A few have already started to murmur it.
Quietly, because it feels sacrilegious, or too soon. And of course there was beauty, identity, and deep attachment. There was a gilded crown of thorns.
Yet everything moves so quickly. Both fire, and the vow to rebuild the past.
The vow is not to rebuild the deep past of primeval forests or oral culture. Nor to rebuild the Museo Nacional in Rio, nor sacred indigenous sites the world over. But to rebuild what it has meant to be European, French, and Christian. Or the dream of such things, circa the industrial age.
Because there is no other time to speak the truth about having no time, some voices are saying:
We all live in a burning cathedral, together. It’s much older than 800 years. Can we see the flare in Paris as a microcosm?
Watch the spire collapse. You can feel its internal strength turning to cinders. For a moment, the fire itself seems to offer support. There’s a pause. Perhaps prayers are also keeping it aloft. Then it leans, and you know it is falling into ash.
It’s just like watching the Ilulissat Glacier calve. The same quivering pause, before mass movement that starts with imperceptible splintering. But the scale is vast. They said it was like watching Manhattan fall into the sea, all at once.
When the ice falls, the water rises. The charred spire flattens into the pavement at a new ground zero. Waves of sorrow and hubris rise in displacement.
Notre Dame’s roof was a tinderbox of 13,000 trees, extracted from ancient forests. Hewn and raised with extracted labour into an alternative canopy, something better than the sky. To house relics, to validate relics, to hoard wealth, to symbolize material and spiritual empire, to tighten the tension between mystery and certainty, to inspire awe and fervor, to enshrine the names of powerful men, to worship the family unit from which all hymns flow and which all of this industry exploits, to freeze female bodies into statues of objectified melancholy.
It’s what male desire and power do. It’s what those of us who can do, do: accumulate value into magnificent burn piles, which for a few centuries can represent and rationalize the noble effort. So few of us see who or what we are stealing the raw materials from. I cannot recall paintings of medieval deforestation, nor of gold mines in French colonies, nor of whatever Vichy meeting preserved Notre Dame from the Luftwaffe.
It’s not just an accumulation of wealth and aspiration, but of an attention that makes so many other things invisible. Some are pointing out, respectfully, that black churches are burning every week. Or that the dazzle of rose windows can distract us from who has been violated beneath them.
Of course there is a vow to rebuild. Because the scale is conceivable. In a great tradition, neo-feudalists can step forward to perform magnanimity. Don’t ask what they were doing with their 300M Euros yesterday.
The government will be invigorated by a reunification project. It will find common cause once again with captains of industry. Perhaps the yellow vests will be pacified, or even pitch in.
The cathedral will be rebuilt, with gusto and relief, because we cannot rebuild the Larsen Ice Shelf, nor replant the Amazon. Rebuilding will return us to the productivity we know, displacing an anxiety we cannot confess to any priest.
How will this not bolster white supremacy? From Moscow, Putin has offered to send elite carpenters. The subtext, tweeted a thousand times, is that Europe must band together to preserve itself from the refugees of the global fire it set alight.
They will pour more concrete, forge more steel, and harvest more trees. They will create and consecrate a simulation of the past. The completion date will be set for after the Paris Agreement deadlines. The finished project may feature holograms.
I grew up Catholic, in the age before climate chaos. I was taught to believe in God before I learned to listen to the world. I spent many hours in spaces that sought, with colonial affect, to mimic the grandeur of Notre Dame. I lit candles, gazed at the pierced heart, meditated on the vaults. I blinked at the statue of a nordic St. Michael skewering an African Lucifer with his golden lance. I played the pipe organ and sang soprano, and then tenor.
It was a troubled home. When I first visited Notre Dame in my 20s, I could feel its damp foundation. This was where I was from, but I didn’t feel at rest. I went through periods of fantasizing myself as a prodigal son, accepted once again. It never lasted. I loved my elders with a subtle disorganized attachment.
I’m certain I remember sitting in front of a Madonna and Child in Notre Dame, wondering What would she think of all this?
I wonder if I’ll see images of her again, with molten lead and charred latticework at her marble feet.
Despite itself, sometimes the old patriarchal literature captured a treasure. The scribes of Luke hinted at Mary’s foreboding. That she felt the fate of her strangely aware baby. That he would be murdered at a young age by priests and bureaucrats for suggesting that humans could take a different path. For some quip he would make about lilies in the field putting Solomon to shame.
The sculptors carve her holding him close, not against the elements, but against a civilization that builds its gorgeous prisons around them.
We can feel her warmth, and that nothing else matters. The roof needs no repair for this love to persist. She’s used to living in sheds. She’s used to not knowing when the end will come.
She would ask us not to rebuild, but to redirect. But she knows no one listens to her. She is Our Lady of the Extinction. She holds the baby, and every fear, and every moment of tenderness we muster. She treasures up all these things, and ponders them in her heart.
Inspired by this essay by Catherine Ingram.
In an email sent out to members last night, the IYNAUS Executive Council for the first time apologized directly to the women who gave their testimonies to the independent investigation into Manouso Manos. The email also details commitments to reform. Its content resonates with several of the guidelines laid out by Karen Rain and Jubilee Cooke in their recent article “How to Respond to Sexual Abuse Within a Yoga or Spiritual Community With Competency and Accountability.”
The apology coincided with a speech given by Abhijata Iyengar at the current convention in Dallas, which continues through Wednesday. By email, IYNAUS President David Carpenter reported that Iyengar
devoted 30 minutes or so to discussing her own experience being molested, stating unequivocally that sexual touch is unacceptable, telling individuals not to fear coming forward with complaints, expressing empathy for victims, and reemphasizing the centrality of physical adjustments in Iyengar Yoga and their benefits.
A transcript of Iyengar’s remarks is forthcoming.
Here’s the text of the IYNAUS email sent to members:
April 12, 2019
Dear IYNAUS members,
Last Friday, we announced the results of the independent investigation of Manouso Manos and the actions that RIMYI and IYNAUS have taken in response to Ms. Sargeant’s findings that Manouso committed acts of sex abuse in his classes between 2005 and the present.
We said that these events were “unspeakably sad and tragic.” These words did not do justice to the victims.
Sexual abuse of students in yoga classes is horrific. A yoga class is a place of refuge. A place for self-exploration. For quieting the mind. It is unacceptable for any teacher to violate that sacred space with acts of sexual violence. It is abhorrent to create not healing and calm, but trauma and pain.
We extol the courage of the victims. The courage to relive and describe painful traumas. The courage to risk reprisals and to expose themselves to scorn and derision. The courage to speak the truth to power.
We apologize to the victims. They should have been safe in a class taught by one of the world’s most highly certified Iyengar Yoga teachers.
They should have felt safe filing ethics complaints with IYNAUS.
It is now apparent that we failed to establish an ethics complaint procedure that our students trusted. We now know that many acts of sexual abuse were committed in the past 15 years, but that these did not lead to a single complaint between IYNAUS’s founding in 1992 and Ann West’s complaint in March, 2018. It is now apparent that other victims were not willing to come forward until we hired an independent investigator.
We are determined to effect wholesale changes in our community and in IYNAUS.
A committee led by Lisa Jo Landsberg and Marla Apt has been developing standards for adjustments and new instructional materials for all CIYTs. They will discuss their committee’s work at both the all members’ meeting and the teachers’ meeting that will be held at our convention in Dallas on Sunday.
In October, we adopted measures to eliminate or to lessen the fears that prevented the filing of complaints in the past. We discussed other such measures at our meeting yesterday. In October, we also adopted strict measures to guarantee the impartiality of the panels who investigate and decide sex abuse and other complaints. We decided at our meeting yesterday to restructure our ethics committee to assure that sex abuse complaints are rigorously investigated and decided in accord with the best practices in the U.S. Our goal is a system of unquestionable fairness that can be trusted to identify and remedy sex abuse whenever it occurs.
We will discuss these efforts further at the all members’ meeting at the Convention on Sunday. These events have stressed our community and the common philosophy that has bound us together. We can begin to re-unify by recognizing and appreciating the strength and resolve of those who took action and by responding accordingly for the collective good.
Yours in yoga,
IYNAUS Executive Council
Manos victims and whistleblowers, however, are suffering retaliation from other quarters. Ann Tapsell West, whose 2018 ethics complaint catalyzed the independent investigation, received an abusive email from a New York area Iyengar student.
And in a Facebook post, a Los Angeles-based yoga teacher suggested that the investigation was part of a conspiracy driven by professional jealousy and a general hatred for yoga.
“A Hamster Wheel of Self-Help.” Conversation with Rachel Bernstein on IndoctriNation Podcast (Pt. 2)
Here’s Part 2 of my conversation with Rachel Bernstein on her IndoctriNation podcast. Part 1 is here.Please consider supporting her work by subscribing to the podcast via Patreon.
Rachel Bernstein: 00:04
Welcome to IndoctriNation, a weekly conversation series about protecting yourself from systems of control. I am your host, Rachel Bernstein. Welcome to part two of my interview with Matthew Remski. He is the survivor of two yoga-related cults and is now the father of two with his partner. He’s also an instructor and an author. He has some very interesting insights and has done a lot of research. I look forward to having you hear him speak about his experiences and also how to get past a lot of what he went through and some good guidelines for others who have been through those kinds of experiences. Let’s talk to him now.
Rachel Bernstein: 00:47
So you were involved in [Michael Roach’s] group for how long?
Matthew Remski: 00:49
For just over three years. Okay. And then he took six or seven of his female students into retreat for three years, a private retreat. And that was started in 2000. That meant that he was kind of like out of the picture, but also he did a number of things at the end. I got fairly into, doing some of the… I said earlier that I had stopped writing, but I started writing for him actually, which was, I think was even more detrimental to my mental health. So one of the key things that happened was that I was, that I realized, I’ve written an entire book for this guy based upon transcripts from his long-winded talks. And I’ve actually made him sound good and he’s not even going to do anything with it. I realized this was a pattern: that everybody was getting these meaningless, dead-end tasks that were incredibly time intensive and labor intensive and really determined that people would be emotionally focused upon him. Then the projects would go nowhere. There’d be no final result. Even within the group, there was this sense of, Oh yeah, he’s helping you burn off your aspirations or your selfishness or he’s helping you see where your own narcissism is preventing you from understanding the nature of reality and so on. So there were explanations for that as well.
Rachel Bernstein: 02:34
Yeah. Explanations, justifications, they usually happen so that they can kind of uphold the idea that he is someone who is necessary in our lives in ways that are obvious to us and also ways that are not. And it keeps us from really seeing that were being used, um, that it’s this hamster wheel actually.
Matthew Remski: 03:08
I really like how Janja Lalich talks about “bounded reality” [correction: “bounded choice”] where there’s nothing that’s disconfirming. So if he gives you a task, you accomplish the task for the good of the Dharma worldwide or whatever. And if you don’t accomplish the task you’ve paid some sort of penance. But there’s no, there’s no universe in which you can say, Wait a minute, you just wasted my time. You just manipulated me and stole my labor.
Rachel Bernstein: 03:36
The closed system: you can’t get outside information.
Matthew Remski: 03:41
And any result confirms the nature of the system.
Rachel Bernstein: 03:45
And anything positive is because of him anything negative is because of you. That’s built into it. Yeah. Nice little things sprinkled on top of all of it. Thanks! Thanks for that. Like I needed something else to make me feel bad about me! So then through the help of a friend got involved in this next group. So tell me about your experiences there.
Matthew Remski: 04:20
Endeavor Academy I think still exists, but I don’t know how many people still live there. I’ve lost touch with the people who are still there. I’m still in touch with through social media with three or four of former members who were in residence there. It’s in Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin. And it was founded by a guy named Charles Anderson who died in 2008 and so that would have been like five years after after I had left. And he was a recovered, well, not-quite-recovered, dry alcoholic, Alcoholics Anonymous, Blue-Book-thumping…. But also his main text was A Course in Miracles. And I think that what impressed — I mean I actually fell for this, which even though I was deceived, I still give myself a side-eye about this one.
When I first walked into one of his sessions, which would just be him teaching extemporaneously and often in a sort of of garbled, jazzy, scatty kind of way. He was quite a wordsmith and bullshit artist. He looked straight at me and he said, Oh, I see the Buddhist has arrived! And then he took his sock and he smacked me across the head. And there’s this conversion story in Tibetan Buddhism where one of the saints, Marpa, takes a sandal and hits Milarepa over the head with it. I found out later that that somebody had given some intel to him, right? I thought he had just intuited that and he said: You are free as God made you, so what are you going to do? Meditate about that?
And you know, there was something very compelling, not just about the deception but about this line, which he would feed to everybody, which is you are, as a human being, a perpetual tangle of doubt and uncertainty. Can you just get over it already? Like you’re not doing yourself any favors by contemplating or by meditating. Just understand that: you’re standing in the light of God right now or whatever. This was his pitch: Because I’m certain about who I am. You can be too.
So there was something, to this day there was something compelling and existentially impressive about that particular turn that I haven’t seen in any other set of exchanges. Maybe this sounds familiar to you, but the thing is that he was really a one-trick pony. Like that was the one cognitive challenge to people’s anxiety or depression that he could offer. And then everything that was built around that was, you know, financial, emotional, physical, sexual exploitation. So it took me about a year to recognize that. And then I think as is common with, with a lot of people’s experience, it takes a lot longer to leave than you want. That’s because it’s hard to find anybody to talk to. It’s because you’ve invested a lot already. It’s because what are you going to do outside anyway?
Rachel Bernstein: 08:33
You doubt yourself. I’ve heard people say that, by and large — and I’ve seen this with the former members that I work with — that they were unhappy for a very long time before they took action to leave. And still some are kind of half in, half out. They’re just… it’s a process. Sometimes it takes longer for different people. Certainly. It’s interesting you talk about his way of being with you and being on the stage and even though you saw that he was this one trick pony and it became that if you’re a hammer, everything is a nail. Like it all is sort of the same everywhere. think that there is something about someone being very sure, and that’s what works in sales.
Matthew Remski: 09:20
He was a salesman.
Rachel Bernstein: 09:21
Yeah. So he was confrontative and he also seemed insightful and psychic to a certain degree, even though he had gotten intel, which often happens. But I think the fact that he had this kind of challenge for you and also said that he was someone who had benefited from this and he is someone who is these things, and you can be this too. It is like every sales pitch wrapped into this perfect little package, so, you know, it made an impact. It’s every technique of influence all in this couple of sentences.
Matthew Remski: 10:00
He wrapped it up and tied it in a bow and he did it in a way that was alternating – and this is where I find Alexandra Stein’s work so incredibly useful — really sharply alternating between the seemingly loving and the absolutely wrathful. Putting one in the very confused position of “Oh, am I receiving love at this point or am I being dismissed or am I being abused? How can I tell those apart? Is one the function of the other? Does one depend upon the other? Yeah. So he was particularly good at that.
Rachel Bernstein: 10:46
It’s a very controlling thing to do. It’s something that I’ve talked about in the past about intermittent gratification. So you kind of wait around for it to feel good again for the person to be happy with you. You then learn that you need to stay there. You can’t abandon this because there might be a payout soon. So if you can learn how to do it right, then it’s going to feel really good. Cause when it feels bad, it feels bad and it’s right in front of people too. So you kind of want to have that resolution that’s in a public way in front of people.
Matthew Remski: 11:25
At Endeavor Academy — this gave me a little bit of insight moving into researching Ashtanga yoga — is that the feel-food drug that was on offer every day was fairly regular. There was an inconsistency for sure in whether or not Charles Anderson was going to love you or abuse you. So that, as I understand dopamine systems, that kind of uncertainty really jacks up the pleasure principle when it hits.
But then there was another mechanism which was called “session”. That was every morning from about 8 till 11. He would start by giving like a rambling sermon about, about the Course in Miracles or, you know, whatever he was thinking about. That would last for about an hour. Then he would have Mitch, one of his main students, play music, like really loud club music. And then we would all get up and Kundalini jitterbug all over the room, arms raised, jumping as high as we could, barking like dogs, smashed in together.
And when I came across this line in Stein’s book, I think she gets it from Hannah Arendt, she talks about like an “airless compression” between people within a totalitarian system. That was exactly it. Like we actually had a mosh pit dance party, which sounds great in some ways, but it was every single day, and you basically had to go, and it was intense physically. It was intense psychologically, and there was so much exertion involved that there was this feeling of like almost blankness for the rest of the day. So there was this stimulation like pseudo-euphoria.
When I saw a hidden camera stuff, footage in Wild, Wild Country where they captured some of what was going on in either in the Oregon ashram or in Poona in India where — did you see that? Where there was the group that sort of fly on the wall group therapy sessions that were, that were violence, you know, physical and sexual assault, you know, cast as therapy encounters. But the daily experience — now that might have been the most intense, pockets of that activity — but the daily experience where people were doing this kind of shaking and speaking in tongues and screaming and crying and all of this extroversion…
I really wish the filmmakers had actually interviewed people about what the impacts of that shit was. Because I know from personal experience that it’s an extremely effective control mechanism that, that nothing matters. You overload yourself with that kind of endorphin rush for a couple hours in the morning, you can’t think for the rest of the day. You’re going to be blank, you’re going to do what you can socially to get by. But really there’s going to be a glaze between you and the next person.
Ever since then, contemplating what the impact was on me. I’ve been fascinated in especially the bodily tactics of high control groups, and that shows up in the work that I do on Ashtanga yoga because the people who ended up being subjugated and assaulted by Pattabhi Jois were also involved in intense, intense physical activity that really lowered their defences. So yeah, that’s a point of fascination for me.
Rachel Bernstein: 15:51
Yeah, I think that there are a couple of things that are really interesting about it. One is that it does take you into a different headspace. There’s no question it exhausts you and exhilarates you at the same time. It sends you also off balance. But also it’s this: when it’s done in a perfunctory way, then it is not something that feels authentic. You’re pushing yourself to do it. Which means that it could have been beyond what your body could tolerate. You might’ve already come from a place of being underslept or underfed and it’s just depleting you more and more, but it leaves you in a confused state because there’s a rush and kind of a giddiness around it at times. And so I think just, it’s another way to keep people off-balance.
Matthew Remski: 16:43
It’s also terribly addictive because if there’s, you know, certain endorphin opiate release, at a high level, at a regular time per day, and that’s also involved in a kind of social contact, but it’s blindered, or it’s not an intersubjective social contact. There’s this sheen between people. It’s like you’re, you’re using each other for the contact high, but you’re simultaneously isolated. It’s really hard to break away from that. And I think, I think it was that daily experience that I held onto longest, actually, long after I realized that Charles Anderson is just, just babbling. Long after I realized that, you know, so a bunch of people are going personally bankrupt, taking out credit card loans to pay for his bullshit. Like I still, I hung onto that, that bodily experience because that was a really powerful drug.
Rachel Bernstein: 17:49
A very powerful drug. Right. And your body accommodates and acclimates to something that happens on a regular basis. So at that time of day, you know, your body can start to crave it or miss it and whether or not it’s healthy anymore. Yeah. And that becomes a confusing message for your system as well. I think also anything that’s done in that multisensory way also has more staying power within our systems afterwards because it was just more input from the experience. But yeah, it’d be interesting to talk to you more about that. And to expand on that. I think to bring us to Ashtanga yoga: first of all, how did you leave this group and then start doing your other research?
Matthew Remski: 18:34
In about 2003. One of the things that Anderson would do is that as that he would finish up session and he would tell Mitch to put the dance music on and, and then he would go upstairs. It was this old hotel, if anybody knows the Wisconsin Dells, it’s like filled with old mobster hotels that are kind of like falling in and you could buy them up in the 80s or whatever for cheap. And so he’d go to his upper room, and his, you know, the inner circle plus the kind of sycophants-du-jour would run up the stairs after him. And I remember, I don’t know why I went up one day, but I remember I was the first one there for some reason. And I knocked on his door and he said, Yeah.
And I came around the corner and it’s just like 1970s-80s hotel room. Totally sort of nondescript. And you know, you open the door and turn the corner and the bathroom is right to the right, just as it would be in a hotel room. And I looked in and I saw him just like, yeah, looking into the mirror, like, What the hell am I doing? He didn’t say that, but it was like: I’m exhausted.
And then I said, I said, Old man? That’s what we called him. And then I literally saw him put his face on back again. He turned, and then he was like, he did his googly eyes and he did his “I see who you are.” But I fucking saw that guy become his persona. And something something snapped in my brain. Something similar happened with, with Michael Roach. So that’s been key for me is to realize that…. To just see this veil crack.
And so anyway, I can’t remember, it wasn’t that long afterwards that I was like just edging away and trying to pull my roots out without breaking them and withdraw, without being amputated and preserve some friendships and preserve the relationship that I was in at the time. And so then there was a long period of waiting on tables and learning yoga and wandering and as I said, I came into yoga because I found it to be a recovery space. I could feel my body as mine again. I remember the first time I rolled over after a class, I looked at my hand and I went, oh, hello, I’m here and I’m, I’m okay. And, and so there was something about, there was, there was something about the very simple instructions that were very powerful to me and, you know, but honestly, it didn’t take that long before I started hearing about, about some toxic dynamics.
I just didn’t want to know though. I didn’t want to hear that much about it and maybe, you know, about eight or nine years into my teaching career, owning two studios by that time, I started to hear more and more stories about not only sexual misconduct and financial shenanigans within various yoga organizations, but then really specifically, “Oh, you know Pattabhi Jois, who is probably responsible for more responsible for the global expansion and commodification of yoga practice then anybody else except for Mr. Iyengar — this guy was understood to be a sexual predator and that he got away with it.”
And that stayed on the level of rumor as far as I was concerned, except that in 2010, one of the women who he assaulted named Anneka Lucas finally published about it 10 years after the assault happened. And you know, people didn’t look at it very carefully, and it kind of disappeared on the website that it was on went under and it took, you know, me actually realizing that I was ignoring the story of a friend of mine. Her name is Diane Bruni here in Toronto. And she had been aware of the sexual assault. She was part of the Ashtanga Yoga world. You know, she told this story and I just, I realized at a certain point that I had not wanted to hear it. And then when I realized that, I was like, Nope, I’m gonna figure this out cause this is extraordinary.
I was particularly taken aback by the fact that it was a mainstream story. I was fearful. I was fearful of the fact that this was not, we’re not talking about some weird leader of some weird group that I was in Wisconsin. We were talking about somebody who had had more influence over this global industry than almost anybody else. And that some key ways in which the postures are practiced, namely that teachers and students have been operating in these spaces of implied consent with regard to touch, that teachers have felt free for the last 20 years to just touch people’s bodies even though they have no training whatsoever in manual therapy or whatever. But that all comes from that guy. And others, but very strongly from that guy.
And he was adjusting people. He was adjusting women, primarily, so that he could sexually assault them. And he was adjusting men, I would argue, primarily so that he could physically assault them. People do say they had wonderful experiences being, being adjusted by him. But then, you know, if you scratch the surface, they’ll also describe being hurt or being an utter terror and, you know, somehow willing themselves to, to feel better about it. So I dug up Anneka Lucas’s story and then another writer on another journalist named Elizabeth Kadetsky said, “You should try to get in touch with Karen Haberman, ’cause she might have a story to tell. But Karen Haberman has changed her name.”
I had to do this detective work to find her. I phoned her out of the blue. If people look her up, she’s actually become, through her own activism, one of the most prominent voices in the yoga reform movement, even though she doesn’t really care about the yoga world anymore.
So about three years of making connections like that, slowly put me in touch with a total of 16 people who gave testimony as to having been assaulted by Jois over a 30 year period. And I think that, just to return to like my main fascination is that this is somebody with like mainstream, mainstream, mainstream influence. I remember when I pitched the feature article that got published to The Walrus, my pitch line was this is the Harvey Weinstein of Yoga. I said, except that nobody thought of Harvey Weinstein as being a spiritual master. But what I really wanted to convey to the public and in part through this book was that, you know, in an unregulated industry in which people are seeking physical, emotional, and perhaps therapeutic and sometimes spiritual benefits, we have to look at where the material comes from really carefully. We have to look at who’s behind it, who’s created it, what kind of, what kind of power dynamics have created this teaching structure that has now spread across the world. So this is not to say that everybody who’s engaged in modern postural yoga is somehow abusing people. It’s still going to be a minority, a very small minority. But hopefully the work starts to expose that minority. And
Rachel Bernstein: 27:29
That would be really quite wonderful because you know, I hear about different yoga organizations run by people who were brought up on different charges, others where it really stays under the radar and you don’t really know about them until you get involved. And then it turns out, you know, Oops! The leader thinks he’s the messiah, like it wasn’t in the brochure.
Matthew Remski: 27:54
Right. Yeah. And there’s a basic safety issue involved too with regards to the dishonesty of groups that harbor abuse histories. So some of what I’m doing, not only in the book but also as a consultant, is trying to figure out and then also call out people who are basing their authority for their spiritual content upon an organization that has an abuse history, but not being clear with that and not showing the public: Okay, well this is how I’ve actually understood it, or this is how I’ve interrogated the power dynamics, that I actually don’t want to replicate.
You know, some of your listeners would probably know of a popular writer here in Canada named Doctor Gabor Maté, who’s a GP but has written a lot about trauma and adverse childhood experiences and addiction and stuff like that. He has a program that he collaborates on with another teacher and it seeks to bring Yoga practices into his addictions recovery program, or he lends support to a program that’s called Beyond Addiction. And the yoga portion is provided by members of the Kundalini Yoga Group. And, you know, this is a group with a really problematic history that — because I don’t think Dr. Maté investigated it — they just sort of get a free pass into providing services ostensibly for traumatized people. And then anybody attending these programs, however, can Google “Kundalini cult” or “Kundalini Yoga abuse”. And then suddenly they realize they’re in a training program in which somebody is promoting the benefits of the ideas and the practices they got from somebody who was clearly either unethical or an abusive person.
And then we have to wonder about, Okay, well what else are they passing on? Or has that history been digested in any kind of transparent way? So I think that’s going to be a big growth industry actually: people in the Yoga and Buddhism worlds figuring out: Oh, I learned this stuff and some of it was really helpful to me and I teach it, but I also learned it from a very problematic place and from a problematic person, you know, whose failures conscious or unconscious — and perhaps their crimes — I certainly don’t want to either rationalize or normalize or elevate or just not look at. So yeah, I think transparency is going to be the keyword of the next 30 years of the Yoga and Buddhism worlds.
Rachel Bernstein: 30:59
And I think it’s a very important thing also for there to be some sort of system of checks and balances. You know, with so many of these groups that don’t have a kind of an overarching governing body, then anything can happen without oversight. And so how do you set that up without it being kind of a police state? But still where there’s somebody to call if something happens and that they do something to protect you. I feel like that needs to be more set in place and I’m glad that you’re, you know, you’re talking about this transparency. What’s also interesting, I’m sure you found is that some people care about that more than others. When they hear that there’s a group that has kind of a checkered history or a leader that has a checkered history, they might say, that’s enough for me to not want to be involved in other people saying, yeah, but the practice really feels good. Or I really like it.
Matthew Remski: 31:51
And the dividing line might be really trauma awareness, either of the person’s own history… Nobody has an easy go of it, but if you don’t identify as having a trauma load, you might be in that latter category of like, well, I’m going to take what I can. But if you do know a little bit of what you carry, then I think that transparency is going to be more important. And I think it means that those who are aware of their trauma loads are really the canaries in the mine for everybody else. To use the phrase of a friend of mine, Theo Wildcroft, who says that in order to create a really safe space it has to be safe for the most vulnerable person there. It would be good if we could start holding ourselves to that ideal.
But it’s difficult because Yoga and Buddhism, like life coaching, are all unregulated. And they’re resistant to regulation, not just because people want to continue to be under the radar, but also because at least in the yoga world, the discourse is heavily Americanized. There’s a very characteristically American approach to keep your hands off of my spirituality: this is my private stuff. That’s a factor too.
Rachel Bernstein: 33:24
Right? So how does strike a balance so that it’s not tampered with and there isn’t so much of that kind of regulatory force where it doesn’t work anymore as kind of a spiritual endeavor. Because it’s too tense, but also that there are safeguards because that has been lacking. I’m really glad that you’re pinpointing the problems, the pitfalls. And I am curious as we finish up: What have you found, what have you found that you’ve learned just in terms of the vulnerability that we all have and why we might have it. I know we touched on it a little bit, but you’ve done so much research and you’ve talked to so many people. I’m just curious about your insights as we finish up.
Rachel Bernstein: 34:17
This book that’s coming out just wouldn’t exist without the bravery of the women who were able to find a voice to speak about how they were abused within this group. Learning how to listen to that experience has, I almost want to say, it’s become a kind — it’s suggested a different type of spirituality to me. When I tried to put myself in the place of somebody like Karen Rain who has taken 20 years to recover from these daily assaults, I realize something about how much care people actually need and how much support they need. Not care directly from me. But structural support and how important it is for people to be believed when they describe their trauma experiences and how important it is for people to be advocated for.
When the prevailing ideology of the culture is to blame the victim for having been so stupid, for staying, or to foster this belief that your freewill and your common sense should have just turned you away from that toxic environment and why didn’t it? These are all really ignorant responses that lead me back to something that Anneka Lucas actually told me in the first interview that we did with her about her story. And this has always stuck with me. She said “I believe that we can recognize the trauma of other people to the extent that we recognize that we ourselves have been traumatized.” That’s become a mantra for me.
So by listening to Karen, in making a lot of mistakes, you know, screwing up a lot, interrupting her or you know, whatever I’ve done over the last couple of years of interviewing, I have been able to understand something more about my own experience and I’ve also stopped being afraid, I think, of the fact that the traumatized person is somehow a danger to my sense of order in the world. My friend Theo Wildcraft says that society regards the trauma victim or the cult survivor, we could say also, as a contagious. If you really take on their story, if you really go into: Oh, this is how you were completely overwhelmed, this is how you were totally taken over and this is the profound material and perhaps unchangeable effects that you’ve experienced. If you really go into that as a listener, you might both have to connect with your own experience of that or you might have to start asking questions about the whole thing. You might have to start asking questions about all of your relationships, about all of the systems of power that you participate in. And I think that’s very profound and I’m not so scared of that any more. I wouldn’t say I’m free of the fear of questions, but I’m certainly more free than I have been.
Rachel Bernstein: 37:34
That’s all very beautiful. And I think it’s so important that we’re talking about people who have been through trauma and then they’re retraumatized by being sequestered in that kind of group of people who might do us harm or might give uncomfortable insights that we’re not quite ready for many things, but it is very true. And to not be afraid of it, to be able to kind of protect yourself along the way. Finding ways to do that so that you can invite their experiences into your world and their pain into your world without taking you over. I think it’s a nice way of finding that balance of connection to other people in the world and their experiences. Beautiful. I can’t wait for people to read your book. I mean, I wrote down some phrases as you were talking. I can see that you’re a wordsmith. I wrote down, “Kundalini jitterbug” and “sycophants du jour”. They were great. And when I hear one of those little nuggets, you know, I have to write it down. But that is a, it’s really great to be able to talk to you. I know you have many more stories, so hopefully we can, we can speak again and not only more stories but more insights and just in terms of your own way of kind of navigating so many different realms and worlds and trying to be open to things and, and that in healthy environment that’s wonderful and inunhealthy environments, you’re damaged and hurt and you can be deprived of openness, which is really a such a crime to the people who are just there with their open mind and open heart. But thank you so much and tell people also where they are going to be able to find your book.
Matthew Remski: 39:10
So the book is being published by Embodied Wisdom Publishing, but the announcements for it will be all over my Facebook page. I’ve, there’s an author’s page and there’s my personal page. But my website homepage is going to have a preorder button for it. It’s just my name is matthewremski.com And it’s March 14th that it’s dropping. And then who knows? There’s a whole storm after that. I don’t know what my life was going to look like after that, so we’ll see. Yeah.
Rachel Bernstein: 39:44
Busy. Yeah, it’ll be, it’ll be and good. And you’re going to, it’d be, you’re going to be hearing a lot more of people’s stories, you know, and it’s good to be prepared for that ahead of time, but it’s really wonderful, you know, it’s a nice thing to not feel that your experience was so sort of terminally unique and that you don’t have to feel isolated with it. It happens.
Matthew Remski: 40:06
And that’s where I just have to thank you again because, because you’re, the sharing of the stories that you do is so profoundly helpful. And it’s part of a kind of a golden age I think in that is dawning in cult studies and research and transparency so you’re a big part of that. Thank you so much for your work.
Rachel Bernstein: 40:24
Thank you. Thank you for your nice words. It was a pleasure to talk to you.
Matthew Remski: 40:27
All right. All right. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks a lot Rachel.
If you haven’t heard: the professional independent and investigation (trigger warning) into decades of allegations of sexual assault by Manouso Manos under the guise of “yoga adjustments” has found enough credible evidence and corroboration to paint a picture of serial criminality, enabled by the propaganda of his genius and the silencing of his survivors.
The report has forced IYNAUS to oust him, and the Iyengar family to withdraw permission to use their trademark. Neither IYNAUS or the Iyengars have offered any public words of apology, support, or restorative justice to the women who gave their testimony. Neither organization has used the appropriate terminology to describe what the investigation substantiated, relying on euphemisms like “inappropriate sexual touching” instead of assault or digital rape.
Perhaps the careful language is meant to shield both organizations against civil suits. But along with the absent apology, the overall impact is the suggestion that Iyengar Yoga and the legacy of BKS Iyengar are the true victims of Manouso Manos — not women like Ann West, whose 2018 assault complaint against Manos was initially dismissed by the IYNAUS Ethics Committee. Ann rights:
The excommunications, however, are having an impact. In the last 24 hours, Manos’s home studio in San Francisco, “The Abobe of Iyengar Yoga”, has removed the “workshops” tab from its site, which had advertised dozens of Manos’s upcoming events in the U.S. and internationally. And sources say pressure is building on IYNAUS and the Iyengar family to make some kind of formal accountability statement at the Iyengar USA National Convention, which begins this Thursday in Dallas, and is being headlined by Abhijata Iyengar, the granddaughter of BKS.
So it looks like Manos is gone. But is that the end of the story? IYNAUS seems to hope so, ending its letter introducing the Manos report with an exhausted-sounding appeal for unity:
All these events are unspeakably sad and tragic. Our sincere hope is that something positive also results from them: that we will assure the highest ethical standards of our CIYTs and the complete safety of Iyengar Yoga students. We hope the wounds in our community can now heal and that we can be reunited in our devotion to the brilliant teachings of BKS Iyengar.
The statement is vague. “Events” makes three decades of alleged abuse sound like a car crash. The statement over-promises: no organization, let alone one so compromised, can promise “complete safety”. The statement is premature: healing trauma isn’t like flicking a switch. And the statement is tone-deaf in relation to what the survivors of assault and institutional betrayal might actually need. Who is this “we” — especially when no survivors are quoted by IYNAUS or the Iyengars? Why does the assumption remain that after all of this, everyone’s on the same page?
Using this statement as a critical springboard, here are some questions that every Iyengar Yoga teacher and community leader might now consider:
- “We can be reunited in our devotion to the brilliant teachings of BKS Iyengar.” Was it not BKS himself who reinstated Manos after the assault scandal in 1991? How many people between then and now complained quietly about Manos and were dismissed with the story that BKS had pardoned him? How did all the other mechanisms of devotion combine to dissuade newcomer students from asking questions to begin with? Did devotion to the brilliant teachings of BKS protect any of the women who testified in the Manos report? Is it not devotion that helped to shield Manos from accountability for more than 30 years? What would a healthier alternative be to devotion?
- What is the function of “brilliance”? Hasn’t Manos been held to be a “brilliant” teacher himself? Hasn’t his “brilliance” been a key way in which his behaviours have been justified? What about now? What is or was he really brilliant at? There’s now independently substantiated evidence of sexual abuse. Where is the independently substantiated evidence of the “brilliance” for which he was praised and protected?
- Is Manos now, or was he ever, a “yoga” teacher? Quoting the report: “Person 12 said that there is a class that Manos teaches where Maha Mudra is the culminating pose. She said that she believes that Manos, consciously or unconsciously, uses that pose when he wants an opportunity to grope or violate someone.” To what extent was yoga teaching a disguise for abuse?
- What about students beyond the world of Iyengar Yoga? IYNAUS can strip his membership and rescind an award. The Iyengar family can revoke his permission to use their trademark. But will they inform his hosts and employers who are not affiliated with Iyengar Yoga? Will Iyengar Yoga students and teachers begin to take an interest in and contribute to industry-wide discussions of standards, ethics codes, and accountability structures? Or will they continue to foster the elitist attitude that organizations like Yoga Alliance aren’t to be taken seriously?
- What is the real legacy here? Assuming the Manos report is accurate, what is the global Iyengar community going to do about 30 years of students who trained under him, were influenced by him, and had to satisfy his professional standards of an abuser? How many of them have there been? How many have risen to professional prominence? Did Manos’s training set a tone for the regions of the organization over which he had most influence? How many posture assessments did he supervise? Was there a climate of fear and silence in those rooms? Were his colleagues keeping secrets? Were they afraid of him? Were they enablers? And what did his devoted students learn about teaching? What did they learn about power dynamics? What kind of help do they now need? How will their own students be assured that they are not learning yoga in a pattern of intergenerational stress?
- How many Iyengar Yoga trainees left because of Manos, without telling anyone? How many students abandoned certification or professionalization because they were violated, or afraid, or knew something was corrupt? Can they be found, invited back in, have their investment refunded?
- Is there a clear definition for “legitimate adjustment”, that comes from outside the group? In her report, the investigator writes that she had to understand the principle of adjustments in Iyengar Yoga in order to evaluate what Manos was ostensibly doing when accused of assault. She writes that many sources from within Iyengar Yoga helped her with this learning curve. Her competence in this area had to meet the challenge of Manos’s lawyers, who argued that as a non-member of the Iyengar community, she couldn’t possibly know what he was doing. In the report, however, things get sticky: the investigator quotes Person 12 as saying that “Manos incorporates his inappropriate sexual touching into legitimate adjustments or what he pretends are legitimate adjustments.” (Emphasis added.) If a legitimate adjustment can be faked, where does that leave the Iyengar student? How is “legitimate” defined? Through a consent protocol? Through a closely-defined scope of practice? Through informed consent, by which the teacher can tell the student exactly why they are touching them, what the benefits and drawbacks may be? Some older Iyengar students claim that the slaps and kicks of BKS were also “legitimate” adjustments. What would it mean for the Iyengar Yoga community to assess the that adjustments have been given through an analysis of charisma and power dynamics?
“Those Wounds Are A Kind Of Ink.” Conversation with Rachel Bernstein on IndoctriNation Podcast (Pt. 1)
I’ve been an avid follower of Rachel Bernstein’s IndoctriNation podcast for a year now. She’s doing something very unique and healing in the cult-studies sphere: using her therapy and counselling chops to create really intimate and relaxed interviews with survivors and researchers. I’ve learned a ton from it. Please consider supporting her work by subscribing to the podcast via Patreon.
So I was honoured to be invited on as guest, and wasn’t surprised to be as at-ease as her other guests sound. This is the first part of our conversation.
Rachel Bernstein: 01:18
I want to welcome Matthew Remski to the show today. I am so happy to have him on. He and I had been dialoguing back and forth about a project that he is working on that he’s going to talk about, and also about his experiences and that he is really wonderful at doing community education and good prevention work. So it’s an honor to have you on today.
Matthew Remski: 01:41
Thank you so much Rachel. Actually the honor is mine. Your podcast has been really helpful for, so many listeners, but for me personally, it’s been a really healing thing to be able to see how all of the threads tie together. So thank you for all of that.
Rachel Bernstein: 01:57
Oh, you’re welcome. You’re welcome. My pleasure. I’ve been enjoying doing it and so it’s been fun also because then I get to meet people who are doing this kind of work and talk to you also about your own particular experiences. And so as I often start, I know you’re busy with your book and all of that, but what do you do at other times?
Matthew Remski: 02:17
At other times? That’s a good question. What’s new for me is that — actually, this is very new, so it might be premature to say — I have made a commitment to start taking care of myself a little bit more concertedly. Especially after finishing up with this book that’s about to be published in March. It’s taken about three years, and it’s taken a toll. And you know, at a certain point I realized Oh, I’ve really trained myself to sleep no more than four hours at a time. And, and I’m not exercising as much as I should. And, I’m really fulfilled by this work, but it also feels compulsive. And, so yeah, I’ve slowed down a little bit. I’ve decided not to take on any new work for the next two months. I’ve got two months before the launch date. There’s still a bunch of book details to take care of, but I’m not taking on anything new, trying to spend a little bit more time with my family. We have two little boys.
And also just really taking stock of the fact that working in the cult analysis field as I have been doing has been stressful in a number of ways related not just to the material and to the energy that it takes to hear the stories and to begin to put them together and to process, but also how they trigger my own memories. And so that’s been a strange thing to realize that I’ve been doing this work not only to do the work because I think it’s the right thing to do, and because I have some facility with it, but also because it’s been personally meaningful to me and there has been some recovery aspects in there. But also it’s re-triggered in certain ways and actually it does, you know, I might talk about it later, but there’s a project that I’ve actually had to put on hold a little bit because it’s directly related to one of the groups that I was in, from 96 to 2000.
Rachel Bernstein: 04:23
I want to hear your history. Just talking a little bit about that, about being re triggered. Something that I talk to my clients about is taking the material in bite size pieces. You know, just chewing on a little bit, checking in, seeing if you’re okay. Just sort of keeping sure that you have people around. Daytime is probably easier to do reading also just in general when you feel like you might get triggered. But just to stop when you feel like it’s getting to be too much, put it down. You actually have a really nice way of presenting that in the book that I got to.
Matthew Remski: 04:58
Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? This whole section on self care while reading this book, very somber advice. I hope it is useful for readers, but I think it was maybe proofing that section for the third or fourth time that I was like, Oh, I haven’t done any of these things. I do have outside support and I have, you know, I have access to good reality checking, but yeah, it’s when this material becomes a job and something else takes over, self care is hard to negotiate. I’m sure you find that yourself.
Rachel Bernstein: 05:35
Yeah. And I was thinking as you were reading over it and going over these wonderful ideas that you were sharing with other people for how to manage the information and you hadn’t done any of it yourself. I have that a lot when I’m giving sage advice clients and I’m thinking “That’s actually not a bad idea!”
Matthew Remski: 05:52
And it might’ve been something that you actually did a number of years ago and it worked you and we can forget that stuff too.
Rachel Bernstein: 06:01
And also I think the time feels limited. Like we want to use our time for the other, and don’t think about using those things for ourselves cause we’re crafting how to help the other person. But it is a really good opportunity to check in and make sure you’re doing self care along the way. I’m always curious about what prompts people to have their experiences and then turn it into an opportunity for education and prevention and why that was important for you.
Matthew Remski: 06:31
I didn’t decide for it to be important to me. I think it emerged out of a re-adoption of writing practice as a kind of self care practice after, well, a number of years after I left the second group that I was in. In both of the cults I was recruited into, there was a real emphasis placed upon techniques for meditation and contemplation that would empty the mind or somehow rewrite your thoughts with mantras or with the ideology of the group, or that the empty non-conceptual state of whatever-whatever was actually the ideal state for the human being to be in. So that was really valued. And prior to that I had been a compulsive writer from my early teenage years. And one of the biggest realizations of how deeply I was influenced by these two experiences was that I probably stopped writing for a decade.
That’s kind of astonishing for me to think about because writing is not just about content production or research for journalism. For me, it’s also about the creation of an orderly world that I can begin to contemplate with a kind of safety and distance. And so, you know, when I finally started writing again, first of all, I felt blank. And I knew that wasn’t right and I had to… and there was something about the screen too, you know… When I had stopped writing, I had been using a laptop and then when I started, you know, well there’s the laptop and it’s updated, it’s a new version, but it’s still a screen and there’s something very bright and aggressive about the screen that was difficult for me to connect with. When I called up a new document and it was blank, that kind of reinforced this feeling of blankness that I had from the meditation practices and the various cognitive distorting techniques that had been used.
Then I had this — I don’t know how I figured it out… I think actually it was watching my stepdaughter drawing — she’s an incredible artist — and I realized: Oh, I actually want to write with my hand, something material. And I got a big notebook and I began to write that way again. Just sort of personal, internal stuff, but I did it in cursive and there was something about connecting the words together. Is cursive an American word? Connecting the words together, and then I would challenge myself to not let the pen leave the page. And that created a kind of like internal consistency to the fact that I had a voice. And so it started taking off from there.
And then I kind of got back into some of the types of writing that I had done before as a cultural critic and as a theorist. And I did some yoga philosophy as I got into the yoga world. At a certain point when I began realizing that this apparently benign culture was not only totally unregulated, but it was also filled with its own sort of cultic patches. I just started teaching myself how to report on that stuff and I don’t have any journalism training, but I’ve had some really good mentors and I feel like I know how to do a lot of it now. But because writing was always like part of a recovery process for me, it’s not like I could ever say that reporting or doing journalism on cultic dynamics was going to be objective or unbiased from my point of view. Like there’s two things: I can’t extract myself from a material that I cover, but I also realize that that if I did, I think I would amputate content of a lot of it’s passion. I feel like I’m playing a little bit of a line there where I am personally invested in, I am healing wounds by writing about cultic dynamics. But at the same time, those, those wounds are a kind of ink.
And so then the final, the final problem, which may be coming to a resolution or it might be short lived, is that I’m realizing I just don’t do have to do so much of it. I don’t have to do it so fast and I don’t have to keep on top of everything. Yeah.
Rachel Bernstein: 11:44
It’s nice. It’s nice when you realize that, that you can keep kind of a things in balance, kind of a good homeostasis that you don’t have to feel pressured. I like the idea of writing in cursive. I think there are a lot of people of a certain generation who don’t know what that word means, but I think it’s starting to come back.
Matthew Remski: 12:05
Hopefully. And I wanted to write to Janja Lalich about it because she has a whole bit and one of her books about how a recuperative writing can be for the cult survivor and for many of the reasons that I’ve discussed, but I just wanted to flag that little bit for her. I don’t know if she’s heard that before. That there was something kinetic or somatic about it for me as well.
Rachel Bernstein: 12:38
It makes sense. Also the curse of that. It’s this continuity, and that you, I think you want to be able to feel more connected to your story, to you, especially when you’ve been in situations with a lot of meditation and a lot of feeling disconnected and in ways that I’m sure you’re going to talk about.
Matthew Remski: 13:02
Well if you have a beautiful page and you have ink and you’re connecting your letters and your words together, there is a real bias towards “first thought, best thought”. And you know, it’s just really, really easy to use the delete key on the laptop or the desktop. And I think that there’s a discouragement from editing and that was really important because I think I was taught over six years or so and then in the aftermath afterwards to basically distrust everything that I thought,
Rachel Bernstein: 13:32
Okay, and so the healing part for you about being able to get it out and, yes, journaling, writing, also having your information be your information. That no one else has access to it, right? Until you decide that they have access to it in the end. That they’re not going to be able to use it in the same way that it was used before: usually against you or forced out of you. Just being able to have some control over what is your information I think is very important.
Matthew Remski: 13:59
Absolutely. I mean the first high-demand group that I was in was led by a guy who is still around. His name is Michael Roach. I don’t have any problem naming him because I’ve written about him in a number of different places. He’s still doing his thing. People can look it up that part of his community fell apart when one of his students died because, well that’s a long story. But it was severe institutional neglect involved and a failure to care for this person.
But one of the practices that he had us do in this kind of neo-Buddhist set of rituals was to journal, but in a confessional sense. The journaling would be a six times a day that write down your relationship with one of about 200 vows that you had taken. And they’re standard vows, they’re not vows to him, but their vows that he interprets, and some of them are about: Did you think ill of your teacher or did you speak poorly of your colleagues? Or were you basically a critical thinker? And so the writing that I was able to do was confessional, right? So it was kind of like the thing that was precious to me was was actually flipped and inverted, and that had a lasting impact. I think my tendency for a while was to think about primarily what the reader wanted to get from me rather than rather than representing my own, my own internal agency.
Rachel Bernstein: 15:54
Yeah. And that writing is so much about: Are you keeping to the rules and it’s also so formulaic, right? Which is really not how writing should be when it really comes from the heart. But that wasn’t at all about your heart. It was really like you were making sure that you were going over the checklist and doing things right.
Matthew Remski: 16:16
Well, that’s one of the, one of the things, I mean, you said, you say that that’s not about your heart. That’s true. And I think one of the most deceptive things about cults that take on religious content is that they will tell you that it is about your heart, right? I don’t know that the political cult or the psychotherapy calls is able to do that, or the business cult is able to do that and quite as cynical or ironic a way. So your instincts often get scrambled, I think, in these situations is the thing that you are told to do that’s for your own spiritual care is actually the opposite of what you need for spiritual care.
Rachel Bernstein: 17:04
And it happens in almost every group and also the reason for it is turned around also to lower your defenses to doing it if you feel like it’s for your benefit. It also gives you this false sense that your leader is this benevolent person who is helping you get more in touch with you.
Matthew Remski: 17:31
Right. Yeah. Which is something that I believed for, you know, I would say the first year or so of my recruitment into Michael Roach’s group. There was something very personally attractive to me about him. And it had to do with the fact that I think I identified with him as somebody who had, you know, separated off from his family and had completely changed his culture and had basically become fluent in Tibetan, although we’re not quite sure about that. And had created a kind of like alternative fantasy-avoidant life that I admired at first and that, and that gave me a sense of relief from other emotional stresses and relationships. So it was quite a shock to realize that this guy actually isn’t capable of caring for others. Or at least not in a way that isn’t grandiose or self-serving or programmed in some way.
Rachel Bernstein: 18:54
And I think that brings as to this next point about this idea of being able to write about these things with no, you know, really portraying that there’s no blame, no shame that you were saying that if you realize that the person who was the puppeteer basically is someone who has a personality disorder, someone who really has a deficit, someone who’s really a troubled person, then it, it helps take it off of you, right? A lot more where you say: Oh, I got into this well oiled machine of manipulation. I didn’t know what was happening. And, and this is something that can happen to people. And so tell me a little bit about that message, about not feeling shame, not blaming. I’m sure that sensitivity for you probably comes out of having been treated that way or assumptions being made about you and how you were able to turn that around for people, for their perceptions.
Matthew Remski: 19:58
I think that the moment where the penny dropped was in working on this book early on, I interviewed a researcher named Cathleen Mann. And she just said over the phone, she said, you know, “No one joins a cult.” I said, wait, what do you mean by that? And she said, “People delay leaving organizations that misrepresent themselves.” And I can’t remember what the rest of the interview was like because I was just stuck on that. I was like, “Oh deception is the kicker here. It’s the thing that actually really does — I would say from the perpetrator’s side as well because it’s very difficult to the extent to which they’re deceiving themselves, and that’s a deep possibility — but you know, from the victim/survivor standpoint, the fact that there was no defence against you being given credible, wrong stuff.
Like there is no defence against you being falsely impressed by a show of authority. It happens to everybody. The people that I was with in both of these groups came from all walks of life, all levels of education. There was no bullshit detector that these guys couldn’t get around in some way. Now, there was a lot of people who didn’t buy in. Of course they would come a couple of times and they would leave. But for those of us who stayed, we stayed because we were deceived and that utterly deconstructs the shame of the lost time, the sunken costs, the cognitive dissonance that you have to recover from. I think that was a very, very powerful idea.
And then I must’ve, I must’ve cried three or four times reading Dan Shaw’s beautiful book, Traumatic Narcissism. It’s speculative because it’s psychoanalytic and he’s going from personal experience but then reporting on his client reports, but you know his portrayal of the leader as somebody who is utterly terrified that their extraordinarily fragile sense of self is not going to be fed in precisely the way it needs to be in order for them to survive… There was something very tender about that.
But I also find that that’s a private bit of therapy for me too, because as an activist journalist, I don’t want to focus on that too much. Because one of the things that happens with these charismatic characters is that they get all the limelight. I also find that like when I’m studying, when I’m researching Pattabhi Jois, who this book is about, coming out in March, that one of the biggest obfuscating questions to really making it public and driving home the fact that this guy sexually assaulted women for 30 years straight in public, in his yoga classes… people would always say, Well, you know, what was his intention? You know people would say, Well, did he have an erection?, Or: What did he really mean? And I’m like, we’re spending a heck of a lot of time talking about the intentionality of a predator. And not a lot of time at all talking about what the survivors actually have to say.
Dan Shaw’s work has been really powerful for me in relieving the stress of the animosity that I bore towards the two leaders of the groups that I was in. But at the same time, you know, sometimes people have to feel animosity to be for to get free.
Rachel Bernstein: 24:04
Yeah, I think so. Especially after being in situations where you’re not allowed to have anger and resentment and animosity. Where your ability to really protect yourself and have the spectrum of your emotions that are built into your system, but that there happened to be some that threatened that fragile ego of the leader. And so they’re demonized, or you’re diagnosed as having something wrong with you if you exhibit them or feel them. All the more reason for you to be able to then share this proof that you were a free person by saying, This really pisses me off. And I have right to feel that way. It’s a gauge about how wrong it was and how something did happen to you that was not okay. And I think it’s a very important thing to have that register.
Matthew Remski: 24:59
There’s a story that’s coming to mind that is actually really beautiful and to me as part of this process of being able to be angry. So the bare bones of my history from 96 to 2000, I’m in Michael Roach’s group, and then as you know, not uncommon with people who are in high-demand groups, when that was severed, because I realized this person is not who they say they are and they are manipulative, and all of the things that I could see very clearly all at once. I had nothing. I had my relationship. I didn’t have a career, I didn’t have money. I had a friend back in Vermont who had said, Oh, Endeavor academy in Wisconsin was where I had one of the most profound experiences of my life. I can’t remember where I phoned him from, but it was like a pay phone somewhere. And I said, How do I find this place? And, you know, a few months later I’m in another group.
That goes till 2003 or so, and then like yoga was something that was just sort of around. The boom started to happen in around 2003, 2004. And as I got out of the second group, you know, here’s this like unregulated industry that’s kind of related to the spiritualities that I’ve been studying and you know, you can get a training in it and 200 hours and you know, open a yoga studio. And so I was like, okay, well that’s, that’s what I’m going to do. And not knowing at all how much I would have yet to learn of course. When I started getting back into my own body, my own flesh through the yoga postures and breathing, this was great, and you know, I didn’t really see it first that this is an environment in which this stuff happens as well. That’s part of the reason that it took me so long to begin to see cultic dynamics in the yoga world, because I had come to yoga as a recovery phase.
But one of the things that I did is I got more and more into yoga and Indian wisdom culture as I started studying things like Ayurveda and Jyotish or Vedic astrology. And I had a teacher, who is a peer of mine. He’s my age. We share a background. We share a lot of characteristics and what I’ve realized since is that he too was coming out of high-demand groups at the same time and in this thrust towards: Let me find something authentic for myself, within this same field…
He had like highly educated himself in Sanskrit and in a number of texts and he had become a really good independent scholar of Indian wisdom culture. But also a very devotional person, and that’s where we were different. Our relationship was very close and then there was friction between us. And then I started publishing not well-researched pieces, but \ blog pieces on the creepy feeling that I would get when I went to a particular yoga ashram. There’s a restaurant here in Toronto called Annapurna that has been open since like 1970-whatever where devotees of Sri Chinmoy work for pennies on the dollar, a serving very low protein food, but smiling like all the time. And I think I wrote something snarky about Annapurna.
And so my friend, this guy who was teaching me, he was just incensed like: These, are good people. They haven’t hurt you. They’re not doing anything wrong to you. You are turning them into children. Why are you so insulting? And we were standing on the street and I said Look, there’s something off here. There’s some power dynamic that is not right. There is something that feels wrong to me.
And the argument escalated and it was like, it was one of the most beautiful June days I can ever remember in my life. And this is a friend, and it’s hard to make friends after you come out of high-demand groups. And I had made this friend and we were yelling at each other at the top of our lungs on the street corner, under this beautiful shining sun. And then it was just, it was like, Screw you! and Screw YOU!
And then I got on my bike and when I got home I had a mystically quiet, still, warm experience of: Oh, I can be angry about what happened to me, and I don’t have to believe anything that anybody wants me to believe anymore. And I’m not beholden to anybody and I’m just here. I remember it was almost like… I was wondering whether people ever converted to being atheists and they felt some mystical experience, right? Where all of this stuff that they had formerly believed in just kind of melted away. And along with all of the feelings of guilt and shame that kept them trying to appease whoever they were serving at the time, you know. But there was something about the rage, under the sky. We could have been locked up, right? And so there was something about that surge of rage that I was able to share with a friend.
Rachel Bernstein: 32:06
I think it’s very, very powerful for a lot of reasons. Sometimes it’s also cumulative. so sometimes you kind of deposit it on a friend really from a lot of different things. But a friend could say, Oh, whoa, you know, slow down, sparky. Let’s, okay, let’s try to figure out where this is coming from. But I think that, you know, what is really important about that, I mean, it’s also ironic that he said that you’re talking about them like children because Sri Chinmoy I actually called his followers boys and girls, and he was the father. At the same time being able to have your anger. Then when you were saying that you wonder if people who become atheists have that moment: I think anytime you have something that feels like an epiphany that comes with this openness to a new idea that also comes with relief. Yes. You’re going to have that moment that feels transcendent, and feels really good in the way that it connects with our brains and the chemicals that are released. So yes, I, I’m glad that you had that. Sounds like it was a really good, important and kind of watershed moment.
Matthew Remski: 33:21
It was absolutely a watershed moment. There was, as I said, this falling away of the guilt and shame that kept me in an appeasing or deferential relationship to this whole series of structures. But then also this sense as I sat in my study and this sun was coming through the window that I was okay. Like I didn’t have to work at this internal self anymore. Like I was just okay, No more mantras, no more studying, no more trying to figure out the patterns of the stars. No more trying to hone my intuition so that it could mirror that of the charismatic master. I just didn’t have to do it. It was very relieving. Then there’s other cycles of stress that started up as part as part of the recovery process.
Rachel Bernstein: 34:23
And then the freedom, also stress that comes with a certain amount of freedom that you are not used to, that has its own stressors that I think people are not quite ready for, even though it’s better to be free than not. But still, it’s good to have a little prep for how that feels at first. I’m just curious also before this Michael Roach’s group, so just in like little bite-size piece, tell us a little bit about where you grew up and your family and kind of what was leading you potentially into your first group. And then I want to certainly hear more about the experiences that prompted your book.
Matthew Remski: 35:03
I grew up here in Toronto, middle class background. I think a very defining feature of my childhood was a very retrograde orthodox Catholic boy’s school education that featured a lot of physical and emotional abuse. I think that one way that I’ve very naturally normalized it was through spiritualizing it. So I remember associating very clearly the gore of Catholic iconography with a sense of the necessity of suffering. That was a very early equation for me. There was something too about, as boys, we were all to sing and to make music. So it was Saint Michael’s Choir School here in Toronto. And one of the things that I think also made its way into my wiring was this connection between aesthetic beauty and pain, or aesthetic beauty and cruelty. Pretty typical Catholic stuff, but I think ramped up in a way for somebody who grew up in the 70s that I think was kind of odd. Especially in Canada for the most part Catholic schools just weren’t like that. This was a real throwback. So that kind of set me apart.
My mother had master’s degree in English and was an English teacher in high school. And so I was surrounded by, you know, great books, and I read, Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen way too early. And then I heard him sing “Joan of Arc” when I was like 15 years old at three o’clock in the morning on the CBC. Whenever that album was released, with Jennifer Warnes. And you know, here’s this like male voice talking about consuming the heroine in bursts of love and light. I would like to blame the late Leonard Cohen for further spiritualizing or rationalizing my Catholic ideology. Because, because that was, that was a really potent moment for me where it was not just that it was virtuous to associate beauty with pain, it was also aesthetic, it was also beautiful. I was early to leave home. I went through probably a number of bouts of undiagnosed clinical depression and then I had a series of idiopathic major seizures over the period of about six months when I was 21 or 22. Um, and I associated those seizures, uh, two with a kind of mystical experience. This is something I’d love to talk to Yuva Laor sometime about because I know he does a lot of study on the relationship between the charismatic figure and religiosity and epilepsy.
Rachel Bernstein: 38:58
If anyone wants to study temporal lobe epilepsy and what it does. I mean it is fascinating.
Matthew Remski: 39:07
It’s funny, listening to your conversation with him reminded me of Geschwind Syndrome because I don’t have a diagnosis but I map pretty closely on to two of the three common characteristics. And one is hyper religiosity, but it’s not of the type that is like devotional, but you know the person will present like an outside interest, intellectual interest in things religious. Then the other thing is hypergraphia or nonstop writing. So this is a period of six months or so that the seizures took place and hey haven’t happened since, but something happened during that time. It was also a time of profound social isolation. And that’s kind of the bridge into, you know, into the group for sure. Thin social ties, living away from home in a different country.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Facing Investigation into Allegations of Sexual Assault, Manouso Manos Goes Full DARVO. IYNAUS Is Having None of It.
On March 8th, Manouso Manos posted a letter on his website, announcing his resignation from the Iyengar Yoga National Association of the United States. In its claims and defensive-aggressive tone, the letter positions Manos as the target of an unfair independent investigation into allegations of sexual assault potentially dating back to 1992. It also pits him against IYNAUS as the legitimate representative of the Iyengar family’s wishes, wisdom, and legacy.
Manos’s statements were elaborated in a 23-page support statement from his lawyers. Together, the documents present an object lesson in what psychologist Jennifer Freyd has defined as DARVO: a strategy used by those accused of crimes to turn back scrutiny and accountability.
Without mentioning the still-unrefuted 1991 Mercury News investigation documenting numerous complaints of sexual assault against him, Manos and his lawyers deny all allegations past and present. They attack the credibility and ethics of Ann West, whose 2018 complaint prompted the independent investigation, after IYNAUS found that the initial ruling of its Ethics Committee was problematic. The documents attack the IYNAUS Board of Directors for ordering the investigation, as well as the media for “unfair characterization”, though they give no examples of unfairness. Beneath the denial and attack runs a riptide of role-reversal in which Manos is portrayed as an exemplary and blameless upholder of yoga virtue, victimized by an attention-seeking accuser and a venal bureaucracy that is not, in Manos’s words, “upholding the original principle the organization was founded to do: To propagate the work of B.K.S. Iyengar.”
On Friday, IYNAUS refuted both documents in a searing statement published to its site. The statement meticulously detailed the timeline of communications, contradicting many of Manos’s claims. It includes:
- An assertion that IYNAUS is not accusing Manos, but investigating accusations.
- That IYNAUS bylaws allow for its Board to review Ethics Committee decisions, and that it voted unanimously to follow up on the West decision with an independent investigation.
- The opinion that the investigator holds an impeccable reputation in her field and is following standard confidentiality and disclosure procedures.
- The opinions that Ann West was within her rights to protest the initial findings of the Ethics Committee.
- That IYNAUS declined Manos’s initial offer to resign because the offer was contingent on the Board killing the investigation. They reasoned that this would be against the best interest of both the organization and the general public. They write: “Whether or not Manouso is currently an IYNAUS member, an unbiased independent determination of these issues will be critical to addressing many issues in our community, in restoring confidence in IYNAUS and Iyengar Yoga, and in contributing to an important national discussion and debate. If Manouso were found innocent, that would have immense importance for our community and its reputation. If he were found guilty and particularly if a pattern of sexual abuse were found over a period of many years, it would raise profound issues about the appropriateness of IYNAUS’s past actions, about our culture, and about future restorative and other steps to be taken in our community. And questions of sexual abuse in yoga have been much discussed in the press and have great public importance. The results of this investigation will be matters of intense interest to legislators, regulators, other leaders, and to the public in the U.S. and in much of the rest of the world. The Executive Committee thus concluded that Manouso’s resignation, without more, could not justify termination of the investigation.”
The IYNAUS response also released startling internal communiqués between the Board of Directors and the Iyengar family. On November 15th, Geeta (now deceased), Prashant and Abhijata Iyengar wrote to IYNAUS to defend Manos as “a very senior member of our family (Association) who has done a lot to take Guruji’s teachings to the people. We all know him and we, Geeta, Prashant and Abhijata are very hurt that the National Association, instead of being fair, is out hunting for reasons to tarnish Manouso and his image.”
Earlier in the letter, the Iyengars also object to IYNAUS extending its investigation back to 1992 and accepting anonymous complaints for review. They cite the lineage patriarch regarding anonymous complaints, writing that “Guruji said that those who express views without revealing their names, are in political terms fence-sitters so that they can move to the side which is convenient to them. He did not accept those views and we honor his wisdom- that is yogic way.”
This reasoning resonates with BKS’s public statements about Manos in 1991, after he restored Manos to his position at the San Francisco Iyengar Institute. As reported in the Mercury News at the time:
Reached by phone in India and asked if he believed the allegations against Manos by the woman quoted above, Iyengar replied, “No. That is an old, old story. I doubt its truth. I do not believe past things when they are kept quiet for so long.”
Asked if he thought perhaps the woman had been too embarrassed or ashamed to report the incident, he said, “I do not believe that.”
Did he question Manos about whether the woman’s charge was true? “He did not say,” Iyengar replied. “Why should I ask him? I don’t want to listen to hearsay. When a report is fresh, immediate, then it is more likely to be true. When reported later it is all dexterous words.”
IYNAUS responded to the Iyengars in a gracious letter dated November 27. It made many of the points revealed in the current statement, but also added insights into the as-yet-unreleased investigation. These include:
- That IYNAUS “received well in excess of 150 reports relating to these issues… Many were supportive of Manos. Many others made credible allegations that he has abused his position by making sexually inappropriate adjustments. Based on these and other reports, we believed that there were many other individuals who would come forward if given an opportunity to do so safely and that some would allow their identities to be revealed. Finally, we also learned that rumors of such sexual misconduct by Manouso have been circulating in our community for many years.”
- That the reports “convincingly explained that the victims of the misconduct and many witnesses were afraid to file formal complaints because Manouso has immense power in the U.S. and worldwide Iyengar Yoga community and because they feared retaliation and reprisals by him and others in our community.”
- That 48 leading members of IYNAUS, including yoga scholar Edwin Bryant, had signed a letter requesting the independent investigation.
- That input from several legal, PR, and industry consultants had confirmed that the initial clearing of Manos by the Ethics Committee of the West allegations was not credible, and that an independent investigation was warranted to ensure organization integrity.
The Friday statement from IYNAUS also notes that the Iyengars have not renewed their call to stop the investigation and that “the Iyengars are now awaiting the independent investigator’s report.”
Anticipating the Friday statement, Manos’s lawyers sent a letter to the Board of Directors on Tuesday, threatening them each with legal action should they release it, or the findings of the investigation.
IYNAUS standing firm and posting their statement in the face of intimidation marks an extraordinary moment in the history of modern global yoga in which an older paradigm of top-down leadership is firmly challenged by public-service models of governance and accountability.
It might be the clearest and most public example yet of what yoga scholar Theodora Wildcroft has identified as an increasingly visible shift into a “post-lineage” era, in which practice and accountability are negotiated and nurtured by peers, rather than dictated and avoided by charismatic personalities.
Back in August, I analyzed a dharma talk given by Judith Simmer-Brown in Boulder. The talk was given on the heels of a convulsive July for Shambhala International. Mipham Mukpo (the “Sakyong”) had just announced a then-temporary (now perhaps permanent) resignation from his administrative duties amidst further allegations of sexual assault and an announcement from the Interim Board of Directors that he would be the subject of a third-party investigation. Buddhist Project Sunshine had already produced numerous and credible allegations against Mukpo in its Phase 2 & 3 Reports.
Simmer-Brown’s talk sought to provide an insider’s reassurance of the basic goodness of the organization amidst escalating criticism and international news coverage. The core message, repeated from many different angles, was that in the eye of the storm, Shambhala members should keep practicing the content that Chogyam Trungpa had given the organization, and that she as a group leader and Mipham Mukpo had spent many years nurturing (and commodifying). As per custom, she tied her comments to the ancientness of a Buddhist teaching called “The Four Reliances”, which encourages student to look beyond the everyday world for their hope and salvation. Deploying this text at this time implied that digging into the details of systemic abuse constitutes an abandonment of spirituality. Simmer-Brown also spoke of the dangers of the kind of doubt that could lead a practitioner to abandon their path.
Simmer-Brown’s talk bolstered the premise that the teaching content of an organization rife with institutional abuse is an appropriate response to that abuse. This is despite the fact that spiritual teaching content is consistently used to suppress abuse testimonies in yoga and Buddhist groups.
I analyzed the talk as a typical crisis response in the yoga and Buddhist worlds. Such responses are oriented more at protecting the ideology and its administration than accounting for institutional failure. Simmer-Brown’s talk may have gone farther than mere deflection: arguably, it weaponized the spirituality of the organization against those enraged by its failures.
Most notable was the complete absence of any mention of Shambhala victims or survivors. Simmer-Brown repeatedly referred to Chögyam Trungpa with honorifics and in idealized terms, despite the fact that Leslie Hays’ testimony of his abusive behaviour while she was one of his “sangyum” or spiritual wives was circulating widely on social media at the time.
This past Tuesday, Simmer-Brown published an article on the SI newsletter site, Shambhala Times. The biases, omissions, and affect are all the same, despite the fact that in the seven months that have passed since her Boulder talk, the revelations of institutional abuse and betrayal within SI have only deepened. Mukpo has now absconded to India, leaving his organization in such dire financial straights that the Interim Board is considering liquidating the residential property where his elderly mother resides. Six of Mukpo’s former personal attendants released a blistering statement alleging his drinking and sexual predation have been well-known and uncontrolled for years, and that he has physically assaulted inner circle members. The allegations described Mukpo biting, slapping, and throwing drinks in the faces of devotees who cross him.
I’m going to annotate Simmer-Brown’s new article here because, as with the August dharma-talk, it presents an object-lesson in institutional denial and spiritual hairsplitting and deflection. I believe it’s crucial that high-demand group members and their families study and understand the hard limits of even the most well-intentioned appeals for reform that come from inside the group, and how a focus on the group’s spiritual content can effectively derail concentration on the group’s behaviour. With this article, Simmer-Brown unintentionally provides a vital argument here for centring the voices of the victims of spiritual abuse in any attempt to reform the organization that has abused them.
When I posted my analysis in August, I was careful to limit my criticism to the content of the talk as a product of Shambhala communications. I do not know Simmer-Brown and have no reason to believe she is ill-intentioned or fails to care for her students. Nonetheless, and expectedly, several commenters accused me of personally attacking her, cherrypicking the worst possible details, demonizing the organization, or punching down at a vulnerable woman expressing heart-felt sentiments at a difficult time. I both understand and reject these subject-changing arguments. I specifically reject the DARVO implication that she is a “victim” of critique. A Distinguished Professor at an accredited university is contractually obligated to be responsible for the implications and impacts of their public statements.
The article has also been both praised by group members and eviscerated by ex-members on its home page and on Reddit. I encourage you to read both threads.
Considering the Future of the Treasure of Shambhala (March 12, 2019 – 12:47 am) — Judith Simmer-Brown
In these heartbreaking days, while we are committed to redesign the entire structure of our community and practice, I wanted to add an element that may provide some historical perspective for our considerations. This is not meant to in any way dictate what we decide to do; those directions will be shaped by the community input to the Process Team, and by auspicious coincidence. Certainly, I have no idea or recommendations for the future. But the Buddhist and Shambhala teachings are often predicated on the question of what we are to accept and what to reject.
Opening with the term “heartbreaking” positions the voice of the text as receptive and vulnerable. But it also minimizes the emotional carnage evident in the social media feeds of those directly impacted by Mipham’s behaviour, Trungpa’s “crazy wisdom”, and the stress of bungling investigations and institutional betrayal. Heartbreak (rather than, say, PTSD) is then presented as a homogenous experience through the first person plural. While the Shambhala Times is plausibly published for devoted members, it is also on the internet, and being read by the devoted, the disillusioned, and the traumatized alike. The plural presumes to speak for all of these, but because it can’t, it instantly illuminates the boundary of the in-group by implying that everyone in Shambhala should share the same experience and values. This boundary is echoed in the final sentence, which gestures at the dialectic of Tibetan philosophical debate, which often hinges upon a binary choice between truth and falsehood. From the outset, the voice of the article presumes both a unified plural and the possibility of exclusion or abandonment. That possibility, or threat, will be made more explicit further down.
As a student of my root guru, the Vidyadhara Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, I have tried in the decades since his passing to understand who he was and what he did. I have puzzled over the final ten years in which he continued teaching the profound Buddhadharma, but he obviously prioritized the Shambhala teachings as chief among his heart treasures. As a scholar-practitioner, I have witnessed how the Shambhala teachings became primary sometime after his passing, and I have increasingly understood this decision as core to the Tibetan tradition and lore of terma itself.
Here the voice establishes its religious commitments with idealized epithets. Vidyadhara translates roughly as “awareness-holder”, and anchors a sentence meant to convey Trungpa’s “unfathomable” nature, commonly lauded in both Shambhala’s liturgy and its popular literature. Pema Chödrön evokes something similar when she tells Tricycle in this 1993 interview:
As the years went on, I felt everything he did was to help others. But I would also say now that maybe my understanding has gone even deeper, and it feels more to the point to say I don’t know. I don’t know what he was doing. I know he changed my life. I know I love him. But I don’t know who he was. And maybe he wasn’t doing things to help everyone, but he sure helped me. I learned something from him. But who was that masked man?
According to Chödrön, this is a good thing, and is a refrain within her teaching on “groundlessness”. Both Chödrön and Simmer-Brown express their maximal devotion meeting his minimal accountability.
Simmer-Brown finishes this article by hinting at the main thesis: that Shambhala teaching content, and particularly its deviation from Trungpa’s premodern educational roots, is synonymous with “Tibetan tradition”, and an expression of its most precious gift, which the role of historian can now illuminate.
Terma are “discovered treasure” teachings, also known as “close transmissions,” especially associated with the Tibetan Vajrayana tradition. They are contrasted with the Kama teachings, that are the “long transmissions” through historical lineages of greatly realized adepts like Naropa, Milarepa, and the Karmapas. Terma teachings are called “new transmissions” because they arise without a long lineage of adepts and are destined to address the new conditions that arise throughout history in fresh and immediate ways. The Shambhala teachings are primary among the terma teachings discovered by the Vidyadhara, the Druk Sakyong, over a series of years.
The end of this standard presentation of Tibetan revelation presents an assumption prepped by reference to saints’ names and a designation that refers to a legitimate lineage. Trungpa is now not only the Vidyadhara, but the “Druk Sakyong”. This sounds historically legit but is actually a term innovated by Trungpa himself that translates roughly as “Dragon Earth Protector”. This lays the groundwork for continuing, later in the article, to refer to Mipham Mukpo as the current “Sakyong”, an honorific that emphasizes his status as an elevated symbolic figure over that of an alleged assaulter anticipating extradition. I hope that in the near future the ongoing convergence of Trungpa’s entrepreneurial mysticism with the orientalist yearnings of his early adopters is interrogated through the lens of decolonization studies.
Historically speaking, there have been many terma discovered over the centuries by “treasure discoverers” (tertons) like the Vidyadhara. Most of those terma have remained obscure, and have even disappeared, because there is more to a terma than its discovery. Scholars have identified the prevailing historical skepticism that terma have faced within Buddhist traditions over the centuries in Tibet; tertons have been accused of being charlatans, eccentrics, and frauds, even among the most traditional yogic practitioners. Even the great 18th century Jigme Lingpa, discoverer of the Longchen Nyingtig, was deeply concerned with providing legitimacy for his discovery, given the skepticism of his age. The dissemination of a new terma is scrutinized closely, and terma are eventually considered legitimate only in special circumstances, such as whether they lead to palpable realization of some kind or provide clear benefit to beings in the dark age.
Because I’m not a scholar of Tibetan Buddhism, and because the article provides references instead of footnotes, I know that I’m not being given information here to evaluate the two main claims in this paragraph: 1) That Trungpa was widely accepted by his peers as a terton and not a charlatan, eccentric, or fraud (and that if he was, this process wasn’t complicated by nepotism), 2) that the Shambhala content has been legitimized within its culture of origin as having led followers to “palpable realization” or “clear benefit”. Without citations, how are readers to know whether academic discourse is being waved like a magic wand over faith claims?
Tertons have typically relied on a lineage-holder to propagate the terma, a terdak. That is, the terton discovers the treasure, and the terdak provides commentaries and support for practice for the principal discoverer, and so the terdak is a key figure in the destiny of the treasure teachings. Sakyong Mipham has committed his life to being the terdak of his father’s Shambhala terma. Another key element has been the practitioners who engage in the practice, and whether they develop realization of the teachings. In the case of societal teachings like Shambhala, a great deal depends upon the community of practitioners.
“Sakyong Mipham has committed his life to being the terdak of his father’s Shambhala terma” may be an unintentionally ambivalent claim. According to Buddhist Project Sunshine and the letter from the former attendants, it’s clear that Mipham was committed to many things besides supporting the revelations of his father. But given the alleged overlap between how they treated their students, perhaps Mipham really has been faithful to the task.
This suggests that for the first generation or two, the future of terma is most fragile and subject to scrutiny. If the teachings do not take root, traditionally the dakinis whisk them away to the lha realm where they may remain until a future, more auspicious moment. Certainly, the career of the terdak can influence the future of the terma, which we are witnessing in a major way in our community right now. But also the practice and realization of this first generation of practitioners has a tremendous impact on the future of the terma.
Here the article makes Mipham and his students equally responsible for the impact of his alleged crimes on whether or not the precious teachings will survive. His actions are euphemized here as his “career”. The article never comes close to disclosing the seriousness of the allegations against him, but here presents followers with a challenge and a threat. Because the teachings have obviously taken root in Mipham, it’s up to his followers, regardless of his conduct, to prove to supernatural beings that they deserve what he offers. If they don’t practice enough, the supernatural beings will take it all away.
Among some members of the Shambhala community there has been enormous bitterness about the Sakyong’s decision to make the terma central in our community, sidelining the precious Buddhadharma teachings. I have at times felt that way myself, as I continue to hold the Buddhadharma transmissions of the Vidyadhara as central in my life. Could it be that at least some part of the Sakyong’s decision had to do with the commitment to sustain the terma? That is, would we as a community have explored the depth of the Shambhala terma if it had remained sidelined in our lineage?
And now, the conduct of the Sakyong that has surfaced is definitely threatening the future of the terma. He has devoted the last ten years of his teaching to deepening our realization of the power of basic goodness and creating enlightened society, and many of us have felt the transformative power of those teachings. The flourishing of Shambhala has been directly related to the power of the terma for individuals and the whole community. I like to think that current events are the way the protectors and dralas are cleaning out our lineage’s closets and basements so that the terma can deliver on its promise. There is no way we could or should continue with secrets that are in direct contradiction to confidence in basic goodness and enlightened society. There is deep health in the breakdown of our damaging structures and behaviors, but whether the overall outcome will be beneficial to our community and humanity depends in part upon what we decide to do.
The sentence: “And now, the conduct of the Sakyong that has surfaced is definitely threatening the future of the terma” should win some kind of award for tone deafness, selfish erasure of victims, and DARVO — all rolled into one. Note the passive construction of “has surfaced”, which ignores the harrowing efforts women have made to disclose on social media and then again to the independent investigator Selina Bath, and then again to An Olive Branch. We’re not talking about the head on a pint of beer but about traumatizing stories that had to fight against obfuscation, bypassing, and groupthink to be heard. According to this sentence, the real victim of Mipham Mukpo is the content Simmer-Brown and others are paid to teach.
The other outrageous sentence here is “I like to think that current events are the way the protectors and dralas are cleaning out our lineage’s closets and basements so that the terma can deliver on its promise.” I can’t add any more to this than to cite the following comment on the original post:
It almost suggests that you think the suffering of survivors is serving some spiritual purpose, as if you are rationalizing their suffering as a means to a greater end. Well, that’s obscene. People’s lives are blighted so the terma can take hold? Really?
If we were given a choice between losing arcane knowledge and rationalizing violence, I say, goodbye arcane knowledge. Come back to us another day. Instilling fear that the institution might falter is EXACTLY what apologists do when there is scandal.
As we make decisions and plans for our future as a community, it is important to recognize that we are the generation of practitioners who have received the precious Shambhala teachings in the introductory curriculum, the intermediary practices, and in the advanced retreats. The future of those teachings rests in part on how we respond to this crisis. In my devotion to my root teacher, I wonder about this essential part of his legacy. Can we embody the core teachings of basic goodness and enlightened society as we experience the heartbreak and make the necessary changes in our community? Can we continue to highlight the Shambhala terma in our practices and community life? Will the terma continue beyond this generation of Shambhala practitioners, or will it go the way of the obscure or irrelevant ones? The Vidyadhara, the dakinis and dralas, and the lineages of Tibetan Buddhism, are closely watching.
Not only does this last line pose a genteel threat — it also reveals the voice that has been delivering this “historical overview” as belonging to someone with paranormal powers.
For further historical context, please consult:
Andreas Doctor, Tibetan Treasure Literature: Revelation, Tradition and Accomplishment in Visionary Buddhism (Ithaca: Snow Lion, 2005).
Janet B. Gyatso, Apparitions of the Self: The Secret Autobiographies of a Tibetan Visionary (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998).
Janet B. Gyatso, “Drawn from the Tibetan Treasury: The gTer ma Literature” in Cabezón and Jackson, ed., Tibetan Literature: Studies in Genre (Ithaca: Snow Lion, 1996).
Tulku Thondup, Hidden Teachings of Tibet: An Explanation of the Terma Tradition of the Nyingma School of Buddhism (London & Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1986, reprint edition 1997).
Note: I wrote this as an epilogue to Practice and All is Coming. For me, it rounded off the narrative journey of this 3+ years process. I’d gotten to know Karen Rain over several interviews, dozens of phone calls, and hundreds of emails. It was extraordinary to meet her in person finally, and go with her to a movement space where she didn’t have to speak her story anymore, but could show me something of what had helped her heal from being abused within the Ashtanga world. It really felt like the last word. However, as the book developed, its ending swerved away from the personal and towards the study of community health best practices. My editor and I eventually decided that this piece was ultimately distracting from that arc — even though it feels like the beating heart of how it all came together. So here it is, on its own, opening with a quote from Kathleen Rea, who hosted us that night.
Explorations of different themes, such as intimacy, sensuality, surrendering control, anger, fighting, being contained, grief etc. are welcome as long as they are not explicitly sexual, and are created through a step-by-step verbal or non-verbal consent building process. Please note that a newcomer to contact dance improvisation sometimes has not yet acquired the language or skill through which to build consent for dances exploring intense themes. We, therefore, ask that you limit exploring intense themes with newcomers.
— Kathleen Rea, “Wednesday Contact Dance Improvisation Jam Boundary Guidelines”
It’s a Wednesday evening in Toronto, mid-March. It’s chilly, and Karen clutches her bulky sweater close as we walk from the car to Dovercourt House in Toronto’s west end. On Friday we’ll be filming our big interview at Diane Bruni’s house. We’re chatting about it, going over the questions. The plan for the interview is to have something raw and humanizing to accompany The Walrus article when it drops. We know that people will try to discredit her, and me, and we’ve calculated that the in-person format will minimize that. We know what it feels like to talk with each other, and we’re thinking that if people can eavesdrop, they’ll get it.
But she’s nervous about it, and I can feel she wants to stop talking. The evening is crystal clear. We’re heading to a dance.
It’s a Contact Improv Jam, to be specific. The host is Kathleen Rea. She was in the ballet world, and is now a psychotherapist. We slip out of our coats and shoes and into her class in the enormous third floor room, and watch from the sides as she guides a small group. The dancers pair off and turn around each other, touching hands, arms, hips, backs, slumping together, pushing off gently, rolling down to the ground, supporting each other, trading weight back and forth. I feel relaxed and slightly mesmerized.
The class ends and Rea announces that the Improv session will be starting in ten minutes. She asks that if anyone is new to the experience that they meet with her outside to hear the intro talk and some ground rules.
As we file back out into the hallway, more people arrive. A musician begins to set up. It’s Jeff Burke, who locals know from his haunting busking on the subway. He has dreadlocks reaching down to his ankles. He’s smiling and melancholic, and bent low under an enormous dufflebag. As he unpacks it seems like some musical tickle trunk that can never be completely empty. He draws out a black bassoon, a tin whistle, and a theremin.
Karen and I sit down cross-legged in the hallway with three millenials, also first-timers to this space. Karen isn’t new to Contact Improv, which, she’s told me, has been very helpful in her healing process, post-Ashtanga. It’s helped her feel her body in relation to other bodies again. In public spaces, in safety, in sensual but non-sexual ways. Karen suggested we come to Rea’s class because Rea is famous in the Contact Jam world for the clarity with which she runs her space. Like Rain, she has been a reformer, calling out abuses and problems with consent in her subculture.
Rea starts her intro talk from the groundwork of affirmative consent. This is an art-form, she explains, in which touch is common. It’s often evocative and nourishing, but it’s also not essential. She says that any dancer can and should say no to an invitation to dance at any time, and can also express withdrawal verbally or non-verbally. She says that we might notice that people who have been coming for a long time have unique and complex dance-stories that have evolved between them. That can be cool to watch, but probably not to try to imitate.
She explains that Contact Improv can bring up all kinds of complex sensations, feelings, and thoughts, some of which might be sexual in nature. This is nothing to be ashamed of, she says. But in this space we agree that those feelings will not be acted out. There are spaces in the subculture in which that’s part of the scene, she says. But here, sexualized contact is strictly forbidden. She assures us that while she’ll be participating in the dance, she’ll also be available for questions and to help us process any complexity that comes up.
So I’m sitting there and it’s starting to sink in. How extraordinary it is to be here with Karen, listening to a teacher give us a ten-minute safer-space talk about touch and consent. How would Karen’s life have turned out, I wonder, if this level of clarity had been available twenty-five years ago in the Ashtanga world?
I can feel also something else. A terror has built up in me while writing this book that there is no safety to be found in this world. That yoga classes and dance jams are somehow always and forever strained by unconscious desires and aggressions fanned by unequal power dynamics, and that there’s nothing to be done about it.
This is not true. We can do lots of things about it.
Rea checks in to see if we have any further questions. A young woman asks about feeling shy or out of place. Rea nods and says, “You can just watch, too. And you can just wait for someone to ask, and see how you feel.”
I like that answer. It’s also for me.
We file back in and sit down against the wall. Jeff Burke has started to play. There’s a pickup plugged into the mouth of his bassoon. It sends a low drone through an amp and into a loop machine to keep it going. Some of the dancers are already up and at it.
I feel shy, not only about the dance, but about sitting there with Karen, not talking about Jois. We’ve put aside the history, and now there’s music.
Two days later, after our interview and over lunch, Karen summed up our awkward moment, and a few others.
“So when we stop talking about Ashtanga,” she says with wry smile, “will we have anything else to talk about? How likely is it that we’ll be friends after this is all over? Do we have anything else in common? I’m queer and you’re a straight guy with a partner and kids and very little free time. You’re also still in the yoga world.”
Half sad, half elated, I laughed. Of the many things this whole experience had done to and for Karen, it had above all else made her brutally honest. I know she doesn’t like this word, but I can’t think of any other that fits: for Karen, honesty is the highest form of spirituality.
As I drove her to the airport the day after that lunch, we talked about the sacrifice this spirituality demands. We were talking about the pros and cons of having gone through all of this, especially for her. How much it cost to disclose everything and remember, and retell, and weather the denials and rationalizations all over again. But also: how much clarity it had provided. How it had helped to change an entire culture.
“When I first dialed your number,” I said, “I had no idea that all this would happen.”
“Neither did I,” Karen said.
The landscape hurtled by.
“What can I say?” said Karen. “I hate you for this and I also love you for this.”
We laugh and cry.
Back in that dance room on that Wednesday night, I remember my shyness slowly turning into a pre-teen-style goofball shame that I wasn’t just getting up and dancing.
“So are you going to dance?” Karen asked me.
“I think I’m waiting for someone to ask me.”
“Okay.” She smiles. I’m sure I look funny to her. Just another man, used to thinking of himself as so confident. But really, deep down, afraid to dance.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
“Look,” she said. “I feel safe with you. I don’t think you’re a creep. But don’t give me all your body weight. You’re a big guy.”
I still felt too shy to look her in the eye. That was okay. We went to the centre of the room and sat down, back to back. The bassoon got louder and Karen leaned into me. As she pushed her back into mine I felt a flush of warmth and resolution and friendship.
And I was surprised, in a new way, by how strong she was.
It will soon be a matter of common knowledge that the integrity of globally successful yoga and Buddhism brands founded by charismatic evangelists have been grossly compromised by histories of abuse.
We don’t have to name names: they’ll just come to mind. Fill in the blank of “The ______ yoga community”, and you will likely have named an organization in which the leader and/or his/her key lieutenants have been abusers.
In some cases the relationship seems to express a morbid calculus: the more abusive the leadership, the more successful the organization.
The jury is out on whether abuse prevalence is higher in globalized-Indian-convert-spirituality groups than in other groups. But we can say that in a completely unregulated landscape confounded by idealization and orientalism in which charisma is the primary coin of the realm and consumers have little if any way of assessing the competency of producers — even in matters as tender as their own bodies, psyches, and inner selves — abuse is easy to pull off and devastating in effects.
Understanding how the abuse works systemically is impossible, IMO, without diving into cult studies, which provide a robust framework for how the behaviours, information, thoughts, and emotions of group members are controlled (cf Hassan) through the manipulating strategies and deceive and negate the self (cf. Mann).
When (not if) this analysis becomes normalized, the notion that these brands and their communities “protect” a particular kind of knowledge — a language that’s emboldened by references to “tradition” or “lineage” — will start to ring hollow. It will become clear that the shadow function of the organization has been at least dual. Aside from the good the organization has done, it has used the notion of
- Protecting proprietary/precious information to…
- Protect the image of the abusers said to hold it.
The vehemence of those who protect “purity” seems to rise in direct proportion to their shame.
The pressing question becomes “Who then was doing the protecting?” The answer is that it takes all types, from the goon-enforcer all the way up to the academic who gave the group uncritical validation by overlooking its cultic machine. But here I’d like to focus on the most respectable and popular types, who continued on in their careers after abuses became known, largely without changing tack. Let’s call them the Respectable Bystanders (RBs).
Think about the teacher who is well-respected for conflicting reasons:
- They have a strong relationship to a socially viable brand (i.e., they are “traditional”), but
- They have also tacitly distanced themselves from it (they are “independent”).
They often enjoy privileged status within the group, held up as paragons of virtue, as people who got the “true” message of the teachings, as luminaries who didn’t succumb to the foibles of the corrupt leadership. They were able to “separate the teacher from the teachings”. In public they’ll maintain enough of a relationship to the group to serve as an apparently safer or saner alternative to its darker regions. At the same time the RB will profess just enough ambivalence towards the group to not be dragged down by association.
The RB is not a safe person. They managed to capture the glow from the charismatic halo, bottle it up, and repackage it. They couldn’t have done that while also saying “My teacher was an abuser and together we have to heal his legacy.” And if they spent twenty years or more not speaking out against the abuse of the community in which they went on to attain mentor status, you can bet that they didn’t pay much attention to the power dynamics they themselves were creating.
More importantly, consider whether their mentor status now positions them to “save” the brand with their maturity and guidance. That’s not just cynical on their part. It’s dangerous. Because one thing that RBs generally share with the leaders they hold at arm’s length is a grandiosity that believes their internal goodness constitutes all the learning they need.
Theodora Wildcroft was just here in Toronto beginning her first post-doctoral foray into the mainstream yoga training sphere. Her research generated the concept of “Post-Lineage Yoga”, which does many things, including describing the way in which communities practice after their leadership is compromised by abuse revelations.
Because these revelations are now ubiquitous, and because sources of authority on movement and science and history are now horizontally networked instead bestowed from above, the truth is that we are all post-lineage practitioners now.
This goes for the bystanders and enablers as well, unless somehow they sealed themselves off from all other influences. In the case of the Respectable Bystanders, they didn’t. They diluted their socio-economic links to the abusive leader in part through being open to and sometimes taking on other influences.
Wildcroft is clear that post-lineage doesn’t mean anti-lineage, which is why the term also can describe the RB. What her scholarship has done, however, is to amplify some basic transparency questions that can only improve safety in the shadow of RBs and others:
“Do you know where you stand in relation to X group/method/tradition?” “Are you clear about the conflict between benefit and harm in your heritage?” “What are you doing to help those who were hurt by the system you benefited from?”
I’ve done a lot of podcasts, but this one is different. Tiffany and I have known each other for many years, and we were able to record at her dinner table with the Edmonton winter held at bay outside the window. I was exhausted and just off a plane but that somehow helped make me focused and relaxed and a little unguarded. Also, Tiffany doesn’t fuck around. Thanks for the all the hard work you do, Tiff, and for your friendship.
Here’s the recording, which is episode 2 on her new series with Elliot Kesse. You can support their work here. I’m posting a cleaned-up transcript below.
Welcome to Where’d My Chakras Go? A yoga podcast for the rest of us, with Elliot Kesse and Tiffany Rose. So I am here with Matthew Remski and Elliot is not able to join us unfortunately, but we will be discussing some of the topics that Elliot had requested. So maybe Matthew can just tell us a little bit about yourself?
Sure. Thanks for inviting me Tiffany. I’ve been teaching or I guess involved in yoga since about 2003, and that followed two three-year stints in yoga related cults. And how that happened is a long story, but coming to yoga itself was really wrapped up in trying to recover my sense of agency and autonomy after those experiences of control — of social control. And that really started with being able to feel my own body as my own, being able to feel my thoughts as my own. So I plunged right in.
Also, I’d lost a lot of time in my late twenties and early thirties, wrapped up in these two cultic organizations. The yoga industry was booming when I got out and it seemed like a fortuitous fit and, there was a training that I could go to and there wasn’t a yoga studio in the little town that my ex partner and I were living in at that time. So, things just seem to fall into place to put me in this strange position of studying a lot of yoga and then beginning to teach it a little bit too early, but in a very intensive way. I started out with 25 classes a week or something like that. There’s a lot of people who ended up doing that in the early 2000s I think.
I eventually continued to study in subject areas like yoga therapy and Ayurveda and more esoteric subjects like Jyotish or Vedic astrology and palmistry and the spatial arrangement thing called Vastu. And that was all really enriching in my life. I’ve continued on from there, but it’s really taken me about 10 years to swing around to recognizing that the primary value that I found in this to begin with was tools to access some sort of internal sense of constancy or agency, and capacity to feel like a single self and that’s been really important to me. And then it’s also directed how I’ve begun to look at how systems of social control developed within yoga environments as well. I think a lot of your listeners will probably know that I do a lot of work on yoga and Buddhist cults now in my writing. So that’s a little bit about me.
So you live in Toronto and you have two children and you’re married to Alix who is just starting to move into her own practice and the boys are both in school now, so this is kind of a transitional time for you as well, hey?
Right. Yeah. Alix is starting her psychotherapy practice and supervision as you say, the boys are both into school, little Owie is only in preschool. He says “pee skoo”. Then I’ve got this book coming out in March and I have no idea what’s going to happen after that because there’s going to be a lot of people I think who appreciate it and there’s gonna be bunch of people who really hate it. And I think it’s going to bring my engagement with yoga training work into a different area because up until this point I’ve been doing YTT modules in or facilitating YTT modules in history, philosophy and culture. But I think especially the conclusion of this book is going to put me into the zone of — or at least I’d like it to put me in the zone of — starting to talk about community health and, and safer spaces. Not just in terms of affirmative consent or informed consent or all of the amazing anti-oppression work that I’ve been exposed to and I’ve started to learn about, but also in terms of how do people actually form relationships in yoga and Buddhist communities, and what’s the role of charisma, and how do you know that you’re in a bounded-logic group, and how do you know when you’re being asked to do things through mechanisms of undue influence, and how do you know that the person’s actually giving you care instead of trying to control you? Those are very pressing questions to me because the last, especially three years of work that I’ve done in the writing and journalism that I’ve published have all focused on that in various yoga communities.
So you’ve kind of had this sort of archetypal position in Yogaland as like the evil sort of villain that just picks apart everything that’s good, and things that everybody loves, you know, you’re just there to shit on it. Did that happen intentionally or was it just sort of, did it just sort of evolve?
Well, I think, I mean to me, thinking critically about one’s internal life and how one consumes spiritual ideas is a form of spirituality. I think we — I don’t want to speak for everybody — but it seems to be a common thread that we take our spiritual aspirations really seriously, and to the extent that we do that, I feel like it’s really good to interrogate where they’re coming from and what kinds of wishes they’re fulfilling within us and what they make us more receptive to and what they make us more blind to. So I’ve always felt in the critical work I’ve done around yoga and injuries or the difficulty in telling apart trance states and dissociative states in meditation or how smiling and seemingly beneficent and communities can really hold these daggers of betrayal — all of that work to me has actually been a form of spirituality.
Because I think that one recurring pattern in my life is that when I learn something, it’s through some type of disillusionment. I don’t think that’s necessarily true for everybody, but I think it’s underrated. I think disillusionment as a growth process actually underrated. The trick is (and this is where I think I fall down and where people, perhaps people who are critical of what I do don’t get enough from me) which is that disillusionment really has to be healed by some form of re-enchantment. And so I’m working on that part, but it’s hard because all of my critical work is also wrapped up in the wounds of having been a cult survivor.
And so trying to find the pathway between criticism and productivity can be a real challenge, but it’s something that I think I want to keep working on for sure. I feel responsible to that. When people engage in my work and they feel depressed or more cynical or low, that’s a burden for me. It’s a burden for them! But I think it poses a responsibility. It gives me a responsibility. I don’t want to shy away from that.
I used to have this like almost-avoidant and dismissive attitude of “Oh, well, you know, I can just describe a problem and if you don’t like it then, you know, suck it up.” But that’s not where I’m at anymore. I think being in a really supportive relationship makes me understand how that can’t be where I am anymore. Trying to do well by my sons makes me understand that I really don’t want to be there anymore. I do want to do more to look at positive solution-seeking.
Is it you that says, are you quoting somebody that says something like enlightenment is the end of… what’s it?
I think maybe what you’re pointing to is that I had a teacher who gave this, I think probably eccentric etymology for “moksha”. He suggested that the first part of the compound word was shared with the name of Mohini,one of the divine feminine figures who has said to distract the yogi from — in this very misogynistic system of course — distract the yogi from his other-worldly concerns. And then the “ksha” is related to space element. And so his really beautiful explanation… I don’t know how other Sanskritists would find it, but he used to say that he thought of moksha as being “the end of infatuation”.
And leaving two cults was about two different types of infatuation coming to an end. Understanding that the bodily autonomy and, the real blessing of newfound interoception that I got from asana when I first started… really began to slide over into a kind of anxious ableism. When I realized that that was true, that was another end to infatuation. There was an infatuation that I had with physical capacity or even a capacity to sense things internally. You know, I think interoception is wonderful, but it can also be fetishized as, as some kind of core anchoring thing that will always bring you into the present moment and solve all problems and stuff like that. But it’s just another faculty and it has its uses and then it has its abuses as well.
And in fact, like for someone like me or people who have extreme chronic pain or maybe body dysmorphia or things like that, intense focus on interoception can sometimes be damaging, right? It can be harmful for people to feel like they’re trapped in their sensations or like they have to be tied to those internal sensations or else they’re not practicing yoga.
And that’s, and that’s a harder story for you for you to tell. I think it’s a lot easier — what I’m saying about interoception as being this wonderful grounding or agency-enhancing thing is a common yoga narrative. And then along comes Tiffany and says, “Wait, wait, wait a minute, wait a minute! When I go inside and try to find relaxation or peace or security and internal sensation, maybe I find the opposite. Maybe I just don’t find that at all.” And that in itself is a breaking of a kind of infatuation to just have that statement out there somewhere that, “Wait a minute, not everybody has that. Or not everybody does that. Or not everybody works that way.” It breaks this illusion that we’re all starting from the same place or that we all share something irreducibly in common. I think it gets us out of thinking that what we can share is an ideology instead of what we can share is a relationship where we’re actually continually learning about things that we just can’t understand about each other.
Doesn’t that make teaching harder though?
Like when there’s no common bond that we can kind of preach to. Then Actually have to start teaching in relationship.
And for people who maybe are closed down to relationship or maybe even like you were saying that closed down to a relationship to themselves. It makes teaching yoga a lot harder. I think
It does. It’s certainly harder to describe. It’s harder to market. It’s harder to feel evangelical about.
Well, there’s no flashing lights with that, you know?
No, there isn’t. This is a weird thing. I mean, when we hear the hopeful, hope-laden in statement in yoga culture or literature or marketing, we’re hearing two things. We’re hearing something earnest and yearning from the perspective of the teacher who’s marketing or the student who’s consuming. But we’re also hearing the potential for a kind of aspirational bypass where we’re somehow asking ourselves or other people to do and accomplish and feel more than they are able. And that brings up the whole problem of what happens when they don’t.
Do you think that…. I’m just kind of thinking this out loud, like, because I think that there’s so many teachers who are really wanting to do right. They’re really wanting to feel like their classes can be inclusive of everyone and that they are accessible, right? But with the current way that yoga is consumed in North America, it’s really difficult to remain profitable if that’s your livelihood and not sell hope. Right? So how do you, how do people who are really trying to be trauma-informed and inclusive and accessible, how do they compete with the evangelical, hopeful Lululemon crowd?
Yeah, I don’t think they compete. I think they offer something different which is: if there’s hope on offer, it’s the hope of, of inquiry or curiosity or a period of time out or a period of care or nurturance. I don’t see how they’re going to compete. I mean in a way, they’re antithetical so they can’t compete.
I think part of what we’re talking about is how can people make livings. And I think that when I consider what I know about your story and the story of so many other people who do this really sort of a in-depth trauma aware and non-commercialized work, I think of how I’m seeing this growing divide structurally between commercial and public service models. Where I see a hopefulness not in terms of marketing marketing solutions, but hopefulness in terms of the possibility for people like you and your colleagues for perhaps making more of a living over time or a better living over time is in the increasing movement of yoga into public health circumstances where the funding is assured because the population is known to simply benefit from what’s being offered.
That’s what I see with the work of people in the Yoga Service Council. And a little bit in the Accessibility Yoga Movement as well, that people are getting really good at, or better anyway, at figuring out where to pursue public funding rather than private commercial, consumer-based funding. So I’m very interested in that and that change in that movement.
One of the really great experiences that I had with you this year was at the Accessible Yoga Conference in Toronto. We had the privilege of presenting on a panel together there and you and I sat in on a session together at New Leaf foundation and I remember halfway through it, we were sitting beside each other and I was kind of a curled up in my chair and I had my knee in my chest and I was rocking a little bit and I remember you looking over at me and saying. “This is really good, hey?” And I remember thinking like, yeah, I feel very comforted. I’m like almost like rocking myself. Like I just feel very safe and comforted.
And that kind of work that they’re doing, I found a lot of hope in that and it was something that I hadn’t really been exposed to until then and just listening to them speak about the work that they do and the way that they approached it really gave me hope for yoga. Did you feel that way when you were listening to them?
I totally did. And I think it’s not just because of their content, which is top notch — because their content is not that much that far off from yours and it’s not going to be that much far off from anybody in yoga service. Where I find the comfort in just meeting people like that is in seeing how they have learned to approach the public infrastructure for support and to carve out their niche in it. And, I don’t know the New Leaf people personally that well, but that support is something that I know is a huge part of everybody who’s deeply invested in yoga service throughout North America is really trying hard to work on.
I was really struck sitting at the Yoga Service Council conference I think two years ago and I was speaking with a woman named Mayuri. I think her organization is called Little Flower Yoga and she trains teachers how to give 20, 30 and 40 minute yoga classes to grade school kids and she works in Manhattan. I think her partner is a public school teacher and so they’re sort of networked in the school system in a way. And she not only developed her training and by knocking on doors got her programs and her teachers into eight or nine public schools, which took three or four years, and they were able to pay out of discretionary spending for that. I think that’s how her business got going and I think she’s set up as a nonprofit as well. But she taught herself all how to do that, coming out of a non admin or nonprofit background. But the thing is there was one point at which, I think last year, Deblasio, the mayor of New York announced through the education department that they were making $20,000,000 available to the boroughs of New York public schools for wellness programs that would include yoga and mindfulness sessions or something like that. And so who’s on the phone the next morning, knowing who to call to get in on that funding is Mayuri. That is so cool because now she has networked her… she’s going to be able to leverage all of these teachers who she has trained into a new field that in terms of public money is still only being funded to a drop in the bucket. This has nothing to do with commercial yoga economics at all.
And yoga people are not in these circumstances having to worry about overhead or any of the things that you just went through with your studio over the last several years. So when I going back to sitting with New Leaf, the comfort that I feel is these people had figured out how to interface with the public health world. That means that comes with responsibility. That comes with “I’m going to have to have informed consent policies for all my workers. I’m going to have to have trauma informed training. I’m going to have to have good HR policies. I’m going to have to have all of these things that the commercial yoga world is totally shit at, and they’re just going to have to be a matter of course, and people are gonna have to be trained to a certain level that will allow them to be accountable to their public health positions.” And it’s like, it’s just a totally different world. And so I feel very, I feel very — it’s not what I’m professionally doing, but just as an observer and as a cultural critic and as a somebody who does journalism of this stuff sometimes, and I’m really fascinated to look at how that’s working.
I’m just going back to the conference. You gave the closing address for the conference and I had to jump on a bus to get to Montreal so I didn’t get to hear it, but I did watch the video. And I think I cried, which is really hard to get me to do so. But I think one of the things that really touched a lot of people in that address with you talking about how you too will one day become disabled. And I’m wondering if you can share a little bit about that.
Jivana, and — I’m a little bit embarrassed that I can’t remember the activist’s name that he cited in his presentation during the conference, but it’s somebody famous I think in California who was at the center of the disability rights movement from maybe the seventies or something like that — I think his one of his statements was, “It’s not like you’re not going to need these services. We’re all in this together.” And it’s kind of like a more visceral and material framing for all of the old ascetic and Buddhist realizations around mortality, old age, sickness and death. So there’s picture of the guy in his wheelchair saying, “You’re going to be somewhere like this.” And and then I was in his class a little bit later and,
Jivana’s class right. And I think he asked us to, — he’s got this great way of, “Let’s see how you can do Tadasana or a mountain pose, but, imagine that you need to have your full body in contact with a wall. Or let’s see if you can do tree pose on a chair. And he’s got all this amazing teaching around, “What is the posture actually? If you have an internal visualization of it, and that’s meaningful to you, is that the posture?” All of these ways of picking apart an ableism that is so pervasive, it’s invisible to people like me who, you know, I don’t see myself as being physically disabled.
So there was one point where I just burst into tears because I realized that he was giving me an end-of-life practice, or a later-on-in-life practice or something like that. He was actually preparing me for something in a way that nobody had ever prepared me for in a yoga class. When I got into yoga and I was doing asana obsessively, it was more like, “What secrets does this body hold that I can stretch out of it? And how can I break this open to find what’s inside?”
And Jivana’s doing something different. He’s like, “What’s already inside that can be felt and accepted as your condition or what your condition will be when you’re perhaps not able to stand or you’re not able to see or you’re not able to feel all of these things that you associate with yourself.” So there’s something very profound about that and it just kind of like, it added to this row of dominoes that have been falling around me or within me around what it means to not see your own privilege.
For me, that started with, I don’t know, several years ago. Actually, it came up this morning as well because I arrived here in Edmonton at 9:30, which meant that I had to leave the house in Toronto at 3:30 in the morning. And several years ago, Alix my partner said that she wanted me to take a cab to the bus stop we live in. We live in a neighborhood where if you want to catch the bus to the airport — like the bus that costs $3 instead of paying 60 bucks to take a cab at that time — you know you have to walk through a kind of lonely patch. And it’s a little bit of a sketchy area. And actually there were just two shootings this past week in the area. And so a couple of years ago, I was going to take one of these trips. I was probably coming here and she said, “Can you just take a cab to the bus stop?” And I was like, I was insulted. And I was like. “No, I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna.” I got all proud and huffy and stuff like that.
It took this argument, I’m ashamed to say, to break through this layer of absolute unconsciousness around what it actually meant to be female and in a body and in this part of the city, and thinking about walking at that time of night. And it kind of like overwhelmed me. I was like, “Oh, you live in a totally different world than I live in. And I haven’t seen that before. And I have to start taking care of that. Like I have to start taking care of you. Not in a paternalistic way, but taking care of the fact that I don’t even understand how much benefit I have here.”
It’s funny because I stayed with you during the conference and I, one night I went out and I was up until midnight and I had to navigate my way back to your house and I remember you asking me because I walked from that bus stop to your house and it was about midnight or 12:30 and I remember you asking me if I felt unsafe and I said no. And I thought about that and you know, I think probably what that is, you know, as a trauma survivor, I tend to feel safe in unsafe situations and unsafe in safe situations. So for me, I just kind of…
It can be scrambled, right?
Yeah. I puff myself up and put my head down and just walked to your house without even giving it a second thought. But, you know, it didn’t probably even occur to me that I might be putting myself at risk or in danger or that I should have maybe taken a cab or something like that. I just wandered through the streets of Toronto by myself.
Yeah. And like me asking you that and me asking you that comes from… I mean, it’s funny because there’s a potential for paternalism in there too, right? Where I’m going to be protective towards Alix or towards you as a guest and maybe over-compensate in some way and so these questions about empowerment and equality that come up. But really listening — I think the main point about privilege is just really letting it sink in: that we live in different worlds. And that was one of the first big things that, that I think really started to, it changed my spirituality in the sense that like the infatuation now that I am interested in ending or interrogating in myself is the infatuation that I have with forms of privilege that I can’t even see.
Because that infatuation — not understanding what it means to be male, or male-identified, not understanding the advantages of being white, not understanding the advantages of being considered to be able-bodied — that those are all barriers to empathy and communication and activism. Because they make a person feel like that the world is just, should be okay and navigable by everybody.
And so I’m in Jivana’s class and this, this other sort of penny dropped which was, “Oh, I’m not looking at the world as… I’m looking at the world through ableist eyes, and I’m doing that in physical terms. I’m doing it in psychological terms. I’m doing it in cognitive terms. And if I can stop doing that or if I can, I can start questioning that a little bit, I’m going to see and invite others into, or I’m going to see other people a little bit more clearly and I’m going to be able to care for things a little bit better or at least I’m going to make fewer boneheaded remarks. I’m going to cause less harm and that’d be a start.”
So we talked a little bit about disability and the, the Accessible Yoga conference, and one of the things that we talked about before we were recording was — and Elliot talks a little bit about this too, as someone who is physically disabled — that oftentimes there’s this binary around disability where we think of disability only in terms of physical disability. And one of the things that I try to talk about is how we can be disabled in other ways, right? I think when talking about internalized ableism and how we don’t always see how, how people may be disabled in certain ways or how we might have blind spots. One of the blind spots I think that I see a lot in Yogaland is around people not really understanding neurodivergence. I think you don’t really speak about this very often, but I know when I did an Ayurveda training with you, you shared about in your twenties something that happened to you, that you kind of realized that there was some neuro divergence in your life. Do you mind sharing about that?
No. Not a lot to say except that during a period in my early twenties of real emotional stress and alienation and probably like — I think I’ve been undiagnosed clinically depressed at several points in my life and it was just never in my culture or it wasn’t in my toolbox to seek out therapy. That wasn’t part of where I came from. So, that’s why I think I remained undiagnosed. But yeah during a period of really severe stress, I had a series of really explosive seizures where I lost consciousness for fairly long, I don’t know how long, but fairly long periods of time. And they were physically violent enough that I would wake up on my or I came to on the floor of my apartment with like the bookshelves toppled over. So something had happened or I’d be physically injured in some way.
And I went for testing and there was nothing found so I did whatever the EEG tests that were typical. They did a sleep deprivation test and things like that. The neurologist who saw me felt the things were, that the experiences were anomalous or they could be stress-related. But one thing that emerged out of that was every once in a while, like I sort of like go back into, I’m thinking about or researching how people experience seizures because one feature of what I experienced was that — or at least the way I narrativized it was that — the physical sensations were associated with some sort of mystical experience.
So I was in university then for religious studies, I was reading all kinds of mysticism. I was in classes where I got my first exposure to yoga philosophy and Buddhism and other things. And I think Tantric thought as well. But the story that I had ready-made for me to apply to these physical experiences I had was that something transcendental was happening to me. And so after that period, my fascination with things religious and spiritual just seemed to increase, as did my obsessive writing. And so there’s this weird thing which I haven’t been diagnosed with but seems very resonant. It’s called Geschwind Syndrome. And I think it’s a subset of a particular type of epileptic condition where — and I should say just right upfront that I haven’t had seizures for a since that period, so this is really going back 25 years now — but I think they flipped something in me or they turned something on… Geschwind Syndrome is marked by not just the seizures, but two very clear characteristics. One is hyper-religiosity, but it’s not the type of hyper-religiosity that is devotional. It’s a hyper-religiosity that is simply intellectually interested in religion. And then the other thing that people with Geshschwind Syndrome have or typically present is hypergraphia or endless writing, obsessive writing. And that’s certainly very resonant with me.
Because you’ve described yourself as almost addicted to, writing.
Sure, for sure. Yeah. Because, for various reasons, that’s also been like a way of internally parenting myself when I do various types of writing. So not all of this is like this. I can write pseudo-academically or whatever and I can write in a kind of reporting format. But when I really need care, my instinct has always been to write about something. And what’s fascinating is that as soon as it begins to appear on the screen or the page in front of me, it’s almost like a hologram. Almost like like there’s a person there that I am dialoguing with and who is caring for me enough to listen to what I’m saying and faithfully reproducing it.
Alix actually told me about this thing DW Winnicott says, which is that sometimes a person can turn to their intellect for care. And that’s certainly been true for me for writing. So it’s a very hard thing to describe except that when I get into the flow of it, I don’t feel like I’m alone. However I have to be alone to do it!
And so that makes — I struggle with accepting care from other people because I’ve developed this really sort of iron-clad way of doing it for myself internally and that all intensified after the seizure experience. The other symptom that, or thing that people with Geschwind Syndrome present with is atypical sexuality, and that doesn’t really resonate with me, but often they say two out of the three things is good. So that’s been interesting to me.
I want to learn more about that so it can be more transparent about that because I think that if my writing becomes more prominent or you know, if this book does really well or something like that, I want to be really clear with myself and with my readership that writing is not just a profession or a skill for me. It has a therapeutic aspect to it. It has a compulsive aspect to it. And that means that I have to take responsibility for dumping on other people when I write and you know, you can have the kind of avoidant hand-wiping attitude of “Well I’m just gonna produce my content and people can do with it what they will.” Or you can say “No, if you do something that’s compelling and people follow it, then you have responsibility towards them.” And so yeah, I wanna learn more about that part of myself which is so large, it’s hard to see.
One of the things that, that I hear a lot when I talk to other yoga people about you is, you know, I think it comes out of intimidation to be honest. People are intimidated, by some of the big words that you use when you write. But there’s a lot of like, “Oh, he thinks he’s better than everyone,” or “He thinks he’s smarter than everyone,” or “He’s so negative or judgey. And certainly like, you’re probably one of the smartest people I’ve met. But I mean, I don’t personally find you intimidating. But I’m wondering, and somebody asked me this about you. Somebody asked me a couple of weeks ago like, “I wonder why Matthew didn’t become a cult leader?”
Some people say that I have!
Some people say that you have, some people say that —
I’m like: “Show me the people.”
Where’s the money? Well, I mean, I think some people think because, you know, like myself and some of some of our other friends that we have in common will come to your defence when you’re being dog-piled on for things. I think that we get accused of being Rembots or that we’re in the cult of Remski or whatever. But like because you kind of have the brain that you do. I mean, it certainly isn’t out of the realm of possibility that you could have at one point created some kind of a cult if you wanted to.
Yeah, you’re totally, you’re totally right. Okay. So, so the first thing that comes up when you, when you asked that is that I stopped doing classes that I was… Well, I mean, a lot of things happened that ended up closing up my last studio that I owned in Toronto with my ex partner. Like the main thing being that the relationship ended. I ran courses in Ayurveda and I had a small following and there were a lot of people who really liked what I did and… But there was also… I would do, Ayurvedic health education appointments, for which there’s no licensing or no accountability structure. And it was only when I started to go to psychotherapy myself that… then certainly when I met Alix and she comes from a psychotherapy family and she was going to start studying psychotherapy herself, I was like, “Oh a regulated industry means that there’s a huge interpersonal training component that really should be in place before you’re visiting with people alone and talking with them about their diets and their relational lives and all of the things that come up in Ayurvedic health education.”
And I stopped doing those appointments because I realized that I did not know how to understand — or I started to begin to understand what was happening in things like transference and countertransference. And that happened through my own therapy, also, as I said with starting to learn about Alix’s world. And I realized that I did not know how to… there was nothing in the training in the yoga world or the yoga therapy world or in the Ayurveda world that I had encountered that really gave me a clear understanding of how to understand the power dynamics of the relationship of a personal meeting like that. And so I just stopped doing it because I realized I didn’t understand it.
So when I think about like why, if I’m a charismatic person and I have interesting and unique content, why I didn’t go forward and want to accumulate power or something like that socially with people in real life. I think about that. I think there’s something in me that said, “No, wait a minute, I’m over my head here and I don’t know how to do this.”
And there’s a lot of people out there in this world who also don’t know how to do this and they’re doing it and they’re hurting people, because we started to hear those stories as well. And so I guess the notion that I would manipulate people interpersonally just fills me with such dread and guilt and shame that that would be possible.
Can I tell you a story?
Yes, you can.
So the first time you ever came to my studio in LaCombe it was packed. So there was like, I don’t know, 30, 40 people in the room. It was all women. And LaCombe is this tiny little city in central Alberta and it’s I think the most churched community in Canada if I’m not wrong. And it’s also a guaranteed conservative stronghold. Anytime there’s an election, it’s always a conservative community.
And I remember watching you teach meditation to this room full of women, at the studio. We had just opened. I think we were maybe open for four or five months. And I remember watching the women were sitting down and you were standing up and you were talking about meditation and I just remember their faces watching you talk with…. they seem to be just full of like this weird wondering. It’s probably, they’ve probably never seen somebody like you before or interacted with somebody like you before. And I remember thinking after a while after they’d asked questions and you were talking about meditation and how to claim agency in your own body. I remember thinking, “These women are asking him for permission to exist.”
I remember being so blown away by that and wondering how you were navigating that because I’m sure you picked up on it and in some ways
And I wondered like, how is he going to navigate this? They’re asking him to just give them basic permission to breathe and like they don’t even know that they can breathe.
Right. And what does it mean to stand at the front of the room as a man? And have it be okay that you’re the person who’s going to do that. It’s just so…
That is so weird.
It’s so bizarre and it’s, I think it’s very unhealthy and I just don’t think it’s a good. I just don’t think it’s a good dynamic. There’s too many,.. like at that point, at that point, I can feel, I can feel the countertransference, right. So: Dude’s from the city. A totally different background from anybody I know. He’s gendered differently in some ways —
Yeah there’s some sort of femininity about him.
Right. So I know that there’s something new or odd or attractive about me and I’m like, and it just makes me uncomfortable, My immediate feeling is I’m uncomfortable and there’s a power dynamic here that is artificial or it’s overriding, not overriding but competing with whatever the basic content is of saying a few things about meditation.
So we’re running out of time, but I really want to get into your book and I really want to get into the other thing we want to talk about, but I wanted to, I want to kind of dive into this a little bit because this is something I’ve personally had to navigate because I was raised in a cult. And certainly male authority has more power for me than female authority.
And I think when you and I first met because we’re both cult survivors, I think there was a really strong pull that could have gone into countertransference for me anyways, I don’t know about, for you, but for me there could have been a really strong sort of like glomming on to you as some sort of, you know, teacher figure or something. And at one point there was something we were talking about, and I was asking you what you thought and I think you said, “You know, I’m just telling you this as your friend, right?” And I remember hearing you say that and thinking, “Okay, yeah, you’re right, like, this is just like two people sharing information. This isn’t you some kind of supernatural being telling me something that I needed to hear.”
I hope that like saying “friend” implied like equal.
Yeah, it did, it did, it totally diffused…
Because that can be a weird word too.
No, it completely diffused it for me and really brought me back down to earth and kind of cemented the relationship that I feel like I have with you. But I know that for me in certain circumstances, because those deeply ingrained patterns are so embedded that it’s almost impossible for me sometimes not to need that in order to hear something.
It’s tragic, totally fucking tragic.
It is. I had this dream one time that I was, I was an elephant in an elephant sanctuary and I really wanted to be out in the wild. And I remember the elephant me crying and wanting to be wild and having this realization that I had to stay in the sanctuary because I couldn’t survive in the wild. And like, that really spoke to me about, you know, I was born into dynamics, so my patterning is from birth and it’s so, it’s not so easy to untangle. And so my whole journey now has been, you know, what do I need to embrace and work with and what can I, what can I get rid of. And so when I, when I had that realization about you at my studio and I saw the way that these women were watching you, I had this realization that I’m this whole city that I was opening the studio in felt like an abusive relationship to me. It felt like an oppressive and abusive relationship where, and you know, I’m, I’m saying this knowing that maybe some of the people from my studio are going to be listening to this, that there were women in this community who had never experienced agency and who had never had the chance to really be in their own bodies and to make their own decisions. And I wonder, you know, with you saying, well, that’s wrong. I shouldn’t be teaching these people, but I wonder if there are things that you could say to someone like that that wouldn’t be heard from anyone else other than a man.
Yeah. I really don’t know. Like, it’s a really sort of prime example of privilege meeting an old paradigm that seems to want it or need it or something like that.
Well we talked about this a little bit when we talk about, the ways that people can go into practices that are harming and so like practices like BDSM where, where people are addressing their trauma through, through physical harm to their bodies or physical harm. Maybe harm isn’t the right word, but from hurting themselves. And how that, some people find that as a pathway to healing. And I wonder, you know…
Yeah — If there’s informed consent and if there’s all kinds of safety procedures and all that, right? I don’t know how to answer that question of what does it mean to be in the front of the room as a man with a lot of women listening to you very intently. And the dynamics that creates and echoes. I don’t have a personal answer for that except to say it doesn’t really work for me, and I’m not comfortable with it.
That said, I’m here in Edmonton, I’m going to facilitate a YTT module. It’s going to be mainly women in the room, but it’s going to be different because I’m not going to be teaching techniques or practices. I’m going to be giving basically a seminar in critical thinking. And so it’s not about instructing people towards their higher selves or giving them some sort of spirituality or pretending in some way that there was something inside me that is worth sharing. Those things are not really part of that kind of instruction. But I do know that leading a retreat for or like leading a group class in an 80 percent female practice population… I just don’t know how personally I would feel comfortable given everything that I’ve learned about sustaining those dynamics.
And so everything that I’m doing now is to try to move towards just offering a content rather than practices. And coming out of this book, I’m working on modules for community health. I’m thinking about going to, I guess it wouldn’t be graduate school because I didn’t graduate, but I don’t know, doing what I need to do to become a licensed counselor for people who are navigating their way out of cults. Because I’m doing that like a dozen times a week anyway and I’m doing it for free and I should be paid for it, but I also should know how to do it better, and not just have informal conversations with people. And so I’m just moving away from the charismatic power dynamic that is kind of at the center of how commercial yoga works and that is exacerbated by this structural sexism that you point out.
I mean that could lead into a whole conversation around men teaching yoga and what needs to happen around that for sure. But I’d like to finish off with talking about your book and maybe some cult dynamics in yoga land for sure. So: March, you’re book is going to be out?,
Yeah, March 14th. We’re in the thick of production whirlwind and there’s a thousand little details and decisions to be made along the way and we’re setting up online resources. And, there’s a workbook that is at the end of the book that I’m hoping will be a resource for teacher training programs. The book’s called Practice and All Is Coming: Abuse, Cult Dynamics, and Healing in Yoga and Beyond. And it comes out of three years of a tracking the stories of the survivors of Pattabhi Jois’s sexual assaults, which he got away with for 30 years because he was enabled, I argue, by a number of factors including including key cultic dynamics of information control and image management and rationalization and pyramid-like structures, where power just floats to the top and, you know, information leaks down to the bottom and get suppressed and silenced.
And feels like a good time. Like it took three years to do. And because I’m so personally invested, not in Ashtanga yoga, but in cult literature and cult recovery I didn’t realize until I pretty much finished the draft how exhausted it had made me and how much it had, caused my physical and mental health to deteriorate. I feel that slowly I’m recovering from that. And it kind of feels like an exciting time now because, there’s going to be a shitstorm when it’s released, but I kind of know what’s coming and I’m a little bit more relaxed into the decisions I’ve made around, how I’ve analyzed things and who I’ve called to account in the book and that sort of thing. So I’m feeling good about it and I also just don’t know what’s going to happen.
Yeah. Because there’s always kind of like the things you can’t really predict, right? Like your work over the last few years, you know, you’ve really kind of dug into exposing the unhealthy dynamics in Yogaland. And I think through that work and through the work of others that are less visible than you, like Theo and myself and other trauma informed teachers, we’ve seen this language and this movement become co-opted. And so it’ll be interesting to see how that plays out with your book as well.
Right? Well it will be. And what I was really grateful for in working with, with my editor at the Walrus, is that she really guided me through the nuts and bolts of creating a victim-centered narrative or a survivor-centered narrative. And that’s the most important thing about this book to me is that at the heart of it I’m learning to listen to what people like Karen Rain and, and Anneke Lucas and Marissa Sullivan and Jubilee Cooke have to say about their experience and really trying to grasp what it was like and how difficult it has been to hold it and to name it and to manage and to then disclose it and then to deal with all of the blowback.
And my editor also with Embodied Wisdom Publications has been excellent in helping me to really keep the book focused on a survivor’s voices. And that’s key because as we’ve seen in the last six months or so as people have tried to address… as the yoga world… I would say the yoga administrative or bureaucratic world has tried to address the issue of institutional abuse in yoga schools and amongst yoga teachers, they’re not inviting survivors to the table. In event after event, panel after panel, the people who are not invited are the people who actually have done the most work. And this was true back in March or something like that of 2018 when all of the luminaries of the world gathered for their confluence in San Diego. And they actually had a panel discussion on, “Well, what do we do now that we’ve realized that the leader of our method was a 30 year sexual predator?”
They didn’t use those terms, but they convened a panel where they basically discussed, “Well, what does this mean to us as faithful people? What does this mean to us as devotees?” They didn’t reach out to Karen Rain and say, “Can you come and tell us what we should do in relation to survivors of our guru’s abuse? We’re here and we’ve made our careers because we actually either turned a blind eye or enabled him.” They didn’t, of course, they didn’t do that.
There was a similar meeting in London where again, none of Pattabhi Jois’s actual survivors were invited to participate. It was a closed session, but Theo was invited to it and she reluctantly agreed, I believe, I think I can say that on her behalf, to be the person who was going to speak for survivors as the trauma-sensitive person. But you know, they had a Jois devotee on the panel. And it’s like — if you’re going to actually tackle it, you actually have to listen to the people who were impacted and you have to let them drive the story. Because where are you going to be otherwise other than in one realm or another of brand reframing or management or brand washing.
What my hope is that people will start listening to what Karen Rain says as being central to the narrative of modern yoga. That she has as much to say about what it means to learn about yourself and to deal with suffering and to deal with trauma and to understand what kind of support one needs as any yoga expert does. I just want to see people like people like her become the real community leaders. Having said that, I know that that’s not what she wants! I think what I wrote my book is that is that at a certain point people in Yoga culture will be more interested in what Karen Rain has to say about her experience in yoga than they’ll be interested in what Pattabhi Jois taught. And at that point, I think we’ll all be practicing more yoga actually.
Amen. All right. I think we’re done. Thank you so much. I really appreciate you being willing to do this. I know you’re exhausted and you need to have a nap. So thank you so much for your time.