Self Practice and Grief

Self Practice and Grief

When I got to Goa, I felt anonymous again. In Mysore, I felt like everyone had heard. I was the ashtangi who got hate crime’d in the face after his house burned down. I wanted to be the tall pretty one. Or the smart one. But for now, I was very much the tragic one. Luckily, Rolf wasn’t watching the news. I was just one more 6’3 drop back for him to do. And he was happy to oblige– quietly sharing lite bits here and there in my ear about his work. But not so happy with it that I didn’t get assigned sone extra. Great. After 27 years of shrinking myself for others, I got to just be the big one. You gotta gang…

Rolf  Naujokat

Rolf Naujokat

“Easy come, easy go,” Rolf would say. My teacher has passed. Rolf taught along the Arabian Sea, between the psytrance and the sand— just in from the jungles of Goa. As complex as he was simple and straightforward, he lived and led by example. He changed my life. He made clear that liberation was available to each of us, starting with the malarkey of our present condition. I want nothing more in this life than to make him proud. He’d likely rather that I be gardening, swimming, praying— anything other than typing. Especially not posting photos. Rolf would say how unimportant it was for your guru to even know your name— that your guru just needed to know you. It meant something to me when…