3. Health & Happiness? (Part II)

It is lunch and the Guru is gone. Volunteers have prepared food for the course participants and people can go fetch some in the kitchen. I consider also getting some. Good Indian food would be nice for a change. My own cooking skills are so plain. Seeing lots of people heading towards the kitchen, however, I change my mind. I have had enough of crowds for now. I need a break and some fresh air. Besides, I am not really hungry and I am still breathing through my left nostril. A fast might be a good idea, especially as I am trying to figure out this Guru issue.

It's nice to be outside and on my own. I need to think things over. He has not given me darshan yet. When is he going to give it to me? Is he going to give it to me at all, ever? I replay his look of last night over and over again in my mind. This morning he has not paid any particular attention to me even though I was quite near the stage. At least, there was no look that I could single out as having been definitely for me, and not perhaps for the person next to me.

This is to become an obsession in coming months - receiving looks from him but always doubting if they were not perhaps intended for the person in front of me or behind me or next to me, or even for a few of us simultaneously. The only reason I don't have much doubt that last night's long look had been zoomed in on me specifically (despite the distance between us), was because of the impact felt on my entire body and psyche. And also because of the immense embarrassment that consumed me afterwards for having drawn his attention publicly to me for so long. My head might be capable of doubting everything else, but it could not doubt the embarrassment. The embarrassment was rock solid. It proved the look had been for me. Even so, I cautiously keep open the possibility that he might have simultaneously included someone else in that look besides me. After all, he has such a big assembly to keep happy. He probably makes economical use of his looks. Deep inside me, though, the wish is that I had been his only intended recipient.

I set out in some direction and luckily hit the mall and shops area. Apple juice is what I need now. I get a six pack and make sure it is non-carbonated. This morning the Guru had asked who of us drank fizzy drinks like Coca Cola. Most people had put up their hands. Once in a while I drink sparkling fruit juice or sparkling mineral water, so I had put up my own hand halfway. He had said somewhat dramatically, lowering his voice: “Do you know what it causes? It causes cancer.” He had explained how the body’s natural process is to get rid of carbon dioxide, but now we are putting carbon dioxide back into it by drinking carbonated drinks. I decided that from now on sparkling drinks were definitely completely off my consumption list.

An announcement was made this morning that there will be a corporate dinner with the Guru tomorrow evening. It is going to be with business people, but we may also go. Tickets cost a thousand rand each. I want to be in his presence as much as possible the few days that he is in the country, so I consider drawing the money. Then I decide against it. I am not into corporate things, I will just be uneasy and frustrated, and there will anyway not be an opportunity for me to interact closely with him. Besides, I don’t know Durban and don’t feel like searching for the venue or paying for a taxi. Last but not least, spending another thousand rand would be extravagant. As it is I am already headed deep into my credit card and my next scholarship payout is not due until another month or two. How I will manage financially until the end of the year is a question that weighs heavily on me.

I don’t feel comfortable with the fact that one has to pay money (and a lot of it) to see him – whether at a course or a dinner. It is not in line with my ideal of what a Guru should be like. But in coming to the course I have already shown that I am prepared to relinquish some of my preset ideas and to give him the benefit of the doubt. I need a Guru badly and perhaps I have been too idealistic and rigid in my views. Some of my preconceptions might be in need of adjustment.

There is time left before the afternoon session and I wander off to the beach to drink my juice.

Once back in the hall I overhear one of the devotees complaining to her friend that she cannot understand how people could be going to places like Chicken Licken and Nandos over lunch, and to do this while Guruji is here, and after everything he has told us this morning. I smile. Obviously there is great variation in the convictions and behaviour of devotees. Not everyone takes “the path” and its requirements as seriously as people like this complaining devotee and myself. Somehow it relaxes me a bit to hear that. My own extreme seriousness is so emotionally crippling.

The afternoon session starts. The Guru is absent. A loud overconfident teacher is giving some talk. I don’t relate to him at all. In fact I positively dislike him. His voice jars on my whole being. I don’t want his influence on me. I tell myself that my hypersensitivity is causing me to be unfair and too harsh in my judgement of him, but I can’t help it. Many people seem to find him entertaining and laugh at his jokes, but I sense no compassion or deep understanding in him. He comes across as head-centred, almost arrogant, a business manager type, someone used to ordering people around. I oscillate between the need to completely block him out and the desire to take in the information he conveys because it might be knowledge that would link me closer to the Guru.

“You two in the front – stop thinking about Cape Town!” The teacher is looking at people sitting close to the stage to my left, but from where I sit I cannot see which two. He laughs and asks: “Have you two been thinking about Cape Town?” Again I can’t see or hear any response. I wonder if the guy is faking it to frighten us into concentrating better. Alternatively, I wonder if this isn’t perhaps the Guru’s way of letting us know that He is present with us even in his physical absence. Perhaps the Guru himself has for a moment channelled some info to this guy about what’s in the minds of those two persons. I don’t really think the teacher of his own accord has the ability to read minds. He does not strike me as spiritually advanced, merely a big ego.

Nightmare! – he announces a laughing session. My entire body tenses up. Have we not already had one? Was that not enough? Why another one? And the Guru isn’t even here and I don’t feel safe.

This time we don’t do it sitting up with open eyes like we did this morning with the Guru. We have to lie on our backs, eyes closed. I also lie down and close my eyes but make absolutely no attempt to mimic laughter. I fear that the teachers will notice my non-cooperation and that they will come and order me to join in. I also fear that the collective hysteria in the hall might be strong enough to pull me in even though I am not making any attempt of my own accord. The session goes on for what feels like a very long eternity. Many people go into hysterical laughter, some for quite a while. This is a much more forceful session than the one we had with the Guru. I am in inner agony. I feel a terribly strong urge to leave the hall, but restrain myself, praying intensely to the Guru to end all of this quickly please. Finally it comes to an end and I relax my tensed-up body somewhat. I can breathe again. We have to lie still and relax, keeping our eyes closed.

No, no, no! – the teacher announces that we have to get ready to repeat the whole thing all over again. Extreme panic grips me. Is this going to last all afternoon? I do a quick check-up of my inner mental state: Will I be able to endure another session? The answer is a forceful NO. I slowly lift my head a little and open my eyes. The teachers on stage are talking among themselves. No one is looking towards me and all the inert bodies around me have their eyes closed. I quickly and silently get up, leaving my mat and stuff behind, and step as rapidly and quietly as possible over the outstretched bodies, my eyes fixed on the nearest hall door. I am terrified that the door might be guarded by a teacher. From the corner of my eye I see volunteers busy in the kitchen, but they have their backs towards me. I fear any moment a teacher is going to notice me and stop me. What will I do then? I don’t know. Then I’m at the hall door and out. There was no one at the door. The sun is shining. Relief floods me.

I cross the parking area full of cars. Off to my right I notice three or four people standing talking. One of them has white clothes on – must be a teacher or assistant. I pray they won’t notice me or query me. I find a spot to sit at the farthest end of the parking area. The cars hide me from sight. What now? I wish for the Guru to come. It would be perfect timing if he came right now. It’s the most plausible moment for seeing him privately. The masses are engaged inside and won’t bother us. I need him badly now and I pray to him to please come right this moment. I want stuff sorted out and clarified, and I need loving relief from all this torture.

I don’t know how long I sit there. One or two hours maybe. The Guru doesn’t come. Useless prayer.

Eventually I gather the courage to go close to the hall door again and check what they are doing. Everyone is sitting up. A film is going on. Some people are walking to the toilets and back. It’s a good moment to enter. I quickly slip in and find my place.

Later we do some group work. A few of the people in my group complain about not getting to see enough of Guruji. They had to make all kinds of special arrangements with their children and their jobs to be able to be at this course. They came for Guruji but now he is not here. They are not happy about this. I find it interesting to see that people don’t feel inhibited to question his absence openly. They are not in a state of complete unquestioning surrender. It’s not a case of just trusting that if he chooses to be absent it is because he knows best and it is for their own good. One side of me is glad to see that people are critical. It makes the atmosphere feel more open and light after the tyranny of the authoritarian teachers. Another side of me judges that the devotees are not in a very advanced state yet, not yet ready for complete surrender, also not yet deeply and intimately connected with the Guru.

I know he is probably busy seeing politicians and business people right now. At least I am a bit better off than these Durban devotees because I will also be able to see him on his Cape Town visit later in the week.

Some teacher is again addressing us from the stage. Suddenly her expression changes. Her face becomes a mixture of tearfulness and resentful anger. Her eyes are fixed on... could it be? ... on our group? Am I imagining it? She is saying how people are not appreciating Guruji and everything he is doing for us, how he is sacrificing such a lot for us. It seems like her gaze is fixed on the complainants from my group. They are sitting opposite me, a little away from me. We are near the middle of the hall. I am relieved that I don’t seem to be included in her gaze. But I feel tremendously sorry for them and wonder how they are feeling. If even I feel like a kind of accomplice merely for having been a silent member of a complaining group, then how must they be feeling who have done the actual active complaining?

More soberly, I reflect that if a few members of my group have been complaining then there must have been other groups with complainants as well. Perhaps most people are feeling dissatisfied with the Guru’s absence. The teacher might have overheard people’s complaints and it had upset her. Perhaps it is mere coincidence that she seems to be looking at our group. We are situated fairly centrally in the hall, after all.

On the other hand, like with the previous teacher, there is the possibility that the Guru is sending her some instantaneous info of what’s happening in our group. In that case I would actually feel very special for having ended up in this complaining group. It means he’s showing us he’s present and aware of us. He is remembering me. No need for any of us to feel guilty in any event. We all just very badly want him to be with us and that’s quite natural. The teacher seems to me immature and a bit vicious and uncompassionate for having caused such a scene. Could she not have gone and vented her tears and anger offstage instead of upsetting all of us? I feel somewhat irritated with her.

Afterwards none of us in the group discusses the incident, so I am not sure if they also experienced her as having looked at us specifically. Later I overhear fragments of a conversation between two people from another group: “If even these senior teachers like.... have these abilities... then...” The woman is referring to the teacher who "read" the minds of the two Capetonians. Her point seems to be that if even teachers have these mind reading abilities then the Guru’s powers must be very great indeed. No, I say to myself, she is wrong about the teachers. These teachers are too ordinary to possess such abilities on an ongoing basis. If there has been any mind reading by them then it was due to the Guru channelling to them for that instant only. It’s all to do with his powers only. I am not ready to grant anyone else any special powers or authority over me.

Another remark by a devotee perplexes me deeply. She is telling a friend that apparently the wife of someone quite high up in the organisation has committed suicide. That is why Guruji has not been here this afternoon. He was very upset and spoke with the guy on the phone for an hour or more.

How could the suicide have happened, I wonder. What went wrong? Was she a devotee like her husband or not? If she wasn’t a devotee, then why was that the case? What kept her away from the Guru and his grace? And if she was a devotee, then why the suicide? In either case, why couldn’t the Guru help her? Why couldn’t he give her happiness? Or didn’t he want to for some reason? Has he managed to be present with her even in the suicide, or did she feel completely deserted by him? What are the limits of his powers? Can he transform all one’s bad karma or not? When does he intervene to help and when not? The incident worries me. I have also been suicidal at various times in my life and I want to have the inner assurance that he can lift me out of such states and bring about inner transformation.

It is late afternoon, early evening. There is no formal course session at the moment. Some meetings of teachers are going on. Most people are leaving. Satsang will be a bit later. The Guru is here but veiled in darkness. He had come, entered the upstairs meeting room, drawn the blinds and switched off the light. The room is dark. He seems to be alone in there. The stairs are guarded.

He must be in darkness because he feels disturbed by the suicide. That would mean he does share in the suffering of others. I wonder if he is meditating or how he is handling it. I also wonder what is the nature of a Guru’s pain and attachment. How is it different from that of an ordinary human being? I contemplate various answers, but none seems conclusive.

I keep hanging around near the back of the half empty hall, constantly looking up at the dark room. I am trying to empathise with him, to share his pain and to understand him. I wonder if he is aware of my presence like I am of his. To be more inconspicuous I find a spot next to a side wall. I would like to sit in lotus for better concentration, but that would make me too noticeable. I give up the idea of lotus, feeling intense irritation at always having to consider what others might think. I sit down in a very informal and relaxed posture, leaning my back against the wall and keep watching the dark room while pretending not to watch. I am trying to communicate with him mentally and to make him feel my solicitous presence.

I wonder how other people could be leaving while the Guru is here. He might be hidden and inaccessible, but at least he is here, and there is always the chance he could come out any moment. And perhaps even a great Guru needs his devotees’ emotional support. Perhaps he specifically came here because he wanted to be close to his devotees and needed their presence in this dark hour. All those leaving are obviously not extremely devoted and not as desperate as I am to be tuned in to a Guru.

I am reminded of the agony Jesus went through the night before his arrest and crucifixion and how his disciples couldn’t keep awake with him. I consider how ironic it is that these biblical analogies are entering my mind now. Even as a small child I could not relate to Jesus. I couldn’t articulate it then, but it was because I sensed he was not a truly humble and loving person. And now I suddenly and inexplicably feel a little more favourably disposed towards Jesus and am drawing all these analogies with his crucifixion and what not.

Some people are arranging chairs for tonight’s satsang. I am reminded how I didn’t help to clear away the chairs after last night’s talks. It was late and I was too exhausted and had too much stuff to go and assimilate. I also still had to do the walk back to the backpackers and this part of Durban was probably not the safest at night. So I had skipped helping with the chairs, though feeling a bit guilty about it.

I now again feel torn between my sense of duty telling me I should be helping the volunteers (who are only a few) and my intense desire to focus all my energy on the Guru alone. I opt for the latter. This kind of inner conflict would become another pattern that would increasingly torment me in the coming months: A constant confusion about whether I should prioritise dutifulness (dull, boring and stifling as it may be) or my intense yearning for the Guru, a choice between being serviceable in his organisation or continuously seeking out opportunities for being passively receptive in his presence.

I would somehow be reminded of the story of Jesus’ anointment at Bethany – how Mary chose Jesus’ presence, while Martha thought service was more important. Despite a lot of inner anguish and confusion over the matter, I would fairly consistently choose the Guru’s presence over seva, hoping and praying that this was indeed what he also expected from me. I guess I couldn’t have been more wrong. It would become the cause of rising tension and conflict between his organisation and me, the eventual cause of me being thrown out. In the short term he was happy to toy around with me, heightening my infatuation with him to breaking-point, but in the long term he really wanted an organisational tool, for which I was emotionally too weak and ill-suited.

Satsang has started. Hindu devotional songs are being sung. They are new to me and I have to get used to the sound. Some of them are nice. I don’t sing along because I can’t make out the words. Also because I am self-conscious – I know how flat and out of tune my singing is.

The Guru is centre stage. There is no sign of him being upset or anything. He is his cheerful self. Perhaps he has shifted his mood away from the suicide for the sake of all of us. I ponder on the great responsibility he carries for so many people, both here and all over the world, how he has to be tuned in to all their emotions and sorrows and problems. I wonder if he also has other devotees who right this moment might be busy committing suicide or contemplating doing it. About which of his suicidal devotees does he become visibly upset and about which not? Is it merely determined by how close they are to him in the organisation? Does this then mean he feels more love and concern for some than for others?

While the people are singing the Guru is meditating. I am also meditating, but with open eyes – on Him. Suddenly his eyes become upturned, the whites of his eyeballs showing, his eyelids only semi-closed. This must be… Samadhi? I’m not sure what it is, but the sight of it affects me greatly. My entire body feels entranced, becomes alert, light, expanded. I feel great yearning and… am I imagining it? … a kind of subtle physical desire? It is certainly subtle, but it also seems to be unmistakeably physical. Is this what I should be feeling? Shouldn’t I rather be lifted into some kind of higher state beyond the body and beyond desire? I don’t give it much thought, though, I am too entranced. I just want to merge. I imagine dissolving my body into his, becoming him, feeling what he is feeling. I so desperately and intensely desire to lose myself completely in him. I am Him, I am Him, I am Him.

It lasts a short while and then he closes his eyes. I did not manage to enter any deep or unusual state of consciousness, but at an emotional level the effect on me was great. I am falling, falling, fallling headlong for Him.

He does not spend much time onstage. He leaves again for the upstairs meeting room. He will continue with darshan during satsang. Will my turn finally come?

Will You please see me now? PLEASE?

I am not occupied with satsang in front of me. I am occupied with the upstairs room behind me. Some cities’ names have been called out and those devotees are crowding the stairs and the balcony outside the meeting room. Groups are ushered in and out by the teachers/assistants in their white clothes. I am terribly afraid that I might miss hearing it when Cape Town’s name is called out. I can bear this agony for a while and then no longer. I leave satsang and make my way up the stairs, joining the small crowd on the balcony.

I hang around there for a long time, never hearing “Cape Town” announced. I wonder if I haven’t perhaps missed its turn earlier today. I feel distressed. Eventually I gather up all my courage and approach one of the white-clothed persons: “Hi, has Cape Town been in yet?” I’m feeling very hesitant and apologetic for even daring to ask. He’s a sturdy fellow, not very tall, but bigger than me anyway. He looks me up and down, sizing me up, before answering, “No”. His voice is far from friendly. I am at once relieved to hear his answer and distressed at his somewhat hostile reception. I have no strength for coping with any form of hostility, not even the slightest. But I somehow keep hanging around, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible and trying to get a glimpse of the Guru through the glass windows. At least once our eyes meet without me having any doubt that the look is intended for me. There are also a couple of other looks that may be mine or not.

The darshan session comes to an end. Cape Town still hasn’t got its turn. My heart sinks deep into my shoes. Why don’t You want to see me?

He comes out the door making his way through his adoring devotees, all eager to see him and be close to him, all desiring to have a quick word with him. I watch as he slowly walks down the first flight of stairs, greeting and joking with devotees lining the sides. Then I quickly reposition to the part of the balcony overlooking the final flight of stairs where he has to descend. He turns on the landing and starts descending the steps. Will You please look at me?

He looks at a person standing to my right, laughs and lifts his hand in blessing. Then he looks down and descends further. Are You then not going to look at me? – a soft pleading whisper arises from deep inside. The wall of the second floor staircase comes down to right before my forehead. I lean my forehead against it to help ground me in case he completely ignores me, in case I have to handle his rejection. He is on the middle step of the staircase, at the point closest to me. His head lifts and two large brown pools look up at me. They are completely dispassionate. I drown myself in them. Then it is over and gone, he is down the stairs.

It is the look that swings the scale. It was very close-up, very direct and in some way I felt claimed. He is very aware of my existence. I might not quite be hundred percent convinced yet that he is mine – for that I would need to experience some profound shift or connection within myself, and this has not yet happened. But I have definitely moved from a 50/50 position and am now hovering around the seventy-five percent conviction point. After all, I badly need a Guru and this one seems available and interested, albeit in a rather strangely dispassionate way.

I wonder why all the looks he gives me are so impersonal and dispassionate. He gives all kinds of other looks to other people, like the guy next to me who received the smiling blessing, but I get only dispassionate looks. Perhaps I need a lot of purification and dispassionate looks operate at a higher purifying level. Whatever. But I also need His Love and I hope he is not going to deny me it for much longer.

Once He is gone I help to clear the chairs so that the hall will be ready for tomorrow’s early morning yoga session. I am relieved that I am able to help this time and that it doesn’t involve any sacrifice as far as the Guru’s presence is concerned. Naturally my mind is on Him, not on the chairs. Once again I hardly sleep the night. I am constantly occupied with him. I am also terrified that I might oversleep and miss the early morning session.