A Fork in the Road: Leaving the Adi Da Community
Ed Reither
Spring, 1986
It was midnight when I received an unexpected phone call urging me to come down to the Danda. The “men” summoned me to the headquarters of Adidam for what they called “consideration.” I had no idea why I was being called or what awaited me. Adi Da (Da Love Ananda) had recently returned to the United States from Fiji, and the entire community was in a frenzy preparing for his arrival. Yet, I didn’t understand what this had to do with my “practice”—or lack thereof.
I got out of bed, dressed quickly, and made my way to the Danda for the meeting. When I entered the room on the second floor, I found a group of 10 to 15 men sitting around a table, some familiar, others known only by their roles in the community. They asked me to sit at one end of the table and casually inquired, “What’s up?”
I didn’t know what they were “after” or why I was there. I had participated in many “reality considerations” before, where the group’s purpose was to confront an individual and expose their “contraction” or “egoic” behavior. It was a form of psychological probing, common in those times, especially for those of us raised in the ’60s and ’70s and involved in spiritual or psychological groups.
However, this situation was different. I had no idea how to respond to this bizarre confrontation. Feeling both confused and out of place, I decided to answer honestly, aware that any defensiveness would be viewed as suspicious. This wasn’t just a typical “group encounter”; it felt like an absurd and surreal interrogation. I could have confessed to minor “sins” to appease them, but the “charges” seemed trivial. I soon realized the true insanity of the meeting.
The incident that had triggered this meeting was finally revealed. Earlier that afternoon, after school (I was a teacher in the community school), all the teachers and administrators had gathered to discuss preparations for a potential visit from Da Love-Ananda. The meeting was frantic and chaotic. Observing the hysteria, I had simply said, “I think we should do this with some equanimity.” That was all I said. No one reacted at the time, but it led to the midnight call.
As the meeting progressed, the tension in the room escalated. I became increasingly infuriated by the absurdity of the “charges,” and they grew frustrated with my refusal to “break down.” I was acutely aware of the group pressure to conform to the dominant psyche. Despite the temptation to give in, something profound was happening within me. This was a crisis of reality, a moment of transformation. I realized I was in the wrong place—not just physically, but in my life as well. This was a moment of transition, and I knew my time in the community was over.
The meeting ended in a stalemate. I stood firm in my beliefs, while the others remained on the opposite side. Finally, someone suggested, “Let’s call it a night.” There was no resolution, no outcome—just a standoff with no winners or losers.
In the grand scheme, the group dismissed the significance of the incident, perhaps thinking I’d be demoted in my practice or lose some privileges. But for me, this was a defining moment. I could no longer remain in a group where such absurdities were considered normal. If I hadn’t trusted my convictions, I could have easily been swayed by the group, as many others, without strong convictions, likely were.
When I left that room, I knew I would quit my teaching job and leave the formal gathering. The next day, I informed the principal, who had been present at the meeting, of my decision. He was shocked and tried to convince me otherwise, but my mind was made up. My decision was clear and unwavering. I felt no anger toward anyone; the situation had revealed its truth, and that was enough. It wasn’t personal—it was simply a necessary step in my life’s journey, as other transitions had been before.
I left on good terms with my friends, though no one, including my wife, who was deeply involved in the community’s practices, could fully understand my decision. They accepted it as part of the flow of things.
This marked the beginning of many changes—for both me and the community. Adi Da’s Divine Emergence was underway, but I was moving on. The experience taught me the importance of following my intuition and standing firm in my convictions, regardless of group consensus. I urge others to do the same: trust your inner voice, and don’t be swayed by the pressures of the crowd.
Ed Reither, September 1986.