Pauline,

As you know I am your Guru Maharaji's Guru Maharaji.  Everything flows from my lotus feet.  Even though, my son, Prem, was denounced by my wife and his mother, Mata Ji, and I do feel an allegiance to my other Perfect Master son, Sat Pal, I still support Prem in his efforts to advance the family business.

Pauline, I'm trying to be your friend here, so I hope you don't take it wrong and end up getting angry with me.  And, remember that this life is an illusion.  It's all maya.  All that matters is you dedicate your life and your earnings power to the Perfect Master, whether that Master is Sat Pal or Prem Pal.  It's your choice - Pepsi-Cola or Coke-a-Cola.  Just remember that both are colas that quench your thirst.

First, my dearest Pauline, there's a huge difference between you and Charles.  I know that you are deeply in love with young Charles.  But do not become confused, do not fall in love.  There is only one true love and that is the love between a devotee and the Master.  All other loves are false loves that will always bring you misery.  Do you need a nice Hindu parable, Pauline?

Pauline, that difference between you and Charles starts when you became a premie in 1971 in Boulder, Colorado.

You see, Pauline, at that time, Charles was just a clumsy and awkward third grader with the usual delusions of grandeur that a young boy born in a wealthy family might have.  And let me tell you, Pauline, I know about that!  I had four spoiled sons of my own.

Let me remind you, Pauline, of the night when you saw the divinity manifested in the flesh for the very first time at the Student Union of the University of Colorado in the fall of 1971.  That divinity was none other than my youngest son, Prem Rawat.  Pauline do you remember how you took up the offer of that brother wearing a dhoti to take a drive up Flagstaff Mountain that overlooks Boulder where he gave you satsang and you gave him head?

And the very next day he took you up to Maharaji's teepee in the canyon on Highway 119.  And hadn't you spent the whole previous summer living with the STP Family up in Nederland?  And we all know why they were called the STP Family, Pauline.  Even I knew that, Pauline.  You're just lucky you didn't end up with a different Charles - Charlie Manson!

So, in short time you got Knowledge from Fakiranand and you left the STP Family and moved in with your new family and you threw yourself into it completely.  You moved to Denver and crashed in the garage behind the ashram on Race Street and you knew that you were finally home.  You found your way to Divine Sales and got some good polyester dresses that went down to your ankles instead of those slut shorts you loved to wear without any underwear.  You saw what it did to the young brothers. Thank god, for modesty.

You jumbled, panhandled, and worked at that, uh, er, gentleman's club on Colfax. And I must tell you that while I was there only in spirit, you did a fine job.  You were great.  You could get a rise out of a dead man.  But nevermind that and just don't tell Mata Ji or my other consorts.  None of that matters, Pauline, because it was all for the Lord and it felt so damn good.  I mean, it felt so good for you.  Nevermind.  I'm just an old man re-living my past and thinking about what could have been had I been the first Perfect Master to conquer the West.

And believe it or not, Pauline, it only got worse for you during the rest of the mad 70's.  You surrendered it all up to be with your Lord.  You desperately wanted to join the ashram and live with Joan Apter, but with those two little children it just wasn't going to happen.  And you accepted that and you were gracious in your defeat.  But from that point on you were destined to be an outsider, a less than, a householder.  And I know just how difficult it was because for you because your man left you as soon as he could to join the ashram to leave you raising those two little children.  And later when the ashrams closed he moved back in with you because he had nowhere to go.  But you were strong and you didn't feel it was right for your kids when he kept bringing men home to have sex with on the kitchen floor.  So you took the kids and left.  You left everything that you owned.  They were just material goods that didn't mean anything to you.  They were just a few things you had found in the dirty alleys of Denver that you dragged back to that rat hole you had the foolish pride to call a home.

And, Pauline, your twice weekly trips to the plasma center so that you'd have enough money to buy fresh fruit and vegetables could only be appreciated by your children who were far too young to understand anything about nutrition.  It's as if you cared about someone other than Maharaji, your Lord.  And that's ok, Pauline.  As a father I do understand.  And don't think for a moment that any of Prem's children went lacking for even one moment.  Hardly!

And, Pauline the Premie, your cross-country 42 hour non-stop trips riding on the scrawny dog (Greyhound) from Los Angeles to Miami with your two children were odysseys that you will only know.  And while those Greyhounds didn't have gold-plated toilets, they were good enough for you and your young children.  And because you always sat in the last seats of the bus your shoes were soaked in urine and other toilet delights for the whole trip.  Yet in your endless compassion you never once woke up the old drunk who fell asleep on your shoulder while you breast fed your young toddler.

And, Pauline, your one easy trip back to Los Angeles turned into a nightmare of its own that was in that premie bus with the sky dome where everyone was fucking like rabbits with their asses furiously pumping up and down all day and all night long like brain-dead mechanical Long Beach oil pumps exposed to the blistering sun and blue cool evening moon will only be known to you and why you didn't partake is the only reason you didn't have a child in that year.

Pauline, did you ever have to think more than a moment as to whether you should quit your job and jump in somebody's van to head off to see Maharaji for a day or maybe two?  No, not even a heartbeat passed because you knew!  You knew, Pauline.  You had the Knowledge and you didn't have to think.

And there's the big difference between you and your beloved Charles, Pauline.  Charles first heard about Maharaji in 1980.  That's nearly 10 years after you heard about him.  And from 1980 on it was a different story.  While you were busy giving everything you had to Maharaji and to be with Maharaji, Charles was very busy taking care of Numero Uno and making sure that he got the best education from the best colleges in the country.  And valedictorian, Pauline.  Do you even know what a valedictorian is?  And a dual degree?

And then your lover boy, Charles, went to the world's best law school, NYU where he specialized in First Amendment and Media Defense, which is kind of interesting because Charles doesn't seem to know the first thing about the First Admendment and instead libels people making use of their rights by falsely labeling them as a 'Hate Group' and worse.

But, you're right Pauline.  Charles and all premies are above it all and they have the most important mission on this planet - to help Guru Maharaji spread his message of peas.  And now that Maharaji is recognized as the World's Leading Expert on Peace and speaks regularly at the United Nations and Harvard we all know that soon we can have those beautiful darshans again where Maharaji will be wearing his sexy malas and dancing up a storm.  And it will all be televised on Dish Network, Pauline.  Oh, yes it will!  I can't wait.  I've bought a big plasma TV just for that day.  And my good buddies, Steve Allen, John Wayne, and Mick Jagger are going to be sitting there next to me on that day.

But, you see, Pauline, when Charles goes off to Amaroo to his Lord he travels first-class and he stays in the private section of the campground.  No swagman tent for him.  And every night Charles is at Daya's Fine Dining schmoozing with everybody who is anybody.  Meanwhile, you're working in the kitchen and getting put in your place for daring to eat the unfinished steak on someone's plate before you are supposed to toss it into the garbage.  And in that kitchen you put up with the likes of  god awful dreadful bores like Derek Harper and his Cuban cigars and obnoxious drunkenness and octopus-like ass grabbing.

You were a women in Maharaji's world, Pauline.  Sure, there was a brief and shiny moment for women in the Divine Light Mission, but it was canceled before it ever began.

Pauline, Charles took care of himself.  He made sure that he took care of Numero Uno.  He never had to ask himself if he should quit college, blow off his final exams, or quit a job to attend a program in Miami Beach. No, each time Charles made a conscious decision that he was Numero Uno and that Maharaji would have to wait.

But, Pauline, it all turned out for the best because now Charles is in the position of really helping Guru Maharaji. Charles can give legal advice and Charles can give huge sums of money.  And what can you do, Pauline?  It seems all you can do is write your Guru Maharaji all these desperate love letters begging to be allowed to join the ashram so that you can get off of welfare and in live in Maharaji's shelter.  Ok, Pauline, to your credit you do sing arti at your little altar every evening and swing the arti tray, but Pauline don't you see how that is just so, so... so yesterday.  And yesterday and yesterday's promises don't pay the bills and put kids through college or pay for a new yacht.  Pauline, Charles is not yesterday.  Charles is here and now and Charles is slashing away on his $10,000 guitar playing along with Paul Allen and other rich guys at fancy clubs in New York City where the beautiful people like Paris Hilton, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie hang out.  These are clubs that Raja Ji can't even get in.

Pauline, you are a devotee of the Living Perfect Master.  And you should have been a devotee in my time because your quaint efforts and sincerity just don't cut it in a world where money talks and bullshit walks.  Or is that if you have money your bullshit talks?  I don't know, Pauline.  I'm a foolish old man.  In fact, I'm dead.  And I'm so fucking tired.  Pauline, you just don't know how exhausting it is for me to watch all of this as it unfolds.  I've watched this battle between my two sons.  And my son Sat Pal, for all his faults, at least tells it the way I used to tell it - strong and truthful.  We, Sat Pal and myself, were Perfect Masters from a divine lineage.  People came to sing arti and kiss our feet.  We'd tell them what they had to come to hear - that we were their Lord.  There was and is with Sat Pal, no pussy footing around.  And yet with Prem Pal it's just lies and more lies.  It's cheat and deceit.

I am torn and I am at a loss.  All that I have worked for is for naught.  All that I have worked for has been turned to cheap lies and PR gimmicks.  I am tired of this.

Finally, Pauline, you're too old old for Charles. And just how many of your original teeth do you have left?  I never buy a horse without looking at their teeth whether I'm buying that horse to ride or for the meat.

Blessings, Pauline.  I know you need them.  Life's a bitch and it's especially cruel when you are either completely unconscious or completely duped.