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All
true
Gurus
are
alike
in
the
fact
that
they
exist
in
a
constant
state
of
self
-
realization
,
but
external
characteristics
differ
.
The
apparent
differences
between
my
Guru
and
her
master
are
vast
-
she
’
s
a
feminine
,
multilingual
,
university
-
educated
and
savvy
professional
woman
;
he
was
a
sometimes
-
capricious
,
sometimes
-
kingly
South
Indian
old
lion
.
For
a
nice
New
England
girl
like
me
,
it
is
easy
to
follow
my
living
teacher
,
who
is
so
reassuring
in
her
propriety
-
exactly
the
kind
of
Guru
you
could
take
home
to
meet
Mom
and
Dad
.
But
Swamiji
…
he
was
such
a
wild
card
.
And
from
the
first
time
I
came
to
this
Yogic
path
and
saw
photographs
of
him
,
and
heard
stories
about
him
,
I
’
ve
thought
,
"
I
’
m
just
going
to
stay
clear
of
this
character
.
He
’
s
too
big
.
He
makes
me
nervous
.
"
But
now
that
I
am
here
in
India
,
here
in
the
Ashram
that
was
his
home
,
I
’
m
finding
that
all
I
want
is
Swamiji
.
All
I
feel
is
Swamiji
.
The
only
person
I
talk
to
in
my
prayers
and
meditations
is
Swamiji
.
It
’
s
the
Swamiji
channel
,
round
the
clock
.
I
am
in
the
furnace
of
Swamiji
here
and
I
can
feel
him
working
on
me
.
Even
in
his
death
,
there
’
s
something
so
earthy
and
present
about
him
.
He
’
s
the
master
I
need
when
I
’
m
really
struggling
,
because
I
can
curse
him
and
show
him
all
my
failures
and
flaws
and
all
he
does
is
laugh
.
Laugh
,
and
love
me
.
His
laughter
makes
me
angrier
and
the
anger
motivates
me
to
act
.
And
I
never
feel
him
closer
to
me
than
when
I
’
m
struggling
through
the
Gurugita
,
with
its
unfathomable
Sanskrit
verses
I
’
m
arguing
with
Swamiji
the
whole
time
in
my
head
,
making
all
kinds
of
blowhard
proclamations
,
like
,
"
You
better
be
doing
something
for
me
because
I
’
m
doing
this
for
you
!
I
better
see
some
results
here
!
This
better
be
purifying
!
"
Yesterday
,
I
got
so
incensed
when
I
looked
down
at
my
chanting
book
and
realized
we
were
only
on
Verse
Twenty
-
five
and
I
was
already
burning
in
discomfort
,
already
sweating
(
and
not
like
a
person
sweats
,
either
,
but
rather
like
a
cheese
sweats
)
,
that
I
actually
expelled
a
loud
:
"
You
gotta
be
kidding
me
!
"
and
a
few
women
turned
and
looked
at
me
in
alarm
,
expecting
,
no
doubt
,
to
see
my
head
start
spinning
demonically
on
my
neck
.
Every
once
in
a
while
I
recall
that
I
used
to
live
in
Rome
and
spend
my
leisurely
mornings
eating
pastries
and
drinking
cappuccino
and
reading
the
newspaper
.
That
sure
was
nice
.
Though
it
seems
very
far
away
now
.
This
morning
,
I
overslept
.
Which
is
to
say
-
sloth
that
I
am
,
I
dozed
until
the
ungodly
hour
of
4
:
15
AM
.
I
woke
up
only
minutes
before
the
Gurugita
was
to
begin
,
motivated
myself
reluctantly
to
get
out
of
bed
,
splashed
some
water
on
my
face
,
dressed
and
-
feeling
so
crusty
and
cranky
and
resentful
-
went
to
leave
my
room
in
the
predawn
pitch
-
black
…
only
to
find
that
my
roommate
had
left
the
room
before
me
and
had
locked
me
in
.
This
was
a
really
difficult
thing
for
her
to
have
done
.
It
’
s
not
that
big
a
room
and
it
’
s
hard
not
to
notice
that
your
roommate
is
still
sleeping
in
the
next
bed
.
And
she
’
s
a
really
responsible
,
practical
woman
-
a
mother
of
five
from
Australia
.
This
is
not
her
style
.
But
she
did
it
.
She
literally
padlocked
me
in
the
room
.
My
first
thought
,
was
:
If
there
were
ever
a
good
excuse
not
to
go
to
the
Gurugita
,
this
would
be
it
.
My
second
thought
,
though
?
Well
-
it
wasn
’
t
even
a
thought
.
It
was
an
action
.
I
jumped
out
the
window
.
