Beloved Teacher

I thought I would report my experience of my Teacher’s eightieth birthday, mostly so that when I am eighty I will be able to look back and remember…

In my eagerness to see him, I left the house much sooner than I would normally have, and was surprised to find myself there an hour early. (I must have driven a bit faster than normal as well.)

There were already a good number of folk there, and I ended up sitting in the small collection of chairs in the front hall, with a very nice group of elderly folk. It took a few moments for me to realize that I had taken a seat in the portion of the room reserved for George’s family members, and offered at once to leave. But his youngest sister and I, had fallen into a lovely conversation about him in his youth and their shared home life, and she asked me to stay.

He was born the second of eleven, in West Virginia, and by his own account attended school only until the seventh grade. His youngest sister Sharon, said that he was sixteen when she was born and already leaving their home, so her relationship with him had more in common with my relationship with him, than one might imagine…he was her teacher too…

She spoke of how much he gave to all of his family members, how much he cared for all that he encountered, how those he supervised cried when he left Reynolds Aluminum to start the printing business, that would one day house Omega. She spoke of asking him for personal advice and his refusing to tell her what to do, (as far as I know he never once provided anyone with advice – although I am sure he was asked to more than any one living being ever has been), she spoke of attending Omega with her husband, and how it changed her life and altered the course of her understanding, and enhanced her well being. She spoke of calling him on the evening that is the hardest in the workshop he taught so powerfully for so many years, and how that even as a brother, he refused her desire for reassurance and direction and counseled her to decide for herself if she should continue or quit. (The event that takes place on that night is a turning point). It is powerfully confrontational, even though George does not confront, and to move through it you must be willing to face your fears…a good many people quit at this point, and this is the point at which his sister wanted her brother to reassure her. It is the measure of the man that he refused to do so. It seems he has always been willing to risk losing someone rather than keep them, while also losing the opportunity to free them.)

After our most wonderful chat concluded, I sat quietly and watched those around me.

The most significant thing I saw was competition and an odd type of ownership, that dominated almost every conversation I overheard.

It was a series of…”I did this with him, and that with him” or “I was here 30 years ago, and he let me do this or that” it was all tinged with the desire to be perceived as special, by association, because he is so utterly unique, and in some way being next to him meant owning some portion of that light. His granddaughter didn’t even want pictures taken of him, as she pronounced that she wanted to stand in front of him…”so these people cannot take his picture”.

And through it all, he sat.

Quiet in body, mind, and soul.

It reminds me a great deal of a documentary I recently saw of Ramana Maharshi. He is considered by many to be the greatest Teacher of non-duality, (of which George is a supreme example), who has lived in the 20^th century. He was Indian, and gave a good many of his “talks” in complete Silence, never speaking at all to his audience, who would come and sit with him, and report leaving with answers and deep understandings because of his spaciousness, stillness, and quiet. The documentary I saw of Ramana reminds me so of the birthday celebration I just attended, that I include Ramana’s words so that you may know how each taught from the same source.

“Mind is a wonderful force inherent in the Self. That which arises in this body, as 'I' is the mind. When the subtle mind emerges through the brain and the senses, the gross names and forms are cognized. When it remains in the Heart, names and forms disappear. If the mind remains in the Heart, the 'I' or the ego which is the source of all thoughts will go, and the Self, the Real, Eternal 'I' alone will shine. Where there is not the slightest trace of the ego, there is the Self.”

I cannot know how long there was no trace of “I” in George, but it must have occurred long before I met him as I never saw a trace of anything but stillness and quiet, (although when we met in 1982 I could not recognize it as such and knew only that he was unique among men).

When thinking of George and how utterly uncommon he is, I am always drawn back to Emerson’s explanation of character…”Ordinarily everybody in society reminds us of somewhat else or of some other person. Character, reality, reminds you of nothing else.”

I have never met another individual that reminds me of George, but like Ramana his mere presence, calms, quiets, centers, and evokes great devotional love, from all that have the capacity to see.

I had no hope of seeing George personally today. His advanced age, disease, and frailty, made it seem impossible that I would have the opportunity to speak with him one last time. But to my surprise, great gladness and gratitude, I was approached by a member of the staff and told that I would be able to spend a few moments with him in his office.

When it was my turn, I was told to tell him my name so that he might be able to pull from some distant memory, some recognition of me. Just as I meant to do so, he said, “I remember you, I remember your eyes.” He then went on to ask me if I were still teaching, and that I needed to be the stepping stone so that others might hear…

I have no explanation for his assertion; I have not taught for fourteen years and have resolved not to do so again, until I am entirely free of the desire for “specialness” that once drove my need to be the center of attention. I cannot currently claim that need is gone. And, in truth, I do not know how I will even know if it is gone.

I take no stock in what he said; I place no faith in it nor lay any predictive tinge to it. It could have been meant for me, and it could just as easily have been meant for someone who resembles me in some fashion, after all, nearly forty thousand people have been in George’s classroom over the last 32 years.

More than that, the Silence that now engages me so, allows me to agree with my whole heart and mind with what Ramana wrote to his mother as she continued to beg him to return home. Here is that small passage…

“Day after day his mother begged him to return, but no amount of weeping and pleading had any visible effect on him. She appealed to the devotees who had gathered around, trying to get them to intervene on her behalf until one requested that Sri Ramana write out his response to his mother. He then wrote on a piece of paper, "In accordance with the prarabdha of each, the One whose function it is to ordain makes each to act. What will not happen will never happen, whatever effort one may put forth. And what will happen will not fail to happen, however much one may seek to prevent it. This is certain. The part of wisdom therefore is to stay quiet." At this point his mother returned to Madurai saddened.

I have learned in the deep marrow of my bone…from my much beloved Teacher, that “the part of wisdom therefore is to stay quiet.”

Just before I left, I was able once more to tell George how very much I love him. How grateful I am. How amazed and astonished that I found him, and that I had the great good sense not to leave.

I have no doubt that the next time I see him, his body will be resting in his coffin, (his funeral arrangements were told to me by his caretaker, for some reason, many months ago), and that I will be viewing the shell of the once great man who walked the inner reaches of my soul, and exposed me to the deep neediness that was the cornerstone of my self made prison, thereby beginning the release I now enjoy. His Sacred Emptiness touched me with its clarity and wisdom, and he, the quiet carrier of that Sacredness - never needed or wanted - my praise, acceptance, or validation. But in my gratitude I could never stop myself from trying to give it, and today, was no exception…

Adayre R. Miller

8/13/11