It is the second day of the Health & Happy Course. I am early again, among the first to arrive. I am happy to see that a few of my group members are early as well. We get a spot close to the stage at the exact point I had in mind and try to keep some space open for the late arrivals of our group. At least I’ll be spared the misfortune of having to relocate later on to a point way back in the hall where all the latecomer groups will end up.
“All the new people, those of you who are here for the first time, please put up your hands. Guruji wants all of you here in front”, a teacher announces, pointing to the space right before the centre of the stage. A wave of irritation surges up in me. At the moment I am falling just outside the designated area. I have an excellent close-up spot just to the right of the centre. Given the amount of newcomers, any relocation to the designated area would require me to move a few metres further back, away from the stage. I am not the only one to feel irritated. The current occupants of that space don’t feel like giving up their prime spots. Some reshuffling of people takes place, but not an awful lot of it. I hesitate a while before finally taking up my mat and obeying the order. Perhaps the Guru himself wants me to move. Perhaps I am supposed to give up always wanting to do things my way.
This morning the Guru is early for the Yoga session. He sits giving instructions while a teacher to his right demonstrates the postures. I wonder what this Guru’s ability in terms of asanas is, whether he himself still practices them, or if he has moved beyond such physical practices. Anyway, the way he is dressed in his long flowing robes covering every part of his body, is clearly not practical for illustrating asanas. Even the teacher doing the demonstration has too much clothes on and I can’t make out precisely what the postures should look like.
I think of Iyengar stripped almost naked illustrating postures to a T. And also how my own Yoga teacher always has a battle with students insisting they wear shorts, t-shirts and no socks, so he can clearly observe what their kneecaps, feet and arms are doing. I can’t quite imagine this Guru stripping down into a little tight-fitting Iyengar number to illustrate postures for us. Clearly his Yoga is not as precise and finicky. But I hope his relaxed style would help me gain in greater intuitiveness, rather than mere slackness.
He teaches us one or two pranayama techniques and mudras. I again note the lack of precise instructions. Also the fact that his placement of the fingers is different from Iyengar’s variations of the same techniques. I wonder how the people in the back of the hall can follow at all. I am sitting fairly close to the stage and I am frustrated at not being able to see exactly what he is doing. Perhaps most people already know the techniques and that’s why he isn’t bothering to give very precise instructions.
“No, you are doing it wrong”, he announces. I wonder if he means me too. He starts the instructions for a particular mudra all over again. “This finger goes onto your moustache. And if you don’t have a moustache, then I don’t know….” People laugh. I’m amused too. Actually I am still getting used to his moustache and beard. His long hair doesn’t clash with my Guru ideal, but I kind of expected a more clean-shaven look. I have started to tune in to his looks though and am slowly beginning to like the beard part too.
He completes the instructions. Again I find them not precise enough. He has not detailed exactly how he is using his thumb at the ear and I can think of about three options – which one must I use? I don’t like this uncertainty. I wish I could get one-on-one close-up instruction from him.
We have to change into a meditation posture and close our eyes. He tells us very sweetly, “Keep a smile on your face – even if it is artificial, it doesn’t matter. It relaxes all the muscles in the face.” I don’t feel like smiling at all, I am feeling dead serious and stressed. But perhaps he’s right about having to relax the facial muscles. I make a feeble attempt at a smile. It is indeed an artificial one, and a rather tense one as well. I feel stupid and I know I must be looking stupid too. Fortunately all of us have our eyes closed. I keep trying for a minute, then drop it. He will first have to create a true internal smile in me before any external one has a chance of making its appearance.
We do a short silent meditation. During the meditation I don’t feel connected to him. I don’t feel his presence, nor do I relax deeply and I wonder why he is not helping me to do so. Why does he not help my mind to cease being so shallow and restless and tense?
Later on in a talk he tells us, “Never curse. Never curse anybody. You are meditators. If you tell someone he is an idiot, that person may really become like that.” I let his words sink in. So he is convinced that even our little bit of meditation is able to affect reality? I wonder if his words apply only to those who have been initiated in his meditation techniques. Perhaps his warning doesn’t apply to me, because I have not been initiated yet, and anyway, I know how scattered and low-quality my own meditation is. At most my body enters somewhat deeper and lighter states, but never my mind. So I probably have nothing to fear in terms of my thoughts and words becoming truth. I also wonder why he actually needs to warn us at all about this issue. With him as Guru, why would one ever feel the need to curse? Wouldn’t his love and guidance help one to steer clear of extreme mental states such as anger and revenge?
Ironically enough, five months later, his love and guidance still denied me, with things snapping and breaking everywhere inside me, the word “idiot” would enter my mind rather forcibly. The expression “Idiot Guru” would become a constant refrain, a kind of mantra repeated day and night, addressed to him at first with the hurt anger of love, and as my mental equilibrium deteriorated further, with full-blown hatred and the utter wish to completely annihilate him and everything associated with him. Many other words would have reflected my emotions and intentions better, but somehow “idiot” would be the word that my mind grabbed in an attempt to find some emotional release (eventually with a good number of “f”-words added in: “F…ING F…ED-UP IDIOT GURU”). For the moment, though, I don’t have an inkling of what’s to come.
He also tells us, “Don’t worry, you are all protected.” His words give me a feeling of warmth, reassurance and hope. Perhaps he will help to give my life a sense of meaning and purpose, help me gain mental clarity, emotional stability and lightness. Perhaps, together with him, things will slowly start sorting themselves out. At least, that’s what I am deeply hoping.
Another side of me remains cautiously doubting if I am truly included in his protection. I mean, I may be present in this hall and hearing his words addressed to us, but he has not initiated me yet, so how can I be hundred percent sure he’s taking responsibility for me as a student or disciple? I am also not sure what it means to be “protected”. “Protected” against what exactly? Does it mean protection against falling away from the path? Does it mean protection against severe calamities and extreme suffering? Or does the type of protection vary from person to person? I am well aware that a spiritual path is seldom moonshine and roses, it can be very tough, so protection won’t necessarily mean there won’t be any suffering. Well, if only he always lets me feel his loving presence, if only he never deserts me, if only he clarifies my spiritual practice for me and keeps me steadily progressing on the path, then that would fulfil the deepest needs in me.
Later on there is darshan again for one of the other cities, not Cape
I look at the entrance to the darshan room. The white-clothed gatekeepers are lined up in front of the door. To get to him I would have to pass through them. Who of them would believe me if I just go and announce that the Guru had waved to me to come up and see him? I remember the hostile reception I got yesterday when I enquired from one of them whether Cape Town
I stay put down in the hall. He doesn’t look at me again. Doubt and sorrow overtake me – perhaps I have ditched my only chance at being with him. Too bad then. I couldn’t do better even if I wanted to. Emotionally I have limits, after all. Surely he understands that?
I overhear one course participant telling another: “He had a meeting with all the teachers and communicated simultaneously with all of them through silence. Without talking he told each of them individually what they needed to hear.”
I instantly feel terribly deprived. So he really is capable of doing such things and some people here are recipients of it. Then why doesn’t he choose to communicate with me through silence? Is it because I am not a teacher, or because I have not been initiated yet, or because I am not purified enough? But surely that shouldn’t be much of a barrier to him? I have a feeling that if he really wants to he could easily clear away all my internal obstacles and let me feel his loving guidance. Why is he making me wait?
In the afternoon I help to arrange the chairs for some public function on education that the Guru has organised. It means there won’t be a course session at that time. I am not really interested in the topic, but it strikes me again how this Guru goes out of his way to involve local politicians and dignitaries in his events. One side of me is impressed by this unifying role he is playing, but I am not sure where it leaves me in terms of my spiritual ideals. Over the last couple of years I have been slowly disentangling myself from all activist and socio-political involvements in order to direct my mind one-pointedly towards spiritual practices alone. I am finding it ironic that I am now ending up in the presence of a Guru who seems to be moving the opposite way from where I am heading. Does it mean I must reverse my direction again and fall in with his socio-political commitments? Or will he help and guide me along the way I have chosen, into greater solitude and meditation?
This afternoon the Guru actually sits on a regular chair close to the podium like the other speakers. I keep my gaze constantly on him but try to be unobtrusive enough so that the speakers next to him won’t notice. I am not so sure I am succeeding in this. My seat is right on the aisle that runs towards the podium on the right corner of the stage. As per the habit I’ve developed over the past few days, I am sitting a little into the aisle for a better view. He is not paying any attention to me. I try to give some aural attention to the keynote speaker. After all, if the Guru found it important to host such an event, then I guess I should take some interest in what’s being said. Fortunately there are only a few speeches, then it’s the Guru’s turn. The audience, most of whom are devotees, wakes up and applauds him enthusiastically whenever he makes a joke or mentions a point they agree with.
Directly on the other side of the aisle from me sits a young boy in a red t-shirt with his mother. The boy is very restless. The event must be so boring for a child. I guess his mother brought him because she wanted him to see the Guru. The boy quickly makes the association between the Guru’s voice reaching a certain pitch (usually when he finishes making a point) and the audience clapping. He starts leading the clapping. He clearly doesn’t understand a word the Guru is saying, but he intently listens to the rising and falling of the Guru’s voice. Whenever the voice reaches a particular pitch, he starts clapping as if his life depends on it. Not knowing that it is a small boy clapping, the rest of the audience, anxious not to be found wanting on the clapping front, falls in like sheep. Half of the time the boy’s clapping is at completely inappropriate times, yet the audience catches on. I am embarrassed on behalf of the boy and on behalf of the audience. He is also disturbing my concentration on the Guru.
I can see the boy does not have control over his impulses and I feel sorry for his young mother. She’s just leaving him to do his thing. Clearly it won’t be much use telling him to stop. The thought crosses my mind that the Guru might actually deliberately be using the impressionable mind of this boy to heighten the enthusiasm of his audience. I feel uncomfortable about it, but I am also angry at myself for being so overly sensitive and serious about everything. So what if the boy keeps clapping and the audience is stupid? Let him clap as much as he wants to.
Suddenly the boy’s mother gets up, takes the boy by the hand and leaves. I feel so very bad and guilty. Perhaps she sensed my irritation at the clapping. I am so selfish. She needed to be here with the boy and perhaps I have been a factor in driving them away.
The Guru comments on the raising of children and women’s issues. He says a rebellious child needs to be given encouragement, positive reinforcement. With a shy child, on the other hand, one needs to be firm. He says people generally do the opposite. They tend to punish a rebellious child, causing the child to become more rebellious. And they tend to be too soft on a shy child, then the child never develops confidence. Instead they should act firmly with a shy child child, but with love, of course.
I feel his solution might be a little simplistic and I also feel pressurised by him. I think back to my own childhood. What was I, shy or rebellious? Definitely very shy, and also always “different” – “rebellious” would not be the right word. Immense scars were left by teachers who tried to be “firm” with me, forcing me to interact with and perform in front of other children before I was ready for it. Their attempts failed miserably, publicly embarrassing me and making me overly self-conscious of the fact that my behaviour is being watched all the time. I think of people I know who have similar temperaments, and also of the shy guy in my group. We should really be left to come out of our shells if and when we ourselves so desire. Anyway, why does society have this idea that a healthy personality is synonymous with being assertive and overconfident? I again reflect on how this Guru’s organisation tends to favour the confident outgoing types. There seems to be a particular “model” personality everyone should develop. What is my place in this whole set-up? Or does he have other plans for me? I hope he does.
He says that feminism has done women a great disservice. It is causing women to lose their sensitivity. Inwardly I flinch. Do I really have to hear this even from a Yoga Master? – the idea that “Women are like this”, “Men are like that” and for all eternity this is the way it should be. Is it necessary for him to be so simplistic and conservative? Issues are way more complex than that. And gender is not a cut-and-dried duality. I have been active in attempts to open up more space for gender diverse people – people who in one way or another transcend or transgress conventional female/male, man/woman categories. It would not be nice to have a Master who has no understanding of these issues. Is he even able to understand me and my own complex history at all? I need a Master who is more all-inclusive and flexible than me, not one who is less so. If he truly is my Master, then I will be ashamed to tell all my feminist, lesbian, gay, transgender, intersexed and genderqueer connections that I have such a conservative Master.
I am really struggling with these disagreements I feel with him. One side of me is engaged in self-doubt: I wish I could tune in to him completely and please him even to the extent of agreeing with everything he says. He is the Guru, after all, and perhaps my ego needs to submit. Another side of me is doing battle with him.
He continues saying, “Of course, traditional practices that discriminate against girl children should be eradicated”. Well, at least he’s got that insight. It gives me a little more hope. With the right input, perhaps he’ll be able to come to a more progressive understanding. It’s just that he has not had wide enough exposure yet. Perhaps a Master is also conditioned by his/her own culture. Perhaps Masters learn to encompass the universe by tuning their own consciousness to the minds of their devotees and disciples. It could be that he has deliberately made me come to him because he realises his shortcomings on the gender front and he wants to learn some things through my consciousness. The thought relaxes me a little. There’s hope for the two of us together. Through me he could acquire greater openness and nuance in his understanding. I could help him to broaden his horizons and heighten his sensitivities. He’s a Master, so he should be able to assimilate me quickly. Perhaps he’s already done it. Then he’d be able to guide me properly according to my nature and aspirations.
The public event on education comes to an end. There is going to be darshan for the remaining cities and regions. Perhaps, finally, now? I quickly go up to the first floor balcony and watch the Guru making his way from the front of the hall. He is walking quickly, a whole column of devotees following behind him. When he gets near the back of the hall, a large, spontaneous woman approaches him from the side and warmly embraces him. He ignores her completely and keeps walking on with force. There is something brusque in his face and bearing. Her arms fall from him, dropping to her sides. Then she is swallowed up by the crowd and I can no longer see her.
I feel pain. For her and for myself. It’s as if he has rejected both of us.
“Why so cruel?”, I whisper to him.
From where I stand it looked as if she was a coloured woman. In South Africa
It is deeply impressed on me that one cannot just assume he will accept one’s expressions of love and devotion. And you cannot just assume it is OK to approach him spontaneously. It’s up to him to make the first move.
He comes up and the darshan process starts. Still no luck for Cape Town
Something doesn’t feel right to me about the whole process. It’s as if a separate small enclave has been formed here at the back of the hall. Why this separation and division? Why were they not seated in the front of the hall, properly welcomed in the company of all of us and blessed together with all of us? Why was there no attempt at integration? He is not setting a good example.
Once he has circumambulated the people, the Guru speaks a few sentences to them. There is a Zulu translator. Then he comes back up to continue darshan. The visitors downstairs don’t stay long. I think they receive food and then leave again in the buses. They seemed happy enough at being on an outing, but I feel uncomfortable. To me it looked as if they were treated a bit like sheep, as if it was all just for show.
Darshan seems to be over. He hasn’t seen me. I wonder if there will be another opportunity later tonight at satsang. While waiting for him to come out of the darshan room, I position myself some way down the stairs with all the other devotees lining the sides. I want him to pass close to me. He briefly exchanges words with a few people, but doesn’t look at me in particular. I somehow find myself walking down the stairs right behind him. As we descend the last flight of stairs, an Indian man appears from the direction of the kitchen. Right in front of me the Guru suddenly spreads his arms wide, quickens his pace down the last few steps and spontaneously embraces the man.
I immediately think of the woman whose embrace he had rejected earlier. So it’s indeed up to him to choose who gets an embrace and who not, who receives his love and who not. Better let me never make the same mistake as that poor woman. It’s up to him to make the first move. I am to wait.
I feel a little jealous of the man who received the embrace right in front of me, but not too much. Perhaps he really needed it. It even crosses my mind that it might be the man whose wife committed suicide. Perhaps he had flown in to come and see the Guru? – Nah, probably unlikely.
I also have an unsettling feeling that this Guru plays games with people to subdue their egos. He might be sending this man to heaven right now by giving him an embrace, and then subject him to hell by ignoring him for an entire year to come. I have read enough Guru stories to know one can’t always trust their ways. Perhaps they know what’s best. Anyway, a mere once-off embrace in the public eye is not what I need. I need a radical inner transformation, some great shift, a love great enough to dissolve my body and entire existence. It needs to happen in meditation with him.
The Guru is away. There is still time before tonight’s satsang, so I take a walk to the beach. Apparently he will meet us there tomorrow morning early to watch the sunrise together. I want to check out the exact spot beforehand to make sure I won’t miss it in the dark tomorrow morning and also to determine the time required to walk there.
I have not eaten for two days but don’t feel hungry. I return to the hall for satsang. We have to continue for a while without the Guru because he is at his corporate dinner. As far as positioning is concerned, I’m doing the slightly-into-the-middle-aisle thing again. Eventually the Guru comes and takes his seat centre stage. Happily and serenely he is surveying all his devotees, from one end to the other, both in the front and in the back, his eyes continuously moving from one part of the audience to the next.
Immense frustration starts building up in me. I am seated too far back. I can’t see him clearly enough. I need to have him close-up. I feel anger at the rest of the audience being here. I feel angry at having to keep up appearances and not being able to sit in lotus and meditate on him. To try and give vent to my frustration, I imagine an explosion, flame and fumes and all, issuing from me. I imagine issuing it off to my right where no people are seated, sideways and up into the air.
It’s not making me feel much better. I notice some open space close to the stage on the Guru’s far left. There are only a handful of people sitting there. They have formed a kind of short diagonal row of their own. If I move there now, the whole hall is going to notice it. I experience a short internal battle: What is most important – to remain unnoticeable, but frustrated, or to go with my strong inclination to be close to the Guru, but having to cope with the embarrassment if people notice my obsessiveness? It doesn’t take me long to decide. The Guru is looking at the people on his far right. The whole hall is looking at him. Perhaps no one will notice me. I grab my chair and quickly walk round the back of the audience to his far left, placing the chair just behind the short row that has formed next to the stage. I sit down. This is really close-up. I am happy I made the move. The frustration in me evaporates. It doesn’t seem as if anyone noticed me and the Guru himself is still looking at the people way to his right. I wonder if he knew of my frustration and that I have moved. I am opening myself up to him, but how tuned in and aware is he really of me?
He slowly starts turning his head from the people on his far right, all the way to his far left where I am sitting. He throws his head back and laughs, looking down at me with me amusement. It’s a long look, then he shifts his gaze again to the audience in the middle.
Could it really be? Was it really for me? Was he really aware and reacting to my move? Or was that laugh meant for the guy in front of me? Perhaps the guy in front of me was thinking something and He reacted to that guy’s thoughts? Or perhaps His laugh was meant for both of us? All this doubt is killing me. It really felt like He was looking straight at me. Emotionally I claim the look for myself – I needed it. He is aware of me, He is tuned in. And it was not a dispassionate look. It may have been a little aloof, but it was also warm and amused.
Some time later he addresses us, asking, “Who of you want to become Art of Living teachers?” I am surprised to see that out of such a big audience only a few people are raising their hands. I know he’s definitely not asking me. After all, I’m still completely new here and he’s not even made it clear to me he’s my Guru. I may be getting all these looks from him, but there’s no deep internal connection yet. Anyway, I may like him and want him to be my Guru, but I don’t like his organisation, I don’t like its culture, I don’t like its teachers, I don’t like its courses. If he is my Guru, perhaps he’ll guide me along another path. My heart is set on meditation and the Himalayas . If he wants me to do organisational work for him instead, then he would have to make that very clear to me and also show me how it fits with my purpose in this life.
“All of us will do this work,” he states matter-of-factly, casting a sideways glance at me. I am not hundred percent sure the glance was for me. It seemed so and it felt like it, but I am cautious. On the one hand I hope it was for me – a part of me wants to feel that he claims me, even if it means me having to become a teacher in an organisation I dislike. I have a need to belong to a Guru. On the other hand, I really have had enough of dealing with people and taking responsibility for others. I need a break. I have been struggling so hard to disentangle myself from various organisational and activist commitments over the past few years in order to focus on Yoga alone. I don’t want to get caught up in organisational stuff again, not even if it is Yoga-related. Perhaps his sideways glance was intended for the guy in front of me, or for the whole short row of about eight people seated in front of me. None of them had put up their hands either. Perhaps some of them are old-time devotees and the time is ripe for them to become teachers.
He continues, addressing the entire hall again, “From here the wave must spread up into Africa . I will help you, I will be with you. You help me with my work and I will help you with your work.” This sounds very reassuring and promising. If he will truly help me and be with me, then perhaps I would be willing to do whatever, even if it means forgoing the Himalayas for now. Especially if he could help with this PhD thesis of mine which is such a big stress on me – what with all the Yoga classes I’m attending and all the Yoga books I’m reading, the thesis is not getting itself written. And time is running out and money is running out, and my head and heart are in such great conflict.
“Who want to become Art of Living teachers?” he asks again. More people are putting up their hands this time, but still far fewer than I expected, especially given his reassurances of a moment ago. None of the people in front of me seem to be putting up their hands. I guess his glance was intended for me then. I put up my arm halfway, making a kind of oscillating wavering movement with my hand. It’s meant to indicate only a 50% commitment to becoming a teacher. My commitment is dependent on him first clarifying some stuff for me and helping me experience a tangible shift within me. In the absence of such a shift there will anyway not be the energy or strength to act as a teacher.
“Who want to become coordinators in their areas?” Some people put up their hands. I know I have organising and coordinating skills, but I am adamant this request is definitely not for me. I am not even a teacher yet, so how could I volunteer to become a coordinator? It is meant for the more senior people. He also doesn’t look at me this time, so I feel let off the hook.
“Who volunteer to take down the names and contact details of all those who want to become teachers?” He makes a point of identifying the individuals. “Who will take down the details of those who want to become coordinators?” He again identifies the individuals committing to doing the follow-up work and he makes sure we see where they are in the hall. He says all of us who volunteered to become teachers and coordinators must give our details to these individuals. He is clearly serious about this. I can see there is a practical and management dimension to him.
Afterwards I do as he instructed and go write up my details at the designated person. Hopefully this is the start of new direction and meaning in my life? Hopefully from now on he will take responsibility for me, take charge of my life, remove all the tension and confusion, bring about transformation? Hopefully.
Someone announces on the microphone that there is a shortage of coordinators: Will more volunteers please come forward? Not meant for me, comes my inner reply, but I feel a little guilty. I know I’ve got all the skills, it’s just the energy and motivation that are lacking. A few minutes later the request is repeated – they still don’t have enough coordinators. This time I take it as the Guru’s call. I go and give up my name. I seem to be the last one. They have enough now and the request is not repeated again.
There is not another darshan opportunity after satsang. The Health & Happiness Course is at an end and I have missed out on his guidance. Some people were clever – if they had to leave the course early and were afraid of missing out on their own city’s darshan, they just went in for an earlier darshan with one of the other cities. It never occurred to me to try something like that. My honesty and grudging respect for instructions seem to be putting me at a distinct disadvantage.
The Guru may have omitted Cape Town
For the third night in a row I hardly sleep. Again I am terrified I will oversleep and miss the sunrise meditation on the beach with him. I pray that something more conclusive will happen tomorrow.