My Sojourn with Subud

by Gareth Loy, Subud California at Marin

We’d had a brief adolescent romantic fling, but she explained that she was presently living with her boyfriend while she finished college. We agreed that I’d come to their apartment that Friday evening to meet him and renew our acquaintance.

I was born a Methodist preacher’s kid, yet despite this unpromising beginning I had demonstrated an early and earnest interest in religion and spirituality — which I suppose explains the Methodist summer camp studying theology and the above-mentioned class in world religions. She was the daughter of a mathematics professor — also not so promising a beginning, but her clever, energetic, and quixotic free spirit had attracted me. Yet this latest phase of our relationship would turn out even wilder and more interesting than the first.

I will skip over most of it, except to note that the era was the mid 1960’s, and the location was the Haight-Ashbury… need I say more? But the most enduring outcome of that renewed friendship came when she disclosed to me that she’d joined an Indonesian spiritual organization that she thought I might be interested in. She said they met two evenings a week in an upstairs room they rented at California Hall on Polk Street, and I could come along with her, sit outside in the adjoining cloakroom, and listen to their goings-on if I were interested. Captivated by this exotic mystery, I quickly agreed.

Of course you probably have a good idea of what I heard at California Hall the night I went. To me, the sounds coming through the walls testified to a deep, intimate expression of intense spiritual devotion moving freely and directly among the participants. It lit me on fire: I realized that here at last was a way I might break through the thick crust that seemed to cover over and block access to my deepest self. Of course I’d had glimpses — weeks at a time of spiritually elevated states in adolescence that would come and then steal away as mysteriously as they’d arrived. And of course the Haight-Ashbury had taught me the hard way what we all now know about getting high: it’s like a tourist visa to paradise — but it expires, and when you inevitably come down again you are not necessarily better off. But I’d just been introduced to a practice that could seemingly invoke those same depths at will! I had to join.

My three months applicant period flew effortlessly by and I was then ushered into the room with the rest in order to be “opened”. But opening up was not easy. When I eventually began to feel movement I questioned it wondering, “Am I just making this up?” Fortunately, the answer came immediately: “Yes, you are just making this up. And what you uncover in the process is your true Self. And this action is called worship.” So I surrendered to what moved in me, and, for my diligence, was eventually ushered into an inner sanctum of serenity and insight.

I was shell-shocked and culture-shocked when I returned home from the Peace Corps. I was physically and emotionally demolished by what I’d lived through, yet I still faced the prospect of the Draft and Vietnam. I had no vision for my life beyond surviving. So I threw myself into the Latihan with a kind of fevered desperation, looking for healing and a sense of direction. Eventually, I found I had everything I needed to face and overcome these obstacles and find my true purpose. 

I continued practicing the Latihan faithfully, lived in a Subud house near the Panhandle, studied Subud literature, and diligently attended all events where Bapak spoke in California. In fact, when he came to San Francisco I recorded his talks on tape and mailed them to Indonesia. I remember touring the building Marin Subud eventually bought, and I remember testing with them the prospect of assuming the administration of a Nature Conservancy property somewhere near Sears Point. Sometime after Marin Subud split off from San Francisco, I moved to Fairfax and practiced for a while in Marin.

Later I practiced Latihan in Palo Alto while I pursued a doctorate in music at Stanford. But I stopped when the university where I’d been hired to teach had no Subud center nearby, and the demands of family and career took over.

That was about 40 years ago. Countless times I’ve driven past the Marin Subud sign and felt a familiar tug. I promised myself I would find my way back in retirement — which I achieved only just last month. Of course there is much more to tell. If you would like to hear some of my music, below is a recent commission piece I wrote for viola and ‘cello.

Note: this post was originally published in the Marin Center newsletter from May 2021.