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A Kind of Book Review

29/6/2020

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​                            Return Ticket - Jon Doust, published by Fremantle Press

      I wrote this appraisal in response to a request to present a book to an old blokes’ book club (where I was a former member). We met at a café in Claremont on 30 June 2020. Discussion was lively and opinions, as usual, were many and varied. Some members took issue with the structure and found trouble with the shifts between present and past tenses. Others found the story interesting but having too many strands, some of which were not developed. And some, like me, thought the inner world of the key protagonist, Jack Muir, could have been explored in much more depth. But the book, overall, stimulated everyone and all of us were familiar with the era, although the trajectory of our lives differed greatly from the physical and emotional journey of the author’s alter ego.

                                                                                      ѽ ѽ ѽ

        First a confession. I know Jon. Not well – but well enough that I could invite him to do the Denmark launch for my first novel, Absence Makes. This was seven years ago. Prior to that, I attended the launch in Fremantle of his second stanza in the Jack Muir trilogy – To the Highlands, where Jack is a young man in New Guinea, doing a boring job and living it up. Before that there was the acclaimed Boy on a Wire, an excruciating account of being a boarding student at a Perth private school. That semi-fictional memoir captured what it was like to be sent away from home, allegedly for the purposes of education – only to be confined in an institution where bullying was rife and empathy for young, developing boys was almost non-existent.

      We have been waiting some years for Return Ticket. Whether that reflects due diligence on the part of the author – or being distracted by other more pressing matters – is an open question. He may give some sort of answer but in the end it doesn’t matter a damn. The book is the best by far of his work.

      Why do I say that? For starters, we have moved from tortured adolescence to indulgent youth – to a maturing and evolving Jack Muir. He begins the book in his home town of ‘Kincannup’ in 2018. In other words it is contemporary, as he writes. He is washing dishes – and we are introduced to the theme of the compulsive dishwasher, which recurs throughout the book. Before the end of the first page Jack is taking us back to Israel in the early 1970s where he supported himself washing dishes for an Israeli baker. And then that short introduction ends.

         The real story begins on page 10, with Jack looking back over his shoulder half a century when he climbed aboard the Fairstar in Fremantle, bound for the UK – but he is waylaid, so to speak, in Durban, South Africa. There he develops a political and social conscience, and experiences the contrasting story of life under apartheid with what he has been accustomed to in the comfort of his home country. Eyes wide open, he experiences brutality and near misses, while introduced to drugs and sex. He is on the bones of his bum but somehow scrapes through.

       By 1973 the scene shifts to Israel. He is a volunteer on a kibbutz. By then we get a sense of his idealism – much as it affected many of us at that time. Yet, in contrast to South Africa, he is now forced to be responsible and he takes to that with a relish, unlike other volunteers who he describes as ‘spoilt, self-indulgent, pretend hippies’. None of them have cleaned a toilet in their lives and they have to learn to get down and dirty.

      Slowly the veils fall off Jack’s eyes when he sees the kibbutz is not living up to his concept of a socialist dream. But he does find Israeli friends who he respects and he earns respect from them. Many conversations take place as he learns about the intricacies of the Middle East. He also manages to fall in love or in lust, whatever. Neeva is an Israeli.  Jack’s friend, learning of the relationship, called him a ‘brave man’.

      There is indeed a problem. The family for starters – Polish survivors of the Holocaust, who will disown their daughter if she remains with Jack. She also has a boyfriend – all in all, complications that paint a gloomy future for the relationship.

      Indeed this is so. As Jack describes it, he ran away from South Africa because of hate and he runs away from Israel because of love. Back in Australia, he is in turmoil – raging ‘against himself, his parents. He hated everybody he met, in the bakery, in the front bar of the Freemasons Hotel and at the Kookaburra Café.’ Basically, Jack came home unannounced and within a short period of time he is amongst ‘idiots who had no idea what was going on in the world, the wars, assassinations, mass murders, invasions, suppression of freedom.’

      He misses the intensity of his conversations when he was away and now he finds that people just make statements, without the experience or the depth of understanding. Or they talk about the weather, the stock market or the Potato Marketing Board – the latter a reference to the south-western region of Western Australia where our author grew up, and potato farming was all the go.

      Lonely and bored, Jack realises the only thing he can do, in a nutshell, is work. Which he does, with an energy bordering upon compulsive. In the course of family gatherings his mother talks to him about her own past. Jack admits to being depressed but says it ‘won’t let him down’. He wants his mother to admit her own depression but she says she hasn’t got time for ‘that sort of thing’. Besides, his father ‘would not allow it.’

      As for old school friends, they are mostly in real estate and property development and the thought of spending time with them ‘repulsed him’.

      Then there is an interesting event – a kind of moment where the light bulbs go off, if only momentarily. Jack is taken by his father, Andrew, to the Rotary Club in the Freemasons Hotel. He is nervous, smoking cigarette after cigarette. He will talk about his experiences in Israel. When introduced, he is asked whether the people he has been with (in Israel) are Communists and whether that crushes individuality. Jack ends up giving a neat comparison between ‘totalitarian bullshit’ and a kibbutz movement which ‘believes in the education and improvement of the individual because if the individual achieves, this will benefit the collective.’ On that note he asks whether they think his father – who is definitely all about improving the collective through his individual actions – is a Communist. That draws laughter and an approving hand on the shoulder from his dad when they go home. This is the approval that sons – perhaps all sons – seek from a father.

      Meanwhile, his Israeli girlfriend is back with her boyfriend and tells Jack to find a new love.

      A second magic moment occurs when Jack’s parents – and Jack – surprise themselves by engaging in a ‘kind of hug’, before breaking off quickly and going in their own directions. He goes to bed that night ‘his eyes full of tears, his heart full of love and longing’, and he mulls over his mother’s suggestion that he see a psychiatrist.

      Jack goes back to Israel. He’s received a letter from Neeva that indicates her parents have come around. Upon arriving, he is soon back working in the kibbutz. When he meets up again with his girlfriend it is awkward. She goes back to the army and he continues working, this time armed with a pistol, as the security situation is fraught. But his depression has lifted and he feels at home.

      To cut to the chase, Neeva gets pregnant, baby gets aborted, both leave Israel, get married in Scotland, return to Australia, marriage flounders. Those of us who have had partners with different cultural backgrounds will appreciate how the scene in Australia can both attract and repel. It is, as the expression goes, laid-back – and while this has its positive aspects, it can also drive Europeans screaming up the wall.

      Neeva leaves, but not before they have had ‘vigorous and sweaty sex’ on the last morning together. Jack is ashamed and keeps his shame to himself, not wanting to tell his parents about his ‘latest failure’. He lets himself go, drinking heavily, and full of remorse for not being perceptive enough to make it clear to himself and to Neeva he would have wanted the child.
​
      Jack goes back to Israel in 1976. (Another 'return ticket'?) Things don’t work out particularly well. He spends time with his girlfriend and has a couple of flings. He does a lot of talking and the political situation gets canvassed. He meets Americans and Dutchmen and other nationalities. They also talk a bit about religion. One American thinks he is Jesus and that get up Jack’s nose. Religion, as such, gets short shrift.

      Through the story, Jack regularly returns to the present – 2018. Three quarters of the way through the book he talks about his friend, Hansie, a psychiatrist who was ‘once a South African’. There is discussion about the collective shadow and Jungian psychology. They also meet with Lester, an Aboriginal man – at a café in Kincannup. Hansie also introduces Jack to the notion of our shadow – the denial of those aspects of the unconscious that get projected onto other people on a collective basis. Jack doesn’t need formal sessions – the coffee meetings with Hansie are enough. He is also pleased Hansie is not omnipotent – he too makes mistakes in his relationships and ‘falls victim to a desperate need to be loved.’

      Jack is a bit of a literary person. He can quote Kahlil Gibran and Herman Hesse – almost compulsory reading in 'alternative' circles in the 1960s and 70s.

      After another visit to Israel, Jack seeks out a cousin at Pinjarra with whom he feels confident he can unburden himself. The conversation ends with a hug and tears – no words are needed. This feels like a bit of a tangent in the book, as the cousin doesn’t feature otherwise in the story.

      But in Israel in 1977, Jack meets the woman who will stay with him and meet him in all respects. She is of Dutch extraction and they go to Amsterdam together. The reception at the airport leads him into detention until he can get clearance – but his new love’s father hates him, mainly for the fact he will entice his daughter to Australia.

      Back in Perth Jack goes to university and finally gets himself an education. He is still married to Neeva, and has to get divorced with the self-help Australian divorce laws that came in 1975. His Dutch lady has yet to arrive and Jack has to get a job to support her and him.

      She does show up – and gets pregnant – and a child is born. But Jack is a mess again, drinking too much and smoking. He goes to an AA meeting and weeps. After that he doesn’t smoke or drink again. Those who have worked with addicts might find their eyebrows heading skywards. It ain’t always that easy. As a reader, I would have liked more detail about the effects of going cold turkey.

      Years later Jack meets up with Neeva in Israel. She asked him why he’s come and he says he has come to apologise. It is a nice moment of reconciliation and redemption. Important to the book, I thought.
Throughout the story we are treated to Jack’s musings about the state of the world and humans in general.

      As the book draws to a close he acknowledges he and his wife are ‘romantic socialists’. They like to give money to people or to do shopping for others and have a sense of community and kindness. Jack revives the old quote that if ‘you were young and not a socialist you had no heart, and if you were older and not a capitalist you had no sense’. As they had accumulated enough to live on, he and his wife could still afford to be generous to others less fortunate.

      The book, in its present setting, is very aligned with contemporary Albany (‘Kincannup’). Jack is still enamoured with the concept of the kibbutz but he distinguishes the toughness and resilience and ability of the Israelis from the totalitarian regimes that permeate the world. He is also very tuned into Aboriginal issues and culture. And, to top it off, he goes to Iran to look up an old friend who he met on the kibbutz. He is surprised about how open people are with him. Not the fanatical place he expected. These diversions – the indigenous associations and commentaries, and the journey to Iran - feel extraneous to the main story. It’s as if everything in Jack’s life has been thrown into a pot – to melt, boil, or evaporate. As with the interlude with his cousin, William, these strands are a bit like stray cobwebs. Perhaps a more stringent editor would have ruled them out.

      In the last pages, Jack acknowledges the socialist experiment is over and that parties of the Left in most modern democracies have become shadows ‘and only inhabit stories told by ageing baby boomers with beards and memories’. Israel is included in that category – and Jack gives a bit of a breakdown of countries that are not really countries and the aftermath of colonialism where lines were drawn in the sand. And Jack reflects on his own insignificance ‘even less than an atom in the history of the universe’. Again, this opens the door to more in-depth reflection but Jack chooses not to enter. It’s a good line about the ageing baby boomers and their memories – and has current ramifications in our polarised world where liberalism is under attack on many fronts. Having introduced the subject, I wanted the author to dig and speculate and expand. But instead the story winds down, and the moment is lost.

      Jack’s mother dies before his father, which was how they thought it would happen. Before she dies his mother comes out with the statement ‘I wasn’t much of a mother was I?’ A statement Jack describes as a ‘ glorious and painful moment when a person you have known from the beginning of your time opens the heart and soul and all you can do is hold them and thank them for honouring the relationship.’ This is a gem of a statement – one that gets to the heart of the pain and glory inherent in our connectivity with other humans.

      As for his father, Jack describes a combative relationship that reminded me of my struggle with my own father. His dad tells him, not long before his melanoma diagnosis, ‘you were a cantankerous, argumentative boy.’ Jack tries to deny it. His father affirms it, and Jack tries to deny it again – thus, in a humorous way, confirming what the father has said. But their aims were different. Jack’s father wanted his son to agree with him but Jack says that ‘all I ever wanted for you was to accept who I was, that I might hold a different view, sometimes, perhaps, even agreeing with you, but from a different perspective.’ He then watches his father reflect and to soften in his final days. They hug ‘the hug of the quick and the living’. Jack wonders whether he would need that length of time before he is able to share secrets with his own son.

      Coincidentally – if there is such a thing as a ‘coincidence’ - on the very day I wrote this review I watched two YouTube videos where the protagonists, from childhood, had been dissatisfied with their circumstances and wanted to find their place in the wider world. The first was the singer/songwriter, Joni Mitchell. She grew up in a small town on the bleak Canadian prairies. She escaped – but only by getting pregnant and running away to hide her shame. Yet it led to her development as an artist and the documentary was beautifully crafted, revealing her struggle with the ‘alone time’ needed for her art and also for her desire to be loved and to love. Then I watched a documentary about the physicist, David Bohm. He had grown up in the back-blocks of Pennsylvania, a coal mining area, where his father ran a small business. From an early age he gazed at the stars and speculated about the universe. But he too had to get away – to get away from his father’s expectations that he would into the business. Being a physicist was not considered quite the same thing. Jack Muir exemplifies this deeply held desire to find meaning and purpose – and to turn one’s back on both upbringing and locality – a kind of fumbling and bumbling path into the wider world that you know will offer its fair share of disappointment and heartache but at the same time represents an invitation to find out who you really are and what you can contribute while you are here on Earth.

      I found the book got more powerful as it progressed. Sometimes the political discourses struck me as a bit naïve – but that was the idealistic, romantic socialist that Jack acknowledges. I guess you often want the characters in the book to turn out the same values as you have – and the same conclusions about life. But they’re not designed to do that and you can’t argue with an author for not fitting them into your mould.

      It’s an easy read. The narrative, although it skips around in time, is coherent – and the dialogue is pretty straightforward. Jack’s internal life is crucial to the book and I kept hoping the author would plough deeper into that fertile field. There is so much rich material around the way we come out of a family, with all our expectations and the expectations of others – and how we find our place in the world, navigating new relationships and finding a productive and satisfying way of living. For some, this seems to come comparatively easily although I would surmise such folk are in the minority. Even for privileged baby boomers there have been challenges – and, in some cases, tragedies. How we have met these challenges has formed us, and how we have evolved and grown in our understanding is something Jack Muir would be interested in but did not really articulate in any detail.
​
      Is there any place for hope? Are we just a minuscule part of a tiny speck, a brief spark in the unfolding universe, destined to be birthed, to die, and be forgotten? Or is there some greater purpose with which we can wrestle as individuals and share collectively? Quasi-autobiographical books such as Return Ticket provide an opportunity for an author to delve into these realms and although Jon Doust makes it clear he is not Jack Muir, I’ll wager there is enough in Jack’s reflections and conclusions that Jon will find aligned with his own.

                                                                              ѽ ѽ ѽ
 

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Whirling in the Pool - What 'sannyasin' readers are saying

12/6/2020

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      Nine months have elapsed since the launch of my memoir. I shall never grow rich on book sales but have been encouraged that my scribblings have found an audience, both here in Australia and overseas.

     Overwhelmingly, responses have been positive. Most people engage with the content, in particular my life story, and there is praise for my writing. But before I wallow in self-congratulations, it should be acknowledged that folk who are less enthused are prone to stay silent. Feedback may be skewed for that reason.

      In any case, I thought it might be useful to summarise what readers are saying. On one level, it’s shameless self-promotion – and I won’t shy away from that. If the endorsements that follow provide an incentive for others to purchase the book, that’s great. Hopefully, the comments will also be of interest to those who have already read Whirlpool. They may be able to reflect upon where they find themselves on the bright spectrum of opinion.

      One of my aims was to reach a broad audience, not only those with whom I have shared a guru and communal past. And this seems to have been achieved, drawing from the spread of readers and the comments I’ve received. Some people confided they always wondered what the attraction was to an Indian guru, plus taking sannyas and upending one’s life. My memoir has given them some understanding. Alternatively, there are those who identify as sannyasins but are open to hearing fresh perspectives. Their feedback suggests the book has given cause for reflection.

      In quoting from people who have contacted me, I’ve been mindful to keep the comments anonymous, unless given the green light to do otherwise.

      So here we go, with responses from those who have been or remain under the sannyasin banner:

​                                                                          ∞ ∞∞

      ‘I've just got out of the Whirlpool, which to me was a very fine read.  I'm most impressed with what I've gone through. I might call it a sober and seminal contribution of what it takes to go your own way - with spiritual teachers, masters and stuff. Your style of writing is a pleasant, flowing one; it seems like writing is an effortless thing for you to do.’
                                                                              ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I’m touched by your bravery, in being willing to look at all sides, all issues, and hold a respectful and wide place towards all of it, while not dodging the exposure of your own conclusions. I also valued your wide reading of many sources, most of which I have also read. And I enjoyed your intelligent and idiosyncratic style of writing. It’s good. I agree with you that many of us in the 70’s were exceedingly raw material. Immature, idealistic, cocky, angry, lost, disillusioned…..and we were also a bunch of very lovely souls, brave and heartful, mostly pretty intelligent, and so diverse. And the humour and playfulness! To share our lives with such a gathering was, in itself, such a privileged and unique happening. I’m glad others, like you, have done the work of examining and writing of it all.’ {from Nirved}
                                                                             ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I just finished reading Whirlpool and like it. You are an excellent writer and address many controversies in the second part of the book.’
                                                                              ∞ ∞∞
      ‘Reading your book I felt your energy was sorely missing in the entire narrative. I perceived you as having written your memories in a controlling sort of way, there was no inner juice I could detect and relate to. Also, to have other people’s comments excerpted and collected in the last part of the book, wasn’t happy reading for me. I usually enjoy inserts about other people as you go along writing, it makes it rounder, more alive! All in all, I felt the book rather flat and unnecessarily overly cautious.’
                                                                              ∞ ∞∞
       ‘I appreciated and learned much from your book both historically and heartfelt.  I love that you were honest in your examination of Rajneesh, the human being.  I am most attracted to his early works when he was Acharya until the ranch years.  He changed so much during his silence that he seemed like a completely different person... The chapter ‘Other Voices’ was a bit challenging for me to read.  This was possibly due to how it was arranged and my thinking process.  I started to lose track of who was saying what. I love that you did the interviews/surveys that you did. I love how your book was arranged in the chapters and subjects addressed. Your life story, the experiences as a sannyasin, examination of Osho and the movement, and the ending portion of spiritual/philosophical ideas. Thank you for sharing your life and your reflections on Bhagwan and the sannyas community.  I hope that more people will be as reflective as you have been about the wonderful and the dark parts of life as a sannyasin.  It is easy for me to love the mind and heart of Acharya Bhagwan Rajneesh Osho and his teachings/philosophy and still question the decisions that were made while he was alive.’  {from Champak}
                                                                                 ∞ ∞∞
     ‘I just finished your book and thoroughly enjoyed it. I must say that I found we are pretty much fully aligned on both our views of what happened and why it matters. I am glad that new light is being shed on the dynamics of the master/disciple relationship in general. The argument that it is a time-honoured tradition doesn't wash.’
                                                                                ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I agree with a lot of your conclusions, but there is a big difference: responsibility and becoming better people are not in my equations. 
      The name of Mr Schnarch (means snoring in German). But also the understanding that you describe after working with him is very important in my eyes. Awakening doesn’t fix your relationship or improve your working skills. This applies in fact to all areas of our worldly lives.
      It's always, when you are getting into moral issues, that I find your book weak. In those cases (also on your blog and in some of your FB posts) I feel there is a stretched out second-finger rising, telling everybody to repent and behave decently from now on. I certainly wouldn’t do the same things again, which I did in my RNS time, but why should we feel sorry for it?  I agree mostly with your recollection and analysis of Osho’s work and its consequences and you’re giving a good overview over some of the post Osho/post Papaji teachers. I’m still with you when you describe that awakening and ethical conduct has nothing to do with each other. I cannot agree, when you bring in ethics through the back door again in later parts of your book, but I still would recommend it to friends as a valuable eye-opener in many ways.’ {from Mahendra}
                                                                                   ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I’ve finished the book and so much to say. It moves from a great yarn into a serious case for the prosecution. Well presented in a lawyerly way at that! If I were on the jury I’d probably be convinced as you present a compelling case. While you might not have been in the cauldron you were certainly in the fire with all its consequences, while I was merely scorched - peripheral but nevertheless memorable and defining the second half of my life to a large extent.
      At the point you propose that Osho knew and in fact was the driver of everything, it occurred to me that I’d never lain in bed at night pondering this and if I hadn’t totally believed the official version I’d surrounded it with enough fuzz that it somehow didn’t emerge as something to bother myself with. Although I spent three months on the ranch leading up to the 1985 July celebration I had stayed fairly incurious to the politics and immersed myself in work. My own thoughts later were that it was the best and worst experience of my life, though having to reassess ‘the best’.
I haven’t read widely on the issue or even discussed it with someone who thinks like you so I was pretty shocked to be confronted with a version that had a ring of making sense. I may have said it in response to your questions but whatever Osho’s ultimate weaknesses may or may not have been I believe that the act of ‘taking sannyas’ or being initiated was life changing. It felt profound and I think it changed me in some fundamental way. I don’t think it’s any accident that most of my friends are or have been sannyasins. We have shared something that other people haven’t which is impossible to define but you obviously know what I mean. It doesn’t mean I don’t have other friends and networks that I value highly. And maybe it’s something to do with belonging to a loose tribe…we recognize something in each other like distant cousins. 
      There were lots of other thoughts that came and went as I read your book. One is that the whole ‘Osho experiment’ belongs to a particular time. It pushed boundaries but wasn’t totally out of sync with the mores of the day. For instance ‘free’ sex in the suburbs was a thing. Under-parenting, as opposed to today’s over-parenting was a thing. We were really in rebellion to the straight laced-ness of our parents who hadn’t been blessed with the easy life we had. Osho was made for the time and filled a niche. It’s interesting to speculate on what Osho would be like in today’s world.’ {from Bhavan Marshall}
                                                                               ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I just finished Whirlpool. Couldn’t put it down, as they say! You have written the memoir people tell me I should write, so now I don’t have to. While I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, including the bibliography, I was surprised that you did not reference one of the most complete and thoroughly documented works, The Osho Sourcebook (a bio-bibliography 25 years in the making, compiled by a Danish librarian, and free on the web) on the life of Osho.’
                                                                                  ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I couldn't agree more with your characterization of Wild Wild Country, which was a rip-roaring good yarn but did little to explain Osho's pull. I think it was a good documentary for sannyasins, giving much needed material on Sheela's state of mind, etc., but not so good for newcomers, who probably just ended up conflating Osho and Sheela and thinking the whole thing was a crazy cult and that was pretty much it.’
                                                                                 ∞ ∞∞
      ‘Having now had a chance to give your new book a thorough perusing I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. It manages to straddle the tricky divide between a personal memoir and a documentary account in a deeply informative and un-self-serving way. It’s also a real page-turner. The inclusion of ‘Other Voices’ was a stroke of genius and the positioning of the views of the true believers with those of the no-longer-enchanted was particularly poignant.’
                                                                                  ∞ ∞∞
      ‘Thank you so much for writing it.  For me it is the first step in reconciliation.  I was utterly depressed at certain moments, horrified to learn of that which is public about Osho. But the strange thing is the idea of reconciliation is being expressed in me.  I have a renewed sense of being okay, and all that I have done in this life to this moment here is just perfect as it is. And to also add it is clear the presence of the master is just that; still present.’
                                                                                   ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I have been meaning to write to you. This is just a short one to say, I loved your book. It was good for me to see that my old friends feel similar about certain things in the past. So thank you to you.’
                                                                                   ∞ ∞∞
      ‘Last night I was sleepless and I got caught up in the Whirlpool for three hours (since I have not really time to read thoroughly, out of curiosity I started in the middle - Rajneeshpuram). Amazing to read your description, I love it! Amazing the details you remember. I share especially your analysis of the events 100%.’
                                                                                    ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I just finished your book and thoroughly enjoyed it. I must say that I found we are pretty much fully aligned on both our views of what happened and why it matters. I am glad that you have put that out in the ether, though I doubt it will change many minds among the faithful.’
                                                                                    ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I found the structure of Whirlpool to be quite effective in that the commentary grows out of Bruce’s narrative of his own search for meaning at a time in history when there is a decline in organized religion in the West and an increase in inner exploration. In the first part of the book, Bruce writes with candour and clarity about his life and relationships and succeeds in capturing ‘the flavour of the era,’ the youthful idealism that led many young people to take the ‘road not taken.’
      I am very grateful to Bruce for using his memoir as a basis on which to explore the master-disciple relationship. In his analysis of this complex situation, he asks some very pertinent questions as he identifies the flaws in the fabric of the Rajneesh movement that led to its downfall. As he points out, unless spiritual movements are based on an ethical foundation and discerning wisdom, they will flounder. One lesson I learned from my own experience is to be aware of my tendency to reify spiritual teachers and the organizations around them. The teachers themselves do not exist in the way we imagine them to exist, and the organizations they represent exist within the constraints and demands of the world. It is sad that we didn’t wake up to the fallibility of our teacher sooner, but it is never too late to learn important lessons from our experience. Those lessons form part of Osho’s legacy, along with innovative meditation techniques. This is the first account I have read that was written by someone who was involved the movement that takes a critical look at the situation, and I am convinced that in doing so, Bruce has accomplished his goal of facilitating ‘a deeper understanding of what . . .a search for meaning may entail.’{from Claire Lamme}
                                                                                 ∞ ∞∞
      ‘A most interesting read. A book with not only, intimate personal exposure, but also with great richness of information and analytical discussion, provoking much fodder for reflection. I certainly enjoyed the language and writing, which was of such an impeccably high standard. It was because of the exceptional writing that it was a pleasure to read. One of the many aspects that appealed to me was the brilliant use of adjectives and metaphor, which are peppered throughout the book. I particularly liked the phrase ‘crush the stalactites of the incipient ego’ (just to quote and single out one). It was also pleasing to read work that was always so grammatically correct (something that does not seem to occur in other recent publications, despite employing an editor). 
      I particularly enjoyed all of Part One. The detailed account of your family background, your earlier years and all the experiences that you had growing up in post-war suburban Perth, as well as your education, work experience and marriage. I also really enjoyed reading the trajectory of your ‘journey’ and your involvement with sannyas. As the whole story unfolded, I found it most absorbing, and the story flowed so easily and engagingly.
      I certainly did appreciate, and revel in, Part Two. Written more in essay format, with quotes, references, philosophies and discussions, of so many teachers, theories and concepts. What I found most interesting were your dialogues about ‘Enlightenment versus Personality’, ‘crazy wisdom’, the ‘Three Magi’ and the integrity of spiritual masters and teachers.
      Over-all, I did find some of the points that you were proposing, somewhat disturbing, and they re-aroused some concerns that I had at the time, but certainly don’t concern me now. Sannyas was always considered to be ‘an experiment’, one of which I was passionately involved, and have absolutely no regrets. I can appreciate your point of view and ‘observations’ (P.258 – 261), which do ring with some truths. However, I also had my own experiences, the positive ones which I treasure, and the negative ones, with which I have come to terms.
      The most endearing part of your story, for me, was the account over time, of your relationship with Daniele. I was deeply touched by your open-ness and honesty in revealing the progression of your involvement and evolution within the relationship. Despite all the difficulties and conflicts, you appear to have come through with such loving resolve.
      I was poignantly moved by the last page of your book. There were things that provoked and inspired me, but I also respect and admire your ‘courage to be fully human’ in the writing of Whirlpool.’
                                                                                 ∞ ∞∞
      I especially liked the snippets about commune life, because it was something we all shared and it was amusing to see someone else’s world within my own world.
      Other parts were probably better for those closer to you. Having worked closely with editors over the last twenty-five years, I have come to appreciate their understanding of how to move a narrative along while keeping the reader engaged in the flow rather than skipping around. I did find myself skipping around a bit to find areas that spoke to me. The rather granular descriptions of particular relationship dynamics don’t quite do it for me.
      I liked the comments section at the end. It was an interesting mix of really quite thoughtful remarks based on ongoing life experience, mixed with what I can only call  sort of culty stuff about how ‘He’ could never do anything that wasn’t perfect. But I guess this reflects the very broad community that we were and shows how, while some people strive to keep learning, others take refuge in admitting no fault. (And as an aside, I see this quite a lot on Facebook. I have become horrified by how many sannyasins, thinking they are being great rebels, embrace conspiracy theories and anti-science. Wow, I think! The ultra-right has won. They have co-opted the flower children!)
      I did enjoy the book overall. I think I would have liked a bit more ‘big picture’, but perhaps that wasn’t what you had in mind. {from Krishna Gopa}
                                                                               ∞ ∞∞
      ‘I loved the ‘voice’ that was afforded to those who contributed to share candidly in the latter section of the book; my impression was that the responses were measured and honest. I also felt that it scratched the surface of what was evidently for all a powerful experience. The sense of place that was achieved in the more biographical and early life chapters I also enjoyed.
      The thing that resonated very strongly with my own experiences was that the experience was significant, meaningful and powerful in all of the respondents lives, also that the experiences were collectively viewed as both positive and negative; the experience of sannyas and commune has become part of the bigger picture and understanding in the ‘search’ for meaning be it intellectual, emotional and/or spiritual.
      I felt that the text flowed well and was for the most part engaging.
      I enjoyed all of the Chapters of Part Two but especially the Other Voices chapter. I felt your exploration and analysis was balanced and was not stridently pushing any agenda other than seeking/presenting understanding and insight. I felt that the way you tied up the ‘loose threads’ was an important inclusion. Your focus on the broad picture as well as the mundane/individual experiences was valuable and held the reader’s interest.
      Balance was achieved in relation to controversial issues. Although I fear those who are still in thrall of the (so-called) Master will disagree, but then that is the nature of the beast isn’t it?  And a defining feature of being in a cult. (I think that as we seek freedom unless we have maturity we fail to understand the responsibility that is inherent in that quest, and there are certain truths about us humans that are universal no matter how much we might as individuals chafe against that.) I reckon that you could do another instalment dedicated to ‘Other Voices’ as it felt as if you had scratched the surface of what was there.’ {from Shanti}
                                                                                    ∞ ∞∞
      ‘Thanks for sharing your life, your thoughts, your insight, analysis and questions in, Whirlpool. The title itself is a good starting point; interesting and apt. How can one come to grips with anything when sloshing around in a whirlpool? The washing machine metaphor is interesting too, in view of cleansing and renewal. You see the phenomena of Sannyas as a whirlpool; a force greater than the self (with a small s) that sucks one into a state of either grim hanging on or ecstatic let go! Chaotically alternating between these two states! From the title I get a certain feeling – a feeling of being out of control! You have encountered a force of nature, and one that one falls into accidentally unless one is a particular kind of thrill seeker. A whirlpool sucks you in and throws you back out again, it’s radical, unforgiving, ‘dynamic’, dramatic…..surrender or die!! When you’re thrust in a whirlpool there’s no chance of reasoning, having a calm discussion over a cup of tea!
      I see how this reflects in your book. One moment you are flung into the deep end and the next climbing out and evaluating the experience. Yet always being changed in the process.
      And here we are now gripped by the whirlpool of Covid 19. Not being able to see clearly ahead, the ground ripped from under our feet and occasionally coming up for air as we adjust to the ‘new normal’. It’s finally given me the chance to finish reading your book!!
      I salute and admire your book. I feel you genuinely and honestly try to come to terms with the contradictions you encountered. It’s ordered and clear in its layout. It’s an offering of your experiences and I appreciate all the effort you put into it.  You have a great gift with words, able to express your thoughts clearly. Most of all I love the honesty, how you’ve shared difficult issues like, sex, parenthood, complicity, loyalty and spirituality. I think you said that there are as many stories as there are Sannyasins and we all experienced the phenomena differently depending on ……well an infinite number of factors, including conditioning, expectations, imagination….Past Lives!!
      I think for me the greatest gift was having permission to be a devotee – to dance, celebrate, be a mad Bhakti Yogi, freeing myself from a repressive childhood, to celebrate and express myself in ways I’d never have thought possible. Osho spun my romantic heart (in a whirlpool!) into a vortex of longing. And now I see it’s not ‘him’ but the longing that is the treasure. Sannyas gave me a Wild Ride, life-long friends, countless lovers, amazing insights, unimaginable experiences, a spiritual education; taught me meditation, painting, calligraphy, Tarot - and is still teaching me Trust. When I took sannyas, a typewritten message accompanied the letter with my name written in His beloved hand. The message read; ‘Initiation into sannyas is initiation into trust. It is the beginning of an inner journey…….a flight of the alone to the alone. It is going into exploration within the very core of your being. Only trust can become the boat to the unknown’ As fresh, relevant and mysterious today as the day I received it over 40 years ago.’ {from Anudhara Rolph}

                                                                                       ∞ ∞∞

      As the above accounts make clear, there is a wide residue of opinion among those who have a sannyasin heritage. This is to be expected, and if my book has achieved anything, it may be to do with inducing some readers to think more critically about that important time in their spiritual journeys. I’m not under any illusions my account may change the way others regard the guru/disciple relationship – particularly, those who are wedded to an idealised version of Osho and whose identity may still be symbolically wrapped in an orange shawl. These folk tend to dismiss any critique as irrelevant or, as one old devotee informed me – an attack on the guru. And then there are some, including those who have been close friends, who ignore the book or maintain their distance, in part, I assume, because they have already pigeonholed my views and don’t want to engage.

      I guess when any writer or commentator ventures upon the delicate territory of personal belief structures, there is bound to be resistance. It makes me laugh (or cry). The spiritual search, if it means anything, implies a willingness to investigate anything in us that might trigger a reaction. That is how we get to learn about ourselves – an ongoing process – and to grow.

      Most of us who encountered Osho in the 1970s and 80s are now at a rather advanced age, and it can be hard to re-examine, let alone re-evaluate, the spiritual edifices we may have built for ourselves. By the same token, those who dismiss or negate their early explorations may not give enough credit to their younger, more innocent selves. It took courage and trust to turn away from the mainstream - just as it takes a certain humility and ongoing awareness to see whether the love affair that flowered has become embedded in our day-to-day activities and attitudes, as we continue to enjoy the extraordinary gift of life.

                                                                                ѽ ѽ ѽ


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