I'M NOT SURE I can capture in words the mystery and promise of my initiation. First, as a reader, you must try to sense the expectation of it all. The Maharishi's number one American disciple, Jerry Jarvis, has told us in a preparatory lecture that Transcendental Meditation embodies a simple, mechanical technique, that it never fails, and that its fruits are tangible as well as spiritual.

When I arrived at my place of initiation, then, my heart was beating fast and I expected wonderful things to happen to me. I removed my shoes at the entrance of the house, as I was told. When the assistant, with her secret, joyous smile, motioned me upstairs, I followed her wordlessly up and into a small bare room, where I was to wait.

There were two people there who had arrived before me. I supposed they were a boy and girl living together, if not a man and wife. The boy and I sat on two wooden chairs, while the girl hunched on a neatly-made bed--the only other piece of furniture. We sat smiling uncertainly and a little embarrassedly at each other. Then she was called out of the room, and after a long interval, so was he.

A lot of time went by, but I wasn't impatient. Quietly excited, though. Resting in the wicker basket the assistant had given me were my two oranges, clean handkerchief, and six flowers--all necessary for the ceremony. I began to fear that my flowers might wilt, but then the joyous assistant came softly to me, and whispered that I should follow her.

She left me at the entrance of a darkened room, I walked in. Jerry Jarvis was there seated in a chair, and I took the place next to him. As I watched, mute and fascinated, Jerry offered a short ceremony in thanks giving to Guru Dev, Maharishi's teacher. Then abruptly he knelt down, and motioned me to do the same. There was perfect silence. I felt numb and a little scared--what was about to happen? Then, suddenly, Jerry gave me my mantra--the sound on which I was to meditate thereafter--the essence of transcendental meditation. Although mantras are usually chanted aloud in India, meditators here are forbidden to utter theirs. I repeated it after him, until he told me to begin thinking it.

One Crumpled Flower

Thus, in scant outline, my initiation. Dazed, swept through with wonder, I walked down the stairs and outside. In waning February sunlight, with a fierce wind blowing, I shook my head and looked down at my hand. I had been left with a wet handkerchief, one crumpled flower, and a repast--one of my two oranges.

As I remember it, that beginning seemed so very exalting. I remember complimenting myself for having talked the Crimson into paying my $35 donation. When I had first thought of trying meditation, I was very interested, hopeful, and destitute. But the Crimson liked the idea of an article on my experiences and conclusions about the technique. And I was pretty convinced that my story would be favorable, though of course I had some questions and doubts even then.

I have been mediating ever since, 30 minutes each morning, and 30 minutes each night. It's been easy to do--I sit in a darkened room, close my eyes, and let thoughts make their way through my mind. And when it comes, I think my mantra.

SO I HAVE been very faithful to the technique. As weeks went by, and nothing happened, I became a little restless and doubtful. My newspaperman's cynicism began infecting my hopes. But that didn't distract me, because Jerry Jarvis has repeatedly emphasized that no amount of doubt or resistance can thwart meditation--it is a mechanical process, right? But as time wore on, and I met other people who had stopped meditating, or weren't noticing any change, I began learning certain truths about Transcendental Meditation as a practice and as a movement. Now, after three and a half months, I still cannot detect any effects of meditation.

Of course, many people do. One student in Kirkland House, who took a relatively long time, a "good month," until he sensed a difference, says that "My ability to perceive--visually and psychologically -- has increased immensely. So have my powers of concentration. I can grasp and organize concepts much better; in three hours, I can write a paper that used to take twelve."

Reactions and experiences differ among meditators. A Claverly student thinks the process "is a good thing, though I don't get any spectacular results. I don't even meditate every day, but it relaxes me at times. I have small expectations and I'm satisfied."

Back to Pot

It's undoubtedly true that maybe three-fourths of those who pay their $35 and spend an hour a day meditating are content--and often ecstatic--over the happenings. But there remains the growing number who don't find enough in meditation to continue it. One student admits that "For me, the process is tedious, and I got no response. I think meditation is a sporadic thing, anyway. The meditators I know drift in and out, go back to pot, and then try to combine the two."

To officers of the Student's International Meditation Society, which is Maharishi's subsidiary for the spread of his ideas in universities, the "dropouts" officially don't exist. Spokesmen like Jerry Jarvis, head of SIMS's American branch, soothe their eager audiences with repeated assurances that meditation works for everyone, that nothing can go seriously wrong. In fact, every novice must attend lectures given on the three consecutive nights after his initiation, which supposedly are "advance instruction," allowing one to "refine" his technique. In fact, these "lectures" were question-and-answer periods, and gave me my first feelings of uneasiness about the movement.