For the past several years Mother Meera, who has otherwise resided in Germany as a recluse, has been traveling abroad to hold public programs. She was just in the States in September but returned once more for programs in Fairfield, Iowa this weekend. This little town in the southeast corner of the state happens to be the home of the Maharishi University, providing a community interested in spiritual events. Originally darshan programs were announced for Saturday and Sunday, but were consolidated into one day. So, early Sunday morning I set out on the four and a half hour drive to Fairfield. The day started off with unseasonably mild temperatures; by early evening the reading had plummeted from 60 to 8 degrees above zero -- a drop of over 50 degrees. Ouch!
There is not much to say about the countryside between here and there. One sees rolling hills, now brown and colorless, many farmsteads, some woodland, and lots of black cows. It may not be driving through the Austrian Alps, but I've been through worse. Just after the Iowa state line I turned straight east, passing through towns like Osceola and Ottumwa. These names are probably the only remnants of the indigenous peoples who once lived here. Fairfield, population 10,000, is a county seat. The center of town is not without charm, though it has surely seen better days. It seems to be thriving. Just off the town square, a charming park with an old-fashioned Victorian band shell in the middle of it, is the new Sondheim Performing Arts Center named, would you believe, after Stephen Sondheim. And it is here that the program took place. I arrived a bit early in order to recover from the long drive and have a bit of lunch. I suspected that there would be at least one vegetarian restaurant in town. As a matter of fact, there were several. I lunched satisfactorily at the Small Planet Cafe. Afterwards I took a walk around the town square and discovered not one, but two Indian restaurants, a few interesting bookshops and stores selling the usual New Age kind of stuff. I wondered how the influx of people connected with the Maharishi University might have affected the town and what their relations with the original townspeople might be. I'm only guessing here, but I would surmise that it is at best an uneasy coexistence, perhaps with some underlying resentment. It is clear that the town has been thriving economically. The new residents and visitors bring cash and revitalization to the economy, but the town has been irrevocably changed. I doubt that any other small town in Iowa sports two Indian restaurants within a block of each other. On the other hand (and here I may be treading on some toes, I realize), the Transcendental Meditation organization is more than a little weird. Some people consider it a cult. Their claims (levitation, anyone?) are preposterous. There have been all sorts of controversies and lawsuits. Just a few years ago a student was murdered at the university here in Fairfield. So how is it that the ever-giggling Maharishi decided to establish his university in a small town in the middle of nowhere? Quite simple, really: Parsons College, which had been in existence for 99 years, folded about ten years ago and the TM'ers bought the campus. Since then they have swallowed up nearby farms and have been building a (now incorporated) Vedic city and other communities. The residents are apparently not obliged to vow singular loyalty to the Maharishi (now deceased, alas) and have been casting their spiritual nets further afield. Many are devotees of Mother Meera or Amma. And that explains why MM's program was held here.
On my ten minute stroll around the town square the wind shifted from the south to the north and within two minutes the temperature dropped at least 20 degrees. This was a portent of worse to come (more about that later). The program was held in what seemed to be an exhibition hall of some sort, rather bare-bones, with small folding chairs and a provisional stage set up in the front. Everything was well organized, with great insistence given to the turning off of cell phones. The program is held in total silence and one is expected to be quiet and respectful at all times. One thing about the MM operation is very un-Indian: it runs like clockwork. MM is always punctual, to the minute. So, after one last explanation of the darshan procedure and one last admonishment to turn off those damn cell phones, MM strode in precisely at 2 PM. I have been seeing Mother Meera for fourteen years now and find that she hasn't changed a bit. She looks exactly the same and exactly the same thing happens every time. It's comforting, really. I was happy to see her again, a spontaneous surge of happiness welling up in me. She is never distracted, never looks about, never coughs, sneezes or does anything except perform the ritual of darshan exactly the same way with every person. It couldn't be much fun when you think about it. But that's what she does. Mother Meera's only splurge, it would seem, are the beautiful saris she wears. This one was a glowing orange with gold trim. The program lasted nearly three hours, and at about 20 seconds per customer (I counted during a spell of boredom), that makes almost 500 people in attendance. MM left the hall at 5 PM and was to return at 6 to do the whole thing all over again for another group. Doing what she does would not be my idea of a good time. I know from past experience that the effects of being in MM's presence are subtle yet powerful and long lasting. I have had a number of mind-blowing experiences in the past, but don't expect them now. Still, I was not prepared for the surge of emotion that welled up in me when I briefly spoke to one of the darshan moniters to thank her for keeping things running so smoothly. Where did that come from? I was not feeling much of anything by the end of three hours sitting on an uncomfortable folding chair.
Exiting the Sondheim Center we discovered that the temperature had plummeted to Arctic levels and that every surface was covered with freezing drizzle. Just what you want for a long drive in the darkness! Conditions improved after an hour of driving and the roads were clear for a while. After crossing back into Missouri and heading south, it began to snow. It was too cold to stick but the ferocious winds created virtual white-outs with clouds of swirling snow. It was the scariest driving experience I have had since crossing the Furka Pass. By the grace of the gods and the Divine Mother I arrived safely home and fell into bed, exhausted by nearly ten hours of driving, but exhilarated by my visit to Mother Meera.
