Purple Mountains Majesty above the Fruited Plain.  Truck Stop, Tejon Pass

Like the inside of Vegas casinos, AA meetings, rehabs and government buildings, movies and Broadway theaters, cameras are not permitted on the grounds of the Ashram.  So when I ask to take pictures, I know in advance they'll say no, which they do in the nicest and gentlest and kindest way.

No matter how often you do it, you will get your heart broken.  Or your feelings hurt at least.  Or you will turn into the Behavior Police.   This is my experience, going to spiritual retreats and gatherings, because they are just like anything else in life but Writ Large.  You are coming with Expectations.  You are either thinking you are fabulous and this touch of the spiritual will top you off, or you are already feeling pretty connected to the higher realms and just want to pump up the volume, or you are deep in despair and desperately seeking something or someone to fix you.  Or you're just curious.  Doesn't matter.  The energy is swirling -- anxiety, anticipation, bliss and joy, doubt and confusion -- you name it, it's there.  You got your Type A personalities taking charge, bossing folks around, pissing people off and burning off unknown lifetimes of karma working out their issues around fear and control, and you got your Seeker and your Martyrs and your Madonnas and your Curious Georges.  And everybody wants the Buzz, everyone's looking for the Divine Charge -- the energy, the shakti, the rush -- as it were.  Everybody's a Shakti Whore. 

I've been doing this for years and each time it's different.  So we get there Thursday morning and the process starts.  The car parking, the shuttling of pilgrims up the road to the Temple where you get in line to get a token to see the person I'll call the Teacher (because there are plenty of gurus and saints and prophets and Realized Beings in this world, and I'm not here to promote mine over yours, one over another.  Just the facts ma'am).  It's a beautiful day.  We're in the middle of a working farm, in the middle of what used to be a horse ranch, with outbuildings and gardens and barns and animals and lots and lots of people.  All sizes and shapes, persuasions and styles, catechisms and precepts.  We're standing in line to get tokens for "Darshan" which is the name for the blessing of a Teacher.  Some give Darshan with a look, or a tap on the head with a peacock feather, or a word or a combination of word and look, and some make the equivalent of the sign of the Cross or some other symbol.  This particular Avatar gives you a hug. 

The line is moving slowly, and when we get inside we find out why: the Teacher, a devotee is explaining patiently, is only giving darshan to those who have never seen Her before.  Due to the extensive crowds, thousands of pilgrims, not enough hours in the day etc. etc.  Any reasonable person would say, "Well, that's fair.  I've had my turn in the past, now it's someone else's chance.  I should step aside and let others share in the experience."

But no one is rational or fair or thinking clearly in these situations.  We're doped up with yearning and passion like kids before Christmas and stumbling around like zombies with the emotional and spiritual and karmic baggage we've brought with us.  Those with ego and self-esteem throw down and get angry; the weaker ones turn on themselves with loathing and lapse into self-flagelation: "You idiot, you should have appreciated what you had when you had the chance, and now look at you, you fool, wasting your time, driving all this way up here for what?  What were you thinking?  Were you even thinking?" 

The seriously deranged and morally bankrupt are tempted to lie and say it's their first time ever.  They would lie to Santa.  They would try to bluff Satan. 

The insanity, of course, is that everyone has come here to be told that God is Love and that we should all be of Love and Service to One Another.  For this I've driven 350 miles one way and spent a night in a Courtyard by Marriott.  I know.  Ridiculous.  But a life lived on a spiritual basis will never look anything but absurd to the uninitiated.  And a grown man willing to sacrifice his son because God told him to?  Who talks to a burning bush?  I rest my case.  Religious fanatics have been known to do worse.  And it's Crazy.

So D. went to help in the kitchen, to burn off his disappointment in physical labor, and I wandered off in a daze to pout.  Chastising myself, questioning my motives, appalled at the sheer ego of it all: "I'd like God's Blessing please, and could you make it snappy?"  "What do you mean no hug?  Do you realize how much I spent on gas getting here?"  Wow, Red Sea better part for you.  Angels better bow down. 

And then in the way these things happen, when there's no time to rethink, apologzie, prepare or adjust or grieve or argue or figure it out -- when in the midst of life we are caught off guard -- suddenly we are shuffled off into a line and in the next moment I am in the arms of the Teacher, being held in the lap of the Divine Mother of the Universe, embraced and being assured that I am Her Darling Son.  I am trying so hard to be conscious, holding my breath, not holding my breath, trying so hard to be alert and present and aware because I know it ends in a heartbeat, in the blink of an eye, and there is not enough time to realize that God's Love is Neverending, Infinite and Undying -- 

And indeed, in the next instant I am being hustled off to make room for the next spiritual aspirant needing to be reminded that we are all One, we should all Love One Another right now.  Until we forget and lapse back into unconsciousness and need to be told again.

Gandhi said in his autobiography, "What I want to achieve -- what I have been striving and pining to achieve these thirty years -- is self-realization, to see God face to face, to attain Moksha.  I live and move and have my being in pursuit of this goal."

So do I, Gentle Reader.  Except for the part about having my heart broken, having my feelings hurt, even while I know that broken hearts and hurt feelings are part of Life and part of the Path.  So do I.