Rudrananda Ashram here, with its businesses. As the locals say, a third of the town is owned by the university, and another third by the ashram. The bakery, restaurant, construction, property management, framing and art gallery. [Starts to sound like Cassia’s family in my novel What’s Left!] Phonebook had numbers for all of these but not for any classes. And there were no vibes.
Has about 70 members, said a girl with a pleasant, pre-recorded smiling voice, hint of tension. And another 40 at Big Indian in the Catskills.
When I first stopped into Rudra Gallery, with Kat, we were hit by cold words of business being spoken into a phone: an orange-sweatered, burr-headed Taurus, or so I assumed from the corpulent body and luxurious surroundings as he held forth in his court of very expensive, carefully selected items displayed for sale.
I inquired about some Tibetan prints, how much, after complimenting the quality, and he proceeds to tell me “This is a Buddha and in Buddhism, uh, they believe that everything comes from the Void, or nothingness, and all of this around him comes from that, it’s his own world.”
I went on acting dumbly, while inwardly Kat was splitting a gut.
I had a feeling I had seen this guy before, perhaps as a visitor in the Poconos ashram, but he did look like two older guys in my Scout troop, too. [Turns out he was a year younger, but got into yoga about the same time I did.]
I sized him up as a creep. He strolled around in self-importance. When he began explaining another tanka to me, in a patronizing manner, trying to impress me with his thin knowledge, I mentioned how confusing these names got in going from Tibetan to Sanskrit. I replied that we knew this cosmic conflict better as Shiva, “Think about that,” and we left.
He wanted us to come back in, but I later recognized he was trying to suck me in with his vibes: they weren’t pure but of an occult power sort. He’s no swami, despite the orange. [He changed his name in 1978, to Swami Chetenananda.]
We went on to a leather store run by a good-energy BS 6-5 Aquarian “businessman” who was enjoying people as an extension of his job. We were his first customers of the day and just had a good time talking. On a later visit, we bought the broad belt with its huge, shiny sun buckle, which always garnered praise.
As it turned out, the yogi in question left a trail of financial and sexual scandal along with division in his movements to Portland, Oregon. And I was wondering if my judgments were too harsh?
In retrospect, how pivotal this becomes in my gravitation toward Quakers. I needed a circle where I could meditate.
~*~
Another almost connection involved Thubten Jigme Norbu, assistant professor of Uralitic and Altaic studies, a lama teaching Tibetan. With Walter Kaufman just did a book on Tibetan chants for IU Press.
Turns out he was the brother of the Dalai Lama. As for all of those Tibetan readings I had done in Fostoria? And here he was, commuting to campus on the same bus I took occasionally.
~*~
Each spiritual practice must be rediscovered and reinvigorated by each generation. This is a responsibility of the Teachers, otherwise known as Elders.
A true Teacher lets the Seeker find the Truth for himself, but lends the Seeker strength, especially to admit when he’s deluding himself, which is all too easy.
What is the difference between the ashram leader with his commercialism and my struggle to survive in the world and yet be a swami?
~*~
From Spiralbound Hoosier, with commentary from now.
Jnana's Red Barn 