What Happens When a Journalism Student Is Forced to Attend a Meditation Retreat in Pune?

Sunday, May 4, 2014 - 12:10pm
What Happens When a Journalism Student Is Forced to Attend a Meditation Retreat in Pune?

When an aspiring journalist attends a meditation resort in India for a class assignment, she finds herself in an awkward role. Her commentary on experiencing Osho dynamic meditation and finding comfort in her Roman Catholic faith.

Commentary by:
Rosalie Murphy (@rozmurph),  guest contributor
Shortened URL
8 ReflectionsRead/Add Yours

Dressed in maroon robes, visitors take part in activities at the Osho ashram in Pune, India.

"Chaotic breathing" is the first step in Osho dynamic meditation.

Breath should be “intense, deep, fast, without rhythm, with no pattern” — and always through the nose — a slow, pre-recorded tenor informed me the first time I tried it at Osho International Meditation Resort in Pune, India. Only exhale, the voice commanded. Inhalation comes naturally.

Music began. Deep, percussive, unmelodious, and measureless. I inhaled, gazed into my blindfold, and prepared to plunge.

This encounter was only a preview of dynamic meditation. The one-hour routine begins at 6:00 a.m. daily at the resort. While meditators breathe, scream, jump, freeze in place, and then dance freely, they’re told to disassociate themselves from their bodies and instead observe physical and spiritual sensations.

I came to Osho on a mandatory pre-reporting trip retreat with five classmates, instructed to taste religious experience before meeting sources in Mumbai. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an appetite. I already practiced a faith I loved. I grew up casually Catholic, flirted briefly with fundamentalism and atheism, and then rediscovered the sacrament of Confession. After a few more years of study, practice, and daily conversation with divinity, I call myself “committed.” Compared to my college peers, I might be devout. For now, I’m off the spiritual market.

But rejecting social norms, especially organized religion, grounds Osho’s teaching. The guru opened the Pune compound in 1974 for followers of his philosophy, a mix of Zen, New Age, and countercultural ideas. His practices endure in meditation groups in 72 countries. Thousands of annual resort guests try dynamic meditation in their welcome session.

“Witness,” instructors repeat throughout. “Witness what is happening to you.”

For a moment I held my hesitating breath, then sincerely expelled it through my nostrils faster and faster. As promised, my body managed inhalation, but it came in heavy spasms that whipped me forward from my diaphragm. My head pounded with uneasy spurts of oxygen. Each time I felt my lungs ease into a pattern, I blew faster, faster, then slow again.

After two minutes my head felt fuzzy and light, like the oxygen had overridden my fuse box and switched off every circuit in a puff of smoke. A gong banged from the ceiling speakers.

The auditorium at Osho International Meditation Resort in Pune, India.

Stage two. I giggled about this stage the first time I read its description: “EXPLODE! Go totally mad. Scream, shout, cry, jump, kick, shake, dance, sing, laugh.” Expelling academic frustration — that sounded great. But I only kicked and shouted for about five seconds before my peers’ screams reached me. Immediately mine ceased.

Chest-deep, lung-crushing, primal screams flattened me like grizzly hands on a balloon. Minutes ago the people around me seemed so friendly. Now they sounded like animals. My blindfold trapped me. Alone and surrounded in darkness, I felt like prey.

There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth, Matthew’s gospel narrated. Chills seized my sweaty legs. My hands bent to my sternum; I tried to sing five-tone scales to combat chaos, but I couldn’t find a major key. Instead I ducked ungracefully to my knees, holding my whole body to itself lest I lose a piece to the cacophony.

And then — this feels crazy in hindsight, but it’s accurate — I felt a pit of anguish opening near my heart, like a portal to a dark planet had rooted in my chest. Osho’s alien music pounded through my ear canals toward it. I witnessed myself clinging to the last bit of land on the edge of a deep well. The screaming tore at my goosebumps and my fingers slipped. Be still and know that I am God, David reminded me. Be still. It ended with the clang of a gong, and I trembled to my feet.

My cross necklace clung to my sweaty collarbone. Normalcy, I exhaled. My cross is something of a talisman — a gift from my grandmother, blessed by the Pope. But it's also a literal reminder that calm should hang over my heart. Divinity doesn’t panic. The peace of God surpasses all understanding. My fingers fluttered at the ends of my limp arms, expelling fear. I’m okay. I’m okay. I raised my hands above my head for stage three.

The next morning I tried dynamic meditation again. Goosebumps rose again as I flip-flopped toward the black glass pyramid where Osho-goers meditate in early-morning semidarkness. I’d hoped the welcome session’s distress was an aberration, but the strange new space-portal in my heart unfurled as I climbed the stairs. It sucked at my chest again.

The marble-floored meditation room stretched wide before me, and I lingered in front of the door in case the room tried to swallow me too. My heart tried to race but felt sluggish against my lungs. Chaotic breathing began.

I started to exhale with the gusto I had the day before, but my chest constricted. I breathed slowly and deeply, stretching oxygen to my belly button, and again, when I tried to accelerate, my heart swelled and my chest tightened. I witnessed. I stood outside my body, and I watched it resist me.

Frustrated, my eyes flew open (no blindfold today) and a circle of convulsing bodies collapsed toward me. I forced my lids shut and they popped back to my brows. The ragged animal breathing flicked my eardrums. I dragged my limbs toward rib cage to slow my heart. I couldn’t.

Seven minutes into dynamic meditation, I fled.

Osho explains that, to be liberated, people have to awaken primal instincts dulled by childhood socialization. He says those impulses are creative and expressive. The trouble is, they’re also greedy, impatient, pleasure-seeking and, in my case, overwhelmingly fearful. Children might create with abandon, but they’re also afraid of the dark.

In hindsight, I don’t think breathing or screaming scared me. I think I peeled back a tiny corner of social normalcy. Most of my confidence comes from day-to-day competence, and no one is competent in chaotic breathing. Losing control is the point. When I did, I saw my mind crowded with fear, hate, rejection, and crippling self-doubt. Shaking bodies and mangled shouts gave those affinities life.

Usually I consign those feelings to divinity. I guess this is what people mean when they say religion is a crutch: I rely on prayer to deal daily with doubt. God is integral to my self-definition. Osho doesn’t preclude praying, but witnessing required total focus. Instead of lifting my demons to heaven, I tried to expel them through my nose. I couldn’t. Prayer may be a placebo, but it works.

I don’t know if I’m ready for self-realization. What I know of my un-socialized core is jealous, panicky, and vengeful. I don’t want to know my primal side. I want to be at peace, and I don’t see much peace inside myself. It’s outside, in prayer, intimacy, and nature. Dynamic meditation proved that. I tried looking inward, and I fled.

Osho would condemn my ignorance, I imagine, if I told him I prefer external truth to internal. So be it. I rely on my faith for comfort and assurance, and it delivers. I’m willing to sacrifice some childhood creativity if it means I’m not alone in the dark.

Shortened URL

Rosalie Murphy is an undergraduate at the USC Annenberg School for Communication & Journalism.

Add Your Reflection

Filtered HTML

  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <blockquote> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd><span><div><img><!-->
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
  • Embed content by wrapping a supported URL in [embed] … [/embed].

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
8Reflections

The breath is a link to the outside and the inside. It can be utilized for balancing, harmony and connection. In this case, it is not. It's use leads toward the opposite and looks quite harmful to those who practice in this manner. Very pathetic.

This was a great and honest essay. I wonder if chaotic breathing and letting go of control in general can make it easier to recognize connection, to be more harmonious. If one has built up walls that limit behavior, it seems to me that breaking them down might allow for more connected behavior.

My search for meaning and purpose leads me to relationship - discovering my connections to nature, others and something more than myself. The life of Christ continues to give me the most sense as a model for living. The reality of being a part of love and being loved moves me to quiet meditation, prayer, yoga, walking which inspires me to invite, reach out and help others in my community. Life reveals love each day.

Hi Rosalie, As a Catholic I could related to your feelings about the Osho meditation. As I've been on my Catholic journey, I've discovered a tremendous openness to my faith that is not often acknowledged. My journey into Zen, and discovering that Jesuits priests were trained masters, opened me further into the question, "Who is God?" "Who is Jesus?" What does it mean to "be still and know that I am God?" I interpret that line from scripture to mean that I should be hesitant in imposing my limited human ideas about the universe and God. That I should be empty and open to the moment by moment revelation of God who knows no boundaries or limits. I think that to fall back into a comfort zone of what is familiar in one's faith journey is falling into a darkness born of delusions. It is a closing off of all that is possible in approaching the Divine. I look forward to your further reflections. Peace

This is a very interesting choice for getting to "taste religious experience." Did you study this religion before going or just "dive in" with no context? I am an alum of a large union of religious schools (seminaries, theological schools, etc) and this is the first I've learned of Osho meditation. I don't know anything about this meditation beyond what is presented in the above post, yet even with my limited knowledge I would argue there are many other means to gaining exposure to religious experience. Of course, religious experience is different for each person and for some Osho meditation is it. Yet I might suggest to your professor a more traditional form of meditation, worship, prayer, liturgy, retreat, etc. as a means to authentic engagement with religious experience from the " journalist's perspective." Osho seems like an extreme way to gain exposure...and it's also likely not what the typical religious person might define as religious experience. But then if your professor was going for the "outside the norm" experience - s/he nailed it. Osho looks like a bungee jump into religious experience rather than a curious wandering explorative search, and my style is much more the latter.

Hey Kristin -- yes, I knew what I was getting myself into! We practiced various forms of meditation as a component of the class (we focused on Hinduism, its many forms of practice and its sects/offshoots throughout the course), then spent ten days reporting in India, two of them at ashrams. I had read about this kind of meditation and was looking forward to trying it, actually, and was floored when I reacted the way I did. A few of my colleagues really enjoyed it, though, so I hope readers won't discount it -- it just really wasn't for me! Thanks very much for reading.

This practice looks like it could be quite effective for some people, yet highly unskilled means for others. I know from experience that this kind of forced enlivening would completely shut me down. If you are insecurely attached or have significant trauma in your life, this is a sure fire way to put you in a fight, flee or freeze scenario - it's potentially retraumatizing on the limbic level. People who've suffered abuse should stay clear of something like this - there are far more compassionate means available.

Rosalie, my Internet name is JESUSJAY, The Spiritual Journalist, a title given to me by a Columbia University Ph.D. who interviewed me for her show in Queretaro Mexico two years ago.

I am in no way a former spiritual journalist like Krista is but I can assure you that there are many paths to Self-Realization that do not involve what Osho teaches.

I have many books by him including The Book of Secrets. He was amazingly brilliant but he also was involved in other things that let him get in trouble with the INS.

Raised as a Catholic and given a double name Jesus, and also coincidently born on the same day of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and Swami Vivekananda, I can tell you that I have discovered the teachings of beloved master Paramahansa Yogananda, the authentic Self-Realization teacher.

Read Autobiography of a Yogi, and you will know what I mean.

Currently, I am a student of Self- Realization Fellowship and when you compare how much money those teachings cost compared to Osho's retreat or even Dr. Deepak Chopra's retreat whom I visited in 2012, I am telling you, there's nothing compared to Yogananda's organization.

Top Blog Posts

At our darkest hours, when light fails to find a home, a path of buttercups may lead us back. Parker Palmer offers up thoughts and a Willow Harth poem for many of us caught "underground."
With the dulcet tones of the Copenhagen Phil, commuters find a moment of unexpected musical joy in this flash mob scene. You will too.
A confluence of sources show kindred minds meet for the first time. How Thoreau's quote went viral. Millennials don't do and sage advice from Maya Angelou.
What if it turns out that faith is truly existential, not a leap of faith but a reality already there for us to notice and accept? A meditation and a poem on the suffering of Job.
A worthy week filled with viral videos that will make you rethink your use of language and make you smile, and posts about a writer's prayer journal and a poem from Rumi that will inspire you.
apples