I wrote a novel pitched towards those who may be latent seekers. It was set in the tumultuous civil rights era of the 1960's and while Silvia had to struggle through all sorts of adharmic events, she ultimately receives her self-realization from Shri Mataji Herself. Silvia begins to transform reveling the joy and freedom experienced when the negativity of adharma is eliminated and cleansed. Silvia later is invited to apply Sahaj knowledge to help alleviate the pain of racism and mass extermination of Native Americans so to reveal the practical application of Sahaja Yogi to heal massive problems.

While the story is inspired by true events, using fiction as the genre gave me the freedom and joy to not only drive the story, but keep it dramatic while subtly sliding in various Sahaj truths.

I can see from reading your writings and comments that I'm so much less lyrical than most of you. I do have a very strong practicality in my DNA that wants me to expose Sahaj truths to the unrealized world in as direct a manner as possible. So I wanted next to write a novel that shared the truth about bhoots and possession somehow. So I began researching everything Shri Mataji has said and written on the subject. I had not worked out the story line when I realized that the vibrations were not cool for me to do this. Probably because I'm fighting blood and bone cancer (multiple myeloma with plasma cell leukemia) and would very likely be further attacked by the demons who hate spirituality. But I wish one of the writers among us would try to find a way to reveal the truth about at least some of the possessions by bhoots.

I will share a writing I was going to use in the novel, which is a truthful recording of an actual experience I had about six months after receiving self-realization:

Bhoot Manuscript – Pieces

She had never paid much attention to anything paranormal – but especially not to demons and evil spirits - until that night.

Pitch black darkness filled the room when she turned off the lamp in her tiny Greenwich Village apartment. A mucus-rattling snore came from her alcoholic boyfriend who, as usual, had passed out on the couch. Suddenly, a small machine flew silently directly above her head. It hovered - no wings, no propeller. Adrenaline slammed into her body. Despite the trembling, life had taught her not to panic. She stared boldly at the freakish intrusion. No details of the driver’s face could be detected from the shadowy silhouette except for two yellow elliptic eyes that beamed like headlights down to the living room floor.

“Ugh!” A dozen bent and silent old men, whose bodies were translucent…ghost-like…. limped and strained against their chained legs as they moved like oxen around and around the living floor . Their slave-master above in the hover-craft brutely jerked and pulled the chain to keep them on their gruesome move.

She surmised that the chained zombie slaves were alcoholics from their straggly hair and peeling skin. Thank God, she had recently learned from a divine source, that disembodied, microscopic souls of people that died in distressed states, could easily invade the psyche of an unsuspecting human. They would be planted by a slave-master-demon to enhance the desire for alcohol. The ‘hosts’ would believe their desire for a drink was their own.

Maybe this devil had come to kill and collect her boyfriend’s tortured soul, thereby enlarging his army of alcohol-desiring invaders? Enraged she shouted at the top of her lungs and punched her fists towards the intruder.

“Go straight to hell! Get out! Ge - e – t o-u-t. . . NOW!

Her mouth flew open when the demon quickly flew out through the walls, dragging the ghostly chain-gang behind him. Yet she had no weapon other than wrathful outrage. Maybe he was shocked that she was able to see his horror show?

So was she.