At a recent book club meeting where my book, The Orange Robe, was the topic of discussion, one of the participants mentioned she thought the uniform I once wore was similar to those worn in the military—not that the two uniforms looked similar in any way (picture a soldier in flowing orange robes and an orange veil – now there’s an image!)—but that they served a similar purpose, giving the wearer a strong sense of identity and belonging. Her point was well taken, reminding me that I had often contemplated the surprising similarities between two roles seemingly on opposite ends of a spectrum—that of a spiritual teacher who teaches meditation and dispenses spiritual wisdom and that of a member of the military who often has to seek out and kill “the enemy.” In particular, the struggles both experience after leaving these roles can be remarkably similar.

For one thing, the returning nun or soldier experiences the loss of a ready-made identity, symbolized by that uniform. Suddenly, you’re back in the everyday world, wearing “civvies”—civilian dress. Now you look just like everyone else. Now you’re no longer special. You’re just an everyday person expected to do everyday things.

Closely related to the loss of the feeling of being special is the loss of a sense of mission. A strong sense of mission is vitally important to both roles. Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, as Ananda Marga nuns and monks went about teaching meditation and starting schools and other such projects, many were convinced that the organization was going to change the world. What a heady sense of mission we felt in those early days! Even for those of us who hadn’t believed in the “save the world” thing, there was still the sense of a spiritual mission, of turning people on to the spiritual life and giving them a way of achieving enlightenment. Members of the military have a similarly strong sense of mission and feel called to serve their country. Even if some harbor doubts about the mission they are given (it’s hard to imagine that none doubted the idea that the Iraqis were going to embrace us as saviors and harbingers of democracy once Saddam Hussein was gone), they must bury such reservations deep down in order to get the job done—and to survive.

This strong sense of mission is closely linked to identifying with the group as a family. Ananda Marga was mine for close to twenty years, and leaving that family, however dysfunctional it was and however necessary it was to leave it, proved traumatic. It can be even more so for the soldier who returns to civilian life. The men and women with whom and for whom the serviceman risked his life will forever have a special place in his heart. Some returning military members feel that their real families—their spouses, children, and other relatives—cannot understand what they have been through. The book Thank You For Your Service, by David Finkel, focuses on struggles returning service members face. In its recent review of the book, The New York Times Book Review put it this way: “Home . . . is a world dominated by an elemental loneliness. Removed from the bonds of their unit—severed from the love of comrades that Finkel calls “the truth of war”—each soldier navigates the postwar on his own: “It is such a lonely life, this life afterward.” “ (Wow! What a perfect description of what I felt upon leaving my Ananda Marga family and returning home!) Indeed, faced with this feeling of loneliness, some soldiers end up re-enlisting precisely to return to the comrades who understand them, and who have become more like family than their own flesh and blood.

And then there’s the sense of being at a loss value-wise after returning. Many of those who leave their families and countries to become Ananda Marga teachers do so when they are young, some barely out of their teens. More than a few are confused and seeking direction, and in Ananda Marga, they find conduct rules and a ready-made value system that provide it. So it was for me. I was 24 when I left home for training in India. When I left the organization 18 years later, it was as if I were an adolescent leaving home for the first time. Having accepted without question a belief system and having followed a strict set of rules for all those years, I was faced with figuring out what my own values and beliefs truly were. Similarly, the majority of those who join the military also do so at a very young age and find that the military gives them a strong value system along with its disciplined lifestyle and code of behavior. Leaving all that behind can result in the same difficulty—that of sorting out what ones values and beliefs are separate from the group—that leaving Ananda Marga caused me.

These are just a few of the points in common. Of course, there are some differences. For one, most of us in Ananda Marga never had to risk our lives (though I almost got shot for meditating in the no-man’s land between Greek and Turkish Cyprus way back when, and some didis and dadas (nuns and monks) did end up dead for one reason or another), while many in the military risk theirs on an almost daily basis. And while a sizable number of those returning from the military have grievous physical wounds as well as psychological ones to deal with, those of us returning from groups like Ananda Marga only have the psychological kind. Still, the remarkable similarities do deserve a closer and more detailed investigation, perhaps as a book. I have my own life as an Ananda Marga teacher to tap for material, and I know some other ex-nuns and monks who would be willing to be interviewed. Anyone know some ex-servicemen or women who would be as well? If so, please contact me!