Master Krishna Venta And Its Impact On My Life
As a 2-year-old, I had no influence over the happenings around me. On a hill nestled between Simi Valley and the San Fernando Valley, my path in life changed dramatically. There I lived in a community known as the WKFL Fountain of the World, and outsiders thought of us as unique individuals and called us barefooters. On the early morning, December 10, 1958, an explosion disrupted our community. Only years later, would there be an understanding of the impact this had, especially since one of the lives lost was the founder and leader, Master Krishna Venta.
I resided in one of the buildings, up the hill and south, above the headquarters called the Nursery where preschoolers and babies lived. Within hours after the explosion, I have my
first memory. I woke up, turned over, propped myself up on one elbow and saw my mother sitting at the end of my bunk bed. Even now, I can still visualize her seated there in that chair looking stoic, back straight, hands clasped together in her lap, and feet planted on the floor, and with sarcasm, the thought went through my mind, what is she doing here? Then I rolled over and went back to sleep. Years later I would come to know the reason I had such a hostile reaction at seeing my mother, and this deep-seated memory that turned my heart toward bitterness. Over the years, the feelings of abandonment and a sense of not belonging hounded me.
I resided in one of the buildings, up the hill and south, above the headquarters called the Nursery where preschoolers and babies lived. Within hours after the explosion, I have my
first memory. I woke up, turned over, propped myself up on one elbow and saw my mother sitting at the end of my bunk bed. Even now, I can still visualize her seated there in that chair looking stoic, back straight, hands clasped together in her lap, and feet planted on the floor, and with sarcasm, the thought went through my mind, what is she doing here? Then I rolled over and went back to sleep. Years later I would come to know the reason I had such a hostile reaction at seeing my mother, and this deep-seated memory that turned my heart toward bitterness. Over the years, the feelings of abandonment and a sense of not belonging hounded me.