Spiritual Ambition

a personal story of ambition, failure, and grace

In Tantra, and Hinduism generally, all of reality is personified as a Supreme Person. Many people are familiar with Shaivites, Shaktas, and Vaishnavites for whom Lord Shiva, some form of Devi, and Vishnu are worshipped respectively. But a lesser known form of worship personifies all of existence as Lord Ganapati (Ganesha). Practitioners are called Ganapatyas.

I was extremely fortunate to receive teachings from a Ganapatya in Varanasi. He not only gave me sadhanas, but he played a profound game with me that taught me some important lessons.

A sage sits under a tree

During my first visit to Varanasi, I met my Ganapatya Guruji. He was an unassuming figure and looked more like Mr. Rogers than a Westerner’s concept of an Indian spiritual teacher.

Every Tuesday evening, he would travel by motor scooter from his home about 10km outside of the city to my friend’s shop in Assi Ghat. There he sat quietly on a bench, sipping tea and holding satsang.

Over the course of a few hours, people from the neighborhood would wander in. They asked questions and received advice about their spiritual practice. Some of them just stood quietly, gazing at Guruji with deep devotion.

They told stories about his mystical meetings with Ma Ganga and many other stories about him that I can’t remember now. I also can’t tell you his name. Whenever I asked, his eyes would open wide. He would stare directly at me and reply in an almost comically sonorous voice, “Name is name.”

During my first visit to Varanasi, he played a game with me in a beautiful way. His subtle lila demonstrates how the cosmic process responds to a sincere but prideful student by creating opportunities for the student to recognize and relax her tensions and fixations.

Here is the story.

A very young titan

I arrived in Varanasi with plans to do a particular sadhana involving a hundred thousand Ganesha mantras and ten days of seclusion ending with an all-day fire ceremony and ten thousand more mantras.

When I first told him of my plan, Guruji immediately said: This thing is not necessary.

I replied that of course it was necessary. Such a sadhana is required.

He looked at me kindly. Just do one day, he said.

Oh no! I protested. I must complete the whole thing!

Ok, he agreed, but only do 7,000 mantras a day.

Once again, the “hero” said No!

At this point, Guruji’s energy shifted.

I will help you, he announced with great enthusiasm. I will do the fire ceremony with you!

But it takes all day, I pointed out. Guruji was not a young man.

I will do it! He jabbed his right index finger in the air, and this settled the point.

Guruji called one of his other students and began busily organizing everything as if my plan had all along been the best idea ever. Now, not only was I doing it, but the entire household was coming along for the ride!

The pointed play of circumstance

I was to start the mantra practice the next morning. That night, I came down with a high fever of no discernible origin. I barely made it back to my room.

Just before dawn, I dragged myself out of bed and began setting up for the first puja.

Somehow, that day I made it through the intended number of mantras.

But the next morning, feeling even sicker, I started again.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous noise of banging and people yelling on the ground floor. Workmen began dragging something up the steps of my landlady’s house. When they got to the floor above mine, the hammering and sawing commenced.

I interrupted my practice. The landlady was hovering just outside my door. She informed me that she was building an addition onto the top floor of her house.

But, I told you I came here to do practice. You said it was quiet!

It will only be four or five days of construction, she answered with a shrug.

I closed my door and sat down with a thump. I began doing the mantra once again. The noise continued. It was soon joined by the clanging of industrial-sized pots and pans from the restaurant kitchen next door. I could feel my fever rising.

My fingers stopped turning the mala.

I completed exactly 7,000 mantras that day.

Not having learned my lesson. . .

In the evening, I went to see Guruji.

I felt some nervousness. Guruji had volunteered to conduct the fire ceremony with me. I considered this to be an enormous blessing.

Not only this, but the whole neighborhood now knew about it.

Would Guruji be angry that I had stopped the practice? What would everyone think?

As I neared Guruji’s satsang spot, a young man I knew who worked at the shop next door yelled out for all to hear: What happened to your puja?

I smiled wanly and kept going.

Guruji sat on his usual bench. Several people were gathered around him.

He smiled at me with no apparent surprise.

Guruji, may I speak with you?

He motioned the others to move aside and indicated that I was to sit next to him.

Tell me, he said.

I told him that I had stopped the practice, that I was ill, and that I intended to leave Varanasi and go somewhere less urban.

I told him how grateful I was that he had offered to do the fire ceremony. And I apologized profusely for any trouble I may have caused him or the other students.

Guruji looked at me with melting tenderness, his head moving gently back and forth in the Indian way.

He said simply: There are no conditions. No boundaries. You are free.

And then he added, placing both of his palms on his heart and looking into my eyes: I am so happy for you.

I am so happy for you.

But this is not the end of the story.

The next day, I went to say goodbye before I caught the train to Rishikesh.

So, you are going to Rishikesh. What will you do there? Guruji asked me.

I will complete the mantra practice, I answered, not yet having learned my lesson, even after all that had happened.

Without missing a beat, Guruji declared: I will help you. I will help you from here!

In Rishikesh, I got even sicker. I spent most of the remainder of my trip in bed. I never completed the sadhana.

What kind of “help” is this? I grumbled. But I knew.

Grace, finally

The sickness, which turned out to be dengue fever, lasted for many months, during which my long-time habit of engaging in “sick effort” largely burnt itself out.

Now I approached my sadhana with greater playfulness and devotion rather than as something to be accomplished for the greater glory of “me.” Practice flowed easefully.

The beauty of this Guru-disciple process is that I was delayed from doing an ambitious practice until I had relaxed more deeply and let go of my ambition.

When I saw Guruji in Varanasi the next year, he looked at me and said: You are much improved. I am so happy for you.

with infinite love,
Shambhavi