To teach a lesson about my obsessive behavior, Maharishi never gave me a second chance. This lesson revealed to me one of my subconscious patterns—I couldn’t receive love without being perfect.
Even so, later that year, a preliminary draft of the Vacuum State book did get produced in whiteprint, eleven and a half by sixteen inches.
The contract on Park Hotel Vitznau ran out in April. Some of us Staff were deported to the top of the world above the timberline—Melchsee-Frutt, where automobiles were banned. I tromped from the cable car to Hotel Posthuis, dragging my suitcase through deep snow. Cleats attached to my boots prevented slipping on ice.
The Swiss Army was ensconced in the hotel. Loud voices, stomping boots, cigarette smoke, and gruff hairy soldiers became my companions. This is what I get for my foolishness, I figured.
After the soldiers left, Melchsee-Frutt became the most silent ski village in the Alps. Its starkness and spectacular view were electrifying. This place is quite heavenly. The air is fine. The wind is purifying. It’s touched by the Gods!
I began editing the high school curriculum book. Though Maharishi couldn’t talk me into writing, he had persuaded me to edit.
One day I received an unexpected message, “Come to Weggis. Bring your painting of the trees in India, and the commentary.” I took a cable car and train through the white landscape, painting in tow.
“Read the commentary,” Maharishi said. After I read it, he declared, “This will be printed in a book.” He picked up a felt-tipped pen and drew a line down the center of a piece of paper. He pointed to the right side. “On this side will be the painting.” He then pointed to the left side. “This side will be the commentary.”
I was puzzled. “Maharishi, what book? Don’t you mean a poster or pamphlet?”
“No. A book.” He then dropped the subject.
So in 1976, decades ago, Maharishi knew the painting would be printed in a book. This is that book.
In the lecture hall the following day, Maharishi beamed at me. “Come, sit here in your special chair each day and make charts.” Wow, my own chair, I thought. This is a chance to be near him again. Daily I showed up, tackle box in hand, ready to make charts about the proceedings.
I took copious notes about everything Maharishi said, made outlines, and created charts. Whatever publications or designs he concocted, I put on paper for Reginald to design posters, pamphlets, and books.
One day I arrived late. My special seat was taken. No problem, I’ll just sit over here. After a while Mindy showed up and sashayed over to me. “You’re sitting in my chair,” she bellowed, gesticulating with limp-wrist mannerisms.
I replied, “There’s nowhere else to sit. All the chairs are taken.”
“But that’s my seat Mahaaaashi assigned to me.”
“If Maharishi wants you to sit here, he’ll move me. But right now there’s nowhere to sit. I didn’t know you were coming. Why are you so late?” I asked.
“It’s my seat,” Mindy repeated.
Maharishi appeared. The throngs stood to greet him. “Jai Guru Dev.”
Mindy approached Maharishi and whispered in his ear. He looked at me and smiled lovingly. Then he pointed to the first row. “Mindy and her girls will sit there.”
Maharishi’s skin-boy shooed away some people so Mindy and Mindettes could park their satin-sari-clad fannies a few feet from their usual spot. Tears rolled down Mindy’s face. Is she so attached to this chair? I thought. She seems inconsolable. She’s still in the front row, right in front of Maharishi. What’s her problem?
Though I couldn’t decipher what upset Mindy, perhaps Maharishi had hurt her feelings. The next day I found myself on a train back to Melchsee-Frutt with a message from Maharishi—”Go and edit high school.” It was obvious who was behind my abrupt dismissal.
June 1976 arrived with International Staff back in Arosa. We high-school-group women got dispatched to Suvretta, a small, dumpy hotel in the valley, far from Maharishi’s lofty, sun-drenched Prätschli Hotel on the ski slopes.
Women assigned to Suvretta considered ourselves abandoned, second-rate outcasts. But I conjured a grand plan. I tried to persuade them, “Have faith. Maharishi will visit us. We can attract him with the right atmosphere. Thoughts are powerful. Maharishi says, “Whatever you put your attention on grows stronger in your life.”
“Maharishi—here?” They all laughed at me.
“You’ll see. He’ll come. We have to take the leap of faith. Leap before we look.”
In the only public room in the hotel, I placed a riser with a makeshift step leading up to it, found a couch and covered it with a sheet, arranged potted plants, placed flowers and a clock on a coffee table, and arranged chairs in a semicircle.
After I managed to get everyone fired up about inviting Maharishi, I phoned his skin-boy. Sure enough, a few days later I got a call. “Maharishi’s coming to your hotel. He’ll be there in an hour.”
I greeted Maharishi at the door. He smiled and gave me a flower. I escorted him to his platform. The steps were shaky and he nearly slipped, but he held onto my arm, made it to his couch, and sat down. “Very good,” he said. “Very, very good.” He looked at the eager faces. “Now, what you have been doing?”
Maharishi met the women in the Suvretta for two days in a row.
I felt I’d achieved a breakthrough. By taking initiative, I created what was essentially a miracle. After so many years on Maharishi’s personal Staff, I could make something happen by myself. As Maharishi said, “Know what you want, decide when you want it, figure your plan of action, follow through on it, and never doubt.”
One time I asked Maharishi whether Clarissa, Julie, and I (high school curriculum women), could round on the AEGTC Sidhi Course. That was a mistake. In August he packed us off to Leysin, near Lake Geneva, to “round” in the same hotel as women taking AEGTC. Adding scorn to shame, he made a public mockery of our group, announcing to all attendees that we were outcast from the secret AEGTC club (not in those words, but you get the idea).
After a month, Maharishi returned to Leysin and stayed two months. He called me to his room and said, “The three high school curriculum ladies will take care of a lady on AEGTC. She should never be left alone.”
Our assignment was to babysit Nancy Raymond, a “heavy unstresser.” I told Clarissa and Julie, “We have to move her to the ground floor. That’s the first thing Maharishi does with problem cases. In Mallorca, a female course participant seduced by a lustful male committed suicide by leaping off the balcony. And a mentally ill guy jumped off a rock into the ocean and washed up on the beach.”
“Oh my God! How horrible!” Julie exclaimed. “I’m a registered nurse. Maybe that’s why he asked me to look after her.”
Nancy told us, “I’m having experiences of sidhis, and they don’t believe me. This is the TM-Sidhi Course, right? So if I’m getting sidhis, wouldn’t that be the proper experience?”
“What are your experiences?” I asked.
“When I do the flying sutra, I levitate. I float up to the ceiling. I told the course instructor, Mindy Leibowitz. But she didn’t believe me. She was really mean.” Nancy sobbed.
Julie sat next to Nancy on the bed and put her arm around her. I went for a tissue in the bathroom. “Hush. It’s okay,” Julie said. “You’re safe with us. No need to be afraid of anything. We’ll take care of you.”
I handed her a tissue. “We’re going to have a good time. You’ll see.”
The following two months Julie, Clarissa, and I took turns babysitting Nancy. Sometimes she had clarity, other times instability. I was always cracking jokes, getting her to laugh. Clarissa fed her philosophy and inspiration. Julie gave her comfort. We made a good team, taking her on walks and lifting her mood.
Maharishi occasionally called us in for a report. He cut Nancy’s meditation down to nearly nothing. Soon she was okay—and grateful to her three angels of mercy. But she still contended she floated up to the ceiling during meditation. I figu
red she was probably astral traveling.
The course was finally over in October. Clarissa, Julie, and I traveled to Mürren with ladies from Leysin, including our charge, Nancy, who was ready to go home.
We got a feeling our days were numbered, as we waited anxiously to hear news from Maharishi. We were petrified he would send us away. All the signs were there. I feared he would say any day: “Go back to the States and initiate the people.”
We never discussed the grim topic—like we would jinx ourselves if we did. We pretended everything was okay. Finally a message came from Seelisberg via his skin-boy. “Maharishi says, ‘Come to Seelisberg. Then go to Gersau and work on high school curriculum.’” Gersau? I thought. That’s not what I expected.
We traveled to Seelisberg, where Clarissa said, “I’m taking the ferry to Gersau and I’m not gonna ask him. I’m not even gonna see him. I’m just going. I’m grateful to have a job. Are you coming?” I told her I would talk to Maharishi first.
One hour later I got a knock on my door. “Maharishi wants to see all the high school curriculum girls. You and Clarissa and Julie. Come now.” Panicky, dreading the inevitable, expecting the worst, I entered Maharishi’s room, palms together in Indian greeting, head bowed in reverence. Will this be my appointment in Samarra?
He greeted me with a scowl. “Where the other two high school girls are? Clarissa and the other?”
“They went to Gersau. They left on the ferry this morning.”
“Why they left for Gersau?”
“Maharishi, we got a message that you wanted us to go to Gersau and work on high school curriculum. Is that what you want?”
Maharishi snapped, “It’s time for you to go to the States and make a lot of money.”
Make a lot of money? I thought. What about initiating?
“You want me to leave?” I asked.
“This is due to your impatience,” Maharishi scoffed.
I was confused. Impatience? Why didn’t he tell me to go to the States and initiate the people?
“But Maharishi, I don’t want to leave the TM Movement. I would never want to work for anyone but you.”
“You are a very good artist. Make a lot of money and then take the six-month course.” Now I was more befuddled. Why would I leave the organization just to make money? Does he want me to become a householder and abandon the whole recluse lifestyle? Is that why I should make a lot of money?
“Maharishi, do you want me to get married?” my voice cracking.
“You always have to be dependent on someone,” he snapped.
This sounded like an insult, but I thought, I suppose I’ve always been dependent on someone—on Hannah, on Reginald, on Clarissa. Always someone. But I want to be celibate, which I’ve been for seven years. I don’t ever want to leave the TM Movement. Why money? That’s the last thing I care about.
“Maharishi, when you were with Guru Dev, you were dependent on him—”
“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Maharishi barked in an angry, arrogant tone. “Pshaw,” he sneered.
Oh my God. What a jolt! My mind whirled. I felt sick to my stomach. Everything I’d believed seemed to be collapsing.
But I’ve tried to model my life after you all these years, I thought. Every moment has been for you. Why did you tell us about Guru Dev unless you wanted us to emulate you? My throat choked with emotion. Tears filled my eyes and Maharishi’s face began to blur. The room started to spin.
Suddenly, inexplicably, Maharishi’s tone softened. “You are too much dependent upon me as a person. I won’t always be here.”
Confused and bewildered, I groped for words. What could I possibly express, with my mind a jumble? What I didn’t say but might have been appropriate, even eloquent, would have been some measure of gratitude—counting the innumerable gifts he’d given me, or extending thanks for the value he had ascribed to me. For by accepting me, sheltering me, and transforming my life, he had bestowed value on it. I wished it were a currency I knew how to spend, with wisdom.
Though all these fragments of truth lay hidden somewhere in my heart, the words weren’t there. In my state of utter confusion, I mumbled, “Uh, I, I want to tell you how grateful I am. Uh, how much I’ve benefited from being near you all these years.” I spoke just to say something, to say anything, as I felt completely lost.
Maharishi looked down his nose and scoffed at me as if to say, You aren’t worthy of my love. Then his face changed again, like a chameleon. Suddenly it softened. “Good. Go back to the States. Make a lot of money as an artist and then come back and stay.”
“What should I do with the Vacuum State book? Should I work on it in the States?” I felt like a hopeless, drowning person, grappling for a lifeline.
“Give all your notes to Mindy,” he barked.
No words could have ever been more shattering than these. My mind screamed. Mindy! My precious book—to Mindy! I’ll never see it again. It will never get published.
“Now go,” Maharishi snapped.
“Jai Guru Dev,” I said.
“Jai Guru Dev,” Maharishi replied, lovingly and sweetly.
Dazed, baffled, utterly broken, I stumbled out of the room, feeling quite like Arjuna in the first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita.
PART V
THE BEATLES’ GURU
Knowledge is structured in consciousness. Knowledge is different in different states of consciousness.
—Maharishi Mahesh Yogi
Keystone Features/Hulton Archive/Getty Images
16
THE BEATLES INVADE INDIA
FEBRUARY TO APRIL 1968
Do less and accomplish more. Do nothing and accomplish everything.
—MAHARISHI MAHESH YOGI
In 1968, the shock waves hitting Rishikesh, India reverberated around the world. When Mia Farrow, the Beatles, Donovan, and other celebrities visited Maharishi’s Meditation Academy, the planet paused for a moment, then changed orbit.
Though struggling to keep his sparsely constructed ashram solvent, Maharishi provided his famous guests double beds with mosquito netting, sit-down toilets, rugs, curtains, and bathtubs with water heated by staff in disused oil drums.
Maharishi covered airline, hotel, taxi, and sightseeing expenses for film star Mia Farrow and sister Prudence, who traveled with him on January 24, 1968, from New York to London, Bombay (now Mumbai), New Delhi, and Rishikesh.
January 1968, London: Mia Farrow and sister Prudence Farrow at Heathrow Airport on their way to India. Howard/Associated Newspapers/REX/Shutterstock
On their way to Rishikesh, Maharishi initiated Mia into TM in Bombay. As he imparted the mantra, she sneezed. When she said, “Excuse me, I don’t think I quite heard you,” Maharishi refused to repeat it. Later, whenever she brought it up, he waved her off. She felt this prevented her reaching the “field of pure Being.”85
Sixty-two course participants waited for a week, as Maharishi held a conference, and Mia enjoyed sightseeing at Maharishi’s expense. Finally, on January 31, all were assembled in Delhi to leave for Rishikesh—all except Mia, that is. Six hours later the sisters finally boarded their car, and at 3:00 p.m. the procession began.
The group reached Rishikesh too late to catch the ferry to the ashram. Both young and elderly teetered across the wobbly bridge over freezing Ganges rapids in the dark and hiked two miles to the Meditation Academy.
The outgoing, vivacious Mia became the center of attention. Maharishi catered to her every whim. Students resented her preferential treatment. When warned his coddling might backfire, Maharishi insisted, “An international star like Mia can bring good publicity. We must treat her special.”86
Maharishi often invited Mia to his cottage for an afternoon talk and mango snack. He singled her out and asked her questions during lectures, making her feel awkward. Maharishi appeared oblivious and continued to pile it on.
Mia’s impression of the ashram: “It was a strange and colorless place. We moved as if in a dream and spoke only where necessa
ry, in the respectful, hushed tones of visitors to a graveyard.”87
Mia had just learned TM and wasn’t practicing hours of meditation. She often wandered off to read by the Ganges. When Mia went shopping in Rishikesh, Maharishi, concerned for her safety, sent a brahmacharya after her. Mia was simply “bored out of her skull,” trying to occupy herself.88 Maharishi’s concern amused and annoyed her.
Mia brought back an emaciated, floppy-eared black puppy from one outing. Maharishi named it Arjuna. When Mia played hooky, Arjuna, with free reign, nipped and yapped at students as they meditated in the lecture hall.
Maharishi acted starstruck over Mia, who seemed to play him with her baby voice and wide-eyed look. The operative expression is “acted.” It’s hard to imagine him starstruck over anyone. However, the more Maharishi showered favor on Mia, the more condescending and hostile she became.
Disgusted with Maharishi’s apparent sycophancy, Mia dictated a cable for ex- husband Frank Sinatra (who deemed meditation “pagan”) in Miami: “Fed up with meditation. Am leaving ashram. Will phone from Delhi.”89 The cable wasn’t sent, because Mia was persuaded to take a safari with course participant Nancy Cooke (assigned by Maharishi to look after Mia) and return for her birthday.
On Mia’s birthday, February 9, lavish flowers, balloons, pennants, candles, and incense festooned the hall. Maharishi placed a silver paper crown on her head. Students presented fifty gifts provided by Maharishi, which Mia accepted with smiles and variations on “Wow, just look at that!” A decorated carrot sheet cake was served. The celebration ended with an inept fireworks display of misfired rockets, bloodcurdling explosions, alarming cries, close calls, and students ducking for cover. Maharishi laughed uproariously and Mia seemed entertained. When a rocket hit a German’s foot, festivities ended abruptly. The doctor was summoned.
Afterward at a private party, in an abrasive tone, Mia vented uncensored feelings: “I’m so fucking mad! Have you ever seen anything like it? I felt like an idiot up on that stage, with everyone bowing down to me!”90
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