MEDITATION
Maharishi’s Meditators Stayed at Our Hotel to Practice Flying
Life lessons come in so many forms and surprises
It was a cold, dark, midwinter day in Michigan. The traffic on our snow-packed Front Street which sparkled with Christmas decorations seemed to choke itself on its bursting clouds of exhaust. Why was it in winter that car exhaust expressed itself so fully? Something about the heat and cold, I know.
I managed a hotel in Traverse City, right on the edge of Traverse Bay on the majestic Lake Michigan. It was 1974. I’d been given the job almost as soon as I’d completed hotel school.
Three greyhounds pulled to a noisy stop under our large porte-cochere at the hotel’s entrance, and young men in suits and ties proceeded to get off the bus and quickly make their way into the warm confines of our expansive and wonderfully heated lobby. My team was ready for the arriving group. Many circled about our giant roaring fireplace. We set up sticks for marshmallows, graham crackers, Hershey bars, and a bowl of marshmallows for the more adventuresome. Hot chocolate and warm apple cider were set up right next to the snacks.
“Jennie, would you go over to those guys, see them? The ones just beyond that group, right in front of the fire. Those guys still haven’t gotten hot chocolate. Thanks.” My server, a crowd stopper, stepped lightly and sensually into the group of young men, immediately eliciting toothy smiles and outreaching hands eager for the hot liquid.
“Hi, Mr. Mosler?” A tall, young man, resplendent in what looked like a suit he’d just picked up at Brooks Brothers, a blue pinstripe with a red silk tie extended a hand in greeting. There was something familiar about his face, then bingo! He could’ve been Christopher Reeve’s twin brother.
“Yes. You must be Mr. Nordham, am I right?” I asked, my hand out.
“Yes, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, sir, I hope my group isn’t too, shall we say, rambunctious for your hotel.” He turned momentarily to gaze at the growing group of men in the lobby. They were two rows deep at the front desk getting checked in. The group was to be with us for fifteen days. This was a long stay for such a large group.
“Mr. Nordham, please call me Tom, it’s just much better that way, don’t you think?”
A friendly laugh “Oh yeah, sure, then please call me Ted, I’d sure appreciate it.”
I kept the lobby background music low and at the moment a pleasant-sounding Christmas medley with the old crooners Andy Williams and ‘Ol Blue Eyes’, Nat King Cole, and so on. Near the crackling, raging fire stood a genuine pine tree, easily twenty-five feet, covered tastefully and traditionally in Christmas décor done up by my staff.
“Would it be too much to ask, uh, Tom, that the music be turned down while we’re in session? I don’t want to cause any inconvenience in any way, but in our talks prior to reserving, they assured us this would be no problem.” Ted watched for my response. It’s amazing how much information someone in my position as hotel manager can glean from just such a request, including the way it’s made.
These people were used to having things as they wanted them. As it should be considering the cash they would be dropping for a fifteen-day stay!
“No problem in the least, Ted. Please don’t be the least concerned about details. I’d like to establish right now that my office door is open for you during your stay. Consider me to be your personal contact on anything and everything.”
The man seemed to sigh visibly. His reaction told me his hotel experiences hadn’t always been trouble-free and happy. It was my mission to change that. What I called ‘heart.’
I’d read a little about this group, but in fact, I knew virtually nothing about who they were or what they did; I mean other than the obvious, that they were meditators. “Ted, if you want why don’t you tell me a little bit about your group and your organization? I’ve of course heard of you but know really nothing in the way of details. I know that the Beatles were friends with the group’s leader!” Several team assistants to Ted were holding brief ad hoc gatherings in different places in the lobby.
“I’d be delighted, Tom. We are TM practitioners. For Transcendental Meditation. Part of the Maharishi organization for meditation practice. We have one of several headquarters in Iowa, which is where this group is from. So we’re what we call Siddhas. Our purpose for this visit is to practice flying.” Ted stopped talking and watched for any reaction.
Had Ted been expecting a reaction, a raised eyebrow, a smile, he didn’t get any from me. All too often I’ve seen this classic hotel rule be ignored. I held his gaze.
“We’ve been sent by the Maharishi himself on this trip. We do several each year. The feeling is that a change of environment does the meditator good, helps him or her ‘round out’ their outlook.”
“Amazing. Is the Maharishi in Iowa?”
“No, no, he’s at his home base in Switzerland. But the flying is a recent development in the progress of the more senior practitioners.”
“So I should perhaps say Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, am I getting that right? I don’t want to get his name wrong!“ By god, I wanted to ask Ted about this flying stuff, and the guy knew it but he waited for me to ask him. His way of having fun, I guess. “So Ted, here it comes.” I chuckled politely. “What is this about flying?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Okay.” Friendly laugh. “I see, okay. I’ve read the tiny bit there is about this practice. I should tell you I’m a meditator, Ted. I was initiated along with my wife by a Swami in New York some years ago, but he never told us anything about flying.” More friendly laughter.
Ted turned, fully addressing me, ignoring his crowd, and spoke to me. “It’s great to know you meditate, perhaps at some point you’ll tell me a little…”
“It’s mantra-based just as it is for the TMers. We repeat a mantra.” I interrupted.
“Ah yes, I see, uh, well, we should sit down and talk soon, Tom, I’d like to hear about your practice. Before I head upstairs I wanted to ask you a couple of big ones.” He smiled. I could see that what he was about to ask was always an issue when they traveled. “So every day we practice flying and we need our mattresses to cushion us from the hard floor. Can we bring our mattresses down to the meeting room every day? I promise that when our session time is up, every mattress will go back up into their rooms. That way and I’m guessing you have other events, you can do that without us getting in the way.”
“Not a problem, Ted. What does your daily schedule look like?” He filled me in: several hours throughout the day, none at night.
“There’s just one more sort of a big one, Tom.” I could tell the group leader was a little concerned about his next request.
“Shoot!” This group was going to be very interesting, to put it mildly. This was my first ever experience with a group of Maharishi's flyers. I resolved to make sure that the group’s stay was going to be smooth for them, and as productive as possible.
“Yogurt production.” Again, his penchant for hanging the issue out before my nose before diving into explanation told me the man was used to dealing with short-sighted and irritable managers.
“Yogurt production…” I played along repeating him, deadpan then smiled.
“We have to eat a certain yogurt, or maybe that’s not the right way to say it. We like our own recipe that we got from the Maharishi. The key is its freshness, so it needs to be whipped up the night before.” Ted gave me the full instructions as we stood there in the lobby.
The crackling fire and the trees’ twinkling lights drew our attention.
I could tell my meeting with the group leader was coming to an end, and I had to ask: “I noticed there are no women…is there a reason for this, or am I right in thinking that this might mean a distraction of sorts for the guys?”
“That’s exactly right. The Maharishi figures, the less distracting us from our practice, the better. We do have women’s Siddha groups, of course.” He paused, he had something else on his mind. “Tom, when can we sit down along with my staff to review the menu selection with your kitchen head or chef? As you might suspect, it is something we covered with your reservations people, we are all vegetarians and we travel with a complete set of simple recipes your kitchen will have no trouble in making.”
“Of course, might I suggest the sooner the better so that the kitchen and storeroom know what to stock up on right away? How about we meet in, say, half an hour right here, and we’ll go to a small meeting room?”
“Perfect. Tom, I can see this is going to be a wonderful stay. Thanks so much for being so understanding, not all managers…”
“Oh, it will be fine Ted, let me ask you something.” I now circled on him and stared him in the eye. I swear he may have sensed what I was about to ask. “Can you guess?” I couldn’t resist and laughed.
“No, not really, go ahead.” He smiled.
“The yogurt will be produced at no additional expense to you other than the cost of ingredients if you will allow me to just one time, witness the flying. I want to see the flying,” I said a bit forcefully, holding his gaze.
Deep breath. “Whoa! That will have to go to the top, I mean…”
“Like you mean the Maharishi? Can you do it? Do you want to do it? Can you see why I’d like to see this kind of thing firsthand? I don’t need to tell you that this would change my outlook on reality in the deepest sense. Oh, another thing, my wife will be there too. What say you?”
Again, deep breath. “You drive a hard bargain, Tom…” I hardly thought of it in that way. It just came down to if my wife and I could see, period. “I will need to call the Maharishi on this…”
“You can call the Maharishi, Ted? I’m impressed. So you must be…”
“Well, I’ve been with the Maharishi since his start here in the U.S., not trying to sound full of myself, but you might say I’m his right-hand man here. But yeah, I’ll need to call him.” He paused and seemed lost in thought and added. “Sure Tom, I can understand, and you are a practitioner, so give me a day or so and I’ll let you know where we stand, okay?”
“Thanks, Ted.” We shook hands and parted.
As the group quickly made themselves at home in the hotel, me and my staff started getting accustomed to the rather humorous sight of these men going up and down the stairs hauling mattresses to and from the meeting space and their rooms. The yogurt was a task my wife and I chose to take on ourselves. I guess we just wanted to feel a part of the group somehow. Hard to explain, really.
We stocked up on a handful of giant plastic food-friendly tubs, followed Ted’s exact instructions for the mixing and stirring of the ingredients, and felt great satisfaction as the mixture seemed to harden into the familiar yogurt we all know before our very eyes.
Eileen, my secretary was at my door asking if it would be alright for Ted to come in. Of course, I said. She ushered him in, offered us coffee or tea, and left.
“Tom, the Maharishi said yes on one condition.”
“Okay Ted, shoot!” I had no idea what the condition might be, I suppose I could have made a few guesses.
“You would need to be initiated into TM.” He sat, watching my face for any reaction.
After we established there was absolutely no way around that obstacle, I gave him my answer. “Well Ted, I know I will regret this. But I can’t say I will abandon my current practice and go with the TM approach. I’m sure you can understand my hesitancy to leave my teacher.”
Back in those early days of meditation, there was a strong sense of loyalty to one’s teacher, an almost unbreakable bond. Thankfully, today in the 2000s, we now know that changing teachers is a perfectly acceptable practice. Today, true teachers will tell you to look around, to make sure that the teacher-student relationship is one that fits. Once the student is ready, the same teacher will even suggest to the student to consider a new teacher, or new guidance. As it should be. But back then it smacked of betrayal and I wanted no part in that.
When I had a small skiing accident and was held for one night in the hospital for ‘observation’, to my surprise, a huge group of these meditators showed up and surrounded my bed and assured me I’d be better soon. We did a meditation right there in the hospital room.
As the fifteen days were coming to an end, we had formed a friendship. My wife was on a first-name basis with many in the group. We would be sorry to see them go. Ted asked my wife and me if we sensed a calmer environment, something in the air. As an eternal optimist, I had to agree that yes, life seemed at least a little less troublesome! He assured us that wherever the meditating group went, it had this sort of impact ‘in the air’.
In three days the group would climb back onto their buses for the ride to the airport in Detroit.
Several of my staff confided with me they had snuck a peek or two through the doors of the meeting room to see them flying. The report was that they sat in deep meditation and after some time a few here and there did what my crew described as ‘jumping’. Several years later I learned this jumping is in fact called hopping. They reported that it sure looked like the meditator made supreme leg effort to suddenly take a very momentary flight.
It seems no one stayed aloft as in the cartoon drawings I used to see as a child in the New Yorker of swamis hanging onto the end of a rope and to dear life as they floated about!
My phone rang early, and I picked up. Ted called me and asked if I’d like to join him in his room later on for a half-hour meditation. He added to be sure to bring along my wife. He apologized for not having invited me earlier. I told him I’d be up once my wife arrived. It was a little before lunch.
“Hi Ted, thanks for inviting us up to meditate.” His suite had the comforting aroma of sandalwood. On a small table was a makeshift altar with a picture of the Maharishi beside an older robed man, and a small vase with fresh flowers.
“Oh sure, Tom, just find anywhere comfortable. I’ve been using these sofa cushions on the floor. Do you two sit cross-legged or in a chair?” I told him I sat cross-legged and got my cushion set up across from him as did my wife, and he started us off with a guided fashion.
“Okay, so if you’d like I can take us into a sort of guided meditation, and then we’ll be silent for most of the thirty minutes. I’ll let you know when the time is up. If you don’t mind, please don’t stand until I ring the little bell.”
My eyes were closed. You know how, when you’re in a room alone, you can sometimes feel a shift of movement? I felt a movement. I kept my eyes closed. More movement, a sense. My curiosity got the best of me. Life being as strange as it can be, I felt it wouldn’t be any good if Ted were, for some reason, moving about when we were supposedly deep in meditation; I opened my eyes just a crack.
Ted wasn’t in his meditation seat. I very slowly looked around, not seeing him. I glanced at my wife, who was staring upward, her mouth open. Movement above caught my eye. Near the ceiling, Ted was still in lotus, hanging in midair.
It’s important to note something about this thing called levitation, a highly advanced yoga technique. While there have been meditation masters who practiced levitation for thousands of years in India, unfortunately, it is extremely rare to witness such a practice. The yogic teachers choose to avoid sensationalizing the technique. When asked by eager students to show them the levitation, some of the greatest teachers simply respond, “It is not necessary…”
