LIFE SUDDENLY HAD MEANING. I had found a goal: the attainment of God-realization.
Over the next month, I became a regular at the Raja Yoga center and began meditating at home twice a day. With the photo of Baba, an incense holder, and a hand bell, I improvised a puja altar on top of my dresser. I prayed to Baba with all my heart to allow me to meet him and to receive shaktipat as soon as possible. As I gazed at his picture, an all-knowing, infinitely compassionate Baba stared back at me.
The Raja Yoga center became like a second home to me and the other devotees felt like my new family. Every Wednesday night I faithfully attended satsang. We would chant, meditate, and listen to talks by guest speakers. Sometimes we were treated to videos of Baba. On Saturday mornings, I attended the recitation of the Guru Gita—the sacred, two-hundred-verse Sanskrit text chanted every morning all over the world at Baba’s many centers and ashrams. The Guru Gita was written by the sage Vyasa in the fifteenth century BC. The text describes a conversation between the Hindu god Shiva and his consort, the goddess Parvati, in which Parvati asks Lord Shiva to teach her about the guru and the goal of God-realization. Shiva answers her by describing the proper methods of worshipping the guru and the benefits of reciting the text.
At the center, I bought a book with the Guru Gita and other texts chanted at Raja Yoga ashrams. The texts were in Sanskrit, transliterated into the Roman alphabet and translated into English. In order to perfect my pronunciation of the Sanskrit syllables, I bought an audio cassette of Baba chanting the Gita and borrowed a Sanskrit language text from the Cornell library. Since I wasn’t attending any classes, I had plenty of time to teach myself how to read and write the language, and to pore over Baba’s many books, which I borrowed from the center.
Within a few weeks I was able to read the Devanagari script so well that I no longer had to refer to the Roman transliteration. The Guru Gita soon became my favorite chant. I listened to it on my Walkman on my way to and from the Cornell campus, and before I went to sleep at night.
Salutations to the Guru, by whom this world is illumined, who perceives all states of consciousness—waking, dreaming, and dreamless sleep—but who cannot be perceived by the mind.
Salutations to the Guru who is Truth, whose knowledge of the universe sees through the illusory divisions that split it into fragments, and who perceives no distinction between the universe and the Self.
Salutations to the Guru, who is the cause of the universe although appearing as an effect. In truth, the Guru is both the cause and effect.
Salutations to the Guru who reveals that this universe of countless forms is in fact, one undifferentiated whole—a play of cause and effect in which cause and effect are one.
Prostrations to the Guru whose lotus feet eradicate the suffering brought by duality and who always protects seekers from all misfortunes and calamities.
Looking back, I’m not sure why I didn’t share my new faith with Melanie. After all, Jeremy was out in the open about it. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Just as I continued to hide the fact that I had given up on college, I kept my momentous discovery of the meaning of life to myself. She would consider my new enthusiasm for Baba and Raja Yoga as a distraction from school, and I knew she would blame it for my inevitable ejection from Cornell. For this reason, I kept up the charade that I was still attending classes. Every morning I left the house for campus, where I studied Sanskrit and Hindu philosophy and read Baba’s books. Later I would return home, just in time for dinner.
Despite my success at deceiving Melanie, I was in a constant state of anxiety. I knew that she would catch on eventually, and one morning in mid-November, it almost happened. Although snow had been predicted that day, Melanie was determined to keep a business appointment in nearby Syracuse. “I’m going to eat out with Herb tonight and the girls are with their father until Monday,” she said, zipping up her bulky winter coat. “Lucy and you are on your own for dinner.”
“So, you’ll be gone all day?” I asked.
Melanie peered out the window and frowned. “I can’t believe it’s already snowing. It’s going to be a long winter.”
“You’ll be in Syracuse all day?” I repeated.
My sister turned to me with a distracted look on her face. “Be sure to shovel the sidewalk and the driveway. They said we could get up to six inches.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “I can’t shovel the driveway. I have to go to class.”
I hated it when Melanie ignored me, even though I knew she didn’t do it on purpose. The question didn’t concern or interest her, so it didn’t register. If she couldn’t even hear me now, how would she ever be able to listen the day I told her about Baba and Raja Yoga?
Melanie opened the front door and let in a blast of bitterly cold air mixed with powdery snow. “Do it when you get back.”
With Melanie out of town and Lucy at school, I decided to spend the day reading at home, and got back into bed with Baba’s Shiva Consciousness: An Introduction to Kashmir Shaivism. According to Baba, the Hindu philosophy of Kashmir Shaivism asserted that everything is an expression of Shiva or the Supreme Self. A follower of this school of thought embraced all phenomena, including mental phenomena, as the manifestation of the one all-pervasive being: Shiva.
Halfway through the book, I was about to go downstairs to make myself a sandwich, when much to my horror, I heard the sound of the “Supreme Self” at the front door.
“Hello? Anybody home?” It was Melanie. Shit, I’m busted!
I had to think of an excuse, fast. I went to the top of the stairs to greet her.
“Oh hi, Dougie,” she said, surprised to see me. “I got all the way to Syracuse and my meeting was canceled. It took me two hours to drive home—the roads are terrible! I’m lucky I didn’t end up in a ditch!” Then she regarded me quizzically. “What are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Canceled.”
“What? Your classes?”
“Um, yeah.”
Melanie looked incredulous as she pulled off her boots. “Canceled? Really?”
Suddenly I remembered about Herb. He was a professor at the university and would almost definitely contradict my story later. “Actually, I don’t know if they’re canceled,” I said rubbing my arm and grimacing in pain. “I hit some ice on Eastwood Ave and fell off my bike. Hurt my elbow.”
“Oh, Dougie! That’s awful! I guess it wasn’t such a hot idea to try to ride your bike in a snowstorm, was it?
Not as dumb as driving a car in one, I thought. “Guess not.”
“You see—when you live on campus, it’ll be a lot easier,” she smiled. “Can you shovel the driveway now?”
“But my arm!” I whined, rubbing my supposedly sore elbow. “I told you, I’m injured!”
*
IT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING of December, but the town of Ithaca was already shrouded in snow. The weather had become too severe to ride my bike, and my commute to campus on foot took much longer.
As the end of the semester loomed, I began to formulate a plan. I knew that once Melanie found out I had been lying to her about school and had flunked all my classes, she would probably kick me out. In anticipation of the inevitable, and as an act of devotion to the guru, I decided to confront my fear of rejection and look for a job.
The first place I checked was Collegetown Bagels. It was owned by the parents of a high school acquaintance, and I hoped that mentioning his name to them might help my dismal chances.
The guy behind the counter at the bagel shop had his back to me. He was wearing shorts with a bright orange T-shirt, and his long blond hair was tangled into a thick mass. It was warm in the store, but outside the temperature was below zero. I wondered how, dressed like that, he had made it to the store without freezing to death. When he turned around I recognized him immediately. On his T-shirt was an image of a smiling Baba Rudrananda in a red ski hat with his index finger raised in the air. His name was Namdev Loman and he was a regular at the Raja Yoga center. He was also a fellow townie and an Ithaca High School dropout.
“Hey, man. Jai Gurudev!”
“Jai Gurudev!”
“It’s Doug, right?”
“Yeah. Hey, they don’t happen to be looking for any extra help here, are they?”
Namdev reached under the counter, opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Not at the moment, but they will be soon,” he said. Then he handed the paper to me, chuckling as if he were in on a private joke. It was an application.
“Oh really, how come?”
“As soon as I save up enough money for a one-way ticket, I’m going to India. Rent is cheap as shit at the Ravipur ashram. They give scholarships and staff positions to devotees who work hard and are willing to do extra seva.”
Namdev was waiting for a response from me, but I was momentarily swept away by a fantasy of getting on a plane and flying away to Baba’s ashram in India. I would learn the native language and become a simple renunciant. I would meditate, chant, study philosophy, and work in the guru’s garden all day.
“Doug?”
“Seva?” I said, snapping out of my reverie.
“You know,” said Namdev, his eyes shining. “Selfless service to the guru—the highest spiritual practice there is!”
I knew very well what seva was. I had already done a little at the center, helping to tidy up after satsang. According to Menaka, through seva one could wash away the sins of countless lifetimes and attain liberation within a few years. Hearing about the staff positions at the Indian ashram made me feel lighter. Maybe there was a way out of my predicament: I could run away to Ravipur and never come back. But the idea also scared me. India was about as far away from home as possible. How would I manage there on my own? What if the ashram didn’t take care of me?
“Do they have any seva arrangements like that at the Birchwood Falls ashram?” I asked.
“Probably, but I’m sure they’re much harder to get,” Namdev answered. “And I can’t afford to pay rent at a US ashram while I’m waiting to find out.”
I felt heavy again. Obviously the rent in Birchwood Falls would not be “cheap as shit.”
“If I don’t get out of Ithaca soon, I’m gonna go insane,” Namdev continued. “All the scriptures say that rapid progress on the path is only possible in presence of the physical guru. If you’re serious about your sadhana, you’ve gotta go to the source.”
I nodded. I knew he was right. Even if Baba was not in India this spring while Namdev was there, the samadhi shrine of Gurudev Brahmananda (Baba’s own guru) was in Ravipur. Some of my new friends at the center who had visited the saint’s tomb described it as having the shakti of a “spiritual nuclear power plant.”
“I’m planning on going to Ravipur someday too,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m grateful to the guru for the center here in Ithaca.”
“The center blows, man. Menaka is a control freak and Robert walks around like he has a stick up his ass. They’re both petty dictators. And don’t get me started on that bitch Lakshmi. Says she doesn’t like the way I chant. Told me I’m not welcome at the center when I’m high! Who the fuck do they think they are? Baba smoked ganja, you know.”
The notion that Baba had once smoked “ganja” sounded like the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard.
“James, could you watch your language, please?” said a voice from the back room.
“Sorry, Ira.” Apparently they did not refer to Namdev by his spiritual name at Collegetown Bagels. With his back to his boss, Namdev mouthed the word “Asshole.”
Just then, the door to the shop opened. A few customers came in from the cold and got in line behind me. “Sorry, man, I can’t really talk now. Do you want to order something?”
I ordered a bagel and coffee and sat down to fill out the application. When I returned to the counter to pick up my order, a familiar, friendly voice greeted me.
“Doug?” I turned and could barely recognize the figure who had just entered, bundled up from head to toe. It was Mike McFadden’s mom.
“Hi, Professor McFadden.”
“How are you holding up, Doug? How’s Lucy?” she asked, pulling the hood of her parka down. Her nose and ears were bright red. “I haven’t seen you over at the house in months.”
“We’re both fine,” I mumbled, unable to look her in the eye. The truth was, I had no idea how my younger sister was “holding up.” The question had never occurred to me.
The professor gave Namdev her order, and then turned to me again. “Mike tells me you’re in the same freshman writing seminar together.”
Good old Mike, I thought. He hadn’t said anything to his folks about my disappearance from the required course. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty cool, I guess.”
Mike’s mom stared at me searchingly and was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Swell!” she said finally, picking up her order. “Hope to see you around the house again soon, Doug. You’re welcome anytime. Bring Lucy!”
The conversation with Mike’s mom was excruciating. I could tell she was onto me. I had to get out of there before she spoke to me again. I finished filling out my application, gave it to Namdev, and left.
The chimes in McGraw Tower marked the hour. It was ten A.M. I was supposed to be in my Introduction to Pomology course, but was on my way to the lounge at Willard Straight Hall instead. Tromping through the snow up College Avenue, I felt gloomy and uncertain and like my legs weighed a ton. The bagel shop had no openings at the moment, but I needed a job now. It would take me months to save up for an airplane ticket to India, and even if I managed to get myself to Ravipur, there was no guarantee the ashram would be able to offer me a staff position. I knew I’d be able to meet Baba and take a shaktipat retreat with him, because Jeremy had promised to pay for it, but I wanted more than a weekend with the guru. I wanted to live in his ashram and serve him. The world was a cold, dark place, and the sooner I got out of it the better.
As I crossed the bridge over Cascadilla Gorge, I found myself edging closer to the parapet. I stopped to look over the side, down into the gully at the ice-encased stream. I could be free, I thought. I won’t have to face Melanie and feel ashamed when she finds out that I’m flunking out. I won’t have to look for a job. I won’t have to be poor and live alone in a miserable apartment. And I won’t have to feel the unbearable guilt anymore.
I sat down on the parapet. I was about to swing my legs around and dangle them over the side of the bridge when my thoughts turned to Baba. By then I kept a small portrait of him in my wallet. I pulled it out and studied the guru’s face. His loving eyes brimmed with compassion. Baba loves me! I remembered. He wants to give me true happiness! Suddenly I felt ungrateful and ashamed. What was I thinking? I got off the parapet, brushed the snow off my jeans, and continued on my way to the student union.
“The guru showers his grace on all those who reach out to him,” a guest speaker at the center had said. I decided that through Baba’s divine intervention, I would find a way to stay in the ashram and be with him. If I had to suffer in poverty and feel lonely for a while before I become worthy of it, so be it.
What a fool I had been to think that killing my physical body would solve my problems. Hinduism taught that as soon as a soul left its physical body, it was reborn in another body, and then another. The same problems and difficult situations would keep presenting themselves to me, lifetime after lifetime, until I faced them and worked them out. According to the scriptures, that’s how karma, the law of cause and effect, operated and kept us in bondage. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I realized, I should feel grateful I had finally found a true guru who could guide me to enlightenment and liberate me from the endless cycle of birth and death.
*
MELANIE HAD MADE PORK chops for dinner. They looked and smelled delicious, but I had recently committed myself to a vegetarian diet. Baba taught that in order to progress on the path of Raja Yoga, a seeker must avoid eating the flesh of animals and imbibing impure substances.
“Doug?” Melanie said, passing me the pork chops.
“None for me, thanks. Could you pass me the spinach?”
“How’s Cornell treating you?” Herb asked, helping himself to mashed potatoes.
“Swell,” I answered, avoiding eye contact with him.
Leah, my eight-year-old niece, gave me a penetrating look, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to one side as if she were trying to read my thoughts.
“Wait!” Lucy said. “Why aren’t you having any pork chops?”
“Could somebody please pass Corrine the applesauce?” Melanie said, meaning me.
I passed my niece the applesauce, eying her plate as she slopped some on top of her chops. “I’ve become a vegetarian,” I declared.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “This whole family is going nuts. First Jeremy, now the dungeon master!”
“I love vegetarian food,” Herb said, through a mouthful of spinach. “Have you ever eaten at Moosewood? It’s a vegetarian place in the Dewitt Mall. Wholesome stuff.”
Ugh. When would this jackass stop trying to win me over?
“Speaking of nutcases, Grandma Millie and Aunt Gabby are coming to visit,” Melanie said.
Lucy kneaded her forehead, as if in pain. “What! Why?”
“When?” I asked.
“Next week,” Melanie answered. “Grandma misses us. Don’t forget, she’s grieving too.”
Lucy grimaced. “Okay, but why does Gabby have to come with her?”
“Aunt Gabby needs help tying up Harvey’s estate. She and Grandma have become inseparable ever since Aunt Gabby moved down to Florida.”
Lucy sighed deeply. “Inseparable? Really? You mean because they love each other so much?”
Herb laughed. “It’s what’s known as a co-dependent relationship,” the world-renowned psychologist explained.
I wasn’t sure what Herb meant by a “co-dependent relationship,” but didn’t care enough to ask him to elaborate. I was more interested in hearing about Harvey’s money.
“Harvey had an estate?”
“Yep,” Melanie said, nodding and absent-mindedly offering me the pork chops again. “The man worked his entire life and never spent a dime.”
“Lucky Aunt Gabby,” Herb said.
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Now she’ll finally be able to afford the lifestyle she’s always dreamed of: she’ll be able to get the early bird special at Bagel World every day for the rest of her life.”
*
WITH THE TRUTH ABOUT college about to come out, I felt burdened by guilt, and one night after satsang, as I was helping Menaka straighten up, I told her everything.
Menaka put down the basket of musical instruments she was holding. “Oh, honey, everything’s going to be alright.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
“You’re going through a really rough time, Doug. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I followed Menaka into the kitchen, where she poured me a cup of chai. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for you to be in school.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “But I’m throwing away such a great opportunity.”
“Baba teaches that the only knowledge we can take with us to the next life is the spiritual kind. Whatever worldly learning we acquire in this life will be lost when we leave our physical bodies.”
“That’s exactly what my brother said. So college is a waste of time?”
Menaka cut me a slice of zucchini bread. “Not necessarily. It’s not that Baba doesn’t value education. As a matter of fact, Baba himself is a great scholar of Indian philosophy. He also studied Ayurvedic medicine.”
“I just don’t know what to do,” I said.
“Maybe it’s time for you to be with the physical guru. Baba’s coming to Birchwood Falls this spring. You could go work with the advance team.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Didn’t your mother leave you anything? You could use that?”
“I can’t,” I answered, hanging my head low. “It’s all tied up in a trust fund until my younger sister turns twenty-one. Until then I can only use it to pay for tuition and room and board while I’m at school.”
“Pray to Baba,” Menaka said, placing her hand under my chin and lifting my head up so that she could look me in the eye. “Pray to the omniscient inner guru and he will give you a sign. Baba can speak to us in many ways, you know. If you pray to him with all your heart, he will show you the way.”
When it was time to say goodnight, Menaka wrapped her arms around me and held me close. I could feel her large breasts crush against me through her sweater. I felt an overwhelming urge to touch them. I was getting hard. In my mind’s eye I pictured myself sucking on her breasts and then bending her over a chair so that I could do it to her from behind. Then I remembered Baba taught that only those who practiced complete abstinence could attain the ultimate goal:
The sexual fluid in an ordinary person flows downward and is lost during sexual relations. But for the master of Raja Yoga, the sexual fluid flows upward toward the sahasrara (the chakra in the crown of the head). Sexual energy and kundalini are one and the same. A yogi needs every drop of this vital fluid to attain the goal. A seeker on the path has no hope of attaining the goal as long as he remains a slave to the senses.
I put a stop to my impure thoughts with the same technique I had been practicing in meditation: whenever I had distracting thoughts, I would steer my mind gently back to the mantra. Now, instead of picturing Menaka with her clothes off, I began to visualize myself prostrating before Baba, who was seated on a grand throne. Baba, please take my lust away, I prayed. A few moments later the urge for Menaka’s tits began to subside.
I got home from the center later than usual, and the house was already dark. Melanie’s silver station wagon was parked on the street in front of the house, but Herb’s car was not. When I got inside, the house was quiet. I assumed everyone had gone to bed. But when I arrived at the top of the stairs I noticed that the door to my room was wide open and the light was on. I entered to find Melanie staring at the altar to Baba on my dresser. “Isn’t this Jeremy’s spiritual teacher?”
“He’s my guru too.”
“How long have you been involved with this…group?” my sister asked, her eyes lingering on the photos.
“For a while.” I didn’t like that Melanie was in my room, invading my privacy. And I didn’t like her use of the word “group”—it made Raja Yoga sound like something shady.
Melanie finally took her eyes off the picture and turned to me. “I’m worried about you, Doug. Do you think you might want to talk to someone?”
“Someone? Like a shrink?” I knew where this was going.
“You could talk to Herb.”
I wanted to laugh, but controlled myself. “I’m totally fine. Actually, I’ve never been better. I’ve been meditating and reading Indian philosophy. It’s really helping me.”
“Helping you?” Melanie put her hands on her hips. “How?” I could hear the skepticism in her voice.
I was suddenly at a loss for words. I knew Raja Yoga was helping me to attain enlightenment, but I couldn’t think of any practical benefits that someone as ignorant as my sister could comprehend. “It’s helping me to attain everlasting bliss and to know God.”
Melanie rolled her eyes.
I felt a wave of anger rise up inside of me. It was so like her to doubt me.
“It’s helping me with…school! Meditation improves…concentration!”
Melanie pursed her lips and nodded. “I’ve read that. Listen, Doug, I’m not going to tell you what to think or what to believe. We’re all going through a grieving process, but I’m a bit concerned—”
“Concerned about what?” I snapped
“I haven’t seen any of your friends over here in months.”
“They’re away at college—duh!”
Melanie frowned. “Mike’s at Cornell with you, isn’t he? So are Eddie and Stuart. You can’t just study and meditate all day, Doug. You have to find the right balance. You need to have fun, too.”
I considered telling her about my new friends at the center, but didn’t want to waste my time. And anyway, it was none of her fucking business.