Ram Dass Rides the Holy-Man Circuit
His brother claimed that the proof of his legitimacy could be found in one of his wisdom teeth.
There was one letter, an invitation to speak to a yoga class at Vacaville state prison, that Ram Dass lingered over longer than the others. He knew that, who was serving a 20-year sentence for marijuana possession and a subsequent prison escape, had been transferred to Vacaville, and the thought of speaking before a group of convicts that included the man who had probably been the single greatest influence on his life was understandably a troublesome one to Ram Dass.
We piled into the van and drove to the hall where “An Evening with Baba Ram Dass ” was to be held, stopping briefly for carob ripple cones at a local ice-cream parlor that claimed to be both organic and kosher. There was a long line outside the hall when Ram bass arrived, carrying a huge bowl-shaped tamboura in a canvas case. One fellow, a new-style autograph hound, came up and asked him if he would “do some Rams on my beads” and a couple of other people in the line followed suit.
Well, it wasn’t exactly an upbeat message that Ram Dass brought to these sons and daughters of middle-class, positive-thinking, sauna-in-every-hide-away parents. Life is suffering, he told the children of the dream, who seemed to take the message in their stride. They gave one another back rubs while they listened and passed around joints and tried to balance the soap bubbles someone was blowing on the tips of their fingers.
He talked about the nature of gratification, the “difference between the first and the second bites of the pizza.” He thought that perhaps this generation of Americans, the children of affluence, was in a better position than others to realize that desire was a desert mirage that receded as you approached it, that gratification in the material world was an illusion. “All of which doesn’t mean,” Ram Dass concluded, “that you refuse to eat the pizza and enjoy it.
“Send it to Ram Dass, Franklin, New Hampshire,” Ram Dass said, mentioning the small New England town where his father had a summer home.“Don’t worry,” the guru reassured him, “I’m the only Ram Dass in Franklin, New Hampshire.”on just how square and uptight Professor Richard Alpert was in his pre-acid days, with the bleakest view held by Ram Dass himself.
Looking back, Ram Dass sees Richard Alpert as a fake — a fake Jew, who would cross the street whenever he saw a black-robed Hasid walking toward him; a fake lover, sleeping with women mostly for show; a fake intellectual, getting ahead by spouting other people’s ideas.
In the afternoons Ram Dass would see visitors, sometimes friends but more often young people who came to seek his advice. On this particular day, about a week after the Santa Cruz lecture, he met first with his booking agent, a young man who also represented Allen Ginsberg and other counterculture figures on the holy man’s circuit. “This is Ron,” he said to me by way of introducing a bearded, dark-haired young man with a happy-button smile and a two-handed greeting. “He’s in transition.
But there was a competitive edge to their friendship these days. Part of the problem was simply that their roles had become reversed back in this country, where Ram Dass was a well-known figure and Bhagwan Das had gained his reputation on the holy man’s circuit through. Adding to the difficulty was a matter of changing lifestyles.
“Zalman,” Ram Dass said, “you and I have great love for one another but I’m not sure we have any work to do together.” A few minutes later Bhagwan Das mentioned another young woman who was constantly fussing around him, asking if he wanted more tea or his back rubbed or hisfilled until it reached the point where he felt uncomfortable around her. Krassner listened for a few minutes and then quipped: “Visiting the holy men is just like visiting the Hearsts — you’re both obsessed with the servant problem.” There was an embarrassed hush around the kitchen table. “Well, thanks for the pizza,” Krassner said.
When it became Ram Dass’ turn to speak, Professor Jain introduced him by saying: “During our tour together a few years ago I used to introduce Ram Dass and he would introduce Babaji. Now I have forgotten all the nice things I used to say. We haven’t seen him for a long time.” Ram Dass greeted Swami Muktananda by kneeling and touching his feet, then told a few pleasant anecdotes about their experiences together, proving the efficacy of his mantra. The audience laughed hesitantly at each anecdote.
Mother walked in — shuffled, actually — from the kitchen, an attractive woman in a tight pink silk kimono. She looked at Ram Dass sternly and said: “I have a message for you. This is a turning point in your life. You can choose to serve God more fully or you can go on as you have been.” Ram Dass, who had a pretty good notion of what Mother had in mind, answered noncommittally: “Many people come to me with messages and I honor them all.
Clearly, the Psychedelic Project was not your typical university-sponsored program in those days. And yet, typically, Harvard finally lowered the boom on Alpert over a question of principle, the academic equivalent, according to a former colleague, of “imprisoning Al Capone for income tax evasion.” Giving psychedelic drugs to graduate students was one thing — graduate students along with white rats being standard scientific guinea pigs — but Alpert had agreed to stay clear of undergraduates.
Alpert’s homosexuality was a major source of tension in his relationship with Tim Leary, who felt so strongly about the matter that during one acid trip he ripped his clothes off and offered himself to his friend. It was after Leary had returned from a prolonged honeymoon in India with his beautiful Swedish baroness that they had their final blowup and Alpert left Millbrook for good.
There is no denying the profound impact Alpert’s experience in India had on him. Maharaji managed to read him like an open book the first time they met. Richard Alpert was uptight about money and possessions; his guru asked to be presented with the Land Rover as a gift five minutes after they met. Richard Alpert was puzzled about the value of LSD in his own life; his guru proceeded to swallow a hefty dose of the “yogi medicine” without its having the slightest noticeable effect on him.
This time Ram Dass spent more than a year there and grew much closer to Maharaji. He served as a kind of guru in training to the small circle of Americans who had gathered around Maharaji in the intervening years, most of whom had found their way to the remote North Indian village Through hints Ram Dass had inadvertently divulged in his lectures.
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