Guruji was like a fountain that was constantly turned on, his presence in a room was the pulse of peace and his smile gave the reminder that some dimension of his being hasn't forgotten youthfulness. Though his health was a serious issue while I was in Mysore he seemed to accept the inevitability of death with a fearlessness. I always saw him with great posture, a glow to his skin and as the reality of his fading life was known by all at the shala he stayed calm. He had difficulty walking from his office to the stage but his spirit never wavered, he had something that an aging body could only fight to hold on to and it was easy to see as he would sit in his chair before the students of Mysore that all he wanted to be was a yogi and that he was in a beautiful way. I was lucky to have spent time in his shala, touch his feet, and simply watch him be who he was, a humble student of yoga.
Stan wrote me the morning I learned of Pattabhi Jois' passing saying, when the fruit ripens and falls from the tree there is little sadness. Though the absence of Guruji's body may bring tears to eyes around the world you can't help but be amazed that one man from Southern India has given the world so much through the greatness of yoga and that his practice was ripe when he left his body.
