Frank Monahan

When I moved out to California in 1985 from Kentucky to join Ananda, one of my most valuable possessions was a classical guitar that I had had for many years. It was a very beautiful, resonant instrument that was made by a Japanese master guitar builder, Kaiso Yairi. The Ananda community in San Francisco at that time was a 45-room mansion in the Pacific Heights area, with 25 devotees all living under the same roof.

One night I came in late. Instead of banging my guitar against the very narrow circular stair case up to my room and taking the chance of disturbing anyone, I decided to leave it in the locked garage and come back for it in the morning.

When I got up the next day and went down to retrieve it, it was gone! It was nowhere to be seen. With such a big house, I had to speak with all 25 residents, as well as the many other guests and visitors that might have stopped by that night. But no one had borrowed it or seen it anywhere. It had just vanished!

I was heartbroken. You’ve heard the statement: "Grown men don’t cry." Don’t believe it. I wept openly (behind closed doors). I felt like a kid whose favorite toy was snatched out of his hands.

Gradually, I had to accept that it was gone. But the sadness remained. Later, when all the psychological dust settled and the elephant tears dried up, I remembered that Yogananda said it was all right to argue with Divine Mother (lovingly, of course). I thought, "Why not?" If there was ever a case that would be appropriate, this seemed like it.

At some point I think I looked up in the sky and actually yelled: "Divine Mother, I want my guitar back, damn it!!" I then proceeded to present a case to Her that would have put F. Lee Bailey to shame. I think by the time I finished arguing, She may have felt like giving it back to me, just to shut me up.

Then a friend suggested I turn to a psychic to trace my guitar’s whereabouts. "Why not?" I figured, not having had luck in any other way. She recommended two people. After contacting each of them, I was quite surprised that they offered the same story. They said the guitar was stolen by someone to gain favor with a friend.

Around this time, the San Francisco center closed. Several people moved to Ananda in the Palo Alto area, which was growing at the time. I moved to Oakland for about a year to pursue a relationship. For that year, I pretty much completely dropped out of any Ananda activities. I continued to hold a very positive thought that I was going to get my guitar back and wouldn’t settle for anything else. My girlfriend kept saying, "Forget it, Frank. You’re attached. Just let it go!" I would have none of it! At some point in my existence, I think I’ve taken the course: "Mule Stubbornness 101." But given that there are approximately six million people in the Bay Area, you could forgive her for her attitude.

Two years came and went and still no guitar. It was about that time that I got interested in the subject of divination or dowsing. The most familiar example is of the farmer walking about his property with a y-shaped branch, trying to find an underground stream of water. I came to learn that even stolen objects and missing people can be found through certain divination techniques.

Several months later I met someone at a party who was a member of the American Dowsing Society and asked if we could divine for my lost guitar. He said yes, and then told me that he was a bit psychic himself. If I let him have a few quiet minutes, he thought he would be able to "tune" into it. After his brief meditation, he said he saw my guitar in a closet of black leather, and it wasn’t happy. "My Guitar Gently Wept!" I had an intuitive flash that it might be on Castro Street. But there were no further clues to help me.

Six more months went by. One night I had a dream that Swami Kriyananda came to me and simply lovingly held my hand and blessed me. I hadn’t seen anyone from Ananda for well over a year at that point. The next morning I thought to myself: "That wasn’t a dream, it was a true experience." I felt that there was some deeper meaning to it and that I should reconnect with my spiritual family. When I called Ananda Village that day, they said, "Swami just arrived from Italy last night." They suggested that I attend the Whole Life Expo in San Francisco because Swami would be talking there, and the choir was going to sing.

I went to the event with great expectation. I wasn’t disappointed. Swami gave a wonderful talk, the choir warbled sweetly and it was fun to see many old friends again. That evening I went back to Ananda’s booth and ran into Lakshman, the guitarist for the choir, standing there with his guitar. I told him the story of my stolen classical guitar. About that time a complete stranger walked up to us and said to Lakshman: "I see you are a guitar player. If you ever need any repair, please come by my shop." Lakshman said, "I don’t need anything, but my friend is looking for a guitar."

I explained, "Yes, I once had a beautiful Yairi classical guitar." He responded, "I just bought a Yairi classical." I replied, "Mine was top of the line—a model CY120." He said, "This is a CY120!" Talk about a hit of adrenaline! When I described in detail the various scratches I had on my instrument, he exclaimed, "I have your guitar!" I asked where to find his shop, and learned it was on Castro Street.

Well, it took two and a half years, but that beautiful guitar came back. It was like the return of a long-lost lover. I cried the first time I played it! The lessons I received from this episode remain with me to this day: have faith and trust in God, stay attuned to the Guru. And even when things don’t come about right away, hang in there with as much energy and positive thinking as you can, and good things will happen. And yes—sometimes it’s okay to argue with Divine Mother. (Lovingly, of course!)