In January 1976, at the age of 20, I was living in West Java, Indonesia, with Margo, a girlfriend from high school.

We were there teaching English while she studied Javanese dance, and I learned a little to play Gamelan music. We were both speaking the Indonesian language pretty well and managed to renew our visas under the table by giving English lessons to the daughter of the immigration officer.

Finally, in 1977, we had to leave the country and decided to go to India, partially because we loved Indian food and partially out of interest in meditation through reading Krishnamurti and Ram Dass. We began in Madras, where we were joined by a friend I’ll call Nina and another girlfriend from back home in California.

We travelled to Kerala, where Margo decided to stay for a week to help a boyfriend kick his heroin habit. Nina and I travelled on and agreed to meet Margo in New Delhi in seven days. In fact, it was seven years until I saw her again, during which time she returned to California, married, and divorced an ex-boyfriend of mine – but that’s another story.

On the way north, travelling by train, we decided to stop at some ashram to see what a guru is like and maybe try learning how to meditate. We sort of thought they were all alike and that meditation was something you could learn in a day or two and still make it to Delhi next week. Passing through Bangalore, we decided to stop and see Satya Sai Baba. When we got there, we learned that he was on tour, so we went back to the train station to take the next train north. That next train north was going to Poona, which we had never heard of, and we got on board in a third-class carriage, as always; our budget was about $2 a day.

On the train, we were talking with another young traveller about missing Sai Baba, and he told us that there was a very interesting guru in Poona, which, of course, was Bhagwan. We decided to spend the night in Poona and check it out.

When we came to the entrance called the Gateless Gate, there was a sign up that said, ’10-day Meditation Camp starts tomorrow’. We inquired and were horrified to learn about the price. I can’t remember what it was exactly, but it was about a couple of dollars a day, and to our surprise, it did not include room and board. We stepped back, looked around at all these beautiful European and American young people – all holding hands and hugging, dressed in long, flowing orange robes… gorgeous guys with long hair and beards… and decided to bite the bullet and do the meditation camp. We sent our friend a letter to General Delivery in the Delhi Post Office, saying that we would be one week late.

Later that first afternoon, we decided to look in on what was called Kundalini Meditation. We were directed back through the garden to Radha Hall, where all the meditations took place. We were looking all around but couldn’t see anyone meditating anywhere. All we saw was a bunch of people dancing with wild abandon. We stood next to that scene and asked some people, “Where is the meditation hall?” They cracked up and told us that this was it. We tried to join in… I tried to move in front of someone by signalling them to see if they wanted to dance with me. The meditation leader, Christ Krishna, had to come up and tell me that this is meditation and we dance alone.

I had always been painfully shy about dancing in front of anyone, never dancing at parties or discos. In the beginning, that day in Kundalini Meditation, I was held and self-conscious. I saw that most people had their eyes closed as much as they could without bumping into each other. I finally got it that no one cared about how I looked, and I got my first taste of the beauty of dancing freely. Bhagwan was my first and greatest dance teacher. To this day, I go wild on a dance floor (embarrassing my adolescent kids to no end), and I find dance a mainline to the joy of the here and now.

Someone advised us to try the Sunderban Lodge, a couple blocks from the ashram. We slept there that first night (with many more to follow), huddled under hole-ridden mosquito nets, wondering what the meditation camp would be like.

The next day, we began the camp. We attended the lectures each day. I remember thinking that this guy could be dangerous. If you believed him that there is a state called Enlightenment, then your whole life you would feel inadequate and fall short of happiness. I was, however, falling totally in love with his people.

At that time, you got to have a darshan with Bhagwan if you participated in the meditation camp. I was suspicious and uncomfortable watching everyone hang on to his every word and stare in doe-eyed fashion into his eyes. When I was called up, I told him that I was not at all interested in having a guru, that I was more independent than that, but that I was finding his lectures very interesting and enjoying the meditations. He recommended to both of us that we do the Enlightenment Intensive group. We wrote again to our friend, who would be in Delhi by now, that we would catch up with her in Kathmandu in another week. She wrote back that she was in love with some yogi, an Australian guy who was living an austere life and practising yogic discipline. She decided to go with him to live in Almora as his gopi and student.

Meanwhile, Nina and I had each found some gorgeous long-haired guys and were staying in separate hotel rooms. We did the Enlightenment Intensive group and remained in silence between exercises, so we did not really speak until we met at the gate of Lao Tzu House for our post-group darshan. Our plan was to leave the next morning. I’ll never forget when she stood at that gate, her hair wrapped in a turban because of scent lingering in her hair, and said, “I’m not going with you tomorrow. I’m going to become a sannyasin.” My first thought was, “Her parents are going to kill me.” She had a full scholarship to finish her college degree back home… I could see it going down the drain… which, of course, it did. I watched in sinking horror as she took sannyas. I felt deserted and could not relate to everyone falling for this guru.

The next day, I knew I didn’t have the heart to travel on alone. My friend Margo would now be involved with her yogi, and I was loving the community at the ashram, although I still couldn’t swallow the guru thing. I had also gotten attached to Narayana, one of those gorgeous long-haired guys, and just kept staying on, still wearing blues and greens, surrounded by my orange friends.

Narayana was out of money and was spending mine quickly, too. For the past few years, I had always taken on jobs wherever I travelled. He and some friends from the ashram had decided to take a few suitcases full of little silk ribbon purses, travel overland from India to Greece with them, and stay awhile in Mykonos, selling them to hippies on the beaches. Always up for a travel adventure, I went with him, hitchhiking and going by busses and trains across the Middle East. In those days, it was possible to travel overland through Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iran through to Turkey and Greece. Thinking back now, I can’t believe that I travelled unveiled at all through some of those areas. My most prominent memory is of a day in Iran when Narayana and I were arguing all day about plans and money. We got picked up by a truck driver, who quietly asked him how much money he would want for me. Narayana and I have always laughed about how tempted he was to sell me off that day!

When we reached Mykonos, we rented a house with Bhadra and Gopal for six months. I was living with sannyasins, and Bhagwan’s lecture cassettes were playing day and night. I actually feel like he was permeating into my consciousness through those tapes. Frankly, Narayana and I were fighting like cats and dogs, but I was feeling lost… 21 years old, not knowing what to do next. I ended up returning with him to India.

When we got back to Poona, in the comfort of the community, I felt at home and broke up with Narayana. I did some more groups, which chipped away at my anti-guru armour, one by one. I think, really, that it was the Sufi dancing and the evening music groups, that won my heart, rather than the master. I honestly just wanted to live in this loving community for eternity.

It took me quite a while to realize that Bhagwan was the magic ingredient that made these people and this place so wonderful. He was the glue and the inspiration, and for this reason, I came to love Him beyond all reason. I guess that once I let Him into my heart, the seed grew and grew so that eventually I loved Him with all my being, as did all of us there.

The next day, I knew I didn’t have the heart to travel on alone. My friend Margo would now be involved with her yogi, and I was loving the community at the ashram, although I still couldn’t swallow the guru thing. I had also gotten attached to Narayana, one of those gorgeous longhaired guys, and just kept staying on, still wearing blues and greens surrounded by my orange friends.

Narayana was out of money, and was spending mine quickly, too. For the past few years I had always taken on jobs wherever I travelled. He and some friends from the ashram had decided to take a few suitcases full of little silk ribbon purses, travel overland from India to Greece with them, and stay awhile in Mykonos, selling them to hippies on the beaches. Always up for a travel adventure, I went with him, hitchhiking and going by busses and trains across the Middle East. In those days it was possible to travel overland through Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iran through to Turkey and Greece. Thinking back now, I can’t believe that I travelled unveiled at all through some of those areas. My most prominent memory is of a day in Iran when Narayana and I were arguing all day about plans and money. We got picked up by a truck driver who quietly asked him how much money he would want for me. Narayana and I have always laughed about how tempted he was to sell me off that day.

When we reached Mykonos, we rented a house with Bhadra and Gopal for six months. I was living with sannyasins, and Bhagwan’s lecture cassettes were playing day and night. I actually feel like he was permeating into my consciousness through those tapes. Frankly, Narayana and I were fighting like cats and dogs, but I was feeling lost…21 years old, not knowing what to do next. I ended up returning with him to India.

When we got back to Poona, in the comfort of the community, I felt at home and broke up with Narayana. I did some more groups which chipped away at my anti-guru armour, one by one. I think, really, that it was the Sufi dancing and the evening music groups, that won my heart, rather than the master. I honestly just wanted to live in this loving community for eternity.

It took me quite awhile to realize that Bhagwan was the magic ingredient that made these people and this place so wonderful. He was the glue and the inspiration, and for this reason, I came to love him beyond all reason. I guess that once I let him in my heart, the seed grew and grew so that eventually I loved him with all my being, as did all of us there.

“The modern man slowly slowly has forgotten the language of the heart. The possibilities that open only through the heart are completely forgotten. Only one thing has remained, and that is your reason, your rationality.

And the trouble is, all that is beautiful belongs to the heart, all that is meaningful belongs to the heart, all that is significant is a fragrance of the heart.

Reason is perfectly good as far as objects, dead objects are concerned; for scientific research it is the best instrument. For things, reason is the right method of discovery. But the moment the question arises about anything living, reason is impotent. And if you ask reason a question concerning life, love, peace, joy, blissfulness, it simply negates, as if these things don’t exist.

It is almost like a blind man. If you talk about light to the blind man, he is going to say that there is no light. Because to see light…your hands cannot do anything to see light, your ears cannot see it, you cannot taste it, you cannot smell it. All your senses are perfect, but only eyes have the capacity to see light and colours and rainbows.

Reason has a limitation. It is a perfect tool for dead things.

And this is one of the mistakes of this whole century: we have been asking blind people about light, or asking the deaf about music. Asking reason about love, meaning, significance, ecstasy is futile. Reason will simply say these things don’t exist – because reason has never come in contact with any of these things. Reason is not intentionally denying you anything, it is just not its capacity; you are stretching it beyond its capacity.

It is good that at least in your life one thing is still significant: your love for me.

But you cannot give any reason for it. Or can you? Is it something rational? Is there some arithmetic behind it? – some scientific evaluation? Can your mind support it?

It is not from the mind that you are related to me; it is that a part of your heart is still alive with me, is still dancing, is still singing.

And that is the great hope: your heart is not dead, you have not completely denied it.

This small loophole is enough. If I can enter through it, I can bring the whole of paradise behind me….

And once you are drunk with natural life, death disappears; you become part of an eternal flow of life which knows no end. Every moment is a new discovery, every moment a new peak. Every moment you think, what can be more than this? – yet the next moment something more becomes possible.

This is an unending process. Just let me in. And the way to help me is to meditate.

Sit silently….

Life is boring – so there is no harm in sitting with closed eyes, because there is nothing to see. Sit silently, peacefully. You have looked outside and you have found nothing but meaninglessness. Now give a chance to your inner world: look inwards.

And I promise you that the same eyes which have not found anything outside will find inside everything, a constant hallelujah.”

Osho, Beyond Enlightenment, Ch 22, Q 2

From the book, Past the Point of No Return by Ma Anand Bhagawati