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Substances

October 31, 2011 Leave a comment

I receieved a letter from the White House on their position on legalization of marijuana. I didn’t like it.  I am also reading a lesson of D.R. Butler’s where he speaks to the question of euphoria. Is euphoria good or is it just the other side of dysphoria? Yes, it is the other side, he says. Neither is good. He is talking about a true spiritual path here. Most people have no idea what a true spiritual path is. He mentions platitudes I have almost forgotten they are so old, like we are one, and God is love and everything is consciousness. They don’t appear to be complete thoughts to me. He is talking about living it – or living by it if you don’t like that expression. That’s me though, not EXACT BUTLER, if you would.

An aside, my step-brother, Billy, used to sell a maching called the Kirby that had a device called the Handy Butler. I assume he knows a lot of good Butler jokes but he hasn’t shared them in his lessons, yet, Mr. D.R. I know what the D stands for but not the R. I can only think of Dr. when I see the two letters next to each other.

One of D.R.’s friends speaks of no right and wrong, and quotes D.R. Butler on those things. An amoral stance like that makes the pieces fit in what interactions I have had with the teacher. I say teacher here in that he is that and there were many in Siddha Yoga but I hope you will not take it to mean he is a Siddha or a Sadguru. He isn’t that to me.

D.R. speaks of pain he has had all his life. There was a Buddhist teacher in Boulder, Colorado. I think he was Chogyam Rimpoche and he started a school out there called Naropa. He used to have a drink regularly at his lectures. It was for pain he said. What a great pain killer marijuana could be, but it is illegal, even to cancer patients who find it helps them endure the terrible chemotherapy conventionally used on them.

I was reading Satsang with Baba the other night, unable to sleep and full of worries as usual. He addressed the resurection of Christ and said he must have risen in a subtle, spiritual form. The Urantia Book says he rose in what they called a Morontia form, another name, I will give you for the same thing. I also watched “Let Chanting Change Your Life,” a video from SYDA. Something about Baba is very stern and demanding, I noticed as I watched this video and as I read his answers to questioners in satsang. I rebelled against it. I have found Adidam also has this demanding style. If you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen type of quality. I didn’t like it. It seems to be their opinion that if’ you are in a difficult positon it’s your own fault, it’s your karma from past lives. So be it. The Urantia Book doesn’t agree with that view. It doesn’t support the creed of reincarnation. I had read you could go on being whatever you are in so far as your religion or your work and still practice this yoga, but don’t beliefs collide? The Urantia Book says the planet is ignorant and I figure Mr. Butler would be quick to agree there, but he has never read UB. He told me that in 1992 and it holds to this day. He’s not the type of guy who reads the books you’ve read and offers comments. You remember guys like that? I think it was in the 70’s last time I knew a guy like that or a girl.

And so that concludes our post for today, October 31, 2011. Happy Halloween.

 

 

 

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Categories: tHE gREAT gOMBOO!

About Me on the WordPress Profile – too many words, I guess.

October 26, 2011 Leave a comment

I am a truth seeker. A seeker of light as mom once put it. I have attended Shaktipat Intensives and, I guess, received Shaktipat, though I find it hard to recognize. That’s why, I suppose, I received knowledge from Prem Rawat in 2007 shortly after mom died. I think it has helped. I love Prem Rawat’s mastery of the language. He speaks english perfectly and makes the sanskrit recognizable for me. He has given me the distance I perhaps needed to understand what Gurumayi is saying. I think my ego has been repeating the mantra, “I have a Guru, I have a Guru, I have a Guru.” That was important to me. It became important in college and continued throughout my life.

Other spiritual communities that have affected me are ISKCON and the Urantia Book, Stephan Gaskins Farm, Kerista Commune, Tibetan Buddhism though it is more a religion than a community and related thereby the books of Alice Ann Bailey who transcribed the teachings of The Tibetan, Surat Shabd Yoga, especially Kirpal Singh who was the spiritual master of my community college philosophy teacher. I have also gone to some church, the United Methodist Church. I was baptised there a little while before Bob Dylan became a Christian. I was affected by the teaching of The Tibetan in this way that I expected the return of Christ. I also became a Freemason through this influence though I think loneliness and guilt was very important too. It was after joining Freemasonry where my father was a 32nd degree mason and my mother was a Worthy Matron in the Eastern Star and an older brother had been initiated that I was introduced by my counselor at the Alachua County Mental Health Clinic to The Urantia Book, a book of truth and revelation.

My first Siddha Yoga Intensive was in 1991 at Christmas. Known as the Christmas Intensive, the theme was” I shall live in the house of the Lord forever.” Having been living in my human father’s house for many years continuously in my adulthood I made a mention of this in a pre-intensive phone call to our small center in Gainesville, Florida. I remember the nice girl who hosted the phone call evening named Maheshi. She suffered from Multiple Sclerosis. It had not progressed so very far at the time and I was feeling sorry for myself for having to live with my mom and dad. That is the ego.

My dad died in 1992. I went to the ashram thereafter. I had taken the Easter Intensive and a workshop with Ram Butler in Sarasota, Florida, not too far south from where I live and when the Birthday Intensive came up I finally heeded the call to go and meet Gurumayi. In moments our meeting was both impersonal and personal. I appreciated her smiles and appreciated meeting as an impersonal kind of thing, reciting my mailing address to her. I had subscribed to DARSHAN magazine since 1988 and taken the DARSHAN video series as well. I was impressed by the name chosen for the new magazine, a new child born of Siddha Yoga after the passing of Siddha Path. I had been interested in a Guru named Darshan Singh who was the son of Kirpal Singh, the Guru of my philosophy teacher and now Gurumayi whom I had been following as well as Baba, her Guru, since 1978 in one way or another. So meeting had already occurred really through these publications and through the chanting and meditation that went on in the centers.

I had practical pursuits as well. I took a writing course to give rebirth to my writing in 1991. I took some community ed. courses in the computer. The writing course had introduced the computer and the word processing typewriter. Both were rather difficult to learn. Mom bought me a computer in 1996. In that same year she had a DirecTV dish installed for me. I had had cable. I believed that the home where we had chanting and meditation in 1988 had cable. My ego and mind had thrown up some difficulties with the center(s). I was still smoking cigarettes then and the host made an aside about the smell of tobacco. He said cigarettes stink. It is humorous to me now but it was a bugaboo then. It continued to annoy me even when I met the man in South Fallsburg at the Birthday Intensive. He said he would help facilitate my stay at the ashram and it made me think it went so much slower because of him. I was not seeing God in Everybody, especially not in this good fellow. He received a spiritual name, Nimai, and that annoyed me. It was a name I had learned in books by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada. I don’t remember now if it was a name for Prabhu Nityananda or Lord Chaitanya himself. These differences in traditions is something my mind brings forward. There is really no difference in anything.

A Comment I meant for Salon article.

October 22, 2011 Leave a comment

Oh, what weather we are having down here in Florida, Kim. The scents bring me back to the days when we visited here with my father. Is it magnolias. Something so beautiful and the temperature is perfect now though a bit chilly at night. We miss these things being on the Net it’s true but I would rather not blame the Net for our not experiencing these things. Before the Net, BN, let’s call it, nobody was talking to each other. In fact there is still a lot of that cold shoulder about. You may call that unfriending if you like. People don’t talk to one another, whereas southern people we know as relatives who may be blue dog democrats or whatever can be warm and loving people we don’t general put names on people who are unkind to us. That’s an inherent human experience. I just can’t remember having any political opinions when I was 5. I didn’t know what political opinions those ugly old people in Penn Station had when mom took me there sometimes. Ugliness is part of this world Kim and Facebook and/or the Internet are just a new device for our communicating with each other.
Unfriending didn’t start with Facebook. I once blocked my own older brother from sending me e-mails. He was so conservative and very difficult to talk to. He found a way at a keyboard to express himself, to be the top dog, to be ugly to me, his little brother who was liberal and opposed to wars and desegregation, who liked rock and roll not Vic Damone.
I have unfriended people on Facebook, too. Once I unfriended my best friend from my old hometown because he said he leaned right in his profile. He also said I spoke, meaning, wrote, too much. I studied to be a writer. He didn’t care I suppose. He was only there I believe because he heard my mother died. He wasn’t concerned with knowing me or seeing me again or anything like that. I am unemployed and many of my Net acquaintances run because they are afraid to be asked for money. That’s a good one, isn’t it. Mostly a family thing.
I did get into a room once that a friend had joined. It was a page, a political page and they had hid very well how right wing it was and once I was on it, boy, I was shot up. It got me so angry. I understand that and I was even proud of myself for standing up to them as long as I could, I am experienced with these discussions from political discussion boards from years and years ago. Mother Jones Live Wire was my first. It closed down under heavy criticism. So I was experienced with how angry you can get with your opponents, opponents to your views. On Live Wire I was compared to Jim Jones and David Koresh for speaking of yoga. I didn’t have a cute nickname or anything and the put my name in their posts. They said I had a space ship, like

Categories: tHE gREAT gOMBOO!

The Happy Idiot

October 19, 2011 Leave a comment

I’m tired of being the happy idiot despite what the yogi/yogini says.

I have no work and haven’t had work in over a decade. Before that

part time job it was another 20 years and I was fired from that job.

Why should I be happy? I should be very sad, mad and grumpy. I

shouldn’t be easy to get along with. I should be a pain in the ass.

Why am I not? Because of the Siddha. She preaches happiness and

joy despite all outward conditions. It makes me sick. People hate

happy people as she herself said in a videotape. 

“Are you one of those people who hate happy people? Do you see

people having a good time and say ‘what are they so happy about?'”

She has the support of scriptures that say the mind creates the

world. The more the mind is unhappy, the more unhappiness it

creates. Is that true? WHO THE HELL KNOWS?!!!

All I know is I can’t stand being in debt and being unloved. Nobody

else follows this cock sucking shit, why the hell should I? They want

to take me away, let them, just don’t cheat me and then lie about it.

Don’t pretend your a friend and say sorry Charly.

I’m not going to BE happy anymore. I’m going to be mad and

disappointed the way the pool hall clowns want me to be. It’s true,

I have nothing to be happy about.

 

Frown

Not Happy No More

 

Family

October 10, 2011 Leave a comment

What do you do when your family hates you?

Categories: tHE gREAT gOMBOO! Tags: ,

For Ram …

October 9, 2011 Leave a comment

Vandita, I have trouble with this staying in the moment.
When I started the course it was important to me.

Well, you bring all your spiritual learning together for
this. This morning I chanted something called Shri Guru Gita with some others.
I am now reading the words of this great work. I am in desperate straits and
this work has a lot to say about the divine greatness of its own recitation. I
am a born skeptic. I think, if anything, it has been my politics that has given
me this innocent belief in things that too the outside world are totally
impossible. I don’t know why Vietnam didn’t end in a bloodbath of the South,
but I was on the side of those who said it would not, though they were not in
favor at the time.

This Swami that I follow is of a tradition that first came
to my attention when it met a young America politician from California. I had
never heard of it before then, so when I read things about thinking of a yellow
seat will bring affluence, I’m a little lost.

I had a statue I was trying to peddle to my friend chanters.
It was of the Hindu God of Success. They were getting ready for a big event in
the works and so couldn’t afford the beautiful thing. I was sellng cheap, too,
but the price never came up. A young woman, looking marvelous since the first
time I met her, appeared to be leading a meeting there on the upcoming event.
She was very nice and sincere in expressing her regrets. Knowing this girl I am
sure she knew what it was to not be able to make the rent.

Ram spoke of poverty consciousness and affluence
consciousness in his post. I lived among catholic people in the north and
became aware of this fellow named Francis. Not sure how he spelled his name and
I’m not sure if it is from him that Robert Francis Kennedy drew his name, but
he is now known as the patron saint of the poor in catholicism. There is a
homeless shelter near that bears his name, the St. Francis House. I don’t know
how many beds they put up. I believe they are mostly a kitchen, but all that is
quite controversial, taxes, neighborhoods and all of that are the problem.
Although I love being out in the streets and in the weather I would hate to be
homeless. The authorities are always trying to get a fix on them. There is also
an issue of a Veterans Homeless shelter in another area, nearby. There are
issues there, too. They would give them a former motel near an interstate, but
some business owners protest and others say it isn’t up to standards because it
only provides a dweller a microwave for cooking. These are veterans of the
armed services. I always get upset because I think they are preferred over
myself for work and on test for civil servants positions. I never served.
Still, if you can keep them out of the rain, the cold and the sun, isn’t that
quite something?

We have our concepts, too, about who these homeless veterans
are, too, black, white, old, young, male, female.

The place I went to chant was called an Industrial Park. I
had to laugh when I saw in this great text mention of dust. I had thought of
the ugliness of dust on the way over there, the ugliness of in-dust-ry. I have
heard of the dust of Guru’s feet before and of the glances. I really don’t know
much about that, even after all these years, since the 70’s. I think at the
root of all that is my faith, believing, the greater thing would be for it to
be beyond my believing, for it be just real. That that was the truth just as
surely as gold is gold, and diamonds are diamonds. Everywhere I have read
though it has said it is our belief that makes it real. In a sense all this
about the mind, ego and intellect confirms that but am I believing in samsara,
because that is what’s real to me. The three letters sam came up a few times
this morning. I had to use a Sam’s Club card, I knew to get a prescription I
had neglected for my diabetes. The card was no good but the young woman at the
prescription center was named Sam, too. She gave me $0.86 to fill my
prescription. The syllable sam was in the great text I chanted, too. I chanted
and worried. Worry is a habit. I have heard there are some things we can do to
avoid that habit, one of them being to chant a text like the one I chanted
every morning when we get up.

When I think of the moment, this moment, I think of an
expansion. Sometimes I experience this expansion when try to bring my mind to
the point between the future and the past. I will think of that past and I will
think of that future but neither of them are real, Vasishtha, Ram, say. I have
heard that the future never comes and the past is gone and I have been debating
them in my  mind. My step-brother whom I
glorified in my youth is studying the Bible now and he bounces this things that
I have said to him, back to me. What is that “they say?” he asks, as
if it was a coloquial saying that the Siddhas have been teaching me. I have
only today come to calling it the Siddhas. I would say a particular Swami
usually.

All of this writing is only the mind anyway. A fellow named
Gillette told me that. I never finished a course that he prepared, it was a
tough year, but I’m sure he’s right about that. Isn’t everything of the mind?
But this writing is one skill I’ve developed. One I hope can serve and better
myself and others. That’s something from Shri Guru Gita, to use the powers
accruing from its recitation for the good of mankind and the welfare of all. If
we all could be well and taken care of, wouldn’t that be wonderful? Isn’t that
something to live for as well as for the glory of God? A man name Adidam Samraj
said that is why we lived and why we should live, for the Glory of God. Okay,
that’s enough.

Categories: tHE gREAT gOMBOO!

Letter to My Center

October 6, 2011 Leave a comment

Haven’t heard back from you. How’s Jane doing finding a new place. Was that for real or was that – philosophy. There is no other place, of course. Practical reality tells us different. If I can’t get $500 up by Monday I’ll be evicted. And no legal stuff just tough talk. That’s the country conservative way, you know. so is this somebody’s seva? Tim’s? I still have his phone number. Suzanne’s email is deactivated, Leonora’s too. Nice of them to be there when mom died. You know I went to Maharaji and knowledge then, in 2007. I received knowledge. He had these things called the keys that were really cool. I missed Mayi’s DARSHAN video series back then.

I was rich back then, you know? I was alone in the house with mom – so when mom died imagine how alone I felt. Should I mention my handicapped brother? He didn’t come by. The southern farmer family, they didn’t want to renew old ties. I remember when people called me Kennedy, the sense that I would find the political belief so much more important than ordinary people. The shoe’s on the other foot now, I suppose. But nobody comes to me. Nobody hangs out with anybody anymore. I remember one Easter, Suzanne, Analise and someone else, was it Stephanie or Mary, or was it no one else, just me. We had bagels and Analise had some foul. I had never eaten there before, the Bagel Factory or something. It was Easter and nothing was doing. Nothing really unusual about that.

We yearn to see God in each other, but we are not even talking to each other. I have, I’m sure you have so many pictures of Gurumayi, statues likely, I remember Draupadi’s Nityananda, that Golden Nityananda and this is his Golden Punyatithi. We have those common memories of people and things. We have realizations to reveal to each other. I have been looking through my old DARSHAN magazines. I found a Siddha Path then from 1985. There was a story by Peter Namdev Hayes who is a Facebook friend of mine about Beginner’s Mind. He wrote about wondering what he could give to Baba after Baba awakened him. He wondered how he could serve. I remembered when I first got to go to the center after losing it for a while. It had moved from down on Depot to out Newberry Road way. All that chanting with the videos, singing together and then meditating. I wondered what that feeling was when I left the Sticco house out on 42nd Ave. I got in that car which was a great blessing to me and drove home. You know for a long time I couldn’t use the car. My dad used to fix it and he was kept inside by skin cancer. There may have been other reasons I couldn’t get my little ’64 Falcon working, but I don’t know them. Suddenly the mechanics had disappeared and there was no way to push or tow the car to the mechanic. My dad, a master mechanic on the railroad, a position nobody went into very far in explaining to me as a child, couldn’t fix it because he couldn’t go outside. I couldn’t much believe that. I had been expelled by my “informal commune.”  Apparently I acted inappropriately around my ex-girlfriend. Maybe it was that I was Gay interested or that I was violent in responding to violence. I had been struck on the head with nungchukas by a friend I had a disagreement with. He had had an arrangement with his girlfriend that they would only be lovers for 4 years, until she graduated college. That day had come and I thought myself a good candidate to be her new lover. He ignores that side of our relationship and just thinks I’m his friend, but when we go out one night in my car, he didn’t have a car and I gave him rides, we went to this place he didn’t like, Lillians, and when we came out he hits me in my right side. He was a bug about musical tastes and I had played He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother on the Jukebox. He didn’t seem to like that. I didn’t like karate. He was a karate enthusiast. We didn’t have a real good relationship. He played guitar and I had suffered guitar lessons for 3 years as a kid. I just had too much baseball in me, I guess, too much sport in general. Guitar lessons for me were awful. I took them from 9 -12 years old and I lied, lied, lied about how much I practiced to my guitar teachers. They gave you a little soap statue if you did so many hours of practice. The first for 500 credits was Brahms. I lied enough to get that.

They didn’t teach rock. Rock was my love.

So, I got hit in the side by this friend of 4 and 1/2 years. He was a year younger than me, too, but tall, 4 inches taller than me. We went to another bar of alternative fancy, The Melody Club, after Lil’s. He, who had never been to this bar, told me there were no women there, but he seemed to have found one by the time to leave. While he was making out with this woman in the Gay bar, I took off in my car. I stopped and called out to him to ask if he wanted a ride home. A pretty stupid thing I guess since he was making out with a woman there. I found nobody and was lonely but he got mad and came to the car and when I asked him again about a ride he kicked me in the groin. I was in the drivers seat and he got his leg through the door and across the seat to kick me in the groin. Didn’t hurt so bad. He couldn’t place it with the steering wheel and all. So I took off for his home, an apartment a few blocks back from Publix on Main. I had loaned him my stereo as he had none. He didn’t like my stereo. It wasn’t the “best.” It was a Realistic, a brand he believe to be “cheap,” and unacceptable. He accepted it because I was such a good friend, having been his acquaintance since 1972. This was 1977. So his door was open and I went in and started to get my stereo together and he and the woman at the Gay bar come home in her, I suppose, little Volkswagen. He takes the pose that I am a thief and he enters, goes past me to his room and gets his nung chukas. First he kicked me in the side as I was bent and holding a speaker and then as I sat on his couch aiming toward his door to get out, the chukas hit my head. He had worked hard on his chukas to make them heavy and sharp. He was into how much pain he could inflict. He had claimed in was for his own protection and the protection of the fair sex who so loved him. He was quite proficient at getting laid I had learned and he could take all kinds of drugs without losing it, as the saying went. We had our differences. You know how we speak without words. I spoke without words to Mark in the Melody Club. I said that he sucked as I involved myself in an act that his not so highly thought of among polite people. I figure that was what got him. The hit in the side he gave me , that may have just been an invitation to study karate. Sure. The songs had nothing to do with it. He was the last word in all music as long as I knew. He replaced a nice, funny fellow at the apartment where the freshman or first yr. college student party went on. It became a second yr. college students’ party when he came along. I was cut out from a second year of this good fellow when he found a pretty woman to sleep with. Being that it was not comfortable for man and woman to “sleep” together on a single bed, the original renter of 1/4 of that Landmark apartment, costing $100.00, had to go. I had been a candidate for a place in that apt. but my father was so dirty cheap that I dared not press and I was leery myself of the libations and drugs. I was a little uncomfortable sharing a room with another boy. Even my best friend from Hawthorne High School made me feel that way. I had tried it with him and things went quite awry but that’s another story.

After being hit on the head I got out to my car but I was not to think that Mark Bennett was going to leave it there. No, he went out of his house and when he could not get into my car, he took the chukas and swung at the windshield. I was able to get out of there. I went to this “informal commune” where my ex-girlfriend lived with one of her girlfriends and the husband of that girl. My girlfriend’s girlfriend had just had a baby and that was the center of their consciousness. I got out to the “Farm” out on Hawthorne Road and it was not past their bedtime. They took a look at my wound and were aghast. The took me to the Emergency Room, the husband at the request of the wife, and I got stitches in my head. I’m sure Mark Leighton Bennett, III who was originally from Orange Park got a real kick out of that. He was always talking about putting someone in Shands.

The Center is not far from where the now defunct Melody Club did its business. Part of it is now called Spikes. There was a real big deal that followed all that about non-violence. I even heard my name spoken on the radio as being a “victim of violence.” I had it in me to do the whole Mahatma Ghandi posed and feinted at it for a while but in the end I sought the services of an elder cousin of mine who also loved rock and could defend himself very well. I had gotten a job that sort of made me a sitting duck. I was a courier for the Gainesville Sun. I delivered papers out Hawthorne Rd. and through Windsor and into my own town of Melrose. It was now 1978. The storm had been brewing throughout the year. The commune had lured me up to somewhere in Arkansas near Fayetteville, host of Arkansas University. My ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend, the old girlfriend with the husband and their baby, Raina. I was lured up by sexual suggestion and taken as a derelict or pedophile when I got up there. I ended up in jail as they did not want my company.

I had left a job to go up to see them. Relationships are so difficult. Cathy and I had had an open relationship. I was always thinking it was still open as I saw her naked at the “Farm” often. We also swum in the waters of Gay defense. We believed in Gay people’s rights and defended them when men sneered the word Gay at us. I had had a Gay experience even though it was not me who had all the David Bowie records ever made. That was my friend Mark whose girlfriend was called Carol, or Jew if you were Mark. Funny they thought. I didn’t care but it kind of bothered me that what mattered about Bob Dylan was that he was “a Jew.” Maybe from a history student concerned with the Holocaust but my friend Mark never wrote a single paper in all the years that I knew him. So, I was up in Arkansas and good friend were not being nice to me anymore. A lot like now.

I never did get together with Carol, Mark’s girlfriend. So hippy, so cool, being possessive as hell. Don’t you think. Well, he didn’t have a car, did he, and his job was just a pizza maker at Leonardo’s. He quit that job and took one at Winn-Dixie, but he did that after. Hope this isn’t boring you. Hard to take in , isn’t it. It’s hard to say that was the beginning of my hardship but it really seems like that. People being like you did not know them to be. How does that relate to Siddha Yoga? Is the world acting as we do not know it to be. Have we got the world wrong? And yet, the world acts as our friends that we don’t understand act. Baba tells us God is within everyone but we don’t see it. I think my God would be KINDNESS. I don’t see the kindness in people. All this money that I had, the car that I owned, what good did that do to me. I was still lonely. My kick was not even meditation it was looking at TV and now I’ve come to where I can’t pay for TV and am trying to sell my TV, the big plasma that I bought, my addiction or affection for TV at its height I guess. I tried to get Siddha Yoga to make blu-ray.

Anyway,  I hope you are reading this. If you are not I can post it to Edsaves77, my blog as they call it. It goes back, you know, way back. There are archives that link it to my postings at Yahoo! before and after my mom died. It’s this computer thing and my education. Current Events. Is that where it all began? I have been hearing that my favorite Current Events teacher, the Current

Events teacher of the Draft and the Vietnam War Protests, has cancer. She is retired and I’m so sorry to hear of her condition. She had moved. She has grandchildren. She’s moved to another place in Florida. Maybe Jane would be interested in this, she, my Lu LaFontaine who taught American History and English at Hawthorne and later at Gainesville High School has moved to Marrianna, Florida. Is that the name, Marrianna. It’s up near Pensacola.

So, who else was in that Siddha Path, Swami Shantananda. He wrote about Mahalaksmi, whose song I have been singing as regularly as I can. I received another  song, via Swami Vivekananda and Pankaj Bhole, both Facebook friends of mine, called Kanakadhara Stotram. You can hear the Kanakadhara Stotram, a story of Mahalakshmi’s kindness to a follower of Shankaracharya’s at YouTube. I’m just too lazy right now to link. My friend wanted to see what the Pawn Broker in Keystone would give us for the TV, mount, credenza and surge protector. It was not even rent. He wanted us to bring it down so he could see it and we did. Just the TV and boy is it heavy. Supposed to be 100 lbs. approximately. 54″ plasma. Panasonic Viera. Would the center like it? I can’t just give it to you, sorry. And the Ganesha statue, out here? No way!!! I had to go into town about food stamps. I got some money last month and they needed some proof of that. I had canceled my Life Insurance Policy and received 197 dollars. Before they approved my stamps I had to get a copy of the check and take it to the office there on 16th Ave. Nice people there today, so Black. Nice woman took care of me. She spoke english nicely and processed the data well. She clearly knew what she was doing. I didn’t feel used or anything. Had the TV in the van all the way. My friend who had the Pawn Broker idea paid another visit and she offered to help bring the TV up from the van. I live in an upstairs apartment on Main Street across from a PC Repair shop. I wish he would give me a job but he says he can’t.

I was going to bring the statue and the 100 or so DARSHAN magazines I have over last night but I just couldn’t pick up the vibe. Doing business with you? It’s controversial. You’re holy, you don’t exchange currency for things. Maybe I didn’t want to drive down Melody Club Lane or maybe it was my gas problem. This van guzzles the gas. I wonder that it’s previous owned didn’t take advantage of the clunker program, but it cost me about 1,000 dollars and then I needed a transmission. Boy. I am such a BOY. I just can’t take care of myself. I need my mommy. I am so stressed out that the other night I just started crying and saying, mommy, mommy,mommy. She was my savior or as the song in Siddha Yoga goes, “my sole support.” Of course we know the Guru exist in the blade of grass or the leaves that fall. It’s a metaphysical concept. I’m a simple person, I just need my mom.

Love you all and I was glad to be able to give you all of this. I feel like maybe I cheat you when I write you. I have written Pankaj who by the way was part of an installation of a Ganesha in Ganeshpuri, I think, on Ganesha’s birthday. How about you, are you meeting Siddha people on the Net?

Oh, this article by Swami Shantananda, it was bout these statues. As a young man he loved the Catholic statues of of the angels and saints and then that fell away, but later when he came to yoga he saw these forms differently. Not creations of the mind, he says but experiences of the deep within. Excuse me getting kind of Clockwork Orange or Australian or something.

I need to send. Love you.