Chopra puts the tee in spirituality

To find out more, I recently visited Chopra headquarters in Carlsbad to play a few holes with the Lord of Links himself. Dubbed ‘‘the poet-prophet of alternative medicine’’ by Time, the 56-year-old physician boasts legions of devotees — from Mikhail Gorbachev and Bill Clinton to Madonna and Michael Jackson. He’s such a superstar, the story goes, that a London fan once interrupted him dining out with companions and said, ‘‘I hope your friends don’t mind, but could I get your autograph?’’ After obtaining the signature, the fan left and Chopra resumed talking with his friends — George Harrison and Ringo Starr.

Before teeing up in Carlsbad, I stepped into the lobby gift shop of Chopra’s two-story training centre, where the smell of smouldering incense wafts past Hindu statues, bottles of massage oil, ‘‘Eternal Om’’ CDs and boxes of Three Spices Sinus Complex tablets. From there, it was a short walk to the clubhouse. Chopra, wearing charcoal slacks, a black polo shirt and a leather newsboy cap, arrived aboard a gleaming golf cart.

Right away, it seemed like a mismatch. Although Chopra learned the sport just 14 months ago, he plays every day and uses custom clubs. I hadn’t golfed in nine years and my so-called clubs, which I found at a garage sale, cost less than the box of golf balls I bought for the day. If golf is a metaphor for one’s spiritual health, I was in serious trouble. And maybe Chopra needed a soul tune-up too.

Golf, he writes, ‘‘has the ability to bring out the truth about a person almost immediately. I know of corporations that won’t hire a CEO until he is taken out on the golf course to be observed, unknown to him, by a psychologist.

If that’s true, Chopra might not be the paragon of inner harmony and cosmic consciousness that followers of his best-selling books expect. In the gospel according to Chopra, there are seven commandments for the game of golf — and life.

The first is to become one with the ball. After placing the ball on the tee, Chopra silently talks to it. ‘‘I nourish my relationship with the ball by saying, ‘You’re part of me … When you soar, I will soar with you’.’’ I give Chopra’s method a whirl. Good morning, Mr Ball. I want you to fly like an eagle, off the tee. Fly like an eagle, let your spirit carry me.

Unfortunately, my dimpled white companion either doesn’t understand english or doesn’t like the Steve Miller Band. On my first swing, the ball travels a mere 20 yards. Chopra’s ball, in contrast, is much more spiritually attuned. It sails toward the green.

Between holes, Chopra elaborates on his theories about golf and life, quoting assorted Hindu holy men and PGA pros. When I ask about being one with the ball, he says people can become one with anything: ‘‘If you’re in unity consciousness, the whole world is animated to you.’’ Which raises an important strategy question: Is it possible to become one with your opponent and mess up his shots? ‘‘You wouldn’t want to do that,’’ Chopra says. Actually, yes, I would. ‘‘It’s not about winning,’’ he insists. ‘‘That’s the problem with our world. As an ancient Hindu proverb said, ‘There’s no point to proving your superiority over another person, but a lot to be gained by being superior to your former self.’ ’’

Nevertheless, on the second hole, Chopra can’t resist ribbing me about the superiority of his latest shot. ‘‘If we were betting, I’d be up a point because I landed on the green,’’ he says. Not quite. What Chopra didn’t see is that after his ball hit the green, it bounced off into a sand trap. When I tell him, he is dismayed. Chuckling to myself, I grab an iron and take my next shot. Naturally, it lands in the middle of a sand trap. Talk about bad karma.

Chopra’s second commandment is, ‘‘Let the swing happen.’’ The idea is to ‘‘do less and accomplish more.’’ On the third hole, after one of my shots hit a tree, I ask him for advice.

‘‘Pretend on your backswing that you’re handing your club to a person behind you,’’ he coaches. I’m not quite sure what he means, but it works. My next stroke is a beauty. ‘‘That was a great shot,’’ Chopra says. ‘‘You handed the club off and you were so relaxed.’’ Sadly, I also must have handed off my luck, because the rest of my shots, to borrow a phrase from Chopra’s book, ‘‘jump up like wounded ducks.’’

However, Chopra’s game also takes a strange turn. After hitting into a stand of trees, he blasts his next shot to the edge of the green.

‘‘Play from your heart to the hole’’ is Commandment No 4. According to him, each person has two bodies: the physical one and the sukshma sharira, or ‘‘subtle’’ body, which exists ‘‘at the periphery of every cell and fibre’’ and never ages.

‘‘If I ask you to close your eyes and visualise yourself walking through every room in your house, it’s your subtle body that does it,’’ he writes. Although I’m pretty sure my subtle body is more interested in dating Bridget Fonda than walking through every room in my house, I try Chopra’s technique.

On the drive back, we return to his theory that a person’s golf game reveals his character and karma. Or, as Chopra phrases it in the book: ‘‘The ball knows everything.’’ So, what does it mean that I kept topping the ball, I ask. Are my chakras blocked? Do I need to go to confession? No, he says. ‘‘It’s just that your stance was wrong. You stood too far behind the ball.’’ And what did the game reveal about Chopra? A couple of things. First, despite his reputation as a master of Eastern mysticism and mind-body medicine, he’s as human as the rest of us. But, Chopra is a shrewd marketer. ‘‘My book isn’t really about golf,’’ he confided. ‘‘The title just gets you in the door. Once you’re in the door, it’s about something else — spirituality.’’ So, did I feel more spiritual after playing? Not really, but my golf ball and I have developed a deep and meaningful relationship. (LAT-WP)