June 29
Left Bangalore last night, many farewells, many people to the airport to see us off. A more detached, yet loving departure for me this time. I felt real affection for all these people, real friendship.
It's easier being the one to go, rather than being left behind. April finally went home—less than an hour before our departure—what a scene. She held on to the very last moment, crying, using all her feminine wiles on U.G. But it had no effect. I was not sure, myself, how it was going to come out until she left. Though he had said several times in my hearing that she is mad, that he doesn't want her around, that she is the last person he would have with him, still, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to test me again by inviting her to Switzerland.
It is an indication of my own lack of clarity that such thoughts arise at all. He gave me no indication that this was a possibility, yet my mind persisted in its fantasies. I am no better off than she is, in that sense. Paranoid.
The night before we left she asked U.G. to read her palm, to tell her future. He looked at it from a distance and said she had no future, but she wouldn't kill herself. She didn't have the courage to die, or to live. He said her imagination had run amok.
Moorty said to me in the morning, "Repetition is only a problem if someone is there counting." This is true of everything of course. If there is no 'I', there is nothing. But how to get rid of the counter?
Adri said to me at the airport: "It's fine to stay with U.G. forever, but unhook from him." He meant end the intoxication and take things as they come. But how to do?
U.G. sent me ahead to the airport to check in and get our seats. I asked to get two seats together, but didn't ask for the window. When he learned this, arriving at the airport minutes later, he said, "You're out, you can't be depended on."
Then I bought Time magazine, though he had said he had stopped reading it. When I offered it to him on the plane, he blew up again. "Do you think I take coffee secretly behind closed doors, or read Time furtively?" I had not taken him at face value, not listened once again.
After arriving at the Bombay airport in the driving Monsoon rain and waiting for my bags for an hour (something not working with the unloading mechanisms), Mahesh there to pick us up, we headed to Parikh's place at 10 p.m. The three of us immediately got into a conversation. I asked U.G. why he was so impatient with me, irritated, always angry (of course he is not).
To be with him I must give up my way of doing things completely, and do them his way. This means a complete change. Either I want to and can, or I do not want to and can't. I said I wanted to be with him, but the requirement for that is total surrender of my pig-headedness and pretentiousness. That is what I want. I think. I don't know what is involved, but I think it is everything. I don't know how much courage I have.
This morning U.G. broke the news that he is having prostate trouble and may need an operation in September. He may return to Bombay from Switzerland. I was immediately thrown into memories of my father's prostate trouble, the beginnings of which began just like this and which ultimately led to his death a number of years later.
Mahesh was upset, I am upset. I don't want anything to happen to him, I don't want him to be sick, let alone undergo an operation. I don't want to be sent home while he returns here, I don't want, I don't want. It doesn't matter what I want. I will do whatever he wants me to do. Mahesh suggested I take a break from U.G., return to Manhattan. U.G. said to me, "You don't need a break from me, you need a break from yourself."
Drove to the studio with Mahesh and he said again I should take a break from U.G. I said I was tired of U.G. talking through Mahesh. If he wanted to tell me something he could, I would do his bidding. When I repeated this statement on my return to U.G., he said, "I am telling you to take a break from this conversation right now."
Perhaps I will be able to listen. I shut off, somehow, out of some fear, some sense that I am too stupid to understand things. Mahesh said I am smart when I don't use my head. U.G. said he doesn't think I am interested in what he is saying, that I have no background in these matters. I agreed that I have none. My phoney Zen background and superficial work with other teachers do not count at all. I know nothing, remember nothing, reveal my ignorance all the time.
Lalu Bhai is here, sitting patiently. He said he read a comment by the Prime Minister, V. P. Singh, in the paper recently in which he said he never celebrated his birthday, he considered his birth an accident and not worthy of notice. This remark was clearly written by Frank (who writes his speeches), and reflects U.G.'s teaching. This, said U.G., is how his teaching will penetrate mass consciousness, not through his own books and tapes, but indirectly, without any reference to him.
It is raining heavily in sheets off and on. I wanted to see a monsoon and my wish is coming true. We leave tonight for Geneva via Delhi and Rome. It will be a long trip but who cares. U.G. continues to ask me why I am here and what I have to offer. I can never answer these questions. But I told Mahesh no matter what happens, what he does to me, I love him (U.G.) deeply. Mahesh told him that. U.G. scoffed. I don't care. That's the way I feel.
Just before leaving Bombay, U.G. gave me some money for the airport tax which I put in my bag. As we were about to go he asked me how much I had, and I counted and said 600 R. He said, "I gave you 800 R, where is the other 200?" I said I didn't know. A big fuss ensued, masterminded mostly by Mahesh, though U.G. seemed irritated with me. I said I simply didn't know, maybe I lost it (though I knew I hadn't, I had put the money immediately in my purse, though without counting it).
Then Mahesh started teasing me about my heavy suitcase load again, just before we left. Suddenly I was fed up with it all, mad at him for provoking me all the time. It's him, not U.G., though perhaps U.G. speaks through Mahesh.
The trip to the airport was strained and strange. I tuned out, trying to go to sleep in the muggy, rainy night (we were leaving at midnight), Mahesh continuing to try to get to me about the money, the bags. I barely said goodbye to him when we got there, and the departure was stiff and uncomfortable.
U.G. was also withdrawn, the trip long and exhausting. Departure from Bombay was delayed nearly two hours, and we had a lay-over in Delhi and again in Rome. The whole flight took over fourteen hours during which we could not even leave the plane. U.G. and I talked very little, sleeping most of the time. In Geneva, my bags were very late coming off the plane and I thought they were lost, resigning myself to surviving with no clothes or toilet articles for a few days. But they finally appeared. (How can anybody choose travel as a way of life?!)
It's easier being the one to go, rather than being left behind. April finally went home—less than an hour before our departure—what a scene. She held on to the very last moment, crying, using all her feminine wiles on U.G. But it had no effect. I was not sure, myself, how it was going to come out until she left. Though he had said several times in my hearing that she is mad, that he doesn't want her around, that she is the last person he would have with him, still, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to test me again by inviting her to Switzerland.
It is an indication of my own lack of clarity that such thoughts arise at all. He gave me no indication that this was a possibility, yet my mind persisted in its fantasies. I am no better off than she is, in that sense. Paranoid.
The night before we left she asked U.G. to read her palm, to tell her future. He looked at it from a distance and said she had no future, but she wouldn't kill herself. She didn't have the courage to die, or to live. He said her imagination had run amok.
Moorty said to me in the morning, "Repetition is only a problem if someone is there counting." This is true of everything of course. If there is no 'I', there is nothing. But how to get rid of the counter?
Adri said to me at the airport: "It's fine to stay with U.G. forever, but unhook from him." He meant end the intoxication and take things as they come. But how to do?
U.G. sent me ahead to the airport to check in and get our seats. I asked to get two seats together, but didn't ask for the window. When he learned this, arriving at the airport minutes later, he said, "You're out, you can't be depended on."
Then I bought Time magazine, though he had said he had stopped reading it. When I offered it to him on the plane, he blew up again. "Do you think I take coffee secretly behind closed doors, or read Time furtively?" I had not taken him at face value, not listened once again.
After arriving at the Bombay airport in the driving Monsoon rain and waiting for my bags for an hour (something not working with the unloading mechanisms), Mahesh there to pick us up, we headed to Parikh's place at 10 p.m. The three of us immediately got into a conversation. I asked U.G. why he was so impatient with me, irritated, always angry (of course he is not).
To be with him I must give up my way of doing things completely, and do them his way. This means a complete change. Either I want to and can, or I do not want to and can't. I said I wanted to be with him, but the requirement for that is total surrender of my pig-headedness and pretentiousness. That is what I want. I think. I don't know what is involved, but I think it is everything. I don't know how much courage I have.
This morning U.G. broke the news that he is having prostate trouble and may need an operation in September. He may return to Bombay from Switzerland. I was immediately thrown into memories of my father's prostate trouble, the beginnings of which began just like this and which ultimately led to his death a number of years later.
Mahesh was upset, I am upset. I don't want anything to happen to him, I don't want him to be sick, let alone undergo an operation. I don't want to be sent home while he returns here, I don't want, I don't want. It doesn't matter what I want. I will do whatever he wants me to do. Mahesh suggested I take a break from U.G., return to Manhattan. U.G. said to me, "You don't need a break from me, you need a break from yourself."
Drove to the studio with Mahesh and he said again I should take a break from U.G. I said I was tired of U.G. talking through Mahesh. If he wanted to tell me something he could, I would do his bidding. When I repeated this statement on my return to U.G., he said, "I am telling you to take a break from this conversation right now."
Perhaps I will be able to listen. I shut off, somehow, out of some fear, some sense that I am too stupid to understand things. Mahesh said I am smart when I don't use my head. U.G. said he doesn't think I am interested in what he is saying, that I have no background in these matters. I agreed that I have none. My phoney Zen background and superficial work with other teachers do not count at all. I know nothing, remember nothing, reveal my ignorance all the time.
Lalu Bhai is here, sitting patiently. He said he read a comment by the Prime Minister, V. P. Singh, in the paper recently in which he said he never celebrated his birthday, he considered his birth an accident and not worthy of notice. This remark was clearly written by Frank (who writes his speeches), and reflects U.G.'s teaching. This, said U.G., is how his teaching will penetrate mass consciousness, not through his own books and tapes, but indirectly, without any reference to him.
It is raining heavily in sheets off and on. I wanted to see a monsoon and my wish is coming true. We leave tonight for Geneva via Delhi and Rome. It will be a long trip but who cares. U.G. continues to ask me why I am here and what I have to offer. I can never answer these questions. But I told Mahesh no matter what happens, what he does to me, I love him (U.G.) deeply. Mahesh told him that. U.G. scoffed. I don't care. That's the way I feel.
Just before leaving Bombay, U.G. gave me some money for the airport tax which I put in my bag. As we were about to go he asked me how much I had, and I counted and said 600 R. He said, "I gave you 800 R, where is the other 200?" I said I didn't know. A big fuss ensued, masterminded mostly by Mahesh, though U.G. seemed irritated with me. I said I simply didn't know, maybe I lost it (though I knew I hadn't, I had put the money immediately in my purse, though without counting it).
Then Mahesh started teasing me about my heavy suitcase load again, just before we left. Suddenly I was fed up with it all, mad at him for provoking me all the time. It's him, not U.G., though perhaps U.G. speaks through Mahesh.
The trip to the airport was strained and strange. I tuned out, trying to go to sleep in the muggy, rainy night (we were leaving at midnight), Mahesh continuing to try to get to me about the money, the bags. I barely said goodbye to him when we got there, and the departure was stiff and uncomfortable.
U.G. was also withdrawn, the trip long and exhausting. Departure from Bombay was delayed nearly two hours, and we had a lay-over in Delhi and again in Rome. The whole flight took over fourteen hours during which we could not even leave the plane. U.G. and I talked very little, sleeping most of the time. In Geneva, my bags were very late coming off the plane and I thought they were lost, resigning myself to surviving with no clothes or toilet articles for a few days. But they finally appeared. (How can anybody choose travel as a way of life?!)
