Crazy wisdom being barked at.

Last Thursday was filled with a lot of nothing.
In the evening we attended a course in African group harmony singing.
I didn’t sing because of my sore throat, but the others sounded great.

What is still most intriguing is the (more and more subtle) falling away of the till last summer seemingly eternal feeling of guilt, as the driving force behind inner and outer moving around. There is a constant amazement that life just goes on. Moreover, life seems to spring from life itself more than ever.
As I said, there was this meeting with Neeru, a nicely wild elderly lady giving satsang here and in Goa. I told her that I have a memory of having seen her in Arambol in Goa  some 11 years ago. She was pointed out to me there as some crazy (wisdom?) woman. And that I was in Arambol for a retreat with Lodewijk, than known as Gopal. Ah, that rang a bell:
But that man was not enlightened, she exclaimed. And than the stories came. About them fighting over one of her dogs over which he suddenly had claimed ownership. Of him coming to her hut once, she thinking that he was open for a change, till he started screaming to her: you, woman, you are not enlightened!
My stories about being with him in Risjikesh/Laxumanjhula India, at his guru’s place (Hansraj) in who’s ashram also Gopal’s behated spiritual sister Shantimayi was. I went to her satsang and he asked me what I thought of it and I told him that, although it was not really my style, it felt definitely as genuine satsang to me, which he not really liked me saying. And, and, and. We kept exchanging stories for a while. Also told her that in fact later I also broke up with him after a strong shouted outburst of anger from him.
We ended up investigating together the source of the feeling of guilt. (Which, according to me, is relational). Nice.
She also said that nowadays Lodewijk has a Spa in Spain.
Well, that sounds great, alliteration and all.
True? No clue. You have to google that.
FOR THE RECORD: I will be grateful forever for the time that was spent with Gopalji. For me it was a constant melting experience. For a while I was sitting like a puppy at his feet when he was giving satsang. And it got me moving: Goa, Laxumanjhula, Ibiza, Kopenhagen, Stockholm. (Ah,  retreats on this tiny privately owned island in the Stockholm Archipella: Idoborg).
And I have to add, that then I enjoyed Gopal’s deconstructing rants of the spiritual circus,
although I could feel unresolved anger under it. Then I was not so clear yet about discriminating what the source was of feelings and what was bringing them up.
And it was in my then healthy egoic self‐interest to keep melting in the light of his warm and soft side. The harsh farewell looks in hindsight as a recreating of my rude fysical birth.
Things keep showing up till we make peace with them.

I asked Neeru if she knows Isaac Shapiro. Yes, she said, already from before he started giving satsang. Good man, she added, very analytical.
Yes, and therefore very good for me, I said, he is my heart.
Tears are very close these days.

Also I said, without thinking: I came to India to learn to live without a story.
So, that is possibly what this story is about.

Smiley,

hans