I’ve been thinking about “Guru Culture.” And I wonder if you have, too. Because we're deep in it, as a collective.
In every direction there’s an expert. An authority. Someone claiming to know. Someone telling you who to be, what to think, what to do and what not to do.
Or someone teaching… while someone else passionately debunks that very teaching or teacher.
Of course, there's much to be learned from people who know things we don't. From people whose discoveries, experiences, and insights can illuminate something we haven't yet seen.
But somewhere along the way, something intriguing can happen:
“Here's what I've discovered.”
Becomes...
“Here's how it works.”
Which becomes...
“Here's how YOU must do it.”
And just like that, a particular person's experience of reality becomes the presumed template for everyone else's.
The thing is...
A teacher is not a template.
Spell out the word G-U-R-U...
And you get: Gee... you are you.
Imagine that!
You are you. And so is the guru.
And let's face it, we all wear both hats within our lives. We're all teachers and students, whether we recognize ourselves as such or not.
I'm a big proponent of BEING YOURSELF.
Your true self.
Your authentic self.
And I'm not talking about some pristine, pure version of yourself who has remained untouched by life. I'm talking about the version of yourself that's been shaped by living, and who is still becoming. A self to be encountered, cultivated, and continually brought into being.
Which takes me deeper into this thread I've been contemplating lately.
I've been re-visiting Neville Goddard’s writings on the power of imagination. And I'm finding—as ever—his work to be genuinely illuminating. His emphasis on inhabiting the feeling of a desired reality as though it were already accomplished has given me much to consider.
But I’ve also noticed something else.
The passionate, fiery flame of desire he describes as necessary for manifesting isn't necessarily how I encounter possibility.
I could try to manufacture that intensity, and indeed in the past I have tried. I could follow his instructions more diligently, summon greater emotion, and wonder what I'm doing wrong when the prescribed experience doesn't arrive.
Or...
I could consider what his insights might look like when translated into my own unique way of being.
For me, that seems to involve something gentler, calmer.
Resonance and relief.
Resonance because what I'm imagining isn't something I've simply pulled out of thin air. The thing I’m trying to manifest has a meaningful relationship to who I am, what I value, what’s aligned, and what I genuinely wish to bring into being.
And relief because there's something wonderfully liberating about inhabiting a possibility as though it's already accomplished, even before there's evidence of it in the world.
That's my way of approaching the practice.
It need not be yours.
And that’s the point I’m making here.
How often do we encounter a teaching that genuinely speaks to us, only to find ourselves struggling to reproduce the teacher's particular way of putting it into practice?
And rather than questioning whether the method suits us, we question ourselves.
We try harder. We double down. We attempt to squeeze water from a rock.
Until eventually we're ready to declare ourselves official “F”-students in the art of manifesting, meditating, healing, creating, or whatever else we've been trying so faithfully to master.
When perhaps the difficulty isn't that we've failed to learn.
Perhaps we've mistaken the teacher for the template.
Of course, sometimes a method simply doesn't work, or isn’t right for us, and no amount of personal translation will make it so. That's worth recognizing, too.
But there is a world of difference between receiving a teaching and assuming we must become an embodiment—a replica—of the teacher's particular way of going about things.
And this works in both directions.
We ourselves can get so enthusiastic about whatever is currently making our spirit rise that we want it for everyone else.
We can discover something that changes our lives, and naturally we want to share it.
So sure, go ahead and plant seeds.
Be a catalyst.
An inspiration.
A source of insight and wisdom.
But there's no need to become a pusher of your particular way of doing and being.
No need to declare yourself the arbiter of all things right and true. No need to become an evangelist for your latest and greatest revelations.
What makes your spirit rise isn't necessarily going to be what makes someone else's spirit rise.
We each have our own particular circumstances, capacities, experiences, and things to discover or make of our lives.
We each have our own allotment. Our own dharma. Our own course of study in the school of life.
And it's rather unwise to assume that your lessons are necessarily the same as their lessons.
Or to conclude that because someone is encountering life—or a teaching—differently from you, they must be misguided or off the mark.
Indeed, there is something to be said for recognizing the limits of our own vantage point. And for being humble about the fact we are inevitably seeing through an interpretive lens.
We all look through a filter shaped by our particular experiences, circumstances, and conditioning. And we don't always recognize that we're looking through a filter.
We tend to feel we're seeing objectively, when we're seeing from a very particular angle that others may not even have access to, due to where they sit.
Mind you, neither should we discount—or apologize for, or let others make us wrong for—what our own particular vantage point allows us to see.
Because that counts for something, too.
And hence, we shouldn't too readily let others, gurus included, tell us how to see.
Yes, a teacher may absolutely know something you don't. But that does not automatically make their entire understanding of reality more authoritative than your own.
And for that matter, a student may have something to teach the teacher.
In fact, when we know how to listen (as Ram Dass astutely reminded us), almost anyone can become our teacher.
That is to say, we can encounter wisdom without adopting an entire worldview. We can appreciate someone's discoveries without making their methods our marching orders. We can learn from people whose priorities, perspectives, and ways of being are profoundly different from our own.
And we can share what we've discovered without requiring others to arrive at the same place, by the same route.
Because the purpose of learning is not, after all, to become more like the teacher.
It is rather to discover something we couldn't previously see from where we are standing.
So by all means, honor your discoveries. Celebrate your revelations. Take seriously your illuminations.
And leave room for others to discover what becomes possible from where they stand.
The teacher is not the template.
The teacher is a fellow human being. Just like you.
They are they.
And (gee)… you are you.
🗝️🌀
Love + Oneness,
Naomi
