Did I ever tell you about the day I dropped out of MIU?

It’s not MIU now, of course. It’s MUM, short for Maharishi University of Management (which is completely absurd as roos can barely ‘manage’ to drive from Annapurna dining hall to the Golden Domes of Pure Knowledge without killing dogs and children in the street with their beat up old ugly cars, but there it is).

I majored in Literature. I was taking ‘The Transcendentalists: American Literature in the Eighteen Hundreds’ or something similar, with this amazing little mini-prof named Dr. Setzer. I was pulling something comfortably above a 3.5 GPA. I was the darling in most of my classes, and teachers and co-students alike appeared to love me.

My pod room in The Candy Shop was cool-looking, and I had a hotplate and a little fridge, and my room was situated early enough in the HVAC loop that I got heat and air, but late enough that I didn’t get too much of either and freeze or dry up – something of a major coup in dorm life.

I sang in a band, which in a town this size made me a rock star. I laid any boy I wanted and was proud of that (as I still hadn’t figured out that women, not men, decide who gets laid. I’m a late bloomer, what can I say).

I had ample student loans to cover the outrageous amounts of tuition, room, and board MIU charges, and was paying those bastards good money for the whole experience.

But I didn’t go to group program.

One day after a great class (there’s really a lot to be said about small classes and the block system), Mrs. Setzer asked me and another student to stay after, and we did. And two administrators arrived and arranged chairs so that two were in the middle of the room, about six feet apart, and three were facing them about ten feet away.

(Yes, it was JUST THAT WEIRD. Grown women rearranged a classroom’s furniture late one afternoon, specifically to make two young women uncomfortable.)

The administrators sat on either side of Susan, flanking her, and began a mini-inquisition on myself and the red-headed girl (whose name I no longer remember) sitting next to me.

The topic was program attendance. The goal was not only to get us to agree to pass program, but to feel utterly shitty and horrible for having failed to pass program attendance thus far. Ideally we’d be so full of self-loathing and feelings of worthlessness that we’d abandon ourselves totally to “the routine,” and never have another original thought again.

After making the red-headed girl sob with guilt and remorse and promise “to try to do better,” the Admins turned on me.

“Michelle,” said one of the administrators, “don’t you realize how fundamental Research in Consciousness is to your education at Maharishi International University? It’s–”

“It’s the foundation of all learning!” piped the other one.

“It is important,” Susan agreed, hesitantly.

“I can’t pass program,” I said.

“Why?” asked Admin #1, breathlessly. “Are you having difficulty with your meditation?”

(This was a cue for me to say that yes, I was having problems with my program, at which point they would have either offered to check my meditation right there on the spot, or sent me off to the Capital for a full series of checking. Problem solved… until next time. But I wasn’t having problems with my meditation, and I just didn’t feel like catering to their stupid bullshit that afternoon.)

“No. My program’s fine. I don’t pass program because I have a job.”

“Students are encouraged to keep their off-campus commitments to a minimum, so that they can dive deep into the routine and reap the benefits of blissful–”

“I have credit card debt. I have bills from before I moved here. I have to buy feminine hygiene products and toothpaste every month. I can’t accomplish all that without an income, so I have a job. The closest job I could get, since I don’t have a car, is at Fairfield Market – and they hired me specifically to work through evening program.

“In fact, I applied for permission to skip program, but it was denied,” I added.

Admin #1 shook her head with that kind of condescending pseudo-kindness you only find in truly gifted two-faced zealots, and said in her soft baby-talk voice that surely some other arrangement could be reached; that I had to bring up my RC grade to remain in school.

“Remain in school?” I asked, startled for the first time since the meeting began. “What do you mean?”

Admin #2 said, “All students are required to pass program. You have been failing to do so. If you don’t pass program this term, you’ll be suspended… or expelled.”

“You’ve positively got to be kidding me,” I said.

“It’s required, Michelle,” offered Susan.

“Yes, but I can’t meet the requirement. And I’m pulling a killer GPA. This is, after all, college.”

“But you have to.” “It’s for your own good,” chorused the Admins.

“You’re not listening, ladies,” I said, pissed off, but… weirdly calm. “I have to have a job. Therefore, I cannot pass RC. Furthermore, I have never passed RC regularly the entire four years I’ve lived and worked on campus.

“I am an exemplary student, my GPA is high, and I pay you thousands and thousands of dollars for an education here and for room and board I do not want to buy just to meet the University’s insane policies.

“I work through evening program four nights a week. The other three, I go to program. I miss morning program because – hello – I’m up late working. But I wake up and meditate more often than not. And I live less than a thousand yards from the dome; you cannot expect me to believe that when I sit in my dorm room and do morning meditation that I am not contributing to Super Radiance.”

“Michelle, Michelle,” soothed Admin #1, “I can tell you’re getting upset–”

“Upset?” I asked, suddenly cold. “Actually, I’m not. You’ve just threatened to expell me for not passing a course I have never passed and which I am unable to pass, and expulsion goes on one’s permanent academic record–”

“A negative attitude won’t help us solve this problem–” Admin #2 offered.

“Tell you what. I’m going over to 402 right now and drop out,” I said. “Problem solved.”

“Michelle!” gasped Susan.

“You can’t!” exclaimed the Admins.

“I’ve had it with this place, and people like you,” I said, standing up and slinging my lit major book bag over my shoulder. “You’re awful people. You made this girl cry, when a simple letter to her student box would have sufficied.”

“Dropping out is extreme—”

“We can tell you’re feeling angry–”

“You can’t drop out!”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “Just watch me.”

And I left the room and walked over to 402 and I withdrew from school right then and there. It was fucking awesome, even if it did make Susan Setzer cry.

GLOSSARY

MIU – Maharishi International University, where they teach TM
TM – Transcendental Mediation
ROOS – short for “gurus,” means “meditator” (as opposed to “townie”)
POD – a dorm (round building with 15 dorm rooms on each of two floors)
GROUP PROGRAM – Group meditation, similar to chapel in a Christian school: required, graded spirituality
THE ROUTINE – a whole bevvy of behaviors running the gamut from simply sitting and doing TM to yoga, diet, schedule, self-massage, herbal remedies, and carrying around a thermos of hot water all the time
RC – research in consciousness, aka “program” or “meditation” or “going to the dome”