"DUST" - By Tim Miller

Chapter 1

The Feast of the Epiphany

Peace Be unto Thee,  Stranger

Peace be unto thee,  stranger,  enter and be not afraid.

I have left the gate open and thou art welcome to my home.

There is room in my house for all.

I have swept the hearth and lighted the fire.

The room is warm and cheerful and you will find comfort and rest within.

The table is laid and the fruits of Life are spread before thee.

The wine is here also, it sparkles in the light.

I have set a chair for you where the sunbeams dance through the shade.

Sit and rest and refresh your soul.

Eat of the fruit and drink of the wine.

All, all is yours, and you are welcome.

  -Ernest Holmes

--
1978 began on a dismal note.  It rained solidly for four days-the roof leaked.  Gloomily I sat, reading depressing short stories by equally gloomy Russian writers.  Finally on January 5th the sun came out and I went for a melancholy walk on the beach.  I pondered my current state of depression and my seeming inability to find much meaning or purpose in life.
 
Since September of 1976 I had been living in Encinitas and working at the local psychiatric hospital. It was a stressful and low paying job, but interesting. I worked as part of the nursing staff, helping to care for the patients. My social life consisted of getting together with co-workers after my shift to drink and smoke cigarettes and complain about how horrible our jobs were. I hadn't had a date since I moved to Encinitas.
 
Walking home from the beach, I passed what I thought was an abandoned church on the corner, half a block from my house. A garden had been planted in front of the church and a man crouched there, nibbling on some blades of grass.
 
"Try some wheatgrass," he suggested, "very high in chlorophyll. You know, the chlorophyll molecule is very similar to hemoglobin so eating wheatgrass increases your blood's oxygen carrying capacity-it makes you high!"
 
Skeptical, I chewed a few blades.  My new friend introduced himself as Nate (short for Nature) and showed me some edible weeds in the garden. "This is lambsquarter, here is malva, and these are dandelions.  They are all very good for you liver-put them in your salad." Having recently had hepatitis, I looked at these plants closely.
 
Nate began to tell me about himself. He had been a successful businessman and bicycle racer in Florida until one day he decided he'd had enough of the corporate world and started wandering. He traveled by bicycle throughout the states, Mexico, and Central America, living on about a dollar a day, picking fruit when he could find it, eating weeds, and raiding supermarket dumpsters. He asked if I was aware of the yoga classes taught at the church. I confessed my ignorance.
 
"It's a very high, very powerful teaching, "he said. "It has helped me a lot. In two months you can be as limber as a gymnast." That claim seemed a bit far fetched, but it did arouse my curiosity. I asked Nate about the class times. He said there was a class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 5pm. I told Nate I'd be back tomorrow, a Friday, to check out a class.
 
The next day I wandered down the block to the church at five o'clock. Approaching the front doors apprehensively, I noticed they were painted in a mysterious way. The branches of a tree supported two figures in meditation, the right one silhouetted against the sun, the left one in front of the moon. The door knob was cleverly disguised as a knot in the tree trunk, as if whoever was inside didn't really want any one else finding their way in.
 
Entering the church, I was surprised by the roominess inside. The high pitched, open beam ceiling and uncluttered floor space made the building seem much larger inside than out. In the dim light I could make out a few people doing yoga.
 
A guy who was lighting candles walked towards me, smiled, and introduced himself as "Brad". Brad had long golden hair, receding a little in front, a full beard, and twinkling blue eyes. Wearing only a pair of Speedos, Brad's short, muscular body resembled a small oak tree.
 
"Are you a teacher or a student?" I asked.
 
"Both," was his amused and ambiguous reply. "Are you here to do some yoga?"
 
"I guess so," I stammered, trying to sound non-committal  and suddenly aware  of  the inappropriateness of my attire, dressed as I was in jeans and a flannel shirt.
 
Brad asked me to remove my shoes and directed me to a place on the carpet. He explained that to warm up we would do a series of movements called Surynamaskara (salutation to the sun). We did several Suryanamaskaras and Brad taught me how to synchronize my breath with the movement. Satisfied with my progress, Brad demonstrated a second, more complicated version of Surynamaskara. This was more difficult and I soon began to perspire in my jeans and flannel shirt as I struggled to keep up. After half a dozen of the second Surynamaskara I was drenched in sweat.
 
Brad explained that getting warm served a dual purpose-it made the body more flexible and sweating removed toxins through the skin. I noticed that I felt considerably looser than when we started. He showed me several standing poses then led me through the movements of Surynamaskara as far as the downward  dog. At this point he lightly jumped through his arms to a sitting position. He indicated that I was to do the same. Clumsily, I attempted to mimic his maneuver, landing noisily in a heap beside him.
 
We began to do some seated forward bends with one or both legs bent in interesting ways. Between these poses Brad showed me how to lift myself up with my arms while crossing my legs, then jump back into a push up position. From there we inhaled to an upward dog, exhaled to a downward  dog, then jumped through the arms again. Brad called these movements "vinyasa". "The vinyasas," he explained, "make you pay attention to your breathing, keep your body warm, build strength, and put your spine back into neutral between the sitting poses."
 
After about an hour of this I began to show some signs of fatigue, so Brad had me lie down and showed me some variations on the shoulder stand. He explained that the inversions cooled the body down and helped restore energy by supplying fresh blood to the brain. Following the shoulder stand we sat cross legged for some deep breathing. We sat for a few minutes in the lotus position and Brad explained a kind of breathing he called "ujjayi'-the victorious breath. "Breath in through the nose but from the throat so you can hear the breath as it passes through the throat." I had never been comfortable in the lotus position until this moment and the ujjayi breathing was having an intoxicating effect. Immersed in the sound and fullness of the breath, I felt like I was floating.
 
Suddenly Brad extended his arms downward and lifted his lotus off the floor. He began to breathe in a rapid and forceful manner and I tried to do the same. We did about a hundred breaths like this until my arms began to shake. After lowering my lotus to the floor I struggled for a moment to release my legs, which by now were completely numb.
 
Brad grabbed my feet and stretched my legs out to get some circulation back into my knees and ankles.  Once I had some feeling back in my legs he asked me to stand up and clasp my hands behind my neck, letting my shoulders relax so the elbows came together on my chest. Standing behind me, Brad reached around me with both arms, lacing his fingers together around my elbows. "Take a deep breath," he said. As I exhaled, he lifted me off the floor and squeezed me against his chest. My spine cracked in half a dozen places. "Lie down," Brad suggested. He covered me with a blanket and said, "Rest now, for at least fifteen minutes."
 
As I lay there I noticed that my whole body was tingling. A relaxing warmth spread through me and a deep sense of stillness came over me. Accustomed as I was to my habitual anxiety or depression, with the accompanying mental chatter, I was both surprised and delighted to find myself feeling so peaceful. The sound of other people's ujjayi breathing accented the stillness.
 
A feeling of familiarity, of being at home-but a home I hadn't visited in a long time-came over me. The candlelight flickered on the walls and cast dancing shadows. I felt my heart beating slowly and strongly in my chest.  A few people began to chant in a resonant language I figured must be Sanskrit. I could feel the vibrations of the chanting in my body. It felt good and strangely reassuring.
 
When the chant ended I got up slowly and folded the blanket. Brad walked over and took it from me.  "Thank you," I said, feeling the words were terribly inadequate to express what I had just experienced.  "You're welcome," he replied. "I'll see you Monday," I promised. "Good," said Brad.
 
Outside the stars were sparkling in the crisp winter night sky. A faint scent of the ocean mingled with the smell of night blooming jasmine as I walked back to my house. My skin felt deliciously alive, my senses alert and receptive, and my mind remarkably uncluttered and peaceful. What a difference from how I was feeling before the yoga class!
 
The date was January 6th --the Feast of the Epiphany--the traditional Christian celebration of the manifestation of the baby Jesus as the "Christ" to the three magi. This was considered the official end of the holidays when the final gifts were given and received. When I got home I looked up the word "epiphany" in the dictionary-"A spiritual event in which the essence of an object of manifestation appears to the subject, as in a sudden flash of recognition." Recognition was the key word for me. I felt like I had recognized a part of myself that seemed very familiar and homey, that felt like me, and I had heard a comforting voice within saying, "Welcome home."
 
Looking through my bookshelves I came across a copy of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, a required text for a college course I had taken some years before in Indian Philosophy. The second sutra was Patanjali's definition of yoga-"Yogas chitta vrtti nirodah"-yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. The third sutra described what happened once the mind was still-"Tada drastuh svarupe avasthanam "-then the self stands revealed in its true nature. What Patanjali was describing was the very "Epiphany" I had just experienced. Within the space of an hour and a half I felt like I had been reborn. My whole perspective had shifted and I had found something I had been seeking for a long time. I was suddenly very excited about being alive and couldn't wait to take my next yoga class.

Prologue

Dedication:

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............  

Chapter 2

The Guru Arrives

Open your eyes of love, and see Him who pervades this world!
Consider it well, and know that this is your own  country.
When you meet the true Guru, He will awaken your heart;
He will tell you the secret of love and detachment,

And then you will know that He transcends the universe.

                                                                                                                                                                  -Kabir                                                                                                                          

I began to practice yoga three days a week-Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and occasionally on Sunday when I had the day off. Brad and his assistant, Gary, began introducing me to more of the primary series of postures called yoga chikitsa (yoga therapy). Brad explained that the general purpose of the primary series is to restore health to the body. It works very strongly on the gastrointestinal system with a series of forward bends using different body parts to do acupressure on specific organs in the abdominal cavity, such as the liver, spleen, and colon. The primary series has a strong detoxifying effect and also cultivates strength and flexibility.
 
After practice I would feel a warm glow in my liver, which had been a little swollen and tender since having hepatitis in 1976. My overall health was improving rapidly and with that came an increased awareness of the food choices I was making. For the first time I was realizing that my diet had some connection to my health, and I asked Brad for some recommended reading. He suggested I read a book called, Arnold Ehret's Mucusless Diet Healing System. Catchy title, I thought.
 
Arnold Ehret's basic premise was that the body is a vast network of tubing, and when the tubes get clogged by eating too much mucus inducing food, ill health is the result. This idea made a lot of sense to me. Immediately I shifted to a mucus free diet-no more eggs, dairy products, meat, or refined grains. I began eating a mostly raw diet-fruit, nuts, avocados, steamed vegetables, salads, potatoes, and twice baked bread. My body began to feel much lighter and cleaner and I became an outspoken advocate of a mucus free diet, much to the dismay of my coworkers at the hospital.
 
On my new diet I began to lose weight rapidly and within two months my weight had dropped from 160 to 140 pounds on my six foot frame. At 140 pounds I was quite thin and my friends and family began to grow concerned for my about my health. I assured them that I had never felt better. The truth of the matter was that I had been having some pretty wild mood swings, from euphoria to depression. Brad explained that this was due to the combined detoxifying effect of the yoga and the diet.
 
Around this time a book came out called, Survival into the 21st Century, by Viktorus Kulvinskis. He was a great advocate of wheat grass juice, all kinds of sprouts, rejuvelac (sprouted wheat water), sprouted breads, organically grown vegetables, and vegetable juice. After reading the book I planted a garden and grew radishes, carrots, beets, Swiss chard, various squashes, tomatoes, and wheat grass.  In addition, I was sprouting alfalfa, mung beans, adzuki beans, wheat  berries, almonds, and peanuts, and making sprouted wheat bread and wheat grass juice. Much of my free time was spent in food growing and preparation. It was almost as if I was trying to eat my way to enlightenment.
 
Now that I was practicing yoga consistently and eating consciously I began to feel a lot better about myself. There seemed to be some connection between self discipline and self esteem. A pleasant manifestation of this was that I was beginning to be noticed by women for the first time in ages. One evening about a month after starting yoga, three women followed me home from a gas station because they thought I was "cute." I think they might have been a little drunk, but still it made me feel good about myself.
 
At work I had been teaching a stretch class for the patients before I began practicing yoga, based on some very rudimentary knowledge gleaned from books. This class now became a yoga class and I shared some of what I had been learning. I told the patients that the keys to health were yoga and a good diet. Meanwhile, most of them were being heavily medicated with various anti-depressants, mood stabilizers, and tranquilizers to correct their "chemical imbalance." Occasionally I would clash with the powers that be, the psychiatrists, once making the unfortunate declaration that, "drugs are okay if you're weak." If the director of nurses hadn't come to my defense I would have been fired for that one.
 
My courage was waxing along with my self esteem and I began dating a couple of my coworkers. Around this time a beautiful hippie chick showed up at yoga class. Robin was from Santa Cruz and was on her way to Central America. We hung out for a few days and she tried to teach me the secret of the "valley orgasm." Sadly, she left before I could master the technique.
 
About four months into my yoga practice I began to realize that my work schedule was interfering with my yoga practice. Working the 7am to 3:30pm shift meant that I could only come to the 5pm class which was held three times per week. I wanted to practice every day so I started working the 3pm to 11:30pm shift. This enabled me to practice at 9am Sunday through Friday, Saturday being a rest day, along with full moons and new moons.
 
When I changed my work schedule I was doing all of the primary series with some degree of proficiency, so Brad started teaching me the intermediate series, called Nadi Shodana (purification of the little rivers). According to the ancient yogis there are 72,000 nadis, or energy channels, in the subtle body. The intermediate series is designed to clean them.
 
The most important nadis, ida, pingala, and sushumna, are all in close proximity to the spine, so the intermediate series consists of postures to release blockage in the spine-back bends, twists, and extreme forward bends. The work of the first series is to clean and tone the annamaya kosha (the physical body). The intermediate series works more deeply to clear the nadis so energy flows freely in the pranamaya kosha (the subtle, or energy body).
 
Now that I was practicing six days a week I began to progress quickly through the intermediate series, being young (27), reasonably strong, and naturally somewhat adept-with the exception of back bends, which remain my most challenging asanas. One of my fellow yogis told me years later, "I remember your first urdhva dhanurasana (upward bow)-you looked like a coffee table. The only thing that bent were your knees and elbows."
 
The effect of the intermediate series was quite different from the primary series. Instead of feeling like I needed a nap after practice, I felt very stimulated and energetic. Sometimes during practice I would have what I figured must be "kundalini" experiences. The kundalini shakti, or coiled up energy, is thought to reside at the base of the spine and some asanas, like backbends, twists, and extreme forward bends, are designed to uncoil this energy so it rises up the sushumna nadi (the astral spine) towards the crown of the head. Occasionally I would experience great lightness of body or the sensation of an umbrella opening at the crown of my head.
 
I loved being able to practice yoga every morning and applied myself diligently to learning the intermediate series. Working the swing shift at work was much more relaxed than the day shift. The psychiatrists made their rounds in the morning and the hospital's administrative staff all left at 3:30pm, so basically the nursing staff was running the hospital. I also shifted my work station from the adult "open unit" to the "locked unit" or ICU. The ICU had 12 beds and locked doors. The patients on this unit were either psychotic, suicidal, runaway risks, or elderly people with dementia. It was an interesting environment to hang out in for eight hours and my yoga practice was helping me to maintain some sense of equanimity through it all.
 
Around the beginning of July the buzz around the yoga shala was, "Guruji is coming!"
 
"Pardon my ignorance, but who is Guruji?"I asked Brad.
 
"Guruji is the Master teacher of this yoga lineage, K. Pattabhi Jois, from Mysore, India. He's coming to Encinitas to teach for three months at the end of August," Brad informed me. This was exciting news-a master yogi from India was coming to teach at the church!
 
Based on the recommendation of my friend Nate, I had been reading a series of books called, The Life and Teachings of the Masters of the Far East. These books told of masters in India who had transcended the laws of time and space and could perform miracles of many kinds, including manifestation of objects out of thin air, bilocation, omniscience, healing, energy transmission (shaktipat), and many others. I wondered if Guruji was one of these masters...
 
When Guruji first entered the yoga shala at the end of August, I thought he looked fairly ordinary.  He was wearing dark, horn rimmed glasses, black loafers, a short sleeved white dress shirt, and a white lungi (traditional South Indian waist wrap). He removed his glasses, shoes, lungi, and outer shirt to reveal  a very fit looking 63 year old in a white t-shirt and gym shorts. All the students had already begun their practice when Guruji arrived. We wondered what the proper protocol was so we all stopped and waited for Guruji to speak. Guruji looked at us and, sensing our uncertainty, said, "Yes, you do!" and then chuckled. He had a dazzling smile, but even so, he seemed rather terrifying.
 
Guruji prowled around the room, watching us, grunting, making corrections and adjustments. Whenever he was in close proximity to me, I worked especially hard to convince him of my dedication, afraid of being adjusted, and perhaps even more afraid of being ignored. Guruji was quite strong and his adjustments were very firm, almost surgical in nature. The energy in the room was electric and everyone was pouring sweat.
 
After class the older students would walk over to Guruji and pay their respects in the traditional Indian manner of touching his feet. Initially, this struck me as somewhat bizarre and even cultish behavior. As the weeks wore on I began to develop a strong appreciation for Guruji's presence and one day I decided to pay him my respects by touching his feet. The notion is that the Guru has walked the path of yoga for a long time and during his journey has accumulated dust on his feet. The dust symbolizes his vast reservoir of experience, knowledge, and energy. The student takes the dust and applies it to his eyelids for the purpose of his awakening and to show his great respect and appreciation for the gift of yoga he has received from the Guru. I approached Guruji shyly and knelt in front of him. As I touched his feet a powerful current of energy surged through me and I felt like I was being showered with Grace. As I brought my hands to my eyes I realized I was crying, joyful, cleansing tears. Looking up at Guruji, I saw he was smiling at me very lovingly. Tenderly he touched me on the shoulders and said, "Good."
 
As I walked home from class that day I was feeling extremely emotional, but also very happy. The connection I had just experienced with Guruji had been very deep and profound, and timeless-like we had reestablished a connection that went back several lifetimes. It had penetrated into my heart and released some of the pain that had been buried there. I felt at the same time both extremely vulnerable and intensely alive, like some kind of doorway to a deeper level of being had been opened within me.
 
Guruji began to teach a yoga theory class three nights a week at his son, Manju's, house. He would chant long passages from the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, and other Sanskrit texts, or tell stories from the Ramayana or Mahabharata in his native Kannada, sometimes laughing and sometimes moved to tears, then look to Manju to provide a translation for us. Manju would give us a highly abridged account of his father's version. It seemed to me that we were losing a lot in the translation. At the end of each class Guruji would have us chant the "Guru Ashtakam"-eight verses in praise of the Guru-- not to exalt his own status-to me he always seemed very humble-- but to help us realize the importance placed on the relationship of student to Guru in India. The chant said, in essence, that one may have achieved all worldly desires, but without the Grace of the Guru, what was any of it worth?
 
In September Brad taught me the last poses of the intermediate series under Guruji's supervision.  The prevailing belief among the students at the time was that the faster you could complete a series, the sooner you would be enlightened. Having completed the intermediate series in about nine months, I felt like I was on the Samadhi express! For the poses that weren't done to Guruji's satisfaction, he would give us strong adjustments-teaching with his hands instead of his voice, since his command of English was very limited.
 
Brad was always trying to extract as much of Guruji's knowledge as possible and managed to convince Guruji to start teaching a pranayama class in October for the intermediate and advanced students.  About half an hour after we finished our asana practice one day Guruji gathered us in a circle of about 20 students.  He explained that we would be doing a technique involving breath retention, which he called kumbhaka (literally, the water pot). We would be doing two types of retention-first following the exhalation and then following the inhalation. Guruji emphasized the importance of maintaining an inner lock he called mula bandha, which he described as, "taking anus control." He said he would indicate the retentions by moving his right hand downward for the exhalation and upward for the inhalation.
 
Before we  began the pranayama  practice  Guruji removed his shirt and folded his legs into padmasana. The men in the group also took off their shirts and we all sat in lotus posture, ready to begin. As Guruji took his first inhalation his chest kept expanding to what seemed like double its original size. I was reminded of a big bullfrog blowing himself up, or Dizzy Gillespie's cheeks when he played the trumpet. With that first breath I knew I was in trouble because Guruji's lung capacity seemed about ten times greater than mine. Having a much shorter breath meant that all the retentions were much longer and I soon began to sweat profusely as I struggled to keep up. As we continued, my body began to tremble as well. Looking around at the other students, I noticed that they were sweating and shaking too. Somehow that made me feel a little better. The pranayama concluded with some Sanskrit chants that Guruji had us repeat after him. The whole session lasted about 20 minutes. It was probably the most intense 20 minutes of my life!
 
We were all a little shaken by this experience and Guruji had us lay down for a few minutes, saying to us, "Pranayama is very difficult at first-some sweating, some shaking. You take practice-after, some smoothness is coming." That being said, Guruji smiled and left us there to recover. We all looked at Brad as if to say, "What have you gotten us into?"
 
Guruji continued to teach us pranayama every day, and it did start to get a little easier. One thing I noticed, however, was that it was creating a lot of internal heat in my body, so much so in fact, that I began to experience diarrhea. A little concerned about this, I confided to Guruji that I was having some "loose movements."
 
"Going bathroom 10 to 15 times daily?" he asked. When I nodded he laughed and said, "Some internal cleansing, that's all, you don't fear."  With Guruji's assurance I continued with the pranayama and things soon began to firm up, so to speak.
 
Another thing I noticed about the pranayama was that afterward I felt like I was surrounded by a protective bubble. Curious about this experience, I looked in the Yoga Sutras and found reference to a state called pratyahara, an inward turning of senses, that was associated with the practice of pranayama. It was particularly helpful to be in this state when I was at work and surrounded by a crazy environment such as the locked unit of the hospital. I felt very aware of what was going on around me, but at the same time, detached. Because of this detachment I wasn't getting sucked into the craziness around me and working at the hospital was becoming less stressful.
 
At the end of October, Nate left for Guatemala and I inherited his job of cleaning the church in exchange for my yoga classes. I had already paid the staggering sum of $75 to study with Guruji for three months. Before that I had been paying two dollars a class. Teaching yoga, in 1978, no matter what your credentials, wasn't  a high paying job. Guruji obviously loved teaching yoga and didn't seem particularly concerned about the financial reward.
 
By November, the weather had turned cool. There was no heat in the church, or electricity or plumbing either, for that matter. There was a port-a-potty outside the church when nature called. The concrete floor was covered with carpet remnants to provide a little cushioning. Students used smaller carpet remnants for their personal practice space. Since mornings were chilly. We would start our practice in sweats until we warmed up sufficiently to strip down to shorts. It was all very primitive, but still, the 30 or so students who had gathered in Encinitas to practice with Guruji felt very blessed to have this rare opportunity.
 
Among those 30 students was a group that had come over from Maui to practice with Guruji, including David Williams-the first American to teach Ashtanga Yoga. David first met and studied with Guruji in India in 1973, eventually settled and began to teach yoga in Encinitas, and brought Guruji and his son Manju to the U.S. for the first time in 1975. When David moved to Maui in 1976, Manju took over David's yoga shala in Encinitas. Brad and Gary had originally been David's students, and later became Manju's students. Brad had eventually started assisting Manju with his classes until some falling out had occurred between them, which had led Brad to open his own place at the church.
 
Whatever was going on behind the scenes had no effect on Guruji when he was in teaching mode. He worked us over relentlessly every day and we all made great progress in our asana practice. The pranayama became more manageable, but was never easy. We even began to memorize bits and pieces of the "Guru Ashtakam" from chanting it at the end of every theory class.
 
On his last day Guruji addressed the class briefly. He urged us to continue to practice every day, warning us that some pain was coming, but that his was, "very sweet pain." If we persevered in our practice, Guruji said, "all is coming-good health, long life, good prospects." Even though, at the end of those three months, Guruji still didn't know my name, he had left an indelible impression upon me.