Art of Living Course or Curse?

BY HUMBLE WITNESS

My first introduction to the convoluted world of the Art of Living was through a very benign-looking “basic course” I took many years ago. There I was, surrounded by wide-eyed, innocent students like myself, each of us looking for something different. Some were there for stress-management techniques, others were there to improve their grades or become more productive at work, and still others were there to find the purpose and true meaning of their lives. There we all were, looking for different things in that same place. And by the end of the course, somehow the teacher had us all convinced that AoL and SK were the magical answer to all our problems in life and the only key to happiness. We were told we were among a select chosen few to come across this “knowledge”, and I somehow believed what I was told. I have to admit, I felt blessed, and from that space of love and gratitude, I devoted the next several years of my life, every ounce of my free time, and every penny of my savings to AoL courses—to attend them, organize them, and teach them. And in hindsight, that first course I took, which lead to all the others, turned out to be a curse that had brought so much misery, and lead me down a path that nearly destroyed my life.

Over the years that followed that first part 1, I had attended many other courses. There seemed to be a lot of pressure in my local group to attend advanced courses (part 2s, DSNs, blessings etc.). The common conception was that these courses were a “true vacation”, an opportunity for growth, or a path to enlightenment, and not to be missed, whatever the cost, especially when given in the presence of ravi shankar. If you didn't have money for the course, borrow it. If you didn't have time to take off work, make up an excuse or just go anyway. These were things people did to get to courses. Our local teachers encouraged us all to go, taking advantage of our weekly kriya gathering as an opportunity to spread the word about these “amazing opportunities”. There was an unspoken competition among peers to get all the requirements done to become a teacher. Somewhere along the way, I got swept up into the mania and dragged myself to course after course all over North America (and even in India). Somewhere deep down inside, I must have known the truth about AoL because often I would get overtaken by a sense of revulsion and anxiety as the course date approached. I truly did not want to go, and often would come close to cancelling. When I asked my teachers about these feelings, they would encourage me to go, like zombie cheerleaders, and attribute all the “negative” feelings I had to “pre-course karma”. After coming home from such courses, I would usually fall ill, and inevitably be applauded by the group for going through such “purification” and “cleansing”. It was something to almost be envied for. Once after an extended course in the Montreal ashram, held in the dead of winter, I returned home with such severe bronchitis that I needed immediate medical attention and was at risk of developing pneumonia. It took me over a month to fully recover. Only in AoL could becoming so ill be regarded as a sign of something so positive.

I was always attracted to this idea of doing “seva”, or selfless service in my community. But somewhere along the way, tens of AoL courses later, the idea got twisted, the wires in my brain got shorted, and I got convinced that the highest seva and the only one worth doing is to organize more AoL courses and recruit more people to spread the “knowledge”. And like a good little “seva warrior”, I did just that. Organizing courses and “outreach” are the true dirty-works of the organization. Any salesman would tell you that the hardest thing to do is “cold-calling,” where one introduces a product for the first time and meets with rejection most of the time. But I was trained well in DSN and TTC1 to “overcome my inhibitions”, and accept rejection, criticism, and emotional abuse. I was primed and ready to be a seva warrior and organize successful events, “come what may”. I would set the course dates, put my own money down for a venue, and then invite teachers from out-of-town. In return, I would receive their “support” and “encouragement” in the form of pressure to meet certain numbers of paid participants by certain made-up deadlines, or else they would threaten to not come at all. I did not want to lose my credibility with the people I had managed to sign up for the course, and I certainly did not want to lose the money I had to invest from my own pocket. Desperate to recruit enough people for these courses, I would make frequent announcements about the “amazing” upcoming event in our weekly satsangs, and I quickly exhausted my supply of friends (many of whom I’d lost due to my involvement with aol), and alienated myself from co-workers by attempting to recruit them and neglecting my work. I nearly lost my job for this “seva” and found justification for my actions in ravi shankar’s words “if you do my work, I’ll do yours.” Inevitably, I was stuck with both our work, and I was the only one left accountable if things failed.

If the numbers fell short, it would be my fault for not “moving with the grace”, not having enough faith, not having strong enough “sankalpa”, or not being fully open to HIS divine guidance. No matter the reason, a failure was my fault, if people didn’t sign up, the problem was always “in my mind”, and I’d be the only one left to foot the bill in case the event fell through. But when things were pulled off successfully, of course the credit would go to ravi shankar, the supreme master of the universe, our divine leader, GOD HIMSELF. I don’t know which was worse—when an attempt failed and the course had to be “postponed” (mind-you, never cancelled to let you off the hook), or when a course was “successful” and proceeded as planned. By the end of the course, inevitably, one or a few of the course participants would be “inspired” to organize the next course, and me, being the “experienced team-leader” would be asked to oversee the whole operation. On too many occasions, I felt compelled, or rather dragged into course organizing for that very reason. And yet again, I’d be the one responsible for the outcome (but only if it wasn’t successful).

Even though AoL had become an increasing drain on my time, energy, and personal and financial resources, I still aspired to become an AoL teacher. To this day, I’m not exactly sure why. Was it because I longed to make a difference in the world, convinced that sk was the answer? Was it because I wanted to be among the “chosen few” (or so I thought at the time) to spread “HIS knowledge”? Was it because so many others with whom I associated aspired to become teachers and I got swept up in the mania? The only thing I know for sure was that I was driven, and somewhere along the way, I stopped asking questions and became unaware of my own reasons for doing the things that I did. I had all those words of encouragement told to me by various AoL teachers ringing in my head. “You would make a great teacher,” they’d say, or “you should become a teacher.” When ravi shankar himself told me to become a teacher, I felt honored, and became the envy of my satsang group. And like a good little zombie, I followed through and took all the required courses.

Once I became a teacher, only one thing had changed. I still had to do all the organizing, but this time, I had no choice if I wanted to remain true to my words. I had to say “YES!” to everything, no matter how absurd the request, no matter how much energy, time, and finances it would require. I had to be in the “yes mind”—after all, I was a teacher, and preaching that very concept to my students. If an inexperienced or mentally-unstable member of the group wanted to organize a 108-person part 1 course, my answer would be “YES!”, or if he/she wanted to organize a 1,008-person event with food and music, and turn it into an intro-talk, my answer would be “YES!”, or if they wanted to invite “guruji” to our city with the promise of a stadium full of 10,008 people, the answer would be “YES!” My answer was always “YES!”, but I’d be thinking “no, No, PLEASE NOOOO!” People in the group would go off to part 2 courses and DSNs and come back with their head full of all these ill-conceived notions that they are superheroes and can do anything, and they’d have all these ambitions and plans for “growth of AoL in our city”. And being the only local teacher, inevitably, I would have to get involved in some way or other. Every course (even those that others wanted to plan or take) was truly a curse that brought more misery, and sucked me dry. AoL had become another full-time job, and the irony was that I myself, who needed most a “true vacation” (which at that time translated into a part 2 course) could not afford to take one due to lack of money or time. I lived in this sad state for years. My productivity at work declined, my relationships with friends and family became nearly non-existent, and AoL had taken over my life.

To help get me through those times, I had successfully learned the art of manipulation as an AoL teacher, and I’m ashamed to admit that I applied all the same tactics that were used to pull me into the organization to recruit others for courses and to encourage them to become teachers themselves. I held “free” events (such as weekly satsangs and “introductory workshops”) and used those as opportunities to sell courses to members in the group or members of the unsuspecting public; I’d always have students share their wonderful course experiences in front of the group to compel others to take courses, and I’d always share my own exaggerated “wonderful” and “awesome” experiences with the techniques or courses; I’d always recruit a number of “repeaters” in any part 1 course who were convinced of the value of the course to help to convince the newcomers of its value and keep the group together; I’d praise those in the group who would make “good” teachers on their skillful delivery of “the knowledge” and encourage them to become teachers themselves. The list could go on and on. Needless to say, the sum total of all these subtle manipulations were used successfully to convince myself and others to further ravi shankar’s pursuit of money, power, and god knows what else.

I recognize that at every juncture I had a choice. No one twisted my arm, and I was never forced to do anything for AoL. But it is in my nature to be agreeable, to want to do the “right thing”, to have a positive impact on those around me, to practice what I preach, to follow through with my commitments, and to take full responsibility for the impact of my words and actions on others. Normally, in real life, having these qualities might be regarded as a positive thing. But in the twisted world of AoL, they make one vulnerable the subtle manipulations, and were the very qualities that kept me slaving for the organization for many years. It was the initial realizations that many of the teachers are hypocrites, that the “trauma relief efforts” are a sham, and that sk, the “gem” of the part 1 course, is downright harmful, that helped me to see aol and rs for the fraud they truly are. And reading all of the experiences and insights that have been graciously posted on this forum have helped me to understand many of the other things that went on in the org. that seemed “not quite right”.

I have been free from AoL for several months now, and with the AoL curse behind me, I have never felt more alive, more invigorated, or more full of honest-to-god joy (not the fake-it-till-you-make-it kind)!