"I realized that this man could not be my teacher"

A lesson from the path

Friends, first off, I am grateful for your show of support for this newsletter. My thanks to you. I am sharing with you a lesson from a teacher of mine (now dead) which I have never before written about.

In the early 1970s, my teacher was an idealistic member of the nascent Hare Krishna order, which had its first headquarters—still there—in a dingy little storefront in the East Village on First Avenue near Houston Street.

The HK movement was just getting started and they hadn’t a stick of furniture inside. But what they did have was the guidance of Swami Prabhupada (1896-1977) whom my teacher, a man of real values and seriousness, said he believed was a realized man, a term I never otherwise heard him use.

The Swami told his students that their first order of business was procuring or building benches. (The anarchist-Marxist collective at Stony Brook University used to call it “liberating” benches or whatever item was sought—but I don’t think that’s how the Swami meant it }:-) ).

One day, Swami Prabhupada gave my friend a sacred Hindu book to borrow. Since there was no furniture in the place, he had nowhere to put it down. Not wanting to place it on the floor, he put it on top of his shoes by the door.

My friend did yet realize that within traditional Hinduism shoes are considered very dirty and profane. When the Swami saw what he done he grew angry and told my teacher, “I see that you do not know how to properly treat a scared book—return it to me at once!”

My friend told me: “I realized at that moment that this man could not be my teacher. Because he could not see me.”

My friend would never disrespect a hallowed book. Never. That the Swami could not see that meant that my friend would have to leave and find a guide elsewhere. He soon grew dedicated to the Gurdjieff work, where I knew him.

Ironically—although I think purposefully—this cycle repeated in our lives. It may be intrinsic to the teacher-student relationship. My love for him has never once flagged.

In any case, the lesson I take from his story is this: you must never compromise your sense of self on the path. If a “realized” person (I have never met one) misjudges you, act on that knowledge. The path requires hardy travelers not cowering rabbits.

The path also requires people with sufficient intellect not to have to showoff how smart or in-the-know they are. Let someone else be smart. But never relinquish your being.

There is an expression: when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I believe that the reverse must also be true. Protect yourself in the search.