The Empty Chair (23 page)

“You might ask my motive for inviting them in. And I'll
tell
you . . . I agreed to
rendezvous
for one reason, and one reason only: I was intensely curious to lay an eye on the man who had
doubled
the offer made by the aforementioned intermediary, which in
itself
was a
king's ransom! To make things even more interesting, no one at the banks or newspapers had ever heard of him!

“But these stories amuse.
I'm quite certain these fools can be handled. What I am
next
going to tell you is an animal of a
different
stripe. It is far more pertinent, as it involves your personal welfare. So you must listen very
carefully . . .

“You are aware you've always been envied, true? From the beginning! O yes . . . I know this sort of question makes you
uncomfortable
, you must not answer,
there is no
need.
It's rhetoric. You see, the personal trait of yours Baba admired most was that you made no
investment
in the spiritual world. He extolled very much that part of you which would not feel
betrayed
if one day he were to
close up shop . . .
that would not feel
fleeced
or
cheated of his rightful profits.
O he used to tell me this about you with a gleaming eye—yours is an attitude
not the norm
,
I insure!
Because in the end, all seekers desire for a profitable enterprise, a pay-off, a dividend! They want to be in the
black . . .
You yourself have seen the type of person who is attracted to Baba and his teachings. Cast-offs of the Earth—as it should be. You were one too, no? A somewhat broken man when first you arrived, I recall . . . ashrams are
filled
with the miserable, the tragic, the befuddled. But let me say: the courage that gets them here, and watches over
them on their long journeys, the dogged single-mindedness of
purpose
is also the very thing that makes them available for nobler
pursuits. Other than saving their own hides, which of course is a natural inclination. Do you know what I'm saying, sir?
Here's
what I'm saying. There are certain amongst them—amongst the so-called
advanced
echelon who've been here a while—there are certain amongst them who have their eye—have
had
their eye, for years now!—on the guru's chair. O you would be
surprised
at who fancies himself a candidate. Sergei, of course . . . he's always been outgunning for you. And Ludmilla! Ludmilla from Romania! Barely with Baba for three years, but who knows . . . lady
siddhas
are suddenly
in vogue.
She might just be voted into that chair by popular demand.

“The plotting is worthy of Shakespeare! And
you
, my American friend, have been
spared
—for the moment. Because you are
top seed
!
It's all sport, I liken it to tennis that way—did you know Baba and me used to travel to Wimbledon? We did, oh yes, when Baba taught at Oxford. There are many elimination matches before sudden death . . . but this should not concern you, not
unduly.
Like my ‘window shoppers,' pretenders to the throne may be
handled
.

“You have
other
problems, friend, believe in me!

“I know
you are a
worldly man. You have
guts
, and would never have gotten so close to Baba if that weren't the case, he simply would not have
allowed
it. The stars would not have let it
happen.
Yet I must tell you: about
some
things, you are stunningly naïve. You spent years under the protectorship of your munificent guru. You stared only into
his
light—precisely as it should have been—which made you blind to other
influences
at
work.
But you have that protection no more!
Bombay is a metropolis of saints and sadhus, my friend, but it is also a city of rogues, of
thuggees
 . . . many so-called holy men are one and the same! They are indistinguishable! There are
networks
of gurus in rule of
whole sectors
, each with the iron hand of a
warlord
!
Swami
mafiosi . . .
and these are dangerous men, not simply because of the counterfeit nature of their teachings. Many have followers who know
nothing
of their greed and violent ways and hold them in their hearts with the innocence of children! With the same loving regard as did you your precious guru . . . These
criminals
give satsang, sit cross-legged on great stages
groaning
with flowers. It is not
manna
one smells in the air, but
manure
!
They hold forth to the
limpets
,
the
lampreys
and the
sheep
in stolen words pried from Baba's mouth—cribbed from his books—
your
books!—rolling the pirated phrases 'round in
shit
like pigs in mud till the sentences fit their
mercenary temperament or whatever the mood of the morning.

“Let me get to the point: there are
two
who need watching out for. They wish to collect Baba's
legacy
as if it were some sort of
payment due.
There is a longhaired thuggee, a
murderer
, who is chauffeured here and there in a Rolls-Royce wearing silken pajamas.
He actually believes he is our long-lost son!
His attorney forced me to give a sample of my blood, it was of course no match but still he
persists
—such are the delusions! I am telling you, American friend, this is all very serious! The thuggee believes in all his diseased heart that I am Mommy and Baba was
Daddy
, the man has his flock of sheep believing it too! A murderer and a fool! As long as your guru was
alive
, they never came near. Naturally, these men had nothing to fear from Baba, but fear him they
did.
And let me inform you of something you seem not to know:
they are now ready to take what they are most certain is theirs!
Only a
single
thing
still prevents them from storming the palace—a slender thread—because what ecstasy to at last be moguls of Mogul Lane, you better know it! It is the jewel in their crown! The only
single
thing
that still
prevents them from staking their
claim
is the very
real hesitation
in the face of those loyal masses who did rightfully worship our Baba. They are keenly aware those devoted
masses
are a sleeping giant best not awakened! Do you know what these
cads
fear most? Humiliation! Defeat! Loss of
face.
It would not bode well for their reputations, to be chased out on a rail! That would be a terrible
misstep
, serious enough to threaten their entire operation! General besmirchment and bloody turf wars would ensue.

“I have one more thing to add. I know you are worldly enough to understand there is always a
corker
—a mad one, more barbaric than his brethren—there is always a lunatic looking to make his mark. The corker's advantage—in tennis, this is called ‘add'—is
recklessness.
And I, my friend, through a
skein
of intelligence maintained by Baba loyalists, am now privy to the identity of our greatest threat . . .

“This is the longest and shortest of what I am saying:
You must sit in that chair.
Swallow your stubborn pride and muddle through a month of satsang until you have sea legs! Accept the momentous responsibility of that which has fallen upon your shoulders by divine plan! If you continue to give weight to cautious indecision—which as you know has its roots in that distinctive American trait called
neurosis
—if you continue to fly in the face of
your guru himself
, you shall find there is a terrible price to pay. I tell you the guru-thuggees are out for blood! When
your fanny hits that seat and not before shall you be safe and under
new protectorship
: that of the
masses.
Already, the guru-thuggees know who you are—oh yes! They have been
boning you up
for some time. Have you not seen them, hanging 'round outside your apartment? Of
course
you haven't, why would you be looking? You're
blissfully
unaware. Not a care in the world! A little
baba
in the woods . . . well they are
not
interested in your autograph,
sir. We've
all
been looking
,
all but you! They
know
you were Baba's favorite; they used to
fear
you. But each day they fear you less and less!

“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'!”