I don't believe in Gurus

I didn't believe in gurus. I had witnessed my brother succumb to a 10-year trance induced by a charismatic cult leader who, believing the planet was destined for imminent catastrophe, had her followers empty their bank accounts to build a bevy of underground fortresses. I had observed a handful of friends abandon their professional lives to devote themselves to a clear-eyed Indian who demanded they don scarlet attire and photo-malas and worship hedonism as if it were a religion. I had survived the dictatorial ushers in suits and ties who directed the masses coming to receive darshan from a stunning woman holding court in an urban temple the size of a plane hanger. I had heard stories of the genius Tibetan rinpoche who fell out of his chair while giving Dharma talks, a Tequila bottle tumbling from his hand. Not my style, I told myself.

Nina Wise, Remembering Poonjaji, Yoga Journal, April 1998, p. 73



 


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