By Paramhansa Yogananda
Dossier measurement: 4061 KB
Print size: 309 pages
Page Numbers resource ISBN: 1477632573
Publisher: Crystal readability Publishers (January 25, 2003)
Sold through: Amazon electronic companies, Inc.
Publication Date: January 25, 2003
Designated one of many a hundred most crucial non secular Books of the twentieth century, here's a verbatim reprinting of the 1946 first version, with all its inherent strength intact.Read approximately real-life saints and masters, how yogis practice miracles, the technology of kriya yoga, and masses more.
In the unique variation, released in the course of Yogananda's lifestyles, one is extra involved with Yogananda himself.... -- David Frawley, Director, American Institute of Vedic reviews, 1/1/2001
From the Publisher
Autobiography of a Yogi (1946 variation)
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Extra resources for Autobiography of a Yogi
Josephine STEPPED IN FRONT of the audience. “When saw those watching faces a giddiness swept over me . . let the music carry me away. ” At the END of the CHORUS LINE, she stumbled off balance on elastic legs— on purpose— looked up in surprise, dropped her elbows like limp washcloths, CROSSED HER EYES, flashed a smile. And the audience LAUGHED. Josephine jutted out her hip, flirted and grinned, and STOLE THE SPOTLIGHT from Eva, the star. The audience howled. Eva, the chorus, the director— all raged at Josephine.
On the ship from New York, just like any good ole American hotel, rich white flappers and sleek gentlemen strolled the UPPER decks, Josephine and the cast of La Revue Nègre strutted the LOWER deck— SEGREGATED. They all landed in France together. Boarded the French train together. And in the dining car, “We were welcomed . . ” WERE THE FRENCH COLOR-BLIND? The ebullient troupe of Harlem Negroes poured out of the train into rainy Paris, wearing vermillion, rose, yellow, and green, plaid pants, polka-dotted skirts and shirts, outlandish hats tipped over ebony faces, and every one of them laughing to beat the band.
She popped her knees, slapped her bottom, twirled like a top, she skipped, SHE SIZZLED. The chorus of frenzied dancers joined her. Deep-trapped steam FLASHED and WHISTLED. Josephine was on fire. CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. No! Don’t. Mais oui— knees squeeze, now fly arms scissor and splay. QUELLE SURPRISE! Word got out. Opening night the theater CRACKLED with tension. A giant dancer lifted Josephine onto the stage. Like BLACK LAVA, she slid off his back and faced the audience. Her deep volcanic core—filled with emotion, filled with music—ERUPTED.