OMG, Michelle:  Hi
Honey.  BIG HUG TO YOU.  We sat next to each other for at least a
couple years transcribing our nuts off, well you didn’t have any to begin with
so I apologize for the expression!!!!!!!!!! 
We were there part-time, full-time, in the ashram, out of the ashram, with,
well, you know the cast.  Hi.  I’m so glad you’re well.  What a tale you told there.  Thanks for sharing.  Miss you and it took me til the end of the PS
to figure out who it was -- you!  I have
a ball here on Ex-Premie.Org’s forum at times and hope you’ve been having a
look-see.  I haven’t posted much in years
and then all of a sudden a flurry hit recently. 
It’s basically a “whatever,” but a place to get it off your chest about
your M days.  I am as irreverent as I
wanna be here.  Lost my fear and don’t
care.  I also lost a lot of friends,
which saddens me, as they are still on the Knowledge trail, as it were. 

Just these past few years or year or so, I can’t recall, I have
been loving reading Suzy Q.  It’s a
guilty pleasure.  She brings a lot of
light into my dark mind and crevices in my heart area. 

Note to Suzy:  When I
got K in ‘72, we were snowed-in and slept over at the ashram out in the outter
burbs after the program in town after a foot-plus of snow overnight.  After if took Mahatma Fakirnanand Ji just 55+
minutes to "use" the bathroom, touch up his red tilak, etc. and then painfully sing the dirge “ARRRRRRRTI,” after
lighting the ghee dipped cotton-ball on a tray, lighting frankincense incense, while
clanging his tiny symbols and clicking and clacking his bad dentures all over
the place, in a comically bad tonal voice with a mysterious Hindi accent.  (By the way it was sung in BOTH HINDI AND ENGLISH
 – ALL 13+ VERSES OR WHATEVER THE NUMBER)  No one could leave after the little ditty because
of the snow and ice accumulating an inch an hour.  He was a “Ramayani” -- a person who sang the
million-verse Ramayana in the streets for alms. 
He lost his shoes a hundred times giving satsang.  Forgot them in the bliss.  He was an acid head before acid.  For the aspirants who just came by for a cup
of chai and brief question after the show, it was Knowledge and Cherrios in the
morning [a throng taxing the plumbing facilities not meant for that many people’s
use.]  [Quickly changing the subject, I loved
having lunch recently with the housemother who was there that 24-hour day in ’72 .  (She’s obviously gotten more beautiful by the
day – and I didn’t think that was really possible as she was so beautiful then -- as I
hadn’t seen her since around Watergate). 
After the Knowledge session, I was kind of lost because I didn’t understand
the experience of Knowledge, didn’t really have one, I had over-hyped it in my
mind, I guess, or just too many soft pretzels with mustard slogging around up there. 
I mean I “received it,” but I didn’t “get it.”  No experience.  But, I got a quick Knowledge Review and was
on my way.  Pat on the bum.

Michelle:  I don’t
know where to begin.  We loved Sandy
Meadows and miss him so much stil.  He
died way too young.  I am still using
today, and have a job because of, the skills I developed transcribing the tapes
of Balyogashwar’s (BORN LORD OF THE YOGIS-- Ha! as M as we both know never
appeared much into yoga or meditation for that matter).  His voice volume modulated, as we all know,
to a whisper and then to a yell.  So, we
developed great transcribing skills.  I
am using them every day at work but for smarter people with better purposes. 

Yes, it was scary moving out of the ashram in my late 20s
with only busfare and a “Jai Satchitanand” (no pat on the bum).  That’s it. 
Zip.  Nada.  Good luck and good on ya with the rest of
your life.  And thanks for everything you
devoted, gave and gave up and did, like cooking a million Indian meals and doing the
dishes while sleep-deprived, etc. etc.

I miss my beautiful bar mitzvah piano -- taken out of
my parents’ house under my request by premies and put on a truck and driven to
the residence more three-quarters of the way across the country?   Man, my folks were ticked.  Where is it? 
It was made with such fine craftsmanship,  I used all of the money if was gifted for
singing from the Haftorah to buy this great musical instrument -- probably in that sink hole
out on Dalhia Street in Denver, site of the old Divine Residence.  But to my shocking eyes, when I visited that very spot last
summer, it was just a sinkhole, like at the end of “Poltergeist” were the house
just collapses into itself with great sound effects.  A big hole
in the ground with all the neighbors’ nice houses still standing.  Only his and his then new wife’s place was a
poltergeist site still today. 

Well, as for your life with not much, I’m sorry for your troubles, but glad you didn't take your life.  You always got us
here (if John still pays the rent), if that helps.  But I’m glad you’re
not penny-less today, and maybe Uncle Sam will help you out soon I hope.  I have brain issues and hate meditating.  Thanks for your sincere prayers which I took
personally and need because I have issues. 
Love, OTS