And suddenly, There Before My Eyes…
You just never know and assuming as part of one’s outlook on life that there are amazing things possible.
It was a cold, dark, midwinter day in Michigan. The traffic on our main street which sparkled with Christmas decorations seemed to choke itself on its bursting clouds of exhaust. Why was it in winter that car exhaust expressed itself so fully? Something about the heat and cold, I know.
I managed a hotel in Traverse City, right on the edge of Traverse Bay on the majestic Lake Michigan.
Three greyhounds pulled to a noisy stop under our large porte-cochere at the hotel’s entrance, and young men in suit and ties proceeded to get off the bus and quickly make their way into the warm confines of our expansive and wonderfully heated lobby. My team was ready for the arriving group. Many circled about our giant roaring fireplace. The flagstone chimney was an addition I’d made just this year, and by what all could tell, it was going to be a tremendous success. We set up sticks, graham crackers, Hershey bars, and a bowl of marshmallows for the more adventuresome.
“Jennie, would you go over to those guys, see them? The ones just beyond that group, right in front of the fire. Those guys still haven’t gotten hot chocolate. Thanks.” My server, a crowd stopper, stepped lightly and sensually into the group of young men, immediately eliciting toothy smiles and outreaching hands eager for the hot liquid.
I’d been managing the Traverse Bay Inn and Theater for close to four years now. It was 1974. I’d been given the job almost out of hotel school. The place was brand new but because of poor direction wasn’t making a dent in the market. With 180 rooms, pools, bars, restaurants, a playhouse for theater productions during the summer, the summer stock as it was called, with visiting Hollywood stars, the hotel had much to offer. When I first came for my interview with the owners, the first of five, I spotted the problem in a matter of minutes. No heart. No, I won’t belabor you with how to turn around a distressed hotel property, which is never a guaranteed endeavor anyway. This story is about something else entirely.
“Hi, Mr. Mosler?” A tall, young man, resplendent in what looked like a suit he’d just picked up at Brooks Brothers, a blue pinstripe with a red silk tie extended a hand in greeting. There was something familiar about his face, then bingo! He could’ve been Christopher Reeve’s twin brother.
“Yes. You must be Mr. Nordham, am I right?” My hand out.
“Yes, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, sir, I hope my group isn’t too, shall we say, rambunctious for your hotel.” He turned momentarily to gaze at the growing group of men in the lobby. They were two rows deep at the Front Desk getting checked in. The group was to be with us for fifteen days. This was a long stay for such a large group. Groups generally were here for four days max.
“Oh, of course not Mr. Nordham, you might say our specialty are larger groups. Summer stock closed a month or so ago and the hotel filled with hundreds of guests here each night to catch the summer plays.” In fact, I was recalling the snowmobile club which had just checked out a couple of days prior. My repair crew was still fixing all they’d broken during their drunken bashes in the bars, restaurants, and rooms. I was breaking the ice and trying to make the man feel comfortable and welcome. Always the first task. “Mr. Nordham and if I may, please call me Tom, it’s just much better that way, don’t you think?”
A friendly laugh “Oh yeah, sure, then please call me Ted, I’d sure appreciate it.”
I kept the lobby background music low and at the moment a pleasant-sounding Christmas medley with the ‘old crooners’ Andy Williams and ‘Ol Blue Eyes’, Nat King Cole and so on. Near the crackling, raging fire stood a genuine pine tree, easily twenty-five feet covered tastefully and traditionally in Christmas décor done up by my staff. I took the pleasure of capping the tree with a huge, gold star that was lit and glowed.
“Would it be too much to ask, uh, Tom, that the music be turned down while we’re in session? I don’t want to cause any inconvenience in any way, but in our talks prior to reserving, they assured us this would be no problem.” Ted watched for my response. It’s amazing how much information someone in my position as hotel manager can glean from just such a request, including in the way it’s made.
These people were used to having things as they wanted them. As should be considering the cash they would be dropping for a fifteen days stay!
“No problem in the least, Ted. Please don’t be the least concerned about details. I’d like to establish right now that my office door is open for you during your stay. Consider me to be your personal contact on anything and everything. My direct line is 2011, just dial on any house phone or from your room. Doesn’t matter the time, or day. With a group of the size of yours, we understand that full and close attention is always recommended.”
The man seemed to sigh visibly. His reaction told me his hotel experiences hadn’t always been trouble-free and happy. It was my mission to change that. What I called: heart.
I’d read a little about this group, but in fact, I knew virtually nothing about who or what they did, I mean other than the obvious; they were meditators. “Ted, if you want why don’t you tell me a little bit about your group and your organization, I’ve of course heard of you but really nothing in the way of details. I know that the Beatles were friends with the groups’ leader!” Several team assistants to Ted were holding brief ad hoc gatherings in different places of the lobby. The men were clearly giving out instructions, handing out info sheets, times and answering questions.
“I’d be delighted, Tom. We are TM practitioners. For Transcendental Meditation. Part of the Maharishis organization for meditation practice. We have one of several headquarters in Iowa, which is where this group is from. So we’re what we call Siddhas. Our purpose for this visit is to practice flying.” Ted stopped talking and watched for any reaction.
Hotel operators, if they are good, know when to and when not to show or display too much reaction to a comment. We avoid unnecessarily stepping on people’s toes. A true hotelier also knows that not one of us is the same as the next, we respect this solid truth. Had Ted been expecting a reaction, a raised eyebrow, a smile, he didn’t get any from me. All too often I’ve seen this classic hotel rule be ignored. I held his gaze.
“We’ve been sent by the Maharishi himself on this trip. We do several each year. The feeling is that a change of environment does the meditator good, helps him or her ‘round out’ their outlook.”
“Amazing. Is the Maharishi in Iowa?”
“No, no, he’s at his home base in Switzerland. But the flying is a recent development in the progress of the more senior practitioners.”
“So I should perhaps say Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, am I getting that right? I don’t want to get his name wrong!“ By god, I wanted to ask Ted about this flying stuff, and the guy knew it but he waited for me to ask him. His way of having fun, I guess. “So Ted, here it comes.” I chuckled politely. “What is this about flying?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Okay.” Friendly laugh. “I see, okay. I’ve read the tiny bit there is about this practice. I should tell you I’m a meditator Ted, I was initiated along with my wife by a Swami in New York some years ago, but he never told us anything about flying.” More friendly laughter.
Ted turned fully addressing me now, ignoring his crowd, and spoke to me. “It’s great to know you meditate, perhaps at some point you’ll tell me a little…”
“It’s mantra-based just as it is for the TMers. We repeat a mantra.” I interrupted.
“Ah yes, I see, uh, well, we should sit down and talk soon Tom, I’d like to hear about your practice… Before I head upstairs I wanted to ask you the big one.” He smiled. I could see that what he was about to ask was always an issue when they traveled. “So every day we practice flying and we need our mattresses so that it cushions us from the hard floor. Can we bring our mattresses down to the meeting room every day? I promise that when our session time is up, every mattress will go back up into their rooms. That way and I’m guessing you have other events, you can do that without us getting in the way.”
We rotate hotel mattresses on a complicated calendar-based procedure. If it’s done right, mattresses are ‘assigned’ to specific rooms and are rarely switched around for quality and replacement purposes. I knew this would have to be reestablished once they checked out. “Not a problem Ted, what does your daily schedule look like.” He filled me in: several hours throughout the day, none at night.
“There’s just one more sort of big one, Tom.”
“Shoot!” This group was going to be very interesting, to put it mildly. This was my first ever experience with a group of Maharishis flyers. I resolved to make sure that the group’s stay was going to be as smooth for them, and productive as possible.
“Yogurt production.” Again, his penchant for hanging the issue out before my nose before diving into explanation told me the man was used to dealing with short-sighted and irritable managers.
“Yogurt production…” I played along repeating him, deadpan then smiled.
“We have to eat a certain yogurt, or maybe that’s not the right way to say it. We like our own recipe that we got from the Maharishi. The key is its freshness, so it needs to be whipped up the night before each day.” Ted gave me the full instructions as we stood there in the lobby. Many in the group had disappeared in the bank of elevators up to their rooms. The soft music became audible again and the Christmassy clear scent of cinnamon, spice from our ‘aroma machines’ was going full tilt. At the far end of the now empty lobby, an employee pushed a low humming vacuum cleaner.
I wrote the recipe down in my ever-present notebook, my bible, and my mind immediately started working on what we would do to handle producing enough fresh, natural flavored yogurt for one hundred hungry young men for fifteen days.
The crackling fire and the trees’ twinkling lights drew our attention.
I could tell our meeting was coming to an end, and I had to ask: “No women, is there a reason for this, or am I right in thinking that this might mean a distraction of sorts for the guys?”
“That’s exactly right. The Maharishi figures, the less distracting us from our practice, the better. We do have women’s Siddha groups, of course.” He paused, he had something else on his mind. “Tom, when can we sit down along with my staff to review menu selection with your kitchen head or chef? As you might suspect, it is something we covered with your reservations people, we are all vegetarians and we travel with a complete set of simple recipes your kitchen will have no trouble in doing.”
“Of course, might I suggest the sooner the better so that the kitchen and storeroom know what to stock up on right away. How about we meet in say half an hour, right here, we’ll go to a small meeting room?”
“Perfect. Tom, I can see this is going to be a wonderful stay. Thanks so much for being so understanding, not all managers…”
“Oh, it will be fine Ted, let me ask you something.” I now circled on him and stared him in the eye. I swear he may have sensed what I was about to ask. “Can you guess?” I couldn’t resist and laughed.
“No, not really, go ahead.” He chuckled some more.
“The yogurt will be produced at no additional expense to you other than the cost of ingredients if you will allow me to just one time, witness the flying. I want to see the flying.” I said a bit forcefully. Held his gaze.
Deep breath. “Whoa” That will have to go to the top, I mean…”
“Like you mean the Maharishi? Can you do it? Do you want to do it? Can you see why it is I’d like to see firsthand this kind of thing? I don’t need to tell you Ted that this would change my outlook on reality in the deepest sense. One thing too: my wife will be there too. What say you?
Again, deep breath. “You drive a hard bargain Tom…” I hardly thought of it in that way, it came down to if it’s for real can me and my wife see, period. “I will need to call the Maharishi on this…”
“You can call the Maharishi Ted? I’m impressed. So you must be…”
“Well, I’ve been with the Maharishi since his start here in the U.S., not trying to sound full of myself, but you might say I’m his right-hand man here. But yeah, I’ll need to call him.” He paused and seemed to enter into thought and added. “Sure Tom, I can understand, and you are a practitioner, so give me a day or so and I’ll let you know where we stand, okay?”
Thanks, Ted. We shook hands and parted.
The group quickly made themselves at home in the hotel, myself and my staff started getting accustomed to the rather humorous sight of these men going up and down the stairs hauling mattresses to and from the meeting space and their rooms. The yogurt was a task my wife, and I chose to take on ourselves. I guess we just wanted to feel a part of the group somehow. Hard to explain, really.
We stocked up on a hand full of giant plastic food-friendly tubs, followed Ted's exact instructions for the mixing and stirring of the ingredients, and felt great satisfaction as the mixture seemed to harden into the familiar yogurt we all know before our very eyes.
Eileen, my secretary was at my door asking if it would be alright for Ted to come in. Of course, I said. She saw him in and offered us coffee or tea and left.
“Tom, the Maharishi said yes on one condition.”
“Okay Ted, shoot!” I had no idea what the condition might be, I suppose I could have made a few guesses.
“You would need to be initiated into TM.” He sat, watching my face for any reaction.
After we established there was absolutely no way around that obstacle, I gave him my answer. “Well Ted, I know I will regret this, I think I will anyway. But I can’t say I will abandon my current practice and go with the TM approach. I’m sure you can understand my hesitancy to leave my teacher.”
Back in those early days of meditation, there was a strong sense of loyalty to one’s teacher, an almost unbreakable bond. Thankfully, today in the 2000s, we now know that changing teachers is a perfectly accepted practice. Today, the true teachers will tell you to look around, to make sure that the teacher-student relationship is one that fits. Once the student is ready, the same teacher will even suggest to a student to consider a new teacher, new guidance. As it should be. But back then it smacked of betrayal and I wanted no part in that.
On the roof of the hotel, the meditators practiced Yoga despite the often freezing weather. They told me the bright winter sun, much like what they encountered in the Himalayas, filled one with life and energy, No argument from me.
I had a small skiing accident and was held for one night in the hospital for ‘observation’. To my surprise, a huge group of the meditators showed up and surrounded my bed and assured me soon I’d be better. We did a meditation there in the hospital room.
As the fifteen days were coming to an end, we had formed a friendship. My wife was on a first-name basis with many of the group. We would be sorry to see them go. Ted asked my wife and me if we sensed a calmer environment, something in the air. As an eternal optimist, I had to agree that yes, life seemed at least a little less troublesome! He assured us that wherever the meditating group went, it had this sort of impact ‘in the air’.
Tomorrow, before daybreak, they would climb back onto their busses for the ride to the airport in Detroit.
Several of my staff confided with me they had snuck a peek or two through the doors of the meeting room to see them flying. The report was that they sat in deep meditation and after some time a few here and there did what my crew described as ‘hopping’. They reported that it sure looked like the meditator made supreme leg effort to suddenly take a very momentary flight. It seems no one stayed aloft as in the cartoon drawings I used to see in the New Yorker as a child of swamis hanging onto the end of a rope and to dear life as they floated about!
My phone rang early, and I picked up. Ted called me and asked if I’d like to join him in his room later on for a half-hour meditation. He added to be sure to bring along my wife. He apologized for not having invited me earlier. I told him I’d be up once my wife arrived. It was a little before lunch.
“Hi Ted, hey thanks for inviting us up to meditate.”
“Oh sure, Tom, just find anywhere comfortable. I’ve been using those sofa covers on the floor. Do you two sit cross-legged or in a chair?” I told him I sat cross-legged and got my cushion set up across from as did my wife, he started us in a guided fashion.
“Okay, so if you’d like I can take us into a sort of guided then we’ll be silent for most of the thirty minutes, I’ll let you know when the time is up. If you don’t mind, please don’t get up until I ring the little bell.”
I found the instructions a little thorough, but after all, he was one of the west's top teachers. “Of course Ted, this is great and I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, so do I Tom.” Ted entered into some soft-spoken guidance and finally went silent as we did our own meditations.
My eyes were closed. You know how when you’re in a room alone you can sometimes feel a shift of movement? I felt a movement. I kept my eyes closed. More movement, a sense. My curiosity got the best of me. Being life and as strange as it can be, I felt it wouldn’t be any good if Ted were for some reason moving about when we were supposedly deep in meditation; I opened my eyes just a crack.
Ted wasn’t in his mediation seat. I very slowly looked around, not seeing him. I glanced at my wife, who was staring upward, her mouth open. Movement above caught my eye. Near the ceiling, Ted was still in lotus, hanging in midair.
