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I considered myself sensible and fairly even-tempered. One afternoon, while sitting in my quirky New York kitchen near the Fillmore East—then a hub of sex, drugs, and rock music—I was reading a book on Eastern mysticism. I remember asking a friend, “Why is this called mystical?” It all struck me as practical and logical. As someone with a modern, skeptical outlook who viewed religion as the “opium of the people,” I was astonished to encounter ancient spiritual teachings that simply said: this is what we believe—try it for yourself and see if it works. There was no demand for blind faith, no reliance on elaborate myths, and no promise of rewards in the afterlife.

I raced through Manhattan searching for a copy of the Bhagavad Gita (surprisingly difficult to find), tracked down a yoga studio (also rare at the time), and learned Transcendental Meditation as the Beatles had—though independently of them. I went on to teach the practice for several years. These experiences transformed my life in deeply positive ways, and ever since, I have made a sustained effort to balance my spiritual values with the responsibilities and enjoyments of everyday life.