In contrast to these full-time spiritual guides, I only seem to be able to rise to the occasion on a part-time basis. By "spiritual teacher," in my case, I mean that I periodically co-lead seven-day silent meditation retreats, and also intermittently teach the 5 Rhythms™ movement practice developed by Gabrielle Roth, which is a physically-based, meditation-in-motion that guides the practitioner toward wholeness and healing, and toward the naked recognition of the truth of their being. Not, as Gabrielle has said, the "Truth" with a capital "T," but the more intimate, ever-changing personal truth of exactly what is real and actually occurring for each of us in each moment. And that truth is certainly not always rosy and ecstatic, but includes the wide human range of joys and sorrows, anger and delight, fear and courage, unbearable cosmic despair and beatific Divine inspiration.

Thus, at a recent class I was teaching, I heard the following statement come out of my mouth, as a disclaimer of sorts: "Fortunately, teaching this (5 Rhythms) practice does not require me to be happy; it only requires me to be real." For my reality, that night, and for some weeks previous, had been a tough internal ride through an all-too-familiar zone of some very difficult mental/emotional states, dealing with an unreliable brain chemistry that often responds rather unimpressively to pharmacological attempts at intervention, though God knows I continue to mess around with all of the pills, supplements and herbs.

This is an extremely tricky position for a supposedly "spiritual" teacher to be in. For when we attend a class with someone, don't we naturally look to them to see evidence of the fruits of the practice they are promising will be helpful? And what do we ordinarily imagine that evidence should look like? For myself, I want to see my spiritual teachers exhibiting nothing short of radiant joy and a certain peaceful ease, at home in their own skin. While I have surely tasted many such exquisite moments on my rocky road to quasi-enlightenment, if I am to be honest, I have spent at least equal time, or more, feeling like the space inside my skin is not so much a place of home and refuge as it is a dingy tenement with no heat or running water; plus, I'm way overdue on the rent, and the landlord is a real bastard.

Thankfully, my personal tour of Dante's playground

lifted a few weeks ago while being a student of the very practice that I teach, which is surely the number one requirement for us regular, human-sized teachers: that if we are to grow as effective leaders, we need to be equally willing to surrender that position and be a student and follower as well, to be forever and continuously learning and deepening the very qualities and insights we are attempting to transmit to others. (I had an older German woman in one of my groups recently—non-Jewish—and she had difficulty with this aspect of the 5 Rhythms teaching, which is physically demonstrated by simply following another's movements across the dance floor. For she, obviously, had seen first-hand and up close the dark, shadow side of such tribal movements in her own country. But as I pointed out to her, Hitler never let anyone else take a turn in front of the group! Adolph had control issues, and hence exhibited not the true leadership of one who can also follow, but rather, blind authority.)

The particular workshop I was attending was Part 4 of five sessions taking place over the course of two years with the same group of people. With the passing of time together in an intimate environment, a sense of familiarity, safety and trust had begun to permeate the atmosphere, and those conditions somehow allowed for me to experience a spontaneous melt-down, a 20-30 minute period of heart-ripping sobs, releasing a long-suppressed, deeply-held grief that was both personal and universal. That is, I was weeping for my aging parents and my own missed chances, and I grieved also for the great sufferings of so many beings everywhere. (I've always found it curious that when people refer to the Buddha's "smile of unbearable compassion," they tend to dwell on the compassionate piece,

 and gloss over the "unbearable" part. To hold both of those in one breath is, I believe, our spiritual challenge. As Andrew Boyd writes in Daily Afflictions, "I am One with the Universe, and it hurts." )

And yes, it certainly is inspirational to be around "real" full-time teachers, and be reminded that it is possible for we humans to evolve to a less problematic and even deeply restful place within our own consciousness, independent and free of the "buffeting winds of change" that ordinarily toss us to and fro on the emotional spectrum. But those folks are rare, and because they are rare, they tend to be surrounded by hundreds or more often thousands and in some cases millions of people, making it hard to have a very intimate mentor-student relationship with them. And at some point, "finding the Guru in your own heart" doesn't quite cut it and becomes mere spiritual fantasy; we tend to turn such Masters into a perfect parent protecting and guiding us according to our own imagination and desires.

While visiting Sai Baba's ashram in India, for example, there were 20,000 of us, a mere handful compared to the two million devotees who had just been there for Baba's birthday celebration.

 Apart from the ubiquitous "Sai Baba within," the most intimate contact anyone had with their Guru was waving to him as he flew overhead in a helicopter! Yet meanwhile, I kept hearing his followers attribute every event of their life to him in an extraordinary display of mass magical thinking, as in: "Baba gave me dysentery, He's cleaning me out." Or, "Baba made the light turn green so I could make it back to the ashram and get to meditation on time." We make the Guru who we want him to be and continue on our merry way, never directly challenged to actually change.

Along the way, therefore, we are left to seek out teachers who are both accessible and much closer to our own level, who are not super-human by a long shot, and yet still have something deeply meaningful to offer us from their very ordinary, human position; if, that is, they can embrace that humanity in all its flaws and glory and have the courage to present it to the rest of us just as it is; in other words, to be simply themselves, for better or worse; to be authentic and truthful; whether happy or not, to at least be real.

Find yourself one of those.