“This is where I belong”

Auroville Today: You first stayed at the Ashram for ten years?

Michael: Yes, I came to India specifically to come to the Ashram. I arrived in Pondicherry three days before my 25th birthday in 1968. I didn’t really know much about it; I had only heard of The Mother and had an experience that told me to go there. My spiritual inclinations were more aligned with Zen Buddhism at the time, so I was quite shocked by what I found. Seeing people waving incense sticks in front of a picture of someone’s feet was not Zen at all! But there I was. So, I decided to sit at the Samadhi every day until something either happened or didn’t. If nothing happened, I would go to Japan. It was the sixties, and travel was cheap and easy if one was prepared to rough it.

But then things started to happen. I began experiencing The Mother’s presence, and it became clear that this was where I belonged. I wrote to The Mother, asking to join the Ashram. After hours spent pouring over my letter, I simply ended up writing, “Douce Mère, may I join the Ashram.” One of her secretaries, an American woman named Rijuta, came to see me and said, “Mother said, bring this laconic young man to see me.” So, I went to see The Mother, and that was it. I saw The Mother. Everything since then has been footnotes. That was The Experience, and it lives in me still.

I’ve heard more colorful stories, like that of my old friend Peter Heehs. A book fell off a library shelf while he was wandering in the stacks of his college library, hit him on the head, and knocked him down. When he came to his senses, he saw it was Sri Aurobindo’s The Life Divine, started reading it and decided to go to India.

Anyway, I gave myself to Mother, saying “this is it, I’m yours forever,” and she accepted me into the Ashram. I lived there for ten years before moving to Auroville. She was present in the body for the first five of those years, and I wasn’t interested in being anywhere else. My memories of the Ashram are still seen through the eyes of someone smitten; everything seemed perfect and beautiful.

Ultimately, I left, for purely personal reasons, and moved to Auroville during the time of the first revolution. I found it difficult to think of the Ashram as evil or wanting to destroy Auroville, so I wasn’t quite here or there among the revolutionaries, but my life has been in Auroville since then.

To go back to the beginning, what brought me to India was a combination of trying to escape the Vietnam War and my interest in Eastern spirituality. Having graduated university, I no longer had a student deferment and had to do something or I was sure to get drafted. So I joined the Peace Corps and was, on request, assigned to a programme training for India.

During my Peace Corps training, it was discovered that I had a defective wrist, the result of a misdiagnosed fracture years before, which disqualified me not only from the programme but from military service as well. Meanwhile two friends from the programme completed their training and spent the next two years in India, eventually returning to their family home in Seattle. I was living in Portland at the time and decided to drive up and visit them. In the course of the evening we spent together, they spoke of an ashram they had visited in a place called Pondicherry run by someone called The Mother and which they had found so interesting that they spent a couple of weeks there rather than the planned couple of days. Their experience had simply been ‘interesting’, not profound, nor did they then, or since, express any interest in returning. But for me the evening was earthshaking. I was aware of something coming through them, something of which they were totally unaware of themselves, that simply zapped me, something that I knew was somehow related to The Mother and that I had to go to Her Ashram.

A month later I had gone back to New York, said goodbye to my bewildered parents, flown to Rome and started hitchhiking to India.

How did you get into homeopathy?

I became interested through my friend Maggi, a gifted writer who had published a number of books and who had been one of The Mother’s secretaries for many years. We spent a lot of time together; she would write, and I would edit her work. Many years later, after I was living in Auroville, she became interested in homeopathy and even went to Greece to connect with George Vithoulkas, the most prominent homeopath of the 20th century. She traveled with him for about six months, learning a lot about homeopathy, and started practicing when she returned to the Ashram.

One day, Maggi called me and said she wanted to write an article about Samuel Hahnemann, the German founder of homeopathy, and she asked if I would help edit it. I agreed, and she sent me some books to get acquainted with the subject. I became totally fascinated by homeopathy. Maggi kept sending me books, and after several months, she suggested I attend a seminar in Bombay for Indian homeopaths. I protested, saying I was neither a homeopath nor Indian, but she knew the seminar leader and urged him to accept me into the programme, vouching for my potential as a fine homeopath. So, I went to Bombay for this intensive three-week seminar, which was the real beginning of my journey into homeopathy.

The teachers were rather young but already somewhat known Indian homeopaths. They had all been in homeopathic college together and were already known as the Bombay School. They’ve all become much more famous since, but they were good even back then. I was the only non-Indian and the only non-homeopath in the course, but I was also the only one who could speak and write perfect English.

I connected with the main teacher, a man named Rajan Sankaran, who is now a very famous homeopath and much published writer. After the course ended, he asked if he could send me manuscripts for proofreading, to which I agreed. That’s how I became friendly with Rajan and a couple of other teachers. When I returned, Maggi insisted I start practicing, despite my protests that I had only taken a three-week course. She insisted and promised to help if necessary.

It just so happened that my first case in Auroville was a lucky one. A person who had been suffering from migraines for years came to me. He had tried everything without success, so he decided to try homeopathy. I took his case, gave him what I thought was the right remedy, and it caused an initial aggravation of his symptoms, which is common. He called me, furious, saying that he was having the worst headache he’d ever had and would like to kill me, but then it got better and in fairly short order he stopped having migraines. Many years later, he called me saying the headaches were starting again. I gave him another dose, and I haven’t heard from him since. That success made me imagine I really could be a good homeopath, just as Maggi said.

So, I continued studying and practising homeopathy. However, I was shocked to discover how much my mind had deteriorated since university. It used to be quite sharp, but now I would read a page in a homeopathic text and forget what was at the top by the time I reached the bottom. Eventually I spoke to The Mother and said that if She wanted me to be a homeopath as seemed the case, She needed to help me. The response I felt from Her was that She would help me on two conditions: I must never refuse to see someone who wanted to see me and I must never charge for my services. I’ve kept my part of the deal and I figure She has too, though I’m definitely not receptive enough to make the most of it.

Is it true that everyone has their own constitutional remedy?

The concept of homeopathy is complex and not easily conveyed in a brief interview. But in principle, homeopathic lore says that everyone has their constitutional remedy – the remedy they are born with and always revert to. Vithoulkas, the famous homeopath Maggi connected with, defines the constitutional remedy as the one you are born with and always revert to. He suggests that certain circumstances, like an epidemic, might push you out of it, but you’ll always revert back to your remedy. However, in my experience, this isn’t always true.

My experience with my wife, Marush, who discovered her own remedy, challenges this notion. One is not supposed to be able to discover one’s own remedy or that of one’s family members, as Hahnemann’s first principle is to regard the patient objectively. But Marush was reading one of my homeopathy books, identified her remedy, and took it. She was right. It was clearly her remedy. For the next four or five years, whenever anything came up, a dose of that remedy would resolve it. I remember trekking and packing a dozen remedies for myself but only one for her, knowing it would work for anything she faced. Then it stopped working. Despite trying it many times since, it was no longer her remedy. Unfortunately, a new constitutional remedy hasn’t appeared for her.

Recently, I read an article by an eminent homeopath who questioned the whole idea of a patient’s constitutional remedy. He mentioned that in seminars, when a live case is presented, the eminent homeopaths on stage often suggest different remedies for the same patient. What does this mean? Are they all wrong, or is one of them right and the rest wrong? He suggested that real healing might occur through an energy exchange between the therapist and the patient, with the remedy somehow mediating the process. Different remedies might work for different therapists because each homeopath works with a specific set of remedies they are familiar with and resonate with.

There are about 4,000 homeopathic remedies, but no homeopath knows all of them – most work with maybe 100 or 200 remedies, and maybe 50 of those are their go-to remedies. These are the ones they understand deeply and tend to see in their patients. So, there’s a lot about homeopathy that’s empirical. We know it works and certain things work better than others, allowing us to form hypotheses, but that’s mostly what we’re dealing with. Different homeopaths with different approaches can get equally good results.

And this applies to physical, palpable problems as well as psychological distress?

Anything can be treated homeopathically. Every homeopath will have his own take on that. Homeopaths, being human, tend to be better at certain things than others. But you can’t turn away patients who come to you, regardless of their issues. For me, a high percentage of the patients I treat in Auroville are dealing with psychological issues. Auroville attracts people who are working on their consciousness, and stuff comes up that they don’t know how to handle. Supposedly, you can treat anything with homeopathy, and I’ve seen and to my suprise done it. But I can only speak from my own experience.

It fits into the integral approach to healing.

Yes, homeopathy is supposed to cure everything or should be able to if the homeopath identifies the right remedy. Whether the homeopath sees the right remedy depends on the individual homeopath and the problem at hand.

I’m wondering if you’ve seen people coming to you throughout the years when there are situations of conflict, like right now?

I’ve personally only experienced two situations where everybody was sort of affected. One was in the seventies and eighties when Auroville was fighting for its independence from the Sri Aurobindo Society, which it gained by approaching the government and asking for protection. I won’t say more on that subject, but I was there at the time, and it was understandable. And then there is the current situation, which I think affects everyone on some level. There are lots of people now talking about plan B – where to go, what to take with them. They’ve invested everything in Auroville for 30 years, and now they don’t know what to do. So, many people are affected, but they don’t come to me specifically for that. It may come up in conversation, but they come because they’re stressed, which can bring up physical or psychological issues that a homeopath can help with.

Over the years, what has personally given you joy or fulfillment?

Finding the right remedy, for sure. When someone has been suffering from something, physical or psychological, for years and has tried everything without success, and you find the remedy that changes their life – that’s the most gratifying thing. It happens often enough that the less dramatically successful cases don’t overshadow the moments of significant results. You do what you can, and it’s nice to have those successes where you can say, “Wow, I really helped somebody.”

And apart from homeopathy?

Homeopathy is not the only satisfaction in my life. It’s a big one, but not the only one. There’s a wonderful aphorism by Sri Aurobindo: “Whenever you find yourself holding an opinion vehemently, remember that the opposite is also true.” What else to say? He also says, “Who can follow the footsteps of the Divine Mother?” I have absolute confidence that whatever is happening, whether the players are conscious or unconscious, the Divine will turn it to the best possible outcome. It doesn’t mean it’s necessarily pleasant to live through, but everything is turned to the best. Another aphorism I like is: “What happened had to happen, but something better might have happened.” Plan B doesn’t really occur to me. I’m given to The Mother and The Mother’s project, and as long as I’m allowed to stay, I stay. Whether I live to see the final outcome or not, it doesn’t matter, I’m 80 years old, you know. That doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions, but I see them for what they are – opinions.

Coming back to homeopathy, I should add to what I told you about this seminar in Bombay. After about nine months of practicing in Auroville, I called up Rajan and said I needed more training. He said, “Come to Bombay and I’ll let you sit in my clinic and watch me take cases.” Nowadays, he’s much more famous, and I realize that this is an offer that graduate students would kill for. That’s how you learn homeopathy, watching somebody take a case. For about four years, I would spend three or four weeks in Bombay sitting with the teachers in Rajan’s circle. I saw a lot of good homeopathy being practiced.

When you go to school, they teach you a very formulaic way of taking and solving a case – A, B, C, and there’s the answer. But every homeopath develops their own way of taking a case and their own approach. Possibly because of my limitations and because I have backup, my way of taking a case is very unformulaic. I just ask the patient what they want to tell me and let them talk. Every now and then, I may ask them to clarify something or ask for details, but basically, I listen. Somewhere along the line, they tell you what they need or give you what you need to know. Many patients have told me that just being able to talk to someone who’s listening, non-judgmental, and sympathetic made a great difference. If I happen to see the remedy and can give them help, that’s why. But I don’t have much of a structure.

Have you had somebody asking you to teach?

Many times.

And have you?

No. What I’m asked more often is by somebody who’s studying homeopathy who would like to sit in when I take cases. I feel bad about it because that’s how I learned and it’s probably the best way to learn. But I always say no because the way I take cases totally depends on the patient trusting me not to talk about it, being sympathetic and non-judgmental, and creating that safe space. Another person in the room is not what I want.

I remember at one point when I was in Bombay studying, asking Rajan if he would take my case. He said yes, and when I came to his office, he introduced me to a former student who was going to sit in. He asked if I minded, and I said no. But I didn’t like it. I wanted to talk about things that were really difficult, and I didn’t want anybody else to be in on it. I did it, but I don’t want my patients to be put in that position.

And what about those special remedies that you developed with Maggi?

That’s another story. One day, Maggi, who was still practising to some extent in the Ashram, called me up and said, “Michael, you know, when homeopathic remedies are prepared, the original substance is put through a process of dilution and succession, which we believe liberates the subtle energy associated with the material substance and allows us to transmit that to the patient. Mother spent a lot of time and energy trying to bring the supramental into her body. What if we potentise some cells from The Mother? Do you think we would have a remedy that could transmit that energy?” I said, “Wow.” But who has cells from Mother? She said, “I do. I have a lock of Mother’s hair that she gave me once with the words, ‘All of me is in this’.” So we did it. Eventually we convinced ourselves that we had something of interest and started giving it to people without telling them what it was.

Maggi suggested letting people know about it. I refused, saying that it would mean exposing myself. Maggi was living in seclusion. I saw two possible outcomes: either I would be lynched for doing something sacrilegious, or everyone in the world would want it. I wasn’t interested in either.

Maggi left the decision up to me, so I did nothing. A couple of years later, around The Mother’s birthday, I felt compelled to let people know. I wrote an article about it for the Auroville News and invited people to a meeting at Quiet to learn more about the remedy. I expected a large turnout, but only five people showed up, including one who was already taking it and just wanted to see who else would come!

Over the years, quite a number of people have used it. The remedy generally works for a certain amount of time and then stops. You can take it as much as you like, but it won’t do anything after a while. I believe this indicates that the remedy has a consciousness and stops working when it’s no longer needed. Most people I know take it for a while and then stop. Some continue taking it, but at long intervals.

I’ve also known people who found it incredibly useful as a pain reliever, especially in terminal cancer cases where they didn’t want to take morphine. The remedy helped them manage pain effectively.

We asked people to record and write up their experiences with the remedy. Maggie, who is now 95 and in the Ashram nursing home, sent me feedback several months ago. It’s a very heavy file, much of which is in different languages. I even discovered my own testimonial in it.

That’s all I can say about it. I have a lifetime supply and dispense it to those who ask for it.

So you didn’t get either of the responses you anticipated?

I’ve had people tell me they think it’s disgusting, like relics in Christianity, which were monetized for centuries. Some people find it offensive, but no, I was very surprised to get very little response, both in terms of interest in the remedy and criticism of it.

What’s interesting is that we started off with a lock of The Mother’s hair. About a year later, Maggi said, “Should we do Sri Aurobindo now?” I replied, “Sure, but do you have cells of Sri Aurobindo?” She laughed and said, “I know where to get them.”

So Maggi went to Manoj Das, the managing trustee of the Ashram. Since Maggie had been one of The Mother’s secretaries for many years, he gave us some nail clippings from Sri Aurobindo. They seem to have an inexhaustible supply of those. I had the clippings potentised, and thus, we had remedies from both The Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

I was never able to tell the difference between the two, but they worked. When Harmony, the one from The Mother, stopped working for me, Samata, which is what we called Sri Aurobindo’s remedy, continued to work for a while. Then it stopped too. In the end, most people mixed them, which also worked very nicely.

That’s the story. Now you know everything.