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| Hagler doing his road work in Provincetown |
Vira Chandra: In January 1981, The New York Times published an article titled “Isolation Fuels Hagler’s Intent.” (https://www.nytimes.com/1981/01/16/sports/isolation-fuels-hagler-s-intent.html) Its subject, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, was at the height of his career — the undisputed middleweight boxing champion of the world, known for his relentless discipline, iron chin, and ability to fight with equal skill from either stance.
Reading that interview, I felt that the attitude he described — uncommon even among champions — was what made him not just great, but the best of the best. It was a mindset that stripped away glamour in favor of raw, disciplined reality. And beyond the world of boxing, it carried a significance that any mystic would recognize: the deliberate choice to withdraw, to guard the flame, to refuse the comfortable paths that lead most people to lose their edge.
The journalist found Hagler in the depths of his winter training camp at the Provincetown Inn in Massachusetts, a place he had made his base for four years. There, amid blizzards and sand dunes, Hagler prepared not just his body, but his mind.
"There's no women here," he said. "There's nothing but concentration. It's a beautiful spot to train: fresh air, beautiful scenery, and I got my sand dunes to run."
Hagler didn’t just train anywhere. He chose a place where the air was sharp, the scenery uncluttered, and the only visitors were wind, gulls, and his own shadow on the dunes. This is not so different from a seeker choosing to perform sādhanā near Arunachala or in the stillness of the Himalayas — places where nature itself carries a certain majesty, where the surrounding gunas help steady the mind rather than pull it apart.
In the highest understanding, there is no difference between Provincetown and Times Square, between a Himalayan cave and a Manhattan apartment. The whole universe is equally the body of the Devi; there is nowhere She is not. But this insight belongs to those already firmly established in the Self. For those still ripening, surroundings matter. The wrong environment tugs at unfinished desires and stirs up distractions before stillness has a chance to take root.
Annamalai Swami once encouraged a practitioner who was returning from Arunachala to Europe, saying: “You can be established in the Self anywhere; a child is not polluted even if it lives in bad surroundings.” This is true — and yet, like many truths in the inner life, it is also untrue. The child may remain untouched in essence, but it will still feel the weather of its environment. The wise do not pretend the storm is not there; they choose their place until their roots are deep enough to withstand any wind.
And he has his loneliness, a major part of his training regime. Loneliness is for rekindling the anger inside, the burning that not even the championship could douse. Loneliness is to remind him that, with the championship, there are new hurdles to overcome.
For Hagler, loneliness wasn’t an accident — it was part of the plan. That space away from the noise, from familiar voices, kept his edge alive. The “anger” he speaks of is not petty resentment, but the raw, unsatisfied energy that refuses to settle, even after the biggest victory. It’s the drive to keep pushing when others are already polishing their trophies.
In the spiritual life, there is a parallel. After a first breakthrough — a genuine moment of insight or awakening — it’s tempting to relax into the memory of it. The fire cools, the urgency fades, and slowly you begin to live off yesterday’s light. This is why many mystics, after tasting truth, step deliberately into aloneness. They know the first flash is not the end; the embers must be fed, or they will die out unnoticed — they need to guard the spark until it becomes a steady flame.
Ramana Maharshi often said that his state after awakening at 16 never changed — not in his first days at Arunachala, not decades later surrounded by crowds. Yet Devi seemed to arrange that his early years at the mountain were spent in almost total solitude. He himself had no need to “rekindle” anything, but for most seekers, the mind and senses are still easily stirred. His cave years became a silent teaching: while the Self is untouched everywhere, in the early stages solitude shields the flame from the winds until it can burn on its own.
"You're supposed to seclude yourself," he said in his room, a fire crackling inside and a blizzard raging outside. "All the great champions did the same. Rocky Marciano, Muhammad Ali up on his mountain at Deer Lake. They put themselves in jail. I put myself in jail.
The phrase “put themselves in jail” might sound harsh, but Hagler meant it as discipline chosen freely. A self-imposed prison is not a punishment; it is a safehouse for the mind. It strips away options, leaving only the work that matters.
Mystics understand this instinct deeply. Before realization is steady, freedom without boundaries is not freedom — it is exposure. The self-imposed “jail” of a retreat, an ashram, a cave, or a quiet room is not about hiding from life, but about guarding the clarity already won. It is a narrowing of the field so the gaze can rest fully on what is essential.
The highest mystics, like Ramana, may walk anywhere without losing the Self. But until that state is unshakeable, a seeker benefits from limits that keep them from wandering into old habits. In this way, Hagler’s winter camp is no different from the yogi’s mountain hut: a chosen confinement that makes space for mastery.
"I got an entourage, but they're home in Brockton. It's good to forget about the hanger-oners. It gives you a chance of keeping your feet on the ground. Those kind of people hype you up, and the next thing you know, your butt's on the floor. Training camp is a time to work."
Hagler didn’t deny that he had an entourage. He simply kept them away when the real work began. The reason is simple: people who surround you only to praise you are dangerous, even if they mean well. Their presence slowly shifts your focus from reality to the image they project of you. You begin to live in their reflection — and sooner or later, you slip.
This is one of the oldest traps on the spiritual path. Many sincere mystics, after a genuine awakening, drew people to them like moths to a flame. At first, these companions seem harmless, even helpful. But over time, they become “hanger-oners” — not in the crude sense of exploiting you for money or fame, but in the subtler way of constantly affirming your specialness. If you start believing them, the ego — which the awakening had cracked — quietly rebuilds itself, now wrapped in spiritual clothing.
Ramana’s presence was like fire — enough to burn through any hypocrisy or pretence. Many who came with mixed motives could not stay long. But most mystics are not given that same unerring shield. Without the ability to see through every smile, it is far too easy to mistake praise for truth.
This is why Hagler left his entourage in Brockton. And it is why the wise, after their first glimpse of the mountaintop, often choose to stay in the valleys alone for a while longer. It is not a rejection of people — it is a refusal to let their voices drown out the sound of what is real.
Prison is to guard against complacency. "Now that you've made it," he said, "you've got to be careful. The doors open wider for champions. A lot of champions take too much time off and get involved with people and endorsements and appearances. You lose reality. I'm going to keep my feet on the ground and know who I am."
Hagler understood that success is not just a reward — it’s a test. When “the doors open wider,” distractions multiply, and each one feels harmless on its own. Appearances, endorsements, new connections — none of them are wrong in themselves, but together they chip away at the focus that made you great. Complacency doesn’t arrive like a storm; it seeps in like a slow leak.
For the mystic, the same danger lurks after a powerful realization. More people seek you out. More invitations arrive. You are offered platforms, titles, and the subtle intoxication of being seen as a “teacher.” Every one of these opportunities is another open door — and if you walk through them without vigilance, the clarity you once lived in can be traded for a life of managing appearances.
The ones who endure, whether in the ring or on the path, are those who find a way to “keep their feet on the ground” when the world is ready to lift them onto a pedestal. They remember that solitude is not a stage in the journey but a discipline that can be returned to whenever the noise grows too loud. And they never stop asking the question Hagler’s discipline embodied and Ramana’s life made unshakable: Do I still know who I am?
Hagler’s discipline was not just about winning fights — it was about protecting himself from the slow corrosion that comes with praise, comfort, and the wrong company. Mystics face the same corrosion. I know I would. I am not immune; I am weak, and if such people gathered around me, I could too easily start believing their words.
So my biggest prayer to Devi is this: keep me far from the hanger-oners, no matter how sweet their smiles. Let me stay where the air is clear, the feet on the ground, and the fire inside untouched. Better to be alone with You than surrounded by those who would quietly pull me away from You.
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