The moment he rose—six feet five in a cardigan sweater—and took my hand, all my apprehension disappeared. Something about this towering man—a glowing kindness, a welcoming ease—put me at ease, too, and for the next hour I questioned him about how it felt to have his powers. I barely understood his responses (you try interviewing a mystic), but when I stood up to say goodbye, I was so light-headed—so light all over—that I had to sit down to steady myself. The Daskalos smiled and watched me intently; then without any forethought, I asked him about a painful situation in my life. My host leaned forward, took my wrist between his fingers, and said, "You are good." Three simple words—just that—bearing no conscious link to my question; yet hearing them I wanted to weep, as if Spyros Sathi had somehow heard, underneath the surface question, a deeper confusion, a covert hunger, a secret longing to be blessed. The photographer happened to capture this moment, the Daskalos gently touching my arm, grinning at me as I beamed back at him with the same sort of lit-up expression. In the photograph, which I treasure, my face looks like a hundred-watt bulb.
I've never been a person of faith. In matters of spirit, I'm from Missouri—fascinated but skeptical. Were it not for meeting the Daskalos and a handful of other exceptional teachers in my travels as a writer and seeker, I would surely doubt that such a thing as spiritual energy existed—not as a miraculous fluke but a natural gift accessible to all of us. Like harmony, symmetry, and even genius, this invisible force is a mystery whose uplifting power must be encountered to be believed. Once that happens, revealing a glimpse of our awesome potential, it can never again be denied.
Next: The science of spiritual energy