Never to Return: A Modern Quest For Eternal Truth, Chapter 29: "Taming the Beast"

NEVER TO RETURN:

A MODERN QUEST FOR ETERNAL TRUTH

A Multimedia Spiritual Adventure Memoir
by Sharon Janis

Chapter Twenty-Nine

TAMING THE BEAST

EIGHT YEARS AFTER ARRIVING at the ashram, my journey took another major shift. After telling me specifically – three times – to send a certain video to the main ashram in India, Ralph then told our teacher that I had sent the tape without permission.

For some time, Ralph had wanted to get more creatively involved with supervising the video department, and he apparently had decided that my presence as the main video editor/producer was some kind of obstacle for his quest to take over and revitalize the video department with his usual extravagent style. Actually, I would have been happy to work with him on more elaborate projects, since we both had strong and enthusiastic creative spirits. But for some reason, Ralph had come up with the idea that I was some kind of nemesis for his own ambitions, and so he created this lie about my sending the videotape to India without permission. It was the kind of unscrupulous method he would often use to get his way.

I was awakened in the middle of the night with a phone call. Ralph was on a speaker phone, and judging from the pauses in his speech, my teacher was listening as well. He scolded me for sending the tape without permission. It seems kind of strange that I didn't defend myself and say, "But you told me to send it!" At the time, it just wasn't my way. We both knew that he had told me to send it.

The next morning, I was informed that my service assignment had changed. I would be working in the garden now instead of the video department. I had a two-sided response to this. On one hand I thought it was pretty lousy that this man had been able to lie and get me booted out of video. But at the same time, I also had a sense that the change was fine, even perfect in a universal sense. This change had nothing to do with Ralph, ultimately. As Jesus sang to Pilate in the "Jesus Christ Superstar" movie that had affected me so deeply at age fourteen, "You have nothing in your hands. Any power you have comes to you from far beyond. Everything is fixed, and you can't change it!" Ralph too was just a pawn in this karmic game.

Later that day, as I sat in our beautiful ashram gardens under the sweet sun and fresh breezes, plucking deadheads off rose bushes, a smile grew on my face. No more responsibilities, no more deadlines. All I had to do was sit there – embraced by nature, touching her beautiful handiwork, repeating my mantra, watching my breath move in and out, and having the space and time to digest all that I’d been learning, to think more deeply about life once again. This sense of blissful contentment began to pulse through my body, my heart. This is what I had come here for, after all, this peace. In the silence of performing this simple work, I began to hear the words of inner wisdom that had been guiding me through all the previous years. My life had been too full and busy to really sit quietly and hear the words, even though I had felt their guidance. Now I could listen to the teachings of my heart and soul for hours every day.

Of course, pulling deadheads off of rose bushes was just one gardening task. Many other projects required great physical stamina, and in some cases great ego surrender as well. At one point, I was shoveling horse manure into a large garden bed just outside a long glass hallway, on clear display to all the well-dressed executive-type residents who walked through the hallway to get to their meetings. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as they walked by and glanced out the window, trying not to stare. I could imagine the anxiety they must feel seeing me – a long-term, hardworking staff member – shoveling mounds of horse manure all week long. Perhaps they were wondering if they would be next?

Instead of feeling embarrassed or upset about being on display doing such hard and stinky work, I was able to choose to see the situation with some detachment and humor. That week, I went shopping with a couple friends at a local department store, and found the perfect addition to the scene – a large T-shirt with the slogan, "Are we having fun yet?" I certainly would have worn the questionable shirt, had a friend not caught me at the cash register and snatched it from me, insisting that it would be in poor taste. Regardless, I did later find and occasionally wear another humorous T-shirt that read, “I’m not real smart, but I can lift heavy things.”

I was pleased to see my surrendered response to this potentially painful turn of events, and felt it showed that I had risen above the level of petty ego, anger, and frustration. A few months later, I found out differently.

One of the managers asked me if I'd like to start working in the cowshed along with my garden work. At the time, there was only one cow in the ashram, but a new, pregnant cow would be arriving in a few days. A dairy farmer from Ireland had been taking care of the barn thus far, but the managers thought it was going to be too much work for one person as the cow family expanded. With my love for animals, I knew I was going to like this new position. The next morning, I put on my blue- jean overalls and stepped into the cowshed, eager to begin this new service. I was met with an icy-cold stare.

The dairy farmer did not want an assistant. This big macho man was not happy to have anybody invading his personal space, much less a cityslicker girl! In a way, I couldn't really blame him. I certainly would have enjoyed the privacy as much as he.

One of the first things Patrick did was to position me behind the cow and tell me to milk her. I don’t think I’d ever even touched a cow, much less milked one, so I just pulled on her udders. Nothing came out, but I kept trying.

"Yep, she's full o' milk," he replied, glaring at me as I continued to pull the udders at different angles, to no avail.

Suddenly, the cow lifted her tail and splashed a big shower of urine on top of my head. Patrick laughed heartily at his practical joke.

Patrick did act a little friendlier to me afterwards, but his moods were inconsistent. One day, he'd be nice and welcoming, and the next he would be running around, throwing buckets across the barn and at the cows, while yelling at the top of his lungs. I had never witnessed such supermacho behavior behavior before. It was interesting, but disconcerting at the same time. I would have preferred to have observed it through a one-way mirror.

After a few days, our new cow arrived. We received a message that our teacher wanted to see both animals together in the lanscaped area next to our main temple. Excited at the prospect of spending time with our teacher, Patrick and I attached leashes to the cows and headed toward the gardens. Patrick led the new cow, Jyoti, while I walked with the older cow, Lakshmi. Being brand new to this service, I was a little nervous about walking such a huge creature on just a small leash. I had to hold tightly, because Lakshmi kept pulling away. She seemed none too happy to have this unknown person guiding her leash, while her beloved caretaker was walking another cow!

The woman in charge of landscaping had recently reprimanded us for allowing the cows to walk on the grass. Their hooves left only barely noticeable dents in the lawn, but this woman was very insistent that we walk them only on the pavement. However, the cement was hard on the cow's feet, so they kept pulling off toward the grass. Since our teacher had personally asked to see the cows, we decided to allow them to walk slowly on the edge of the grass.

As we reached the temple area, our guru was waiting, and told us to release the cows from their leashes. This did not sound like a good idea. What if they ran out into the nearby street? But our faith was stronger than our doubts, so Patrick and I unleashed our respective cows. They took off running, but didn't run away. Instead, the two cows dashed up and down the garden hills together, like two huge puppies playing with one another. They'd run up one slope and slide down another, tearing up the sod with playful bovine glee. I couldn't help but chuckle, thinking about the poor landscaping woman. So much for a few subtle hoofprints along the edge of lawn! And she couldn’t reprimand us about this situation, because it had been at our guru’s request. We all laughed with delight, watching the cows play. I wondered how on earth we would ever catch them.

At that point, my teacher spoke without even looking at me. "Kumuda, go get Lakshmi." Lakshmi was the cow who had been there for a couple years. Here were these two enormous animals bucking wildly across the garden, and my guru was asking me to get one of them?

It was testing time again. This was a direct command, and I was somehow going to accomplish it.

I moved into a place of faith and set out to get the cow. As I neared the area where the two 1500-pound cows were romping, Lakshmi looked over at me and stopped. She walked slowly to where I was standing, and stood still as I put her leash on. Then she walked right next to me as I brought her effortlessly to our teacher.

One of the lessons of this challenge seemed to be that a centered state of mind and the grace of our guru’s command could placate even a wild animal. Too bad I didn't learn this lesson well enough to use it with Patrick.

One day Patrick and I would be sipping fresh warm cups of milk together, telling stories; and the next day I'd walk in to an icy silence or a raging fury, with him throwing objects across the barn, and shouting curse words I hadn't heard in many years.

I think this may have been a balancing lesson to the one I had learned with Ralph. That situation had taught me to find surrender and detachment in challenging circumstances; this one was teaching me to deal properly with situations in which detachment was not forthcoming. In this case, I couldn't really be centered and peaceful about Patrick’s inconsistant, and sometimes aggressive and violent behavior. Therefore, my apparent detachment was not genuine. You can't fake spiritual attainments. While trying to maintain my composure outwardly, I was getting more upset each day. The resentment started to build inside me like a mass of weeds.

Maybe if I had been open and honest at the time, we could have discussed things and come to understand one another. However, I didn't really know how to communicate with this man about his angry moods. We were from such different lifestyles. Instead, I let the poison of anger build up silently, until it began to push its way out, expressing itself subconsciously through my actions, my voice, and my words. Here was one more example of the power of company that my gurus had frequently spoken about. After spending so many days in close proximity to this person who obviously had some major anger issues, I now found myself dealing with a new anger festering beneath the surface of my mind and feelings.

Where had this inner fury come from? I thought I was beyond all that! Where was my equanimity, my peaceful state of mind?

Part of the problem was that this challenge came at a time when I was weaning myself from many years of working in the video department. There, I had listened to the most sublime wisdom of the ages all day, every day. I would spend many hours each day reading through powerful talk transcripts, looking for uplifting quotes in scriptures, and putting together artistic video expressions about the highest experiences and wisdom of the ages.

During those years of video service, no matter what anybody said or did to me, there was always a spiritual teaching speaking to me in the next moment, guiding me into a higher perspective. For year after year, my awareness had been held high by the bridge of these videotapes. Whenever I lost focus on my quest for eternal truth, I would be reminded by a line from one of my teacher's lectures. This had been an great blessing.

But now that world was gone. No more videotapes; no more audiotapes; no more transcripts, research, or divine artistic expressions – now there was just this big brute giving me a hard time.

I thought it might help if I delved into the practice of meditation. After all, this was a meditation ashram, and meditation was one of the main practices both of my gurus gave for finding peace and spiritual awareness. Maybe a steady practice of meditation would bring back my peaceful state of mind. But there was one obstacle. Way back before my first winter in the ashram, I had asked my first teacher, "I'll be staying here for the winter, working alone in the video department. Should I allow myself to meditate whenever I'm moved to, or be more disciplined about practicing meditation?"

At the time, I would usually wake up extra early to sit for meditation for one hour before the morning chant. This was a common length of time for daily meditation on our path. But truthfully, I had entered a period where the state of meditation continued while I played instruments or did my work. Sometimes I could hardly finish the bookkeeping, because my eyes would keep rolling up, carrying me into deep states of meditation. Because of this, I hadn't been too upset when my first teacher replied to this question by stating, "You don't have to sit for meditation anymore. Seva (service) is the highest meditation."

He hadn't said I should not meditate anymore, but that I didn't have to. After this message, I only meditated when the energy pulled me to turn within. I often pondered why he might have steered me away from sitting for meditation. Maybe he could see in my eyes the many hours I had spent exploring my unconscious in college. Maybe he could see that my assignment now was to integrate those deep spaces into this world, and into my work. Or perhaps he was guiding me to experience the natural state of inner absorption that sages like Kabir described, where meditation becomes smoothly integrated throughout one's experience of life.

For the next eight years after my first guru’s message, I rarely sat for meditation, although I was living in a meditation ashram. Sometimes, after editing so many talks about the importance of disciplined meditation, I did feel a little guilty that I wasn't doing it myself. Nevertheless, I also believed that each individual seeker had their own path to spiritual evolution, and my teacher had very clearly told me, "You don't have to sit for meditation anymore. Seva is the highest meditation."

During those years, it had been easy to see my video service as meditation. In the editing room, I would sit crosslegged while watching the highest truths pass before my eyes for up to sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, and three hundred sixty-five days a year. Often, I'd fall into deep meditative states while the videos were playing. But now I was in the cowshed, doing all this physical, worldly work of milking cows, shoveling dung, wheeling barrows, and dealing with this macho creep every day.

I was no longer living in a contented meditative state, and wondered if it would be helpful to start sitting regularly for meditation again. Maybe the inner spaces could bring me to a higher awareness from which I could see the cowshed situation with greater perspective, and respond to it more appropriately. Maybe meditation would heal my frustration and bring me back into the flow.

After so many years of relative peacefulness, now I was walking around unstable and upset, angry and frustrated. Clearly, I needed to meditate, so I wrote a letter to my guru, who was in India. I repeated what our first teacher had said about not having to sit for meditation anymore, and asked for her blessing to begin meditating regularly again.

It was like magic. The letter had barely left the front door when I was drawn into a deeper state of inner peace. From that day on, I woke up extra early every morning to meditate. I even set up my top bunk bed as a meditation area. This was going to be great. Although my guru was in India at the time, somehow her subtle consciousness seemed to have heard my request, and was answering through the blessing of all these beautiful meditations.

Two weeks later, her external reply arrived. I took the precious letter up to my new meditation bunk. Holding it close to my heart, I moved into meditation. I wanted to receive her precious blessing from a completely open space. Slowly, I opened the envelope and unfolded the beautiful stationery. After an introductory paragraph by the secretary, my guru’s response was placed in quotes: "Ah, Kumuda. No meditation."

I put the letter back into its envelope, and began to dismantle my new meditation bunk. I took any directive from my guru very seriously, and this one was quite simple and clear.

From then on, I would actively try to keep myself from moving into meditation. During the evening programs and workshops, we would have group meditation sessions. All the other devotees would be seated in the darkness, trying to quiet their minds by repeating the mantra and watching their breath. And there I would be, trying to keep my mind thinking so I wouldn't fall into meditation. After all, this new message was not just saying that I didn’t have to sit for meditation, but was simply, “no meditation,” without further elucidation of what that entailed. My strong belief, as many scriptures also suggested, was that the grace of the universal Guru – the very grace-bestowing power of God – would flow through the guru-disciple relationship and through following the command of one’s guru. It is with this faith, that I obeyed this new command in both the letter and spirit of her words.

Maybe it was the complete loss of meditation in my life that made me so vulnerable to my lower nature in the cowshed.

The thing that upset me most was that nobody seemed to care about the problems I was experiencing in the cowshed. I hadn't really understood my teacher's advice at the time when she had told me to stand up for myself. Now I was trying to do it, but all my efforts seemed to be in vain. After so many years of not using the "standing up for myself” muscle, it appeared to have atrophied. I was somehow unable to communicate the problem sufficiently to find any appropriate remedy to the situation.

Perhaps because I had waited so long in frustrated silence, the agitation built up inside me to such a degree that it distorted all my communications. I told the managers that this guy was kicking the cows in anger, and that I was afraid he might harm me in one of his violent rages. I was shocked to hear them just laugh it off, "Oh yes, Patrick can be bullheaded, can't he? Ha ha." This just made me angrier. After all these years of going through so many challenges and never complaining, everyone was ignoring this problem and acting as though I was just a whiner. What injustice! What disrespect! My ego dukes were up and I was ready for battle.

Meanwhile, Patrick started to act meaner, and more and more angry and aggressive toward me. When I suggested that we use a nonpoisonous cleanser for the cow's feeding and drinking bins, he poured Lysol into them. Then, as my service supervisor, he'd set up potentially dangerous tasks for me to do. Once he insisted that I wheel a barrow filled with cow dung over a series of wooden planks so precariously balanced that there could have easily been a disaster. If I questioned anything, he'd fly into a rage, yelling about how incompetent I was. And then, again, there would be those few good days sprinkled in, when we would drink fresh milk and feed cookies to the cows and ourselves, while sharing personal stories with each other.

This emotional roller coaster was taking its toll on me. I just wanted someone in charge to magically fix the problem. And so I complained about it to everybody — my friends, acquaintances, and the managers, again and again. I became a complaint machine. I spent much of my free time telling all these horror stories about Patrick's violent actions and bad attitude. Perhaps, if I had been acting from a higher space, it would have been possible to use the instruction from the Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu. "Build your adversary a golden bridge over which to retreat." Make it easy for an adversary to be helpful to you. Instead of attacking the person, find a way to help them feel good about themselves and about you. Of course, this elevated road requires great self control and freedom from egoic reactions. Instead, I spent way too much time and energy obsessing about this fellow and his faults.

Early one morning, I arrived at the cowshed to do my work, and found that Patrick had locked the barn doors. He tossed out a bag of my belongings onto the ground, and bellowed, "You'll not be working here anymore! Don't come back!"

He couldn't do that! This was the service that I had been assigned to do. I had grown to really love these cows. I lovingly bathed and played with them every day. The vet once said that our cows were cleaner than most people he knew. They were my pets, my friends, the first source of sweet affection I'd known in a long time. And now I was being ripped away from them because this jerk didn't feel like having me around anymore. You couldn't go around firing people in this monastic environment – it just wasn't allowed! But when I appealed to the managers, they said that maybe it was for the best, after all, and it was back to the garden for me.

I had lost the battle, as well as my illusion of having attained a great state of detachment. I had been drawn right down into this macho bullfighting energy – maybe it had to do with being around cows. But the funny thing is that the animals were totally sweet and kind, and we were the ones acting like animals. The unresolved tension of this period remained with me for a long time. I felt violated, disrespected, and uncared for. It triggered an overwhelming echo of victimization from my childhood. When all of these troubling feelings took over my peaceful state of mind, I just didn't know what to do with them.

Instead of recovering my normally silent nature, I continued to complain about what had happened. I wanted to let go and move on with my life, but I couldn't. It was too unfair. Where was my handy old protective emotional shell now, when I needed it?

Eventually, summer came, bringing new challenges. We were working very hard to build an outdoor pavilion, and being one of the main garden crew staff, I was pick-axing, shoveling, planting, and running huge excavators and front-loader tractors for hours and hours each day. The cowshed became a vague memory as all of my energy was turned toward this new project.