Mitchell Ditkoff - To Believe Is To Rationalise

Prem Rawat's basic teaching is that people who follow his instructions and meditate using the techniques of "his Knowledge" have an experience that is beyond beliefs. That is possibly the most important belief a devotee of his must have because with that in mind he/she can explain away everything else that happens, especially the failure of this practice to immerse one in the dancing ocean of joy in their heart, blah, blah, blah. One of the great practitioners of this art of explaining away everything and anything is Mitchell Ditkoff who has not only made a hobby of this but also a career.

Below is a copy of acts 2 & 3 of a post on his blog by Mitchell Ditkoff. It refers to his feelings at a drunken party held by Prem Rawat for a group of his "initiators." Act II refers to 1993 (18 years before 2011). I left out Act I which was irrelevant. He correctly writes in his conclusions that we all see things differently and this is true up to a point. Very few people see Prem Rawat in the way Mitch does. Most people don't even bother to look. Mitch relates stories that reveal Prem Rawat as a divine supernatural genius in Mitch's eyes and this one is no different. His stories highlight something kept hidden by most premies since 1983ish. Most of Rawat's committed followers find the techniques boring, ineffective and pointless but they involve themselves in Rawatism activities because they wrongly believe that Prem Rawat is a divine incarnation of God.

You should read both acts to get the full story but the point is simple: the infantile gullibility and behaviour of Ditkoff vis-à-vis Rawat and the pointlessness of 40 years of meditating using Rawat's techniques. At least one other attendee saw Rawat's behaviour was in bad taste but Ditkoff's story is not unique.

"After years of trying oh so hard -- in oh so many futile ways -- to have my special, timeless, sacred, holy, cosmic, blissful, meaningful moment with Maharaji, I finally have one -- and it's for heckling an aspiring yogi at a dirty joke contest. Looking back, it's fair to say that I learned more in those few joke-telling moments about life -- my life -- than I did from years of meditating and reading holy books."

Mitch is being a bit creative here or he was a very unusual premie. Scriptures were disparaged by Maharaji and premies rarely, if ever, read them after become involved with Divine LIght Mission. They read and listened to Rawat's speeches. By 1993 even 'instructors,' Rawat's most committed followers, had given up on becoming yogis and Rawat's infidelity, drinking alcohol and smoking were no longer secret. "timeless, sacred, holy, cosmic …" So Mitch had had a few, or more, sips of champagne and made a joke and got a bit excited when he got approval from his Lord and Master but really, the language, please, who is he trying to kid? Himself.

The Joy Of Heckling

ACT II (three years later)
As far back as I can recall, Maharaji used to conduct "instructor conferences" -- intensive retreats for handpicked groups of his students on how to best represent his message in the world. Like many of his students, I wanted to be invited -- not only for the sheer joy of being with him, but for what I imagined was undeniable proof that I was "getting somewhere" with Knowledge.

Eight years passed. My love for Maharaji and Knowledge continued to blossom. Not once, however, was I invited to attend one of these events.

And then, completely, out of the blue, one unofficial day -- VOILA! -- I got the word. "Get down to Miami. You've been invited to an instructor conference… but not as a candidate -- as a guest."

A guest? Now I was really confused. I mean, Maharaji was inviting me, but he was also not inviting me. Huh?

I went.

For three days I sat in the back of a large conference room and watched Maharaji, like some kind of improv laughing Pied Piper Buddha, in perfectly creased pants, bring everyone to a place of exquisite attention, learning, and relaxation. A magician he was. A conductor of joy. A man on a mission.

And then, before I knew it, the conference was over. Or at least I thought it was over. It wasn't. There was one more thing still to come -- a "Celebration Dinner".

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the room were the champagne bottles -- one on each table. "This is gonna be interesting," I thought, amused by the fact that 98% of the people in the room hadn't had anything stronger to drink than a smoothie in the past few years.

Someone led me to my table. It was next to Maharaji's.

Feeling suddenly mid-western, I surveyed the room in a noble attempt to figure out what I was supposed to do -- how I should act. Clearly, no one had a clue. Things were just happening. There were no reference points, no sign posts, no correct courses of action -- only the sound of corks popping and a palpable wave of joy.

Good guest that I was, I raised my glass and drank, occasionally sneaking glances at Maharaji like some kind of wide-eyed tourist.

The next thing I know, he's asking if anyone has a good joke.

There's the usual self consciousness… the pregnant pause… then someone stands up, mounts the stage, and begins. The joke isn't funny, but it breaks the ice. In a flash, someone else mounts the stage, only this time the joke is a lot better and X-rated, to boot. I look at Maharaji to see his reaction. He is laughing. Of course he's laughing. The joke is funny! A third person gets up. Then a fourth -- each joke raunchier than the one before -- and everybody crazy with laughter.

At the telling of the fifth joke, I shout out a heckle like some kind of wise guy from Brooklyn. Irreverent. Unrehearsed. And way funnier than the joke itself.

"Who said that?" Maharaji asks, looking in my direction.

"I did, Maharaji," I say.

Maharaji laughs and points at me, "One point for Ditkoff!"

Now here is where all logic breaks down… where what I am about to say may seem as strange as my son's one-time fascination for Pokemon. I got completely ecstatic. In a blink of the eye, a major concept of mine had evaporated and I felt infinitely lighter.

After years of trying oh so hard -- in oh so many futile ways -- to have my special, timeless, sacred, holy, cosmic, blissful, meaningful moment with Maharaji, I finally have one -- and it's for heckling an aspiring yogi at a dirty joke contest.

Go figure.

ACT III (18 years later)
Not long ago, I read an account of this very same event by someone who was also there -- someone once very close to Maharaji. This particular fellow described the contest accurately. The only thing different was the conclusion he drew.

For him, the contest was inappropriate, off-putting, poorly timed, and in bad taste. For me, it was perfect, divine, liberating, and transcendental -- exactly what was needed for that particular group of people on that particular night, so focused on the "path" that they had forgotten to smell the roses… or accept themselves for simply being human.

Looking back, it's fair to say that I learned more in those few joke-telling moments about life -- my life -- than I did from years of meditating and reading holy books.

A Red Sea parted. For me, it parted. Not for that other guy. He had a different experience. He tells a different story now. Which, of course, is his right, but does not make him right. That's just one of the amazing things about this life. We all see it differently -- based on where we're coming from at any particular moment in time.

More
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Original blog posted by Mitch Ditkoff at www.ideachampions.com/heart/ on September 11, 2011, 07:09 PM