Dedication:
As we finished the pranayama I looked up and saw my friend Gary Damsky, freshly arrived from Telluride, Colorado, looking at me with great concern.
"Timji. Did you get a call from Mysore this morning?"
"No", I said, "what's up?"
"Guruji has passed....."
"When?"
"A few hours ago."
I was speechless and my body was temporarily numbed. Wandering outside toward the restroom I was suddenly engulfed by a wave of emotion. Yoga students were beginning to arrive and I struggled to compose myself. As I greeted the arriving students they noticed the tears in my eyes and looked at me curiously.
"Guruji passed away this morning," I explained, stifling a sob.
Not that Guruji's death was unexpected. He had been ill for the last couple of years and in and out of the hospital. Yet he kept bouncing back and it seemed he might live on to 100. I had made plans to visit Guruji for his 94th birthday in July-but it was not to be.
Fortunately for me, my 7am class was Mysore style-self paced, independent practice, and I just had to give a few adjustments. I knew Guruji would have wanted me to persevere with the teaching and support the students in their practice. He taught with complete dedication for 70 years. And now, the seemingly indestructible "Lion of Mysore" was gone. Waves of grief kept washing over me as I tried to stay focused on the students in the class.
After the Mysore class I attempted to do my own practice. Guruji had always taught us that no matter what we were going through, our yoga practice would always help. I could hear his voice inside my head saying, "Do your practice and all is coming". The tears kept coming and my nose was getting clogged every time I did a downward dog. I sniffled through an hour of practice then went home to see my wife, Carol.
Carol had gotten the news via an e-mail from our friend Andrew in Mysore. There had also been phone calls from my friends Eddie and Nicki, and Johnny Smith. They were all on their way to Mysore and wanted to know if I was planning on going as well. When I spoke to my friends, they all encouraged me to come. I was scheduled to teach a workshop in Miami Beach the following weekend. What should I do? I was so overwhelmed with grief that I couldn't think.
Meanwhile, the day unfolded with an avalanche of phone calls and e-mails. There were messages from the India correspondent of the New York Times, Yoga Journal, and L.A.Yoga Magazine, all preparing obituaries of Pattabhi Jois and wanting to do some fact checking. I didn't feel like talking to any one-I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
Serendipitously, I had an appointment that day to see a therapist. My wife and I had been going through a rough stretch in our marriage and had seen Dr. Neborsky for couples therapy. After one session he suggested that I see him privately to work on some "emotional blocks" that were negatively impacting our marriage. I had been seeing him once a week for four months and slowly penetrating the labyrinth of my unconscious and the deep patterns of childhood based on my relationships with my mother and father. It was the hardest work I had ever done.
In our previous session we had talked about unresolved feelings I had concerning my father. Dr. Neborsky encouraged me to write my father a letter as homework for our next session-sharing my unexpressed feelings. I had begun composing the letter in my head as I walked on the beach a few days before, with the intention to put it I writing just before the session. With the unexpected events of the morning I hadn't gotten around to it. Carol had called Dr. Neborsky earlier to let him know of Guruji's passing. He greeted me with his condolences.
We began, as usual, with Dr. Neborsky asking me how I was feeling. Typically, there was some initial anxiety for me to get through as I sat there, feeling exposed under his penetrating gaze. Growing up in a family where stoicism was the norm and one was never encouraged to talk about one's feelings, this was still challenging for me. Beneath my anxiety loomed profound sadness.
When I began exploring my feelings about my father the previous week, I was reminded of a book I had read right around my 18 years earlier. For my 40th birthday I received two copies of the book "Iron John-A Book About Men", by Robert Bly. I figured that was a of sign, so I read the book twice. Robert Bly spoke at length of the initiation process boys must go through to become men, and how that process was sadly lacking in the modern world. As a result, he said, what we have are a lot of adult "boys". The book talked about the erosion of the relationship between fathers and sons, of how fathers weren't doing their job particularly well to help their sons enter the world of manhood with a proper sense of maturity and empowerment. It was a book that spoke strongly to me then, and again in the past week. One of the themes the book explored was that since there was no formal initiation process for young men to go through in the modern western world, if it was to happen at all, it was something that had to be sought in another way.
Meeting Guruji and embracing him as my mentor and spiritual guide and making numerous pilgrimages to India was my attempt to work out this initiation process. A defining moment in our relationship had occurred five years earlier when Guruji had been scheduled to teach with T.K.V. Desikachar at an event in San Francisco to celebrate the teachings of the great yogi Krishnamacharya-Guruji's teacher and Desikachar's father. Two weeks prior to the event Guruji's son-in-law, Rangaswamy, had passed away suddenly from a heart attack and Guruji, then in New York, had to return to India. I received a phone call from Kausthub Desikachar, Krishnamacharya's grandson and organizer of the event, explaining his dilemma. There were 250 students registered to attend this event and he didn't want to have to cancel it due to Guruji's absence. He had called Guruji and asked him if there was some one he could recommend to fill in for him. Guruji had given Kausthub my name.
Under the circumstances I didn't feel that I could refuse this honor, even though I was filled with a profound sense of inadequacy to fulfill this role. I agreed to do it and then had two weeks to feel anxious about it. On the first morning of the festival, Kausthub took me to meet his father Desikachar. Desikachar sensed my anxiety and asked if I'd like to speak to Guruji. I told him that would be nice. He dialed the number and spoke to Guruji for a few minutes in Kannada then handed the phone to me.
"Hello Guruji, this is Tim."
"Yes, hello Teem-what news?"
"Well, I'm here in San Francisco filling in for you at the Krishnamacharya tribute. Is there any thing you'd like me to say on your behalf?"
"Ashtanga Yoga method you know very well-you teach, no problem. When you coming Mysore?"
"I'll come soon Guruji. Thank you. Goodbye."
I handed the phone back to Desikachar.
Dr. Neborsky listened patiently as I shared this story with him. The gist of if for me was that within the space of fifteen words Guruji had both given me a vote of confidence and told me that he loved me. These were the two great deficiencies in my relationship with my father. Although I knew he loved me, he had never openly expressed that. In addition to this I had never felt any sense of empowerment by him or any acknowledgement of my accomplishments as a man.
Dr. Neborsky granted that I had pretty successfully worked out my initiation process with Guruji, but that I still had some unresolved feelings about my father. He encouraged me to dictate a letter to him, which I did.
It was a very emotional and productive session for me. I felt much clearer about every thing and could start thinking about the next step. I told Dr. Neborsky that I was most likely headed for India and wouldn't be able to see him the following week. He encouraged me to call when I got back to schedule my next appointment.
As I drove home I began to formulate a plan of action. I definitely wanted to go to India to see Guruji's family and attend the memorial service. The question was how soon I could leave and how long I would stay......
At five thirty that evening I had another yoga class to teach-my weekly Introduction to Ashtanga Yoga class. After my therapy session I was feeling a little more integrated, but still very emotional. As I sat there in front of 30 students I struggled to get a grip on myself. A couple of shuddering sobs engulfed me and I felt like running out of the room. I took a deep breath and said, "We received some sad news this morning. Our beloved Guruji, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, passed away today." With that out of the way I was able to focus on teaching the class and kept my emotions reined in.
After the class our studio manager, Amy, said, "People are asking if we are going to have some sort of memorial service for Guruji." I knew that this was necessary, yet still felt too raw to preside over such an event. "How about Wednesday evening at 7:30", I said.
"Sounds good," Amy responded, "I'll send out an announcement."
Later that evening I received a phone call from my old friend David Swensen. David had just spoken to Guruji's family and said they were planning to have some kind of public memorial for Guruji in about 12 days. He and his wife Shelley were planning on leaving for India in a week or so. I thanked David for passing on this important information and told him I'd see him and Shelley in Mysore.
The next day I began to make preparations for my trip. As it turned out, it would be possible to fulfill my professional obligation to teach in Miami over the weekend and then leave from there to go on to Mysore. As I checked the internet for flight itineraries to India I thought about how much easier this whole process had gotten since I made my first trip there in 1982. Within 10 minutes I had an e-ticket to India, and in another 10 minutes I had a reservation at the Metropole Hotel in Mysore.
The next day I awoke feeling much clearer about everything-happy that I was going to India to honor my Guru, knowing that many of my oldest and dearest friends would be there with me. The evening memorial service was scheduled immediately after my 5:30 first series class. That class typically had about 20 students. On this particular Wednesday there were 45 students, many who would stay for the memorial. While teaching the class I felt like I was channeling Guruji-feeling his great sense of enthusiasm and joy for teaching. For him it had always been, the bigger the class, the better.
We finished the class at 7 which allowed some time for the airing out of the space that had held 45 sweating bodies. The purifying fire of "Tapas" had left all the windows steamy and dripping. I turned on the AC and propped open the doors to allow a little fresh air to circulate. Lots of people came-current students, former students, people I hadn't seen in years. These were all people whose lives had been touched by Guruji in some way. Most of them brought flowers and soon there was a forest of flowers surrounding Guruji's picture.
I began the evening by telling the story of meeting Guruji in Encinitas in 1978 and him trying to teach us a famous Sanskrit chant from the great yogi Adi Shankaracharya called the "Guru Ashtakam"-eight verses in praise of the Guru. This chant says in essence that one may have attained all worldly desires, but without the Grace of the Guru, what is any of it worth? All I remember is the refrain which said, "Tata kim, tata kim?", which Guruji translated as,"what use, what use?" I shared my first experience of the Guru's Grace: For a couple of weeks I had been practicing with Guruji at the old church in Encinitas and watching after class as some of the older students paid their respects to Guruji in the traditional way by touching his feet. Initially I was a bit put off by this, but one day I was feeling particularly open and grateful so I approached Guruji shyly to pay my respects. As I touched his feet I was hit by a tidal wave of emotion and found myself drenched in tears as I knelt before Guruji. Guruji smiled at me lovingly and I knew at that moment that he was my teacher.
The evening unfolded spontaneously and effortlessly. I read a passage from the Bhagavad Gita, Guruji's favorite spiritual text-"-Before birth, beings are unmanifest, between birth and death, manifest; at death, unmanifest again. What cause for grief in all of this?" And, indeed, for the next two hours there was no grief. I told stories, we sang bhajans (devotional songs), and we basked in the profound sense of love and gratitude we all felt for Guruji for the tremendously positive influence he had on our lives. In that glow of mutual love and support we all felt incredibly blessed to be part of the tradition Guruji had taught and embodied for 70 years.
The next day I left for Miami. Coincidentally, the last time I saw Guruji was in Florida over the Memorial Day weekend the previous year. One of Guruji's students, Sonia Jones, had built a yoga studio for him in Islamorada, two hours south of Miami in the Florida Keys After the scheduled grand opening of this facility had to be cancelled in March of 2007, and then again in March of 2008 due to Guruji's ill health, he was finally well enough to make the trip from India to inaugurate the new yoga shala in Islamorada. Guruji was very fond of Sonia and I knew that making this trip to officially bless the new shala important to him
Guruji had recently had a pacemaker installed for his heart and was feeling better than he had in some time. Sonia and her husband supplied their private jet, along with an attending physician to make the journey as safe and comfortable as possible for Guruji. I flew to Miami on a redeye Saturday night, arriving at 5:30am and then whisked off in a limo Sonia had provided to Islamorada. Guruji's class was scheduled to begin at 8am and I arrived at the yoga shalla with 15 minutes to spare. By the time I changed clothes and squeezed myself into a practice spot surrounded by 200 other students, Guruji was just arriving.
I missed the first day of class due to family commitments and asked my friend Kino Mc Gregor if Guruji had actually taught the class the previous day. She said that Guruji led the invocation and then sat down while his daughter, Saraswati taught the class. Guruji was wheeled into the studio in a wheelchair, then got up and somewhat unsteadily navigated the few steps onto the stage. "Samasthiti," he bellowed in his still commanding voice, and we all jumped to attention. Guruji placed his hands together in front of his heart and began the invocation, "Vande gurunam charanara vinde." The class responded, "Vande gurunam charanara vinde."
After the final Om had reverberated through the room, Guruji began counting the vinyasa for the first Suryanamaskara-"Ekam, inhale-dwi, exhale." A thrill went through me as I moved to his comforting, familiar voice and cadence. Guruji guided us through Surynamaskara A and B and was midway through the standing poses when he began to falter a little bit with his vinyasa count. His daughter, Saraswati, quickly jumped in and took over the class as Guruji reluctantly conceded command to her and sat down to watch.
At the conclusion of the class an hour later, I lay down for a much needed savasana after my sleepless night on the redeye. About 60 seconds into my savasana I heard people getting up and jostling about, getting into the darshan line to pay their respects to Guruji. With all the clamor going on around me, I realized that my savasana would have to wait so I reluctantly got up and surveyed the scene. Two hundred students were lined up to touch Guruji's feet. I sighed as I began to make my way to the end of the line. Just then I heard Sonia's voice saying, "Tim, Guruji just saw you. You should get up there." I looked up to see Guruji beaming at me affectionately. Disregarding protocol, I cut in line and went up on stage to touch Guruji's feet. As I knelt at Guruji's feet, an enormous sense of love and gratitude washed over me and tears streamed down my face. I stood up and hugged Guruji and kissed him on the cheek. Guruji smiled at me and said, "Yes, Teem, what news?" Overcome with emotion, all I could say was, "It's good to see you Guruji." Guruji said, "After, you come," indicating the long line of people.
After the long darshan line finally came to and end, I met Guruji and Saraswati in a small office adjacent to the yoga studio. "Why late?" Guruji greeted me as I entered the office, inquiring as to why I had missed the first day of classes. I began to explain that I had certain family obligations to fulfill when Saraswati interrupted, "Guru is first. Family second," she said with authority. "Perhaps you'd like to explain that to my wife," I ventured. Despite my tardiness they were both happy to see me and invited me to their house for lunch.
An hour later I arrived at the lovely, plantation style house Sonia had rented for Guruji. He was sitting on the front porch getting a foot massage. He looked deliriously happy as he greeted me and my friend Jim Corccione, one of the few "old students" present for this event. "Yes, hello," Guruji greeted us, "you go inside and take lunch." Jim and I went inside to find Guruji's granddaughter, Sharmi, along with her husband, Mahesh, their two children, and Eddie Stern and his wife Jocelyn. They greeted us warmly and invited us to join them at the table. They were having a traditional south Indian breakfast of upithu (savory cream of wheat), vada (savory doughnut), with coconut chutney and mango lassi.
After breakfast Jim and I went out on the back porch to sit with Guruji. Jim had some pictures taken in Maui recently during the filming of an "Ashtanga Over Fifty" video with Nancy Gilgoff.. There were photos of some of Guruji's oldest and most beloved students. Each picture elicited a new story and happy memories. Jim and I sat and laughed with Guruji and reminisced about all of our crazy friends in the "Ashtanga Family." I phoned my friend Johnny Smith so Guruji could talk to him. Guruji picked up the phone and said, "Bad man! Why you not coming?" Johnny proceeded to give Guruji some lame excuse to explain his absence which Guruji wasn't buying at all. Still, Johnny was one of his favorites and he was happy to talk to him. Guruji was crystal clear, happy, and at peace. It was wonderful to sit with him and share that profound sense of intimacy and affection.
The following day, Memorial Day, Guruji taught the class again. This time he made it through all of the standing poses before Saraswati took over. The rest of the class was fine, but I missed Guruji's voice and humor. At the end of the class, Guruji was whisked away quickly to board Sonia's private jet and begin the journey back to India. I was unprepared for the sudden departure of Guruji and his family, along with all the yoga students, and felt forlorn and abandoned in Islamorada. It was the last time I would see Guruji.
Now, one year later, I was on my way back to Miami, wishing I could just keep flying east all the way to India to join my friends and Guruji's family. First, however, I needed to fulfill my responsibility to my friends Kino and Tim at the Miami Life Center, and the students registered for the workshop.
It was impossible to teach without alluding to things Guruji had said over the years or relating experiences I'd had with him. Each reference to him brought a surge of emotion and I struggled to maintain an air of professionalism, but found myself welling up often. At the end of the workshop on Sunday, the students were very kind-expressing their condolences and wishing me well on my journey to India the following day. One student said, "Thanks for coming and teaching, even though you were in obvious pain."
My travel itinerary took me from Miami to Atlanta, Atlanta to Dubai, and Dubai to Bangalore. Total time for the journey was a little more than 20 hours, a long time to be in an airplane, but one I was used to, having taken 15 previous trips to India.
Twenty hours later I landed in Bangalore at 4am Indian time. As expected, due to my short transit time in Atlanta, my luggage did not arrive with me so I filled out the missing baggage claim from Air Emirates. The agent told me I could expect my bag to be delivered the next day. The Bangalore airport was brand new-everything clean and seemingly well organized, unlike the dirt and chaos of the old airport I had flown into so many times. It seemed reasonable to expect to receive my bag in Mysore the next day.
It was now 5am on Wednesday Morning. I hired a taxi for the 100 mile journey to Mysore, which often took four hours. There was very little traffic, however, and we made the journey in two and a half hours, pulling into the Metropole Hotel at 7:30am.
Feeling utterly exhausted, but relieved to be there, I checked in, showered, and put on the one clean shirt I had packed in my carry on bag. Too jetlagged to sleep, I hired an auto rickshaw to take me the three kilometers to the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Gokulum.
The watchman greeted me with recognition as I entered the gates of the compound, gesturing for me to go upstairs. After removing my shoes I entered the foyer and looked to my right through the double doors into the yoga shala. A large picture of Guruji sat on a chair surrounded by flowers. A multitude of emotions overwhelmed me as I knelt in front of Guruji's picture-love, loss, gratitude, disbelief, but above all else, a profound sense of sadness. It was very difficult to accept that this man, who had been such an integral part of my life for 31 years was gone. Feeling far too emotional to go upstairs and see the family just yet, I decided to sit for a while with Guruji's picture and reflect on our journey together these past 31 years............
For
Guruji... Thanks for all the dust!
Prologue
It began like any typical Monday morning. Up at 4:30, I made a good strong cup of coffee and sat down for some inspirational reading-Ramesh Menon's wonderful translation of the Ramayana. After a hot bath I was off to the yoga studio for 6am pranayama class. Half a dozen early rising students met me to practice the traditional ashtanga pranayama sequence I had learned from Pattabhi Jois 30 years before. We did about an hour of variations on inhale and exhale retentions, an alternate nostril breathing sequence, the very heating bhashtrika (bellows) breath, and finally the cooling breath followed by the Sanskrit slokas (verses) Guruji had taught me to do at the end of the practice.
As we finished the pranayama I looked up and saw my friend Gary Damsky, freshly arrived from Telluride, Colorado, looking at me with great concern.
"Timji. Did you get a call from Mysore this morning?"
"No", I said, "what's up?"
"Guruji has passed....."
"When?"
"A few hours ago."
I was speechless and my body was temporarily numbed. Wandering outside toward the restroom I was suddenly engulfed by a wave of emotion. Yoga students were beginning to arrive and I struggled to compose myself. As I greeted the arriving students they noticed the tears in my eyes and looked at me curiously.
"Guruji passed away this morning," I explained, stifling a sob.
Not that Guruji's death was unexpected. He had been ill for the last couple of years and in and out of the hospital. Yet he kept bouncing back and it seemed he might live on to 100. I had made plans to visit Guruji for his 94th birthday in July-but it was not to be.
Fortunately for me, my 7am class was Mysore style-self paced, independent practice, and I just had to give a few adjustments. I knew Guruji would have wanted me to persevere with the teaching and support the students in their practice. He taught with complete dedication for 70 years. And now, the seemingly indestructible "Lion of Mysore" was gone. Waves of grief kept washing over me as I tried to stay focused on the students in the class.
After the Mysore class I attempted to do my own practice. Guruji had always taught us that no matter what we were going through, our yoga practice would always help. I could hear his voice inside my head saying, "Do your practice and all is coming". The tears kept coming and my nose was getting clogged every time I did a downward dog. I sniffled through an hour of practice then went home to see my wife, Carol.
Carol had gotten the news via an e-mail from our friend Andrew in Mysore. There had also been phone calls from my friends Eddie and Nicki, and Johnny Smith. They were all on their way to Mysore and wanted to know if I was planning on going as well. When I spoke to my friends, they all encouraged me to come. I was scheduled to teach a workshop in Miami Beach the following weekend. What should I do? I was so overwhelmed with grief that I couldn't think.
Meanwhile, the day unfolded with an avalanche of phone calls and e-mails. There were messages from the India correspondent of the New York Times, Yoga Journal, and L.A.Yoga Magazine, all preparing obituaries of Pattabhi Jois and wanting to do some fact checking. I didn't feel like talking to any one-I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
Serendipitously, I had an appointment that day to see a therapist. My wife and I had been going through a rough stretch in our marriage and had seen Dr. Neborsky for couples therapy. After one session he suggested that I see him privately to work on some "emotional blocks" that were negatively impacting our marriage. I had been seeing him once a week for four months and slowly penetrating the labyrinth of my unconscious and the deep patterns of childhood based on my relationships with my mother and father. It was the hardest work I had ever done.
In our previous session we had talked about unresolved feelings I had concerning my father. Dr. Neborsky encouraged me to write my father a letter as homework for our next session-sharing my unexpressed feelings. I had begun composing the letter in my head as I walked on the beach a few days before, with the intention to put it I writing just before the session. With the unexpected events of the morning I hadn't gotten around to it. Carol had called Dr. Neborsky earlier to let him know of Guruji's passing. He greeted me with his condolences.
We began, as usual, with Dr. Neborsky asking me how I was feeling. Typically, there was some initial anxiety for me to get through as I sat there, feeling exposed under his penetrating gaze. Growing up in a family where stoicism was the norm and one was never encouraged to talk about one's feelings, this was still challenging for me. Beneath my anxiety loomed profound sadness.
When I began exploring my feelings about my father the previous week, I was reminded of a book I had read right around my 18 years earlier. For my 40th birthday I received two copies of the book "Iron John-A Book About Men", by Robert Bly. I figured that was a of sign, so I read the book twice. Robert Bly spoke at length of the initiation process boys must go through to become men, and how that process was sadly lacking in the modern world. As a result, he said, what we have are a lot of adult "boys". The book talked about the erosion of the relationship between fathers and sons, of how fathers weren't doing their job particularly well to help their sons enter the world of manhood with a proper sense of maturity and empowerment. It was a book that spoke strongly to me then, and again in the past week. One of the themes the book explored was that since there was no formal initiation process for young men to go through in the modern western world, if it was to happen at all, it was something that had to be sought in another way.
Meeting Guruji and embracing him as my mentor and spiritual guide and making numerous pilgrimages to India was my attempt to work out this initiation process. A defining moment in our relationship had occurred five years earlier when Guruji had been scheduled to teach with T.K.V. Desikachar at an event in San Francisco to celebrate the teachings of the great yogi Krishnamacharya-Guruji's teacher and Desikachar's father. Two weeks prior to the event Guruji's son-in-law, Rangaswamy, had passed away suddenly from a heart attack and Guruji, then in New York, had to return to India. I received a phone call from Kausthub Desikachar, Krishnamacharya's grandson and organizer of the event, explaining his dilemma. There were 250 students registered to attend this event and he didn't want to have to cancel it due to Guruji's absence. He had called Guruji and asked him if there was some one he could recommend to fill in for him. Guruji had given Kausthub my name.
Under the circumstances I didn't feel that I could refuse this honor, even though I was filled with a profound sense of inadequacy to fulfill this role. I agreed to do it and then had two weeks to feel anxious about it. On the first morning of the festival, Kausthub took me to meet his father Desikachar. Desikachar sensed my anxiety and asked if I'd like to speak to Guruji. I told him that would be nice. He dialed the number and spoke to Guruji for a few minutes in Kannada then handed the phone to me.
"Hello Guruji, this is Tim."
"Yes, hello Teem-what news?"
"Well, I'm here in San Francisco filling in for you at the Krishnamacharya tribute. Is there any thing you'd like me to say on your behalf?"
"Ashtanga Yoga method you know very well-you teach, no problem. When you coming Mysore?"
"I'll come soon Guruji. Thank you. Goodbye."
I handed the phone back to Desikachar.
Dr. Neborsky listened patiently as I shared this story with him. The gist of if for me was that within the space of fifteen words Guruji had both given me a vote of confidence and told me that he loved me. These were the two great deficiencies in my relationship with my father. Although I knew he loved me, he had never openly expressed that. In addition to this I had never felt any sense of empowerment by him or any acknowledgement of my accomplishments as a man.
Dr. Neborsky granted that I had pretty successfully worked out my initiation process with Guruji, but that I still had some unresolved feelings about my father. He encouraged me to dictate a letter to him, which I did.
It was a very emotional and productive session for me. I felt much clearer about every thing and could start thinking about the next step. I told Dr. Neborsky that I was most likely headed for India and wouldn't be able to see him the following week. He encouraged me to call when I got back to schedule my next appointment.
As I drove home I began to formulate a plan of action. I definitely wanted to go to India to see Guruji's family and attend the memorial service. The question was how soon I could leave and how long I would stay......
At five thirty that evening I had another yoga class to teach-my weekly Introduction to Ashtanga Yoga class. After my therapy session I was feeling a little more integrated, but still very emotional. As I sat there in front of 30 students I struggled to get a grip on myself. A couple of shuddering sobs engulfed me and I felt like running out of the room. I took a deep breath and said, "We received some sad news this morning. Our beloved Guruji, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, passed away today." With that out of the way I was able to focus on teaching the class and kept my emotions reined in.
After the class our studio manager, Amy, said, "People are asking if we are going to have some sort of memorial service for Guruji." I knew that this was necessary, yet still felt too raw to preside over such an event. "How about Wednesday evening at 7:30", I said.
"Sounds good," Amy responded, "I'll send out an announcement."
Later that evening I received a phone call from my old friend David Swensen. David had just spoken to Guruji's family and said they were planning to have some kind of public memorial for Guruji in about 12 days. He and his wife Shelley were planning on leaving for India in a week or so. I thanked David for passing on this important information and told him I'd see him and Shelley in Mysore.
The next day I began to make preparations for my trip. As it turned out, it would be possible to fulfill my professional obligation to teach in Miami over the weekend and then leave from there to go on to Mysore. As I checked the internet for flight itineraries to India I thought about how much easier this whole process had gotten since I made my first trip there in 1982. Within 10 minutes I had an e-ticket to India, and in another 10 minutes I had a reservation at the Metropole Hotel in Mysore.
The next day I awoke feeling much clearer about everything-happy that I was going to India to honor my Guru, knowing that many of my oldest and dearest friends would be there with me. The evening memorial service was scheduled immediately after my 5:30 first series class. That class typically had about 20 students. On this particular Wednesday there were 45 students, many who would stay for the memorial. While teaching the class I felt like I was channeling Guruji-feeling his great sense of enthusiasm and joy for teaching. For him it had always been, the bigger the class, the better.
We finished the class at 7 which allowed some time for the airing out of the space that had held 45 sweating bodies. The purifying fire of "Tapas" had left all the windows steamy and dripping. I turned on the AC and propped open the doors to allow a little fresh air to circulate. Lots of people came-current students, former students, people I hadn't seen in years. These were all people whose lives had been touched by Guruji in some way. Most of them brought flowers and soon there was a forest of flowers surrounding Guruji's picture.
I began the evening by telling the story of meeting Guruji in Encinitas in 1978 and him trying to teach us a famous Sanskrit chant from the great yogi Adi Shankaracharya called the "Guru Ashtakam"-eight verses in praise of the Guru. This chant says in essence that one may have attained all worldly desires, but without the Grace of the Guru, what is any of it worth? All I remember is the refrain which said, "Tata kim, tata kim?", which Guruji translated as,"what use, what use?" I shared my first experience of the Guru's Grace: For a couple of weeks I had been practicing with Guruji at the old church in Encinitas and watching after class as some of the older students paid their respects to Guruji in the traditional way by touching his feet. Initially I was a bit put off by this, but one day I was feeling particularly open and grateful so I approached Guruji shyly to pay my respects. As I touched his feet I was hit by a tidal wave of emotion and found myself drenched in tears as I knelt before Guruji. Guruji smiled at me lovingly and I knew at that moment that he was my teacher.
The evening unfolded spontaneously and effortlessly. I read a passage from the Bhagavad Gita, Guruji's favorite spiritual text-"-Before birth, beings are unmanifest, between birth and death, manifest; at death, unmanifest again. What cause for grief in all of this?" And, indeed, for the next two hours there was no grief. I told stories, we sang bhajans (devotional songs), and we basked in the profound sense of love and gratitude we all felt for Guruji for the tremendously positive influence he had on our lives. In that glow of mutual love and support we all felt incredibly blessed to be part of the tradition Guruji had taught and embodied for 70 years.
The next day I left for Miami. Coincidentally, the last time I saw Guruji was in Florida over the Memorial Day weekend the previous year. One of Guruji's students, Sonia Jones, had built a yoga studio for him in Islamorada, two hours south of Miami in the Florida Keys After the scheduled grand opening of this facility had to be cancelled in March of 2007, and then again in March of 2008 due to Guruji's ill health, he was finally well enough to make the trip from India to inaugurate the new yoga shala in Islamorada. Guruji was very fond of Sonia and I knew that making this trip to officially bless the new shala important to him
Guruji had recently had a pacemaker installed for his heart and was feeling better than he had in some time. Sonia and her husband supplied their private jet, along with an attending physician to make the journey as safe and comfortable as possible for Guruji. I flew to Miami on a redeye Saturday night, arriving at 5:30am and then whisked off in a limo Sonia had provided to Islamorada. Guruji's class was scheduled to begin at 8am and I arrived at the yoga shalla with 15 minutes to spare. By the time I changed clothes and squeezed myself into a practice spot surrounded by 200 other students, Guruji was just arriving.
I missed the first day of class due to family commitments and asked my friend Kino Mc Gregor if Guruji had actually taught the class the previous day. She said that Guruji led the invocation and then sat down while his daughter, Saraswati taught the class. Guruji was wheeled into the studio in a wheelchair, then got up and somewhat unsteadily navigated the few steps onto the stage. "Samasthiti," he bellowed in his still commanding voice, and we all jumped to attention. Guruji placed his hands together in front of his heart and began the invocation, "Vande gurunam charanara vinde." The class responded, "Vande gurunam charanara vinde."
After the final Om had reverberated through the room, Guruji began counting the vinyasa for the first Suryanamaskara-"Ekam, inhale-dwi, exhale." A thrill went through me as I moved to his comforting, familiar voice and cadence. Guruji guided us through Surynamaskara A and B and was midway through the standing poses when he began to falter a little bit with his vinyasa count. His daughter, Saraswati, quickly jumped in and took over the class as Guruji reluctantly conceded command to her and sat down to watch.
At the conclusion of the class an hour later, I lay down for a much needed savasana after my sleepless night on the redeye. About 60 seconds into my savasana I heard people getting up and jostling about, getting into the darshan line to pay their respects to Guruji. With all the clamor going on around me, I realized that my savasana would have to wait so I reluctantly got up and surveyed the scene. Two hundred students were lined up to touch Guruji's feet. I sighed as I began to make my way to the end of the line. Just then I heard Sonia's voice saying, "Tim, Guruji just saw you. You should get up there." I looked up to see Guruji beaming at me affectionately. Disregarding protocol, I cut in line and went up on stage to touch Guruji's feet. As I knelt at Guruji's feet, an enormous sense of love and gratitude washed over me and tears streamed down my face. I stood up and hugged Guruji and kissed him on the cheek. Guruji smiled at me and said, "Yes, Teem, what news?" Overcome with emotion, all I could say was, "It's good to see you Guruji." Guruji said, "After, you come," indicating the long line of people.
After the long darshan line finally came to and end, I met Guruji and Saraswati in a small office adjacent to the yoga studio. "Why late?" Guruji greeted me as I entered the office, inquiring as to why I had missed the first day of classes. I began to explain that I had certain family obligations to fulfill when Saraswati interrupted, "Guru is first. Family second," she said with authority. "Perhaps you'd like to explain that to my wife," I ventured. Despite my tardiness they were both happy to see me and invited me to their house for lunch.
An hour later I arrived at the lovely, plantation style house Sonia had rented for Guruji. He was sitting on the front porch getting a foot massage. He looked deliriously happy as he greeted me and my friend Jim Corccione, one of the few "old students" present for this event. "Yes, hello," Guruji greeted us, "you go inside and take lunch." Jim and I went inside to find Guruji's granddaughter, Sharmi, along with her husband, Mahesh, their two children, and Eddie Stern and his wife Jocelyn. They greeted us warmly and invited us to join them at the table. They were having a traditional south Indian breakfast of upithu (savory cream of wheat), vada (savory doughnut), with coconut chutney and mango lassi.
After breakfast Jim and I went out on the back porch to sit with Guruji. Jim had some pictures taken in Maui recently during the filming of an "Ashtanga Over Fifty" video with Nancy Gilgoff.. There were photos of some of Guruji's oldest and most beloved students. Each picture elicited a new story and happy memories. Jim and I sat and laughed with Guruji and reminisced about all of our crazy friends in the "Ashtanga Family." I phoned my friend Johnny Smith so Guruji could talk to him. Guruji picked up the phone and said, "Bad man! Why you not coming?" Johnny proceeded to give Guruji some lame excuse to explain his absence which Guruji wasn't buying at all. Still, Johnny was one of his favorites and he was happy to talk to him. Guruji was crystal clear, happy, and at peace. It was wonderful to sit with him and share that profound sense of intimacy and affection.
The following day, Memorial Day, Guruji taught the class again. This time he made it through all of the standing poses before Saraswati took over. The rest of the class was fine, but I missed Guruji's voice and humor. At the end of the class, Guruji was whisked away quickly to board Sonia's private jet and begin the journey back to India. I was unprepared for the sudden departure of Guruji and his family, along with all the yoga students, and felt forlorn and abandoned in Islamorada. It was the last time I would see Guruji.
Now, one year later, I was on my way back to Miami, wishing I could just keep flying east all the way to India to join my friends and Guruji's family. First, however, I needed to fulfill my responsibility to my friends Kino and Tim at the Miami Life Center, and the students registered for the workshop.
It was impossible to teach without alluding to things Guruji had said over the years or relating experiences I'd had with him. Each reference to him brought a surge of emotion and I struggled to maintain an air of professionalism, but found myself welling up often. At the end of the workshop on Sunday, the students were very kind-expressing their condolences and wishing me well on my journey to India the following day. One student said, "Thanks for coming and teaching, even though you were in obvious pain."
My travel itinerary took me from Miami to Atlanta, Atlanta to Dubai, and Dubai to Bangalore. Total time for the journey was a little more than 20 hours, a long time to be in an airplane, but one I was used to, having taken 15 previous trips to India.
Twenty hours later I landed in Bangalore at 4am Indian time. As expected, due to my short transit time in Atlanta, my luggage did not arrive with me so I filled out the missing baggage claim from Air Emirates. The agent told me I could expect my bag to be delivered the next day. The Bangalore airport was brand new-everything clean and seemingly well organized, unlike the dirt and chaos of the old airport I had flown into so many times. It seemed reasonable to expect to receive my bag in Mysore the next day.
It was now 5am on Wednesday Morning. I hired a taxi for the 100 mile journey to Mysore, which often took four hours. There was very little traffic, however, and we made the journey in two and a half hours, pulling into the Metropole Hotel at 7:30am.
Feeling utterly exhausted, but relieved to be there, I checked in, showered, and put on the one clean shirt I had packed in my carry on bag. Too jetlagged to sleep, I hired an auto rickshaw to take me the three kilometers to the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Gokulum.
The watchman greeted me with recognition as I entered the gates of the compound, gesturing for me to go upstairs. After removing my shoes I entered the foyer and looked to my right through the double doors into the yoga shala. A large picture of Guruji sat on a chair surrounded by flowers. A multitude of emotions overwhelmed me as I knelt in front of Guruji's picture-love, loss, gratitude, disbelief, but above all else, a profound sense of sadness. It was very difficult to accept that this man, who had been such an integral part of my life for 31 years was gone. Feeling far too emotional to go upstairs and see the family just yet, I decided to sit for a while with Guruji's picture and reflect on our journey together these past 31 years............
Tim,so beautiful .Guruji chose his disciples
so well.Although,I have not met,Guruji in
his life,I feel I meet him and know a little
more about his kindness,compassion ,joy
and hope through you.Thank you for all that
you impart upon us an how you try to help us
to be our best by your example,Namaste,rena
Posted by: Rena | 09/02/2010 at 03:02 PM
Wow. Very nice.
Posted by: Tara | 09/04/2010 at 05:52 AM
Wow, thanks for sharing this.
It's so well written and so emotional, so honest. I couldn't stop reading.
Ursula
Posted by: Ursula | 09/04/2010 at 05:19 PM
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Tim. Namaste, Elizabeth
Posted by: Elizabeth | 09/11/2010 at 04:49 AM
You are so loved. Thanks for your dust too, Mere Gurudev!
Posted by: Monica | 10/01/2010 at 07:17 AM
Hi Tim,
Ironically, like you, I was in Florida when Patabbhi Jois was there, but perhaps even more ironical, I laid my mat down by another unoccupied mat, only to find it was yours. I never thought your mat would be located towards the back of the room, so believe me, I was not trying to impose!
I will say, it was an experience I will never forget, with Guruji calling out the poses, after being wheeled into the class. This was an emotional class for me and more than likely most ashtanga people. I have so much respect for this beautiful man, and what he shared, and gave, and taught.
I have been kind of down lately, my father passed on not too long ago, and for some reason I stopped doing yoga when he was diagnosed with Cancer. I felt I needed to be with him, and really my world just stopped.
In the past, I have practiced, mostly alone except for some workshops for over 13 years, every day 3:30 am, and now I am started to miss it. I hope to find my way back. By the way, I left the white cross on your mat when leaving. You probably thought it was trash:)
Thank you for everything!
Kind regards,
Karen
Posted by: Karen King | 10/04/2010 at 04:02 PM
wow nice post
Posted by: media | 03/29/2013 at 04:23 AM