At that time he experienced the power of changing a person's life by a touch, or clearly
seeing things happening at a great distance. But he seldom used these and the other
powers he had acquired through Yoga. One day, much later, Swami Turiyananda
entered Swami Vivekananda's room while the Swami was lying on his bed, and beheld,
in place of his physical body, a mass of radiance. It is no wonder that today in
America, half a century later, one meets men and women who saw or heard Swami
Vivekananda perhaps once, and still remember him vividly.
But it must not be thought that the Swami did not show his lighter mood at Thousand
Island Park. He unfailingly discovered the little idiosyncrasies of the students and
raised gales of laughter at the dinner-table, with some quip or jest — but never in
sarcasm or malice. Dr. Wright of Cambridge, a very cultured man, was one of the
inmates of the Dutcher Cottage. He became so absorbed in the class talks that at the
end of every discourse the tense professor would invariably ask the teacher: 'Well,
Swami, it all amounts to this in the end, doesn't it? — I am Brahman, I am the
Absolute.' The Swami would smile indulgently and answer gently, 'Yes, Dockie, you
are Brahman, you are the Absolute, in the real essence of your being.' Later, when the
learned doctor came to the table a trifle late, the Swami, with the utmost gravity but
with a merry twinkle in his eyes, would say, 'Here comes Brahman' or 'Here is the
Absolute.'
Sometimes he would say, 'Now I am going to cook for you, "brethren".' The food he
cooked would be delicious, but too hot for Western tastes. The students, however,
made up their minds to eat it even if it strangled them. After the meal was cooked, the
Swami would stand in the door with a white napkin draped over his arm, in the fashion
of the negro waiters in a dining-car, and intone in perfect imitation their call for dinner:
'Last call fo' the dining cah. Dinner served.' And the students would rock with laughter.
One day he was telling the disciples the story of Sita and of the pure womanhood of
India. The question flashed in the mind of one of the women as to how some of the
beautiful society queens would appear to him, especially those versed in the art of
allurement. Even before the thought was expressed, the Swami said gravely, 'If the
most beautiful woman in the world were to look at me in an immodest or unwomanly
way, she would immediately turn into a hideous green frog, and one does not, of
course, admire frogs.'
At last the day of the Swami's departure from Thousand Island Park arrived. It was
Wednesday, August 7, 1895. In the morning he, Mrs. Funke, and Sister Christine went
for a walk. They strolled about half a mile up the hill, where all was forest and
solitude, and sat under a low-branched tree. The Swami suddenly said to them: 'Now
we shall meditate. We shall be like Buddha under the Bo-tree.' He became still as a
bronze statue. A thunderstorm came up and it poured; but the Swami did not notice
anything. Mrs. Funke raised her umbrella and protected him as much as possible.
When it was time to return, the Swami opened his eyes and said, 'I feel once more I am
in Calcutta in the rains.' It is reported that one day, at Thousand Island Park he
experienced nirvikalpa samadhi.