…Paramhansaji felt a great joy and contentment in writing. At the desert he devoted most of his time to bringing forth from his own divine ocean of perception rare pearls of wisdom that would inspire all seekers of God. Hours slipped by like minutes. Many many times it was daylight before he would think of stopping, “I dictate scriptural interpretations and letters all day,” he wrote to a student, “with eyes closed to the world, but open always in heaven.” He had to be constantly reminded of the time; otherwise he would completely forget the body and its needs.
Only a night or two before he left the desert for the last time he was coaxed to stop working, and was about to go for his nightly walk, when he suddenly said, “Get out the typewriter. I am going to dictate something.” The disciples demurred, urging him to rest, but he was adamant. Several hours’ dictation followed, and the sky was beginning to lighten before he ended. Those who had been listening were spellbound by the beauty and depth of the scriptural explanation he had given, but expressed their concern that it had kept him so long. He replied very firmly, “If I hadn’t done it tonight, it would never have been done.”
It was Master’s practice to dictate the text of his new books to disciples who would record his words on a typewriter. Later he would read over the typewritten sheets and make corrections, additions, and so on. His literary works were all creative and inspirational. Unlike those of most scriptural interpreters, Yoganandaji’s books were never a scholarly rearrangement of other men’s opinions. His words sprang spontaneously from the depths of Self-realization. In his commentaries on the Bible, Bhagavad Gita and other sacred texts, Paramhansaji would start his dictation only after receiving the sanction of the Great Ones, whom he beheld with interior vision. Often he would say to disciples: “Christ (or Krishna, or Sri Yukteswarji) is here in this room, smiling a blessing.”
Because Master could converse with rare insight on any subject, many people thought he obtained his knowledge from books.
“You must be extremely well read,” a visitor observed one day. “No,” Yoganandaji replied, “I doubt that I have read twenty books in the past twenty years.”
…During the last weeks at the desert Master spoke with increasing emphasis about the unreality of illusory substance of the world. “See the mountain over there,” he would say. “God has made us think that it is tons upon tons of dirt, standing there solidly. But it is nothing more than an appearance, His dream. This mud-ball of earth whirling through space is held together only by the idea of it in the Creator’s mind.”
One night as he took his usual walk in the intense desert stillness, he looked off into the darkness and prayed to the Divine Mother to release him from his body. “My time is drawing near,” he said later. “God has better things in store for us.”