May 23
Kim saw us off at Kennedy Airport. British Airways seats were roomy and comfortable and our flight to London easy. On an impulse I ordered wine with dinner, though feeling a little odd about it. But U.G. had mentioned to me yesterday in New York that Valentine used to have wine with meals, though it tapered off after a while. I felt this was an indication from him that I could be myself, be a little truer, less intent on being the perfect disciple.
But I felt uncomfortable. I asked him if he minded and he said no. I asked him if he would tell me if he minded. And he said no. So that was my answer. No answer. He is not going to tell me what to do or not do. Somehow, though, I am less fearful, less anxious about making a wrong move. There isn't quite the same desperate need to please. I would be devastated if we weren't together, but less so than before. I care, but in a different way.
Perhaps I am more honest with myself, more patient with my own ambivalence. I have lingering thoughts from time to time of leaving my daughter just before her graduation, but they pass. It was a jolt also to arrive in this dingy apartment after the comfort of New York. It is shabby and cramped, though perfectly well-equipped.
U.G. decided we should rent a studio as well as this apartment because he wanted a room of his own, apart, to sink in. I suggested we trade and I sleep in the living room as I would have my own bath and the kitchen and the phone. He agreed to try it, though he felt I would not be comfortable, and he would therefore be uncomfortable. I assured him I was happy here and then he seemed content.
Today we went shopping for the usual couscous, pasta, lime pickle, oils and other necessities at Marks and Spencer and Harrods. U.G. knows his way around London perfectly, which I do not. We bought his favorite chocolates, Belgian Leonidas, White Manons, filled with fresh cream at Harrods and devoured them enthusiastically in the cab.
Was awakened at 5:30 a.m. by a call from Mahesh, but went back to sleep, then again at 7 by Tom calling from California. After breakfast, U.G. and I went malling, London style, that is to Oxford Street for small towels, a pair of shoes for him (Hush Puppies), a cheese grater, and travel pharmacy items. I found some small white t-shirts at the Gap, something I was unable to do in New York. We covered Selfridges, Marks and Spencer, John Lewis and various other stores, also checking in at airlines offices. This last so U.G. will have a clear idea of what he wants to do ticket-wise when we arrive in Bombay.
Tonight I made pasta, feeling very much at home already in this apartment. The pull of New York is fading, though I feel stabs of nostalgia about my children and Maine and the past. I feel I am throwing over a whole life, everything that mattered to me for as long as I can remember.
I realize that when you give up, surrender, you have everything—I have seen this in operation over and over. But my mind and habitual response mechanism forgets, rebels. Sometimes I ask myself what I am doing, am I mad? What kind of life is this, trailing around with this odd man buying food and getting settled in new homes again and again. Is this what I want? And I think it is because I can't imagine being anywhere else. U.G.'s company is equal to none. And his message is important, though few are ready to hear it: What you want is what is keeping you from having what you want.
An old friend of U.G.'s from India, Kameshwari, spent the afternoon with us. I was oddly restless, feeling hemmed in on a beautiful day in this tiny living room. At one point I walked to the photographer's to get some air, but didn't leave the negatives because they don't print with fiber paper.
After Kameshwari left, U.G. and I went for a walk to Kensington High Street. I asked him how he could just walk away from people like Tim and this woman, tell them they couldn't come see him until such and such a time without feeling responsible for their feelings.
He said he just doesn't give a damn about anyone's feelings. He doesn't separate himself from people to feel responsible for their feelings versus his own. He just knows what he wants in a given situation and acts on it, the only action possible in that moment, and there is no conflict, no remorse. What would it be like to know what I want in a given situation, without obligation or conscience, and to act on it with no doubts or agony?
Drake came and visited U.G., bringing flowers and croissants. Tom called just before Drake's arrival, having given up smoking again. U.G. and Drake talked casually about Nepal and Tibet. No serious questions, no serious answers.
Afterwards U.G. and I went to Harrods to buy white chocolate and to look at computers. I bought some paper. I stopped in to say hello to Lucy Campbell in her gallery. U.G. and I had our respective haircuts after lunch on Kensington High Street. We both look much better, less wild and untamed.
Just returned from Burgess Hill, near Brighton. U.G. and I took the train from Victoria Station this morning, arriving over an hour ahead of departure. Since I was carrying the Panasonic VCR I expressed irritation that we were there so early and there was no place to sit. U.G. rejoined that he always goes early to airports and train stations, and if I don't like it, I shouldn't travel with him. I just felt pissed off and waited by myself holding the damn bag. He bought the tickets and eventually came over and held the Panasonic bag for a while.
The ride down was pleasant as was the day with Lulu and Eddie, old friends of U.G.'s. I liked just being in the sunshine and able to take my shoes off in the grass. A nice lunch, joined by an Indian woman who was very close to J.K. Eddie and Lulu's daughter committed suicide a year ago, their only daughter. Hard to grasp what they have been through, yet they go on, she laughs, is so bright. God.
A tour of Brighton and the train home. U.G. and I were silent on the way, watching a young English family care for two small children. Their attention completely on the little girls, a contained grimness about them.
I said on the way home in the taxi how glad I was not to have two small children to raise. U.G. said I had already done that, that parents end up leading the lives of their children, period. I know he is reading my thoughts and tuning into my questions about living "his" life.
In a black mood all morning. Don't know where it came from or where it went. Was claustrophobic and irritable, though not directly at U.G. He and I went out to do the laundry at the laundromat and I was annoyed that the manager of one place didn't have change, and the other hadn't shown up yet. It made me mad at the English and their apathy, their passive aggression. That too is me.
I went to the market and then took the wash back again and this time succeeded. Several trips. And finally my mood improved. What U.G. picks up from my ill-humor I don't know. Kameshwari and a friend of hers came over in the late morning, a cozy visit. And then Hank and Jerry from Holland.
I went to John Stewart's for tea and brought him back here for an hour or so. Eventually I made dinner for all and that was the end of the day. U.G. in good spirits. The guy from Holland, Jerry, hadn't met U.G. before but had read his books. He completely agrees with him, was interesting. I found the Dutch anti-Semitism a bit hard to take, unnecessary and retarded.
I'm happy again, the other just a phase I was in I guess. I know that I need to go off by myself from time to time, go for walks, see people on my own. I will not miss anything and I need to go, otherwise I won't be able to manage this life. There is too much intensity, too much repetition. I have got to take care of myself, my sanity.
Last day. I did errands all morning, took film to be developed, did some grocery shopping. U.G. went off to Credit Suisse to check his account. The Dutch arrived at lunch time and the afternoon. They all left and Tim came for dinner. To bed early, but I can't sleep. Am anxious about India, a little anxious about U.G., unsure of my feelings. John said to U.G. the other day that even crazy glue can get unstuck, that I have an uncanny ability to unglue myself (he knows from experience) when the time comes. U.G. has mentioned my leaving him from time to time—when will you abandon me, etc.?
He doesn't care what I do. When he attacks me I feel irritated, not frightened. Has something changed? I guess I'm glad I'm going to India. I need a break from Maine summers anyway and mostly I need to see where I'm at with U.G. I can't serve him unless my attitude is perfect.
U.G. sent all the tapes off with Henk and Jerry. I was not consulted. Not that I need to be as it is really his affair. I have done my part, shooting the film. I can turn it over to others now, if they want it. I had a few moments of proprietary interest in the tapes, resisting the idea of their being copied, unedited, others doing the editing, etc., possibly selling them, distributing them.
What a phony I am. I remembered that I am doing this for U.G., to further his teaching, not for my own fame and fortune. It is a harsh lesson. He encourages everyone else to make money, but I must just give everything away. He has accused me a few times of making mistakes in the taping, when it has been his mistake. He apologizes each time, but I am left with a bad feeling. I try to let things go, but of course it is not something one can force.
Last day in London. Checked out of the apartment at 11 and took all our bags and ourselves over to John's. From there we went to Flash to pick up my photos, printed badly but what the heck. Then to lunch at Woodlands, introducing John to idlies. Took videos of Thayer Street, right next to the restaurant. U.G. and I did a little shopping afterwards at Selfridges, then returned to John's. Watched a video on chaos, went for a walk with John while U.G. looked at John's book, I made some couscous and we left for the airport, U.G. and I, in the evening.
But I felt uncomfortable. I asked him if he minded and he said no. I asked him if he would tell me if he minded. And he said no. So that was my answer. No answer. He is not going to tell me what to do or not do. Somehow, though, I am less fearful, less anxious about making a wrong move. There isn't quite the same desperate need to please. I would be devastated if we weren't together, but less so than before. I care, but in a different way.
Perhaps I am more honest with myself, more patient with my own ambivalence. I have lingering thoughts from time to time of leaving my daughter just before her graduation, but they pass. It was a jolt also to arrive in this dingy apartment after the comfort of New York. It is shabby and cramped, though perfectly well-equipped.
U.G. decided we should rent a studio as well as this apartment because he wanted a room of his own, apart, to sink in. I suggested we trade and I sleep in the living room as I would have my own bath and the kitchen and the phone. He agreed to try it, though he felt I would not be comfortable, and he would therefore be uncomfortable. I assured him I was happy here and then he seemed content.
Today we went shopping for the usual couscous, pasta, lime pickle, oils and other necessities at Marks and Spencer and Harrods. U.G. knows his way around London perfectly, which I do not. We bought his favorite chocolates, Belgian Leonidas, White Manons, filled with fresh cream at Harrods and devoured them enthusiastically in the cab.
May 24
Was awakened at 5:30 a.m. by a call from Mahesh, but went back to sleep, then again at 7 by Tom calling from California. After breakfast, U.G. and I went malling, London style, that is to Oxford Street for small towels, a pair of shoes for him (Hush Puppies), a cheese grater, and travel pharmacy items. I found some small white t-shirts at the Gap, something I was unable to do in New York. We covered Selfridges, Marks and Spencer, John Lewis and various other stores, also checking in at airlines offices. This last so U.G. will have a clear idea of what he wants to do ticket-wise when we arrive in Bombay.
Tonight I made pasta, feeling very much at home already in this apartment. The pull of New York is fading, though I feel stabs of nostalgia about my children and Maine and the past. I feel I am throwing over a whole life, everything that mattered to me for as long as I can remember.
I realize that when you give up, surrender, you have everything—I have seen this in operation over and over. But my mind and habitual response mechanism forgets, rebels. Sometimes I ask myself what I am doing, am I mad? What kind of life is this, trailing around with this odd man buying food and getting settled in new homes again and again. Is this what I want? And I think it is because I can't imagine being anywhere else. U.G.'s company is equal to none. And his message is important, though few are ready to hear it: What you want is what is keeping you from having what you want.
May 26
An old friend of U.G.'s from India, Kameshwari, spent the afternoon with us. I was oddly restless, feeling hemmed in on a beautiful day in this tiny living room. At one point I walked to the photographer's to get some air, but didn't leave the negatives because they don't print with fiber paper.
After Kameshwari left, U.G. and I went for a walk to Kensington High Street. I asked him how he could just walk away from people like Tim and this woman, tell them they couldn't come see him until such and such a time without feeling responsible for their feelings.
He said he just doesn't give a damn about anyone's feelings. He doesn't separate himself from people to feel responsible for their feelings versus his own. He just knows what he wants in a given situation and acts on it, the only action possible in that moment, and there is no conflict, no remorse. What would it be like to know what I want in a given situation, without obligation or conscience, and to act on it with no doubts or agony?
Drake came and visited U.G., bringing flowers and croissants. Tom called just before Drake's arrival, having given up smoking again. U.G. and Drake talked casually about Nepal and Tibet. No serious questions, no serious answers.
Afterwards U.G. and I went to Harrods to buy white chocolate and to look at computers. I bought some paper. I stopped in to say hello to Lucy Campbell in her gallery. U.G. and I had our respective haircuts after lunch on Kensington High Street. We both look much better, less wild and untamed.
May 27
Just returned from Burgess Hill, near Brighton. U.G. and I took the train from Victoria Station this morning, arriving over an hour ahead of departure. Since I was carrying the Panasonic VCR I expressed irritation that we were there so early and there was no place to sit. U.G. rejoined that he always goes early to airports and train stations, and if I don't like it, I shouldn't travel with him. I just felt pissed off and waited by myself holding the damn bag. He bought the tickets and eventually came over and held the Panasonic bag for a while.
The ride down was pleasant as was the day with Lulu and Eddie, old friends of U.G.'s. I liked just being in the sunshine and able to take my shoes off in the grass. A nice lunch, joined by an Indian woman who was very close to J.K. Eddie and Lulu's daughter committed suicide a year ago, their only daughter. Hard to grasp what they have been through, yet they go on, she laughs, is so bright. God.
A tour of Brighton and the train home. U.G. and I were silent on the way, watching a young English family care for two small children. Their attention completely on the little girls, a contained grimness about them.
I said on the way home in the taxi how glad I was not to have two small children to raise. U.G. said I had already done that, that parents end up leading the lives of their children, period. I know he is reading my thoughts and tuning into my questions about living "his" life.
May 28
In a black mood all morning. Don't know where it came from or where it went. Was claustrophobic and irritable, though not directly at U.G. He and I went out to do the laundry at the laundromat and I was annoyed that the manager of one place didn't have change, and the other hadn't shown up yet. It made me mad at the English and their apathy, their passive aggression. That too is me.
I went to the market and then took the wash back again and this time succeeded. Several trips. And finally my mood improved. What U.G. picks up from my ill-humor I don't know. Kameshwari and a friend of hers came over in the late morning, a cozy visit. And then Hank and Jerry from Holland.
I went to John Stewart's for tea and brought him back here for an hour or so. Eventually I made dinner for all and that was the end of the day. U.G. in good spirits. The guy from Holland, Jerry, hadn't met U.G. before but had read his books. He completely agrees with him, was interesting. I found the Dutch anti-Semitism a bit hard to take, unnecessary and retarded.
I'm happy again, the other just a phase I was in I guess. I know that I need to go off by myself from time to time, go for walks, see people on my own. I will not miss anything and I need to go, otherwise I won't be able to manage this life. There is too much intensity, too much repetition. I have got to take care of myself, my sanity.
May 29
Last day. I did errands all morning, took film to be developed, did some grocery shopping. U.G. went off to Credit Suisse to check his account. The Dutch arrived at lunch time and the afternoon. They all left and Tim came for dinner. To bed early, but I can't sleep. Am anxious about India, a little anxious about U.G., unsure of my feelings. John said to U.G. the other day that even crazy glue can get unstuck, that I have an uncanny ability to unglue myself (he knows from experience) when the time comes. U.G. has mentioned my leaving him from time to time—when will you abandon me, etc.?
He doesn't care what I do. When he attacks me I feel irritated, not frightened. Has something changed? I guess I'm glad I'm going to India. I need a break from Maine summers anyway and mostly I need to see where I'm at with U.G. I can't serve him unless my attitude is perfect.
U.G. sent all the tapes off with Henk and Jerry. I was not consulted. Not that I need to be as it is really his affair. I have done my part, shooting the film. I can turn it over to others now, if they want it. I had a few moments of proprietary interest in the tapes, resisting the idea of their being copied, unedited, others doing the editing, etc., possibly selling them, distributing them.
What a phony I am. I remembered that I am doing this for U.G., to further his teaching, not for my own fame and fortune. It is a harsh lesson. He encourages everyone else to make money, but I must just give everything away. He has accused me a few times of making mistakes in the taping, when it has been his mistake. He apologizes each time, but I am left with a bad feeling. I try to let things go, but of course it is not something one can force.
Last day in London. Checked out of the apartment at 11 and took all our bags and ourselves over to John's. From there we went to Flash to pick up my photos, printed badly but what the heck. Then to lunch at Woodlands, introducing John to idlies. Took videos of Thayer Street, right next to the restaurant. U.G. and I did a little shopping afterwards at Selfridges, then returned to John's. Watched a video on chaos, went for a walk with John while U.G. looked at John's book, I made some couscous and we left for the airport, U.G. and I, in the evening.
