If I didn't hate Deepak Chopra before watching, "Decoding Deepak," I have all the ammunition for a lifetime now. The documentary, made by his own son, which offers itself as a glimpse into the inconsistencies of his father's lifestyle vs his teachings, ends up as nothing more than apologetics, aimed at removing some of the spoiled rich guilt from the son, and making every excuse possible of why Deepak says one thing, does another thing, and the great secret to his spiritual teachings is nothing less than network with the wealthy and famous, dumb down ancient wisdom until it lacks all transformative power, offer yourself as a champion of the spiritual seeker while collecting their tolls and fairs along the way, and smiling about your wealth and empire, your vast Indian legacy, while doing jack shit about the conditions in India, the conditions in any location he exploits for his own gain, but does nothing to remedy.
Just when you think you can dislike someone more, they show you just how deep that vacuous tunnel goes. He's just one more link in the chain of what has happened to Yoga over the last 50 years, to make it a sickened shadow of corporate and pop culture America, cashed in for sexual celebrates, chic studio celibates, trendy manufacturers, the at-the-moment thin and young and shallow. It makes me wonder all-the-more, "where is real Yoga hiding today?"
Perhaps the Deepaks and Mastin Kips and Jois family and Back Bay Yogas of the world serve one important purpose: obscure Yoga's true body and spirit, so the sincere seeker will still have to seek hard, pay for it's true initiation. Sometimes, the degradation serves a higher purpose: behind the tourist-driven ruins, lays the garden of eternal wonders.
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