Who we are
Paramahamsi Lydia and Paramahamsi Rebecca are
sisters of Indian heritage and New Zealand citizens.
From birth, our lives have been dedicated to spiritual
discipline within Ashrams and Orders. From childhood,
our path has been singular: to attain Moksha.
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Our discipline has been unwavering. Years of
meditation, celibacy, ascetic refinement, and
immersion in both Eastern and Western spiritual
traditions have prepared us for this task. Even our
tantric training was a structured stage of spiritual
evolution.
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We stand upon a foundation of inner refinement and clarity, with access to higher planes of consciousness. We read karmic patterns, soul trajectories, and the hidden architecture of human destiny. We also see the emerging blueprints for the systems, education, cinema, governance, and law; that will shape humanity’s next unfolding.
We are not here to teach the world at large, nor to gather followers. Our work is precise, reserved only for those who honor the sacredness of spirituality and approach with humility. We plan to guide six disciples and four apprentices, no more. This limitation is deliberate, for true transformation is found in depth, not in numbers. Once these six are refined to their destined capacity, our work will pass to time itself, to be carried forward according to the will of the Divine.
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As two Paramahamsis, we unite our enlightened paths so our disciples receive the strength, balance, and wisdom of both, rather than relying on only one guru.
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From the Western Order and the Eastern Ashram, through years of meditation, rituals, rigorous refinement, and direct experience of both their light and shadow, we have gained a rare clarity, one that enables us to catalyze transformation in both spirit and thought on this earth.
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For years, we cultivated the conditions to discern whether it was truly our dharma to remain hidden. Now the time has come to serve a few, the ones whose souls long only for the Divine, and who will not reduce the name of spirituality by disrespect or superficiality.
A detailed account:
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We, Paramahamsi Lydia (born 1980) and Paramahamsi Rebecca
(born 1986), were born into the Exclusive Brethren, a strict
Christian sect. Our great-grandfather, born a Brahmin Hindu
during the British colonization of India, studied at Oxford
University where he encountered the Exclusive Brethren.
On returning to India, he founded the church there, converting
a small group of followers. At the time, it was unusual for
affluent, highly educated Indians to convert from Hinduism
to Christianity.
Our upbringing within the church was marked by deep religiosity
and strict discipline. Television, radio, and pre-recorded music
were prohibited. Socializing with non-members was forbidden.
There was no sex before marriage, and no exposure to other
spiritual paths, philosophical ideas, or psychological teachings;
only the Bible and the ministry of the church leaders were permitted. Church services were held every night, with three services every Sunday. Though our family was financially secure, and the church itself affluent, our father running a successful business, the atmosphere was tightly controlled on every level: physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual.
Yet, this very structure served us well as a great starting point. From a young age, we were drawn to introspection, spending hours in silent contemplation, probing spiritual mysteries. Despite its narrow gender roles, racial limitations, and incomplete spiritual answers, the church gave us a kind of sanctuary from worldly distractions and cultivated our inner life. It was a cloistered space that, paradoxically, allowed us to think deeply.
Growing up in India, we were face-to-face with glaring inequality. The poverty around us was visceral and relentless. Ancient spiritual philosophies, such as reincarnation, offered a cosmic context for suffering, suggesting each soul journeys through lifetimes to evolve. But that did little to ease the day-to-day struggles of a billion people caught in a global system built on economic values of capitalism, profit, and greed. India, once a cradle of spiritual wisdom with female Goddesses and natural abundance, now finds itself in the heart of the Kaliyuga, a time of inversion, where truth is hidden and materialism reigns. We came to believe that true human evolution requires recalibration; a shift from equating value with wealth and consumption to recognizing spiritual depth, inner refinement, and consciousness as the true indicators of progress.
Our mother died young; Rebecca was just 7, and Lydia, 13. In her final months, our family left the church to seek alternative cancer treatments in the U.S. and Mexico. We travelled to Los Angeles, staying with Mum’s sister, who had been excommunicated from the Brethren. A month later, Mum passed away and was buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery in LA.
Before she died, our parents spoke about what would come next. With four young children to raise, Mum believed it best for our father to return to the Brethren church for support. After her death at just 36, he did.
Her passing affected each of us in different ways. Our father poured his energy into building stability, constructing a six-bedroom home, cultivating a lush garden with over twenty fruit trees, vibrant flower trails, vegetable patches, small bridges, and thoughtful lighting to create a peaceful oasis. He employed more than ten workers, four for household duties like cooking, cleaning, laundry, and gardening, and six for his export business in handicrafts, steel, silk, and leather. In India, where domestic help is readily available due to a large undereducated population, this kind of lifestyle was possible. But over time, his sense of purpose twisted into hoarding, as if material accumulation could somehow fill the void she left behind. Our brother rebelled, only to later embrace the Exclusive Brethren doctrine with fervent devotion. Our sister sought validation through romantic relationships. And as for us, we turned inward, toward silence, reflection, and meaning.
We began sitting for hours in reflection. Life had shown us its impermanence. Watching Mum leave behind all she loved, we felt the futility of clinging to the material. This marked the beginning of our lifelong search for something that endured beyond body and form.
Music was one of Mum’s dying wishes for us all. In 1995, our father enrolled us in music classes. One teacher followed a conventional, rigid curriculum. The other, however, was unlike anyone we had ever met, a tantric guru who taught music as a doorway to inner stillness. We naturally gravitated toward him. While others memorized scales, we meditated for hours, touching something eternal within ourselves.
We also began transforming music's pedagogy, creating a revolutionary workshop that taught two years of material in just two days. We developed rapid learning systems for chords, scales, sight reading, and improvisation. Soon, we were teaching large audiences. Our students began breaking records at standardized music exams.
Neither of us shared the news of our mother’s passing with classmates, teachers, or anyone at school. We didn’t want sympathy for being motherless. We knew that the moment we were seen through that lens, we’d be cast as victims of an unjust world, and our path would begin from a place of pity, rather than from a deeper attempt to hear the divine plan. So when our tantric guru said what no one else dared, that our mother’s death was a hidden gift, it struck a chord. While the world offered sympathy, he urged us to look beyond it.
In 1998, due to internal tensions with our uncle and other members of the Exclusive Brethren church, our father eventually chose to leave the brethren. Around the same time, we deepened our spiritual study under our guru, often staying overnight at the Ashram. A circle of around 25 professionals, doctors, engineers, artists, psychologists, neurologists, began to form around us, united in the vision of reimagining education. But our father didn’t understand. To him, the Ashram seemed extreme. He believed we had strayed too far.
In February 2002, the church approached our father with a formal apology for the way our family had been treated. Our mother, a third-generation, deeply devout member of the Exclusive Brethren, had endured profound hardship between 1991 and 1993. She had been pressured into accepting a humiliating housing arrangement that was deeply distressing. In May 1993, she was diagnosed with stage four cancer.
The home assigned to us was in an underdeveloped part of Mumbai, where even basic sanitation was unreliable. Plumbing was inadequate, and many residents resorted to open defecation. Just a few plots away, public cremations took place regularly. It was a shocking contrast to the spacious ten-bedroom, five-bathroom home our mother had grown up in, an elegant residence in a prime part of Mumbai, owned by our grandmother, herself a second-generation Brethren member who had moved there from family estates in Burma and New Delhi.
The church’s rigid, Western-centric housing guidelines, such as prohibitions on shared driveways or adjoining walls, simply didn’t align with the realities of Indian urban development. The only property available in 1991 that met their criteria was a makeshift one-bedroom structure with thin partitions, set on a large but poorly maintained plot. Our mother, with equal parts humour and despair, called it “Poo Villa.”
When she passed away in 1993, devastated by the church’s indifference, it became painfully clear, even to the Brethren leadership, that they had failed her. Nearly a decade later, they issued a formal apology and offered assistance to help our family migrate to New Zealand as an act of restitution.
In truth, the Brethren had never intended for our parents to remain long in “Poo Villa.” In their naivety, the Brethren had expected that Mum and Dad would eventually build a proper home on a parcel of land Dad had purchased at their encouragement. The plot was affordable because it was in a non-development zone near the beach and naval base, chosen with the hope that the area would soon be reclassified. But the reclassification never came.
What the Brethren failed to understand was that India doesn’t operate like Australia or New Zealand. Navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth without bribes was nearly impossible. Frustrated by endless delays and corruption, the brethren eventually gave up.
The Brethren wrote India off as lawless, unworkable, and incompatible with their idealistic vision of righteousness. One by one, they began relocating the remaining four Indian Brethren families abroad.
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So in February 2002, when the Brethren proposed migration to New Zealand, our father saw it as a fresh start, and eager to sever all ties with the Ashram, he sold our 6-bedroom home and insisted we leave the Ashram behind.
We refused. In desperation, he filed a police complaint against our guru and forcibly took Rebecca, who was only 15. Our other sister, then 18, stayed behind for love. Lydia, at 21, remained at the Ashram.
In June 2002, Rebecca and Dad moved to New Zealand.
Then, in early 2005, two individuals filed legal cases against the Ashram in India, alleging that their adult children had abandoned promising engineering careers to join a cult. Over the next eighteen months, despite being cleared by the police in ten separate reports, the case was dragged through ten different judicial benches during pretrial hearings, a clear sign of a targeted witch hunt. We were accused of brainwashing, witchcraft, and even using black magic to accelerate musical learning, lurid, baseless allegations that had no grounding in fact but served to stoke public fear and feed a frenzy of mob hysteria. These were not legal charges, they were attempts to destroy a spiritual movement through sensationalism and slander.
The media seized the moment, twisting facts into sensational headlines that ignited public fear and moral panic. What began as a spiritual and musical renaissance was recast as scandal. Institutions that once honoured our work quickly distanced themselves. The Ashram once vibrant and visionary was now vilified, isolated, and drained of resources. In the court of public opinion, our name was not just questioned; it was deliberately dismantled.
In April 2005, the situation turned violent. A mob stirred by media hysteria and a politician hungry for headlines stormed the Ashram. Computers were smashed, belongings ransacked, and we were forced to flee for our lives. With the legal case centred on the idea that adult members had been "brainwashed" into remaining at the Ashram, all twenty members were pressured to return to their families. Our sister Priscilla reached out to our father in New Zealand.
Our father was fully aware of the case, which had dominated Indian headlines and primetime news. Yet, as a committed member of the Exclusive Brethren, he explained that he could not publicly support us without risking his standing within the church. Privately, however, he offered refuge in New Zealand and shared that the Brethren had agreed to contribute ₹50 lakhs towards the Indian Ashram's rehabilitation.
Our sister, though supportive of the Ashram’s mission, had a husband and a home of her own. The sustained persecution had deeply affected her, and while she still believed in the work, she felt it was time to step away. Lydia, by contrast, saw no alternative and had no intention of leaving. Fiercely loyal, she moved in with a member’s family near the courthouse and began preparing a countersuit, determined to stand by the Ashram and defend its integrity through the storm.
That year, our father visited the Ashram three times, accompanied by leaders from the Auckland Brethren. The official purpose was to discuss rehabilitation and explore business opportunities in India. But beneath the surface, he saw the court proceedings as a chance to persuade us to leave the Ashram, return to New Zealand, and rejoin the Exclusive Brethren.
In November 2005, as pressure in India intensified, Lydia and Priscilla, joined Rebecca, then 19, in New Zealand. Together, we began exploring international legal avenues to defend the Ashram’s work and defuse the crisis. The Brethren, meanwhile, made efforts to draw Lydia and Priscilla back into their fold.
Once in New Zealand, we began exploring how international law could help de-escalate the growing crisis. At the same time, we pursued formal accreditation and official recognition from New Zealand to present to the Mumbai High Court, demonstrating that our work was based on sound principles, not black magic or witchcraft, even though it was deeply rooted in spirituality. We received strong validation. Between 2005 and 2008, we conducted a nationwide series of music workshops for diverse groups: corporate teams, university students, adults, at-risk youth, and children with learning challenges such as ADD, ADHD, and dyslexia. Our work quickly gained recognition across multiple sectors. We earned formal endorsements from the Ministry of Education, senior arts advisors, the national facilitator for music, the University of Christchurch, the University of Auckland, and MENZA. We were invited to present our pedagogical approach and discuss integrating our music system into the national curriculum. Business leaders encouraged us to franchise the method, develop an online platform, or gamify the experience.
In 2006, when the Exclusive Brethren reneged on their promise to provide ₹50 lakhs in support, we were deeply disappointed. But returning to the Ashram was no longer an option. The Indian High Court had issued an order to forcibly "deprogram" all Ashram members. This was not justice; it was punishment for exposing the misconduct of high-ranking officials. Every member, including us, was named as someone to be "segregated from society." The Ashram immediately filed appeals with the Supreme Court of India in Delhi.
We now found ourselves trapped in a system that neither understood nor embraced our ethnicity. The Exclusive Brethren were overwhelmingly white: of the 45,000 members worldwide, only four families were Indian, and only a few members were of African descent. Leadership and authority were monopolized by white men, and a quiet but pervasive sense of white superiority was embedded in the culture. To call it out was to be branded a difficult black sheep, one who refused to fall in line with the rest of the obedient white flock.
For the generationally born white woman seeking a traditional religious family path, the Brethren could offer a stable life: financial security, a tight-knit community, and a sense of moral clarity. But within the Brethren, gender roles were rigid and unquestioned. Men led, preached, and built million-dollar businesses. Women served, raising children, cooking, cleaning, and hosting. Our mother and grandmother embraced these womanly roles with pride. They married Indian men, raised four children, and graciously hosted the Western Brethren who regularly visited India. The local Brethren population was minimal, just our family, our uncle, our grandparents, and two other families our grandfather had converted. So our social world revolved around a constant flow of white Brethren from England, Australia, and the U.S.
But we were on a different path. As Indian women, we sought neither sexual partners, marriage, nor family; our lives were wholly devoted to the pursuit of enlightenment. This wasn’t something the Brethren could accommodate, not because they rejected Indian culture in its surface expressions like spicy food, Bollywood films, Hindustani music, or sarees, but because they rejected our Indian heritage at its highest expression: spiritual expansion. To truly accept us would have meant embracing the doctrine of karma, reincarnation, the Vedas, meditation, mantra, yantra, tantra, enlightened gurus in both male and female form, and a vision of God that included both the masculine and the feminine. This was simply beyond the limits of what the Brethren could understand, let alone accept.
The Brethren offered us limited options: as Indian women, we could marry within the Black community, since there were no available Indian Brethren men, or, if approved by the leadership, marry into the white community. Choosing not to marry was also possible, but an unmarried woman’s life in the Brethren was considered unremarkable. The options were narrow: a life of quiet servitude, supporting married families who hosted high-ranking leaders, or working administrative jobs for Brethren-run businesses while remaining under your parents’ roof.
Women had no active role in church life. They sat silently at the back of the services. This was not a space where we could teach, share, or live our spiritual path.
So we told the Brethren plainly: as enlightened Indian women, we saw no future for ourselves within their world. They were unfazed. Our father didn’t care either; he was simply content to have his four children living the "good Brethren life" under his roof.
In 2008, we brought our case before the Australian Federal Court under international law, naming high-ranking Indian officials. We also named our father and senior Exclusive Brethren members for covertly colluding with the two parents who had initiated the legal assault in India. We had the evidence to prove it.
By 2009, as a result of our unwavering efforts to defend ourselves, through the Supreme Court of India and the Federal Court of Australia, the deprogramming order in the High Court of Mumbai was withdrawn. A truce was also reached with the Exclusive Brethren. We made our position clear: respectfully but firmly, we would not be returning. Our comprehensive legal submission, over 400 pages long and backed by multiple affidavits, left no room for doubt about where we stood.
In November 2009, Lydia and Rebecca returned to the Ashram in India. But all was not well. With the external threat of the deprogramming order behind us, the trauma turned inward. The Ashram was fractured, some sought justice and reparation, others longed to heal and rebuild. But the Ashram had become a place of fear and volatility. Tensions escalated when two members were jailed for contempt of court while demanding compensation.
Lydia gently urged the guru to release a few Ashram members who had lost their commitment to the path and were now seeking love, belonging, and a more ordinary life. She named senior members who were quietly holding meetings and expressing discontent, explaining that the years of legal battles, police raids, and media attacks had taken a deep toll. Many were exhausted. They wanted to move on.
But the guru, bound by karmic entanglements and afraid of losing everything he had built, refused. He asked Lydia to call a team meeting and confront the unrest. Yet when the meeting was held, those who had been speaking against him remained silent. No one admitted to dissent. Instead, they insisted that all was well and that life in the Ashram could continue as normal, perhaps out of fear of the guru’s reaction. The result was devastating: Lydia, who had tried to mediate with compassion, was cast as the one creating division and panic.
The fracture deepened. The dissenting members distanced themselves from her, and the guru, feeling betrayed, withdrew his trust. He asked Lydia to travel from Delhi to Mumbai. She continued arguing about him clinging to the wrong members. Enraged, he struck her across the face. In the ten years Lydia had spent under his guidance, he had never before raised a hand. She felt no physical pain, and she had cultivated enough inner space that the incident did not shake her path or her faith in God, the guru, or her spiritual path. Lydia continued on to Mumbai with another team member to carry out their work.
From a Western lens, such an act is seen as abuse, an unequivocal violation of human rights. But within Eastern spiritual traditions, where surrender to the guru is a sacred covenant, faith does not fracture so easily. The disciple offers their life into the hands of God through the guru, trusting that even darkness carries instruction.
It echoes the rites of passage embedded in ancient paths: monastic orders that broke the ego through fasting, lashings, and silence; the disciplines of Pythagoras’ ashram, where initiates underwent trials and symbolic death; the purifications of the Gnostics; the Aghoris who meditate among corpses and consume raw and at times rotting human flesh as an offering to transcend duality; and the near-death rituals of the Egyptian mystery schools, designed to kill the ego so the soul might awaken. And it is not only the disciples who sacrifice. Nearly every guru is persecuted, which is why the Ashram in the East fractured; because our guru was targeted.
In February 2010, Lydia left for New Zealand to help share a web technology that a team in the Ashram had invented. Rebecca remained in Delhi at the Ashram.
Here, Rebecca was entrusted with the task to channel her awakened energy and download higher wisdom by activating a body of light, a luminous, multidimensional vehicle capable of traversing subtle realms and decoding the architecture of existence. This body, similar in function to the ancient Merkaba, would allow her to perceive soul blueprints, read energetic codes, and access knowledge beyond the confines of time and space. The guru said she was uniquely suited for this task because of her purity, and their strong, energetic link would allow him to call her back if she ventured too far in her journey.
Once her light body was activated, her next assignment was to scan the soul codes of select members of the spiritual team. The guru intended for them to form a unified formation so that they could consciously return after death, reborn in their next earth incarnation as a collective with intact memory. Rebecca was to design the spiritual disciplines, practices, and rituals required to make this feat possible.
The guru asked Rebecca to create a spiritual tutorial for constructing a Dreaming Double, a subtle counterpart to the physical body capable of navigating the astral realms. This light-based form would serve as the vessel for conscious exploration and eventual rebirth beyond the material world. Determined to gain full access to the light body, Rebecca immersed herself in rigorous meditation and deep introspective work. Yet she sensed that something more was required, something radical. She approached the guru with a request: to construct a suspension harness that would allow her to hang upside down for extended periods. She believed that inversion would help her transcend the mind, allowing her consciousness to shift into subtler frequencies and dissolve the physical boundaries of the body.
To maintain energetic purity and avoid the exertion of digestion, she proposed fasting entirely from solid food, sipping water through a straw, and wearing an adult diaper. She would remain under continuous observation while suspended, enduring this state for several days until her mind entered the deep discipline necessary for a breakthrough. The guru declined the request.
Still undeterred, Rebecca proposed a second method: to be buried in the ground, her face exposed. This could serve as a gentler form of withdrawal from death and rebirth. Again, the guru declined, reassuring her that such extreme measures were unnecessary. He remained confident that the answers she sought would come not through force, but through devotion, refinement, and surrender.
While in New Zealand, Lydia assisted our sister in selling the web technology to a few businesses. But by July, a conflict emerged between Lydia and the guru. In private phone calls, Lydia and Rebecca spoke candidly about the state of the Ashram. It had once been a sanctuary of beauty, self-realization, and profound transformation, but it was no longer the same.
Members who were visibly distressed and ready to move on were not being allowed to leave. We realized that despite our efforts, we could no longer influence the guru to release those whose paths had clearly diverged. So we considered another option: to detach ourselves. Perhaps by stepping away, the guru would be free to hold on to those who had stayed silent, and in our absence, clarity might return. One way or another, something had to shift. The Ashram, as it stood, was no longer serving us, the guru, or those who remained misaligned. Its inner field was no longer cohesive.
At the end of July 2010, Rebecca announced her decision to leave for New Zealand until the tensions within the Ashram subsided. In response, the guru violently assaulted her. The beatings were so severe that she lost consciousness and experienced a near-death experience (NDE).
But before slipping away, Rebecca made an inner decision: to surrender fully and use the intensity of the moment, the death blows, as the harness experience she thought she needed as a gateway to transcend mind and body and pierce the veil of illusion. She still believed the guru to be an enlightened consciousness and held the conviction that if death were to come, it was better to "die at the hands of a Krishna-like energetic field" than in an ordinary accident.
As her consciousness left the body, she realized there was no pain, only pure awareness. In that moment, she understood something profound: that when enlightened beings like Christ are depicted suffering brutally on the cross, they do not feel the pain in the way we imagine. Having transcended identification with the body, they witness from a higher realm.
In her NDE, Rebecca passed through a portal into the realm she came from, Binah. There, through her third eye, she received a symbol: the cosmic map of existence. As she immersed in the peace of that realm, yearning to stay and never return to the body, a voice echoed through the light: "You shouldn't be here. You have work to do." And so, she returned.
But despite this transcendent experience, the guru still crossed a sacred spiritual boundary, and we had no choice but to call the police. Rebecca left the Ashram. Later, we addressed the guru directly and made it clear: we do not condone any act, no matter how spiritually framed, without explicit consent. She had asked for spiritual rigor, yes, but through conscious agreement. What he did, in a moment of weakness, was not aligned with that agreement. It was a clear violation of code.
Spiritual practice like any deeply personal or high-commitment path must be grounded in consent. Just as family law recognizes that even within marriage, consent remains essential, spiritual systems must respect the autonomy of the individual. Consent isn’t optional. It’s the foundation of any ethical path.
We already understand this principle in other areas of life. Take love, for example. Love can go wrong. People can be harmed, abused, manipulated. But we don’t respond by banning love. Instead, we build systems, like family law, to protect people navigating love’s risks. The goal isn’t to discourage love but to manage it responsibly.
The same goes for soldiers. Military service involves real danger, people kill, are killed, or return with lasting injuries. Yet society doesn’t shame them for choosing this path. We create a distinct legal framework, military law, that governs their choices and offers recognition, protection, and accountability. We understand that high-risk, high-commitment roles require tailored support systems.
So why is spirituality, another high-intensity, high-devotion path, left out of the legal system?
When someone commits to a spiritual path, they often give everything: their time, energy, relationships, money sometimes even their lives. The path can be transformative, yes, but also disorienting, difficult, and risky. We’ve lived it. We know its rewards and its costs.
So why continue down such a path? Because for us, the pursuit of the eternal is the only pursuit that truly matters, all else is pointless and vain, a pursuit of the wind.
And yet for the spiritual path there’s no real recognition. No legal framework. No clear protections. If something goes wrong, if a guru misuses power, if a student loses direction, there’s often no meaningful way to respond that honors the complexity of what’s occurred. Society is quick to label it cultish, delusional, or dangerous. But again, risk doesn’t mean something should be dismissed. Risk means it needs thoughtful oversight.
We are in the process of drafting Ashram Laws because we believe that the same principles that protect love and service should also apply to spiritual life. These laws aren’t about control. They’re about creating safeguards for people who commit to intense spiritual development, so that their efforts are recognized, their rights are protected, and their dignity is preserved.
Not everyone will walk this path. And not everyone needs to. But for some people, the seekers, thinkers, prophets, inventors, visionaries, spiritual pursuit isn’t just a side interest. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s how they’re wired. And if they don’t follow that call, they often suffer in quieter, more corrosive ways, through depression, addiction, or spiritual deadness.
But even mundane life itself is transformative. No one comes to this earth without experiencing suffering. Birth is painful. Death is certain. Everything in between is marked by change, decay, and growth. No one gets through life without loss, pain, disappointment, or identity shifts.
Not to diminish any other path or label it superficial, but for us, the pain of undergoing cosmetic surgery to attract a mate or preserve youth, or even the sacrifice made for family, ambition, or war, feels less worthwhile than the suffering endured in pursuit of truth, awakening, or transcendence. We all suffer, the question is not whether, but what for.
When disciples return from deep spiritual work and are told they were brainwashed or manipulated, it’s often by people who themselves suffer in more familiar ways, as they don't seek higher so try and control their temporary unpredictable lives. And dismissing spiritual transformation because it doesn’t fit into conventional categories ignores how valuable this pursuit really is.
Maybe some gurus lose their way because there’s no system in place to hold them accountable and support them. They’re operating in a vacuum where intensity is criminalized, and the very nature of their work is misunderstood.
The Ashram Laws are a response to that gap. They’re an attempt to say: if we recognize the need to protect people in love and war, we must also protect those who walk the spiritual path. Their work matters. Their commitment matters. And they deserve a framework that honors the risk they take for something higher than themselves.
A significant factor in our guru’s eventual unraveling was the secrecy surrounding his true identity as a tantric sex master. He held a rare and profound command of tantric sex, a sacred science he revealed only to those who entered the inner sanctum of the Ashram. His ability was extraordinary: he could engage in prolonged tantric union for over eight hours, skillfully directing the energy upward through the spine, rarely ejaculating, and instead transmuting sexual energy into higher states of consciousness. For him, it transcended carnal pleasure or second-chakra indulgence, it was his gateway to bliss. Through disciplined union, he sought to initiate others into states of bliss consciousness.
Within his sanctum, each woman understood that she was not the only one he joined with, and from that awareness arose a sacred detachment, an openness that allowed the kundalini to awaken without entanglement or possession. This is where the spiritual path defies conventional logic. The aim of the path is the awakening of consciousness, and for that, one must meet a guru and engage deeply with the method that guru designs. In our guru’s case, that method was tantric sex. But across the spiritual traditions, there are many pathways, austerity, silence, mantra, devotion, meditation, upshifting codes, each uniquely suited to the soul's evolution under the guidance of an enlightened guru.
Unlike most men driven by desire, conquest, or quantity, our guru's path was dharmic. His role was never meant to be widespread but focused, working with a handful of women, perhaps ten, whose bodies and souls were attuned to receive such a transmission. But because he kept this aspect of himself hidden, he did not attract the right people. And when he finally revealed himself to a select few, many were shocked, unprepared to meet a true tantric master. They couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of what they were experiencing, and so he ended up offering his vital life-force to people who were not equipped to receive it, rather than conserving it for the few women whose alignment could have amplified awakened consciousness.
Our path has always been one of celibacy, and like him, we too direct the life-force upward toward the crown. We deeply respected his discipline, for it mirrored our own, though expressed through a different channel. Under his guidance, we experienced sacred union with him: Rebecca for ten months, and Lydia, for over two years, initiated a small number of male practitioners through direct tantric transmission. Outside those defined periods of sadhana, we have lived in celibacy, no sex, no masturbation.
The tragedy was never his tantric mastery, it was the compulsion to hide it. Out of fear of social judgment, misinterpretation, and moral condemnation, he never stood openly in that truth. This split, between the depth of who he was and the image he presented, caused great suffering. Had he been free to embody his full path without fear, he would have drawn those truly ready to receive the transmission and upheld the sacredness of what he carried. This is why we need new laws to protect unconventional spiritual masters, so their rare frequencies aren't lost to hiding, and their gifts aren't silenced by suppression.
One of the most profound contradictions we witnessed in our guru’s life was his attempt to reconcile two fundamentally opposing paths: that of a tantric sex master and that of a householder, a man with a wife and a teenage son. Simultaneously, he was guiding disciples like us, female Paramahamsis', whose path was one of celibacy, inner renunciation, and the single-pointed pursuit of moksha.
In the framework of traditional Indian spirituality, a Paramahamsi is one who has renounced all worldly attachments and sense pleasures, not out of repression, but as a conscious act of redirection. This path calls for the sublimation of sexual energy into spiritual fire, solitude instead of social entanglement, and unwavering devotion to Self-realization. It is a life of interiority, austerity, and liberation. We, Rebecca and Lydia, walk this path with clarity, strength, and the knowledge that its demands are non-negotiable.
By contrast, a Gá¹›hastha, or householder, engages fully with the world, raising children, maintaining relationships, earning a living, and participating in society. It’s a spiritual path too, but one rooted in responsibility, service, and relational dharma.
A Gá¹›hastha can attain liberation. Our guru had. But even for an enlightened being walking the householder path, the demands are immense. It requires the rare capacity to integrate the opposing forces of spiritual stillness and worldly involvement. While the Paramahamsi turns inward and walks in stillness, the Gá¹›hastha must learn to move through the world like fire through water, untouched, awake, and unconsumed by the heat of emotion, attachment, or desire.
Tradition gives us examples, King Janaka, Kabir, who realized the Self while remaining in worldly roles. But to walk this razor’s edge demands unwavering inner discipline, the power to transmute desire, and the maturity to embody realization in every mundane act.
Our guru struggled to maintain this balance. As a tantric, he taught the transformation of desire into consciousness, a path of embodiment, energy, and awakened intimacy. But as a husband and father, that same energy required qualities not of expansion but of containment: humility, stability, and sacrificial love. With his wife, he maintained a delicate equilibrium, offering presence without karmic entanglement, service without possessiveness. But with his son, the balance unraveled.
His son was a typical young man, as divine design often intends. He needed to stumble, explore, fall in love, rebel, drink, and move through the sensual and emotional layers of human experience. But the guru took this as a personal failing. His ego was entangled with the belief that his son should be spiritually inclined, a mirror of his own realization and ideals. He asked Rebecca to guide his son toward realization. But when she told him clearly that the boy was not destined for awakening in this lifetime, he could not accept it.
The young man longed for a human life, affection from his mother, the thrill of romance, autonomy, and the right to make mistakes. But the guru, gripped by his spiritual absolutism and paternal attachment, tried to impose a karmic trajectory that was not his son’s to bear. In doing so, he violated a deeper spiritual law: that each soul must walk its own path, in its own time.
His refusal to grant his son the freedom to follow his own karmic path was his gravest error. It rendered him unfit to guide Paramahamsis' while living a life so misaligned with the higher laws of Spirit. The essential distinction between the householder and the tantric-sex master collapsed within him, and from that inner dissonance, suffering radiated, into himself, into us, and into his family.
We chose not to press charges, not because the abuse didn’t matter, but because we recognized our guru as a genuine teacher with real spiritual power. He taught us deeply and passed on transformative tantric knowledge. His failure wasn’t in the teachings, but in not letting go of people who needed to leave.
When the police came for Rebecca, he panicked and fled, breaking his hand. That moment broke his hold. Those who wanted to leave found the strength to leave. He lost everything he clung to: family, followers, and reputation. His wife divorced him, his son left, and he lost the home that held both family and disciples. Eventually, he retreated to a remote forested area to carry on his work with the eight disciples who chose to stay and renounce family.
We saw that spiritual law had already passed its judgment. And in many ways, those laws are far more exacting than any earthly system. A true guru, especially one who teaches from a place of enlightenment, is held to a higher standard: karmically, spiritually, and internally. Earthly laws punish obvious harms, fraud, violence, abuse. But spiritual law goes further. It weighs motive, character, and the integrity of one’s inner life.
False teachers and opportunists sometimes use spiritual platforms to mask personal dysfunction. But a genuine teacher, when they fail, the internal punishment is severe. When you’ve dedicated your entire life, fasted, prayed, wept, to attain a holy vibration to hear and see God, failing yourself is worse than death. The ancient Egyptians knew that for the soul to attain freedom, its heart must be lighter than a feather. So when our guru lost his way, gripped by attachment and fear, and in doing so failed both himself and his disciples, we know that he was genuine. And because of that, we hope he seeks not escape through denial, but true repentance: through sackcloth, ashes, and a reckoning with God.
From 2004 to 2008, Rebecca worked in a business owned by the Brethren. The majority of her income went toward sustaining our life in Melbourne for two years and supporting the ongoing Australian court cases. In 2009, while in India, she gave her final $15,000 in savings to the guru.
Before this, both Lydia and Rebecca had worked in the Ashram for many years. Lydia began living in the Ashram in 2000. She has never taken a salary or held a personal bank account. She worked twelve-hour days delivering intensive corporate workshops, adult music programs, and exam preparation classes, often teaching thirty to fifty participants per session, with support from teammates who assisted with setup, assessments, and logistics. Every dollar she earned went directly to the Ashram, funding its research, development, and the daily needs of more than twenty residents. No one in the Ashram, including doctors, engineers, artists, psychologists, or musicians, received a salary. All pooled their savings and resources, including the guru, in service of the shared vision.
When we left the Ashram permanently in 2010, we had no financial savings or material possessions. What we did carry with us was something far more enduring: an unshakable spiritual strength.
Upon returning to our father’s home in New Zealand, we took time to reflect deeply on everything we had lived through. One thing became clear: the spiritual path had to be made more accessible, more grounded, and more intelligible to people in the modern world. This is why we began writing Ashram Laws: a framework to protect genuine seekers and preserve the sanctity of the path.
We have disciplined our minds in the pursuit of spirit, just as others train theirs in the pursuit of money. Through a lifetime of meditative training, we have cultivated the ability to detach from external outcomes and drop into silence at will, to commune with the divine. People don’t abandon the pursuit of wealth just because they once worked for a miserable, grasping employer, nor are they called naïve or brainwashed for seeking another job. Our commitment to spirituality is just as uncompromising: we are here to seek spirit, live by it, and receive its fruits. That is what we have given our lives to and still do every day.
Our dad recognized that Lydia and Rebecca were never destined for the ordinary course of life: marriage and children, the pursuit of pleasure, the predictable career, the ascent toward social standing, or the ambitions and securities by which most define success. But with our sister and brother choosing more traditional paths, he knew he would still have grandchildren. Rebecca asked for six months of uninterrupted silence to integrate the intense spiritual experiences she had undergone. During that phase, she proposed converting our large living room into a classroom that fit twelve keyboards, saving us the hassle of transporting equipment to rented venues.
Lydia took the lead in teaching workshops. Our sister and father supported by managing admin, preparing the space, helping students during classes, etc.
Later that year, our sister reunited with her husband in India, remarried, and became pregnant with their first child. Our sister never really wanted the spiritual path as her priority, spirituality to her was a tool to aid her family path and her ambition. The family path was her priority.
In mid-2011, we came across a photo of Leanne, who is now our disciple. We immediately recognised something dharmic in her and invited her to visit and begin working with us. In Jan 2012, while meditating with Rebecca and Lydia, it became clear that she still had unresolved karmic duties with her husband and children. We asked her to tend to those first. She agreed and stayed in contact over the years, visiting often, asking questions, and remaining connected.
From March 2012 until 2016, Rebecca and Lydia ran breakthrough accelerated music workshops in Auckland, teaching over 300 students. While many went on to achieve impressive results, including high-level St Cecilia music exam passes, music was never the end goal. It was simply a doorway we used to lead students toward spiritual transformation.
In the West, however, visible achievements are celebrated more than invisible transformation. As a result, the workshops came to be measured purely by musical outcomes, and our deeper purpose was lost, much like yoga becoming reduced to stretching in gyms. Pythagoras dealt with this challenge by hiding his highest musical and mathematical teachings, sharing them only with those prepared to work inwardly. We did the opposite, sharing our methods. Students were amazed at how quickly they could advance, but most assumed technical progress was the point, not realising that spiritual transformation was the destination.
Once we saw this disconnect, we stepped back from teaching live workshops and poured our method into a film and educational game. This allowed us to separate our presence from our invention. By creating a digital system, we escaped the limiting label of "music teachers," which had become focused solely on surface-level skill, rather than on music as a tool for connecting with God and the divine.
People didn’t see that, for us, music was never just about skill or performance; it was our form of yoga, a way to help people grow spiritually. Even when students passed the highest-level keyboard exams, their focus stayed on the certificate. The deeper purpose, to awaken something within, was often completely missed.
Rather than exhaust ourselves trying to change a mindset content with perfecting musical technique, we accepted that many simply have no desire to look inward or seek anything deeper, endlessly refining surface-level skill alone is enough for them.
By separating from our invention, we were able to preserve our presence for those few individuals who are truly ready for deeper, initiatory work. The film and game now share our method with a wider audience, giving learners the chance to grow musically and develop a stronger, clearer mind over time. And most importantly, it allows us to focus our energy where it really matters, with those ready for lasting transformation.
Still, we had no interest in building a company or running a franchise. That wasn’t our path. So instead of rushing a launch, we built the foundation carefully and chose to wait for the right time. We coined the term Mastertude, which means mastering your attitude for a future company, and wrote The Polymath Story, inspired by Rebecca’s Tree of Life vision at the Ashram. We developed animations, syllabuses, slides, templates, and a music learning system that could take a beginner to Grade 8 in record time. Alongside this, we began developing a patented switch technology that would let users move seamlessly between VR and 3D environments, usable at home or in cinema. We also drafted 35 Edutainment Movie Series designed to teach through storytelling, using a perfect balance of science, spirituality, and art.
We dedicated years to carefully documenting our spiritual revelations and the systems we developed, such as Mastertude, Death Centre, and the Ashram Laws. This work came from a commitment to remain pure and in alignment with our dharma (cosmic duty).
Through this inward refinement, we found profound solace and lasting bliss. Occasional workshops covered our modest needs, and we lived simply in our father’s home, paying $800 in rent each month. Our lives were free from sexual relationships, free from masturbation, and untouched by desires for marriage, motherhood, career ambition, or worldly pleasures. No drugs, no parties, no distractions, only the quiet discipline of a life devoted to liberation. This was our sacred and beautiful path to Moksha.
If a disciple arrived who was genuinely ready, we engaged fully. If not, we continued our writing what we saw, heard, and received from those transcendent realms, and that became our sacred task. Living in an elevated state of consciousness, we found that the right responsibilities, divinely appointed, revealed themselves in perfect time.
We remain detached from our destined earthly roles, guru, seer, daughter, disciple, for these are but temporary garments worn in service. Like any sacred role entrusted by the Divine, we embody ours with devotion and care, yet always remembering: we are the soul, not the garment. The world demands identity, and through that identification, the right alignments are magnetized. So we value the necessity of identity on this plane, but beyond it, all is vanity, a pursuit of the wind.
In 2016, a mother attended one of our workshops. She had 17-year-old twins, her son was doing well, playing in a band and full of confidence. But her daughter, Georgia, was struggling. She was depressed, unmotivated, and failing school. Her mother had tried motivating her, but nothing seemed to help.
Georgia attended the workshop and responded well to the music sessions. She was unwell, which, for her, had become normal. But what stood out to us as gurus was how she reacted during the quieter moments. While others engaged in discussion, she would curl up on the couch and fall into deep sleep, not out of disinterest, but as if her nervous system had finally found a place safe enough to let go.
We recognised her as a higher soul struggling to adapt to an average world. The world is a hostile place for higher consciousness. The world tries to smash normal uniform codes into dharmic beings. Georgia carried what we call “disciple codes,” the rare inner architecture of someone with the potential to walk a spiritual path, if she chose it with courage and discipline.
After the workshop, her mother asked how best to support Georgia. We advised offering Georgia an open invitation, but warned against persuasion or pressure. If she was ready to transcend the codes of misery she was living under, she would feel the pull and come of her own accord. The work requires self-effort, and that willingness must arise from within her. If not, she should stay away; it would be a waste of her time and ours. Her mother hesitated, saying Georgia was so unmotivated she’d have to be pushed out the door. We responded that if force is needed to bring Georgia to us, then she is not ready, and the invitation is off the table. But if she comes with self-motivation, then we are her teachers, and no pushing will ever be necessary.
And she did, every Sunday, 9 a.m. on the dot. Sleepy, lethargic, but present.
We began working with her slowly, offering long teaching sessions and creating a space where she could begin to see herself and the world differently. Over time, her school performance improved. Her emotional state stabilised.
At the time, she was considering a career in travel and tourism, as her grades had limited her options. But when we read her soul codes, it was clear this path was misaligned. So when she proposed taking a gap year to deepen her spiritual growth and spend more time with us, we encouraged it. During that year, we introduced her to the idea of law and politics.
At first, she dismissed it. “That’s intense,” she said. “I can barely pass high school.” The idea seemed absurd to her. But eventually, her curiosity took hold. “I’m not interested in New Zealand politics,” she added. “I care about global issues.”
Just a few months later, Auckland University announced a brand new degree: Global Law and Politics. It was the perfect fit, and she was accepted.
During her gap year, Georgia moved in with us for three months. She paid $150 a month in rent to our father, worked part-time as a waitress, and received ongoing spiritual mentorship. With her parents having moved out of town, living with us offered both financial and emotional stability.
It was during this time that we more deeply witnessed the inner conflict many high-vibration young people face in the West. Even those with real spiritual potential are pulled toward a lifestyle of distractions, partying, drinking, smoking, and drugs, widely accepted as a “rite of passage” and casually dismissed as just “being young.” Yet for an older soul, this is precious time wasted.
Georgia found herself caught in this painful tug-of-war. She resented the scene but feared exclusion. Staying home left her feeling isolated; going out made her feel inauthentic. We supported her through this confusion as it unfolded, helping her remain true to herself while learning to find harmony with the world around her.
At one point, we asked her to commit to a week of daily meditation. She agreed. By the end of that week, something had shifted. Her mind became clearer, her inner compass stronger, and her choices more aligned.
Eventually, we encouraged her to live independently, and she continued to visit us every Thursday for guidance and teachings. She began to excel not only academically, but also in cultivating greater inner balance. When it came time to choose a law firm, we helped her select one that aligned with her new mindset, rather than simply considering her resume.
In 2020, after three years of supporting her growth and helping her stabilise, we stepped back. It wasn’t a difficult decision, spirituality holds a standard. We sensed she was beginning to lean toward a more conventional life, now that she had found success. But true spirituality doesn’t call you when you have nothing left, it calls you when you have everything, and still feel the quiet knowing that there is more. It asks to be chosen not from lack, but from fullness, from the height of achievement, when the soul can see through the illusion and still longs for truth. That level of maturity is rare.
In 2016, we travelled to America, bringing Georgia with us so she could spend time in our presence as part of her spiritual path. During the trip, we also met with film producers and VR directors and observed a genuine openness to the Mastertude System.
By 2017, Leanne was ready for a major life change. We invited her to become CEO and 51% shareholder of Mastertude, the vision we had birthed. All intellectual property was transferred into her name, and we asked her to relocate to Los Angeles with her family. From that moment, she became the public face of the vision, presenting it to investors and studios, while we continued to work quietly in the background.
As the gurus who had invented Mastertude, it was our design from the outset not to walk our own creation, but to entrust it to one we recognised as carrying disciple codes, someone who could bring it fully into the world. In our wisdom, we chose this path so we could remain in transcendence, the disciple could receive a dharma, the earth could receive the invention, and guru and disciple together could share an innovation capable of providing the resources needed to live in the material world.
Though we were the original creators, our true identity is rooted in transcendence, yet we still required earthly resources to sustain our path. Placing Mastertude in Leanne’s name allowed the work to thrive in the material world without compromising our spiritual standing. Behind the scenes, we remained deeply engaged crafting pitch decks, building financial models, and refining the concept in response to the expert feedback Leanne brought back from her meetings. It was a shared journey: she walked in the spotlight, while we carried the blueprint.
Despite assembling all the right ingredients, Mastertude never secured its first round of funding. Renowned producer Barrie Osborne, producer of The Lord of the Rings and The Matrix, joined us for four years, pitching alongside Leanne to New Regency and to a second-tier investor who issued a letter of intent to fund the next stage. We also attracted interest from several other investors, tech innovators, and industry leaders, including an A-list director, a vice president of technology with a PhD in VR, and a Magna Cum Laude CFO who projected $3 billion in first-year revenue for Polymath, and a collaboration with a Music Accreditation Board. It was a world-class team, positioned at the right moment, in the right market. Yet, despite years of development and pitching in Los Angeles, the $6 million seed round we pursued did not materialise.
When Barrie retired, we actively sought a new producer, but despite our best efforts, we were unable to secure a successor. From 2017 to 2022, we dedicated ourselves to Mastertude with a clear plan: if it succeeded, we would sell our shares and use the proceeds to build an Ashram, our sacred home and centre for teaching. Leanne would remain as CEO, running Mastertude with ambition and skill, while we would retreat to guide a small circle of disciples and continue writing our doctrine and building our systems.
We had entrusted Mastertude to Leanne because we recognised her disciple codes, knowing we could trust her to walk the invention into the material world. But discipleship requires more than trust; it demands a deeper refinement and a complete inward commitment. With no funding and no major success, the Ashram remained unbuilt, and Mastertude did not become the commercial achievement we had envisioned. As resources dwindled, the practical path was for Leanne to return to her marketing work and for us to resume teaching our condensed two years of music in two days.
Before taking that step, we asked Leanne if she would choose discipleship. This was no longer about ambition or material success; it was an invitation into the sacred, a choice to walk the deeper spiritual path with us. Leanne shared with us that, despite her deep love for the Mastertude journey, the remarkable achievements, the brilliant minds, and the inspiring people it brought into her life, she was reaching an inner conclusion: Is this truly all there is to the game of life?
She expressed that if she were to “win” this chapter, but then we were to walk away, she would feel a profound sense of loss. Mastertude’s success, while meaningful, would not represent the highest pinnacle of fulfillment for her. This realization pointed her heart toward a different path, one of surrender and devotion. She wished to follow us into the sanctuary of the Ashram, stepping beyond the role of CEO to become a disciple in the deeper unfolding.
In response, we spoke openly about the necessity of placing Mastertude in capable hands, perhaps with an entrepreneur, producer, and filmmaker like Peter Jackson. Having excelled in the world of film, he may now be seeking to make a deeper difference, and Mastertude could offer him that opportunity: the chance to bring an entirely new dimension to his legacy by revolutionizing education. With Mastertude now at a stage of true maturity, it was ready to be passed on. Leanne received this invitation with joy and acceptance, embracing wholeheartedly the call to discipleship and the deeper spiritual journey that awaited.
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In 2022, we decided to step away from our father’s home, closing a chapter that had spanned twelve years, from 2010 to 2022.
If no disciple had come, life would have remained quiet and steady, two mystics living simply, focused on our inner work, building our systems in silence, and, to balance living in the family home, spending time with our dad, brother, and his family. To earn a living, we would have continued running music workshops, never revealing our deeper identity to the world. It would be as if Pythagoras or the ancient Rishis, who lived their truth freely, were reduced to charging a fee to teach only the formulas of mathematics and music, revealing patterns and theories, yet never allowed to guide anyone far enough to experience the transformation their very presence, insight, and wisdom could awaken.
Everything shifted when disciples entered our lives: Leanne in 2022, then Leah in 2023. Their commitment placed us in the centre of two opposing duties: on one hand, preserving family harmony; on the other, fulfilling our higher responsibility under enlightened law to guide those who have fully committed to the spiritual path. In that balance, the spiritual duty outweighed all else. To honour it, we stepped away from the family home.
At one time, we believed our father might become our disciple. Since our mother’s passing, he had lived a disciplined life in some respects, no relationships, keeping a promise to her that they would be together again in heaven. He searched for meaning, often buying books on world religions as an alternative to his former Brethren faith.
For twelve years, from 2010 onward, we lived in his home, guiding where we could. When illness came, we encouraged him to meditate, sometimes joining him, which helped him recover. He witnessed our life firsthand: strict renunciation, celibacy, months of silence, tending to cooking and cleaning, teaching siblings when called upon, and contributing $800 in rent from the systems we had built. It was a simple, austere, and disciplined existence free from vices, indulgences, or any deviation from dharma.
He, meanwhile, kept his own rhythm; attending church every Sunday, sometimes judging us for not doing the same, and holding to the Bible’s teaching that women should not lead. He enjoyed holidays, outings, time with friends, and the company of his married children and grandchildren. With us there, his life was full.
Our proposal to him was simple and practical. If we secured a lifelong place to live, we could transform it into an Ashram, freeing us from relying on disciples for rent. This would allow us to dedicate our disciplined time and energy to penetrating beyond the veil and composing our doctrine. After our passing, the house would pass to his grandchildren. We will never marry or have children ourselves.
The proposal made sense in other ways as well. Our sister already owns five properties in India, and our brother was only $200,000 away from paying off his mortgage; both are well settled with partners and families. In contrast, we live a life of service and renunciation, with no material security of our own. Additionally, the house carried a legal caveat from the Exclusive Brethren, which would eventually require court action. Granting us power of attorney would enable us to handle that responsibly.
In his mind, he had created an ideal world where we lived under family’s expectations; dutiful women caring for his grandchildren, fulfilling traditional roles, while quietly writing our teachings. He accepted us as nuns rather than priests: meek, polite, and kind, just as society expects well-behaved women to be.
To keep us confined within this limited role, he withheld power of attorney and refused to entrust us with the house, fearing it would grant us too much influence. Then, in March 2022, he made it official, rewriting his Will to grant power of attorney to a divorced Baptist man who openly distrusts women and insists they remain under male authority, while dividing the property evenly into four parts.
When we had no disciples, we tolerated these traditional roles and the family’s unfolding dramas and karma, not because they reflected our truth, but because they granted us the space to continue our essential work: writing, designing systems, and guiding the few who sought our insight. It was a pragmatic compromise, the kind that safeguards what is truly vital by yielding on what is secondary. Within the domain of spirit, certain sacrifices should not be viewed as failures, but as strategic adaptations; much like a river that, rather than confronting every obstacle head-on, flows patiently around them, conforming to the landscape to reach its ultimate destination.
We chose the path of least suffering. Had we not relied on the family home for shelter, we could have manifested our enlightenment more freely, instead of being constrained by the necessity of sharing the space. Yet imposing our way within the family environment would have been neither ethical nor productive, and venturing out independently at that time would have brought greater suffering, diminishing the quality of our spiritual work. Thus, for this decade, like a river navigating around stones in its path, we refrained from direct confrontation and instead embraced the circumstances, allowing them to unfold within our journey with resilience and grace. In doing so, our soul found equilibrium with the practical demands of the body and the realities of daily life.
Once we became gurus responsible for disciples, it became impossible to live by the old family codes without contradiction. That left us with only two authentic paths.
One: For us to accept his home as the foundation for our work, our father needed to see beyond his Gujrati heritage and Exclusive Brethren upbringing, and recognize us as Paramahamsis, enlightened souls. Under enlightened law, we could not take his support if he still saw us only as his daughters or through the customary roles he assigned to women in his life. Instead, he would need to embrace a completely new reference point, one he had already glimpsed while living alongside us, witnessing the sacred nature of our calling and the depth of our work. If he could reach this level of awareness, it would be a true exchange: he would offer us a stable home, and we would no longer simply be his daughters, but three adults co-creating a household, he supporting the Ashram by providing space, and we offering our presence, teaching, and spiritual guidance.
Our father was fortunate to have daughters who are Paramahamsis, willing to pioneer a new way that honors family life while placing unwavering priority on spiritual growth and refinement. We were prepared to stay by his side, managing household duties and contributing rent, all while dedicating ourselves first and foremost to the inner path. But this delicate balance required his openness, a recognition that our highest allegiance is to spirit, and that his world must make space for that truth. Without such openness, true harmony was impossible.
Two: Under enlightened law, we could walk away, leaving him alone in his five-bedroom house, just as many enlightened beings before us have renounced their families. Even the Buddha gave up worldly ties, including his family, to follow a higher truth.
Either choice meant we would be judged selfish: selfish to stay and seek security, selfish to leave. Without a shift in his mindset, we could not remain. He could not accept our enlightened path. When it became clear where his heart lay, we made our choice. In October 2022, we left.
We lacked the finances to rent in New Zealand, and Leah, a devoted disciple eager to support us, could not fully cover cost of living here. However, she was able to finance our rent and establish a home for us in Mumbai, a place where we could continue our work. Our connection with Leah runs deep. We first met in the ashram, both leaving a decade ago. In 2017, we read her soul code and helped her upshift her life. She visited us in New Zealand in 2019, and from October 2022 until February 2024, we lived with her in Mumbai, continuing our spiritual work.
In February 2024, when we moved back to New Zealand, our father visited us a few times at our apartment. His perspective remained unchanged; he focused solely on physical and emotional concerns.
In March 2024, we drafted a legal document formally relinquishing all claims to our inheritance, freeing him from any emotional obligation toward us. This allowed him to sell his house and use the proceeds as he wished without any resentment or attachment from our side. His conventional mindset aligned more closely with his two children who live a householder life, unlike us who have chosen the path of Moksha, a path he struggles to understand, having never invested the energy or effort to engage with this responsibility.
By April 2025, having accepted that we would not return within his expectations, he sold the house and relocated to India to live with our sister, who has a husband and two children, a way of life he could relate to and support.
True growth for our dad, Romulus, would mean witnessing us walk our truth and it would call on him to transcend the limitations of his Exclusive Brethren upbringing: to accept all religions as valid expressions of the Divine; to recognize that women, too, can be enlightened Paramahamsis; and to understand that spirit is a concrete reality for us, a firm foundation on which we have built our lives.
In 2024, with Leanne as our Bhakti disciple and ready to support our material needs, it was clear we should be in the same country. She took up a role as a marketer with Auckland Council while we guided her spiritual path—helping her navigate the layers of soul and mind, live from her highest vibrational potential in both family and career, release what no longer served her, and align with her deepest, most authentic self.
At the time, Leanne was in Los Angeles, working to raise funds for Mastertude. We encouraged her to return, as we had decided to sell the concept to someone with the proven track record of Peter Jackson. Accepting our invitation, she came back, and we returned from India to be together in New Zealand.
Our Karma disciple, Leah, also plays a vital role in sustaining our work. She set us up in India, travelled with us to New Zealand, furnished most of our home, covered our flights, and continues to provide material support. In return, we guide her spiritual growth with the same dedication, helping her live from her highest potential, release limiting patterns, and align with her truest self.
Today, our lives are sustained through a relationship of mutual respect and interdependence. Both disciples, each of whom has known us for two decades, cover our essential needs, rent, food, clothing, shelter, electricity, water, phone, and groceries, freeing us to devote ourselves fully to the spiritual guidance that is our life’s work.
Their stories, each one a powerful example of personal transformation, can be found on the next tab.
Our focus is to usher in a new era of spirituality, one in which our disciples remain fully engaged with the world while refining their spiritual lives as deeply as those in a traditional Ashram. This unique Ashram model, together with our approach and services, is presented on this website alongside our comprehensive, in-depth exploration of spirituality in all its dimensions.
Now based in New Windsor, we continue to write, teach, and design new systems to foster a more dharmic (cosmically purposeful) and spiritually aligned future. We remain open to guiding sincere seekers who pursue God, by which we mean the highest truth, the purest consciousness, the infinite source of all life, and who approach the path not as an escape from life’s challenges, but as a sacred responsibility. This path calls for clarity, commitment, and the courage to walk with an open heart.
Over the years, we have taught thousands through our revolutionary music workshops, weaving the basics of spirituality into the art. Soul music became our medium, a way to steady emotions, expand self-awareness, and open a door to inner reflection. For most, it was an expansive experience, though lasting spiritual transformation requires a more sustained commitment. Still, the workshops offered a language of expression as essential as reading or writing. Not everyone becomes a great linguist, orator, or author, but writing remains a vital tool for self-expression; so too, music can serve as a bridge to the soul. Some artists use it to probe the depths of human feeling, but at its highest, music can lift a person toward the divine. Few, however, choose this path, as the pull of the commercial world is strong.
From these workshops, a smaller circle emerged of about twenty to thirty individuals who sought something beyond music. They were ready for deeper transformation, for close personal guidance, and for the reorientation of their lives before continuing along their own path.
Our focus is now on guiding only a select few through intimate, daily instruction along a path crafted with precision for their soul’s highest unfolding. This sacred bond of discipleship is for those who consciously choose transformation and commit to living by their deeper codes.
We have designed a path that allows our disciples to live in their own homes, rather than in the contained world of an Ashram. Our disciples remain fully engaged with the world, holding jobs, raising families, maintaining friendships, and meeting everyday responsibilities. Our role, therefore, is to help them cultivate depth and harmony with the Divine while functioning at a more vital and coherent frequency than the ordinary human state.
In this way, they learn to meet and sustain a higher vibration in the midst of life’s demands, using its challenges and opposing forces to refine their spirit. With our guidance, they learn to navigate their karma and resist the pull of denser currents. Together, we meet challenges, navigate them side by side, and uphold the unwavering sight, wisdom, silence, refined energy, and continual presence that this sacred work requires. Because such guidance demands great care, trust, and mutual dedication, it can only be offered to a chosen few at any given time. Maintaining order and balance in the midst of the world’s relentless push and pull requires sustained effort from both guru and disciple.
Western seekers often learn from the outer world before turning inward. For them, our New Thought Ashram offers the largest possible training ground: life itself. In the East, disciples often begin by turning inward first, secluded within the Ashram and attuning to a higher vibration because of the gurus presence. Many Western disciples, however, carry a deep inner pull toward outward engagement. For them, it is often healthier to first resolve their relationship with the outer world, bringing harmony and completion to that experience before turning fully inward.
The result is our disciples feel purposeful and refined, aligned with the unique path their soul was born to walk, and able to make a meaningful impact on the world through their dharma.
As technology advances at an unprecedented pace, replacing many traditional roles, ambition and achievement alone will no longer suffice. To progress as a civilization, we must evolve consciously and return to our true purpose (dharma) for being on this earth: to build a better world, to transform outdated systems, and to awaken higher consciousness.
For such evolution to take root, the presence of enlightened beings is essential, those who can pierce the veil, access higher vibrational planes of consciousness, and read the soul’s inner code to reveal its nature and purpose. Yet for enlightened gurus to incarnate and flourish in the West, there must be a framework that recognizes, respects, and protects them, allowing them to live, teach, and guide in a way that is fully integrated into modern life.
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Summary:
We were born into a paradox. On one hand, India, the land of goddesses, has always spoken of the divine feminine. On the other, women as spiritual authorities have been largely ignored or dismissed. In the West, the erasure is even sharper, monotheistic and atheistic traditions either reject the guru entirely, reserve spiritual authority for men, or reduce the role to a caricature: a branding term, a self-help cliché, or a cult stereotype.
Our own lives began in an even stranger contrast: Indian-born, raised inside the white, patriarchal culture of the Exclusive Brethren church. From the start, there was a deep rift between the world around us and the truths stirring in our souls.
Under the guidance of a tantric sex guru, someone the world often misunderstands, we saw the raw, unfiltered challenges of spiritual life. Inside a traditional ashram, the karmic storms were fierce, and the flaws in the system were glaring. Yet for some, spirituality is their only calling, their deepest drive, and sole motivation. For them, the system must be refined because safeguarding the spiritual path is both worthy and necessary. From our lessons, we created Ashram Laws: a framework to protect both guru and disciple, keeping the path clear and true.
Now we are forging something entirely new. We guide six disciples and four apprentices, living in the world yet walking an extraordinary inner path, each aligned to their unique soul code, not a one-size-fits-all model.
We have devoted our lives to the highest disciplines, mastering the mind, silencing it at will, and refining the arts of wisdom, vision, and teaching. Into this work, we have poured more discipline, sacrifice, and relentless effort than most ever invest in any profession or purpose. Yet in the West, when we say, “We are gurus” or “We are mystics,” our spirituality is rarely seen as a necessary contribution to society, as though the world would be better off without the quest for spirit, as if the prevailing ideal should be materially driven, mentally anxious atheism. Our vocation is dismissed as an eccentric claim rather than recognized as the fruit of a lifetime’s mastery. To diminish it as “not a real job” is both ignorant and impoverished in understanding, a failure to recognize genius and enlightenment simply because they lie outside conventional frames of success.
In the East, the challenge is different but no less profound. As women, we are too often revered only as Amma or Ma, maternal comforters, rather than acknowledged as the spiritual equals of male gurus. It is a paradox that in the very land where goddesses such as Saraswati, Durga, Kali, and Lakshmi are worshipped, when male and female avatars take human form, women are still too often denied the same respect. We are Paramahamsis, and the recognition we deserve should reflect the depth and authenticity of our attainment.
But the world is changing. Technology is set to sweep away most of the traditional jobs people still cling to. What will remain essential is the one thing machines cannot replicate: spiritual awakening, dharmic living, and the wisdom to navigate a human life with depth.
Our work is not nostalgia for an ancient path. It is the beginning of a new era in spirituality, one that can meet the modern world without losing the soul.