April 6
It is exactly a year to the day that I came out to California to look for a sangha house with Leslie, when I was still involved with Andrew, and unbeknownst to me about to begin this great adventure with U.G. Curious to be back staying with Leslie and Jerry.
When we arrived in Mill Valley two days ago, U.G. and I went right to Terry's house. Terry had decided he was through with U.G., that his house was not available to him any longer. Hence Robert had rented U.G. a beautiful place in Sausalito.
U.G. turned everything around by telephoning Terry on his arrival in California and asking him how he could turn out his old friend, not make his house available to him. He knew Terry had been hurt last fall. Terry immediately did an about-face, said of course U.G. could have his apartment. So when we arrived, it was decided that U.G. would stay at Terry's, I would stay at Leslie and Jerry's, and Terry would stay at the rented pad in Sausalito. "No power in the world," said U.G., "could keep me from staying in the Crow's Nest."
~ ~
U.G. was harsh and I am still confused by it two days later. And again last night, after being mellow all day long, he turned on me viciously when Jerry was there with us at The Crow’s Nest, about the videos.
Maybe this just happens with U.G., an expression of energy, or maybe he is teaching me something, I don't know. I can do a million things for him, and still it is all wrong when he is in a mood like that.
Last night I had dreams of suicide once again and woke distressed. Feeling a tremendous urgency to see U.G., I went over early to see him and tried to get to the root of my confusion. At the realization that my attachment to him is the source of my suffering I began to cry, much as I tried not to. My defenses are so high, my self-protective mechanism so in place that it is usually difficult to know what I feel. But this time I knew.
U.G. motioned me over next to him on the couch, took my hand and said he was the best friend I had, that he would never hurt me, that there is some wall in me that keeps me from understanding what he is saying to me. That he is trying to understand what it is. He said this only relates to practical matters, not to sadhana, spiritual life. He said I was as close to him as it was possible to be right now, and that that closeness also implied the ultimate distance.
~ ~
He wants the documentary to be my documentary, my story of a year with U.G. So I can't just dump the whole thing on someone else.
U.G. seems a little tired. He mentioned a hernia or something in his side. He said if it persists he will consult Paul Lynn.
Tonight it is full moon in Leo. I am full and happy with U.G., just as Jerry suggested I would be. He is incredibly powerful, yet gentle, funny yet profound. I feel the deepest love for him, and a oneness I can't describe. No fear, no separation, no distance—yet all the distance that my respect and adoration can touch...a curious paradox. So close there is the greatest distance.
~ ~
When we arrived home U.G. said he wanted to go for a haircut. I offered to do it, though I know nothing about haircutting. He took me up on it and it was an amazing scene, out on the deck, U.G. sitting on a chair with newspapers underneath, completely trusting and detached. Only asking me not to cut his ears. For me it was a gift, for him, he said, he saved $8, poor Indian. I was able to touch him, gently, cut and comb his hair, handle it. I was not afraid of messing it up, just happy to be so close to him.
Afterwards he took a shower, washed his hair and dried it. He says the cut ends cry after they have been cut. The haircut looked fairly good, though there were a few uneven tufts of hair. He wouldn't let me even them out.
~ ~
Full moon kept me up for the second night in a row. Absolutely wired, burning up with energy. Yesterday morning U.G., Larry, Terry and I went to San Francisco to Bombay Bazaar to drop off tapes to be transferred to PAL. I bought a broom and dustpan, some Crazy Glue for my button. I named myself, inadvertently, 'Crazy Glue', comparing myself to Larry who was dubbed 'Scotch Tape' by U.G. because he sticks so close. U.G. says 'Crazy Glue' will stick as a name.
Woke up with a fierce sore throat this morning, and a marginal fever. I'm probably just tired out and my body needs a rest. I will go over to U.G.'s on schedule anyway, unless I feel worse.
Had a talk with U.G. and Moorty in the late afternoon about my stance with U.G., how to have things work between us. They said I should take no responsibility and in that is freedom, to leave everything to U.G. I know there is a fine line to walk with him between familiarity and service, neither one being appropriate. I told Moorty I knew it when I was in the right place, when I was just doing things for him in a natural, loving and simple way, not analyzing or questioning.
I hit my elbow on the wall getting onto the couch from where I was sitting on the floor. U.G. winced, and as I held my arm I could see pain in his eyes. I asked him about it and he said it is natural for him to feel what I feel as I am with him all the time. Once Valentine fell down on the beach, and U.G. developed bruises where she fell. Another time a mother was beating a child on a coffee plantation in India, and U.G. had welts on his body where the child had been struck. He says it is the natural state not to have any separation between feelings.
Roxi called and we talked about his book. My negatives sent by my daughter appear to be lost. I am trying to feel that nothing is lost to mankind, as U.G. does, to feel there is nothing to preserve. But a sense of irritation comes up that they are missing. I suppose it is just something to note and to make other arrangements. My children are the way they are because of the way they were brought up by me. If I could really be free of remorse and attachment, life would be so grand.
Terry is being worked over by U.G. and the others. It will be interesting to see how it comes out in the end, if he appears to be lighter, gentler, less of a raving socialist.
Though I feel exhausted and went to bed late, I woke with a jolt this morning at four, as if a current was going through me. Then, instead of getting up, for the first time I lay in bed and experienced doubt and resentment. I feel somewhat sick, the sore throat has turned to a cold or flu (though I took homeopathic remedies prescribed by Moorty yesterday afternoon), and I am worn out.
U.G. lashed into me last night, in the most violent way, as usual about the documentary, and my stubborn refusal to do the transferring his way. It is literally impossible to understand what he wants. If I begin to do it one way, he demands another, or distracts me with a request to show a piece of footage to someone, thus causing me to lose the numbering system. If I do it another way, he reverts to the first.
In the end he wouldn't even let me talk, telling me to be quiet each time I tried to say something. Even Moorty didn't seem to be able to get a clear picture from U.G. about the editing. He seemed to be saying it was my documentary, my tale of around-the-world with U.G. Yet he says the footage is useless, that I have too much.
I am overwhelmed by it, don't know where to start, don't have a clear picture of what I am to do. He is no help, really. And I don't have much time, since I do all the shopping, cooking, laundry, ironing, letter-writing, cleaning, phone answering, driving.
We went to San Raphael for lunch after a drive through Tiburon. Terry had mentioned the drive as being beautiful and when we arrived in Tiburon, U.G. said to take such and such a road. I asked if it was the one that went along the coast, and he said vaguely, "It has some trees..." It turned out it was the road Terry had talked about, absolutely beautiful. U.G said he had wanted me to be surprised.
U.G., Moorty and I drove up Mt. Tam to see the sunset. U.G. wouldn't get out of the car. He commented that the light reflecting on the flapping plastic on the top of a garbage can was attracting his eyes, was what he was looking at, not the sweeping vista of the ocean and mountains.
When we returned home, Terry came over for dinner and U.G. began to blast me. Just as I seemed to have figured things out, to be feeling somewhat secure about things, this happens. It has happened so many times before, and I feel sure he will be sweet and gentle this morning when I go over there.
I'm a little resentful of U.G.’s endless tales about Valentine and how exceptional she was—what was so exceptional I want to know? That she adopted U.G. after a month? So what? Desperate people do this all the time, marrying people, doing all kinds of things.
I don't even feel like writing this journal. Too glum and depressed. Maybe I'm just sick.
Yes, that was it. I was deeply affected by U.G.'s blast, and didn't even realize it until I got over to his place yesterday. I was numb and half-dead, like a zombie. Though I was completely out of it, I still wanted to get to him as soon as possible.
When I arrived, he quietly said he was going to take his bath—he waits until I come, so he can let me in. I began categorizing the videos the way he wanted it done, without comment or questioning, remembering Ed's words, years ago, "Always do what the guru wants, even if it seems unreasonable."
A bit later I called to him in his room, wanting advice about categories. He said, "I can't talk about it now," in a voice that seemed distant, remote, heavy. Only later did I realize that he was in deep samadhi, gone. He was sinking all day, he said, feeling the pull to go.
Moorty came over a bit later and he and I talked a little about the night before. He said it was my resistance that caused the outburst. If I can just let it happen, let it go through me like a purifying storm, a squall, it will be better. U.G. said he did nothing, I provided the bullets and my resistance was ducking. Arguing, trying to understand, defend, rationalize.
It's mysterious, incomprehensible, beautiful. Now that it is over, I find myself amazed and touched, once again, at how his compassion causes him to hurt—wound, destroy, terrorize—that which he loves, in his way—us.
I felt increasingly peaceful and at one with him the rest of the day as the numbness began to wear off. I see that whether you let it wash through you, or resist, feel gratitude or anger and pain, it is all the same, all all right. I could never explain this to anyone who didn't already understand.
I trimmed the rest of U.G.'s hair this morning, before he had his bath. He is being nice again, telling me when people compliment my videos, or me. Most likely I am being built up for another session on the hot seat. But I can take it. I feel so close to him, yet so removed at the same time. Curious. Can't leave him for long. This life is strange and mysterious.
I bumped myself on the door again, and again U.G. winced. I asked him if it hurt him, and yes, he said, it did. Incredible.
Easter. Who cares? I am still feeling a little sick, fatigued, with a painful cold sore and heaviness in my chest. I have been recording all day, and made lunch for Bob and Paul, Terry, Krim and U.G. Later U.G. and I drove to Corte Madera to Thrifty's for tapes. He has been sleeping ever since, and I have rested and copied tapes. This evening a bunch of Andrew's followers are coming to see U.G. and tomorrow I pick up my mother at the airport.
Yesterday Krim, U.G., Paul Lynn and I went malling, and found a sweater U.G. liked on sale, Italian. Today U.G. gave Krim his jacket. He said Krim paid $39 for the sweater and got a $100 jacket in return. A good deal! I was high on the shopping excursion, full of U.G.'s energy, free and happy, though still a little sick.
Later Jerry came by to see U.G., to ask him his advice about whether he should go back into psychotherapy as a career, as a way to make money. U.G. seemed a bit disinterested in giving personal advice, though he said it is hard to do something like that without believing in it one hundred percent. (After all my years of failed therapy, I don't believe in it at all.)
Not sleeping much. Stayed awake last night for hours, even though I was exhausted. And woke at 4:30 this morning, trying to get back to sleep but too much energy. Instead I got up, did some laundry, and came over to U.G.'s at 6:30 to begin taping.
Something is really changing in me, perhaps my desire to please others, so extreme. I can’t relate easily anymore, am just not interested in getting involved in the psychology of others, or even my own for that matter. Will see what it is like to be with my mother. She hasn't a clue what is going on with me, but seems accepting and open. But of course as U.G. says, "There is no such thing as an open mind."
We are getting to the point where we will have to make some decisions about the future, my apartment and so forth. I am curious how it will come out. I feel my fate is with U.G. but he may know otherwise.
Big gap. I have been that busy. Now I often go over to U.G.'s at 6:30 a.m. instead of 8 to have a good start on the taping before the phone starts ringing or we go somewhere. Yesterday he and I went to San Francisco to have our tickets changed to go direct to New York. (We're taking the Red Eye next Wednesday, the 25th.)
In the car en route to San Francisco, U.G. talked about my firmness which would be necessary for me to lead this life with him. I feel as if things are coming to a head with him a bit now, as if we are going to make some decisions. Luna and Leslie have recommended my taking a day off from time to time to lead my life. U.G. helped me to see, which I knew anyway, that I am already and in every moment living my life while I am with him, that there is no other life. That I have chosen this life as my own, to be with him, take care of him, and that constitutes "my life" now in its entirety, whether I go off for walks or shopping on my own or not. There is no separation between his life and my life, his way or my way.
U.G. helped me to see that I would encounter great resistance from others, particularly family, but that the only way I would be able to serve them in the way I choose to, in the appropriate fashion, is to be clear about this choice, to stand firm and be oblivious to criticism, what other people think. Not to explain or defend. I see this as obvious now and it makes things easier.
Last Monday I picked up my mother at the airport and took her to Palo Alto to visit her friend Peg. Today she is taking the train to San Francisco and I'm picking her up there and taking her to San Raphael. There is no tension. I am aware of her age and frailty, but am less guilty and worried, less controlling and opinionated. I can take her as she is, not hang out in the illusion of what I wish she was, how I wish she had been, and so forth.
I saw how horribly damaging the mind can be with its fixed ideas. Peg has cut off her step-granddaughter because she is living unmarried with a man and has had a child. Peg’s ideas about this, her standards are so strict, yet she was an illegitimate child herself, that she has changed her will and is giving all her late husband's money to Brown University. She believes that those standards are her own and are in some way fixed and intractable, morally right.
I feel close to U.G. now, at one with him. I am always ready for a blast, but for the most part things are peaceful. He has decided to take over Terry's apartment in September, pay the rent all year so he can use it when he wants to be here without all the uproar over Terry. Terry will be free to go to Mexico and stay in the Mill Valley apartment when U.G. is not there. Scott will create a little cave/bedroom out of the attic for U.G. (his choice), so someone can stay there with him to look after him—he, she or it as the case may be, as U.G. puts it. I hope that someone will be me.
Scott and Ted came up from Ojai for two days. I had some good talks with Scott about U.G.'s impact on him, both originally in Switzerland and now. He gets physically sick after he has been with him, wonders what the connection is. It started when he first met him in Switzerland twenty years ago.
Picked my mother up in San Francisco yesterday, at the train station, took her on a tour of Mill Valley and lunch with U.G. in The Crow’s Nest. Easy and unpressured, I was threatened neither by her repetitive questions, nor by her attitude. U.G. helped me to see that repeating questions doesn't mean senility, that we all repeat questions all the time. That is all there is, our questions, our thoughts, none of which are our own. He showed me that I should be happy that she has the courageous, independent spirit she does. It is helpful to see this. Perhaps the dependence has been mine, not hers, needing to be needed.
I made lunch for the three of us and we drove her up to the Bennetts in San Raphael. I asked U.G. if he wanted to drive up with us, for exercise, and he hesitated, and then at my urging, decided to come along. My mother commented to me that she hadn't noticed my grey hair, that it seemed to have come all at once. I said it was either because of having been with U.G., or else she is suddenly seeing me for the first time in years, with her cataracts removed, her new eyes!
In the afternoon Eddie Oliver brought an ex-Muktananda disciple to interview U.G. for a book on leadership. At the end of the interview, the man was no longer sure he was going to write the book. Later in the evening, Terry came by and he, U.G. and I had a quiet dinner and watched "Casablanca" on television.
Early yesterday morning I went over to U.G.'s and he told me abruptly that things were not going to work between us, that he probably wouldn't stay very long in New York, probably wouldn't come at all. He has known for quite a while, he said, that I am just not free, I am answerable to and influenced by too many other people. I don't have the courage it takes to lead this life. I get too dragged down into conflict, "wanting two things," and it hampers his freedom, drags him down with me.
I was devastated, not expecting this. If anything, I had been feeling more secure, lulled into the idea that things were going to work out between us, that somehow, miraculously, I would be free from the demands of others, have the fortitude to just announce this is my life, my choice, to whoever asked. He had told me over and over again that everyone thinks I'm just perfect for him, his Mary Zimbalist. He has mentioned several times that Moorty said I was definitely not interested in power and this only causes me to wonder if I really am and that's why he keeps mentioning it.
I felt as if my heart was breaking, and that familiar "slugged in the stomach" sensation as I went out to mail books and photocopy clippings. I was choked with tears, but didn't cry. He had given me courage, taking my hand. I survived, and we went on. He asked me if I had nail clippers, which I did, and he let me clip his little toenail which had grown too long and was poking holes in his socks. I felt that was a gift, a transmission of courage.
He is basically right. I tend to translate everything that happens between us into teaching, and it is this activity of mine that causes the problem. If he is teaching, it means there is something to be taught, something to change—and that very activity is what is causing my bondage. He says over and over, "There is nothing there to be changed." What do you want? he asks over and over again. Why do you want to be with me? I just cannot satisfactorily answer the question. I am already with him. I am already leading my life, with him. So what is the problem?
He is taking over Terry's apartment as a gesture of independence from others and from me. He will not be dependent on me for New York, or Terry for here. Only in this way can the bird fly free. Over and over he emphasizes how difficult, treacherous this life is with him, the razor's edge, the cutting line. This I know. And forget. And know again.
Robert and I drove behind U.G. and Paul up to the hill overlooking San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge to take videos. Robert helped me a lot by talking about U.G.'s methods of teaching, that he is only interested in breaking through the armor that keeps us from being ourselves. That we must become vulnerable to our armor, cut through it.
When I reached The Crow’s Nest, U.G. was 'falling', but came out to look at videos with me, of what I had taken in the morning. Terry came by and then Ariella and Nick, and another Nick, and some TM teacher. The other Nick took U.G. on, a brave thing to do, as well as arrogant, infantile. He was silenced easily, quickly and seemed like a happy idiot afterwards.
U.G. says if I can answer the question for myself, "Why am I with him?" the whole thing will go, will be over. It’s a koan and I can't crack it. Does he mean that I am with him for enlightenment after all, not because I love him, am drawn to him in this mysterious way, and if I were to really see this, admit it, I would see how hopeless it is, and leave him? If this is the truth, I just can't get my mind around it, nor my heart. I feel I don't want anything, just the assurance of his presence. That is one thing I will never have. I have to live with the possibility of this ending in every moment, through his will, or death, or mine.
Evening. U.G. has canceled most of the people due here tonight, no patience with seekers. One person lost the address and called asking for it and was told (by U.G. through me) not to come. He is really through with seekers, he says. Nothing to give, nothing to get.
U.G. is encouraging Terry to set up a business reading palms because he has a real talent. I taped him reading U.G.'s palm this morning.
It was U.G. who did the finishing touches, he did everything in fact. I was gone for four hours, and in that time he did his packing, and made sambar and two kinds of rice flakes, enough to feed everyone. Dinner was 'The Last Supper', and oddly enough, the numbers just kept mounting, people showing up quite spontaneously, until there were thirteen. Douglas and Olivia, Jerry and Leslie, Paul and Bonnie, Paul and Robert, Terry, Tom, Krim. Even little Paul was here briefly, listening to Tom's car stereo system.
Dinner was delicious—strong, good vibes. After everyone left, Tom, Leslie and I and Douglas, Olivia and U.G. were left. Douglas has known U.G. nearly twenty-five years, as he always likes to remind everyone in his abrasive way.
But last night he was far from abrasive. U.G. began quoting the Upanishads in Sanskrit: "Only by renouncing the search for enlightenment itself can you touch immortality." The room was so thick with 'it' here you could cut it. Douglas had tears in his eyes, murmuring "astonishing" quietly to himself. I could hardly breathe.
U.G. switched from jovial, joking, in a flash to the voice of fire itself, lying back there on his cot, eyes burning, voice quiet as the sands of time.
Who is this man?
When we arrived in Mill Valley two days ago, U.G. and I went right to Terry's house. Terry had decided he was through with U.G., that his house was not available to him any longer. Hence Robert had rented U.G. a beautiful place in Sausalito.
U.G. turned everything around by telephoning Terry on his arrival in California and asking him how he could turn out his old friend, not make his house available to him. He knew Terry had been hurt last fall. Terry immediately did an about-face, said of course U.G. could have his apartment. So when we arrived, it was decided that U.G. would stay at Terry's, I would stay at Leslie and Jerry's, and Terry would stay at the rented pad in Sausalito. "No power in the world," said U.G., "could keep me from staying in the Crow's Nest."
~ ~
U.G. was harsh and I am still confused by it two days later. And again last night, after being mellow all day long, he turned on me viciously when Jerry was there with us at The Crow’s Nest, about the videos.
Maybe this just happens with U.G., an expression of energy, or maybe he is teaching me something, I don't know. I can do a million things for him, and still it is all wrong when he is in a mood like that.
Last night I had dreams of suicide once again and woke distressed. Feeling a tremendous urgency to see U.G., I went over early to see him and tried to get to the root of my confusion. At the realization that my attachment to him is the source of my suffering I began to cry, much as I tried not to. My defenses are so high, my self-protective mechanism so in place that it is usually difficult to know what I feel. But this time I knew.
U.G. motioned me over next to him on the couch, took my hand and said he was the best friend I had, that he would never hurt me, that there is some wall in me that keeps me from understanding what he is saying to me. That he is trying to understand what it is. He said this only relates to practical matters, not to sadhana, spiritual life. He said I was as close to him as it was possible to be right now, and that that closeness also implied the ultimate distance.
~ ~
He wants the documentary to be my documentary, my story of a year with U.G. So I can't just dump the whole thing on someone else.
U.G. seems a little tired. He mentioned a hernia or something in his side. He said if it persists he will consult Paul Lynn.
Tonight it is full moon in Leo. I am full and happy with U.G., just as Jerry suggested I would be. He is incredibly powerful, yet gentle, funny yet profound. I feel the deepest love for him, and a oneness I can't describe. No fear, no separation, no distance—yet all the distance that my respect and adoration can touch...a curious paradox. So close there is the greatest distance.
~ ~
When we arrived home U.G. said he wanted to go for a haircut. I offered to do it, though I know nothing about haircutting. He took me up on it and it was an amazing scene, out on the deck, U.G. sitting on a chair with newspapers underneath, completely trusting and detached. Only asking me not to cut his ears. For me it was a gift, for him, he said, he saved $8, poor Indian. I was able to touch him, gently, cut and comb his hair, handle it. I was not afraid of messing it up, just happy to be so close to him.
Afterwards he took a shower, washed his hair and dried it. He says the cut ends cry after they have been cut. The haircut looked fairly good, though there were a few uneven tufts of hair. He wouldn't let me even them out.
~ ~
Full moon kept me up for the second night in a row. Absolutely wired, burning up with energy. Yesterday morning U.G., Larry, Terry and I went to San Francisco to Bombay Bazaar to drop off tapes to be transferred to PAL. I bought a broom and dustpan, some Crazy Glue for my button. I named myself, inadvertently, 'Crazy Glue', comparing myself to Larry who was dubbed 'Scotch Tape' by U.G. because he sticks so close. U.G. says 'Crazy Glue' will stick as a name.
April 11
Woke up with a fierce sore throat this morning, and a marginal fever. I'm probably just tired out and my body needs a rest. I will go over to U.G.'s on schedule anyway, unless I feel worse.
Had a talk with U.G. and Moorty in the late afternoon about my stance with U.G., how to have things work between us. They said I should take no responsibility and in that is freedom, to leave everything to U.G. I know there is a fine line to walk with him between familiarity and service, neither one being appropriate. I told Moorty I knew it when I was in the right place, when I was just doing things for him in a natural, loving and simple way, not analyzing or questioning.
I hit my elbow on the wall getting onto the couch from where I was sitting on the floor. U.G. winced, and as I held my arm I could see pain in his eyes. I asked him about it and he said it is natural for him to feel what I feel as I am with him all the time. Once Valentine fell down on the beach, and U.G. developed bruises where she fell. Another time a mother was beating a child on a coffee plantation in India, and U.G. had welts on his body where the child had been struck. He says it is the natural state not to have any separation between feelings.
Roxi called and we talked about his book. My negatives sent by my daughter appear to be lost. I am trying to feel that nothing is lost to mankind, as U.G. does, to feel there is nothing to preserve. But a sense of irritation comes up that they are missing. I suppose it is just something to note and to make other arrangements. My children are the way they are because of the way they were brought up by me. If I could really be free of remorse and attachment, life would be so grand.
Terry is being worked over by U.G. and the others. It will be interesting to see how it comes out in the end, if he appears to be lighter, gentler, less of a raving socialist.
April 13
Though I feel exhausted and went to bed late, I woke with a jolt this morning at four, as if a current was going through me. Then, instead of getting up, for the first time I lay in bed and experienced doubt and resentment. I feel somewhat sick, the sore throat has turned to a cold or flu (though I took homeopathic remedies prescribed by Moorty yesterday afternoon), and I am worn out.
U.G. lashed into me last night, in the most violent way, as usual about the documentary, and my stubborn refusal to do the transferring his way. It is literally impossible to understand what he wants. If I begin to do it one way, he demands another, or distracts me with a request to show a piece of footage to someone, thus causing me to lose the numbering system. If I do it another way, he reverts to the first.
In the end he wouldn't even let me talk, telling me to be quiet each time I tried to say something. Even Moorty didn't seem to be able to get a clear picture from U.G. about the editing. He seemed to be saying it was my documentary, my tale of around-the-world with U.G. Yet he says the footage is useless, that I have too much.
I am overwhelmed by it, don't know where to start, don't have a clear picture of what I am to do. He is no help, really. And I don't have much time, since I do all the shopping, cooking, laundry, ironing, letter-writing, cleaning, phone answering, driving.
We went to San Raphael for lunch after a drive through Tiburon. Terry had mentioned the drive as being beautiful and when we arrived in Tiburon, U.G. said to take such and such a road. I asked if it was the one that went along the coast, and he said vaguely, "It has some trees..." It turned out it was the road Terry had talked about, absolutely beautiful. U.G said he had wanted me to be surprised.
U.G., Moorty and I drove up Mt. Tam to see the sunset. U.G. wouldn't get out of the car. He commented that the light reflecting on the flapping plastic on the top of a garbage can was attracting his eyes, was what he was looking at, not the sweeping vista of the ocean and mountains.
When we returned home, Terry came over for dinner and U.G. began to blast me. Just as I seemed to have figured things out, to be feeling somewhat secure about things, this happens. It has happened so many times before, and I feel sure he will be sweet and gentle this morning when I go over there.
I'm a little resentful of U.G.’s endless tales about Valentine and how exceptional she was—what was so exceptional I want to know? That she adopted U.G. after a month? So what? Desperate people do this all the time, marrying people, doing all kinds of things.
I don't even feel like writing this journal. Too glum and depressed. Maybe I'm just sick.
April 14
Yes, that was it. I was deeply affected by U.G.'s blast, and didn't even realize it until I got over to his place yesterday. I was numb and half-dead, like a zombie. Though I was completely out of it, I still wanted to get to him as soon as possible.
When I arrived, he quietly said he was going to take his bath—he waits until I come, so he can let me in. I began categorizing the videos the way he wanted it done, without comment or questioning, remembering Ed's words, years ago, "Always do what the guru wants, even if it seems unreasonable."
A bit later I called to him in his room, wanting advice about categories. He said, "I can't talk about it now," in a voice that seemed distant, remote, heavy. Only later did I realize that he was in deep samadhi, gone. He was sinking all day, he said, feeling the pull to go.
Moorty came over a bit later and he and I talked a little about the night before. He said it was my resistance that caused the outburst. If I can just let it happen, let it go through me like a purifying storm, a squall, it will be better. U.G. said he did nothing, I provided the bullets and my resistance was ducking. Arguing, trying to understand, defend, rationalize.
It's mysterious, incomprehensible, beautiful. Now that it is over, I find myself amazed and touched, once again, at how his compassion causes him to hurt—wound, destroy, terrorize—that which he loves, in his way—us.
I felt increasingly peaceful and at one with him the rest of the day as the numbness began to wear off. I see that whether you let it wash through you, or resist, feel gratitude or anger and pain, it is all the same, all all right. I could never explain this to anyone who didn't already understand.
I trimmed the rest of U.G.'s hair this morning, before he had his bath. He is being nice again, telling me when people compliment my videos, or me. Most likely I am being built up for another session on the hot seat. But I can take it. I feel so close to him, yet so removed at the same time. Curious. Can't leave him for long. This life is strange and mysterious.
I bumped myself on the door again, and again U.G. winced. I asked him if it hurt him, and yes, he said, it did. Incredible.
April 15
Easter. Who cares? I am still feeling a little sick, fatigued, with a painful cold sore and heaviness in my chest. I have been recording all day, and made lunch for Bob and Paul, Terry, Krim and U.G. Later U.G. and I drove to Corte Madera to Thrifty's for tapes. He has been sleeping ever since, and I have rested and copied tapes. This evening a bunch of Andrew's followers are coming to see U.G. and tomorrow I pick up my mother at the airport.
Yesterday Krim, U.G., Paul Lynn and I went malling, and found a sweater U.G. liked on sale, Italian. Today U.G. gave Krim his jacket. He said Krim paid $39 for the sweater and got a $100 jacket in return. A good deal! I was high on the shopping excursion, full of U.G.'s energy, free and happy, though still a little sick.
Later Jerry came by to see U.G., to ask him his advice about whether he should go back into psychotherapy as a career, as a way to make money. U.G. seemed a bit disinterested in giving personal advice, though he said it is hard to do something like that without believing in it one hundred percent. (After all my years of failed therapy, I don't believe in it at all.)
April 16
Not sleeping much. Stayed awake last night for hours, even though I was exhausted. And woke at 4:30 this morning, trying to get back to sleep but too much energy. Instead I got up, did some laundry, and came over to U.G.'s at 6:30 to begin taping.
Something is really changing in me, perhaps my desire to please others, so extreme. I can’t relate easily anymore, am just not interested in getting involved in the psychology of others, or even my own for that matter. Will see what it is like to be with my mother. She hasn't a clue what is going on with me, but seems accepting and open. But of course as U.G. says, "There is no such thing as an open mind."
We are getting to the point where we will have to make some decisions about the future, my apartment and so forth. I am curious how it will come out. I feel my fate is with U.G. but he may know otherwise.
April 19
Big gap. I have been that busy. Now I often go over to U.G.'s at 6:30 a.m. instead of 8 to have a good start on the taping before the phone starts ringing or we go somewhere. Yesterday he and I went to San Francisco to have our tickets changed to go direct to New York. (We're taking the Red Eye next Wednesday, the 25th.)
In the car en route to San Francisco, U.G. talked about my firmness which would be necessary for me to lead this life with him. I feel as if things are coming to a head with him a bit now, as if we are going to make some decisions. Luna and Leslie have recommended my taking a day off from time to time to lead my life. U.G. helped me to see, which I knew anyway, that I am already and in every moment living my life while I am with him, that there is no other life. That I have chosen this life as my own, to be with him, take care of him, and that constitutes "my life" now in its entirety, whether I go off for walks or shopping on my own or not. There is no separation between his life and my life, his way or my way.
U.G. helped me to see that I would encounter great resistance from others, particularly family, but that the only way I would be able to serve them in the way I choose to, in the appropriate fashion, is to be clear about this choice, to stand firm and be oblivious to criticism, what other people think. Not to explain or defend. I see this as obvious now and it makes things easier.
Last Monday I picked up my mother at the airport and took her to Palo Alto to visit her friend Peg. Today she is taking the train to San Francisco and I'm picking her up there and taking her to San Raphael. There is no tension. I am aware of her age and frailty, but am less guilty and worried, less controlling and opinionated. I can take her as she is, not hang out in the illusion of what I wish she was, how I wish she had been, and so forth.
I saw how horribly damaging the mind can be with its fixed ideas. Peg has cut off her step-granddaughter because she is living unmarried with a man and has had a child. Peg’s ideas about this, her standards are so strict, yet she was an illegitimate child herself, that she has changed her will and is giving all her late husband's money to Brown University. She believes that those standards are her own and are in some way fixed and intractable, morally right.
I feel close to U.G. now, at one with him. I am always ready for a blast, but for the most part things are peaceful. He has decided to take over Terry's apartment in September, pay the rent all year so he can use it when he wants to be here without all the uproar over Terry. Terry will be free to go to Mexico and stay in the Mill Valley apartment when U.G. is not there. Scott will create a little cave/bedroom out of the attic for U.G. (his choice), so someone can stay there with him to look after him—he, she or it as the case may be, as U.G. puts it. I hope that someone will be me.
Scott and Ted came up from Ojai for two days. I had some good talks with Scott about U.G.'s impact on him, both originally in Switzerland and now. He gets physically sick after he has been with him, wonders what the connection is. It started when he first met him in Switzerland twenty years ago.
April 20
Picked my mother up in San Francisco yesterday, at the train station, took her on a tour of Mill Valley and lunch with U.G. in The Crow’s Nest. Easy and unpressured, I was threatened neither by her repetitive questions, nor by her attitude. U.G. helped me to see that repeating questions doesn't mean senility, that we all repeat questions all the time. That is all there is, our questions, our thoughts, none of which are our own. He showed me that I should be happy that she has the courageous, independent spirit she does. It is helpful to see this. Perhaps the dependence has been mine, not hers, needing to be needed.
I made lunch for the three of us and we drove her up to the Bennetts in San Raphael. I asked U.G. if he wanted to drive up with us, for exercise, and he hesitated, and then at my urging, decided to come along. My mother commented to me that she hadn't noticed my grey hair, that it seemed to have come all at once. I said it was either because of having been with U.G., or else she is suddenly seeing me for the first time in years, with her cataracts removed, her new eyes!
In the afternoon Eddie Oliver brought an ex-Muktananda disciple to interview U.G. for a book on leadership. At the end of the interview, the man was no longer sure he was going to write the book. Later in the evening, Terry came by and he, U.G. and I had a quiet dinner and watched "Casablanca" on television.
April 21
Early yesterday morning I went over to U.G.'s and he told me abruptly that things were not going to work between us, that he probably wouldn't stay very long in New York, probably wouldn't come at all. He has known for quite a while, he said, that I am just not free, I am answerable to and influenced by too many other people. I don't have the courage it takes to lead this life. I get too dragged down into conflict, "wanting two things," and it hampers his freedom, drags him down with me.
I was devastated, not expecting this. If anything, I had been feeling more secure, lulled into the idea that things were going to work out between us, that somehow, miraculously, I would be free from the demands of others, have the fortitude to just announce this is my life, my choice, to whoever asked. He had told me over and over again that everyone thinks I'm just perfect for him, his Mary Zimbalist. He has mentioned several times that Moorty said I was definitely not interested in power and this only causes me to wonder if I really am and that's why he keeps mentioning it.
I felt as if my heart was breaking, and that familiar "slugged in the stomach" sensation as I went out to mail books and photocopy clippings. I was choked with tears, but didn't cry. He had given me courage, taking my hand. I survived, and we went on. He asked me if I had nail clippers, which I did, and he let me clip his little toenail which had grown too long and was poking holes in his socks. I felt that was a gift, a transmission of courage.
He is basically right. I tend to translate everything that happens between us into teaching, and it is this activity of mine that causes the problem. If he is teaching, it means there is something to be taught, something to change—and that very activity is what is causing my bondage. He says over and over, "There is nothing there to be changed." What do you want? he asks over and over again. Why do you want to be with me? I just cannot satisfactorily answer the question. I am already with him. I am already leading my life, with him. So what is the problem?
He is taking over Terry's apartment as a gesture of independence from others and from me. He will not be dependent on me for New York, or Terry for here. Only in this way can the bird fly free. Over and over he emphasizes how difficult, treacherous this life is with him, the razor's edge, the cutting line. This I know. And forget. And know again.
Robert and I drove behind U.G. and Paul up to the hill overlooking San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge to take videos. Robert helped me a lot by talking about U.G.'s methods of teaching, that he is only interested in breaking through the armor that keeps us from being ourselves. That we must become vulnerable to our armor, cut through it.
When I reached The Crow’s Nest, U.G. was 'falling', but came out to look at videos with me, of what I had taken in the morning. Terry came by and then Ariella and Nick, and another Nick, and some TM teacher. The other Nick took U.G. on, a brave thing to do, as well as arrogant, infantile. He was silenced easily, quickly and seemed like a happy idiot afterwards.
U.G. says if I can answer the question for myself, "Why am I with him?" the whole thing will go, will be over. It’s a koan and I can't crack it. Does he mean that I am with him for enlightenment after all, not because I love him, am drawn to him in this mysterious way, and if I were to really see this, admit it, I would see how hopeless it is, and leave him? If this is the truth, I just can't get my mind around it, nor my heart. I feel I don't want anything, just the assurance of his presence. That is one thing I will never have. I have to live with the possibility of this ending in every moment, through his will, or death, or mine.
Evening. U.G. has canceled most of the people due here tonight, no patience with seekers. One person lost the address and called asking for it and was told (by U.G. through me) not to come. He is really through with seekers, he says. Nothing to give, nothing to get.
U.G. is encouraging Terry to set up a business reading palms because he has a real talent. I taped him reading U.G.'s palm this morning.
April 24
It was U.G. who did the finishing touches, he did everything in fact. I was gone for four hours, and in that time he did his packing, and made sambar and two kinds of rice flakes, enough to feed everyone. Dinner was 'The Last Supper', and oddly enough, the numbers just kept mounting, people showing up quite spontaneously, until there were thirteen. Douglas and Olivia, Jerry and Leslie, Paul and Bonnie, Paul and Robert, Terry, Tom, Krim. Even little Paul was here briefly, listening to Tom's car stereo system.
Dinner was delicious—strong, good vibes. After everyone left, Tom, Leslie and I and Douglas, Olivia and U.G. were left. Douglas has known U.G. nearly twenty-five years, as he always likes to remind everyone in his abrasive way.
But last night he was far from abrasive. U.G. began quoting the Upanishads in Sanskrit: "Only by renouncing the search for enlightenment itself can you touch immortality." The room was so thick with 'it' here you could cut it. Douglas had tears in his eyes, murmuring "astonishing" quietly to himself. I could hardly breathe.
U.G. switched from jovial, joking, in a flash to the voice of fire itself, lying back there on his cot, eyes burning, voice quiet as the sands of time.
Who is this man?
