Come meander with me on the pathless path of the Heart
in these anecdotal,
sometimes inspiring, sometimes personal meanderings of the Heart's opening in the every-day-ness of life...

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Guru At My Door

I have wanted a personal guru for some time now. You know, one you can sit across from, face to face, and ask all the questions that you have ever thought to ask; to be instructed in the ways of life, meditation & spiritual navigation. These days you can get at least a part of this from reading and listening to “spiritual teachers” in their books, or on tape, CD and DVD, Internet satsang, and so forth. But of course I want the real deal to show up at my door. When the student is ready the teacher will come, kind of thing. I am unable to travel to places like India, or even attend local satsang with itinerant teachers due to various physical and health issues. It just never seems to work for me. But I often wish a guru would come to my door and instill me with their wisdom… The “mystic” identity dies hard…

Today, as I was hanging a load of laundry in our guest bathroom, the clothes I didn’t want to run through the drier, I heard the doorbell ring, so I went down the stairs and opened the front door. A small, stocky middle aged man with a baseball type cap on was standing there holding a clipboard and a plastic bag with a Schwans logo on it. Now - we have a “no soliciting” sign posted at the entrance to the walkway that leads to the front door. So of course I’m feeling a little irritated that this solicitor evidently couldn’t read the sign. And I can imagine the disgusted look on my face. I know, I’ve seen it in the mirror looking back at me and it’s not a welcoming sight! It says you have crossed my boundary, back away slowly, which might have explained his somewhat cowered look. But he was brave enough to ask if I would be interested in anything from Schwans. (Schwans, for anyone who doesn’t know delivers prepackaged, frozen food items to your door.)

When he spoke, the loveliest East Indian accent poured forth from his being and I melted. I don’t understand why this happens to me. My husband knows a woman from Nepal and I discovered that I can’t stop crying when she talks to me. Strange but true, so I don’t talk to her very often…

Anyway, I am now intrigued by this little man from India who I was able to discover has lived here since 1995 and obviously trying to make a living for his family. I am not interested in pre-packaged, frozen foods, but I am interested in hearing his lilting Indian accent. So I ask if he’s from India – duh – but he politely answers and asks me if I have ever been there, to which I reply, “No, but I have some spiritual friends who have. “Oh yes”, he replies, “there ar a lot of spiritual peopel dere.” I then boldly ask him if he meditates. To which he replies, “Oh yes, I medi-tate evry-dey. Dhats the only wey to get through the dey, otherwise I would do stupid tings.” I laughingly said, “Well I meditate too, but I still do stupid things.” With that he broke into laughter while covering his mouth with his hand, for politeness I assume. But I could see the twinkle in his eyes, and am assuming my face softened as we made our connection.

I still didn’t want the foods he was selling, but he took my name “just in case,” and gave me his personal number on a Schwans’ receipt. His name was Raj. We both broke away from the encounter wishing the other a good day. I closed the door and went back to hanging up the laundry. I found myself wanting to go running out the door after him. I pictured myself running after him calling out wait, wait, come back, come and talk some more! Come tell me of your wisdom, of what you know, of what the universe is about… Come, let’s sit on the cushion together… But alas he was gone, my little guru, who in our brief encounter put a smile back in my heart and on my face, and reminded me that meditating was a good way to get through the day. After all, isn’t that what gurus are for, to remind you how to navigate through life! I now hope he stops by again just to check and see if I want anything, or rather, so I can hear that lyrical voice that brightened my heart.

While I understand that gurus don’t literally show up at your door – necessarily. It is my experience that when I am “ready” to see something that I need to see, I will find the “guru” that I need, in different forms. For instance, 2 years ago, when I was ready to understand where the mind goes when it’s not in the present moment, I found Richard Moss’ book, The Mandala of Being and his online e-courses (http://www.richardmoss.com/). Last August I re-discovered Adyashanti in the form of his radio satsang broadcasts for a sense of clarity (http://www.adyashanti.org/). And in December I found Scott Kiloby’s book: Love’s Quiet Revolution – The End of the Spiritual Search, when I was ready to see that I had been trapped in my personal story, the story of “me”, the dream self. (http://www.kiloby.com/)

When we’re ready the “teacher” does comes.

Who’s knocking at your door?

Heart Smiles, MeANderi


  1. Well, I must pause here to follow up on your links. . . to acknowledge that YOU are my own guru in this paused moment! ;-)

    And of course you noticed that when you ASKED for a guru, he appeared, replete with Indian accent! It's kind of funny how we can get what we ask for---at our own doorstep, even---yet still find fault with it, that we can distrust (and question the reality of) what we're given, that it's not quite what we wanted (a Schwann's truck driver?!!), but we learn, nevertheless.

    1. And now *I* am laughing out loud! You are such a hoot. I am hardly "guru" material. But if you like, I could put on a cap and drive up to your door in a Schwan's truck and fake an Indian accent :) LOL

  2. I tend to read "LOL" as "lots of luck," which is similar to its more common descriptive phrase. Actually, someone did knock on my door yesterday morning, a man asking for a jump (his truck had died), but I was still unwashed and in my pajamas and robe, was alone in the house (and didn't respond to his comment that my husband help him), instead telling him to check with the folks across the street (or---what I'd have done in his position, to walk just up the block to the pay phone at the corner store). But the voice that likes to remind me of how imperfect I am, of how unloving I can be spoke in my head (you know, the one that says, what if this were Christ---and it surprised me on many levels). Half-joking, sure, since this man was not in dire need, only inconvenienced. I'd have liked him better if he'd have had an Indian accent; he was just ordinary. ;-)

    1. Glad you used your discernment in this instance! Christ would have gone to the pay phone :) And LOL here meant - Laugh Out Loud... And sometimes I use it to mean Lots Of Love...


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