I'm lovin this thread.  Thanks, Cynthia and Wolfie.  Cynthia is smart as shit, and Wolfie is extremely intuitive, empathetic and humane � what a great Dad he makes, I�m sure.  I continue to float at sea, battered by the winds of change, without a lighthouse or course to guide me.  But I�m sure as hell thrilled I got off the divine �boatman�s boat to the other side.�  I�m so done  with the religious connotations and analogies.  I used to feel just like that servant in the King�s court who was accused of robbery because he was observed always going up to his secreted hiding place in the little chambers high up in the castle and looking into his hidden chest � looking at his dusty, tattered and torn clothes which he wore prior to working for the King, who has now made him thankful to have become a �rich� person because he now was a servant for The King.   I bought each and every story and analogy from Krishna and Arjun on down.  It all now sickens me.  I can�t forget � no way, and I�m not in a forgiving mood, until Mr. Big comes down off his throne and stops the devotional worship songs and kissing of his feet to his slobbering devoted few that continue to hang on and admits he ain�t no worshipable all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful Lord or Superior Power in Person, upon whose �Grace� everything manifests or falls.  �By his Grace� was our byward.

I was a gopi, just like Cynthia.  All the Beatles songs and all the Stevie Wonder songs and every song was written about MY LORD, I was so sure. I was so uncaring about anything else except devotion � Bhatki Yoga or Bust.  I might never get over my stupidity.  But I do and can forgive myself because I came to realize that for 30 years I was in a brainwashing cult.  Everything had to be given to M (and his little family and entourage).  And I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed all of my discrimination way.  Where I first went to Satsang, the ashram premies were serious as hell.  They followed all of Mahatma Fakiranand�s fascist rules and philosophies.  Arti was sung with banging little symbols and was slower than a funeral dirge � it lasted a good 20 minutes � in Hindi.  This I thought as a young man was the serious religious experience I longed for.  I wanted to be saved from this confusing post-Vietnam War period, when the New Left Movement had all but disintegrated into nothingness � except for my ashram buddy, Rene Davis and his girl Friday, Susan Gregory, both hot off the presses from the New Left trenches.  But I digress. 

I hope Johnny Mac gets his groove back someday.  But yes, he�s as sadly a victim of the Stockholm Syndrome as Patty Hearst used to be, as the deceased Wall Street Journalist Pearl, as anyone ever was.  So sad.  His take on his own suicidal tendencies was most sickening, and his butt sniffing a sad sad commentary.  But I can feel his desparation.  His original Sunday Magazine article was fact-checked and the damn truth and it stands on its own.  We exes have every right to criticize Mr. Rawat and his Mickey Mouse Club.  That�s our right � protected by the Constitution in my country.  (But please don�t make any illegal mistakes.)

I ran into an old friend yesterday whom I lived with in the ashram.  He was/is a serious man and a serious devotee back then, as we all were in the heavy re-jackbooted devotional period of 1979-83 (see Joe�s posts way down below.  How does that guy write so many words � all interesting and read-worthy?)  He asked me if went to the �event� last week.  I almost tossed my lunch.  I told him, no, it�d been almost four years since I went to one and I ain�t going back.  I asked him if he went.  He said no, but he still goes to see �M� if he�s nearby.  I changed the subject as the air was filled with nothingness for a minute or more.  Of course, M won�t come to the city I live in because of exes like me, and other stupid considerations � like the fact that propagation evidently only works for aspirants who live in NY, FL, CA and Quebec.  For all others � too fucking bad.  Travel or die.  [I recall M once joking about the reason that people from Philly wouldn�t go to an introductory event in Boston  -- even though it really isn�t that far away:  they can�t leave their hoagies. badabing.  He was so right, but pretty dull for a joke stealer.  Always was, except my rose-colored glasses made him appear to be Sid Ceaser.]  How obnoxious and so full of himself are his speeches � now televised the world over on free cable.  There is no way I seem to be able to express myself without anger and cursing in regards to this fake guru/inspirational bullshiter.  I�ve tried, but it upsets me again and again.  He broke my heart in two and busted up my chances at a normal life with his agya (directions).  I hope he�s happy with his isolated, sad millionaire life and public existence of "expressions" on the one hand and Internet scorn on the other � archived and forever embedded in the public discussion.  Forget?  I doubt it'll ever happen.  Forgive?  A continuing process.

P.S. By the way, Woflie, can you explain what a �blown up indian squeezbox� is in your Germanized English?  Thanks