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2
.
To
have
been
born
with
-
or
to
have
developed
-
a
yearning
to
understand
the
nature
of
the
universe
.
3
.
To
have
found
a
living
spiritual
master
.
There
is
a
theory
that
if
you
yearn
sincerely
enough
for
a
Guru
,
you
will
find
one
.
The
universe
will
shift
,
destiny
’
s
molecules
will
get
themselves
organized
and
your
path
will
soon
intersect
with
the
path
of
the
master
you
need
.
It
was
only
one
month
after
my
first
night
of
desperate
prayer
on
my
bathroom
floor
-
a
night
spent
tearfully
begging
God
for
answers
-
that
I
found
mine
,
having
walked
into
David
’
s
apartment
and
encountered
a
photograph
of
this
stunning
Indian
woman
.
Of
course
,
I
was
more
than
a
bit
ambivalent
about
the
concept
of
having
a
Guru
.
As
a
general
rule
,
Westerners
aren
’
t
comfortable
with
that
word
.
We
have
a
kind
of
sketchy
recent
history
with
it
.
In
the
1970s
a
number
of
wealthy
,
eager
,
susceptible
young
Western
seekers
collided
with
a
handful
of
charismatic
but
dubious
Indian
Gurus
.
Most
of
the
chaos
has
settled
down
now
,
but
the
echoes
of
mistrust
still
resonate
.
Even
for
me
,
even
after
all
this
time
,
I
still
find
myself
sometimes
balking
at
the
word
Guru
.
This
is
not
a
problem
for
my
friends
in
India
;
they
grew
up
with
the
Guru
principle
,
they
’
re
relaxed
with
it
As
one
young
Indian
girl
told
me
,
"
Everybody
in
India
almost
has
a
Guru
!
"
I
know
what
she
meant
to
say
(
that
almost
everyone
in
India
has
a
Guru
)
but
I
related
more
to
her
unintentional
statement
,
because
that
’
s
how
I
feel
sometimes
-
like
I
almost
have
a
Guru
.
Sometimes
I
just
can
’
t
seem
to
admit
it
because
,
as
a
good
New
Englander
,
skepticism
and
pragmatism
are
my
intellectual
heritage
.
Anyhow
,
it
’
s
not
like
I
consciously
went
shopping
for
a
Guru
.
She
just
arrived
.
And
the
first
time
I
saw
her
,
it
was
as
though
she
looked
at
me
through
her
photograph
-
those
dark
eyes
smoldering
with
intelligent
compassion
-
and
she
said
,
"
You
called
for
me
and
now
I
’
m
here
.
So
do
you
want
to
do
this
thing
,
or
not
?
"
Setting
aside
all
nervous
jokes
and
cross
-
cultural
discomforts
,
I
must
always
remember
what
I
replied
that
night
:
a
straightforward
and
bottomless
YES
.
One
of
my
first
roommates
at
the
Ashram
was
a
middle
-
aged
African
-
American
devout
Baptist
and
meditation
instructor
from
South
Carolina
.
My
other
roommates
,
over
time
,
would
include
an
Argentinean
dancer
,
a
Swiss
homeopath
,
a
Mexican
secretary
,
an
Australian
mother
of
five
,
a
young
Bangladeshi
computer
programmer
,
a
pediatrician
from
Maine
and
a
Filipino
accountant
.
Others
would
come
and
go
,
too
,
as
devotees
cycled
in
and
out
of
their
residencies
.
This
Ashram
is
not
a
place
you
can
casually
drop
by
and
visit
.
First
of
all
,
it
’
s
not
wildly
accessible
.
It
’
s
located
far
away
from
Mumbai
,
on
a
dirt
road
in
a
rural
river
valley
near
a
pretty
and
scrappy
little
village
(
composed
of
one
street
,
one
temple
,
a
handful
of
shops
and
a
population
of
cows
who
wander
about
freely
,
sometimes
walking
into
the
tailor
’
s
shop
and
lying
down
there
)
.
One
evening
I
noticed
a
naked
sixty
-
watt
lightbulb
hanging
from
a
wire
on
a
tree
in
the
middle
of
town
;
this
is
the
town
’
s
one
street
-
lamp
.
The
Ashram
essentially
creates
the
local
economy
,
such
as
it
is
,
and
also
stands
as
the
town
’
s
pride
.
Outside
the
walls
of
the
Ashram
,
it
is
all
dust
and
poverty
.
Inside
,
it
’
s
all
irrigated
gardens
,
beds
of
flowers
,
hidden
orchids
,
birdsong
,
mango
trees
,
jackfruit
trees
,
cashew
trees
,
palm
trees
,
magnolias
,
banyans
.
The
buildings
are
nice
,
though
not
extravagant
.
There
’
s
a
simple
dining
hall
,
cafeteria
-
style
.
There
’
s
a
comprehensive
library
of
spiritual
writings
from
the
world
’
s
religious
traditions
.
There
are
a
few
temples
for
different
types
of
gatherings
.
There
are
two
meditation
"
caves
"
-
dark
and
silent
basements
with
comfortable
cushions
,
open
all
day
and
night
,
to
be
used
only
for
meditation
practice
.
There
’
s
a
covered
outdoor
pavilion
,
where
Yoga
classes
are
held
in
the
morning
,
and
there
’
s
a
kind
of
a
park
with
an
oval
walking
path
around
it
,
where
students
can
jog
for
exercise
.
I
’
m
sleeping
in
a
concrete
dormitory
.
During
my
stay
at
the
Ashram
,
there
were
never
more
than
a
few
hundred
residents
at
any
time
.
If
the
Guru
herself
had
been
in
residence
,
those
numbers
would
have
swollen
considerably
,
but
she
was
never
in
India
when
I
was
there
.
I
’
d
sort
of
expected
that
;
she
’
d
been
spending
a
fair
bit
of
time
lately
in
America
,
but
you
never
knew
when
she
might
show
up
anywhere
by
surprise
.
It
’
s
not
considered
essential
to
be
in
her
literal
presence
in
order
to
keep
up
your
studies
with
her
.
There
is
,
of
course
,
the
irreplaceable
high
of
actually
being
around
a
living
Yogic
master
,
and
I
’
ve
experienced
that
before
.
But
many
longtime
devotees
agree
that
it
can
also
sometimes
be
a
distraction
-
if
you
’
re
not
careful
,
you
can
get
all
caught
up
in
the
celebrity
buzz
of
excitement
that
surrounds
the
Guru
and
lose
the
focus
of
your
true
intention
.
Whereas
,
if
you
just
go
to
one
of
her
Ashrams
and
discipline
yourself
to
keep
to
the
austere
schedule
of
practices
,
you
will
sometimes
find
that
it
is
easier
to
communicate
with
your
teacher
from
within
these
private
meditations
than
to
push
your
way
through
crowds
of
eager
students
and
get
a
word
in
edgewise
in
person
.
There
are
some
long
-
term
paid
staffers
at
the
Ashram
,
but
most
of
the
work
here
is
done
by
the
students
themselves
.
Some
of
the
local
villagers
also
work
here
on
salary
.
Other
locals
are
devotees
of
the
Guru
and
live
here
as
students
.
One
teenage
Indian
boy
around
the
Ashram
somehow
really
provoked
my
fascination
.
There
was
something
about
his
(
pardon
the
word
,
but
…
)
aura
that
was
so
compelling
to
me
.
For
one
thing
,
he
was
incredibly
skinny
(
though
this
is
a
fairly
typical
sight
around
here
;
if
there
’
s
anything
in
this
world
skinnier
than
an
Indian
teenage
boy
,
I
’
d
be
afraid
to
see
it
)
.
He
dressed
the
way
the
computer
-
interested
boys
in
my
junior
high
school
used
to
dress
for
band
concerts
-
dark
trousers
and
an
ironed
white
button
-
down
shirt
that
was
far
too
big
for
him
,
his
thin
,
stemlike
neck
sticking
out
of
the
opening
like
a
single
daisy
popping
out
of
a
giant
flowerpot
.
His
hair
was
always
combed
neatly
with
water
.
He
wore
an
older
man
’
s
belt
wrapped
almost
twice
around
what
had
to
be
a
sixteen
-
inch
waist
.
He
wore
the
same
clothes
every
day
.
This
was
his
only
outfit
,
I
realized
.
He
must
have
been
washing
his
shirt
by
hand
every
night
and
ironing
it
in
the
mornings
.
(
Though
this
attention
to
polite
dress
is
also
typical
around
here
;
the
Indian
teenagers
with
their
starched
outfits
quickly
shamed
me
out
of
my
wrinkled
peasant
dresses
and
put
me
into
tidier
,
more
modest
clothes
.
