incident of June 1, 2012. After I received it and read it, although it was laced with suspicion and some statements that weren’t true, including one that claimed I appeared to be trying to break into a car, it seemed legit, and I realized they must have been actually police officers and the people whose property I cut across indeed called the police. The police report did not offer any justification as to why they attacked me and put me in handcuffs. However, the bottom line is they thought I was on drugs.

It did mention that I was the one that made the cuffs so tight that they were cutting off my circulation due to the fact that I was struggling to break free from them. Apparently, according to the police report, if you struggle with handcuffs, you can make them tighter. And it did say that they prevented me from getting up by sitting on top of me because they thought I might get hurt or hurt one of them.

So, in other words, the Supreme tricked me. This spiritual experience involved a Great Big Trick from God (but it took until sometime in 2015 for that to fully dawn on me). Indeed, though, that was the Supreme saving me from my crack addiction mentality problem. He helped me to be able to live in a complete sanctuary with very helpful, kind, compassionate people. Although I didn’t have any money to use while living there, it played a major role in helping me snap out of my crack addiction problem (which I had had for the last 1.5 years) by giving me a place to live with such helpful people, plenty of tasty food, and proper sleep.

[In 2015, I stumbled upon the following passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings. It remains the only example I’ve found in His writings that could indicate that God might “trick” on occasion:]

“When God wants Light to prevail on earth, it means that He has taken responsibility. Right now, we do not know the outcome of the battle. He is playing with a football, kicking it to this side and that side. Here is the goal post. He is pretending to kick the ball, pass the ball through. But instead of doing this, He changes His play, and using His left foot, He kicks the ball. There He secures His goal, His object.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Earth’s cry meets Heaven’s smile, part 3]

[There is also this passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings that I found in 2019:]

“I have realised my error. I shall no longer stay with ignorance. Ignorance has understood its folly. It will no longer stay in me. I say to ignorance: ‘You have tortured me.’ Ignorance says to me: ‘You have fooled me.'”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Meditations: food for the soul]

The police report did not mention that I was yelling because I thought they were trying to kill me and that they said nothing to reassure me. This report was a good indication that, clearly, in a police report, you do not necessarily get the right facts. You tend to get things that are not true or the officer’s suspicions, as though suspicion creates a picture of the truth. According to their police report, they were suspicious I was on drugs before I even told them I had taken drugs. Nevertheless, had I not fought with them and told them I had taken fourteen hits of acid, they probably would not have taken me to the hospital.

Sri Chinmoy’s Burn was complete, and I was his unwitting accomplice. Now, this spiritual experience has long past and I must untangle myself from this mess that I have made.

Arjuna D. Ghose lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (most of the time). When he's not working on writing for this blog or his multi-volume memoir, The Struggle Within, he's usually working on web development and internet marketing projects or trying to help his daughter to ensure she grows up believing in herself, with happiness, and making good choices. He became a member of the Sri Chinmoy Centre in 1994 and continues to follow the teachings of Sri Chinmoy with the intention of making continuous progress toward the goal of fully actualizing and manifesting his spiritual nature.

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