The Return
Jack (aka Siri Brahma) and Casey and I, spent the whole year of 1992 in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. We had discovered Steamboat Springs on our camper van road trip taken the summer before. Steamboat is a small ski town, and it’s known as an end-resort.
It was a lovely small town of about 7000 people at that time. The town itself looks picture-postcard-perfect. It sits at just under 7,000 feet of elevation with powdery snow and lovely ski lifts up to over 10,000 ft. Unlike many ski resorts, they still allowed snow-boarding on the same slopes as skiers, so Jack and Casey took up snow-boarding while I stayed in my comfort zone with regular downhill skiing.
It was a year off work for Jack, and a time for us to be together as a nuclear family, and we chose to live without TV. Besides spending nearly every day on the slopes in the winter ski season, we sometimes enjoyed the natural hot springs in the mountains above Steamboat and mountain bicycling in the spring and summer months, with crafts and games for our indoor entertainment. We enrolled Casey in a local kindergarten.
We had only planned to spend 6 months in Steamboat but Jack decided he wanted to enjoy another winter, and he felt the urge to build another house, strictly for resale. This time he wanted to try out the concept of an Earthship.
I, on the other hand, was heading into menopause. In keeping with my own experience of the ‘pause’, I have nicknamed it ‘a pause on men’. I found myself longing for my own time and space. Up to this point in my adult life, my time, energy and focus was consumed by the demands of the men in my life. I had stepped away from 16 years of intense service to YB and a rapidly expanding organization, into marriage with a man who was very active and kept me busy with his interests and priorities. I also gave birth to our son and breastfed Casey for a full two years. Life had been full, busy with being a stay-at-home mom while office-managing Jack’s electrical business and assisting in design and construction of four houses.
I longed for quiet time, for space by myself. When Jack chose to pursue another construction project, I made it abundantly clear that if he wanted to do it, he needed to understand that I would not be participating, that he would be doing this one on his own. I wanted time and space. I felt like exploring writing, art, or even just being. I was starving for silence, emptiness, my own company.
I did not get the kind of time I wanted. And from my perspective, it wasn’t just that I wanted it - I needed it. Instead, I was pulled into the house construction project, under duress, and in spite of the boundary I had clearly and explicitly set. The pattern of male domination was being felt, again. I was not a happy camper.
Certainly, it wasn’t just that one incident, rather for years I had been butting up against a pattern that felt all too familiar. I found that he believed that he owned me – I was his wife. That was not sitting well with me. After all, I had walked away from someone I viewed as practically God, so I sure wasn’t going to let a mere mortal claim ownership over me.
Over the following two years, Jack and I agreed to live separately. We sold our remaining house on Maui and then Casey and I drove away from the house I loved, and spent five months living in Kipahulu, on the back side of Maui, past Hana.
That was a heavenly time. It was my retreat time. We lived off the grid, with an outdoor shower beneath an Angel Trumpet Tree. We ate fresh produce out of our vegetable garden. Casey would climb one of the papaya trees to gather those fruits for our breakfast or cut down a banana tree with a machete. The trip to town for stocking up on other necessities required a two-hour drive on narrow, winding roads. We were wonderfully isolated.
Our very simple, basic A-frame cottage had a screened in second story (no glass in the windows) that housed our two bedrooms. My platform bed provided the perfect perch, from which I was suspended, adjacent to the branches of a gigantic spreading tree. Its every branch and stem filled up with birds by the hundreds, at sunset and sunrise. I was enveloped in their song, their chirping, chattering and fluttering of wings. So much energy, so full of life. It was a rejuvenating five months that we lived there.
After that we moved back to ‘the other side’ of Maui, and life moved on. By about the end of 1994, Jack had made plans to go to Taos, New Mexico. He wanted to study more deeply the concept of Earthship construction with the man who originated the concept. Jack and I had an agreement that we would try always to remain close enough to co-parent our son. Now about 8-years old, Casey was eager to adventure with his father, so they went on ahead, while I packed up and prepared to make my transition to New Mexico. I was looking forward to it. I had a deep love for the exhilarating air of the high desert, the big wide skies of New Mexico, the adobe style construction, the special beauty of desert landscapes.
My flight over from Maui was scheduled for a layover in Los Angeles. Since I had time to spare in Los Angeles, it occurred to me to reach out to Sat Simran. She and I had something close to a friendship in the days on the staff of YB. Impulsively I made a call to her and she was in town though YB and others had gone ahead to New Mexico. She seemed pleased to hear from me after these ten years, and we agreed to meet. It was a weekend and Sat Simran was scheduled to attend a Satsang with a spiritual teacher named Ma Jaya, a teacher who had become friendly with YB. Sat Simran suggested I could attend and meet her there. Many 3HO people were in attendance and I observed that Ma Jaya was much like YB – very powerful projection, dominating in her style of communication.
After the public Satsang that took place under a large canopy in the yard of a private residence, I was invited by Sat Santokh Singh (of the Bay area 3HO) to join in a smaller gathering inside. Sat Simran was eager to attend, so I went along, out of curiosity.
We were packed, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, nearly 100 people, crammed into one room. Ma Jaya was seated on a small platform speaking more informally to this more intimate gathering. I was taken by surprise when, seemingly out of the blue, she directed her attention to me. Why me? She pointed to me, directing me to come forward and sit in front of her. She spoke a few words that I don’t recall but then she pointedly asked me: ‘So, you claim that Yogi Bhajan had sex with you?”
Shock. In a roomful of total strangers (other than Sat Santokh Singh and Sat Simran), I answered her as directly as she had questioned me: “Yes”.
Then her surprising response: “Well, you should feel fortunate.”
It was shortly after this exchange when the gathering disbursed and I quickly headed for my car, anxious to get away from the whole situation. But then, I felt compelled to go back and tell this Ma Jaya person how very wrong that was, how very wrong it is for a spiritual teacher to have sex with a student. I wanted her to consider the kind of impact it has on a student’s psyche. And how dare she presume to tell me I should feel fortunate!
She was now in her private room, and I told the attendant outside her door that I wanted to speak to her. I could hear her talking loudly from inside. When the door opened, I saw that she was on the phone and before I could say a word to her, she handed the receiver to me. YB was on the other end of that line.
This was virtually the first time I had spoken to him in ten years. He spoke gently, and reassuringly, apologizing for her rude and insulting behavior, implying that she was inappropriate but I should just ignore it because that is just how she was. He invited me to come see him once I got to New Mexico, to have lunch with him at The Ranch in Espanola.
Once in Santa Fe I reconnected with a woman named Harriet Davis. She was a big, bold, buxom woman who held Goddess circles in the large living room of the house she rented near the central square of town. Jack and Casey had first met Harriet when she came to Steamboat Springs to talk about forming conscious communities. She had lived in Santa Fe for many years and had a strong circle of friends throughout that community. I moved into a very spacious bedroom within her large adobe house and quickly became involved in her goddess circles and made new friends throughout the community.
People in Santa Fe were generally very aware of the Western Sikhs and of Yogi Bhajan, and Harriet expressed her interest in meeting him, indicating she had always been curious about him. I don’t recall exactly how it came about, perhaps at Harriet’s request, but I did make contact with him. He expressed interest in meeting my son, Casey, so one day he came to Santa Fe and took us on a drive in his Cadillac limousine. He further impressed my 8-year old by giving him two $100 dollar bills.
Soon YB was calling regularly and inviting me to bring my friends and come to the El Dorado Hotel and enjoy some nachos and preferred beverages. Harriet and YB recognized each other instantly. She called him ‘brother’ and he called her ‘sister’. Truly, they looked the part. Their large physical size and big personalities were a perfect match.
Over the course of the next year, these gathering in the El Dorado lobby would occur quite regularly, almost every week. They were called, spontaneously, and Harriet and I would be notified to bring our friends and come along. If we arrived ahead of him we could watch as YB would come bursting through the big double doors, dressed in long colorful robes and bedecked with jewels. His entourage of security guards and attendants or family members would open doors ahead of him and trail along behind him. It was a grand entrance.
The El Dorado Hotel lobby was a perfect setting for these extravaganzas, as it had ceilings that rose about 30 feet high, with a giant fireplace and plenty of comfortable seating and tables for snacks and drinks. There was background music, waiters came to serve and check on everyone and YB encouraged an interactive social environment.
That was a different dynamic than I had ever witnessed in the past. He was more in the role of an observer.
So was I. I was wary, I was cautious, I was watchful.
Meanwhile, Casey had spent a year in 1st grade in a nearby elementary school. By the end of that school year, Jack had completed his training in Taos and became anxious to return to Maui. Casey also wanted to go to Maui with his dad. I was always in support of my son’s need to be with his father. The two of them shared the love of the ocean – surfing, boogie-boarding, snorkeling, paddle-boarding. They played well together, and Jack was devoted to his son. Jack encouraged me to stay on in Santa Fe as it seemed I was building a life there.
My Santa Fe circle of friends had grown to enjoy the drama of life around YB. His presence was still magnetic, his power and charisma were on full display. I was there with them, but silently wondering what he was really up to? He seemed to express care and respect for me again. I never had a private word with him in those settings. I did go to The Ranch for lunch one time, which was typically attended by some staff members, Bibiji, etc.
I also dressed up in a turban and whites and attended one Sunday Gurdwara in Espanola. YB addressed the gathering and acknowledged my presence that day, stating how special it was that I was back. I responded by getting up and walking to the stage. I was surprised as I saw fear on his face as he watched my approach. He was terrified at what I might say or do. I merely sat on the other side of the stage, making myself visible to the hundreds of people packing that Gurdwara.
It felt like some bridges had been built over those months, that the animosity had cooled down. I was not back to be part of the community. I was just back around in more of a state of harmony.
The only one-on-one discussion I recall was one day when YB called me on my private phone in Santa Fe. Speaking to me in an uncharacteristically subdued manner, and out of any context, he asked me, “So tell me, Premka, why did you do it?”
Since there had been no preface to his question, I wasn’t totally clear what he was referring to, so I asked, “Do you mean the lawsuit?”
Again, speaking in a tone that was out of character for him, he quietly replied, “Yes, that is what I am asking you.”
I thoughtfully and honestly replied, “Because I hoped you would be pushed to tell the truth, that you would step forward and be honest, own your actions, bring yourself into integrity.”
He responded, “That’s what I thought.” That was it. No further discussion on the topic.
I wondered if we had just had an honest exchange? If that was really why he thought I had filed the lawsuit, since he had told his people that it was all about money. If he understood where I was coming from, what I had been asking of him, was he now ready to make such a change? There was never any follow-up to that little conversation.
After a few months, with Casey and Jack being back on Maui, I felt I needed to make a move. My own financial resources were running out and I was not any more prepared to go into the workforce than I was when I came to Santa Fe. Against YB’s objections, I packed up and headed back to Maui.
Once there, I felt torn and incomplete. I was caught again in the dynamic with YB and the community. The dream that had inspired me and all of us in the beginning – I still held a hope that it could be what we really were meant to do. Perhaps the ‘destiny’ YB always defined for Premka was real?
Discussing my conflict with Jack, he could see that I just wasn’t able to let it all go. I was really surprised when he told me I really needed to go back and get clear.
Still unsure, I took a strenuous hike up to a remote Buddhist shrine on the side of Haleakala, meditating and contemplating my dilemma the entire way. Missing a turn in the trail, I ended up crossing onto the land of a Buddhist practitioner who was known to me. Her name is Prema Dasara. She is the woman who developed the worldwide practice of the Tara Dances. I spoke with Prema about my dilemma, my inability to fully let go of my attachment to YB and to the community and the dream we had shared. I asked for her advice, and she told me: “From a Buddhist perspective, when you can’t let go or release something, then you need to go back into it.”
So now I was getting the same message from two different sources.
I had also recently listened to a CD of a talk by Caroline Myss . At one point she tells the story of a native American who had fought in World War II. He had been captured and in the course of his imprisonment was brutally tortured, his feet nailed to the floor. Once the war ended and he was released from the prison, his body broken, he determined that he wanted to return to his tribe to die.
The tribal elders received him and then went away to discuss his situation. They returned to tell the man that they were all in agreement about their perception that his spirit had been separated from him. They further informed him that they had determined they must take extreme measures. They were going to tie his hands behind his back and tie his ankles together. They would then throw him off the cliff, into the raging river below. They told him that he would either call his spirit back to himself, or he would die.
And so they did. And indeed, he survived. He went on to heal his body and to become a Medicine Man for his people.
That story was pivotal for me. I realized that with all the work I had done over the years, of various therapies and psychic healings and crystal healings, I was still not really free. I was haunted by a dream, by a hope, by a faint possibility. By a fantasy?
So it was that I turned back around, called YB, and told him that I was ready to come back. He had pursued me and I resisted. Now I was stating that I wished to come back. This did not go down well with him. I was in a very weakened position and he was not feeling very friendly toward me.
In addition, I knew the community had been fed so many lies about me, and that many judged me and hated me for filing the lawsuit. They only knew what YB told them about me since no one ever spoke to me directly. He had told them I filed the lawsuit because someone paid me to do it. I knew that the energy of the community toward me would be intense. Nonetheless, I felt I just had to dive in and either die or call my spirit back to me.
I was returning in extreme humility. I had not succumbed to YB’s charms as he pursued me in Santa Fe, so now he was pissed, I would say. I was not showing up in anything like a power position. YB barely even welcomed me. I was provided an unfinished room in a basement of the home of Siri Ram Singh and Kaur and put to work at the gem company in Los Angeles.
I had heard the rumors about the toner business back in the early ‘80s. I had heard a little about the gem business. Now, I tried to make sense of the rationalizations around pushing these gems to older people as investment vehicles. Surely, the men who ran this business believed in their product? Surely, they were delivering legitimate products? My direct supervisor was Kirtan Singh. He gave me my scripts. He kept a strictly ‘neutral mind’, for sure! Nothing friendly there.
I wasn’t in L.A. for long, when one day I was rather abruptly advised to pack up and make the move to Espanola. I believe this abrupt departure had to do with an anticipated ‘bust’. I never really knew for sure what happened, but I heard the business was raided by FBI agents.
In New Mexico I was provided housing in a large enclosed porch with its own entrance, at the home of Siri Mukhta Singh. It was a reasonably comfortable space and gave me a sense of autonomy. I also had my car which I had driven down from L.A.
Settling into the remembered practices, I delved into Gurbani kirtan again, and reading from the Guru. For employment, YB put me in the manager position at the Ancient Healing Ways Catalog company that was housed in a nearby building. Although I was given the job of the manager, I not allowed to see the accounting ledgers: ‘Because I couldn’t be trusted with money.’ This was based on the false premise that I had been bribed to file the lawsuit. But there it was again, that old familiar dynamic: responsibility without authority.
I spent some mealtimes around YB and his inner circle. I watched, I listened, I witnessed. I tried to not judge, just be observant. I never spent any moment alone with him. That would never have been allowed even if either of us wanted it. Again, because ‘I couldn’t be trusted’.
I observed YB’s general frustration and anger. I watched and listened to him continuing to tell people what to do, where to go, who to marry, etc. He appeared very unhappy and very unhealthy. He had scars up his legs from the triple (or was it quadruple?) bypass surgery he had gone through in the ‘80s. He was obese, he was diabetic, he was unhappy and irritated. And I witnessed him as he gave people his answers to their questions, never directing anyone to look within, meditate or find their own answers. I also watched the snarky behavior of some of his female attendants, the mocking, cajoling remarks by the circle of men around him. They all ignored my presence, pretending I didn’t even exist.
I felt the burn, the humiliation. But I kept doing my job, and my deep dive. I was observing myself in relation to all of it. Did I want to be here? Did any of it suit me anymore? Was it possible to heal the divide between me and this community? I had spent years analyzing myself and the behaviors of YB with the benefit of hindsight. Now I was checking to see if those observations had been correct, or had I been wrong in my judgments about his controlling and manipulation? Had he changed? Was he wanting to change? Clearly, he had not. He was more entrenched than ever.
I had been back in the community for a total of 9 months, when one morning at about 4am, as I was waking up, I heard a very quiet message. I had to be attentive. I had to listen very carefully. This came as a kind of second nature since I had developed a practice of self-observation, of checking in on my inner world, especially as I was coming out of sleep. These words came forth from a very still place: “You have seen what you needed to see. You can go back to Maui now, and be with your son.”
I took a few days to sense into this information. I needed to feel into it, take time to confirm whether it was true or not. Then when I felt clear, I called YB from my office and told him I would be leaving, that I needed to go and be with my son. He was very jovial about it, inviting me to come to lunch to say good-bye to everyone. No resistance, just an undercurrent of mockery. I went to lunch and he was courteous, while I was careful to be diplomatic, only emphasizing the need to be with my son. I was being careful to not incite some urge for revenge from him or anyone in his entourage.
Over the next six years up until his death, YB called me to check in a few times. I even tried to reach out to him as word was coming out that he was probably dying. My call never went past his caretakers.
I was introduced to The Diamond Approach a few months after returning to Maui, in that year of 1998. As I wrote in the Epilogue of ‘Premka’, that system helped me to understand the nature of the egoic structure. In the Diamond Work, they refer to this structure as the Super Ego. Their insightful teachings helped me find the way to distinguish the various ego voices that make up that Super Ego structure, from my own True Nature. I experience True Nature as the vast, spacious, emptiness that underlies all that is.
Finally, I was able to see that my egoic identification with the image of Premka had been built on a compensating psychology. In many ways Premka had been designed as a compensation for my own lack of self-esteem. I was ultimately able to recognize that I had been hooked by my own attachment to the idea of the role, the image, the myth of Premka. That insight was the piece of the puzzle that provided me with my own psychological release and my freedom.