Yoga - feet of clay - article

Wandering into the ashram, we were beset by smells, exotic fragrances, visual bombardments of intense devotion and a particularly Indian state of spiritual distraction that emanated from not only the indigenous folk but was mirrored by throngs of Western devotees that, like flies to a carcass, swarmed around the place.

Saffron was not the colour of choice. White was. But, being Southern India that held little relevance, as rainbow colours spattered this initial snapshot and exuded an eclectic joy, uniquely oriental.

This was to be the culmination of a journey of heartfelt longing. Here was a meeting of many lives, a point of purpose and destiny whose allure was swiftly bought into.

Darshan, that exquisite gathering of the faithful at the feet of the guru, promoted an energy that was palpably toxic - yes toxic! However in my state of rapture even at 5 a.m. of a winter's morning, it seemed blissful. Dense matter hid active discrimination and offered little hope of unlocking the hypnotic state I was drowning in.

Days and weeks past as my wife and I moved amongst the tens of thousands of equally devoted followers of a fuzzy haired guru that claimed his place as the living embodiment of God. Yet it was the illness that took my wife out of much of the goings on that should have alerted me, but I was entranced big time.

Westerners and seekers from around the globe were deeply rooted in this state - having bought the God thing hook line and sinker. We all craved audience with a diminutive display of divinity. Of course, just like the lottery, it never had our number on it. But somehow young, eager, devoted, impressionable and one has to say rose cheeked boys and young men seemed to get the 'interview ' calling. Invited up along with family or friends to add legitimacy to their guru's calling, they felt 'chosen' and 'special'.

Many others felt disappointed, resigned or blessed depending on their personal take. It was the Lord's will, we could console ourselves. Meant to be.

It stopped us not one jot from reappearing again and again, day after day in the hope that we would be next. The desire was huge, the expectation enormous. We wanted to be loved so much, recognized or just to find 'Big Daddy' or 'Great Mummy'.

Spirituality has an extraordinary facet when we lose ourselves blindly into its leela. And that, my friends, is precisely what was happening to thousands upon thousands of us. We were so transfixed with whatever it was that brought us there that we completely missed, avoided, denied, excused the reality that played its game with and around. It juggled with our open, raw and vulnerable emotional states.

My wife sensed it intuitively almost the moment she got onto the plane in the U.K. but put it to the back of her mind. She felt it that first moment on entering the ashram and felt it in the illness that struck her for the best part of the time we were there.

For me the realisation had to come as one of those 'duh!' moments of utter blatant obviousness that not even my deeply entranced state could blind itself to.

It came through a very dear and close friend of ours who had the responsibility for teaching the young musicians in the ashram. Their stories and cries for help that in their desperation they shared with him, woke him to the reality behind the charade. Their stories of abuse and interference in the name of spiritual growth horrified him. He shared with me their shattered tales and like scales falling from a blind person, I began to see the events, circumstances and other side reveal themselves in a completely different light.

My world lay shattered - truth and untruth collided- I really did not know what was true and what was false. Behind these stories and my friend's revelations however rang a resonance of truth that would not subside.

This was to be my first and most powerful confrontation with that state of crisis where I truly did not know who I was, what I believed or where I was going. It landed me at a cross roads that demanded I realise the moment for its potency. Dark night of the soul maybe, crisis of faith most certainly, stripped to the core - definitively.

Yet in that moment I heard, not bhajans, prayers nor imprecations, neither did I see the lambs crowded round this false shepherd. No, I distinctly heard an inner voice that quietly comforted me saying "All is very, very well!"

It opened my eyes, relieved the sadness that comes with the loss of a dream and allowed me to gradually grow into trusting myself more and giving power over to others less. It opened to the divinity residing within and encouraged me to water its seeds with gratitude, love, devotion and most of all - compassion.

I suppose that experience could have taken me down - could have let me doubt life and purpose itself - yet thankfully I would not have missed this golden opportunity for anything in the world. It gave me to experience the pain of separation, the void of aloneness and the miracle of that moment revealing Love in its essence and in the heartbeat of Now.

Bless that guru with feet of clay - that brought me to this point today.