By Keshava Betts
October 10, 2017

I had a mysterious encounter with a stranger about eight years ago, the memory of which has always puzzled me.

I was in Washington DC with my high-school class on a field-trip during one of the most intense snow-storms the city had seen in nearly a decade (or so we were told). We were having dinner at a host’s house one evening when it began to snow. By the time we finished dinner, there was six inches of snow on the ground, and the storm only appeared to be worsening!

We immediately realized it was time to leave before the roads devolved from worrisome to treacherous. We rushed outside, but it seemed we were already too late – the driveway we were parked in was on a slight slope, and we couldn’t even get our vehicle out of the driveway. Even with myself and another student trying to push the car, the only thing we were met with was the sound of slipping tires on the snow.

The snow was falling quickly, it was cold, and even those of us trying to help push the car were slipping in the snow. I realized that if we couldn’t get out of this driveway quickly we probably wouldn’t make it home. God, help us! I thought as I pushed into the back of the car again. The tires only slipped and squealed in the snow. 

I stood up to catch my breath and reassess the situation when suddenly there was a man near-by wearing simple clothes and a jacket. He smiled at me and asked if we could use some help. I gratefully accepted, but I told him that I thought the car was stuck. He made some remark of being unconcerned with the situation, gave a quick tip to the driver, and came and stood next to me to help push the vehicle from behind. 

On our first attempt we managed to push the car out of the driveway and into the road. I let out a cry of joy and I thanked the man for helping us. He smiled. Without missing a moment, I went to the driver-side window and asked if the driver thought we’d make it home.

When I turned around a second later to thank the man for helping us, he was gone.

Totally gone. I couldn’t see him on the sidewalk in either direction, on either side of the street. I could see the snowfall had turned yellow by the street lamps, but no sign of the man. That’s when I realized I hadn’t seen, or heard him approach. I stood in the snow a few more moments and wondered if I’d just seen an angel.

For a time I wondered what had happened. Had the man just been out for an evening stroll and decided to help us (while also possessing incredible skills at disappearing without a trace), or had it really been an angel sent to help us?

Last week I happened to retell this story to a group of friends, after which one remarked that my mysterious benefactor could have been Babaji. On some level I felt that he was right; I do think it was Babaji who came to our rescue on that snowy evening. I sent up a sincere prayer demand, and it was suddenly answered. Whether or not it was literally Babaji, or an instrument sent by Babaji, hardly matters to me. I can feel his grace surrounding the experience.

In the Autobiography of a Yogi, it is written that “Anyone who utters the name of Babaji with reverence will receive an instantaneous spiritual blessing.” The Masters, and Babaji, want to help. They are always listening to our hearts. Whether we call out for help with moving a stuck car, or with a sticky desire in our hearts, they always hear us.