Many people have extreme misconceptions about spiritual teachers and enlightenment. I was one of them. My spiritual journey began when I was very young, with my Grandmother telling me stories about Jesus. Jesus, it seemed to me, was perfect. He was always in bliss, poor, and never sick. These beliefs were solidly implanted in my childs’ mind and no matter how much logic accumulated years later, when I met my own teacher, they were strong enough to initially block my openness to him.
My second major spiritual influence was Paramahansa Yogananda. He wrote the book called, ‘The Autobiography of a Yogi’. Starting at age eleven and continuing until I was fifteen, this book became my bible. The information in this book further established the belief that frugality, optimum health and well-being were signs of enlightenment.
My third and most long enduring silent spiritual mentor was Carlos Castaneda and his teacher Don Juan. I read and studied Carlos’ first eight books relentlessly from the time I was sixteen until I met my own teacher at thirty-two.
My teacher got headaches, was not poor and sometimes when he took a nap, his body would twitch, which did not look blissful. However, he was the ultimate example of someone living unconditional love; someone who never gave up on anyone; someone who was conscious in a way I could barely imagine; someone who always, no matter what, simply was able to constantly show me how everything was okay. Miracles happened around him as a rule rather than the exception. These miracles happened to me and to countless others that his path crossed, with me as a witness.
I, of course, would thank God that I did not have to travel to the Himalaya’s to find him. More honestly than that, I thanked God that I ever met him at all. I feel blessed every day that my life took this miraculous turn.
MEETING MY TEACHER
I could tell you volumes about the events that occurred leading up to meeting my teacher. And over time, I will tell you those volumes in story form and out of chronological order. Now, however, I will tell you the events that occurred two weeks prior to meeting him and the day I met him.
I was good friends with three women. These friendships were relatively new. I had only really been friends with them for about one year. I felt honored to be a part of this group of friends. At thirty-two years old I was the youngest. Ranging in age from forty to fifty, these three women, to me, were amazing examples of strong women, who were successful in their lives and also living from a spiritual base. Their names were Mary, Renee and Carol.
Renee called me one day and told me that Mary was having a ‘healer from the Middle East’, coming to speak at her house. My first reaction was to have hurt feelings. I was very hurt that Mary, herself did not call me directly to invite me. My second reaction was really to say, ‘Oh well, who cares.’, because I had met so many healers and teachers to no avail. I could really tear apart everyone I had met in the spiritual realm. No one, it seemed to me, were really practicing what they were teaching. Or what they were teaching were things I was not really interested in learning. I was at this point, disillusioned and somewhat jaded.
Mary did call my brother and invited him. He went. I did not go. It was the last Saturday of January, 1992.
Later that evening, my brother came over to my house. My brother actually spent a lot of time at my house. We were both very interested in spirituality and we were good friends. We spent countless hours talking about Carlos Castaneda and Don Juan and finding a teacher and getting enlightened. I will never forget that night. Immediately when he got to my house, I asked him how the talk at Mary’s house went. Really, I was secretly hopeful and curious, but I acted cool, like I really didn’t care. Then, my brother looked at me and said, ‘Arlissa, (name change story in the works) this man is the real McCoy. He really stressed the words, ‘real McCoy’. I was hooked. My curiosity was now inconsolable. I trusted my brother, like no other. His words to me were precious. And these words in particular, were the words I was waiting to hear most of my life. I wanted to hear everything my brother had to say.
I made a commitment inside of myself to never again foolishly miss an opportunity due to my childish hurt feelings. I prayed I would get another chance. Finally a week and a half later, I heard that he was coming back to Stockton the next Saturday and I vowed I would meet him. That Friday, before meeting him, I became exaggeratedly nervous. Being nervous was not something I experienced often. The nervousness built and built until I had ridiculous diarrhea and could not sleep at all the entire night. (Look, this is a real story and this really happened. I didn’t want to leave anything out!) I felt like I was preparing for the interview of a lifetime, actually, make that several lifetimes, and that I could not mess up!
Saturday morning my friend Carol and I met for coffee. I normally never drank coffee, but Renee and Carol had introduced me to Lattes’ and Mocha’s. What can I say? I told Carol about my strenuous night. She confirmed that it must have something to do with meeting this man.
Around 1pm, we all convened at Mary’s house to meet this person. There were about thirteen people there. This included me, Mary, Renee, Carol, Mary’s daughter, my brother and his wife, and several others, all of whom I knew. The ‘man from the Middle East’ sat in front of the fireplace. Everyone else sat in a horseshoe shape around the living room. Some people sat on the floor and some sat in chairs. I sat directly to his left, in a chair. I wore jeans, a hot pink sweater and make-up, a beautiful heart necklace carved from ivory from my brother and my hair was spiked straight up.
The very first thing he said as he gathered his fingers together and brought them to his heart was, ‘I am a man who is bringing a gift.’ Then he lifted his fingers out from his heart and opened them towards the group. It was really a beautiful and intriguing beginning. He then began to speak. He spoke for two or three hours in lecture form, directly to some people and answered some specific questions. I was mesmerized. He was highly intelligent and I felt truth in and agreed with everything he did and said. I was such a critical and skeptical person, I could not believe that I could not find anything wrong with anything he did or said. In fact, he was so accurate it was startling.
At some point, he suddenly stopped speaking. He stated, “Someone in here is blocked.” “Who is it? Is anyone having any problems with what I am saying?” No one spoke up. Starting to his right, he began asking each person individually if they were experiencing any problems with what he was saying. Each person said no. When he got to me, I said no as well. (However, my stomach was still painfully nervous!) He stopped for a moment and was quiet. He then turned to me, and stated, “It’s you.”
I replied, “No, I don’t have a problem with anything you are saying. In fact, I am agreeing with everything you are saying. However, my stomach is really upset and nervous.” And quite frankly, I was secretly excited to have gotten his personal attention, no matter what the reason!
He then stated with authority in a firm voice, “You are blocked.”
I laughed. Part nervousness. Part confused as to what he meant. I almost shouted, “No, I’m not!”
He replied, “You are blocked and you have a titanium wall around you that is so thick that no one could penetrate it.” His words were loud and sharp and painful.
I immediately felt a combination of accusation as well as sadness as some part of me felt the wall he spoke of. I became quiet.
He then requested that I come and sit on the floor next to him. At this point all of my coolness was quickly receding into places where I could not command it to return.
He looked at me. He asked, “What do you want?” In that very moment, simultaneously, I felt an incredible stab in my heart and as I threw myself face down to the floor crying, I screamed, “I want to go home!” Okay, if I could have stopped any of this I would have. All of my friends were sitting in silent shock. I was known as the tough one, the strong one, the cool one, the one that did not cry! I uncontrollably sobbed face down on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, with my mind jumbled in what I could only describe as confused and overwhelming pain.
At some point, this man asked me to stop crying so he could tell me a story. The message of the story was that sometimes we cry because we are in pain and there are also times that we cry to keep someone from hurting us or hurting us more. I sat up and stopped crying.
He looked me directly in the eyes. His eyes contained a wisdom, a clarity and a feeling that I had never seen in anyone’s eyes. He said, “Give me six months of your life, and you will look back at this day, six months from now and not recognize yourself.”
I am not sure if I said this out loud, but I certainly thought, “You’re on.” I felt I had nothing to lose. And, if this was my opportunity, if this man was truly my teacher, then I was not going to miss the chance.
