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It appears that Rawat is no longer taking himself seriously. His last set of programs used a new format. A hired stand up comedian is used as the MC to warm up the crowd. The stand up comedian also spoon feeds the audience questions to Rawat after his boring drivel filled speech while sitting on a couch with Rawat. The laughs never end!
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oh wow. How the mighty have fallen.
I remember when he sat on a throne on a tiered stage with his family below him on the next tier and favoured mahatmas on the next one. Alexander Palace, with fairly unattractive but very big paintings of past messiahs lining the hall on either side. Big crowd of young people chanting and prostrating themselves in front of him.
so I guess the question is - does he want to have a turn sitting on the sofa with Ellen and Oprah? (are they still going or are there new chat show couch hostesses?, idk)
the trouble with these fakers is there's no soft landing to be had. it just gets worse, more ridiculous, more painful - ever more uncomfortable to believe in them.
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"Take my Guru....Please"!
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I remember it well! It was paid for by some unusual 'fundraising' where the WPC guys were stealing lead off roofs, mainly from churches. As I was leaving I overhead a chap say, 'Blimey that was like the Nuremberg Rally'.
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I missed Nuremburg, but, yes, sir, that Ally Pally three-day was the bomb! BOLE SHRI SATGURUDEV MAHARAJ KI JAI!!!!!!! And, yes, those huge banners of the dead saints in pale shades all over lent to a weird aura. I can definitely see how one can compare it to those images from those vintage Nazi movies of their rallies. What is/was the Alexander Palace used for in the succeeding 44 years?
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I missed Ally Pally but my first 'Darshan' was at Copenhagen in 1974. That also was for me (aged 17) a crash-course in how to become brain-washed. I remember being at the same time totally overawed by the cacophonous Bole-Shri-Satguru-Dev-Maharaj-Ki-Jai's. I felt disturbed and yet faced with the possibility that he was 'The Lord' and I should join in the rapture (or something) - so many emotions and mixed feelings - yet no doubts allowed - Surrender you must!A funny thing happened to me the other night - I was on an old premie friends Facebook page where they were discussing the notions of good and bad fortune etc. I normally have a soberly self-imposed rule to resist all temptation to comment on such things but had been out to dinner and had a glass or two. So I made the fatal mistake of posting something like "Prem Rawat once said "I put my true devotees in difficult situations so they turn to me". I remember being very struck when he said this. Can't remember exactly where or when - but I never forget that. He may have been quoting Shri Hans or something but you know...I didn't make it up! Anyway I woke up next day with the urge to immediately delete my comment, which I did even before my first coffee of the day. Too late! Some guy instantly responded with prefectorial sarcasm: "Unverified quote swiftly deleted. Smart move" - to which I simply responded (although biting my lip) "That wasn't the reason".. because the last thing I could care is whether my quote was verified or not - I just wanted to disengage from a potentially hostile reception. I thought to myself... yes, this is the paranoid world premies now must live in. All those kind of quotes from the old days have been consigned to some secret vault and any hint of expressing some memory of what Rawat used to say is now met with denial and demands for verification etc. I think that premies now have become so unnatural and defensive that they've surely lost touch with their sanity and humanity. I remember spending years trying to add stuff to Wikipedia to balance the revisionism that premies fought desperately to assert there - and this involved endlessly finding 'reliable sources' for such quotes. Now they feel so paranoid I guess you even have to refrain from expressing your memories of what he said in a Facebook conversation or you will be deleted or overwhelmed with denials unless you can 'verify' your memories of what went on.
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Thanks for that, PatW. I forget (contradicting what I say in the next paragraph!!) how it's pronounced: Is it Pat-Twa (native slang) or Pat Dubya. Your post was deep with today's sensibilities. You say bla bla {and I don't mean to demean, but be funny). . . . "in a Facebook conversation or you will be deleted or overwhelmed with denials unless you can 'verify' your memories of what went on." However, as I'm not on Facegram or Instachat, I'm certain that won't happen to me. My memory is alive and well preserved at this time [sure Otis]. I'll never need verification by others on social media. Might I be an Amish corn and potato farmer? Possibly. Thanks Paddy
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Modified by OTS at Thu, Jul 27, 2017, 17:58:07
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"unverified quote" - what a horrible attitude to take, if we were back on the playground it would be the equivalent of jeering.
I got a similar response, it was on another matter but the same dynamic of it coming from a person protecting fake beliefs, I found it bemusing - how can you do that to yourself, and it was hurtful - why would you believe I was being dishonest.
I'm not complaining mind you, I just think I am lucky to be me - fake beliefs seem to produce enormous stresses, not just me who finds this, and it is nice not to have any at the moment.
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What is/was the Alexander Palace used for in the succeeding 44 years?
My wife went to a knitting convention there a few years ago, & I think the BBC uses parts of it, & always has done, for their broadcasting technology, although there was a major fire later than 1973....it's still there.
It's interesting that this topic has come up again because that's when the cognitive dissonance for me was extreme.
Copenhagen was slightly better, but then there was Essen.
That one was full on wild fuhrer worship.
So here's a question for you, OTS, as a man who's participated in this on both sides of the Atlantic. Who was the most fanatical back then? I always found the American premies, honcho class excluded, to be much more laid back than we were. Did all that mass hysteria stuff happen at festivals in the States at that time? That would be up to '75, from which time he was always there.
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Yes, the devotional element was similar even though we most
of us were just ex-hippies or lost wanderers looking for something in the U.S. We had no roots or history like Europeans to fall back on. But the devotion was the same here and
there. But, in England, it just felt to
me so must more bleak an existence for the rank and file ashram premie -- say, in
Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Leicester, the little tiny towns with ethics, morals that go
back centuries. The early devotees didn’t
give a shit about all that. It was all
out devotion. In the US, there was still the Vietnam War
ongoing (didn’t end til ’74) and electric music and disco in the wake of the
Beatles ’69 break-up continued to dominate.
All the premies in Denver snuck out to discos. But, devotion ruled. Take the beautiful under-the-stars
near the beautiful Berkshire Mountains two or three day event in Amherst, Massachusetts
on the campus of the Univ. of Mass in the summer of ’74 just after the
honeymoon and wedding of the guru and his bride, a few months later perhaps. Devotion peaked there. (How did I afford to travel the world?) It was such a
love-fest that event, many “bole shris” filled the clear starry night sky with devotional shrieking. The live music and production values were off
the charts. His gorgeous new bride
sitting side-legged on the ground in a white sari trimmed in blue and gold thread by the white satin pillow holding his LOTUS FEET and caressing
them two-handed while kissing them, as the audience shrieked and longed to
be in her body. You remember: With thick Hindi accents, we were drilled
daily that the lotus grows in mud but is floating above the crap. What a crock equating him what the perfect
flower. But I always felt bad in my heart for British premies. They appeared hungry, malnourished with almost
unhumanlike teeth, always cold (no real heat in the country it felt like to me
on my visits) and under the malevolent whip of some old school master, like the
loveable Nick Seymour Jones (we miss him anyway). Premies were poor. The economy stunk. Travelling all over to see a guru was quite
the exorbitant expense, and having to carry the entire poverty-stricken ashram
premies on these trips was costly. Nick
and his successors were just following orders, like good followers (whether it
be Nazis or premies), but Maharaji was like Trump when he was 14-17 years old
and had the keys pain to the candy store and a jet airplane and homes around
the world and servants everywhere, with household staffs at the ready for his
pop-up pop-ins around the world. What a
fukcin Cult! He could say whatever,
whenever, and fawning servants and security personnel where always there
24/7. He could change his mind in a
day or minute and issue orders (AGYA) like a the great king [he played on TV]. What a pain it would have been had
GMJ been able to tweet on his SANTJI account. Anything he
wanted or wanted to do he just did. Yes,
it was really cultish, and I couldn’t see the harm, in fact, as I was so caught
up in the fact that the person to make things better for this entire world was
now here (“walking among us”), and I somehow became a bhakti yogi and full-on
devotee to a shitty alchy 8th grade dropout who caused us so much
trouble and heartache all over the world, that I cannot believe it all happened.
What happened to his African Cote I’voi Ivory Coast following and
followers. The “mahatma” from there was
a cool guy, very simple guy, who we hung with at Amaroo one year and who just
marveled at all of this. Where’s Bobby
Hendry to answer for any of this. He’s
in every photo? Did he smoke cigarettes
too and enjoy them every day along with his toe jam juice? You betcha. I loved going to Amaroo. But in hindsight, I was just snookered for 30
years. I like the wallabees and the
fresh air and hard work and golf distances measured in meters. Thanks, PadddddddddyDDDDDD
Modified by OTS at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 13:33:49
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OTS you got me reminiscing... Others will have better memories of this or more interesting...
Is it 40 years ago now?! The Denver community in the 1970s centered around the Capitol Hill neighborhood where Bob Mischler had been leader of a spiritual group of some sort of hippie yogi practitioners, in a house that was eventually turned over to Guru Maharaji when he came to establish himself in the West at Denver. Within a few years there were maybe 20-30 (?) large houses in the neighborhoods, filled with premies, ashram premies, premie house premies, and various groups of householders and transient premies. And there was the Kittredge Building downtown where four or five floors were rented from a wealthy independent oil tycoon who owned the building, for housing the "International Headquarters (IHQ)" of Divine Light Mission. In the entire Denver community there was a shifting community of maybe -- what? -- 500-800 premies in all, or a thousand?, householders, workers in the various departments and community businesses, the print shop, the health food store, Unity School, the dry cleaners, the auto repair shop, the woodworking shop, Denver community offices, or in various diverse activities, many just living their lives maintaining themselves on their own. There was an endless inflow and exit of others, mahatmas, directors, coordinators, ashram premies re-assigned, premies attracted to this center of activities, nomads, vagrants, hangers-on, hippies, crazies, and serious even intellectual seekers of enlightenment...from around the world coming and going, for programs, organizational events or visits or just passing through.
There were maybe at most a couple hundred full-time workers in the various IHQ offices' departments, cooks in the lunchroom kitchen, Shri Hans Productions artists, film-makers, AIID magazine writers and producers, transcribers, Transport Department, physical plant managers and janitors, mainframe computer operators, PBX telephone and international telex operators, photographers' & mail order department, Finance Department, public relations, legal department, secretaries, Directors and maintainers of the organization, a few of all these in the sanctum of the "Inner Office" all in lemon-yellow walls which surrounded the big corner office that had bullet-proof plate glass windows, Guru Maharaji's own office and living room, and which had a magnificent premie-built vast marble-topped desk that had a hidden button that electronically opened a secret door in a bookcase for passing into Bob Mishler's office next door; his office had a fold-out couch/bed that M and Marolyn used one night on a lark or I guess maybe to escape the usual residence scene. And in the Inner Office there was a soundproof space-age-like conference room like a windowless tank with no corners, just curves (But you could put your ear to the wall outside and hear M's voice going on inside. And we did.)
Some from the U.S. will have a thousand stories about these times and places. I lived in this milieu from 1974 to 1979 until when the IHQ was packed up and moved to Miami. In all those years I'd leave town for weekend jaunts up in the front range of the Rockies, or otherwise only for Maharaji's domestic or international events, traveling depending on ashram or IHQ supervisors' decisions to allow or by my own schemes for the costs of travel.
Your mention, OTS, of the Amhurst, Massachussetts, Guru Puja festival has reminded me of the Denver Community IHQ Shuttle. It was used or justified, I suppose, mainly for the IHQ workers who weren't elite enough to have their own blue Valient fleet automobile to drive to work or to the mountains on weekends, or for those who couldn't catch a ride with those elites in possession of a Valient -- and the shuttle also being for general transport to other work locations and such around the community. "The Shuttle" was an ancient full-sized city bus, a blue and white whale-shaped "Flexi" model from I believe 1949. It had a route daily around to all the community facilities, primarily to get the premie workers to and from their work locations, and likewise in evenings to bring everyone to the satsang hall which at the time was on the fourth floor of the Kittredge Building, a dark dismal space called Room 401 (not so dismal when ringing with songs or arti chants or humorous premies like Jacques Sandoz leading us all in a "fly away" sing along, or some of the beautiful angelic premie vocalists and musicians making music). Room 401 was used as the IHQ lunch room during the day, furnished for premie made picnic-table-styled dining provided by two or three full-time cooks from a kitchen that produced varieties of sometimes not too awful vegetarian foods. The ever-brewing coffee pot there was a good spot for gathering any latest gossip, or happening upon your latest crush. The lunchroom's furnishings were cleared away daily for evening community satsang, before the Indian Center or other community satsang halls were engaged for every evening satsangs. This was during the fantastic era when virtually anyone brave enough or inspired enough could claim the satsang chair and speak however they may be so inspired to give their meandering "company of truth" to the captive listeners, listeners who some were put fast asleep, some enraptured, or nauseous, and one who continually every night invariably throughout satsang sat with her head spinning a circle revolving mysteriously with eyes closed obviously gone into some ephemeral spiritual realm. There were countless curious characters many on the fringes of god-crazy madness of one sort or another. Each evening would be topped by the current resident mahatma's talk, or one of the elite "organizers" to wind up the satsang, then the chanting of arti with swinging of devotional flames of gheed cotton-ball and the finale of a group pranam on the floor for which the obviously most real devotees would lay flat on the linoleum there in front of Maharaji's photo and his draped chair set in the middle between one for Mata Ji and one for Balbagwan Ji. And he actually did at least once sit in that chair and pronounce to the IHQ staffers his latest agya.
It was in Rm. 401 that I heard from Bob Mischler of M's brother's astonishing wedding to a premie! (not long before M's own surprise wedding). Here also was where for months of his assignment in Denver one could bathe in Jagdeo's mind bending incomprehensible blathering, and similarly that of countless other premie celebrities and non-celebrities of every sort.
I remember the mid-day gathering of all IHQ premies, probably including all the local ashram premies, when M himself came to explain his newest agya pronouncement for the ashrams and for his organization around the world. The commitment of ashram premies for life to their vows of renunciation and personal poverty were explained to be now no longer permanent; by his agya now the ashram vows were to be only a temporary phase from which they would move on to households ... or whatever. This was of course shocking, and I remember when he allowed question afterward, someone asked "What about those who want to devote their entire live and being to you?" And he replied "There will always be a place for them," and so I was relieved to know there would always be a place for me, for decades this was for me a solid grounding of my sanity (or insanity, you might say). I had a suspicion the pronouncement was a means of weeding out the less-than-utterly-serious premies, vetting the truest like myself who took the lifetime vow seriously -- but also I had some sense the overburdened fruiting branches of the ashram system could badly use some serious pruning -- or anyway for surrendering to whatever he wanted of it and of our lives that were "his" to direct in his magnanimous magnificence of his all-knowing and loving direction.
But back to the Amherst Guru Puja event and the Flexi bus...
For the Guru Puja this 1949 Flexi Shuttle Bus was identified to be used for transportation of miscellaneous less-than-elite ashram premies across the 2000 miles to the festival event in Massachussetts. The elites would of course fly, and the non-ashramis would be on their own, or self-determined household by household.
At this time I was having a rather chaste crush with one of my housemothers, one of a succession of such psychological-internally-danced effects upon my more gentle heart that allowed me to crush while maintaining my vows of utter celibacy and proper lifelong devotion as I maintained myself, in my mind, a sannyasi of sorts
This "housemother" and I were both assigned to the Flexi bus along with some 30 or so others for the roadtrip across country, and mostly of it all I remember is her sleeping with her head in my lap while I stroked her hair and we rumbled and bumped on out of Denver into eastern Colorado and on to the Nebraska plains somewhere not far from the South Platte River.
I think it was the first day of this drive, in mid-afternoon, that the bus broke down, fatally. We had no mechanic aboard and no parts anyway as we were out on the lonesome highway on the vast unending agricultural plain populated only by cornfields on the western edges of the great American Mid-west.
I remember it a hot day, and most all the passengers scattered along the roadside, sitting in the fields giving each other satsang or massages, or sleeping in the grass. My housemother, after a massage, conferred with me of her annoyance at the situation, getting more and more bored and anxious, and somehow we got ourselves to a public telephone booth, was it in the nearest town, did we hitch-hike?
In the phone booth, she telephoned the IHQ switchboard and got the operator to patch her in to a call forwarded to Amherst where she got on the line with one of the DLM high Directors, the potentate of the Treasury. She had some pull with him; she had pull with everyone; everyone had a crush on her at some time. I miss her. She's passed on. The only person I've ever met from Starbuck, Minnesota.
On that phonecall, with the combination of her pull and with the weight of organizational responsibility of care for every aspect of ashram premies lives, she sweetly begged and finagled and persuaded the potentate to allow the entire busload be arranged airfare for a flight to Amherst. I seem to remember it was that very day we were saved, by bus to Omaha, Nebraska, boarded the flight (chartered on the spot, or regular commercial?) with connection through Boston, and arriving there emplaced into our rooms in the dormitories of the University of Massachusetts.
Yes, that was an amazingly and abjectly devotional event outdoors there on a university field in front of one of those great stages quickly built in construction by the premie teams of crack builders. We in the crowd danced joyfully and energetically under the open skies with thunder and lightning flashing and crashing in the distance. Were there fireworks or just the lightning that I'm remembering?
And as OTS describes, newlywed Marolyn (Durga Ji now) sat at his feet making loving eyes at him and caressing his wrist, both dressed in their magnificent Krishna and Radha robes, and he crowned in that be-jeweled magnificernt hat of costume jewelry. I have one of those altar photos, ornately framed, a photo of the moment as he first rose to dance in costume, with Durga Ji gone into a face of ecstasy and he smiling at her. I inherited it from the last ashram I lived in at the time when it was closing permanently in the early 80s. If any of you make an appropriate cash offer, or can persuade me you have a worthy interest in the thing, I will dig it out of the attic and ship it to you C.O.D. -- maybe -- maybe I keep it; what a memento it is.
The day after the festival, I had a ride with some friends back to Denver, by way of their home towns on the East Coast. We stopped off first at Maharaji's nearby Hilton Hotel lodging to drop off a present for the newly wed divine couple, and on the long days of driving back to Denver I fell in love with a wonderful girl who to this day I regret not pursuing when marrying her would have been maybe in the cards, or so I still fantasize, if I had not eventually in mutual heartbreak ended the possibility by succumbing to my prior rigid lifetime vows, and we lost the lovely relationship we'd begun.
Back in Denver, we arrived miraculously just in time to get into a hotel ballroom where M came, to have darshan and hear a talk about something I no longer remember or care about.
Modified by tarvuist at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 17:38:04
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No, no, no. I don't have to ask to be reminded of the name of the old nutty guy. His name is forever burned into my brain:
Winters!
And don't forget that it was that spring of 1974 when Maharaji gave the rotten vegetables satsang. In fact, I was a transient premie from Chicago at the time and I was living in a premie house on Marion. When we (a few of us Chicagoans) arrived there and sorta took over the house and helped pay the rent for a premie woman named Amy who was attending Denver University.
Long story short was as the snow in the backyard melted a white wooden box made itself visible. It was in the middle of the backyard. I went to look at it one day and inside it was loaded with rotten vegetables, mostly cauliflower. I stunk to high heaven. I took it upon myself to clean it out and throw the rotten vegetables away. This happened, of course, right after the infamous rotten vegetables satsang. Oh, the lila!
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I was racking my brain thinking you were drinking to much charnamrit. Who the hell is Winters? And why such big caps bold and typeface. Then it hit me. OMG! I haven't thought of him in near 40 years. For the uninformed: Mr. Winters was a local Medicaid patient / homeless shelter type, former alcoholic with four or five teeth. He was one of the top devotee of the Living Lord. (friends with the lady who twirled her head and eyes -- Jann.) His "Shri" on the BOLE SHRIEs were full of spit. He screamed and yelled that the Lord was Here to all in town. He was beloved because he was just a head over heels NUTSO devotee and there's nothing you could do about it. Maharaji would talk to him. I think he might have had been missin a few fingers so his palms folded Ness was a sight as well. He should have been the sign that this thing is just for the birds, but. . . he was just part of the fabric of devotion. For instance, in Miami Beach, at events at the Miami Beach Convention Center, he'd be there just BLISS THE FCUK OUT at the Fountainebleu lobby in the middle of August, Steaming outside, freezing inside. What a guy. Must have lived on Oatmeal and sucking on left over Millennium bars from 1973 Hans Jyanti. You could see him from a mile away. Long unkempt grey hair, needed a shave and haircut all the time. Wore colorful or white high socks with big clown feet sneakers; dressed like a complete nut case or a wide tie and second hand store suit jacket He laughed and laughed. When he said "Maharaji" with his few teeth, it was very spiteful as well -- not spiteful. Thanks for jogging my brain, E. Say, can you tell TED Farkel that we'd really like a tweet out or something. His is three feet under or something or perhaps on a six month samadhi staycation. Haven't heard a peep from him in a spell. Thanks
Modified by OTS at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 22:36:16
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And there was another fellow kinda similar to Winters of the same strata of society but much different really, a little younger and a street sort too, dark hair crew cut I remember, shorter than Winters and kinda chubby maybe and probably a few cards missing from his deck. He and Winters were always at each other's neck in front of the Kittridge Bldg, fighting verbally if not physically... What was his name? Anyone remember? Those two guys should have migrated to TED Farkel's place for sure. Can't imagine they're still living.
...a million memories
Modified by tarvuist at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 23:16:45
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The other guy's name was Danny something. He was in his 60s with a paunch and short golf shirts that showed his gut, a smooth with a thick New Jersey accent and a pinky ring. Heavy smoker or former smoker with movable dentures. Could have been a who knows what down on his luck PREMIE. Always carrying his crap in a plastic shopping bag. Right out of BROADWAY DANNY ROSE. A shady former carnival barker or something or coke salesman. Hard to tell. Dead for sure.
Modified by OTS at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 23:39:36
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She was a living angel. Your SATSANG there got my juices flowing, if you know what I mean. [Lil Darlin has been asking me to increase my launch angle like all good players of late]. Thanks, Travuist Q: Is your family any relation to Mahatma Travinind? I REFUSED to listen to EVER AGAIN speak after ONE TIME in the U.S. or anywhere on earth. Just got up and walked out EVERY SINGLE TIME. Not this guy. How the hell did this guy pass the INS interview to get his visa that he was a "teacher/priest". That's how they got all the mahatmas in legally "priest" category on the INS form. Thanks for your memory sharing. JL was an angel. Looked like one, sounded like one, smiled like one and sang like one and cooked like shit.
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My family? I'm thinkin you bin smokin somthin' cracky Otis. ...No it's not that clever fellow Travinanand who was quashing the dance (Roark weren't you Travinanand's driver for awhile?); it was another, and was not of the ilk that got in trouble for indiscretion with their nether parts. It was a more successful of the mahatma jis, successful that is until M dropped flat all of those Indians except his brother, Sampu, and Charananand. A sad story I don't want to recount.
Ms. Love? JL? the J initial's right. Who's Ms. Love? Did my friend get renamed? No, her name was like Chuck Berry's song, the gal I was remembering, I don't think she sang did she?
Otis don't you want to buy from me that big old altar photo of the Lord and his bride onstage in royal drag? I might give you a discount on the spot.
Modified by tarvuist at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 00:20:34
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No, I didn't think Travin was the dance quasher-- Just Travu and Travin we're so similar sounding. As for JL , I guess I guessed wrong. As for your large trinket, I'm all set for dartboards
Modified by OTS at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 00:40:27
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Oh yeah...Tarvu-Travin, I see. JL musta been a gem, wish I'd known her. Get your darts ready, your interest in it's obviously worthy.
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Greetings O Tarvuist, keeper of the one true faith,
I may had driven him, drove a bunch of them. I do remember that I used to get that aqua green Cadillac with the suicide doors and big fins airborne, hitting those swells where the cross streets entered 14th on the way down to the Kittredge Building at high speeds. Charnanand would laugh his ass off, but it would suck when he woke me up at 5:30am to play tennis. I last saw him about twelve years ago or so in upstate NY, when I had dinner with him, tried to gently explain how my inner life had greatly improved since moving on, and handed him a letter/polemic that described my position on the Lord and K.
I did have an interesting 'service' for awhile related to the great souls. When certain Mahatmas misbehaved and were sent to Denver to await GMJ's divine punishment, my job was to keep them away from the premies and the premies away from them. There were several humorous scenes that played out. Once, when I drove Parlokanandji up into the mountains to occupy his time (after he was caught getting a bit too chummy with some attendant devotees in South America), he demanded that I dry his feet after getting them a little wet crossing a stream. I declined the holy honor, and he went on and on about what a blessing and opportunity it would have been for me. I suppose I will never know how great my life would have been if I had just listened, oh well.
Yeah, I think I know who are talking about, we were all in love with her. I heard that she moved to Ireland and subsequently passed away (hope it's not true). She was a gem.
I truly miss my full-moon Frisbee tosses with Dougie in Cheesman Park. We instituted a policy of making loud animal noises when catching the Frisbee, especially when there was snow on the ground and it hurt to catch that cold, hard, fast-moving fucker. We were quite dedicated and punctual for several months though.
I am sure you did not approve when I started the 'Friday Afternoon Club' near-beer parties in my 'space' on the 7th floor, towards the end of the Denver Dynasty, and people were starting to scarily act a little more human.
I was telling that wonderful humanoid OTS over brunch the other day about how I got a call from Joe Gould when he was in his nineties, and I ended up meeting him in Puerto Rico for a few days. What a guy, amazing and odd character. You know he was the model for Al Capp's comic character "Joe Btfsplk", the guy that walked around with a cloud perpetually over his head.
The whole Denver thing during the early 70's was a total freak show, and would have made for such a great sitcom, soooo much material there.
So many exceptional people as I recall, it'd be a hell of a reunion for sure.
big hug to you, M
Modified by roark at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 18:15:35
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Sometimes, I am so tempted to romanticise it all. Just a harmless game of sweet souls practicing for real life. An appealing narrative. The first reality check is always the money. Giving your college fund to the guru you think is god. Not harmless. Lifetime harm there and and only an immoral fraud would accept such a gift. Then we get to jagdeo, to hammers and Halley, to lost moments with family... and it wasn't playing house, it was a coercive destructive cult. Not playing house but idealistic lovely souls being hurt and played by a narcissist.
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To keep it personal... Romanticize? A narrative? No it's my life and my life story; sometimes life was very romantic within all that in those years and in those very ashrams and with all those people, and very full. Should I apologize? I hope I was as you infer indeed a lovely idealistic soul, but I'm not sure I was. I think so. Where would I otherwise maybe have gone with my life, I don't and never will know. Anyway it was a good time to be young. Playing house...hmmm. It was living life and life was good. Glad you write as for warning those who these days may be caught up in the present-day Rawatism. Good posting it here if it works for that and I'll applaud. If I reminisce I'm more interested in the good parts I found in the nooks and crannies amongst the weirdness of it all, and did you? Aren't I silly if I were to complain of boredom reading one dimensional repetition listing, explicating and proclaiming of the Rawat culpabilities when it's the very venue to appropriately welcome their consideration and warning.
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I loved your long story Tarvuist....and it captured something of the crazy better side of cultism. Thanks.
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Oh, glad you enjoyed it. We should all maybe get together and write a grand anthology of fond memories of those years as therapy or purge?
Modified by tarvuist at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 23:42:22
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There are many "fond" memories, but in a sense they are all created by and enveloped in the false fog of "devotion". Is there anything authentic or that wouldn't have been different, had it not been for the cult ?
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There are many "fond" memories, but in a sense they are all created by and enveloped in the false fog of "devotion".
I think my fond memories are not created by, nor enveloped in what you say they are. Rather fondness and memories are genuine and real traces of life lived. That "Devotion" you mention was an aspect of life, yes, back then. It's gone now, died, dissipated, disappeared, the fog has been burned off by a stronger sunlight, and the memories I fondly speak of are extracted traces of good times, lovely relationships, invigorating active days of youth, friends and interesting events that leave images arising in recollection, enveloped in clear (or clearer anyway) thinking. I have other memories too illustrating the curious oddities and now amusing or distasteful perversions of sanity that was "Devotion".
Is there anything authentic or that wouldn't have been different, had it not been for the cult ?
Could you ask that or say it in a different way so I might understand and respond to it. Can't make out the meaning exactly.
I think it's veritable sanity and quite important, to keep track of what's false and what's authentic in one's past and one's present, and to think and speak clearly about these things.
Modified by tarvuist at Mon, Jul 31, 2017, 19:52:59
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Is there anything authentic or that wouldn't have been different, had it not been for the cult ?
I wasn't meaning to be obtuse. That was the third conditional tense ( question form).
So here's a translation : If it hadn't been for the cult indoctrination, which caused me to experience life through a distorted lens ( that was a metaphor...the lens being through the filter of Maharaj Ji's ideology...."the false fog of devotion" also a metaphor meaning my thoughts/actions were no longer rational or clear ) If it hadn't been for my encounter and indoctrination by the cult belief system I would have proceeded on my pre-cult, fairly linear and predictable life path. As it was , I was abruptly jerked off course....and started to live a life which didn't follow on from all that had gone before.....It was a massive shock and I lost a chunk of myself that has had to be rebuilt since I rejected that ridiculous ideology. That may not be clear enough....but I work full-time and don't have the time or energy to explain with any more detail . Btw I think what I am expressing is perfectly sane and I am speaking reasonably clearly.
I am editing in a last thing....because of the influence the cult had on the way I saw life, I did many things I wouldn't otherwise have done....and that carried on for over 30 years. So was that brainwashed "me" the real me and are the memories of those years "under the influence of the cult" authentic ...or too mushed up with cult thinking to be so.
Modified by lexy at Tue, Aug 01, 2017, 18:26:40
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Wow thanks for the thorough response to mine...kinda sorry to pester you to have to say all that, maybe just because I'm too dense at first pass, never learned English grammar so well I guess...or just briefly lapsed forgetting the possibilities of the third conditional tense!
Anyway for myself I do of course find it helps to make my own vague thoughts into clear writing so as to get things straight in my own mind.
My only point to think to reply to your translation is of your "I lost a chunk of myself." It may be too simplistic or even patronizing, but I wonder isn't there mostly hugely intact the basic authentic You that's overcome all, remained intact through the years, of your Self, and maybe whatever chunk of stuff lost in the passage was not so disastrous, not so unsurvivably lost? Not to diminish what might have been. Maybe I'm just still only brainwashed with idea that there's something of my essence that's indestructible or somehow kinda like eternal (for a time anyway) despite it all. Or at least that it's a kinda good thing and enough to have remained alive still and kicking so many years later through all that, ... not just for the sake of avoiding the pain of thinking about all that might have been or all I might have been and might otherwise have made of life.
Modified by tarvuist at Tue, Aug 01, 2017, 19:40:51
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I love your reply Tarvuist, and totally agree with your sentiments. I did survive and life goes on 
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I didn't judge you, even a little. I really was sincere when I said "I". I do like to whitewash it all sometimes. I'll do it in conversations with people who were never involved. There were so many truly good people there. And by "playing house" well, I may mean that it could be seen as some little internship for life. But again, there was real, deep, harm being done. I think something in reading it, made me see my own issues, and my own struggles with treasuring what was good and beautiful without denying the harsh realities. For me, much was good and beautiful, and when I was there, I was very young, much younger than most, but damn when I look at it now they were SO young mostly, early twenties, and I think man we all thought we knew so much and we were babies all really.
I sincerely apologize if what I said was insensitive or hurt you. I have much respect for you. And we aren't in a cult anymore so we are all free to look back on our lives how we please. Delightful really.
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I reread it and I was careless in how I responded. I deserved to be called on it. I didn't take the time to say that I loved what you wrote so much it reminded me of my own truly cherished memories and my own personal attempts at sorting babies and bathwater. I am so sorry I caused even a moment of bad feelings.
Modified by Susan at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 16:28:16
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I don't know, I guess I bristled at my pleasant remeniscing feeling being countered with chastisement for the world's evils. My bete noir - the abounding world's evils and I can't do much about 'em. No hard feelings. Thanks for replying so generously. How do you spell that word anyway -- reminisence or what?! ...fun to remember, it's a pleasure of age and experience...even if we were young and just maybe a tiny bit oh so awfully foolish.
Modified by tarvuist at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 23:38:19
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That's something late middle age going on geezer types such as myself (you won't mind if I've moved the middle age goal posts forwards a bit from what they were when we were young) find sad & awkward when ex & present delusionists come face to face.
It was PatW's post higher up the thread that got me thinking about this, because I'd recently returned from a great trip to the west of Ireland, one which I do every couple of years or so, to meet up with a handful of very old friends.....since schooldays...well before the prospect of seeing God within...through the LSD days & beyond, & finally into the clutches of the pimple ji.
One of them features in Jaques Sandoz's film of the 1971 festival in India, another was in the WPC in England when Raja ji was encouraging the stealing of lead off church roofs (as mentioned above), amongst other things criminal, in order to provide the money to keep the show on the road.
Lots to reminisce about there you would think, & that was just the start of our several & different journeys through life, but no. They don't do reminiscence about that crucial aspect because it's still onwards & upwards & more importantly the past is tabu, because it might lead to criticism of the perfect one.
Which cuts out part of the point & the pleasure of being the age we are now, more or less intact, not totally broke & all that bad shit, so on the lucky side of things really. I do like a good yarning session.
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I think you mean memories are sad and awkward when you get together with premie friends, but otherwise you like a good session of tales of the past now and again, and that your premie friends have a healthy view to the present and future but don't want to hear criticism of Rawat.
Sorry to interpret you -- or is it misinterpret... Why am I impelled to respond to every post responding to mine?!! Just trying to be a friendly conversationalist I guess
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The only nuance is that they're friends who happened to become premies, not 'premie friends' per se. I don't have any contact now with the many people I got to know after joining the cult. I appreciate your conversationalist abilities. 
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I appreciate your conversationalist abilities.
Because of my culpability for having once been admitted by M for a time to the very holy ranks of the Instructorship, I feel a great irreparable debt to everyone in the ex-premie world that leads me to try to write interesting things here and variously pester people randomly when inspired.
Modified by tarvuist at Tue, Aug 01, 2017, 19:38:43
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Hey there,
I don't think Susan was rude to you nor do I think that she owed you an apology. I liked your post, too. What she said was "playing house," which is what ashram premies absolutely did, because as sweet, quiet, friendly it all was at times, the main focus was devotion to a fraudulent human being. That was the centerpiece of ashram existence, except for honchos, like instructors, who were treated like royalty and didn't do shit in the ashram to help out.
Susan was a victim of Jagdeo. It's hard sometimes for folks to understand, that something as horrible as sex abuse, will outweigh any fond memories (which Susan doesn't do, btw). And, when such horrendous abuse is experienced by someone, then is reabused again in the cult, it will color one's view of that insidious cult and its leader.
Sometimes, folks here, like Susan and others, might challenge your thinking, too.
Cynthia
Modified by Cynthia at Wed, Aug 02, 2017, 13:47:19
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I don't think Susan was rude to you nor do I think that she owed you an apology.
I didn't either. I don't think she was rude or at all owing me an apology.
..."playing house," which is what ashram premies absolutely did...because the main focus was devotion..."
Okay I guess you're absolutely sure about that encompassing equation.
...like instructors, who were treated like royalty and didn't do shit in the ashram to help out.
You're certainly entitled to some rage about that. But hell, I only got to be an instructor after the ashrams closed, and only in the neutered form as a part-time instructor. Damnably missed out on getting in on benefiting from all that premie-worship of mahatmas -- those mostly pretty unsophisticated Indian men and women who found themselves Made, because they could speak some English and appealed to the young boy's mother, launched into being spiritually superior to everyone with their assuredly great souls, wandering now in the western candy store floating in respect on clouds of high status and privilege. And then there were the western mahatmas, initiators, and instructors -- another interesting assortment of psychologies.
I might have myself too had the chance to demand some of the royal treatment, due me likewise as I'd assiduously for so long given those mahatma jis and full-time instructors such respect and service all those prior years -- demanding chai of just the perfect temperature served in the best bone china, all my preferred food, I'll need some caviar for the animal protein the doctor's ordered me, and new clothes of silk at each new ashram at which I'd arrive to grace with my presence, my feet massaged nightly. I might have become just as neurotic, crazed, or ill as some of them did who couldn't maintain sanity of that weird identity, or else I could have evolved on my own to being a more accomplished a**h*le of some sort (geez maybe I did anyway). For a decade I was just of the lowly humblest -- until by various twists of absolute chance and fate, and some religiously dedicated determination of practice too, got to be (astonishingly, as I look back) myself transported gradually across what I guess we might call the honcho borderline or into the fringe of life among the PAMs.
Sorry for attempted humor illustrating about that stuff; some of it, though vaguely, refers to thoroughly despicable behaviors. But they do sometimes say humor is the best medicine - or is that just Reader's Digest talk.
...It's hard sometimes for folks to understand, that something as horrible as sex abuse, will outweigh any fond memories ...
Well I agree you'd say "might outweigh", but mightn't it be possible also that the other, the fond experiences, could outweigh too and be quite accessible and or at least be enjoyable to recall on their own?
...it will color one's view of that insidious cult and its leader.
Surely. Maybe in some cases becoming the primary coloration, while in other cases only an additional coloration added to a general hindsight of distaste and aversion to the overall insidiousness remembered from the past events.
Or even in some cases not of much coloration or scar or psychological effect at all, like for me from the range of ongoing sexual abuse I experienced as a 30-year-old, and tolerated, suffered from an older PAM owner who hired me on in a premie openly-LG-friendly business environment, a subset within the organization. I have loads of fond and valuable memories of that period of my working premie life, of the people, even of the guy himself.
Of course in no way can I thereby assume I understand others' psychological and emotional responses to various kinds of abuses any one may have suffered. But I did feel I'd acquired from that something of understanding of what women suffer of abuse, at least as in their formed adult psychology.
Sometimes, folks here, like Susan and others, might challenge your thinking, too.
NO! Uh, well...hmmm... You don't say? Hmmm. ...they'd challenge My thinking! I'm perplexed, aghast. I guess that's possible Cynthia; I can conceive of it in a parallel universe kind of way. But I'm not inclined to ponder it much. Don't want to consider that. No no no, reality revolves around my way of thinking. After all I permanently perfected my thought by thirty-five years of using the ancient arcane techniques of mystical and perfect divine knowledge. Maybe that's why I'm muchly a happy hermit these days...as well as retaining myself incognito here as Tarvuist, pestering folks and then running off.
No, actually I greatly much dislike group-think, kissy-kissy unthoughtful agreement, labeling, or claims thinly worded in veneers of non-thought, letting pass flimsy thinking and assumed absolute certainty. I guess I'd rather read interesting thoughtful responses than hugs and petting -- I suppose just maybe I might not be selfishly able to have it my way all the time.
Unchallenged soft-headed ideas and statements should be challenged. It might usefully even occasionally bring about better understandings here and there in the world.
It's why I'd never have thought Susan's post to have been rude, and was kinda surprised at her apology but very much appreciated her reconsideration and restatement of the meanings of what she'd posted.
But public conversation surely doesn't need always be of a confronting and challenging tone. And of course there are limits for delineating uncivilized behavior and postings...fortunately we can depend on JHB to sweat out moderating things wisely.
Now I'm gonna try to absent myself from here more for awhile...revealing too much, too much presence here this summer, and moreover I obviously as you know can't bear having people question my thinking on anything at all...
Modified by tarvuist at Wed, Aug 02, 2017, 19:44:04
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I appreciate both your perspectives and here is mine. I can't think of Jagdeo without feeling lucky. I basically, got away, my closest friend didn't, she was younger than me, and A as we all here know was very, very young when she was attacked. The truth is it deeply embarrasses me to be called a victim because I can only think of the 8 and 12 year olds who didn't get away ( as I did ). It really isn't minimising my experience; it's simply that I really WAS lucky to get away. And I am so deeply saddened that my stupid cult programmed attempts to report him did nothing.... until perhaps the internet helped. Too little too late.
That's not to say that Cynthia is wrong. I do have fond memories, and they are confusing and I suppose they always will be. But I am not so sure really it's that different from the rest of you. It's a weird analogy, but I want to still love Michael Jackson's music and Woody Allen's movies. It's damn fucking confusing when someone who really hurt people can make a beautiful piece of art. Makes me glad Rawat can't sing, dance or write poetry. All he can do is pilot a plane and trick people out of their money. But we all have good memories of those we were tricked with. Confusing as all get out.
Sincere, love to my ex-premie friends.
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It's damn fucking confusing when someone who really hurt people can make a beautiful piece of art. ...we all have good memories of those we were tricked with. Confusing as all get out. Well keep thinking about this...Maybe there's a wider perspective to it and the confusion comes apart and resolves itself. And then let everyone know what you come up with! I'm sure it pertains to everyone. Good thing our little brains are truly NOT our own enemy, but rather such handy contraptions, clever thinking machines they are or whatever that make up for each our identities, so flexible, and may remain in good working order even into old age, likely even to becoming stronger and more powerful, growing by experience and possibly by sudden surprising recognitions as the machinery and memory goes on sorting through everything, all through any abuses we might give ourselves and suffer from others in the midst of it all. We can actually think twice about things, or three times, or think deeper. I don't know, maybe it's understandable that a living creature can be beastly, even predatory, and simultaneously have admirable qualities and potential -- and yet understandable still that this perplexes one's inclination to find an easy way to describe it to one's self. There's probably more to it. Oh wait... I forgot I was gonna go away and not post stuff for awhile.
Modified by tarvuist at Thu, Aug 03, 2017, 16:27:07
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Hi Susan,
I've been trying not to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong...but I can't help myself, I keep thinking about you so I'm gonna go ahead and butt in a bit...
In my opinion, I think you were being way too hard on yourself. I recognize it well, I do it all the time too. I appreciated your first post, didn't think it was harsh or rude or anything other than expressing your own personal ideas...which by the way I deeply valued as a necessary glimpse into the other side of fondness. The reality that both pleasure and pain were co existing is something we shouldn't lose sight of.
And then I saw your apology, and thought huh...wonder what she's feeling bad about...
And though I admired your humility and willingness to re think yourself...I have to do that all the time...I found nothing worthy of apologizing for when I re read the first one, and decided I was right. You are too hard on yourself dear Susan. You were very clear in saying it was just your addition to the conversation and not meant to rebuke the other opinions. And I thought it a good reality check...I like to read about the good times too, but we can never forget how fucked up it was for so many.
And what a conversation that has been sparked
Also, I totally got what you were saying about Art and who made it...I've had that same experience, trying to wrap my head around loving a piece while struggling to remove any hurtful stuff I know about the artist...we are so complex aren't we! And I as I thought more about it, I noticed something else...the examples you used had everything to do with your specific journey (and I realize that they were just examples...but interesting), and the artists I sometimes struggle with the most, have that same quality, close to the heart...hard for me to appreciate, because of their suicides. Robin Williams for example...I can barely look at him let alone watch anything he's done or any tributes to him...even though he so deserves to be celebrated, I find I just can't without his suicide constantly lingering around...we all know sad people make good art..but when evil people try to make art...yeah, hard to enjoy it.
That's all...just wanted to support you a bit...be well and thanks for your post!
Love, Genny
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i appreciate your insights. I don't know, the way I read it, he was reminiscing, and one could read my post as scolding him. Certainly, not my intent, I am as capable of reminiscing as the next person. If I had taken the time, and that was where I faulted myself, being hasty and unclear, if I had validated that yes, I can relate to your post, a lot, and what I struggle with, not that you should, is that reality that all those really beautiful memories took place also in an ugly abusive cult. The memories are real; the abusive cult is real. How to process? Great question. It's perhaps, odd, but, I sort of like being legitimately questioned here. I am as fallible as the next person and nothing about my story makes me a saint. It's just my life, like anyone else's.
And your insight into my examples is interesting. I picked two child abusers. There are all sorts of screwed up artists and I picked them. Woody Allen Yeah, I feel bad when I watch his movies. MJ? I am just a bit, obsessed, with his life. Not only was he a few years older than me and like millions of others his music was a part of my life, but I am obsessed with his story. Not like a fan is obsessed, more like, some combo of fan and appalled and lurid fascination. I even see a lot of parallels to Rawat in his life. Brothers, family all sucking at the tit of his fame, very very young weird prodigy, both intensely materialistic and love love love conspicuous consumption. Both love to dress up in glittery costumes. Both have a bizarre, drug dependant hidden life. Both have an inner circle you are quickly eliminated from if you question.
So yeah, MJ had real talent and earned his money. MJ gave massive amounts to charity. MJ was I believe a serial child molester. Though I think the jury in the criminal case did the right thing... there was some doubt with that case. Rawat can't dance, sing or write songs but he can play God and take people's money who think he's God. Rawat has never been accused of molested children. He did not get rid of Jagdeo when he was first told about him.
Anyway, maybe Rawat can't sleep without a Propofol drip. Like MJ, the toxic culture he has created around him makes anyone who questions him exiled.
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So glad you're a solopsist too. There are so few of us around.
Solipsism - a theory holding that one's self is the only existent thing. Solipsism is the philosophical theory that what's in your mind is the only reality that can be known and verified; that the self can know nothing but its own modifications
Modified by Tarvuist at Tue, Aug 08, 2017, 17:52:39
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Ha! But it's just me, too.
I'm thinkin' I'll just talk only in emojis for awhile till things calm down here and also between il-jong and trumpy. This transient world may become a better place, and me more clearly understandable 
Modified by Tarvuist at Wed, Aug 09, 2017, 12:55:01
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Anger, anger, and more anger: that's what I read from your posts. And passive-aggressiveness:
Or even in some cases not of much coloration or scar or psychological effect at all, like for me from the range of ongoing sexual abuse I experienced as a 30-year-old, and tolerated, suffered from an older PAM owner who hired me
on in a premie openly-LG-friendly business environment, a subset within the organization. I have loads of fond and valuable memories of that period of my working premie life, of the people, even of the guy himself.
I'm so sorry you were subjected to that abuse.
I'm a survivor of rape and I have no fond memories of my rapist, nor will I ever look for any. It's time for you to buck up and face who deserves your anger. It spills over through your sarcasm.
Just for the record, I don't feel rage over anything, anymore. It's a wasted emotion.
All the best, and definitely come back soon,
Cynthia
Modified by Cynthia at Fri, Aug 04, 2017, 15:32:38
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All the best, and definitely come back soon...
Okay ..
Yikes! :
It's time you buck up and face who deserves your anger.
Huh?
You're quite off the mark, Cynthia. No I wouldn't care to swallow any such misapplied imagination of my anger. Don't imagine you know so much about what's going on in me, of me. I think you misconstrue or read too much into what I've written if you do imagine of me the way you describe. Or maybe it's me who's poor at illustrating my meanings and stuff. But anyway I see you stray to assuming too much about me.
And sarcasm...well you might sometimes notice it could be my attempt at satire or humor rather than dripping with anger like you say, even if I'm not always elevated enough above sarcasm. And maybe, yes, some anger at silly thoughts in serious places...which I should probably get over seeing so much of, cause...well...it's always gonna be around isn't it, and in me too.
Modified by Tarvuist at Sat, Aug 05, 2017, 03:30:39
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I took a second look at this Cynthia, wondering at your response about my anger as you call it, sublimated anger I guess. I didn't want more misunderstanding to telescope onward. Didn't want to leave it as just the "nope" in my other post just now, but try possibly to unravel it a bit... Geez and I was gonna go away for awhile give it a rest... I'd written trying to illustrate there could be a range of levels or kinds of abuse such that in milder cases there could allow for valuable memories retained out of the circumstances and times of occurance ... such as in my case... I said: "...in some cases not of much ... psychological effect at all, like for me from the range of ongoing sexual abuse I experienced ... from an older PAM ... [yet] I have loads of fond and valuable memories of that period of my working premie life, of the people, even of the guy himself.
I should clarify now, it was mild abuse though ongoing. He'd grab me sometimes, but not at all like D.Trump brags about with women. And he'd unexpectedly hug me. He made a pass only once, getting around to it while walking through an airport at a flight connection traveling together to an event on business, explaining to me how much more convenient it is to have it with other men than all the complications he implied arise with women. I didn't take to his reasoning and didn't respond, so he found other boys through that travel. So you see it wasn't so disgustingly horrible and traumatizing. Now, more mature, I might have sense to punch him or be more sophisticated enough to foil it more each necessary time. If it were rape I'm sure I'd never suggest to have fond memory in any manner. So you responding, as set against my saying I even had fond memories of the guy, you said: I'm a survivor of rape and I have no fond memories of my rapist, nor will I ever look for any.
An utterly greater level of abuse. No one sane could imagine you'd have any or want to find out any fond memories of the guy. And it's something as apples and oranges extremely unlike, comparied to my case, vastly different. But following on with your inaccurate sense of my experience, then you said: "It's time for you to buck up and face who deserves your anger."
The only rational thing I can guess of this is I'm suspecting you were thinking I am submerging my hidden anger I should rightly have against my abusing guy, should face it that actually I'm deeply angry at the guy and should open it up to the light, deal with it, resolve it, or whatever psychologically is necessary, that I shouldn't ...what's the psychologist's word...sublimate, or anyway shouldn't divert it to ... whoever you think I'm diverting it to, spilling my supressed anger instead over people here as you supposed with my sarcasm. As if to say, "Buck up Tarvuist -- deal with your past, face your anger, heal yourself." Unless you're also inferring that I am missing some properly placed anger I should have aimed at all the Rawats and still-active premies and all that. Not much anger, nor rage like you too say is useless. The other though doesn't at all fit the instance of my episode of experience and my memories of that abuse which I hadn't explained was only mild abuse of a sexual nature just because the guy was homosexual. I learned stuff in that environment, maybe even progressed in my losing or shrinking some of an earlier extensive homo-phobia. But it's strange to me that you say you read anger, anger, anger from my posts, like eveywhere in my posts, and of me something you call passive-aggressiveness. Blimey, but do I have to say that's a big misunderstanding of me. It spills over through your sarcasm.
Well, enough of it. I like my sarcasm where I find it appropriate, or even revel in "anger at silly stupid things said in serious places" (to quote myself). I'm aiming to be a stand-up comedian aspiring as my next career and for that making jokey trials in some of my posts here, if you didn't notice. How am I doing? I do have some stand-up experience as an instructor myself learning to say odd things in supposedly serious places. Now excuse me I'm gonna go and find a therapist to alleviate the great trauma of being misunderstood online by people I've never met. Please, no one offer your services, I'll need someone disinterested.
Modified by Tarvuist at Sat, Aug 05, 2017, 05:05:18
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Tarvuist - why say you experienced ongoing sexual abuse if you are then going to say it was a boss who made a pass at you - huh? what was that all about? You say it was to make a point?? that doesn't cut it.
The reason I am writing is because Cynthia called you on your passive aggression which you then denied but it was very marked in your interaction with me so I want to corroborate her observation.
good luck with it all, sincerely - we are born the way we are.
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Yes, not much happy good communication going on between us is there. I put a happy face there but it probably won't help. I'm thinking I don't speak Australian very well, or we're in opposite seasons' weathers all the time, the direction of water swirling in drains opposite in North and South Hemispheres (is it really?!) or something. I hope you won't be too offended if I refrain from responding to you and carry on posting in other's strings. Was already trying for that. Fortunately for us there's other fish in the sea that get on well.
Or if you prefer you could be passive aggressive back at me, whatever it means to you, to keep it on an even note. See how that goes. I think you have a good start on it disrespecting me of my bout of having sexual abuse done me. But I probably won't respond. I think we communicate on different wavelengths. ...no intention of belittling your wavelengths.
Cheers sincerely.
Modified by Tarvuist at Sun, Aug 06, 2017, 13:04:51
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ha ha. It actually is a beautiful morning here!
I am responding to your post as if I didn't read the less diplomatic version that was here pre-editing. (that's how effective diplomacy is. it really does work)
I went looking for a definition of the term passive aggressive.
I'm not good at links but here's a quote
"It is passive-aggressive behavior, the donning of a mask of amiability that conceals raw antagonism toward one's competitors, even one's friends. — Hilary De Vries"
and that is what it felt like. I was actually told by another poster I should be grateful to you for taking the time to write such a long post to me.
Oh think I, I must have read it wrong and taken offence where no offence was offered and I responded likewise but it became immediately clear I had it right first time.
Tarvuist, my ideas are a lot more well thought out than you recognise.
As I said I'm not good on links but I read an article which was rather good - Huffington Post - The Secret To Dealing With Passive-Aggressive People.
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I am responding to your post as if I didn't read the less diplomatic version that was here pre-editing. (that's how effective diplomacy is. it really does work)
Glad you didn't miss the final version.
"It is passive-aggressive behavior, the donning of a mask of amiability that conceals raw antagonism toward one's competitors, even one's friends. — Hilary De Vries"
and that is what it felt like.
And thank you for the definition. Sorry to know it felt like that to you.
I was actually told by another poster I should be grateful to you for taking the time to write such a long post to me.
Yes? I remember that, and remember I had no thought you should be grateful just because I was inspired to write a long post of my observations.
Oh think I, I must have read it wrong and taken offence where no offence was offered and I responded likewise but it became immediately clear I had it right first time.
Uh... Well anyway yes I see obviously that you have taken offense. Or did.
Tarvuist, my ideas are a lot more well thought out than you recognise.
Yes you've broken away from the controlled mind of a personality cult. Takes lots of good thinking and goes a long way.
...I read an article which was rather good - Huffington Post - The Secret To Dealing With Passive-Aggressive People.
I hope it's a good one. I'll hope you'd avoid to forever and always view me as permanently assigned in your mind to that category. Anyway, I'm glad you had a beautiful morning Lesley. Hope you have another tomorrow...today? in Oz.
Modified by Tarvuist at Mon, Aug 07, 2017, 03:20:54
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I recommend that article - I certainly found it interesting and helpful. If you copy and paste the title - The Secret To Dealing With Passive-Aggressive People - it will come straight up in google.
"Tarvuist", I say in my previous post, "my ideas are a lot more well thought out than you recognise".
"yes you've broken away from the controlled mind of a personality cult" you reply, followed by a nicely crafted pat on the head.
sigh.
yes another beautiful morning - it is the best time of year here, when the air has a cool-edged sparkle and you can enjoy sitting in the sunshine as it is not too hot.
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a sigh here too...all I can say.
Modified by tarvuist at Mon, Aug 07, 2017, 17:19:25
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Modified by Steve at Mon, Aug 07, 2017, 17:56:08
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Maybe. Not sure it fits. I might need an x-large.
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I tell you what you can say, well two options -
a) oh right. I get it. I understand what you mean by that phrase 'knowing when you don't know' and you are right, it is like that.
b) I still don't get it. I don't understand what you mean by that phrase but I do accept that you mean something by it and I will in all sincerity cease and desist with the 'soft-headed ideas' jibes. (optional addition would be another go at working out what I do mean if you do want to)
What I have is a good memory, Tarvuist. But I am not good at bearing grudges or any of that stuff, I am easily pleased - it's like having a chihuahua take offence not a great dane. all you really have to do is stop with the jibes and I will be happy. Add a bit of conversation about cooking and I am entertained.
all the best, Lesley
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Well thanks for directing me allowing me only two options, it narrows it down quite. Don't I get a pat on the head too? Not yet, I guess. I don't know if I can stop with the jibes though... Stop me stop me somebody stop me.
So how would you do some coq au vin or how do you like it? I need to learn those great meat pies like I used to get way out west at Laidley before the floods washed the town away. Or is it still there? Got any tips? Wish we could meet at a great coffee shop I know at Rosalie in Brisbane. But no, it's disappeared last time I went. Anyway it'd be a bit far to go for trading recipes. Maybe we'd even like each other over coffee...or possibly not. Are you single? ...nevermind.
Modified by tarvuist at Tue, Aug 08, 2017, 14:44:42
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I've never made coq au vin - for some reason my stomach always turns a bit at the thought of putting wine in the sauce.
but i have recently taken to making a chicken in mushroom sauce that is delicious - one tip I learned from a chef is not to brown the meat off as it makes it tougher. He is quite right, if it's going into a sauce then put it in raw and let it cook in the sauce. When I make that mushroom sauce I get the butcher to chop up some thigh fillets into bite size pieces and then add corn flour and sweet paprika salt and pepper to the bag and make sure it's all generously coated that and the mushrooms go into the sauce that has been made from onions garlic a little chilli and make your own stock if you can and then the cornflour thickens it to a nice consistency.
I am very lucky there is a farmer's market once a week and I come home with all this locally grown produce fresh as anything and twice as tasty.
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"Now excuse me I'm gonna go and find a therapist to alleviate the great trauma of being misunderstood online by people I've never met. Please, no one offer your services, I'll need someone disinterested."
Wow, that's quite a remark.
Here's the etymology of sarcasm:
Sarcasm (n)
1570s, sarcasmus, from Late Latin sarcasmus, from late
Greek sarkasmos "a sneer, jest, taunt, mockery," from sarkazein "to
speak bitterly, sneer," literally "to strip off the flesh," from sarx
(genitive sarkos) "flesh," properly "piece of meat," from PIE root
*twerk- "to cut" (source also of Avestan thwares "to cut" ). Current form
of the English word is from 1610s.
Modified by Cynthia at Sun, Aug 06, 2017, 06:24:42
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Yes, good definition of sarcasm. It's a useful tool for getting a point across sometimes isn't it. ...but can be prickly for the one receiving it. Is it banned from the site, sorry I'll have to go check.
Can you tell me about condescension. Do you use that often? It can be pretty prickly too. Tends to rile people I think.
And your passive aggression, I don't quite know what you think of that phrase, how you use it, where it comes in for you. And anger...do you still seem to feel anger coming at you, not just thoughts and meanings, discussion? Can we let go of it... I'll pass on it, not so useful usually causes miscommunication I think, though I'm getting to be a contented curmudgeonly kinda guy as I get older despite.
Can we call a truce or do you need to get back more at me? Or just avoid responding? Can we turn down the rancor? There's another good one, rancor, where's it come from? Can we shoooo it away?
Modified by Tarvuist at Sun, Aug 06, 2017, 10:42:28
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I don't feel any bitterness, rancor, or condescension towards you or anyone here. I simply don't.
I'm merely suggesting that sarcasm has it's place, like when it's genuinely funny. Otherwise, sarcasm used as a tool to belittle people, is aggression. Passive or active.
Don't forget, neither of us knows each other. We don't get the benefit of eye contact, tone of voice, etc. So it's likely we're both misreading each other. Words count on a written forum, because they are all we have to go on to figure out what folks mean when they simply write a post.
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Well said. Thank you. I agree with all you say right there (except ... an exception about using sarcasm).
Please believe me, whatever you may sense of passive aggression from me, or of that I've sensed from you, I have not intended to belittle people, rather the contrary, nudge us all up a notch in awareness. And I do believe you've misjudged "reading anger in everything I write" [my paraphrase]
Besides, I think sarcasm doesn't have to necessarily be funny to avoid it being belittling; it can be sharply pointed meaning to kind of strongly joust in ideas, something like that, however the recipient may take it, no? I mean for example like how sarcasm can be used to aggressively try to shake people into seeing views that something or other has limited them from seeing. Of course the subtext of my saying that just now is to suggest that's how I've meant those words you've taken as belittling sarcasm in some of my postings -- hopefully to show you more my mind about it. Perhaps you might dislike me in general or what I say or what I say it...fair enough.
I've just prior to reading yours, emailed the forum admin asking advice, and to mention my intent has been of trying to ease what I do suspect as seeing rancor arising among a couple of us -- inviting his guidance.
"... it's likely we're both misreading each other. Words count on a written forum, because they are all we have to go on to figure out what folks mean when they simply write a post."
Exactly. I'd thought I've said the very same in other ways, other posts. Let's say it again now and then. So we can encourage us human-like people against foolishly reverting into doggies barking, snarling and snapping at each other, and maybe even do our bit to encourage civilization along better. They say strong diplomacy avoids wars.
Modified by Tarvuist at Sun, Aug 06, 2017, 13:20:29
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They say strong diplomacy avoids wars.
I would agree. Although I don't dislike you (generally or specifically!) I like reading your posts.
Be well,
Cynthia Gracie
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It took me a good two years to figure out Jim Heller's sense of humor. Dry and wry.
So, hopefully we'll learn how to communicate so we understand each other.
All the best...
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Glad you mention that. I was beginning to fear mine is just gonna be ever incomprehensible to other humans and hominids. Puppies and kittens and a few bonobos might always get it though.
So hopefully...yes, we'll maybe learn to communicate so as to understand... ...two years isn't all that long to keep patience with others' curious wordperflageiousness. (Don't ask me for a definition of that, I just made it up.)
Gotta go now re-create my version of coq-au-vin using the the chicken on the counter that by now must be fully defrosted. With lots of vin. I'd invite you and just everyone for a very late lunch, but ... you know.
Modified by tarvuist at Mon, Aug 07, 2017, 17:18:06
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It took you two years because your so fkucin dense! How's that for sarcasm. LOVE YOU
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There you go again, as George Bush the first used to say. But no, really thanks for the reality check OTS. I'd been thinking I was the sane one back there all the while. I guess it's otherwise. Kudos to the others' charming attempts to rein me in. I was beginning to think it was Winters and Danny out in front of the Kittredge Building again; was I being, Winters? or Danny. Anyway, as I vaguely now recall (it's fading), you're pretty good with instant biting sarcasm on the spot to get a point across. (I keep rubbing that in don't I, knowing it's probably a tender spot somewhere behind and above the porn mustache. But I suspect you might grok my sense of humor, and I never remember you as being quite much of a snowflake, though I know a softy at heart.)
Your post says all that so succinctly. Such a knack for being succinct. Probably a mark of high intelligence...maybe not.
love and kissys back to you
Modified by tarvuist at Tue, Aug 08, 2017, 14:28:26
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I mis-read your post Otis, thought you were really cleverly turning things around to noticing MY denseness... Kinda -- reductio ad absurdum --. Can we have a definition from the Latin from someone, anyone. Please consider and discuss. It'll be on the test.
Modified by Tarvuist at Wed, Aug 09, 2017, 17:04:28
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It's that dry, wry humor that flew right by me. It must be because the information in my head is so tightly packed.
Love you, too.
Modified by Cynthia at Wed, Aug 09, 2017, 08:47:48
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--
Modified by Tarvuist at Wed, Aug 09, 2017, 16:27:53
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I got confused there, thought OTS was pointing out so insightfully MY denseness. Carry on as normal.Thinkin' I'd better stick to communicating without words, just emojis from now on... 
Modified by Tarvuist at Wed, Aug 09, 2017, 16:54:05
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There must have been a few prigs like me...
This was like out of the screenplay of "Footloose"... I remember one night of a community dance entertained by premie musicians of which there were here and there a few very much accomplished ones -- I think it was somewhere at Larimer Square in Denver this night. I was living then in a house harboring the current local resident mahatma assigned to the community. Hearing of the dance, he became spiritually incensed and felt it his ballyhoo to do something about this outrage of premies going off the rails to an evening of a community sponsored (!) dance. I was attaching myself to this mahatma at the time, somehow got roped in to go along for the showdown or old western gunfight or whatever it was to be.
We arrived just before the dance had got going, and this mahatma in pink robes and shaven head announced his presence, attracting and calling to the mat the musicians, pasting them with devastating pronouncements of their waywardness. One of the band knelt at the mahatma's feet actually crying, and begging forgiveness. I'll refrain from mentioning which mahatma it was playing this part, nor the musician.
We left believing the dance was squelched, folded up and everyone gone home with our departure. But I suspect it went on anyway that night right after we left.
Modified by tarvuist at Sat, Jul 29, 2017, 18:56:01
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Thanks Tarv for spurring this theme. Too many memories to paste together with any continuity, but certainly the road trips to festivals were the highlight of any ashram premie's life.
Once I recall a bro and I got a Drive-Away car from DC to Tucson stopping in Denver to see old friends who had been sucked into that Vortex. I think up-and-comers were tested in that environment prior to being put out to pasture (if they didn't pass muster). No one's lives seemed to improve by getting to work at the Kittredge Building imo. Kind of like a Divine Shake Down Street, you either devoted yourself more devoutly or were hurled out of orbit never to be seen again.
But we gleefully went on South-West to ruin this car by destroying the transmission going over Ouray Pass, and knocking the oil filter loose on a logging road near Durango only to peel off stripes of paint with a steam nozzle/car wash near Tucson, before dutifully depositing our chariot back in the hands of the poor unsuspecting lady who owned the car. Those were the days...
Then in one cross country trip (Van loaded-to-the-gills) from San Antonio to Miami, I had the sweetest time snuggling with my community crush, a Mexican cutie nestled in my arms the whole way while the complainers in the back ate Millennium Bags.
And of course Amhurst where the premies at large quickly discovered the river and swimming hole, afterwards pranaming in stereo-vision with the modified (two-at-a-time) Darshan-Mobile. And who can forget The Poconos weekend when Guru Ji arrived in the helicopter to the green lawns of that lakeside resort ?
And yes the little red-head premie with the exorcist neck (showing up at all programs) swooping around like a newborn bird hoping for cosmic morsels that only she could see.
I used to sneak out of the BroadRipple to go to the discos a few blocks south. One night I met a charming young lady and we danced the night away. At closing I instinctively, did the hands clasped pranam gesture as a way to say "thank you"...yeah I know..pretty lame. Well what do you know ?...She did the same back to me... Turns out she was a local premie (not a swanky British tourist) and she gave me a ride back to my monastery, where I kissed her good night and trotted back to my dorm.
Was it bliss or pure silliness, oxygen intoxication, or youthful idealism gone berserk, spiritual fantasy meets phony Indian Carnival ? The only thing that really made sense was name and nectar and that was getting to be a thin excuse for putting up with a lifestyle of pure (albeit fun) chaos.
Sooner or later spiritual compartmentalism gave way to cognitive dissonance. I don't believe any sane human being can go on like that for too long..even though a decade (the 70's) passed in the blink of an eye. In some regards I'm glad that I never got to be close to him until the end of my tenure. He ruined everything for me, a mighty clash of internal order that came face to face with a perverted personality disorder.
So now I'm happy to be free again and you know what ? I don't care one hoot about that world anymore... The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.
Modified by Manincar at Sun, Jul 30, 2017, 12:30:28
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"Sooner or later spiritual compartmentalism gave way to cognitive dissonance." That's my entire premie trip summed up in a sentence. Bloody hell.
Modified by Steve at Wed, Aug 02, 2017, 11:50:37
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not my quote but someone here once said (paraphrase) they finally realized the voice of the mind she was taught to shut out was her true self all along. ( sort of makes me see a premie reading this knowingly nodding as if we have all discovered our true inner devils)
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