Bruce Wagner - The Empty Chair

“Let me be frank. We’re both well aware Baba had no fixed ideas on the topic of successorship per se ; he was of a mind the whole business was poppycock . But it is imperative you approach any ideas you have about what your guru would have ‘wished’—you must approach any such fantasies of ‘knowing’ what actions he may or may not have taken if he were still with us — you must destroy this notion that something about you is so special that it is actually possible for you to apprehend his philosophies enough to speak for him — you must consider this entire line of thought to be purely chimerical. The certitude that accompanies, sponsors and endorses any thought, no matter how trivial that thought might be, must always be thoroughly examined and approached with great caution . And then that certitude must be vanquished. For the mind is the enemy, my American friend! Guard against arrogance! If a person ever imagines it possible to know the mind of his guru, that person has set himself on a course to Hell! To believe oneself privy to a pandit’s thoughts — if one may even call them ‘thoughts’—it seems to me that to call them anything is another presumption — to believe one can truly know the ‘mind’ of a living master, let alone a dead one, providing of course that the guru is authentic… that , my friend, is to enter perdition. A triumph of Mind and nothing else. This is not to say one can never have a feeling or energetic inkling… but to suddenly be in prideful possession of such inklings or feelings is as delusional as the belief one has full knowledge , for the mind interprets them in the same way. To have inklings about one’s guru’s intention is a meaningless obscenity! Far better to admit to knowing nothing! At least with the latter, one lays claim to an ethical morality. The guru is not your friend! To presume intimacy is the sheerest of vanity. This is not America! The guru is not your Daddy nor is he your bro ’. He ain’t your ‘buddy’ either… You — all of us — are simply unfit to interpret the concepts of the Great Guru, who lived in Silence , who was— is —unknowable! Dare to indulge such presumptions and you are no better than the guru-thuggees! True, one feels an aching closeness to his teacher and misses him grievously when he is gone… that cannot nor should be denied. Yet in the shortest time, the mind transforms sorrow into the Cyclops of narcissism. You believe your hesitance to sit in the chair is indicative of humility, to ‘refuse the mantle,’ but the opposite is true! You’re wearing your obstinance like a peacock!

“You hesitate to sit because you have the notion that somehow your guru would not approve . But there is a fly in the anointment of your logic. My husband was neither politician nor strategist so how would it be possible for him to get lathered over this figment now causing you such distress? He is no Dear Abby in the sky. Because I know what you’re thinking, I know the beggar’s mind , you have the idea he would not approve of you taking the chair, or worse, that you’re not worthy. I say ‘worse’ because of the monstrous egotism involved in such a sentiment. Need I remind you what intrigued Father most was energy itself and how it manifests, which is precisely why the Source ‘arranged the dance,’ and why he was so tickled by your presence. And don’t forget! It is the same Source that designed the predicament you are in today! That is the cosmic joke, my American friend! Baba delighted in your energy , plain and simple. He knew that if your energy could be disciplined, contained and manipulated, you just might have what he called ‘the chance of a chance’… to be liberated from the Wheel!

“Look. There is no question you’re a charming fellow. You’ve been a careful, obedient student. You are a practical man as well, and know how to make yourself useful. But surely you cannot have thought he kept you around for your skills! Do you believe he considered you indispensable? The Wizard of Oz behind the drapes of the tobacco shop, riding in on his horse to save the hi-yo-silver day? That he wrung his hands and cried to the gods, ‘What would I do without him?’ No! He did not give a whit and a hoot about the books you made, the ponies you played, the women you consorted with, or anything else! Surely, you know this — and if you do not , I shall be quite surprised and disappointed. Though I’ve been surprised and disappointed before… but I am telling you now. Baba had no need of friends, favorites, cohorts . If you don’t know this, then you know less than nothing! He was no longer human that way. He certainly didn’t need followers… Your guru gave satsang out of filial piety to the Source whence he came. In weaker moments — human ones! — he allowed himself a small, trembling excitation upon encountering those whose energy delighted him — such as you — with whom he might brush against the bodhisattva’s dream: to free all sentient beings from their cage of suffering. Usually the ones he felt an affinity toward never stayed too long on Mogul Lane. He never thought you’d stay but you did , and that was a bonus , a very unusual occurrence! That was why he kept you close, because your energy was familiar. Fraternal. Unrefined yet similar to his. And it tickled him that you never had a clue what was ‘in your wallet’!”

The widow stood, signaling she was nearly done.

“Each time you pressed Baba’s feet at satsang’s end, it was confirmed in the most captivating way. He would tell me your touch never failed to convey the ‘congeniality’ of your energetic configuration…

“I warn you, dear friend, do not make this more complicated than it is! Take your place in the chair! Do not be bothered that most of them will have need to declare you were appointed by royal decree! Six puffs of smoke from the roof, from Baba’s favorite cigar! They shall see it through the crudest lens, they always do! Your challenge will be not to believe it, any of it! Making you feel special is not the devil’s work, it’s the mind’s. The mind will summon you to its bloody battlefield… a clarion call not easy to resist. To hell with how it will look. In time all will come ’round, I can assure—

“Think it over, my American friend, I urge you! Carefully consider why you flee from your destiny. Your life is in certain danger! There isn’t much time and I shan’t come begging again. For all is predetermined ! But mark my words, soon enough all will shout: ‘The Great Guru is dead, long live the Great Guru!’”

I’ve been telling this story as straightforward as I can but it’s convoluted by nature. Shall we do a timeline?

That last scene (hope you enjoyed) occurred roughly a month after the Great Guru’s death and some 48 hours before Kura found his place at the foot of the chair — a position, by the way, he would occupy for seven years. (As it happened, his apprenticeship to the American lasted precisely as long as the latter’s under the Great Guru.) Now we circle back to a question: When Kura and I first arrived at Mogul Lane just what the hell was going on? With that insane and glittering mob?

You see, mornings had become especially difficult since Baba’s death. As the hubbub of bereavement began to recede, the void once filled by satsang became a continuous reminder of the Great Guru’s absence. By unspoken rule, the lobby was off-limits between 9:30 and 11 when he would have held forth; its use as a walk-through vestibule or nostalgic loitering place felt disrespectful. There was a new wrinkle — devotees still gathered outside as they used to, only much earlier. Occasionally the satsang-less queue outgrew the sidewalk, snaking into the street with dangerous nonchalance. The police delicately brought this “hazard” to the attention of a Cabineteer, who brought it to the widow, who brought it to the American, who was only annoyed by the bureaucrats’ bogus distress. As far as he was concerned, the whole of India was a hazard. That was when he made a brilliant decision to open the doors to the Master’s house for what he privately referred to as “ghost satsang.”