Dangerous Friend
By Larry Morris
Once
the
ancient
inchoate
Primordial
vision
personified
into
a
human
being.
He
walks
and
he
talks
just
like
you
and
me.
But
who
he
is
we
can
never
know.
Something
hidden,
secret,
a wonder—
no
one
hardly
sees
him
in
the
shops
or
malls.
He
moves
across
the
earth
almost
invisible.
Nothing
touches
him.
But
once
he
touches
your
heart,
look
out.
Why would anyone want what U.G. gave us?
It was the strangest life anyone could imagine, to be with this human dynamo that could so intensely affect you moment to moment. To travel to see him in Europe, Susan and I would leave on Sunday after holding two church services just to arrive a little earlier. We would drive to the Albuquerque airport at 8:00 a.m., check our bags and then go to the church. At the end of the second service, we would rush out the door, jump in the car and rush back to the airport. Get on the flight to Denver (two-hour flight). Wait in Denver to take the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt (nine hours, cramped seats, bad food). Wait in Frankfurt to catch the flight to Zurich (one hour, very cramped seats). At Zurich airport, rent a car (Peugeot 607) from Auto Europe, drive two hours to Gstaad, find where U.G. was staying, park, walk into the room full of people (some friends, some enemies, some neutrals), and he was sitting so relaxed saying, “How was your flight?” And suddenly we are flooded with peace beyond reckoning and all our burdens have dropped and there is nothing as real as U.G. Time has stopped.
In Gstaad, we would all sit from morning to night. Sometimes U.G. would announce, “Oh, let's go for a ride.” Everyone would jump up, run to the bathroom, grab a few things and scramble into one of the cars: never knowing if we were just going for a cup of coffee up the hill or halfway across Europe. One July, to avoid people who were calling him on his birthday, he suddenly took us on a four-day trip through eight countries, U.G. cantankerous much of the time. He had just given up his dentures, and we hadn't learned how to feed him.
In Paris, U.G. was raging in the hotel and then went to his room. The clerk asked me, “Where is the dictator?” In Amsterdam, he wants us to see the red light district, but it's early morning, and we are yelling at passersby, “Where are the girls?” In Germany, we got a free buffet breakfast with our room at a fancy hotel in Cologne. I loaded my plate and had just sat to eat when U.G. came walking in and we had to go without tasting a bite. Why would anyone want what U.G. gave us? For those who couldn't see it or feel it he must have seemed to be an incredible egotist.
You never quite knew what he was going to do next. He could be completely quiet and gentle one moment and then raging like a volcano the next. He could take you to the depths of your being or ignore you completely.
Although I think many people did get an insight into their inner processes around U.G., whether this changed anything basic is hard to say. After some time he quit for the most part giving intellectual type talks. He said that this intellectual penetration only helped clarify thought and that wasn't what he was getting at, at all. Thought is a stranglehold on life's intelligence and energy. For thought to dissolve completely within you would be an acausal happening, not through will or effort. But who really wanted this kind of death of self from U.G.? Seeing how we were still clinging to things, he would say, “Are you ready?” Who was ready to let go completely and not be whatever you were or thought you were. How many of us wanted to be a walking death?
Now
there
are
U.G.
people
who
only
know
him
through
his
words
or
the
images
of
him
on
videos.
How
lucky
I
was
to
have
all
those
years
with
you;
the
years
and
their
memories
lay
on
my
heart
so
sweet
so
sweet.
When
there
was
U.G.
there
was
always
a
place
to
go.
Now
with
no
U.G.,
why
go
anywhere.
How to tell about the energy we felt when we were with him…
Sometimes, he and I would talk for hours spinning off of each other, the energy bouncing off the walls, totally irrational, much of it nonsensical, one koan after another, but then he would say, “This isn't Zen.” How I loved those verbal fireworks shooting off in various directions with nothing held back, nothing that couldn't be said, no limits. From obscene to “sacred” and back.
He could talk non-stop for hours and hours, his words like bolts of energy punching through your defense barriers. His thoughts were so fast, coming one after the other, it was exhausting trying to follow them. At the end of the day, you were drained, worn out, wanting only a break from his verbal onslaughts, the ultimate destroyer of what you thought was still you. Once he was staying with Bob and Paul and came over to their side of the house and talked nonstop all day until 10:00 at night. U.G. went back to his room, Bob and Paul breathed a sigh of relief. All of a sudden there was a knock on the door and U.G. came in talking for another two hours.
In Carmel, when we were working on Mahesh's biography of U.G., toward the end U.G. stepped in and changed the whole order and sequence of the manuscript, his words going so fast Moorty and Mahesh could hardly keep up.
In the beginning, U.G. would only let us stay with him a couple of hours a day. Even so the energy with him was so intense we felt like we would either explode or dissolve. For years and years whenever I saw U.G. my body would shake with involuntary kriyas. People thought I was having an attack of one sort or another—which was true. Gradually either the intensity lessened or we became more used to it and could sit with him for hours and hours on end.
The energy from U.G. was something so powerful at times I would be swallowed up by it. At the Chevron gas station in Albuquerque, I was so absorbed in U.G.'s energy that I just wanted it to last forever. U.G. finally told me to start the car. How to tell about the energy we felt when we were with him…sitting next to him in the car was like Valium and LSD mixed together, bliss and energy so real everything else faded away.
If
If
If
only
U.G.
were
here
our
hearts
would
come
alive
again.
We
think:
if
only
we
could
have
what
we
had
then.
The
world
is
full
of
the
known,
what
we
wouldn't
give
for
the
Unknown
to
come
back
and
visit
us
for
awhile
longer
awhile
longer.
I
reach
up
to
almost
feel
you
here
with
me
now
content
to
have
known
the
thirst
of
my
longing
burnt
through
in
your
furnace
of
Love—
all
the
ways
that
never
worked
until
one
day
the
moment
with
you
it
did.
I
could
sing
my
love
to
the
heavens
for
that
one
moment
of
your
fiery
embrace
in
which
I
let-go
completely.
U.G. was the great subtractor, taking away so much that we thought we needed and leaving us nothing instead.
Once in Gstaad, I bought some fancy vinegar from Pernett's Gourmet Shop and walked outside. U.G. was walking ahead of me. I knew he could see the vinegar bottle inside the bag. When I went back to my room the vinegar broke through the bag and smashed all over the floor. U.G. was the great subtractor, taking away so much that we thought we needed and leaving us nothing instead.
At London Bridge Resort, in Lake Havasu, I thought he was going to give us his timeshare. I got very excited and then I realized that was not what I needed from U.G.—not the material benefit but the spiritual underpinning. The whole thing was an illusion that dissolved before my eyes. He always took away from me what I didn't need, what would be a burden to me.
The first time I went to Europe to see U.G, in 1996, I was still eating meat and had never considered being a vegetarian. At the end of my six-week stay, eating vegetables every day, I literally could no longer eat meat or chicken or fish. The desire for this kind of food simply dropped away. I liked drinking a little wine; that too over time dropped away. What influence U.G. had to change lives so dramatically and permanently! A big part of culture is eating and drinking. When these things dissolved in me, I was disconnected from ordinary social functioning.
I see now that detachment from society wasn't through choice, will or self-discipline—some things just fell away from me. It's the same as with all my friends, there's no emotional connection to them or my old habits. It's not that you are enlightened or liberated. It's like U.G. used to say, “Hanging around me can make things less burdensome for you.”
I'm not saying this sense of disconnection was the same for everyone who was close to U.G. And I'm not implying that this was some superior or special state. It just happened. There was no choice. And the ego didn't dissolve because of it. You were just with U.G. and things dropped away. It wasn't even what you wanted, it just happened.
When he was ready for things to change, he would dissolve everything around him: clothes, furniture, appliances, everything had to go. And the people with him then, no matter how close they had been, knew they had to go too. There was no quarter given. After stripping everything away he would leave you with nothing to hold onto, not even himself.
I
still
can't
fathom
what
it
is
or
was
or
how
I
chanced
to
come
into
this
relationship
with
you.
What
you
were
was
my
heart
calling
me
home.
They came and they went, like waves on the shoreline.
When he came to Albuquerque and I brought the ‘crème of the crop’ church people to meet him, he spent two hours with them joking and laughing. And then they all left the church. He had snipped some cord of connection and they were all gone including my brother! U.G. was the dissolver (Shiva) of so much in my life that I finally realized these connections were burdens not benefits. He freed me in so many ways I can still only begin to see.
He dissolved the connections with people I thought were friends forever and there was nothing left between us. And we would connect with people from his life, friends, family members, but those connections too he would eventually dissolve and we were left on our own. Of all the hundreds of people from the U.G. days, there are few that I'm still related to. They came and they went, like waves on the shoreline.
…Paul Sempé, a Frenchman, was U.G.'s driver in Europe long before others or me. He was filled with U.G. energy, always on fire, curious about everything. A saint-like guy, always smiling, asking questions…
…Gottfried, the retired German art professor, sweet and gentle; if the car broke down he would say, “Oh that's interesting” with a soft smile…
…The Major in Bangalore, so clear and direct in his focus living alone in a forest, a simple life after being ground down for years by U.G…
…Marissa, a Roman sculptress who told me, “U.G. at first was the rudest man I ever met. At a dinner party, I tried to talk to him and he ignored me completely. When my father met U.G., he told me afterwards, ‘Damned be the day you met this man, your life will never be the same!’” But eventually she and U.G. became close friends…
So many people from so many walks of life, from every culture, friendly or not, came to see U.G. and were touched in a mysterious way by him. I think of Krishna in Bangalore, a beautiful singer. Krishna was in the midst of a spiritual crisis when he happened to buy a piece of pineapple in the marketplace in Bangalore. The wrapper the pineapple was wrapped in contained a piece of paper with words of U.G. that solved Krishna's problem.
There were the two ladies who drove 600 miles from Portland to Mill Valley and sat with U.G. for an hour and then drove home. U.G. said, “They got what they came for.”
The Maladhis, a couple from Madras, told me that after knowing U.G. for some time they lost all their friends, one by one. All my friends faded away also over the years with few exceptions. It's not that he did anything. Your connections with others just dissolved. I hadn't heard from my wife for a year when suddenly she called to say her mother had died. I was with U.G. and told her I couldn't come to be with her and that was the end.
My brother's wife called U.G. and complained that my brother was giving too much money to the church. U.G. told her to leave him unless he stopped and that was the end of my connection with my brother. It's hard to explain how these close ties were broken. It's as if they were somehow erased. There was no will, no decision, not even a choice in any of these happenings. And U.G. never explained what had happened. You just knew you were freer inside and less burdened.
The
Great
Summer
of
'67
the
planet
exploding
with
energy.
Universities
filled
with
revolutionary
consciousness
alternative
lifestyles.
Civil Rights
Movement
anti-war
protests
and
riots
mind-altering
drugs.
“Times
they
are
a-changing,”
sang
Dylan.
One
lone
man
sitting
on
a
bench
under
a
chestnut
tree
in
Saanen
Switzerland
the
Cosmic
cloud
of
Energy
a
tornado
of
cataclysmic
calamitous
Energy
swoops
funnel
like
into
this
waiting
utterly
open
man
sitting
quietly
on
the
bench.
No
more
U.G. person
Long Live
U.G.
Cosmic
Energy.
He
had
listened
to
J. Krishnamurti
in
the
tent
describing
a
Free
man—
and
he
realized
that
“he
was
talking
about
me.”
He
walked
out
found
his
bench
and
asked,
“How
do
I
know
I'm
in
that
state
(of
being
a
free
man)?
How
do
I
know?”
Until
the
question
was
swallowed
into
the
cosmic
whirl pool
the
lightning
blast
the
A-causal
Happening
that
hit
so
hard
even
his
teeth
were
shaken
loose.
Everything
shattered
inside.
Death
of
the
body
mind
heart—
family
and
friends
all
gone
into
smoke.
No
more
life
for
him
to
live.
No
more
struggle.
Only
Energy
forming
a
New
Being
out
of
the
fabric
of
the
universe.
Ah,
U.G.
my
friend,
what
a
time
that
was
for
you
and
for
us
who
became
close
to
you.
Because
we
too
felt
the
touch
of
that
Energy
and
still
feel
it
even
now.
A
tiny
drop
of
that
Energy
and
all
our
lives
are
splattered
into
the
unknown.
We've
never
shaken
free
from
Your
Energy
we
go
through
the
world
as
if
we
were
real,
but
we
were
under
that
tree
sitting
on
that
bench
with
you
back
then
and
are
still
there
now.
Forget
the
revolutions
that
burnt
themselves
out
remember
only
That
Life
we
shared/share
with
you.
Our
best
moments
are
your
moments
for
us.
We
too
in
a
way
feel
your
liberation
we
too
feel
the
teeth
in
our
skulls
loosening
we
can
feel
our
ear lobes
growing
the
outbursts
of
energy
your
voice
in
us
saying:
“Let
things
happen
in
their
own
way.”
No
struggle
just
live
until
you
don't.
We
too
have
had
the
molecules
of
our
being
rearranged
we
too
have
suffered
loss
and
felt
your
ecstasy
tasted
a
bit
of
Cosmic
clarity
timelessness
in
time
we
too
have
seen
what
unearned
surrender
could
be
like
the
wave
of
Universal
Completion
that
demolished
you
back
in
'67
is
ebbing
away
our
insides
even
now.
Our
question
is
your
question
reversed:
How
do
we
know
we're
not
in
that
state?
How
do
we
know?
One
day
(maybe
today)
there
will
be
the
Great
Swallowing
of
that
question
as
It
and
we
both
evaporate.
Who
cares
how
it
happens
when
it
happens
or
maybe
it's
already
happened.
We
can't
find
ourselves
anymore
you
know
that,
you
who
are
here.
Whether
you
believe
it
or
not
U.G.'s
stronger
than
any
belief
so
we
can
relax
into
our
already
surrendered
state
that
never
left
us
be
just
who
we
are
now.
Not
fuss
with
it
let
it
be.
So
nothing
makes
any
sense
anymore
and
why
should
it?
So
you
feel
unenlightened
today
how
should
you
feel?
Whether
you're
watching
Telugu
movies
or
teaching
or
preaching
or
guru-ing
or
name and fame-ing
or
feeling
lost
or
just
not
knowing
what's
happening
you
are
covered
by
U.G.'s
Enlightenment
you
can't
miss
it
you
can't
lose
it.
He's
there
with
you
down
in
the
dumps
or
up
on
the
mountain.
Blanket
of
Bliss
covering
us
all—
(whether we feel it or not)
U.G.
you've
never
left
us….
nobody
but
you
sees
the
depths
of
our
hearts.
That
planetary
Energy
that
swallowed
you
whole
that
fateful day
in
Saanen
us
munching
away
at
our
innards
day by day
hour by hour
the
pressure
to
let it all go
be lifted
merge
into the
Cosmic You
is
pulling
in
each
of
us
now.
We
don't
fit
anymore
on
this
puzzle-earth
the
missing
piece
is
knowing
our
true
home
is
only
with
you.
Stripped
to
the
marrow,
now
we
are
ready
(almost
ready)
to
take
that
car
ride
to
forever
with
you
at
our
side.
When
we
hit
bottom:
U.G.
When
we
are
on
the
top:
U.G.
Anywhere
in between:
U.G.
My
life
My
Love
My
heart:
U.G.
U.G.
U.G.
You were and are our great physician.
People saw in you what they couldn't find anywhere else. Ram Dass said that you were the most interesting man on the planet. But it wasn't that you were that interesting; there was no description to fit you, no framework to capture you in: so unpredictable, so volcanic, and liable to erupt in an instant.
Terry Newland in Mill Valley had someone come with a camera to film an interview with you. Terry asked one question and you tore into him for an hour and finally told him, “Not much time left.” Afterwards, going downstairs Terry said, “I sure love him.”
How many of us loved you in spite of everything? Even when you shifted away from that burning intellect and instead spent years and years just telling stories or being stoic, we just felt the depth of your presence. You essentially told us we only wanted entertainment from you so why bother teaching, but even so, you always gave us not what we wanted but what we needed in the moment.
Even your haranguing us was part of a healing we so desperately needed. You were and are our great physician. I can't stop thinking of you. My heart still burns with your memory. There was that excitement when we would meet getting off a plane, or first coming into the room after not seeing you for so long. My heart still feels that burning energy every time I meet you in dreams, even now.
The
Sufis
speak
of
being
absorbed
into
God.
I
don't
think
I
would
be
afraid
of
being
absorbed
into
U.G.
From
such
Ultimate
Good
only
good
comes
from
that
merging.
Suddenly in the stillness, I felt his energy of Life reaching into me.
I had known U.G. a few months when I visited at his ‘Crow's Nest’ apartment in Mill Valley. When I was around him there was always that tremendous energy filled with stillness and peace. This time it was U.G. and me in the small room with the red light. Very still. Suddenly in the stillness I felt his energy or the energy of life reaching into me. I started to resist (I had resisted others before) even though I knew that this was what I wanted more than anything.
Then it occurred to me! What makes you think you are strong enough to resist U.G.'s energy—at that instant I let go completely and merged with U.G. in total surrender. A weight of separation lifted from me, I felt a peace and clarity unlike anything I had known before. All these years of my struggle and search had brought me to this instant of utter release, peace beyond naming. I felt such gratitude and love for this merging experience. I was still me, I hadn't lost my identity in this merging.
Some others came and we went to a shopping center in Mill Valley. In some pharmacy I followed U.G. around like a puppy dog. I couldn't bear not to be close to him physically. That one experience of complete merging with U.G. changed my life. I never saw myself as separate from U.G. again. Through the years, I'd say that this was the greatest thing that has happened to me and I still (in my best moments) feel this closeness.
I had had other experiences of merging, small satoris where the veil of separation would dissolve briefly only to return again full force. With U.G. the merging was ultimate but again there was no continuity, no sense of a permanent state of arrival. I still had all the ups and downs of the human condition. This experience didn't make my life easier.
How I hungered to be with him to feel something of that closeness. When I was away from U.G. it became harder and harder to be myself because I felt I belonged with him. When he allowed me to come to see him, I was so aggressive in wanting to be closest to him over and over again. Or to drive the car that he would ride in sitting next to me. I was utterly ruthless in wanting to feel that closeness with him.
Even on the telephone from halfway around the world to hear U.G.'s voice my heart would race, I was overcome with joy. Surrender was so natural to him. I could never resist. I watched others, amazed that they could defy him. For me this never was an option.
Some of them thought I was ‘brown nosing’ or just being overly dutiful but I had no choice. For twenty-one years I did what U.G. told me to do without question or argument. I knew he was of another order of being, from another dimension of life. No matter how irrational or unpredictable he was at times, whatever or whoever he was, he was beyond my understanding, but I related to him from where I was and the rest didn't matter.
I could have been nicer to those around him but all I wanted was closeness with him. Even now, years after his death, I rarely initiate contact with any of them, even the ones I was closest to.
I'm still where he left me. I can't use whatever he did to me. It's there in me but it's something I can't exploit for profit or gain. I know some others are using what they received from U.G. in one way or other but mine was a process of giving up not getting. Even when I got there I would give U.G. anything I had. Strange to see your life as a surrender to something beyond yourself and yet have that taken away.
Friends from before U.G. are all gone—nothing to say to them. The level was broken long ago. Yet I'm still here. Very strange—to be but to have your purpose for being taken away. How I miss even his attacks that were so merciless—vicious attacks, verbal onslaughts. I could never defend myself no matter how hurtful his words were. “Defense is offense,” he said.
But no matter how awful or painful the process of being with him I could never forget the merging that had happened between us and that I was a part of him and he was a part of me.
If
I
could
tell
the
world
about
your
closeness
to
me
how
would
I
begin
how
could
I
begin
to
share
this
feeling
of
being
in
your
Love.
An
umbrella
of
Love
came
down
from
Heaven
to
shelter
me
from
life's
storms.
You
were/
are
that
Angel
of
Mercy
all
the
prayers
in
the
world
point
to.
I
was
a
lost
child
on
this
earth
aching
for
the
love
you
brought
me.
That
touch
of
light
that
you
were
resides
in
each
of
our
hearts
never
to
be
lost.
Your
words
ring
in
our
ears
in
our
deepest
moments.
We
all
shared
equally
in
your
Grace.
One
minute
of
your
dark
eyes
searching
our
hearts
was
all
that
any
of
us
needed
or
would
ever
need
again.
It
was
enough
and
more
than
enough.
Yet
who's
to
say
that
there
is
any
boundary
to
that
love
that
is
you.
Perhaps
that
love
has
no
end
and
each
feels
it
in
his
heart
of
hearts
not
knowing
what
to
call
it.
At
night
in
our
deepest
sleep
who's
to
say
we're
not
resting
in
you.
When
we
look
long
at
something
is
it
we
or
you
who
are
looking.
The
tiny
sparks
of
joy
that
still
come
are
they
from
us
or
from
you.
Have
we
created
the
connections
in
our
life
or
are
you
their
underpinning.
These
words
that
I
write
are
they
from
me
or
from
you.
If
we
no
longer
know
what
life
is
maybe
we
are
beginning
to
see
who
you
are,
mystery
within
a
mystery—
how
to
explain
you
to
others.
They
ask
me
and
I
stare
blankly
at
them.
I
try
to
tell
about
you
and
they
look
at
me
with
unbelieving
eyes.
This
truth
that
you
are
is
too
real
for
this
world
that
lives
in
dreams
and
myths.
If
I
were
a
great
wordsmith
I
could
capture
something
of
your
essence
on
paper.
But
no
your
elusiveness
is
best
left
unsaid.
I
speak
of
you
as
to
glimpse
of
what
you
were
and
this
only
to
me.
The
thousands
that
knew
you
knew
thousands
of
U.G.s
and
now
the
Internet
produces
millions
of
U.G.s
every
day
for
people
to
grasp
some
tiny
bit
of
what
you
are.
I
loved
you
not
because
you
loved
me
but
because
of
that
closeness
between
us.
I
don't
have
other
words
for
it.
I
wander
through
my
days
and
can
almost
touch
that
closeness
again.
It's
not
something
to
reach;
it's
something
that
lies
deep
within.
A
depth
that
goes
beyond
who
we
are
or
who
we
think
we
are.
You
really
can't
surrender
to
a
closeness
that
is
beyond
yourself.
We
go
to
the
limits
of
ourselves
but
no
further.
U.G.
takes
us
all
the
way.
No matter how mundane the situation, the magical could always slip in.
Once in Palm Springs, U.G., Julie and I are watching a movie on TV, laughing hysterically, tears running down our faces. I saw the same movie by myself later, not even a chuckle.
There was always the feeling of magic around U.G. No matter how mundane the situation, the magical could always slip in. He loved having his horoscope chart done or his palm read. He would hold out his hand in childlike innocence and ask, “Will I travel? Will I have money?” Since U.G. was always traveling and money was never a problem for him, the questions were always said in fun.
And U.G. liked reading other palms as well as having his own read. Once when he and I were traveling from Ontario, California to Monterey, U.G. read my palm and told me that I was “the real McCoy.” Other times he would read my palm and tell me that I had “the wildest imagination and was heading for the moon and would wind up in the loony bin.” I would tell him, “Only you can save me;” so he quit saying those things.
The Maladhis told me about a room in their house in Madras: whenever someone stayed in that room he would die shortly afterwards. When U.G. heard the story he insisted on staying in that room whenever he was in Madras; nothing ever happened to him.
In U.G. land (wherever you were with him, anywhere in the world), whatever was happening or not happening—utter silence or outrageous banter, or dancing or singing, or comedy routines, everything was being underwritten and sustained by U.G.'s phenomenal energy. It could be solemn or stupendously funny from one moment to the next. A famous Indian personality once said in a radio broadcast that U.G. was a vast canvas which we each painted ourselves on. Many people walked into this U.G. energy field without a clue as to what was going to happen.
Once at the Ocotillo Lodge in Palm Springs, U.G. had gone to his room to rest. There were about twenty of us in the room. All of a sudden, everyone became quiet. This stillness lasted about forty-five minutes. It was as if U.G. had left us his stillness when he left the room.
There were times when I was alone with U.G. and he would suddenly click off, as Louis put it. When he was not performing or interacting with people, U.G.'s features would become almost blank. Yet it seemed to me that serious, unsmiling expression was always under the surface. It was as if no one was home; he could be there with you but there was no attempt to relate. He just was with you, without words. Those quiet moments, I think I loved most; just this blank U.G. but so real, so utterly real it could break your heart.
At other times, when people were around, U.G.'s features and expressions could shift from moment to moment; soft one moment, hard and unyielding the next. People's experience of him was filtered through their perceptions. Carolina said that U.G. was the funniest person she ever met. I asked young Meganna, “What do you think of your great-great grandpa, U.G.?” She replied with a British accent, “He's rather funny.”
No matter what level U.G. was expressing at any given time, no matter what jokes or word games he was playing, there was always an underlying ultimate seriousness. He was confronting you at every level of your being no matter what seemed to be happening or not happening.
Sometimes U.G. would relate visions he had had (not dreams, U.G. said he never dreamed). He told us that J. Krishnamurti had come to him in a vision and told him, “Look here, old chap, your words are too radical, water it down.” U.G. told the vision to “get lost.”
U.G. loved word play, innuendos, and puns, conundrums, paradoxes and language games. U.G. would say, “God willing, weather permitting and…” He demanded a word that meant there was enough money. It took three years for me to get U.G. to agree to “funds availing” as the third part of the statement.
There were endless car rides with U.G.; heater at 90 degrees, everyone silent, U.G. sleeping or dozing or staring straight ahead, mile after mile, only stopping for gas, eight hours or ten or twelve. One time Mario was driving a van, U.G. next to him, the rest of us huddled in the back, during a huge snowstorm. When we left Gstaad, U.G. told Mario to make only right turns. We drove into some beautiful valley blanketed in snow. Every so often U.G. would tell Mario to bang his head on the window, which Mario happily did—an unforgettable snow ride in circles.
Everyone was silent during the long car rides except when the Guha girls, Shilpa and Sumedha, and Susan's daughter Claire were in the backseat (along with Susan). Then the cone of silence was lifted. I would teach the girls old Air Force marching songs and G.I. drinking songs and sayings—some of them risqué or bawdy. U.G. would sit with his eyes closed as if asleep but he was always aware of everything. The girls would sing the songs to their parents when we got back (who were not always happy with Larry for these performances).
Most
of
our
relationship
was
unspoken
a
silent
bond
between
us
that
adheres
even
today.
I
was
with
you
in
silence.
I
don't
know
how
to
come
into
that
Grace
without
you.
I
can
remember
the
words
and
the
feeling
but
not
the
state.
For
me
this
was
all
that
mattered
with
you:
to
be
in
that
state
as
an
unearned
gift—
we
never
talked
about
it
together.
There
was
no
need.
Hearts
that
understand
at
that
level
don't
need
words.
To make him into a god-man or a guru was equally a mistake. He was literally outside of all the frameworks we can imagine or conceive.
One friend felt that the harshness and disappointments of his personal and family life was because of U.G.'s ‘testing’ of him. This seems to be a pretty skewed projection but maybe most (if not all) of our projections on U.G. were also skewed or illusory. Moorty thought that perhaps there was no entity called U.G. really there, just “universal energy.” And indeed if universal energy can personify as completely unique—perhaps that was what U.G. really was. But over the years, if you were close to U.G., you would feel that there was someone there, someone so real that he made everything else seem illusory. He took you so deeply into the reality of his life that you felt that there was nothing outside of him.
To make him into a god-man or a guru was equally a mistake. He was literally outside of all the frameworks we can imagine or conceive. U.G. just didn't fit into the way people understand reality. Paul Arms said that perhaps Indians understood U.G. best because they have the concept of a jivanmukta, a ‘walking dead man’—someone who is alive but is no longer a separate self from the rest of life. U.G. would be born and then would die every second. That's why it's hard to think of him as ultimately gone because he was/is so real the rest of our lives pale in comparison. Anyone who was close to U.G. cannot not think of him. His words, his very being, are etched in our hearts.
U.G. would strip away your beliefs. But he also said that you couldn't be without belief. This sounds like a contradiction but the ‘you’ that is this continuous self has to be with a belief to sustain itself. If this ‘you’ comes to an end then what will come after (as U.G. says) is none of your concern. U.G. would say that you've reached the point of life where no one else has been. He said that if this sort of thing happens to you, you'll either “flip or fly.” In other words, you either come into a new way of being or you'll go “bonkers.”
Stripped of beliefs does not mean you can't function “sanely and intelligently in this world.” U.G. was no zombie. He was bursting with the unimpeded energy of life freed from “the stranglehold of thought.” He was the most unique person you could ever meet. And when he wanted to he could ‘charm the pants off’ of anyone.
I had been to a South Indian vegetarian restaurant in Hollywood many years before but when we (the U.G. gang) tried to find it driving up and down Wilshire Boulevard it just didn't happen. Finally Lisa saw an ad a few weeks later for a place called Paru's in Hollywood and U.G., Lisa and I drove there from Palm Springs. When we walked in the door it was as if we were coming home. Cannon, the owner, made you feel like you were his long lost brother. He was ‘blown away’ by U.G. We sat and ate delicious sambar and idlis and listened to classical South Indian music. Cannon and U.G. discussed their connections to the Theosophical Society. Cannon had pictures of all the gurus from different traditions on the wall.
U.G. always put his friends through various kinds of tests. Once on a Saturday night at eight o'clock, the height of the restaurant dinner hour, U.G. arrived unannounced with twenty people in his party. The place was packed but Cannon somehow managed to create a long table in the middle of the restaurant for U.G. and his friends. U.G. was always testing Cannon on his idlis; if they weren't fresh and soft U.G. would threaten Cannon, “These idlis are hard as rocks, if you don't make better idlis I'm going to throw them at you.”
If you stayed connected to U.G. you were bound to be tested and usually to be found wanting. After knowing U.G. for some time, someone asked Cannon why he didn't put U.G.'s picture on the wall with the gurus. Cannon replied, “If I dared to put U.G.'s picture on the wall he would throw me out of my own restaurant.” Yet whatever U.G. put him through, Cannon loved him and he always lit up with joy to see U.G. and his friends come into the door of his restaurant.
Sometimes U.G. would give us a taste of what the state he was in was like. It would be his razor-sharp wit or the words tumbling out of him so fast we could barely keep up. Or it might be his complete stillness filled with wondrous peace or the sense when you were with him that time somehow was standing still. You could stare at a wall at the backside of a shopping center with U.G. for endless time filled with peace. It's hard to describe how being with him was such a complete experience. With him you needed nothing more than that moment.
That
time
we
drove
into
Switzerland
from
Italy
in
May
everything
was
green
and
lush
it
felt
like
we
were
at
the
top
of
the
world
driving
through
those
mountains.
When
we
got
to
Gstaad
U.G.
was
so
quiet
for
days
that
enveloped
in
an
endless
peace
I
never
wanted
anything
more
than
to
stay
in
that
time
forever.
You just knew you were watching (and to some extent participating in) a full blown cosmic experience.
Early in the Mill Valley days I was amazed at the razor-sharp wit of U.G.'s friends. The lightning speed of their word play and repartee seemed unbelievable. But I came to find out that although these people were bright and well educated, the source of their brilliance was actually U.G., whose energy was the sustaining influence on the group.
U.G. always said that “autobiographies are lies and biographies are double lies.” So I was stunned, early on in our relationship, when one day U.G. called me and asked me to come to California to help Mahesh, Moorty and U.G. write his biography. They rented a house in Carmel for a month. Mahesh would sit in one room writing from his notes, Moorty was in another room typing on the computer, U.G. and I sat on the couch while he went through letters and pieces of papers he had collected. Sometimes he would look at something and say, “This is very important.” But then he would tear it up into little pieces.
I could only stay a week then I came back for another few days during the month. Somehow people found out where U.G. was staying. One lady who had a farm in Illinois had heard of U.G. and took a train to Carmel. She was enchanted with U.G. and wanted to take him back to her farm and put him on a tractor. U.G. and Mahesh were very polite to her and she left after a few days.
Then Eugene and Elizabeth showed up. They were a strange couple that lived in a black vehicle of some sort. U.G. was never thrown by people showing up no matter who they were or from where they were coming.
One night toward the end of the month U.G. called Mahesh and Moorty into his room and told them that the book wasn't coming together. Then with his mind working like a supercomputer, U.G. rearranged the whole book. And this was the book that was finally published by Mahesh as U.G. Krishnamurti: A Life.
In Palm Springs in the mornings, U.G. would start talking and the levels of his words would change from moment to moment with fantastic speed (the speed of light as Mahesh said). I could take his verbal fireworks for about an hour and then I would collapse, exhausted from trying to keep up with him. If anyone could follow him completely I'm sure they would lose themselves in the process. It wasn't just his words, it was the vast space that opened up as he was talking and the machine gun delivery and the powerful energy that swept through you as he talked. Anyone that felt this knew they were in the presence of something beyond this world.
And U.G. would go on for hours like this, with this vast energy exploding out of him, whether anyone could follow it or not. Just the sheer saturation of verbal onslaughts, day after day, would wipe out any attempt to understand what was happening. You just knew you were watching (and to some extent participating in) a full blown cosmic experience—the expression of a liberation so vast you could only grasp a fraction of it. It left you dazed yet grateful that you were in the presence of an awesome energy that you had been longing for your whole life. To see and feel this energy right before you in everyday life, that all the teachings and teachers and books had spoken of—a gift almost beyond comprehension. To try to go back and tell people what U.G. had done to you and for you just was not possible.
The freedom you came back with after a U.G. visit would somehow enhance the flavor of your normal life—there would be a spark in you, a residue of the fire he had infused you with. Sometimes you too would speak with the words tumbling out of you so fast you couldn't follow them yourself. But nothing like U.G.: what he could do with words unimpeded by thought, just coming out of some vast womb of energy that would practically knock you over—the impact would be so great.
I can see him sitting in the little room in Palm Springs, his back straight, the avalanche of words pouring out of him straight into you at whatever level you were able to receive them. Everything would fade away, just the outpouring from some depth beyond the words themselves, just the open space that penetrated you like nothing else ever could. So how could you explain this cataclysm that you experienced when someone asked you, “Well what does U.G. say?” He says this is the energy of the universe exploding in me as I talk to you. When this vastness touches your heart, how could you ever be the same again?
The
older
you
are,
the
closer
you
were,
the
more
U.G.
is
infused
in
your
spinal
column.
There
is
no
homecoming.
You
can
only
have
what
is
left
of
what
was
given.
Trying
for
more
ends
in
failure.
Just
let
it
happen,
man.
Go
where
you're
called.
Do
the
next
thing
quit
dreaming
of
him.
Yes
but
then
I
can't.
Not
within
my
power
to
let
you
go,
U.G.,
sorry.
There's
nothing
better
than
you
why
munch
on
dry
crumbs
pretending
they're
tasty.
Remembering
your
food,
I
realize
why
everything
is
so
unappetizing.
Taste
U.G.
once
nothing
else
will
ever
do.
That
quickening
at
the
marrow
that
nothing
else
can
cause.
“Flip
or
fly,”
he
said
and
we
are
somewhere
in-between,
closer
to
flip
maybe,
waiting
to
fly,
wanting
to
fly
here
on
the
ground,
it
looks
so
high,
an
abyss
of
space
to
leap
over,
come
into
agreement
without
a
second
thought.
To think there could be such a deep personification of spirituality so immediate, so obvious in the midst of everyday life was mind-blowing.
Once U.G., Bob Carr and I were in San Francisco. U.G. wanted to go to the Indian consulate to get a new passport; Bob wanted an Indian visa. As we drove fog-laden San Francisco, I was reminiscing about my time living there. U.G. said that this was “nostalgia for the bad” which was likely true. It was always a bit of a shock when U.G. decided to throw his weight around. U.G. showed the receptionist at the consulate his passport and said he wanted to see the Consul General. The receptionist said in a nasty voice, “You don't have an appointment; the Consul General is busy and can't be disturbed.” U.G. started shouting at her, “Call the President of India; he'll fix my appointment.”
The Consul General himself came running out of his office when he heard U.G. shouting. He recognized U.G. and scolded the receptionist, “This man is a luminary from India. Why didn't you tell me he was here?” U.G. told him, “She was just following your orders that you weren't to be disturbed.” The Consul General asked the three of us into his office. He gave U.G. a new Indian passport and Bob Carr a ten year visa. When he also offered me a ten year visa I explained that I did not have my passport with me. Afterwards, U.G. used to joke and tell people that Susan had locked up my passport.
In Bangalore, there was a wild Australian with shaved head wearing ochre robes who danced around the room singing, “Shiva, Shiva Shambone.” After hanging out with U.G. for some time he went back to Australia, put on a three piece suit and got a job in the business world.
In Seaside, Moorty would organize afternoon gatherings of people for U.G. to speak to when U.G. traveled to Moorty's home. There was a Korean Zen master, who Moorty called “The Venerable,” who would sit in some Zen posture with his eyes tightly closed listening to U.G. blast all spiritual paths. After three or four visits, the Zen master renounced his position, started wearing regular clothes, got a girlfriend and a job. Over the years I saw U.G. having this effect on many ‘spiritual’ people, who realized they didn't need to go to exotic places and put on exotic garb to find the magic they sought—that magic existed everywhere in life.
U.G. himself always dressed conservatively, wearing earth tones. He never stood out in crowds. But many times when he stopped at a men's restroom somewhere, someone would yell at him, “That's for men, madam.” There was always that gender ambiguity with him. Sometimes he would look Shiva-like and masculine, other times completely feminine. His gestures were so fluid, sculptors like Marissa, from Rome, had great difficulty capturing his face. People like the French obstetrician, Le Boyer, would take hundreds of photos of U.G. trying to somehow capture and freeze some facial expression or gesture.
I liked walking with U.G. through the stores with no one noticing him, yet I felt such magic and wonder in just being close to him. Every gesture, every movement he made was a mudra, so natural and spontaneous, a meditation in and of itself. To think there could be such a deep personification of spirituality, so immediate, so obvious in the midst of everyday life, was mind-blowing.
Yet everywhere we went it was like U.G. was invisible to people. It was like they were all oblivious to such a being in the midst of them. Sometimes he would help a lady in Ross department store pick out a color or a size as if he were part of the staff. Or when we were walking out of Neiman Marcus he told two girls, “Wear those clothes now; don't wait for your birthday.”
U.G. was always connected to the everyday world. Whatever latest electronic gadget was being marketed, U.G. would be interested. In stores, he would drift over to the luggage section or to small kitchen appliances or to plastic ware.
Once we were in Bern, the capital of Switzerland. The streets were all torn up. I parked the car in some tow away zone. U.G. was sick and yet he staggered into a clothing store and found a wool sweater he liked and I paid for it and we rushed back to the car and drove off. Everything happened so fast. U.G. was so pleased with that brown sweater he wore it for years.
U.G.'s favorite candy was Leonidas praline white chocolate. One time we were driving through Brussels in a huge rainstorm right before 6 p.m. when the stores close. Louis jumped out of the car, racing up and down the streets in the rain. Susan also got out and started looking. Finally, someone in another car found the shop just as it was closing and U.G. got his chocolate. This search for Leonidas happened so many times in so many cities around the world.
U.G. liked Las Vegas, at least the idea of it. We made constant trips to Las Vegas but whenever we got there U.G. would become agitated and cranky almost as if the energy of greed and despair impacted him personally. The food was always a problem. U.G., who was always larger than life, would look diminished in places like the massive MGM Grand reception area. U.G. would encourage his friends to gamble except for Susan and me. He told us we “gamble with our lives, that's enough.” And sometimes we would all wander up and down “the Strip” from one hotel to another. I was having a mystical experience in the Bazaar of the Aladdin Hotel feeling like I was back in some medieval time, when one of U.G.'s friends came up to me and started verbally attacking me for something I had no memory of. It was such a shock to feel your spiritual experience shattered in the moment. How many times this shattering happened over the years with U.G. or one of his friends.
I never liked crowds of people. Once I was with U.G. and the gang at Ontario Mills Mall in California. It was Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, when nearly everyone in America goes shopping. There were huge crowds of people but it felt as if they were flowing through me, like a cosmic happening. From that day on, I never minded being in crowds.
We would watch people in the malls and U.G. would point out that everyone walked differently, no two people walked the same. Everyone was unique, even in their walking, so how could there be rules governing everyone's behavior? In essence, religion tried to mold people into conformity that denied their uniqueness and curbed their freedom. Seeing the world from U.G.'s perspective, we were all ants looking to a Queen ant to tell us what to do and who to be.
Like a super intelligent animal, U.G. lived at a profound simplicity none of us around him could ever quite understand.
To say that any of this was intentional on U.G.'s part is misleading. Certain behaviors would erupt out of him, but to say that they were either calculated or spontaneous also misses the point. As nature is intentional (like the orderly progressions of the seasons), so too U.G., so clearly interwoven with nature, could be said to be intentional; but what he intends is not always clear. Even though five thousand years of human culture and conditioning had been stripped away from him, U.G. still had his likes and dislikes; for instance his food preferences. But as he said, none of these things could ever create a hold on him. They were just passing thoughts. It is not that he was without desire, but the desire was always momentary, could never stay. He would say, “I'm so full, nothing else can enter.”
When people asked him why he traveled so much, he would say, “Why do birds migrate from one place to another?” The other reason for travel is he didn't want anything to be established around him; he didn't want a crystallized place for people to hang out. No ashram, no center. He could always get on a plane and leave everything and everyone behind. At the Ontario airport, I once watched U.G. toss a coin and decide to go to Europe.
Like a super intelligent animal, U.G. lived at a profound simplicity none of us around him could ever quite understand. We only knew that we loved him beyond boundaries. He could roar at us, so what. He could hurt us deeply or spoil us or just ignore us. Never was there a thought of leaving. Being with him, no matter what, was the greatest gift of this life.
U.G. would sometimes say, “I'm just an animal.” And he would say that because of the “stranglehold of thought” over the centuries, human beings had severed their connection to their animal nature. And indeed, U.G. was like a wild animal. Once while waiting in line with Douglas and Terry, U.G. became impatient and started growling, and Terry told him, “Down boy.” Another time, when Terry's car quit running with U.G. in the front seat, Terry got so angry that U.G. threw up his arms animal-like as if to ward off Terry's anger. When he was ill, U.G. was like a wounded animal. And many of his movements and gestures were very close to that of an animal.
At some point, the Major and U.G. moved from Bangalore to Yercaud, a remote and isolated place in South India. U.G. wanted a satellite TV and all the other electronic gadgets. The Major liked simplicity and he resisted having these electronic devices. A battle of wills ensued, with U.G. getting his electronics and the Major being ostracized from the U.G. group. The Major said that being cut off from U.G. was a very difficult time for him. But when they moved back to Bangalore, U.G. helped the Major find a very simple place fifteen kilometers outside of the city, a house in a remote jungle-like setting, including a tree for the Major to sit in. There were no electronic conveniences and Major was completely happy in this setting. He said, “U.G. has put me in my paradise.”
U.G.
in
this
forest
I
feel
you
so
close
I
almost
could
touch
you.
To
see
you
was
to
see
what
this
world
could
be
like
if
we
all
were
like
the
deer
in
this
forest.
Why
we
had
to
ascribe
such
superiority
to
ourselves?
What
arrogance
led
us
humans
to
think
we
were
better
than
the
rest
of
life?
More
importantly:
that
our
gods
were
more
real—
U.G.
awoke
us
from
this
dream
of
superiority
that
even
our
spiritual
quest
made
us
somehow
special:
to
see
that
we
actually
are
like
all
the
rest
what
a
gift
you
gave
us—
just
to
be
like
the
animals
the
birds
the
flowers
the
jabbering
humanity
all
the
same
not
one
iota
of
difference
the
kings
and
presidents
the
power
brokers
the
same
as
that
any
crawling
on
this
piece
of
paper.
The king of opposition, U.G. would contradict whatever your notion of the spiritual was.
At LAX airport on Thanksgiving weekend, thousands of cars in the parking lot, Julie is driving ten of us in a van with U.G. next to her. Two Asian ladies are in a car next to our van. U.G. tells Julie, “If you let them get ahead of us, I'll never forgive you.” Julie scrapes the van against the wall and keeps going forward cutting the ladies off. They're yelling at her, we are all laughing hysterically at the scene. Julie passes the test, noses out the ladies, who could never understand how, for us, this is spiritual.
The king of opposition, U.G. would contradict whatever your notion of the spiritual was. Oneness: “That mosquito sucking your blood is oneness.” Void: “There is no void; there is always something happening.” Concentration: “The nature of this (U.G.'s state) is distraction.” Emptiness: “This (his state) is so full, nothing more can go in.” Love: “A four letter word.” Silence: “The roar of the ocean, that's silence.” An interviewer once asked U.G. about ‘kundalini’ and U.G. got up and walked out.
U.G. was equally critical of culture and nature: “Museums and art galleries are brothels; the Grand Canyon just a big hole in the ground.” His point was that beauty and aesthetic value are based on comparisons, measurement from the past. We are ‘educated’ to appreciate the beauty in nature and in works of art. Without conditioning, our perceptions would be raw and unfiltered, something like the vision scene toward the end of Sartre's Nausea.
While living in the Bay Area, Bob once brought Ram Dass to see U.G. They talked for an hour and Ram Dass finally said that it was like skeet shooting, “Every time I throw a question, U.G. would shoot it down.”
U.G. never spared anyone, even those with a deep spiritual commitment of one sort or another. Jacques Masson, who had been a student of Paul Brunton, had been meditating for fifty years. U.G. told him, “Give it up Jacques, it's not for you.” With U.G., meditation wasn't something you needed to practice—every instant with him was a meditation. In his early years, U.G. had spent much time in a cave in Rishikesh practicing various forms of yoga and meditation. Even though he said these practices didn't help him at all, U.G. certainly knew how meditation and yoga worked. He knew exactly what happened when you meditated, and when U.G. was silent, you felt that you were in the deepest state of meditation beyond anything you could come to on your own.
Yet he loved to play poker with kids—he was so open to any level at any time.
U.G. would say that this thing (what had happened to him) is not in your interest to know. “You play with a live wire but with gloves. If this should happen to you, even for a split instant, you would drop dead on the spot—what would be left wouldn't be your concern.” In all your mystical and spiritual experiences, you have to be there to know you are having them. Even sex at the moment of climax, you're still telling yourself, I'm having a climax.” Not to be is something you don't want, for the ‘you’ you know yourself to be would be extinguished. Though we loved being with U.G., I don't think any of us wanted what had happened to him. It was wonderful to hear stories of his experiences, like his walks with his friends, the family of cobras, but who of us would want to take that walk?
U.G. would pick points of ambivalence or weakness to see how people handled themselves in different situations.
The Major had taken care of his wife, who finally died after a long illness. Some astrologer told U.G. that Major would remarry and said it would be to an airline stewardess. U.G. went to great lengths to try to fix Major up with a stewardess, but Major was firmly not interested. When asked why he went to all this trouble, U.G. said, “I am always testing people.”
U.G. would pick points of ambivalence or weakness to see how people handled themselves in different situations. With me, these were always the opportunity to blast me for my driving and, at times, for my cooking. But he always had me drive for him and many times cook for him. He could also blast me for being a minister, with scorn, calling me a “rabid catholic.” But then he would say with equal force, “Don't leave the church.”
Sometimes he seemed to shred someone for no apparent reason. Once, when we were in Palm Springs, Tanuja, a movie friend of U.G.'s, asked me what Death Valley was like. There was a group of us sitting together, when all of a sudden U.G. started tearing into me for twenty minutes, hammering at me. When he finally stopped his diatribe, Tanuja looked at my face and said, "Now I know what Death Valley is like." Shortly afterwards, U.G. asked me to go for a ride. We drove silently out to the desert and I confessed to him my deepest secrets. You could never hold anything back from him. Sooner or later, you had to tell him all your secrets, and sooner or later, he would discover things about you that you didn't even know yourself.
Another time, with U.G., Moorty, and Lisa in Gstaad, I was still undecided about what to do about my wife. Now, I think that I was still afraid of losing the security of the home and everything that went with it. Moorty was pacing up and down like a tiger, U.G. was silent, Lisa was a witness. Moorty was blasting me to let my wife go. I was resisting, as the energy in the room was building. This went on and on—Moorty hammering on me, U.G. being still. The next day as I was leaving, U.G. called me over and told me, “Be bold, be brave.”
Once when we were in Palm Springs, a guru from India named Sufi Baba called U.G. to say that he and his friends would like to come visit. When the Sufi Baba entourage arrived, U.G. was in the middle of telling us a story. They had to wait while U.G. finished the story, the important story (which we had heard many times). Sufi Baba came in with his friends. He was a frail wisp of a man who glowed with a living presence. When he saw U.G., Sufi Baba lit up in ecstasy. He kept saying over and over, “U.G. Baba, I love you, I love you.” He kept trying to touch or kiss U.G.'s feet, which U.G. kept pulling away from him. They had brought Indian food, so we had a feast. One of the women friends was spoon-feeding Sufi Baba. After eating, Sufi Baba stood up and started gliding around the room saying, “Who will dance with me?” They stayed for two or three hours and when they were leaving Sufi Baba pulled me into his lap and held me.
Two of the Sufi Baba San Diego friends were Sid and Kara, who afterwards became close friends of U.G. and all of us. Sid had been a captain in the Marines during Vietnam and was still haunted by war memories. Sid and Kara started hanging out with U.G. and the rest of us, sometimes in Palm Springs, or we would go to San Diego to see them. They even came to Gstaad to see U.G. A few years after meeting U.G., Sid gave him a card saying that U.G. had healed him of the burden of memories from Vietnam. This, even though U.G., as far as I know, had never talked to Sid about Vietnam. U.G. would often brag about trivial things, but seldom about these healing experiences people had around him.
All of us, without exception, were always on the spot—we never knew when some underlying pressure would cause us a problem with U.G.
Not even his closest friends were exempt from U.G.'s ferocious attacks. Even if you felt you had a special place in U.G.'s heart (and perhaps you did), he could always say or do something that would devastate you—no one was beyond his ability to render you helpless in the moment. Once U.G. had made up his mind, there was no reasoning or bargaining with him.
Mahesh Bhatt, one of U.G.'s oldest and closest friends, was coming to see him from India. Mahesh was supposed to travel on the same plane as Suguna and Chandrasekhar, however, their tickets were economy class and Mahesh's was first class. U.G. was irate and wouldn't speak to Mahesh until he changed his ticket. Another time, when we were driving around the Arc de Triomphe in morning rush hour traffic in Paris, in the middle of a furious rainstorm, Julie pulled her car up next to us and threw her cellphone in our car on U.G.'s lap saying, “Mahesh is calling.” U.G. picked up the cellphone and threw it back into Julie's car without a word. It wasn't the time to talk on the phone.
There would always be a caravan of cars, with people rushing to get into one car or another—never knowing how far we were going or when we would be back. We were at Beatenberg, Switzerland once and we all had to go to the bathroom (about twenty of us in four or five cars). We went into a bathroom in a restaurant and the owner came running out screaming at us for using his bathroom. I offered to buy something but nothing would appease him.
Another time, in the middle of the night, we were returning to Gstaad from Italy. There was a turn off. One sign said Gotthard, the other, San Bernardino. I thought San Bernardino might be a shortcut. I asked U.G., “Should we try San Bernardino?” He said, “Yes, yes.” And we drove miles and miles out of our way, actually going up to Chur and then across to Zurich, finally arriving home in Gstaad at three or four in the morning, with Louis and others in the cars following us screaming at me. U.G. was just sitting quietly next to me, knowing all the time that we should have taken the other road through Gotthard. Sometimes he just didn't want to get back that early.
All of us, without exception, were always on the spot—we never knew when some underlying pressure would cause us a problem with U.G. Once we were staying in Italy and drove to Switzerland for an outing. Our caravan of cars was about to cross the border to return to Italy when Lakshmi realized she didn't have her passport. Louis had to drive her all the way back to Gstaad (several hundred kilometers) to get it.
Another time, Paul Lynn forgot his passport at the Italian border and showed his AAA card to the guard and bluffed him into thinking it was some new ID card.
While staying in Switzerland, we'd arrive at the Italian border and the guard would inevitably ask, “Where are you going?” and I would say, “to Stressa for pizza,” which many times was true. We would go halfway across Europe for five hours to eat pizza for lunch. Or sometimes we would just drive somewhere and turn around and come back. U.G. loved riding in the car for miles with no one saying anything. Someone asked Maria, “What was it like riding in the car with U.G.?” She answered, “It's just like sitting here, only on wheels.”
The
ride
to
San Pedro
with
you
and
Susan
and
Maria
so
quiet
in
the
car
four
stones
sitting
silently
hour
after
hour
all
the
way
to
Newport Beach
Fashion Island
Mall
what
an
incredible
gift
that
peace-ride
was
to
us
you
hardly
speaking
at
all
me
driving
through
southern
California
towns
mile
after
mile
everything
but
you
a
blur
no
yelling
no
tests
just
peace
why
did
you
give
us
that
day
did
you
know
how
soon
you'd
be
gone
from
us
was
that
time
a
big
parting
gift
easy
it
was
no
judgments
no
pressure
no
effort
just
an
endless
drive
to
nowhere
and
back
how
soft
you
were
that
day
never
to
be
repeated
the
wonder
of
it
haunts
my
memory
still—
that
could
have
been
a
good
day
to
die.
Much of what happened with U.G. was a profound meditation, demanding an openness and clarity always at the extreme of your ability.
Over time I got to cook for U.G. and learned many lessons as he showed me his way of cooking. The first step had been to become a vegetarian, which happened while spending time with him, not through any volition of mine. Cooking for U.G. was very much a kind of meditation—the blending of curry, salt, oil and tomato sauce with angel hair pasta or couscous, very, very carefully.
Some of us who U.G. trained to cook his food were held to a higher standard than others. Cooking with precision was one of U.G's biggest tests for us. There was an angel hair pasta dish U.G. liked. The angel hair had to be broken into little pieces and cooked until it was extra soft. Then oil was fried in a pan, salt added and Sharwood's Medium Curry Powder and Pomì Tomato Sauce (or something equivalent), and finally cilantro or coriander leaves chopped very fine. At just the right moment this mixture was added to the angel hair pasta and served to U.G. who would always find something not quite right. “Not enough oil” or “Not enough salt” were his two biggest complaints. The dish sounds simple but cooking it took a fantastic degree of clarity and sensitivity. Each step had to come together in just the right way—very easy to make a mistake. You had to stay conscious of each step in the process, tasting it over and over to get the right taste, knowing that you could never get it quite right, very much like meditation.
And very much like driving a car for U.G.—conscious of the road, the cars following you, the people in your car, the road signs, not getting distracted by the scenery in the countryside or the people and the buildings in the cities. He taught us to focus our attention, be it driving or cooking or just being with him in whatever situation he happened to be. He rarely complimented you but could continually blast you when you made a mistake. It's just so difficult to capture that level of interaction.
Much of what happened with him was a profound meditation, demanding an openness and clarity always at the extreme of your ability. Driving or cooking or just sitting with him, his eyes riveted on you, demanding always that you see beyond what you know. He would admonish you, “Use your eyes and not your head,” meaning go beyond thoughts about how things worked.
Once he told me to cook polenta, which I had never made. I went upstairs to the kitchen (it was at Ludi Haus in Gstaad). The instructions were in Italian. I just started cooking the polenta and water in a pot. Someone came running up the stairs in a black cloud of anger (perhaps because she wasn't asked to cook). Instead of helping, she just stood there criticizing. Needless to say, it came out like a block of cement.
It took years to learn how to be civil to people around U.G. but not get caught up in their agendas. The focus was always on U.G. and not the people around him no matter how intriguing or annoying they might be.
Another time in Gstaad, cooking spinach couscous for U.G., we found a package of frozen spinach in the coop supermarket which turned out to be black, green globs glued together in a horrible paste. We couldn't do much with it—tried washing it in the sink, the globs would fall through the colander. We salvaged enough spinach to mix it in the couscous. Nobody noticed or knew what we went through to make that dish.
Once in Lake Havasu I had to cook tomato couscous for Moorty and U.G. Everything came out wrong and Moorty spent twenty minutes shredding me for the horrible couscous. U.G. just smiled, never said a word.
Another lesson U.G. taught through his non-teaching was when he quoted from the Bhagavad Gita, “Defense is offense.” No matter how horrendous the situation, no matter how intensely he was attacking you, you just had to let go of any attempt to defend yourself. U.G. could and did personify the worst sergeant in the Air Force, or the most demonic relationship you'd ever been in. But there was always the underlying adjunct “defense is offense.”
Even years later when I was publicly, personally and unjustly attacked on television by a reporter, I offered no defense. We even lost people in the church over this incident. When U.G.'s friends would criticize me for driving the way U.G. wanted me to go, I offered no excuse. To learn to not argue with the world, to not fight back or run away—what a lesson.
And not to intervene even when your loved ones were put on trial. Once, U.G. told Claire to go in the kitchen and cook couscous for him (a difficult dish at best). Claire had never cooked for U.G.—had done very little cooking period. I jumped up to help her. U.G. told me to sit down. Finally, he relented enough to let Susan, her mother, go in the kitchen to help. Susan said there was couscous on the ceiling and floor and everywhere in between. They got everything cleaned up and were able to serve a reasonably good dinner. So there was inevitable tension around cooking (or driving or anything else). Once, I was holding a huge pot of dhal soup and Lakshmi walked in unexpectedly and the dhal flew out of my hands onto the floor creating yet another huge mess.
If we couldn't give up money, how could we give up the self?
The last few years, U.G. talked incessantly about money. He even created a money maxim statement that was put into music and song. Some people thought he was just joking or putting on some sort of entertainment for people. Others thought that maybe U.G. had lost his grip on things. Someone in India said, “This isn't the man I knew before.” Others thought that perhaps U.G. was just being playful. But it seemed to me that U.G. was just highlighting the power of money to control and manipulate people—how afraid people were of losing money, how much they wanted it and how worried and anxious most people were about money. If we couldn't give up money, how could we give up the self?
The first time he and I were together in a grocery store in Albuquerque he wanted to pay for a carton of cream. I almost knocked him over to get to the cashier to pay for it. I was so aggressive wanting to do it for him, to show him in my own way how much I loved him and cared for him.
Even if he asked you for money (and he only asked certain people at certain times) he would never spend the money on himself. Not that he was self-denying. He would never make a virtue of renunciation. He wore silk or cashmere clothes that his friends were happy to buy for him. When you bought something for U.G., it was like a gift you were giving yourself. At one point though, he became very interested in cashmere sweaters. We would go into Saks Fifth Avenue or Barney's in Beverly Hills and U.G. would search for the right earth tone cashmere. I would start sweating and my pulse would race because he might find something for $600 or more and I knew I would pay the bill. This was one of the best tests to see how far I would go. Finally after some time he quit looking at cashmere and I could relax in the stores.
One time when I was visiting U.G. at the Ocotillo Lodge, Jacques Masson came to see U.G. Jacques was a very wealthy French Canadian diamond merchant. After talking to U.G. for some time, Jacques got up to leave. As he was leaving, he handed U.G. a signed blank check. U.G. took the check, looked at it, smiled and tore it up. I was stunned by this experience. Here was someone offering U.G. unlimited wealth and he just smiled and tore up the check. Yet, U.G. would eagerly take my last twenty dollars with no qualms. It's difficult to explain the apparent contradiction to anyone outside of the situation. The gift of yourself was what U.G. was really interested in, the giving or receiving of money (or anything else) was just part of a never-ending test.
Once U.G. called the Major and told him he was running out of money. The Major called Chandrasekhar and asked if he should go sell all his stocks to give the money to U.G. Chandrasekhar laughed and said, “U.G. doesn't need your money.” U.G. was constantly testing our limits, seeing how far we were willing to go.
Another time in Locarno, Italy, I had paid the bill in a restaurant for everyone. U.G. got furious because he wanted to pay the bill and insisted I cancel my credit card transaction so he could pay. Nothing was ever fixed with him, he was always changing the scenario or plan.
With U.G. there was an incredible fluidity of consciousness that would evoke or provoke levels of awareness or extremes beyond the usual ways of being.
Louis was a natural foil for U.G. When Louis appeared on the U.G. scene in Gstaad, after a few days he and U.G. had a pushing contest with a table—each pushed the table toward the other with his feet. Each was pushing as hard as he could, however Louis was in his forties, U.G. was in his eighties. Louis wondered why he was competing with this old guy, feeling guilty. But this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Later, when U.G. was sick and couldn't walk, Louis would carry U.G. to the bathroom. At other times, U.G. would lean on Louis when he was tired or having trouble walking.
Louis realized that with U.G. all inhibitions and constraints were absent, anything goes. He would perform hilarious mimics of the various people around U.G., making everyone laugh hysterically. Or he would mix all his food together and stuff it in his mouth. In Italy, there was an ice cream shop that we would frequent. Louis would gobble huge amounts of ice cream and chocolate as everyone watched in amazement. In India, U.G. got a couple of people to pound on Louis to the point where Thea said, “U.G., blood is coming.”
Another time in India, a music teacher named Uma one evening suddenly began mimicking people's behavior. Guha's caustic wit would also come into play sometimes as he teased and poked fun at people. He would say, “We all have to die anyway, why not have some fun while we're going.”
The wild, hilarious times, with jokes or singing or dancing or repartee, and explosive energy, could shift in the moment to serious discussions or some elongated silence. With U.G., there was an incredible fluidity of consciousness that would evoke or provoke levels of awareness or extremes beyond the usual ways of being.
His energy would underwrite anyone's creative expression. Somehow with U.G. you knew it wasn't you performing wild antics. This also applied to skills and talents you didn't know you had. Outside of Gstaad there is a mountain called Les Diablerets with a steep twisting road down to the next town. Once, I was following the car U.G. was in and as I was driving, it was as if my car and I were one movement, it was like floating down the mountain, taking each curve flawlessly.
With everything with U.G., there was this sense of the abyss, that there were no limits, that anything could happen, but that you were safe no matter what the appearance.
U.G. could be harsh and cruel, the worst demon, the biggest bully you'd ever known. Or (always depending on the situation) he could be warm and gracious, kind and generous—
Hanging out with U.G. was like a spiritual demolition derby. People would show up with their bag of sacred cows only to be clobbered. “the Dalai Lama was a wino, Gandhi a lech, Sai Baba a homo, the Pope had AIDS.” No matter who you were, U.G. was ready to shred whatever you thought was real. When you take away the idea of causality, both science and philosophy disappear. U.G. would say, “I see the tree as flat, you have to add the idea of roundness to it.” J. Krishnamurti said, “The word is not the thing.” U.G. slamming the table said, “The word is the thing!” The word gives materiality to substance.
In Gstaad, a young girl started to ask a question or make a comment and U.G. started blasting her and told her to get out. She retorted, “Why don't you get out?” U.G. shouted very dramatically, “Because I live here!” Anywhere U.G. was, was his home. People came to him because they needed something they thought he could give them. It was always one way. Even when U.G. was sick and people were caring for him, they knew that they weren't necessary, he could do without them.
U.G. could be harsh and cruel, the worst demon, the biggest bully you'd ever known. Or (always depending on the situation) he could be warm and gracious, kind and generous—hard and unbending or soft and incredibly gentle in the moment. In Bangalore, a swami showed up who sat silently for an hour. U.G. finally turned to him and called him a phony until the swami ran out the door in a rage. Yet when two other swamis came, U.G. was friendly and very sweet to them.
Another time in Bangalore, with the room packed with people, an old lady started complaining to U.G. about her life. U.G. blasted her. She ran out the door and half the people followed her and gathered around her in the dark street, commiserating with her and berating the ‘enlightened’ man for being so mean to her. In fact, U.G. gave her what she wanted, a bunch of people to commiserate with her. At the same time, U.G. got rid of a lot of people who had come to see him only out of curiosity. He never apologized for his behavior. His point was, take it or leave it, it is your need not mine. Shortly before U.G.'s death, Moorty told a group of people, "U.G. hasn't lived for himself for decades.” This I think was true.
When we were in Seaside, California visiting Moorty once, Moorty mentioned that they were saving money to buy Kirin (Moorty's son) a grand piano. U.G. asked how much it would cost. Moorty said that it would be several thousand dollars. U.G. sent Moorty into the other room so as not to interfere. He grabbed Wendy (Moorty's wife), took her aside and started pulling hundred dollar bills out of his pocket to begin to pay for Kirin's piano right away.
We always stayed only one night in a fancy hotel in Cologne. I paid the bill to check out early. U.G. came and said, “An evil thought came to me that we should spend an extra night here.” I said, “I've already checked us out.” He shouted, “Why did you do that?” I had to rush to the desk clerk and check us back in.
When we were leaving Vance, France, I asked the lady at the front desk, “What would be the easiest way to go to such and such place?” But the way she told me wasn't the way U.G. liked to go so another car confrontation happened. Even though he let me drive him for years and years, my getting lost or changing the route was always an opportunity for him to blast me. Sometimes I would know what to do in a situation to avoid reproach. In Palm Springs I would bring him a small carton of cream. He would say, “Why only one?” And I would pull out another carton from behind me.
Another time at Moorty's home in Seaside, Wendy's parents were visiting—her father, a retired army officer. Her father asked U.G. what he did for a living and U.G. said, “I'm retired.” The father thought he had found a kindred spirit. He told U.G., “Oh, I'm retired also. What are you retired from?” U.G. replied, “I was born retired.”
I had given Wendy's father a book of poems I had written about U.G. which he handed back saying he wished me good luck. During this session, while I was sitting very quietly, U.G. suddenly turned on me and started a vicious attack. “You're the most greedy one of them all,” he shouted at me in front of Moorty's family and a bunch of strangers.
This was the first time U.G. had lashed out at me. I was shattered and couldn't understand why he was attacking me. I had always been so quiet, never argued with him, never asked questions. Moorty told me later that sometimes U.G. picked one person to attack when he was really attacking the whole group of people. I still wondered, “Why me?” Only later did I realize that if wanting to be close to U.G. was a kind of greed then indeed I was the greediest one—a greed I never overcame.
U.G.
Friend
Of
My
Middle
Years
The
Times
We
Had
Together
Can
Never
Be
Lived
That
Way
Again
Shouting
And
Screaming
That
Was
It
Too.
And he always affirmed us in the church even if he was completely opposed to religion.
U.G. and I were driving from Mill Valley to Berkeley across the San Rafael bridge. The energy in the car was so great I thought it would pull me out of my body. I wanted to ask U.G. a question; in that vast sea of energy the question kept bubbling up in me. Should I ask or shouldn't I? Finally I just blurted out, “Will you come to Albuquerque?” U.G. answered softly, “We'll see.” In fact he did come to Albuquerque a couple of years later. He came two times, once at Easter and then the following Christmas. Those two visits caused more traumas for me than going to see him.
It was easier to go see U.G. in other places because I had to juggle my being with him with my role in the church. There was always his demand for total attention—if I was on the phone doing church business he would give me a look saying drop it. Once, sitting in his apartment in Albuquerque, he withdrew from me so completely I felt this vast abyss of emptiness inside. I thought I was going to die. During his visits to Albuquerque I was desperately sick. I could barely function, gobbling Rolaids, swigging Maalox and cough syrup—I realized it was better by far to go see U.G. than for him to come to us.
Over the years we traveled, people got used to us not participating in the semi-communal lifestyle of many of U.G.'s friends. He always kept Susan and me separate. We stayed at the hotel rather than staying with the U.G. people. Even with Moorty in Seaside (whom I had stayed with many times before) we often ended up staying at the Magic Carpet Lodge.
Even though we spent many years with various people from the U.G. circle, we never quite formed a close bond with any of them. It would seem that as soon as we started to get close to someone, something would happen to disconnect us. U.G. was the center of our focus and the center of our life. U.G. might say that it was “spiritual Valium” but that connection with him became our life purpose. We did our work in the church so we could go see him whenever he would let us. Sometimes I would come back from seeing U.G. with a mystical fervor that would translate into a Sunday talk or a class or a workshop.
When Susan and I were with U.G. we would forget our roles as ministers for weeks on end. Then suddenly at times, U.G. would push us into the ministerial role to fit some situation. When one of U.G.'s friend's daughter wound up in the psychiatric ward of LA County Hospital, U.G. sent us to visit her. Another time, at Bob and Paul's house in San Rafael, California, U.G. had me counsel a young woman who was undecided about breaking up with her boyfriend. I told her if she wanted to break up with him, she should; if she didn't she shouldn't, if she didn't know what to do, do nothing. U.G. would laugh and repeat my advice to her with great humor.
In India, U.G. had Susan counsel two women about various issues. And when his friend Sajid called from Santa Cruz and said he was dying, U.G. had both Susan and me talk to him several times. Finally Sajid's wife called to say he had passed away.
Sometimes U.G. would have me give mock sermons, especially on Sunday mornings. He would also have me read some of my poems about him to the gathering. Mainly U.G. encouraged my extroverted, wild side from my G.I. days—the jokes, the songs, the sayings and the wild, bawdy rhetoric.
When I met Paul Sempé, he looked at me with his big smile and wanted to know what kind of a church we had. He was puzzled, he couldn't fathom how anyone connected to a church could be hanging around U.G., the great demolisher of all religions. I tried to explain that we were East and West spirituality, but that didn't make sense to him either. I said we were like a U.G. church. That totally confused him. What did we teach? I said we didn't teach U.G.'s words but that the underlying energy of the church came from U.G. through us. Still he didn't understand and kept asking question after question. Then I realized Paul had been brought up Roman Catholic and he couldn't reconcile his upbringing with anyone who had a church and was connected to U.G. Finally I said that we were like the renegade, heretic priest from the 13th century, Meister Eckhardt, who proclaimed his oneness with God, and that satisfied him.
I have no doubt that for twenty-one years Susan and I were sustained in the church—with all the ups and downs and difficulties—by U.G.'s energy. Invariably we talked to him on the phone once or twice a week (and sometimes more) when we were not with him. And he always affirmed us in the church even if he was completely opposed to religion. It was indeed a miracle that we could keep the church going and still see U.G. every few months and to be more or less in constant contact with him. Lots of people and things dissolved around us through our contact with U.G. but somehow the church remained.
A
U.G. heart
for
all
time
underneath
it's
always
this
heart-center
you
awakened
in
us
now
so
fragile
so
vulnerable
to
life
hard
to
escape
into
a
shell
that
is
no
longer
there
U.G.
what
have
you
done
to
us?
U.G. got up to leave and I felt on fire, some inner explosion was happening and I was never the same again.
I first met U.G. in 1986. Moorty pushed me to come to Seaside to meet this friend (U.G.) who was leaving in two days to go back to India. I told Moorty I had all sorts of commitments for the next day—a wedding, three counseling appointments, other meetings. Moorty said no, I had to come, to cancel my commitments. I had known Moorty since 1967 and had even stayed with him in India for six months. I'd never known him to be so vehement about anything. Reluctantly (because I didn't think I could get anything anymore from a ‘spiritual’ teacher), I canceled things and changed things around so I could get on a plane the next day to Monterey and Seaside where Moorty lived.
So here I was in the back seat of the Southwest Airlines flight to take me from Albuquerque to Monterey feeling like a complete fool. Why was I wasting my time? I had already given up on the search for a spiritual teacher. Through the years, I had seen and experienced many teachers and ‘saints’ in both America and India—yogis, swamis, satgurus, Tibetan rinpoches, Zen masters, Sufis, Jewish and Christian mystics. While some had stirred my intellect and others had filled me with energy (shakti), none had touched my heart.
I was sitting in the back because it was the smoking section. All the little kids were up front and I had this part of the plane to myself so I could meditate and be still. As usual with me, when I wasn't sure of what I was doing, I started asking for a sign, something that would confirm that I was on the right track.
Suddenly, a young woman from the front of the plane came and sat down next to me. She said, “You don't mind—I really need a cigarette.” She asked me where I was going and I blurted out, “I'm going to Monterey to meet an Indian holy man.” “Good,” she said. I was stunned. “You know about these things?” I asked her. She said, “My father is a Zen master, Roshi Richard Baker.” “You're Richard Baker's daughter?” Then I asked her, “Is your dad really enlightened?” She said with a sigh, “He's my dad.”
Anyway I had received my sign—in a totally unexpected way. When I got to Seaside and walked into Moorty's house, U.G. was sitting on the couch. Moorty introduced us and I sat down next to U.G. and watched him changing from masculine to feminine, feminine to masculine, with my heart burning. U.G. got up to leave and I felt on fire, some inner explosion was happening and I was never the same again.
When
I
shake
free
of
all
the
moorings
of
the
role
I
play,
get
on
board
a
plane
between
here
and
there,
here
you
are
right
in
my
heart.
I
feel
you
close
to
me
now
at
the
beginning
of
this
trip
to
the
Bay Area
where
you
spent
14
years
“teaching”
and
just
being
yourself.
I
was
so
new
to
you
in
those
early
days
when
I
first
started
getting
to
know
you.
You
were
such
a
strange
being
to
me
so
many
contradictions
yet
you
were
so
simple
I
didn't
think
about
whether
you
cared
for
me
or
not
I
just
liked
hanging
out
with
you
with
that
energy
that
would
take
me
over
in
spite
of
myself
losing
control
with
you
was
the
greatest
gift.
The
“teaching”
was
hardly
ever
in
words
you
were
the
spiritual
life
embodied.
Unlike
anything
I'd
ever
known.
I
gave
myself
to
you
over
and
over
again
because
what
else
could
I
do.
Who
was
I
to
deserve
this
phenomenal
blessing?
What
could
I
give
you
in
return
for
that
fantastic
freedom/bliss
I
always
felt
from
you—
something
that
no one
else
could
give.
Nowhere
was
there
anything
like
you
no
matter
how
long
or
how
hard
I
searched,
yet
finding
you
was
so
simple.
An
old
friend
brought
us
together—
who
knew
at
that
fateful
meeting
in
Monterey
that
my
life
was
to
change
forever.
You
were
some
forbidden
fruit
so
unlike
what
they
said
the
spiritual
would
be.
Human
but
not-human
ordinary
but
vast
energy
coming
from
you.
All
that
talk
of
spiritual
love
and
here
it
was
right
there
before
me.
This
simple
weird
very
weird
guy
kept
changing
and
changing
right
before
my
eyes.
Who
stared
into
me
and
knew
my
heart
inside/out.
Now
all
these
years
later
you
are
this
heart.
I
don't
feel
you
as
a
stranger
anymore,
I
belong
with
you.
No!
I
belong
to
you.
Alone
inside
on
the
plane
between
here
and
there
without
needing
my
identity
I
feel
you
with
growing
intensity.
Nothing
much
matters
now
no
quest
no
ultimate
goal
even
the
mystery
of
it
all
is
not
so
mysterious
only
this
heart
that
feels
so
close
so
close
and
can't
even
say
why.
What
keeps
coming
to
me
is:
if
you
were
going
to
throw
your
life
away
what
better
way
than
this.
I
can't
imagine
giving
myself
to
a
sham
dream
of
the
spiritual—
so
much
hocus
pocus
out
there.
In
here
now
all
is
still.
I
could
die
easier
having
known
you.
To be so obsessed with another person sounds like idolatry, but anyone who has ever felt this way will understand my words.
My fear with U.G. was of banishment. The first summer we came to Switzerland to be with him, he would send us (to my utter despair) on sightseeing tours. One day, during the four o'clock gathering in Gstaad, U.G. took me aside and said, “Get in your car with Claire and Susan and drive to Italy right now. Don't ask anyone for directions, no maps, just drive along Lake Maggiore and then to Milan. Find the Cathedral, you can meditate ten minutes there, then go to the department store across from the Cathedral. Spend the night somewhere along the way, don't talk to anyone. Just go.” We went and returned late the next night, driving perilously up Les Diablerets peak on a fog-filled road. All the time we were gone (as many other times) we felt under the umbrella of U.G.'s protection.
That same summer, U.G. told us to take a plane to Paris, spend one night there, see the sights, and make sure to take fourteen-year-old Claire to the Folies Bergere (the show was closed so we took her to the Moulin Rouge). After several trips to Thun and other places, Susan finally pleaded with U.G. to let me just stay in Gstaad with him (as I was so depressed being away from him).
One evening when we were in Palm Springs, U.G. suddenly told Julie, Guha and Lakshmi to take Shilpa and Sumedha to San Francisco to see the sights. The girls were overjoyed while the others begged U.G. to let them stay but to no avail. They had to leave right away and take the girls to San Francisco. I was so grateful U.G. left Susan and me to stay with him.
Even if U.G. was in your car on a long trip with other cars following, you never knew when you stopped at the next gas station whether or not U.G. was going to switch cars and ride with someone else. It would be impossible for someone outside of the situation to understand my desperate need to be close to U.G. no matter what. It was like my life was not my life but his. To be so obsessed with another person sounds like idolatry, but anyone who has ever felt this way will understand my words.
I was writing poems about U.G. (thousands of them now), every day waking up thinking of him, every night thinking of him, many times dreaming of him. I think of Mirabai, an Indian poet, and her love for Krishna, and understand how saturating and overwhelming that love can be. And the torment you feel when you are alone and the lover is absent. To surrender to one person as the absolute in your life must seem strange. Yet without that love for U.G., I cannot think of what my life would have been. Years and years of searching for something or someone to quench my spiritual hunger, and it was only U.G. who fulfilled my heart's desire.
In
the
last
years
none
of
this
was
really
talked
about
in
words
but
it
was
happening
all
the
time:
whether
you
were
with
him
or
not
you
were
being
dissolved
whatever
you
were
holding
onto
had
to
go:
person,
place,
things,
construct
or
identity.
This
wearing
away
of
the
self
(that
like
he
said
took
thousands
of
years
to
form).
There
was
something
imprinting
within
us
through
our
repeated
contact
with
him
imprinting
of
self-dissolution.
That's
why
no
one
can
envy
us.
Who
would
want
to
go
through
this
death
process
day
in
day
out
no
matter
what
was
happening
on
the
surface
the
core
of
self
was
being
eroded.
And
there
is
no
compromise.
And
there
is
nothing
to
be
proud
of
about
it:
look
at
me
I'm
being
dissolved.
How
did
we
give
our
consent
to
this
self-annihilation?
Why
would
we
do
this
to
ourselves—
an
invitation
to
execution.
Yet
we
still
can't
quite
let-go
of
everything
there's
something
in
us
that
says
wait
wait
wait,
just
a
minute
more
of
me.
The
seed
will
bear
fruit
in
time
in
spite
of
all
our
plans
dreams
goals
and
hopes—
was
this
your
intention
U.G.
to
free
us
in
this
way
from
ourselves?
It's
no
different
now.
The
same
self
that
is
trying
to
understand
is
the
self
that
has
to
go.
And
it
can't
surrender
because
what
wants
to
surrender
is
itself
the
self.
No
name
for
this
it
wants
to
let-go
and
can't
and
where
is
the
Love
in
all
this?
Mirabai
would
say:
your
longing
is
for
the
Love
and
that
Love
is
in
the
longing
itself.
Love
dissolves
the
self
better
than
anything
else.
They
say
U.G.
had
no
self
but
why
so
much
love
from
him.
No
radiator
but
still
radiating.
I
think
now
the
self
dissolving
in
Love
is
my
way.
Maybe
what
was
destroyed
was
the
barrier
to
Love.
If
I
can
let go
to
that
Love
without
dying
then
what?
It
was
the
Love
we
found
with
him
that
was
all
that
mattered.
How
to
be
like
him
in
ourselves.
The teacher is everything to the student. Everything means: EVERYTHING.
As we became so close, I would ask U.G. about anything that was going on in my life. This probably sounds very strange but at this point in our lives U.G. was making the decisions for us. People might say that we were blind followers but they had no idea of the depth of our connection to U.G.
This was not merely a relationship with another person for Susan or me (or many others). It was much more an unconditional surrender to U.G. as the personification of absolute freedom. We felt, and still feel, that U.G. embodied the free expression of life's energy. And that in and through all our connections to U.G. was the absolute good we had each been seeking our whole life. U.G. could rant and rave but we knew at the core there was only love between us. Those who have felt this heart-searing love know that life's grace does exist no matter what name you give it. The teacher is everything to the student. Everything means: EVERYTHING.
When U.G. died, I wanted to die with him, but now eight years later, I feel like I'm still with U.G. in some mysterious way. The wondrous fact of U.G. in my life tells me that the miracle of life is ongoing. And that what I don't know brings me nearer to something so vast and incomprehensible as if U.G. himself were still guiding every step of my way.
Early on, U.G. would talk about the extraordinary things that were happening to him—changes of perception, sometimes visions, the way he was seeing things. As years went by, he talked less and less about these things. It was as if every moment was so extraordinary he had no need to mention those other happenings. Just to be with him, feel his presence was more than enough to fulfill your heart's desire. If you wanted ‘more’ after being around U.G. then he wasn't the one for you. To be totally open to him was life's completion for those of us who felt this way with him.
Sometimes we would get into hot water with people because we always chose to do what U.G. had told us to do, without compromise or exception. Whether or not we were too rigid and unbending, it really felt this is what he wanted from Susan and me. If this was a sort of ‘teaching’ it would probably be incomprehensible to others. Mahesh once said that U.G. made big decisions for him so he was free to make the small ones. In our case, U.G. made the big and small decisions for us, and when we were with him, this was moment by moment. In our culture it would be hard to understand such a complete surrender to another person. This was what devotional, unconditional surrender meant for Susan and me.
In a way it was shameful to be so in love with U.G. because there was no collective sanction for it.
Early in our relationship with U.G., I excitedly told Susan we were getting in on the ground floor of a new spiritual movement that would sweep the world. Little did I realize that though we might change over time, this was no world-changing movement, and that what U.G. gave us was not something we could use to our advantage in the world. It's easy to think that when you're having life-changing experiences, this will somehow translate to changes in the world. The world has been going on for eons in certain ways not susceptible to our notions of how things could change from our interaction with U.G.
In a way it was shameful to be so in love with U.G. because there was no collective sanction for it. It was permissible to give your heart to Jesus because a billion Christians sanctioned it, or to give yourself to a god from Buddhism or Islam or Hinduism or Judaism. There are traditions and rituals that a large collective agrees upon. But U.G. was just a man—at times cranky, moody and difficult, often unpredictable and ‘irrational’ who could yell at you or tease you mercilessly. Even if something cataclysmic had happened to him, beyond our understanding, still there was no world movement approving or even permitting the kind of unconditional love we had (and still have) for U.G. No wonder people in our lives thought we were utterly foolish when we started babbling about U.G. this and that. Sometimes we invited friends to meet U.G. to give more weight (at best in numbers) to our feelings, but U.G. would run off most if not all of them. Only some of us could see that the only place in life for us was with him.
Some of us hoped that a worldwide movement would spring up around U.G. to legitimize these feelings of love and adoration. But U.G. himself did everything he could to sabotage these efforts to make him into an icon. Perhaps in India more people can appreciate U.G.'s idiosyncrasies and his anarchism. He would shout, “Why are you so afraid of chaos?” And since he himself was the master of chaos, it was easy to be afraid at times when we were with him.
U.G.
started
a
fire
in
us
we
can't
control.
Nothing
to
do
but
let
it
burn
through.
We
are
each
the
end
of
the
world
that
U.G.
was
predicting
over
and
over
again.
But with U.G. it was a strange, almost alchemical friendship.
Once, U.G. and I were visiting Moorty in Monterey. That evening, someone had brought a young woman ostensibly to meet U.G. The young lady had just graduated from Yale Law School and was discussing her plans and dreams for justice and social action. U.G. sat very quietly while the woman who was sitting across the room talked of her future. After an hour U.G. motioned, and he and I got up and left without any encounter with the young woman. It was as if he had no interest in interfering in the woman's life in any way.
I saw U.G.'s tendency of non-interference in many encounters over the years. At times when people asked him questions, he would turn on them and blast them for seemingly no reason. Yet at other times he would just be quiet. When people came to see him, many times he had nothing to say to them. He was usually polite and would ask after their family or jobs. But there were few situations in which he was ‘tender.’
Sometimes he would give advice in such a casual way that people wouldn't take him seriously. A young man was going for a walk with a woman and U.G. told him, “Kurzen Promenade, make it a short walk.” Instead the young man continued with the woman into a disastrous relationship, a long walk, indeed.
U.G. always said that he was just an ordinary guy—he would say, “The flower never says, ‘Look at me, see how beautiful I am.’” Yet those who felt his power knew beyond a doubt that they were in the presence of the most extraordinary being. When I asked a Hungarian lawyer why she came to see U.G., she said, “When I'm with U.G., my body is on fire.” It was difficult for her to come to see U.G. financially and in terms of her struggling legal practice. And I'm sure she didn't understand much of what he said. But she came because being with him even for a short time was the most important thing in her life.
Others would come for a while and then fade away if U.G. didn't give them what they wanted. Others became disconnected for one reason or another—even those who had been close to U.G. It was almost like there was a fiery thread that connected you to U.G. I was terrified that the connection between us might be severed—but thank God, it never was.
From what I know of spiritual teachers, they have to be in charge all the time. But with U.G., it was a strange, almost alchemical friendship. You might not hear from him for weeks or months on end—and suddenly he would call you to come see him as soon as possible no matter how inconvenient or difficult it might be. We always dropped everything and came never knowing why, just that we had to go when he called. Or, he might call every few days for weeks on end for no apparent reason. This kind of relationship demanded and received total surrender. If you weren't willing and able to stay connected to him on his terms, it wouldn't work out.
I understood why some people couldn't live with this kind of unpredictability—when you never knew what would happen next. Or he might turn on you like a wild animal and you didn't know why or what you had done. But to stay with U.G. at the level you could reach, meant a depth of inner realization you could never have reached on your own.
It wasn't just the sheer joy of being with him, because joy could turn into terror in the moment. Or, even worse, he could completely ignore you. But he would always somehow reel you in, if he felt you were too far from him. And whether at the end of all the years of this relationship to him made you feel like you're different or somehow changed is not clear. At times, you just know you're still with him and he's with you. It can even seem clearer now, because much of the confusion or ambivalence is gone. You're just with him in some other kind of way.
It is always hard to ascribe motives or intentions to U.G. So much of what he did was obviously spontaneous. Even to say he seemed to ignore someone or disconnect from them is misleading. Who knows at which level—verbal or nonverbal—he may still have been dealing with someone.
A man once called U.G. in Palm Springs. He claimed to be an American Zen master. He said it took him ten years to get the courage to call him, but he never did come to see U.G.
An Italian yoga teacher, after many years, came to see U.G. in Gstaad. She brought four of her students with her. U.G. was very polite and gracious to them. She came with her students a second time, and U.G. started asking her over and over again why she was teaching yoga—each time the answer was more self-revealing. After the second visit, she and her students never came back.
Seeing
U.G.
on
U Tube:
you
looked
so
alive
so
full
of
energy
how
could
you
ever
die.
U.G.
just
wasn't
the
archetype
of
the
spiritual
man.
No
way
you
could
fit
him
into
that
frame.
For
me
he
was
love,
something
I
could
surrender
to
over
and
over
again.
To
keep
up
with
him,
you
had
to
go
beyond
yourself—
your
plans
dreams
and
hopes.
And
in
your
dreams
about
him
he
can
still
touch
you
with
his
fire.
I
see
the
advertised
Gurus
and
Ways
and
think:
how
lucky
I
was
to
find
you.
U.G.
you
are
my
calamity.
Nothing
like
you
I
thought
the
world
could
bring
me.
I
was
jut
an
ordinary
spiritual
seeker
who
had
given-up
on
the
path,
nothing
had
happened
enough
till
you
came
till
you
came.
How
was
I
to
know
how
cataclysmic
your
arrival
would
be
for
me.
How
could
I
have
ever
anticipated
that
utter
closeness
that
I
still
feel
today.
There's
no
human
reckoning
for
it.
You
brought
to
me
a
sweetness
that
I
could
never
achieve
on
my
own—
even
when
you
were
harsh
I
could
only
feel
love
for
you
and
vow
to
try
to
do
better.
Whatever
ultimate
mystery
this
life
has
to
offer
you
were
its
personification.
If
there
is
a
God
He
brought
me
to
you
or
you
are
yourself
that
God.
I
don't
know
about
ultimate
things.
I
can't
call
you
God.
I
can
call
you
my
friend.
Maybe they couldn't make the transition; or maybe they had been given all they needed.
It's interesting how some people stayed connected to U.G. over the years, when others faded out. At one point U.G. became involved with Bollywood, the film industry in Bombay.
When U.G. dropped his connection to the movie people, only his friend Mahesh and a few others remained. Whenever there was a large gathering in Europe or America, U.G. would have Mahesh come from India. Mahesh was present during many intense times when someone was having a life-changing experience. Mahesh was there at some of my most traumatic moments. He was a kind of Grand Inquisitor witnessing spiritual executions of one sort or another. It was Mahesh, Susan and me, at the end with U.G.
Some people saw immediately that U.G. wasn't for them; or there were transitions that some could not follow. I felt bad for the people who weren't able to connect with U.G. for one reason or another. After Terry Newland died, U.G. quit going to Mill Valley in California. U.G. had been going there for fourteen years and staying at Terry's ‘Crow's Nest’ apartment. When that period ended, some of the people from Mill Valley just reconnected with U.G. in other places. U.G. would say, “I don't want anything to grow around me.” And so he would go from place to place, not allowing anything to be too ‘settled’ or anyone to become too attached to him. Of course, some of us (many of us) couldn't help but feel attached to U.G., no matter where he was.
This was true even when U.G. would change the whole focus of what he was doing. When U.G. quit talking about intellectual matters, many dropped away because they were no longer being fed by U.G. on an intellectual level. There was a schoolteacher couple from Venice, Italy who would come to see U.G. in Gstaad. They even taught themselves English using one of U.G.'s books and a dictionary. But they went away and didn't return after U.G. stopped his intellectual lectures. Maybe they couldn't make the transition; or maybe they had been given all they needed.
The ones who stuck to U.G. over the years seemed to be devotional: wanting his love, not his intellectual focus, no matter how profound or penetrating it was. One devotional Indian couple, Sreedevi and Satya, came to Gstaad to see U.G. in his later years, even though Sreedevi was pregnant and the trip was very costly.
At some point, U.G. seemed to realize that, ultimately, people came to him for entertainment so why bother giving them intellectual discourses. When he was silent people would say that they were experiencing ‘kriyas’ or spiritual energy in his presence. So instead, he would tell endless stories about his past or he would have someone do comedy routines or play some sort of music. But underneath, whatever was happening, U.G. was affecting people in different ways.
After Guha went through years of physical torment, U.G. told him, “You know more than those in the marketplace who are teaching.” In India, Chandrasekhar, his wife, Suguna and the Major, who U.G. put through many ordeals, were all the sweetest people. Chandrasekhar and Suguna were very gracious hosts for all of U.G.'s friends in Bangalore, providing a meeting place for visitors and many others in their home. When Susan and I went to India, Chandrasekhar made all the arrangements for our six-week stay. Every day from early morning to 10:00 at night people from all over the world would congregate in their living room as Chandrasekhar and Suguna provided snacks and refreshments.
In Germany, U.G. had many friends, most of whom had been Rajneesh followers. Vibodha would often drive U.G. and would clip his nails. Vibodha and his partner, Doris, provided their home as a meeting place for U.G. and his friends in Cologne. Anundi would give U.G. haircuts. When U.G. would visit the Black Forest, he would stay with Yashoda and Trisha. Towards the end, Melissa, like Louis, was very helpful to U.G. For some reason, she was frequently the fourth person to ride in his car with Susan and me. She learned to cook and provide food for U.G. and was very dedicated to him. She had a kind of silent connection to U.G. He was very gentle with her.
With me, it was all or nothing with U.G. Once about halfway into my relationship with him, U.G. called me and told me to come immediately to California. I explained I had a family commitment and I could come in a few days. He simply said, “One less” and it was obvious this was not a matter of negotiation. I got on a plane that day and subsequently lost that family relationship.
There were people around U.G. whom I respected who didn't have this kind of relationship with him, who more or less drew their own boundaries with him. I think my obedience came from that merging experience I had had with U.G. that seemed to underlie everything else for me. He could be totally irrational and quixotic at times, but always underneath I trusted him.
This is not to say that everyone who connected with U.G. lost their friends. Some people who were part of a group continued in the group throughout the U.G. years and afterwards. Others found new friends through their U.G. connection and began life long relationships as a result. If you were searching for relationship or belonging, then this could happen through U.G. On the other hand, if you were essentially a loner, then your time with U.G. could reinforce that. I had had various kinds of relationships (and still had in some sense with the church) and really wasn't interested in this kind of connection. I was there to be with U.G. whatever he was, period. This attitude did not make me a friend to many of U.G.'s friends. It wasn't just a matter of losing friends or keeping them. If you were totally obsessed with U.G. and your partner or friend or family member couldn't see why and there was no way to explain it to them, there would come a time when a choice would be made. As Pound said, “That which thou lovest best remains.”
Somehow the connection between you and U.G. would shift the orbit of your life.
Over the years, I watched U.G. transform the lives of people around him. Mario had to live and work in Germany, but over time he became so helpful in arranging things for U.G. and his friends to stay in Europe. Mario and U.G. would sometimes have bitter arguments. But Mario told me, “No one has ever cared for me like U.G.” So many of us felt the same, no matter what our experience with him was, he cared more than life itself for us.
Ricardo, a sweet Italian, had been a follower of Rajneesh, as had a lot of U.G.'s friends. Ricardo told me that once in Gstaad, after a session with U.G., Ricardo and two Italian friends went out drinking. At two o'clock in the morning, they decided—very drunk—to go see U.G. They banged on his door and when U.G. let them in, they started chasing him around the room, yelling, “U.G., we love you.” Ricardo finally realized this wasn't right and dragged his two friends away to leave U.G. alone. Ricardo was a very fine chef who had learned cooking from his mother in Italy. His dream was to open his own Italian restaurant, which came true, with I think some help from U.G. Now he has a restaurant in Chicago.
Moorty was close to U.G. He would even get to sleep in the same room with U.G. in the early days of their relationship. And toward the end, U.G. spent twenty thousand dollars for Moorty to fly first class from Monterey to Vallecrosia, Italy, to spend time with him before he died. When U.G. first came to see Moorty in Seaside, Moorty was looking out his window as U.G. climbed the steps to his house and Moorty thought, “Death is coming to my house.” In those days to see Moorty and U.G. together was almost like seeing one person—they were so close.
Moorty was responsible for putting all of U.G.'s books and many of his videos on the internet. They had an interesting, if complex, relationship. U.G. sometimes listened to Moorty when he wouldn't listen to anyone else. Once when we were in Gstaad, Claire asked U.G. if she could go to Paris to see some friends. U.G. said, “No.” But then Moorty intervened and told U.G. to let her go to Paris for a few days. And U.G. relented. There was a softness about Moorty that U.G. brought out that was quite beautiful. Moorty told me, “I never met anyone who loved me as much as U.G.”
Bob and Paul had a restaurant in Larkspur, California called Marvin Gardens where U.G. used to go when he was in the Bay Area. U.G. lived for a time in the room they built for him in the back of their house in San Rafael. They would serve U.G. and his friends bowls of delicious pea soup. Their dream was to sell the house and spend time traveling in India, which finally happened, though after travel in India they returned to America and opened a small restaurant again in San Rafael. U.G. was always very sweet and gentle with Bob and Paul but they had their lives turned upside down. Bob is now living in Bombay and Paul in Northern California. Paul told me he had come into this life destined to meet U.G.
U.G. was a consummate world traveler. He would say, “I spend more time in the air than on the ground.” He would settle some months in Bangalore, Gstaad and, after he left the Bay Area, Palm Springs.
In the beginning in Palm Springs, U.G. stayed at the Ocotillo Lodge and we would visit him there. Then someone found a house that had a small apartment next to it on Via Escuela. Different people stayed in the house and U.G. moved into the apartment. I made the mistake of telling U.G. that, as a minister, I received fifty dollars for doing a house blessing. He said that since everything was reversed with him, I had to pay him fifty dollars for blessing his house. Eight times we drove by it, each time for a blessing—it cost me four hundred dollars, but that house was super blessed.
At first Lisa Taranto moved into the big house—she stayed several years, and that was where her massage therapy business started. I think U.G. helped her establish herself on a firm foundation at this time.
When Lisa moved out, Paul Lynn and his wife Bonnie, their son Zack and their dog Buster stayed for a year or so. When Buster would come into U.G.'s room, U.G. would yell at him and Buster would run off and come again and again. Buster was full of energy like U.G., there was a sweetness between them.
Finally, David and Maria moved in (and sometimes Maria's brother, Nataraj, the astrologer) and they stayed the rest of the time U.G. went to Palm Springs. David did his work on the computer long distance for a large company based in Oregon. Maria would make lunch every day for U.G. She became an expert at making idli under U.G.'s tutelage. The lunch, usually dhal, was for all of us, but Susan and I (having been trained by U.G. not to impose ourselves on our friends' hospitality) would run out the door at lunchtime and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in our car. Maria would be exasperated with us for not staying for lunch; U.G. was, of course, delighted. When we would return after lunch, he would ask, “Did you eat your peanut butter and jelly fish sandwiches?”
Many, many people, from all over the world, have felt that indeed their life was never the same after meeting U.G. and it wasn't always anything he did; somehow the connection between you and U.G. would shift the orbit of your life. You couldn't say why or when this happened. You were just different, never again to be who you had been before. Some change had taken place within you without you even knowing how it had occurred. However it happened, it was always mysterious, beyond the level of thought or will.
This kind of ‘teaching’ was so outside the way people thought of the spiritual path, that many couldn't quite see what was happening. And U.G. did everything on an individual basis; what he said to one person might be only for that person and not apply to anyone else. To call what he did and what he said a ‘teaching’ implies that it would be the same for everyone, but this was not the case. His words could shatter you to the core or shock you into an awakening you never thought possible. But they might only apply to you, and if you tried to ‘share’ them with others, it was always futile. The time, place and circumstances were unique and relevant only to the moment. You could talk of U.G. to people who didn't know him but they would have no context to understand what you were saying. U.G. himself would say, “You can only understand things from what you already know. It is the knowledge that gets in the way.” In his own way, U.G. would take us to places where we could see (even if only briefly) beyond what we knew. Yet, each of us knew how dangerous it was to be around U.G.—at any moment we could lose something that we weren't ready to lose.
Eight
years
ago
we
left
the
monastery,
the
monastery
that
had
no
walls—
that
could
be
anywhere:
California
New York
Italy
India
Switzerland
the
monastery
without
rules
or
laws,
the
U.G.
Universe
subject
to
whims
of
the
moment,
magic.
A
world
where
no
one
knew
what
was
happening
or
would
happen,
where
we
were
hardly
ourselves,
part
of
a
landscape
of
unearned
freedom.
They
say
you
have
to
leave
the
monastery
to
find
it
within
yourself.
Weird
strange
U.G.
left
us
with
weird
strange
feelings
inside.
Now
we
wander
nomads
in
a
world
no
longer
ours.
Was
it
ever
ours?
Kind
friendly
loving
U.G.,
your
smile
worth
a thousand
lost
worlds—
left
us
empty
yearning
for
more.
Somber
serious
U.G.,
unraveling
all
our
secrets.
Terrifying
U.G.,
stripping
us
to
the
core
of
utter
despair
and
never
stopping.
If
you
can't
take
it,
you
shouldn't
be
here.
If
you
are
here,
you
can
take
it—
shredding
last
morsels
of
self-esteem
into
tiny
pieces
of
shame.
Hurt
beyond
imagining,
you
hurt
us
so,
but
nothing
like
this
last
hurt,
leaving
us
alone.
Anything
would
be
better
than
this
emptiness
you
left
us
with.
But
no
matter
how
it
was
with
you—
we
know
you
were
the
one
for
us.
Now.
we
look
in
the
bookstores
in
vain,
no
U.G.
there,
only
the
Internet
still
interested.
Could
such
an
explosive
energy
leave
no
mark
on
the
world?
In
India
they
celebrate
you,
I’m
sure,
but
is
that
what
we
want?
Jesus,
they
say,
will
come
back.
Buddha
is
always
with
them,
but
where
is
our
U.G.
now
who
gave
us
so
much,
so
much
we
still
don't
understand.
No
wonder
we
can't
let
go
of
what
you
were/are
to us.
Maybe
this
is
what
he
wanted
for
us:
to
feel
this
burning
heart
that
can
never
be
free
from
him.
U.G.,
my
savior
let
there
be
no
end
between
us.
Let
that
fire
you
ignited
in
me
at
our
first
meeting
be
with
me
until
I
am
utterly
consumed
in
your
flames.
Body-burning U.G.
Mind-burning U.G.
Heart-scorching U.G.
But if there is no way to liberation because liberation cannot happen through any ‘way’, then the goal of the seeker can never be satisfied.
The problem for us that were closely connected to U.G., in one way or another, was that there was no feeling that we were getting somewhere in our connection with him. In a world where self-improvement is the ultimate goal, our experience with U.G. could never cause us to feel that we were improving; there was only U.G. and our connection with him, no goals to achieve, nothing that could be used or exploited.
One Zen master used to give his disciples bibs to wear; the ‘advanced’ disciples—ones who had solved koans and were making marked progress—had more and more gold threads sewed onto their bibs to show their achievement. In Zen, the master has to name a successor so there must be a progression until a student reaches mastership and can take over for his teacher. In U.G.'s world there were no bibs to measure achievement and no successor. He never told you that you were doing better or making progress; he blasted you for your mistakes but rarely praised your achievements. When he did praise you, you were sure it was done tongue-in-cheek. And this is not to say that he didn't affirm you in who you were and in what you did in life. He was always testing you. If he praised you, it was to see how you could handle rejection or criticism. This was his subtle way of teaching you about yourself—not so much in words but in actions.
U.G. had an incredible sense of humor, he could poke fun at you or anyone or anything else. He would find your weakest spot and hammer at it endlessly until you couldn't take it anymore and had to fight back or just fall to pieces. He knew when you couldn't take it anymore and would ease off. To be around him was like living with a spiritual buzz saw. No one was exempt from his target practice. Yet there was this feeling even in the midst of his merciless attacks that he cared for you more than anyone ever had. To feel his love (his total acceptance of you) was enough to last a lifetime. Some people only needed to meet him once and whatever their heart's desire, it was satisfied in some way they couldn't begin to fathom. Even if he yelled at them, the yelling was healing too. He could find the place in your heart that needed his help and he could give it in ways beyond words, beyond thoughts.
He was excited much of the time about whatever was going on; some people thought he was egotistical; they had no way of seeing his depth. How sad for them—to meet the way out of their dilemma and not be able to see it. Many avoided him because they had too much to lose. They could not accept U.G.'s power to strip things away from them—things they were not ready to lose—not just physical possessions but attitudes or beliefs they were clinging to. But when you really let go and the process of release happened between you and him, he could free you from the heaviest of burdens.
We think our beliefs hold us together but, in fact, they can be the deepest kind of bondage separating us from the rest of life. Beliefs in God or country can keep us in a divided state our whole life. Belief in a spiritual teacher or practice or tradition can stop us from ever finding the freedom we seek. We are afraid to let go, to lose everything; sometimes we don't even know what we're afraid of. U.G. always showed each of us where we were stuck in some belief or other. Even if we tried to make a god of him, U.G. would blast us to pieces. He took away everything including himself to leave you dangling in the void. We couldn't fall back on the tradition because there was no tradition in him.
Whatever our connection with U.G., it wasn't what we thought or felt; it was beyond thought and feeling. Because there was no goal involved in our relationship with U.G., we were just with him when we could be (when he allowed it) without any feeling of self-improvement. As he said, our burden could be lightened through contact with him, but it could still be there. We might have become better at some things—he would say, “Through contact with me, if you're a murderer, you'll murder with great finesse.” But in the long run, anyone who sought some confirmation that he or she was progressing due to his or her connection to U.G., this desire for confirmation was doomed to failure.
Not to say that people weren't helped, sometimes in mysterious ways, by U.G. or by their meeting with him or hearing about him or reading something by him. You can't really think that no one attained freedom through a connection with U.G. He met thousands of people and through his books and through the internet thousands and thousands more came in contact with him. Someone somewhere might well have come into a liberated state through his or her exposure to him. But then, as U.G. pointed out, their liberation would be unique to them, unlike his or anyone else's.
Certainly he was interested in each of our lives, especially when we had the guts to let go of anything. What was interesting was that U.G. offered us no method, practice or way to help us get there. His criticism of J. Krishnamurti was that he himself didn't come into his realization through the way he was offering to people. U.G. said that this ‘way’ was a sales pitch. If this kind of final liberation is indeed acausal (like lightning striking) then any teaching of a way to it is invalid. That's why no one could claim to be the successor or the next U.G. teacher. His criticism of Buddha is that he stopped short of entering Nirvana completely in order to become a teacher and help others.
The whole spiritual world becomes absurd if there is no way to obtain ultimate realization. This was U.G.'s constant emphasis! You can't get there no matter what you do or don't do. You can become a salesman in the spiritual marketplace, selling “shoddy goods” to gullible seekers. But you can't give them a freedom that is acausal. At best, people become imitants of their teachers, passing on the wisdom they have received. But if there is no way to liberation, because liberation cannot happen through any ‘way’ then the goal of the seeker can never be satisfied.
If something happens outside of the process that frees you, it can't be within your frame of reference, for as U.G. said, “if this sort of thing happens to you, you'll never know it—because the ‘you’ that you knew yourself to be will no longer be there.” U.G. called it a physiological death not psychological. But if the body somehow comes back, you're still alive but freed from the “stranglehold of thought.” And no one can say what kind of life this would be. And no one can ‘teach’ this to another.
Nobody
can
bring
me
to
you—
nothing
can
take
me
away
always
in
the
back
of
my
mind
you
must
have
been
there—
so
I
knew
of
you
before
I
‘knew’
you
and
now
since
I've
known
you
I
can't
let
go
there's
simply
nothing
in
me
without
you.
Perhaps
that
day
we
merged
was
the
end
of
seeking
and
everything
after
merely
icing
on
the
cake.
So
hard
to
accept
that
is
how
it's
supposed
to
be.
It
is
weird
to
think
of
a
no-way
as
the
way
now.
All
those
lessons
you
taught
us
leading
to
this
no-way.
Someone just entering the ‘spiritual’ life would find U.G. a hard and bitter pill to swallow.
Paul Sempé, one of U.G.'s great friends, lived in Marseille. Paul would buy a new Citroen every other year so he could drive U.G. all over Switzerland and Europe each summer. He had been a student of J. Krishnamurti for some time; when he heard U.G. speak, he dropped his interest in J.K. and became a life-long friend to U.G. Paul was a joy to be around, completely devoted to U.G. As a retired tugboat captain for the French Merchant Marine, his job had been to pilot the big ships safely into the harbor. U.G. was always teasing him that once when he was piloting a ship into the harbor, he was practicing J. Krishnamurti's ‘choiceless awareness’ and he hit a rock and the ship almost sank. Paul would always respond, “I never hit a rock.” This verbal duel between U.G. and Paul went on year after year until Paul finally yielded (and to U.G.'s great joy) said, “Ok, I hit a rock.”
U.G. was always complaining that he was stuck with Krishnamurti widows and Rajneesh widows and there were no virgins left for him. In other words, for people to come to U.G. and connect with him on one level or another, they had to have become disillusioned with or disconnected from one teacher or another. Someone just entering the ‘spiritual’ life would find U.G. a hard and bitter pill to swallow. Those of us who had gone through the wear and tear of one spiritual path or another could appreciate the freedom that U.G. offered.
U.G. would condemn the world spiritual leaders saying that they misled mankind. He said that they were responsible for man's sorrow and they should not be exonerated. By promising paradise in this life or the next, these leaders had destroyed the innate uniqueness of each individual, turning people into conformists to one belief system or another.
U.G. would sometimes say that there was a flaw in the physiology of humans that predisposed them to become followers and imitants of different leaders. The thought structure itself kept people in bondage and to be free meant to be free from thought, from the conditioning people were enslaved by. Seen in this light, it is no wonder that U.G.'s ways of working with people were radical and unpredictable.
As a young man, U.G. met the great yogi, Ramana Maharishi. U.G. asked Ramana, “I don't know what you have, what you've attained. But whatever you have, can you give it to me?” Ramana replied, “I can give it to you. Can you take it?” U.G. thought: what arrogance; if anyone can take it, I can. Ramana seemed to be saying: you haven't done enough; you need to do more meditation, more yoga. But the story was, when Ramana was sixteen, after reading a book on the lives of Indian saints, he laid down on the floor, closed off his senses to see what death would be like and suddenly there was a ‘click’ inside of him and he had attained nirvikalpa samadhi, the highest liberation, and this occurred without prior spiritual practice. U.G. also asked Ramana if this happened all at once. Ramana said, “Yes.” And U.G. then asked if someone could revert to a previous state. And Ramana said, “No, once this has happened, there is no going back.”
U.G. wanted us to be free from the self, the self that had been profoundly conditioned for centuries. Yet U.G. knew it was up to each of us to face ourselves, but this only happens acausally, without any system or method. So U.G. would poke holes in our defenses and help us to be less burdened by our investment in society or religion.
Almost always, some path or teaching or teacher had disillusioned the people that came to him and hung around him. So they were more open and receptive to the help (strange as it was) that U.G. could give them. If you lost family or friends along the way, that was the price for freedom that began to permeate your life. Anything that held you back, U.G. was quick to help dissolve. He only wanted the best for each of us no matter how provocative and extreme were his ways of dealing with us. This is not to say that U.G. had some hidden mission or purpose. It's just that his explosive freedom would reach into our hearts and shake us free from whatever we were holding on to. He said, “You can walk on your own; you don't need anything in this world to hold on to.” Dear U.G. giving us what no one had been able to give us: freedom just to be.
U.G. repeatedly said, “If this should happen to you (what had happened to him) it will express itself in its own way—completely different than anything I say or do. What you will say will be completely different from anything I've said. It will be unique to you.” That's why no one could imitate or be a follower of U.G. He wasn't a model for anyone to follow. This is what he had against the religious and spiritual leaders who set themselves up as models for people to follow and actually want their students to model themselves after them. U.G. saw that each person could come into his own way of liberation. The religious leaders, by presenting themselves as models for people to follow, were actually inhibiting or hindering the possibility of people finding their own freedom. In fact, their need to provide models of behavior for people actually stood in the way of people's own realization. So in the name of freedom, these leaders were in fact creating more bondage and misery. At best, those who followed these leaders could only become imitations; at worst they would despair at not being able to live up to the exalted model.
U.G. was very clear about the causes of human suffering. He said the religious stories from the different traditions were “stage managed” to pass on to the gullible of future generations. People would argue with him: “How do you know—were you there?” U.G.'s response was, “Were you there?” Can all the religious teachers and leaders be wrong—can they all be wrong? U.G. would respond, “I can say that they were all wrong.” It was the leaders, both spiritual and political, who eventually caused the misery of mankind by proclaiming a myth of perfection that people aspire to—a perfection that doesn't exist. This is a radical way of seeing life. To say that the leaders of humanity—past, present and future—have misguided the people and created a goal that was pure illusion; no wonder J. Krishnamurti came to U.G. in that vision to tell U.G. to water it down. U.G. told the vision to get lost; he never wavered from this radical position.
U.G. was not interested in perpetuating his ‘teachings’ for people to follow or imitate. He was pointing at something each person could come into on his own without the help of anyone else, including U.G. himself. All the religions tell you that you can't do it by yourself, and U.G. said that this is the only way it can happen to you.
In Bangalore, this older lady walking with a cane would come every day to see U.G. She sat next to me on the couch. She said that she had been with Sai Baba for many years and helped organize his events. Eventually she became disillusioned with Sai realizing he wasn't the great avatar. Then she started attending a Yogananda group. She happened to hear U.G. give a talk and abruptly quit the Yogananda group. I asked her why; she said that after having heard U.G., “What was the point?” In other words, the group ceased to have meaning for her so it was pointless to continue.
Indeed U.G. freed us from the idea that there had to be some ultimate meaning to life. A great weight lifts when you realize you don't need to know what life means.
I
remember
those
dialogues
when
I
was
free
enough
to
let
go
letting
the
energy
between
us
flow
back
and
forth
reaching
a
jazz-like
crescendo
the
words
not
mattering
only
that
flow
of
energy
transforming
the
room:
not
needing
anything
but
that
energy
which
was
what
you
really
were.
Pure
energy
embodied
in
that
body.
So
lucky
I
am
to
have
felt
you
as
this
encapsulated
energy—
changing
my
life
over
and
over
again
nothing
for
me
to
do
but
let
it
change.
There
was
no
resistance
to
you
anything
anything
anything
you
wanted
I
had
to
do.
How
could
anyone
outside
of
this
understand.
So
what:
people
laughed
at
me
thought
I
was
a
fool
which
I
was
a
fool
for
you
even
in
the
darkest
times
when
you
verbally
me
until
I
thought
I
would
die
and
then
I
didn't.
The
horror-days
when
you
were
the
worst
thing
possible
even
then
the
love
was
there
underneath
whether
I
felt
it
or
not.
Then
I
knew
the
terror
of
real
love
the
horror
of
surrender
that
no
one
talks
about.
No
matter
how
horrible
I
wouldn’t
trade
one
moment
of
it
for
anything
else.
All
the
false
promises
of
bliss
our
society
thrives
on
only
make
me
sad
now.
To
have
known
you
in
that
way
for
that
time
is
enough
I
only
have
to
remember
what
happened
with
you
has
never
left
me
even
for
a
moment—
it's
just
the
illusion
of
time.
You
are
still
here
in
ways
that
I
haven't
begun
to
see
or
understand.
Something
so
real
as
you
can
never
die:
always
is
here
with
me
even
your
verbal
attacks
I
can
still
hear
if
I
listen
close
enough:
“You
call
this
sorrow.
You
don't
even
know
what
sorrow
is.”
“Unhappiness
is
just
a
thought,
forget
it.”
“Why
did
you
turn
there?”
“My
words
seem
harsh,
but
they
strip-away
the
false,
so
that
you
can
be
related
to
all
things.”
Your
voice,
your
words
still
in
me.
After the long period of testing he could reach into me, grab hold of my feelings and twist until I couldn't stand it anymore.
I think of the moon sometimes traveling with U.G. in the dark night skies of Europe or California sealed in the car in his aura. Racing across some landscape inner or outer didn't much matter—U.G. so quiet, so still next to me that eerie presence, no words. He would make strange hand gestures when there was a lot of traffic as if clearing our path, keeping us safe. That time we raced through LA rush hour to get to Ontario Airport to meet Susan and Claire and we made it just in time and U.G.'s face lit up with a beatific smile.
He always wanted to drive through the downtown section of Bulle, Switzerland; it was a very tricky turn I finally mastered after many mistakes (and much U.G. criticism) and then one time someone yelling at me for taking that turn instead of going the easier, shorter way—how much criticism did I endure those twenty-one years with U.G., from both him and his friends. Not stopping for someone to go to the bathroom in one of the other cars of our weird caravan; or driving too slow or driving too fast or agreeing to drive eight hours to Milano if U.G. wanted, while the others sat in silent fury. How often I felt like I was the scapegoat for their anger and rage. If not them, then U.G. himself would pour out heaps of verbal abuse on me. Yet I loved every minute of it—some strange joy being with him no matter how hard it was for me.
Once he said for me to rent a van so we could drive the U.G. group all over Switzerland—I learned so much courage on that trip, squeezing by huge trucks with only inches to spare. That time in San Remo: U.G. attacking me for hours. We stopped at some restaurant. I was shattered and sat there staring into space in utter despair—but it was always the fear of losing him underneath, that connection to my heart's longing; I would die for that and he knew it. That's why he could be that way with me—he had total permission.
After the long period of testing he could reach into me, grab hold of my feelings and twist until I couldn't stand it anymore. I watched him yell at Mitra one day and Mitra told him, “I'll lie down on the ground and you can squash me like a bug.” Then U.G. subsided. But I'd give everything for a minute more of U.G.'s verbal attacks rather than this tepid life I live now.
You
never
gave
us
the
certainty
we
wanted
so
badly
always
taking
away
never
replacing
it
no
belief-system
that
would
work
anymore
how
I
wanted
to
surrender
and
be
secure
at
the
same
time.
Dr.
Death
the
ultimate
dissolver
of
self:
his
self
my
self
your
self.
Nothing
and
no one
special
in
all
this
everyone
equally
under
the
gun
whether
he
ever
spoke
to
you
or
not
you
too
were
being
dissolved
in
his
presence.
So
his
calamity
was
our
calamity.
So
his
loss
of
self
was
ultimately
all
he
could
offer
us
and
this
was
our
secret
longing
hidden
from
ourselves
to
lose
completely
what
we
had
worked
so
hard
to
attain.
Else
why
would
we
(after
we
realized
what
was
happening)
have
hung
around
him
year
after
year
knowing
what
was
in
store
for
us
yet
unable
to
resist
the
flame
that
was
incinerating
us—
not
only
were
we
inviting
this
pestilence
into
our
lives
we
were
really
courting
it
wanting
this
destruction
with
all
our
heart.
What
was
unique
in
this
relationship
was
there
was
nothing
to
be
gained
by
it
only
loss
and
more
loss
and
most
of
the
world
just
doesn't
function
this
way.
A
teacher
even
a
spiritual
teacher
is
here
to
give
you
something
not
to
take
everything
away.
And
yet
there
was
such
joy
in
this
dissolving
of
self
this
torture
of
loss
as
if
this
is
what
we
were
here
for
really
on
this
earth
to
be
stripped
bare.
You could come see him a few times, but after that there was a price to pay and the price cost more and more over time.
Once in Gstaad, there was a situation in which there was a possibility that Julie would sell her apartment in New York to Madonna, the celebrity. I was to answer the phone when Madonna called so U.G. could deal with her over the negotiations. I sat at the phone, waiting for Madonna's call while skyrockets were going off inside of me at the prospect of talking to such a celebrity. Madonna never called and I had to confront Nataraj to get my seat back next to U.G. It was awful to see how shallow I was. With U.G., so many situations arose to see sides of yourself that were hidden even from you.
Since there was no place inside of him to get stuck or hung up, U.G. could throw language at you with incredible force and speed. He would say that he was like a machine gun; if he saw something in someone that needed to be shattered, something crystallized, he would instantly attack it. It wasn't just the person, it was the dead thought or hidden motive that U.G. was attacking. If you were holding on to something or someone who was weighing you down, U.G. would instantly break it up within you. This was part of the price you would pay for hanging out with him. You could come see him a few times, but after that there was a price to pay and the price cost more and more over time. Those unwilling to be shredded in the U.G. shredder would find some way of staying clear of him.
Nothing and no one was exempt from this Shiva-like, dissolving process. It was as if U.G. had no choice himself. If you became close to him, your time of ultimate confrontation was bound to come. Some fought against this confrontation, they would bitterly attack U.G. back for confronting them. Others would run away enraged. Others still would just surrender in silence as their innermost being was ravished. With U.G., there was no escape, no way you could divert him or distract him if he was after you, you had to either accept what he was confronting you with or pretend that the truth that was glaring at you in the face wasn't real. And when we felt like we were falling to pieces how we could barely maintain without bursting into tears.
Those first years with U.G. (perhaps because I only saw him once or twice a year and that for only a few days and sometimes only a few hours) caused devastating upheavals in my life. My wife dutifully had gone to San Antonio for four years to take care of her mother. This left me free to visit U.G. more and more. As I became closer to U.G., I became less and less connected to my wife. Finally, one day in Palm Springs, my brother called to say that she needed to talk to me. U.G. insisted that she call me in his house where a group of us were sitting together. My wife called crying saying her mother had died and she wanted me to come to San Antonio for the funeral. I told her in front of U.G. and the other people that I couldn't come and I felt the sensation of a kind of sizzling burning inside as the remnants of the relationship and marriage were burning up inside of me. Mahesh, who was there, told me I should write about this feeling but it took me years and years to be able to do so.
This kind of experience with U.G. would only happen to those who somehow gave their permission to him at some level. At the depths of your being, if you weren't ready to lose everything that mattered to you, then U.G. wasn't for you. He could fiercely confront you for hours on end only to open you up to a deeper connection to life, dropping one illusion after another. It was as if U.G.'s own experience of liberation was challenging you every second you were with him. U.G.'s freedom, his reality was so overpowering it called into question everything in you: your beliefs, convictions and values, all your hidden motives. U.G. wasn't just a hit and run teacher, he would hammer at you until there was nothing left to oppose him. He confronted you at levels you didn't even know existed. All your greed, your will, your concern for self-preservation were exposed. Nothing was left to hold on to. U.G. was the ultimate acid trip from which there was no return.
I
spent
so
many
of
the
last
months
with
you
in
silence—
to
know
you
in
that
way
without
the
self
needing
words
to
define
bliss—
how
the
structures
of
things
crumble/
dissolve
in
that
stillness.
If
I've
gained
nothing
but
that
feeling
of
you
in
my
heart,
all
was
worth
it.
If
my
life
would
have
taken
another
pattern,
it
would
still
have
brought
me
to
you.
If
I
never
before
knew
of
surrender,
I
in
that
instant
would
have
surrendered
all
to
you.
If
love
had
never
touched
me,
your
love
would
still
have
pierced
my
heart.
To
say
I
owe
everything
to
a
universe
that
brought
me
to
you
is
to
say
I
can
never
be
grateful
enough.
Emptied
of
myself,
I
found
myself
not
empty
after
all.
With him you walked in a landscape of freedom.
So many of us write down about our times with U.G. Why? We don't expect money or fame. We write to remind each other and ourselves of those times of magic when we could experience ourselves in a freedom unlike anything else. U.G. himself gave tacit approval for our writing about him. Every so often something would happen and he would say, “This should go in the book.” There was always this sense of incredible freedom around him. With all the stops pulled out, you could say anything. Everything was permitted, nothing ever off-limits. U.G. would egg me on to tell more and more outrageous jokes or to speak Korean swear words. I'd get U.G. sometimes to tell sex words in Telugu. The energy of the freedom would bounce off the walls.
Being with him was so freeing because you tasted a bit of freedom that U.G. was. With him you walked in a landscape of freedom. No matter what you thought was happening, it was always a freedom from your self. You weren't just you with U.G., you were the freedom from yourself with him. And this wasn't something he was intending, it was just to be with him was your freedom—whether it lasted or not, there was no renunciation, there were no rules; he just gave you the freedom to both be yourself and not be yourself. And it wasn't because you were special or had earned something; it was just freedom in the moment from all the “oughts, musts and shoulds” of your life. It was an unconditional experience in the moment.
We use words like ‘love’ or ‘freedom’ to talk about U.G. but none of them really work because he was outside the groove of the human condition. He called to us, but he wasn't like us—whatever had happened to him was beyond our comprehension.
Every time you were with U.G., it was like the first time and you felt alive like you never had before. And it was completely unpredictable. The first few days of your visit, time would stand still—you thought it would never end. But towards the end of your visit, time would speed up—every second was precious—and you knew it would be over too soon. And you were always so grateful to be with him no matter what he put you through; driving for hours through rush hour LA traffic or listening to the girls singing money maxim songs or walking from one end of the Las Vegas strip to the other or being verbally attacked or being swallowed into the ecstasy of U.G.'s silence. No way of knowing what would happen next. When you were with him, the rest of your life ceased to exist. And after he was gone, it was so hard to pick up the pieces of your life you had left behind.
With U.G. you sat around doing nothing much of the time. And after U.G. you still sit around doing nothing much of the time. Your reasons for action have been taken away.
In
the
end
U.G.
didn't
tell
me
which
way
to
go.
Now
each
day
I
listen
in
silence
to
hear
what
to
do
next,
so
little
left
of
what
I
once
was.
Yet
still
the
earth
spins
on
in
space,
people
come
and
go,
things
happen.
To have known the real and to still live in some afterlife—no wonder we all feel so strange in our skin.
The energy and excitement that happened around U.G.—people showing up unexpectedly or U.G. asking someone to perform or the interaction between people or just silence, unearthly silence that penetrated the very marrow of your being. Silence that would last so long with such intensity sometimes, you thought it would never end. At those times, U.G. was so still, so still with such peace, you felt you could melt into that stillness and never come back.
And you wondered if indeed you were still yourself after such silence. You felt like you had floated into the void and lost whoever you had been. Perhaps we all really did lose ourselves in those vast, unending U.G. silences and who we are now is just an imagination of who we once had been. To have known the reality of these silences and to feel how dreamlike things are now, this is the fate of the U.G. friends. To have known the real and to still live in some afterlife—no wonder we all feel so strange in our skin. U.G.'s reality swept us away from ourselves. So our ‘real self’ lies somewhere in U.G. land. We remember what we felt like then, when we connect with one or another of our U.G. kindred spirits.
People who return from the war and can no longer fit back into the world—they have lived at the extreme of their personality facing incredible ups and downs such that the ‘normal’ life no longer makes sense to them. Some are able to fit back in society and find a purpose that is meaningful for them. Others are sort of lost souls who can no longer be part of the way the world works. So too, with U.G. people. Some do come into a meaningful life purpose beyond what they experienced with U.G. Others are still shell-shocked, no new life or expectation or fulfillment for them. When things have been stripped away from you and you are devoid of hope, the world seems like a wasteland of forlorn possibilities. Whichever way you look, you feel frozen inside. Like the war veteran, how do you tell others what has happened to you? It is not that U.G. destroyed your capacity for joy or love; it was just that being with him for so long was of another order of life. Like living on another planet and suddenly returning to earth, or Plato's Allegory of the Cave. And it's not that you really can't fit in to the way things are—the falseness of society is so obvious; you can no longer experience it as real. Political or spiritual leaders, who wager their wisdom on a future that never comes, can no longer hold your attention. The life you lived with U.G. is gone—that excitement, that energy has left you. Each must find the way to be now.
With U.G. it was like a new dimension had somehow come into our everyday world, turning everything topsy-turvy and we never really recovered or completely lost sight of what had happened to us. People talk about acid flashbacks but our U.G. flashback seems more real than anything we'd known before or since. U.G. infused himself into our nervous system and there is no escape.
A real teacher leaves nothing to chance. I ponder this idea and think that perhaps our lives are a perfect out-picturing of what U.G. left us.
The
Great
Gift
of
U.G.
how
could
I
ever
complain
after
you,
who
were
everything
to
me.
I
can't
go
back
to
something
before
you—
there's
only
you
inside
still
taking
up
all
the
room—
the
spiritual
ended
with
you
no
more
path
levels
places
to
go
you
were
the
It
of
my
life
the
hidden
mystery
never
to
be
solved.
At
the
end
you
still
don't
know
what
U.G.
means,
just
glad
you
got
to
be
part
of
the
Mystery.
Now
whatever
comes
can
only
be
a
continuity
of
U.G.'s
Grace.
Maybe
my
days
are
meant
to
sing
of
you
until
the
last
thought
leaves
me.
Once you've seen what was, for you, the Ultimate, you can't go back to the reality you'd known before.
So U.G. was life's gift to us, so precious. But why us? And why not others? Ram Dass says that this sort of thing is a lock-in from another level. But I can only wonder; it seems such a mystery. So many people I know met U.G. and walked away as if this was the last thing they wanted. Bright people, ‘spiritual’ people couldn't see him, or couldn't see past their concept of what made sense to them. Not that we were so special; just some openness in us that connected to U.G. and refused all other offers. Our friends who rejected U.G.—it was as if they saw without seeing, heard without listening. Alas, our friends were no longer friends for there was nothing to share with them. Once you've seen what was, for you, the Ultimate, you can't go back to the reality you'd known before. It's hard to capture in words the way we felt when we were with U.G. As T.S. Eliot said of the “still point of the turning world…I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where. And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.”
Over the years, I no longer felt I had a ‘mission’ for doing the church. U.G. had taken away all sense of meaning about it. But whenever I asked him, he would say, “Don't leave the church!” So when U.G. left this Earth, I spent years seeing what else I could do with myself, other than the church. I still don't know. After U.G. being in charge only life for so long, to say I feel lost without him is an understatement. I am sure the others have found their way by now. I don't envy them. My lost way seems right for me. After something like U.G. happened, I don't think I have to worry about being found.
~
This is the disciple who is bearing witness to these things…
But there are also many other things…were every
one of them to be written, I suppose that the world
itself could not contain the books that would be written.
John 21.24-25
~
A person asked an avadhut, “What is your teaching sir?”
The avadhut replied, “No teaching, no teacher, no taught.”
And he disappeared.
(Avadhuta-Gita, often repeated by U.G.)
