A Live Turkey At The Restaurant

This is an undoctored photo. No doctors were consulted in the making of it.
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I was at the restaurant yesterday, which was busy. So I got to spend some time in the waiting room. Even though there were plenty of tables in plain sight. I was there so long, I expected a nurse to call me in for a urine sample.
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I started observing everyone. There was a guy right by the cash register, waiting for a refill on his coffee. He got the refill and immediately went into the bathroom. I thought that was odd. Why not let the waitress get the coffee, tell her he's going to give a urine sample, and he'll get the coffee when he gets back? I wouldn't want to take my drinks into the bathroom.
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Maybe Karen and Richard Carpenter were there. After I waited for a while, the hostess called out "Carpenter." At first I thought of the Seinfeld episode where the Chinese guy calls out "Cartwright." My name isn't Carpenter. Then I thought, maybe the Carpenters are here. Maybe I'll see the late Karen Carpenter come by, asking me if I thought I'd be out there long, to which I could've said, "We've only just begun."
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After a while it was Standing Room Only in the waiting room. In fact, there was a 10 minute wait just for a bench.
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Someone had put a live turkey in the arcade claw machine. That was weird. A live turkey as a prize! But it was a moneymaker. Kids kept dropping the claw on its head, but it gobbled in alarm and pulled away. It was disgusting. It was getting turkey droppings all over the other toys.
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I came up with a pun for "peeing up a storm," which was hurinecane. The guy with the coffee made me think of that, since coffee has that effect on me. Being in the bathroom with the coffee might not be such a bad idea.
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I looked outside and saw a couple yellow motorcycles speeding by. It reminded me of a show I saw on TV about a guy in Israel who robbed banks. He'd speed away on a yellow motorcycle. It took them forever to catch him. So I was crying out, "It's that Israeli!" But everyone looked skeptical. "No, it is really!"
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I heard a waiter asking a customer, "Did everything come out all right?" I thought that was a little personal.
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I also came up with a syndicated cartoon strip (potential) that involves side by side graves.
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That's Earl, brother!

The Pink Professor Debates

What do people go to a bikers' bar for? There's the obvious; you see bikers pulling in en masse, slapping each other on the back, rolling cigarettes, and going in to drink. Drinking and cameraderie's obviously the thing.

But then what difference is there if you add a Pink Professor character to the mix? A Lord Fauntleroy kind of guy, but an adult, who unabashedly nurtures an effeminate intellectual character in the midst of so much roughness. Who becomes accepted over the years, a trustworthy person, nonjudgmental, and familiar.

Personally, I think a Pink Professor could be accepted very rapidly, within a couple weeks even. Because familiarity is established quickly, especially if he's there a few times when everyone else arrives. The more they see you sitting there, acting comfortably, sipping your wine, the less strange it is. And if you have a kind smile and a caring attitude, you've got it made.

I think bikers are looking for love, security, and stability just like anyone else. To me, it's obvious they're characters with a real drive for tradition and ritual. Just look at all the flags and souvenirs from Sturgis they have, the Harley Davidson hats, shirts, and so forth. They're no different than anyone else.

If I'm a Pink Professor, let's say, I'm going to be one of the gang within two weeks, guaranteed. And I dare say, it's happen especially if I kept up the flamboyance and affectations. After the initial shock, that's something they'd appreciate, someone distinctive, perhaps an outcast in other circles but welcome here.

If I could be that guy -- I'm just daydreaming, I'm not going to spend my life as a Pink Professor in a bikers' bar -- I could see myself setting up debates within the facility on various topics. Or a symposium, like on what I said above, the appreciation of tradition and ritual. That'd blow their minds ... and the short story is they'd love you that much more, because you've embraced what's important to them as an honored discipline.

As for the debates, maybe they'd have disagreements -- I'm sure they would. And we assume they'd want to resolve it by shivs and chains, guns and fisticuffs. But what if we could debate the various issues of biker life? The Pink Professor wouldn't want to "lay a heavy trip" on them or anything. He'd start it out as just an informal "bull session" over by the dancers' stage, three or four guys. Then someone else comes over, noticing the Pink Professor's calm, non-threatening, interested demeanor. And before you know it, they're resolving things through debate and consensus.

I really do believe that bikers are softies at heart. I spent some time once with a guy from the Hell's Angels (true story). He and I were traveling on the interstate out in California in the '70s, and he confessed to me that he couldn't read. So I was a Pink Professor kind of guy to him, helping him with the road signs, etc. We stopped at a grocery store and I was able to read to him the labels on packages. I remember pointing out to him which was the turkey meat and which was the ham. When we parted, I wondered how the guy was able to find his way on roads before me, and how he was able to pick out meat. My conclusion was that he so appreciated my accepting Pink Professor-like attitude toward him that he allowed me to help him with something he already knew how to do. (This paragraph -- you might not believe it -- is 100% true and actually happened.)

I've met bikers since then as well, here and there. Of course a lot of them are getting to be old-timers now, and you figure they've got the natural mellowing of age. But even back then, if you treated them with respect, they were very friendly.

A great Pink Professor debate might be on the issue of "Whether our best days are behind us," that sort of thing. That's an issue that would resonate with me in a debate ... or at least a good discussion. I'm planning for my upcoming 1000th Grandma Slump posting to be something like that, whether I'm as good as I'll ever be.

And so, beloved friends of the bikers' bar, this is the Pink Professor wishing you all a good night. Just let me say to you fellas, you'll feel better if you don't drink too much and if you get a good night's sleep. But why am I telling you that? You already know it's true!

The Pink Professor

On September 23, 2010, I worked up my courage and went walking into a bikers' bar. I'd been by the place a hundred times and wondered what it'd be like to go in, but naturally I was very reluctant. I'd hate to be cornered and made to regret it.

Of course everyone in the place turned to examine me up and down as soon as the door closed. Was I a narc? Was I there to repossess a bike, that is a motorcycle? Was I lost? Was I seriously coming through the door? I thought I saw a couple waitresses laughing about something.

No one gave me a bit of trouble going in. I was searching my brain, in relation to the setting, to determine what would be the right etiquette for taking a table and getting served. I must've looked clumsy. The whole place was unfamiliar to me, but I recognized what looked like tables across the way, and indeed they were. I sat.

So far, so good. And it went like that. To make a long story short, the waitress waited on me, I got my food, etc., and nothing untoward whatsoever happened. It was just like sitting in any other place. Except ... they were shooting photos for some kind of calendar, so a few waitresses stood in a provocative way at the bar, leading to a few hoots! from the bikers -- or at least it would've had any bikers actually been there. There weren't any at that time.

I was giving the waitresses a few appraising stares -- looking them up and down, when they weren't looking in my direction. There's a few places on women's bodies that tend to get my attention, but I keep a vigilant lookout for their eyes as well, so I'm able to nonchalantly look away. Had there been any bikers, I might've gotten beat up. Because with my appraising stares, I can tell you what they're worth to the penny, and that means I'm looking in some detail.

Anyway, it was an uneventful night. The food came. I ate it. I left.

But while there, I had a thought for a good character. And if I were an effeminate guy, I could probably make my personality match up with this character, at least in theory: The Pink Professor.

Like I said, the Pink Professor is effeminate, but he also has been made to fit right in with a bikers' gang, the gang that hangs out at "this fine establishment." Of course he would have to speak in those sorts of terms.

How would he have gotten to be someone the bikers accept and appreciate? His back story probably would have to start much like me going into the place. He would be accepted just because he's been there over the years, he's proven to be trustworthy, they feel he's classy, and he's kind of a mascot. Maybe, too, as a professor, he's helped them with some of the trivia games they always have on the computer. There's lots of reasons they'd like a Pink Professor sort of guy.

I was thinking of him like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Maybe warning some ne'er-do-well that the rest of the gang will "teach you a lesson that you shan't forget." The others are playing pool, having played it as young delinquent boys. P.P. "took a class" in it. I myself actually did both (but I wasn't a delinquent), learned it growing up and also took a class.

Pink Professor also explains the biker's bar to outsiders who happen to be visiting. Like with pool. "When they hit the balls like that, that's called a break."

And he often crosses his legs, while the others sit straight-legged.

Swami Masturbananda -- The Life Of The Party

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (7)

There's many reasons to follow the teachings of Swami Sri Masturbananda. One, they're beautiful in every way, as he leads us in beholding glimpses of divine consciousness, several seconds at a time. And another, there's so much more ahead, as we couple that with a deepening awareness of our standing in divinity. The good news is, even if it takes us a million incarnations to advance in that, the glimpses aren't going anywhere. We can huff and puff and blow the house down every day of the week.

I've been thinking of the master all day, thinking of his example, and how he leads the way. There's really no one else quite like him, so full of grace ... and, uh, the pearly essence. He doesn't just make allowances for the workings of the flesh, he encourages it. And even though he is so far advanced, being among the highest avatars of deity, he's still grounded in the here and now, showing his chelas (students) the best ways it's done.

It's hard to believe he's -- I don't know -- maybe 200 years old, maybe older, but through his daily rounds of meditation, he gets it on like a 20 year old. The lesson there is, it doesn't matter ... when you're eternal, in mind and body, 20 or 2,000's all the same. So in that, too, there's a message for us. Your bathroom is a blessed portal to the eternal realms.

Sri Masturbananda, then, is one to know, to cherish, and to emulate. So it has always been, maybe going back to the first caveman. I'd like to think the swami made preincarnational visits to the world even back then. Let's say you've got a frustrated caveman. He thinks life is nothing but flint knives and arrowheads. His dad was killed in a dinosaur stampede. His mom bundled him up and took him to The Land Before Time. He's like ... 20 years old, right at the peak of his powers, but he doesn't know it. Then Sri Masturbananda comes hovering in a vision, explaining, in clinical language of course, the facts of life. For the young man, this explains why the dinosaurs are playing piggyback all the time. Then, next thing you know, the young guy's got a grasp ... on matters ... and it all ends rather happily.

Whether that happened or not, one thing's for sure, the master has been active in recent centuries. Wherever he makes his appearances, the world gives him great acclaim. Seriously, the guy's always the life of the party.

In India, the master's homeland, they have religious fairs every 12 years called the Kumbha Mela. Swamis, gurus, and holy men and women come from near and far to set up their tents and offer blessings to the people. You've got tons of people in scanty loincloths, their business hanging out everywhere; it's quite a sight. I was there a few years ago, and I still recall this one guy in a white sheet laying on the ground, his legs up, no underpants, and a direct shot of his business. Frankly, to me it was gross. I saw him walking around a couple days later, and I thought about asking him "how they're hanging," but I already knew!

Anyway, at these fairs, with the assortment of people on hand, you've got a lot of sincere swamis and gurus, and sincere visitors, and you've got a bunch of phonies and frauds. Many swamis are there with their begging bowls, just taking, taking, taking, then fingering you when you turn your back. If it weren't for the true representatives of the divine, it wouldn't be worth going to. They're few and far between, yes. But they are there!

But no matter who is there -- some of the most famous appearances of the legendary guru Babaji have taken place at this festival -- there's one master who outshines the rest, and that is of course Swami Sri Masturbananda. When he's there, everyone gathers 'round, as close as they can get, to hear the teachings and to take part in the action. He'll be in his tent, a beatific look on his face as he teaches. Then when it comes time to practice his meditations -- No man can look upon him in his heat and live! -- he zips the door shut. In those precious moments, everyone beholds the great lights coming forth from his tent, the visitations of nude angels, and the occasional loud sound of splat within. It's a great time for one and all.

The key thing for all of us to understand, though, is that we don't even have to leave our home to be in communion with this saint. Whether it's India, or your own home, your own bathroom, Swami Sri Masturbananda's spirit is there -- right here today -- for each one!

Masturbananda -- Heaven's Just A Fantasy Away

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (6)

One of the important teachings of Swami Sri Masturbananda concerns the connection between thought (or fantasy) and reality. They are in fact the same thing. We may tend to think of thought as insubstantial, not as "solid" as an object in front of us. But obviously everything we create starts as a thought.

Plato, a horny bastard with young men if ever there was one, had it right in his philosophy of heavenly archetypes of present and accessible things. The horse we see reveals the ideal, original horse up there somewhere in the big stable in the sky. The body parts we're groping likewise are modeled on something up there. If he is to be believed, the entire universe, reality itself, is busy struttin' its stuff.

That's not too far from Masturbananda's philosophy! Ultimate reality, as though there could be any other kind, wants to get it on with you. You and it are, in fact, already together as one, but as long as we're unaware of it, we're trapped here in suffering.

The master's ultimate purpose is to make this connection fully conscious, joining the divine realms consciously with our daily experience. And so we have the revealing of the divine in our bathroom meditations, with Sri Masturbananda leading the way. He teaches us that there are really no limits, but with our limited perspective, for most of us, we're going to have to be content with glimpses through these ... personal activities.

There's a funny story of an innkeeper in India who was looking for a way to make more money. But he wasn't just content with a fair profit, he wanted to make a killing. Young men were working in the area, harvesting whatever they happen to grow in India, and came to stay at his inn. Knowing how they'd like to unwind at night, he stocked a room with particularly provocative magazines. But instead of charging the cover price, he jacked the prices up threefold.

One day Swami Sri Masturbananda passed that way and, stopping in, naturally wanted to browse what the guy had available. But seeing the crazy ridiculous prices, and knowing in an instant the guy's perfidy, he made a purchase. Then he went to his room, then straight to the bathroom. The master started fantasizing -- joining his unlimited thought to the equally unlimited divine creativity -- and, as it turned out, he left the hotel so full of his glory and effulgence they needed the fire department and all the fire hoses they could supply to clean it out, which left such massive damage the proprietor declared bankruptcy, then finally killed himself.

How did the master do this? It was thinking. And knowing that Heaven's just a fantasy away.

For us, there's also a place in our thinking where we're able to "let go." But you know as well as I that we spend a lot more effort observing our thinking as almost a third party, and so there's blockage. We're opposed to ourselves. Sri Masturbananda's program is that we come to realize the true connection we have with the divine, then live totally according to that awareness. But he recognizes where most of us are, far from the ideal, and so he teaches the physical release as a primary experience. Those are the glimpses of the divine that are meant to lead to so much more.

We see it all around us, nature and ourselves going after this connection. We observe: Even a three legged dog finds a mate, so obviously there's nothing really standing in our way, except ourselves! Sri Masturbananda wants us all to advance as far as we can, with our thinking leading the way ... then getting out of the way!


ON ONAN AND THE ISM NAMED FOR HIM

The biblical character Onan is well known for his bedroom activities, and is the patron saint of many. But the story as we typically hear it focuses on his death. This is where Sri Masturbananda disagrees. Instead of a physical death, the master interprets it as a death to limits and expectations. Onan, quite remarkably, was going beyond, dying to this world and the limitations of consciousness. He was going for greater glimpses of glory. And as it turned out, it was all for the best, since whatever kids he would've fathered would've been nothing but horny profligates anyway. 

Masturbananda -- Mastering The Seven Bodies

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (5)

This posting covers some of the advanced principles of metaphysiology as experienced and taught by Swami Sri Masturbananda. In brief, the body we see is actually made up of seven bodies. Each can be discerned and known simultaneously and dealt with as part of our spiritual connection to the divine, our true Self.

As the master has taught repeatedly, the basic premise to grasp before all else is that everything you think you see and know about yourself is false. Once that's dealt with, there is so much to discover, to be revealed, including these teachings on the various bodies that make up the persons we are. There's seven of you! There's a seven-link chain, so to speak, between yourself and the highest consciousness. And the higher you go, the more ethereal and sweeter everything is.

Sri Masturbananda, of course, has known all about these dimensions for a long time, being an avatar of the Highest and yet living on this plane, with the mission to lift us all toward our ultimate destiny. In his teaching and his manner, he is all gracious, knowing that most of us will not accept much, and hence will not achieve much in this incarnation. So he generally keeps his teaching down at the average man's level, revealing only glimpses of divine consciousness through self-gratification. That's not to say he himself doesn't enjoy it; he enjoys everything, especially that.

Whether it's the lowest or the highest, Sri Masturbananda is quite at home in all of it. It has a genuine stimulative effect on him. But naturally he is most at home, and most stimulated, in the highest realms, when he has the fullness of the seven bodies unsheathed. Because then he can dwell in the sevenfold ecstasy, and revel in it, with all the planes operational. His desire is that each of will get this, and know our full nature.

In the illustration, the seven snakes represent all these bodies. Please don't write in with a lot of fears for Sri Masturbananda's safety. He is not -- we repeat, he is not being attacked by snakes. That's just Number 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, representing the sevenfold Self!

Now, what happens when the seven aspects of the Self are present, discerned, and known? Well, I've never actually witnessed it -- that would be certain death to behold the master in his heat. But what he's told me, the little bit he has told me, implies is that it's raw ecstasy. In our terms, it'd be like a big orgy with seven of the loveliest virgins topped off with a communal Calgon bath.

The imagination tries to picture seven Masturbanandas all at once, finding himself, reaching out to his other selves, going at it with his typical jackhammer speed, with the understanding that we're dealing with heavenly beings -- It's got to be raw. In such a setting, the ecstasy, the climaxes that are taking place are beyond our imagination. He did tell me that the more heavenly the body, the more heavenly the flow. We start at our plane, with the natural fluids. Then as the bodies progress, so this aspect progresses. Going up the line in order, from earthly to heavenly, we have 1) our natural fluids, 2) nectar, 3) amrita (some kind of ethereal sweet stuff), 4) soma juice (more ethereal and sweeter yet), 5) double soma, 6) soma ultra, and, 7) pure spirit (so ethereal it's vapor and so sweet one drop causes diabetes).

Anyway, you're giving and you're taking. You've got a handful of this one over here, bodies that are more or less evanescent. Suddenly it's five on one. It's like the Trinity on steroids. This one's dematerializing and popping up somewhere else in the room, maybe reaching around behind you. You'd think it was a hall of mirrors, with so many images of yourself, but some of the bodies of the higher planes resemble you somewhat less, as they're prone to burst into a sort of heatless fire and vanish. One thing's for sure, it's all quite enjoyable. You're literally beside yourself with pleasure...

I could give step by step instructions on how to achieve this level of awareness and ecstasy in meditation. There are really no yogic injunctions against it. And, believe me, it's truly a transcendental scene! But I don't want to bore anyone. Most people have had a hard day, or they've got a lot on their mind, and I know most of us don't want to be bothered with a lot of extraneous details, especially instructions that we don't necessarily have a lot of time to follow anyway. Frankly, most of us have enough to deal with with the body we see without wanting to worry about others. So I'll spare you.

Everything in its time. The teachings will come ... someday when you're ready. Because, yes, Sri Masturbananda is here to make these revelations and lead us all in it. He wants us all to know for ourselves the glimpses of glory, and to have the real experiences of divine consciousness.

Swami Masturbananda -- The 60 Second Man

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (4)

I'm going to be quick writing this first part, trying to get it typed in the time it takes for Swami Sri Masturbananda to achieve ecstasy in his meditations. I'm a fast thinker as well as a fast typist, but quite frankly I can't keep up with a jackhammer. The man is quick, scanning his memory and imagination for provoking fantasies that will, without fail, take him into those divine realms, the highest consciousness. He glimpses it for himself, and he leads the way for the rest of us.

[I failed. That took me a little over 60 seconds. I probably could've physically typed it in 60 seconds, but when you have to write it at the same time, that takes some time. But in that brief amount of time, the master would've been done and would've been cooling his hands in the lavatory.]


THE TIME HE COULDN'T DO IT IN 60 SECONDS

The story goes, at one time Sri Masturbananda was really down, weighed down by the sins of the world and, we believe, was working out in his own body the collective karma of all. Either that or it could've been a serious migraine.

To make a long story short, his meditation times also were going nowhere. He was scanning his fantasies, focusing in on the more lascivious aspects of the chakras and the whole bit, sweating it out in the bathroom. But then, after a few frustrating minutes, he was back out. Nothing! As a result, all nature seemed to be suffering, creeks driving up, then smaller rivers, then even the great Ganges River itself.

People along the banks of these waterways were grabbing the necklines of their clothes, suffering the stifling heat and other terrible effects of nature's despondency. They sent him many risque French postcards, the message imploring him to ignore the message and turn the thing over!

Teams of the master's chelas (students) presented him with lines of beauties brought in from around the country. The beauties paraded through his ashram, doing Charleston squats in the nude. But Sri Masturbananda waved them all off: "Away! It's no use!"

The suffering went on. Everyone was chewing his tongue from anguish. It was quite a sight, nothing good about it.

Then what? The Master came out of his ashram and walked along the dry banks of the Ganges. He looked like Job in a loincloth. The sun over him was enlarged, and hotter than anyone could stand.

But then ... this is great! ... Heaven itself intervened, sending a message of reassurance, signs in the clouds that everyone could behold, designed to stimulate the master. Giant shapes were being formed in the clouds, and they were crystal clear: Cleavage so big it was like your grandma's, only about half that age. An orgy of big-boned women and men was in full swing. These were the gods! The winds shifted left and right, jostling all these shapes back and forth. They were trading partners in a rousing session of hunka hunka burning love. All in all, it was a great sign, the smiling of the cosmos, announcing that the karmic debt had been paid!

Sri Masturbananda beheld the signs, then, at a trot, ran to his ashram and everyone knew where he was headed, the bathroom! All eyes watched the renewed swami disappearing through the door. Now there was nothing to see. They could only wait. But suddenly they heard the sound of a roaring fan. It was the vent over the bathroom! The fan was turning faster and faster, and finally it blew off the building and landed about a hundred yards away in a field.

From the vent then came such a mixture of steam and smoke, they couldn't tell which was which. The word went out: "Either we have a new pope -- or the old boy's back!"

Then the master appeared at the door, smiling like the sun itself. The vapor from his hands ascended, making rain clouds in the sky. Soon water began flowing down and the Ganges rose once again. Birds returned to their trees, unpacked their nests and sat up housekeeping once more.

Other interesting phenomena included the dead being raised and going back home. Antique stores had to return their possessions, to the relief of nervous survivors.

The 60 second man was back!

Everyone's karmic debt being covered by the master's substance, everyone lived happily ever after, every man a brother. And their women bore them young.

Swami Masturbananda: "Cherish Your Time Alone"

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (3)

The yogi alone in his cave is something we all can picture. It's an inspiring image, an exalted being who's found a hole in the midst of a rock and has climbed in there for his meditations.

We're picturing Swami Sri Masturbananda today in a cave like that, but we ask that you realize it's for illustrative purposes only, as he doesn't actually like caves. Too many inconveniences and a lack of creature comforts. You've got bugs, spiders, bats, bears, and the occasional hobo stumbling in to sleep off a bender. For these reasons and many more, and remember, Sri Masturbananda is all wise, he prefers the warmth and comfort of his own ashram, where his personal bathroom is all the "cave" he needs.

The message we want to focus in on today is not where your alone time is found -- a cave would do nicely if you don't mind roughing it -- but that you get away somewhere, and that you spend a lot of quality time meditating the Masturbananda way. Pull away somewhere alone, then pull away.

Frankly, it's left to our imaginations what precisely he's doing in the bathroom. We feel we have something of a good idea what's going on, but how he manages it every step of the way is what we're not privy to. And certainly we're not privy to the extent of his consciousness, what his experiences are in relation to the divine, and what all revelations are granted him in those seconds or moments of complete release. Just going by the sound of it, he must be creating new worlds in other dimensions!

I myself, as one of his disciples, meeting him in Mother India, came about as close as anyone to witnessing his ecstasy, being allowed to sit outside the door. I summarized it a couple days ago, but just to touch on it again briefly, to say his meditations are turbocharged would not be an exaggeration. I like seeing things in person, I really do, but if that's not possible, my imagination is fertile enough to fill in the blanks. I could tell you in very explicit terms what I believe it sounded like, but I'm trying to keep this blog family-friendly. Nothing "blue" allowed. So just let me say, if he's experiencing what it sounds like he's experiencing, the whole thing is very hot, and copious. This guy's a jackhammer.

Of course as an avatar sent with an important teaching for us in the world, he's not simply here for his own awareness, consciousness, and enjoyment; he's here to lead us all in the way of life. This is where he's different from so many other teachers, who teach the way of asceticism and years of long, unfulfilled searching. Sri Masturbananda declares that the glimpses of the highest consciousness he has are for every man, through using wisely (and regularly) the equipment our Creator gave us.

For that purpose, we all need plenty of alone time, to meditate and to receive those times of blessing, the flashes of divine ecstasy in the precious seconds we have. The master retires to his bathroom or some other retreat -- he would go to a cave if that's all he had, despite the bugs and other inconveniences -- and there he is vitally in touch with the glory. If it's important for such an advanced being as Sri Masturbananda, how much more would it be for lesser men!

And the master is one who counsels us in that. He doesn't just leave us alone to our own devices; he gives us counsel to seek out those alone times, even saying, in his grace, that we should cherish our time alone. Because, guess what, we're not really alone. The center and heart of the universe is everywhere, right there where we are. It is a work of grace that we're able to ascend as we do, ever building toward that full release, then to find it, even if it's just for seconds. We see it -- we feel it -- the ecstasy at the heart of life, whether it's for seconds (or eternity).

This is what the master wants for you today!

The Vital Essence Of Masturbananda

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (2)

We turn to a subject of great interest to gurus and swamis everywhere, the significance of the vital essence, whether it's better to carefully preserve and transmute it as an inner energy for directing the consciousness into the divine realms eventually, or whether it's just as well to expel it, thereby experiencing precious glimpses of divine consciousness now.

We've all read the various masters on this subject, and for the most part there's not a libertine in the bunch. As far as we know, it would seem, their cajones must have shriveled down to raisins, no longer having any real reason to exist. Or they were severed in a wayward fit of holiness, leaving them eunuchs eager to justify their ignorance. We hate to ascribe impure motives to their teachings, which may have been well-meaning and sincere.

Some indeed can be convincing, giving the rationale summarized above, that some inner transmutation does occur by means of mental/spiritual channeling of the energy of the vital essence. But experience has taught many of us who've taken their teachings seriously (for a while) that some energy is not meant to be simply contained. It's like herding wild horses; nature meant them to run free. And face it, they'll kick the fence down in the middle of the night and run free anyway!

Fortunately, we have a champion in Swami Sri Masturbananda, whose overall doctrine of glimpsing the divine consciousness now would very likely suggest a different philosophy on the so-called vital essence. The master wonderfully says, "Use it or lose it." Sri Masturbananda gave a wry grin, then explained that it's just like the nuts on trees. The meat of the goodie in the nut has the purpose of creating and nurturing new trees or plants (reproduction). That is its vital essence. But it also good right now for food and the pleasure of the moment.

In short, the teachings on the vital essence of all the other masters is nothing but a crock. Our own guru's teachings lead the way to the wonderful experiences of this moment. He is very realistic, knowing that most of us will not otherwise glimpse divinity in this incarnation or the next 1,000. But the source of our lives has granted us a means of ecstasy now, for each one. (For women, of course, there is a corollary experience, but what it is precisely is a mystery to men.)


A WAG SPIES ON SRI MASTURBANANDA AND DIES

One of the stories of Swami Sri Masturbananda goes like this:

As we recall, he says, "No man may look upon me in my heat and live." But one wag wanted to put that warning to the test. And guess what, he died!

Sri Masturbananda had retired to his bathroom for a session of meditation. But the wag was hiding behind the shower curtain, thinking his presence was unknown to the master. But the master's eyes and ears of omniscience know all! He knew the guy was back there ... and very soon would be a goner.

Right in the heat of the moment, the wag peeked around the edge of the shower curtain. Just then, it was the crowning moment of the master's experience. To punish the interloper, he directed all the energy of his svadhisthana chakra (crotch) to his forehead. Eyes suddenly ablaze, this is the only recorded case of a master channeling his vital essence -- lock, stock, and barrel -- to the forehead and out the ears, registering an unheard-of bifurcated horizontal climax. It was obviously a perfect 10!

Whatever it was, it was way too much for the wag, whose skin instantly began to sag. His skin then fell away and his sinews next dried up within seconds. When the smoke finally cleared, aides stepped in to carry him out, now a freshly stripped skeleton. He was literally left with nothing but bones, and I'd say he was lucky to keep those!

Sri Masturbananda taught an important lesson that day, for that guy not ever to do that again, and, according to witnesses on the scene, he never did.

Swami Sri Masturbananda -- The Smiling Saint

A WEEK ON THE TEACHINGS OF SRI MASTURBANANDA (1)

The word "Sri" is a title, kind of like "Rev." or "Your Holiness." It is usually attributed to Indian swamis as a sign of respect and recognition of their spiritual attainments. It is not -- we repeat, it is not -- a misspelling of "Sir." "Ananda" as part of a saint's name means the bliss of.

Different masters and different schools of thought teach different things, of course. Many practice a strict asceticism, in matters of diet, being married, etc. Others are more lenient. Plus, each of the masters seems to have things to say about sex, and in this area they nearly all have very strict opinions. For some, quite naturally, what they preach isn't what they always practice, although there are those who are sincere, strict, chaste, or what have you. At least they haven't been caught yet.

But it seems that strictness isn't the way for everyone, as one notable master believes, His Holiness Swami Sri Masturbananda, known by other appellations, such as "The Smiling Saint," "The Secluded Saint," "The Saintly Stallion," and, a playful title, "Old Shoot The Moon." When I first met him, he addressed me with such kindness and contentment, and I'll never forget the first beautiful words I heard him utter, "Please let me wash up before I shake your hand." When visiting his ashram, I was pleased that each of the chelas (students), like the master himself, had their own private bathrooms.

Sri Masturbananda offers his chelas glimpses of enlightenment. He teaches that there is a full and direct experience of divine consciousness without ending, true enough, but he is very realistic in this sense: You're not likely to get there anytime soon. In general, the best you're going to do is to experience quick glimpses of divine awareness and ecstasy. What he teaches is that the approach toward those glimpses is half the fun, then the glimpses themselves are the other half, and cleaning up is the rest.

I've only seen The Smiling Saint frown one time, and that's when I asked to be able to behold him in his full glory. This he said is strictly forbidden, as "No man may look upon me in my heat and live." But he relented to this extent, allowing me to sit just outside the door as he practiced his meditations. I was left to my imagination, but I wasn't disappointed...

The whole thing sounded very typical at one level, yet everything was accentuated to a much greater degree. For one, it sounded like the pages of a magazine were caught in an industrial-strength fan, fluttering with speed and violence. Second, the swami's breathing was extremely intense, like the sound of a blast furnace door being opened and closed very rapidly. And finally, at the point of greatest consciousness, when he was most directly in touch with the divine, I heard such a fierce heaving of breath, then a moment of absolute silence. It was like time itself had stopped, then there was an ascending whoosh of excited breath, and, lastly, a splat that sounded like a giant paintball hitting a brick wall.

I sat there, myself breathless, stunned, and after a very intense quarter of an hour, I heard a calm running of tap water from his room, and the saint stepped out to greet me, appearing very drowsy but with his trademark smile quite intact.

I didn't know what to say, since it was clear that I was in the presence of greatness. He extended his right hand, still very hot, and gave me a welcome blessing. I managed a stuttered prayer: "P-please ac-accept me as yo-your student, Master." And so it was.

This was all a number of years ago, but to this day I hear things about him at his home in Mother India. I hear that the years have slowed him down to a great extent. Now he walks more with a shuffle and apparent pain, but there's one thing that the years have not dimmed, hallelujah! He's still a stallion where it counts!

The essence of Sri Masturbananda's teaching remains so true: If you recognize this is the best you're likely to do, the closest you're likely to come to divine consciousness in this incarnation, then go for it. Don't be like the frowners, the naysayers, the ascetics, always beating the flesh but never in the right place. Find the sweet spot, zero in on the equipment God gave you, and you shall glimpse the divine!

My Costume Idea -- A Rectal Thermometer

Guess what, I didn't see one at the Halloween store, a rectal thermometer costume.

Were I to have one, of course I'd have to make it. My thought is that it'd be very minimal, like a round board, a dowel?, painted to look like a thermometer, with a nubby on it. Then it'd be down my back, with the numbers and the red line and nubby facing out, over my head about 2 feet. Then for the giveaway coloring, melt a big Hershey's chocolate bar and smear it on my face and forehead and some on the thermometer itself.

What else there is to say about it, I can't think of much. There might be an easier way, a better way, and a funnier way. But that's my idea.

I ran the idea by someone I was talking to, and she didn't like the idea one single bit. But she was also a little ticked off about something, so that might've skewed her opinion. Her idea was that the rest of the thermometer would be painted on a white shirt, then the part going up my neck would suggest continuity. That's true enough. But even with that good suggestion, she couldn't get over her opinion that it was disgusting.

But it's really all theoretical anyway, because I don't have anywhere really to go on Halloween. Just stay home and give the kids who come by their little treats.

A Maxfield Parrish World

Now those were pictures, back then, Maxfield Parrish. Pictures worth cutting off the calendar and framing and keeping around. I might have to go out to a poster store and see if they have any of these. But whether it'd make me feel better or worse is an open question. Because you're soon to run into the frame, then the frame into the real world, and suddenly you're right back here.

Whatever world these ladies and guys lived in is the one I want to find. Up with the peaceful mountain crags, daydreaming among the solid pillars, and learning lute chords with dear friends. Somewhere out there there's a place where it isn't all just interstate traffic, cell phone calls, clogged up toilets, fleas, and Republicans. Although of course I'd rather live in a land of clogged up toilets than Republicans. At least when they're full of $#*+ it's a temporary situation. Plus, it's jobs they can't outsource. By the time the Chinese got here to fix it, we'd have our own American Roto Rooter guy on the scene, running his snake down the hole.

Just looking at the pictures, it'd be great to have that kind of friendship and acquaintances. A lot of pleasant relaxing. Hanging out by the reflecting pool in a land of innocence and beauty. I need more garden scenes, more drinking tea scenes, maybe a life of very casual symposiums, flowers, and Calgon baths. Where we're living and learning, hanging out in diaphanous robes, swinging amidst the fragrance of flowers, and taking a snooze in the bower or gazebo.

As for learning, that'd be a great way to do it, the learning of friends. You could introduce a few pleasant, respectful children to the mix. Like we were when we were kids, studious, quiet little devils. Bringing a big plate of apples to our teacher everyday. No screaming, kicking, no tantrums, no having to listen to their little fights or referee their petty jealousy fits.

So let's say we had a bunch of projects. Lute playing, swinging in the trees, looking out over the mountains, etc. It'd be friends with friends, not rushed, learning little things from each other, and being happy forever!

Now it's time to get back to real life. Maxfield Parrish had to quit painting when he got to the edge of the canvas. So that's what it amounts to, a picture on the wall.

Adventures In Real Life -- Hairdressing

I share one big thing in common with former Beatle Ringo Starr, our mutual desire to be a ladies hairdresser. But, alas, I guess it isn't going to happen. For him, he had the curse of great fame and riches that lured him from his true destiny. For me, I had the curse of a lack of ambition, or if not that, then follow-through.

Why exactly Ringo wanted to be a ladies hairdresser, I can't remember. I just remember hearing about it in the '60s and thinking of all we had in common. I mostly wanted to be one for the flair of it, and the notoriety. Notoriety, because in my town at that time there was a semi-notorious ladies hairdresser called Mr. Felix, who everyone talked about. The ladies, because he was this flagrant character with some unusual flair. The men, probably because they thanked God they weren't him.

But I thought, that's cool ... Mr. Felix. What ever happened to him, I don't know. He probably got a big contract out of town doing hair for ladies who could afford to tip him generously. To keep him in purple shirts and boutonnieres. And doing things extravagantly. OK, I could've been Mr. Felix, Jr.! And perhaps the shame of my family, although who knows, I might've been in a different town and dropped the Jr. from my name.

This all came back to me today when I was at a local hair cutting and styling shop. But watching the ladies (and one man) cut and style hair, it looked pretty hard. And maybe there isn't that much glamor in it, except what a character like Mr. Felix might bring to it. The staff was treating it like any job, which would be to be expected.

Another thing I noticed was how much they have to talk to the customers. And how much hair they have to touch.

A few of the customers were old guys older than me. I figured they'd be at a legitimate barber shop, but something's happened with the barber shop demographic we had when I was a kid. Here they had young ladies and old men.

One of the hairdressers, a young lady, was stunningly beautiful. I was thinking, too bad I'm not an old rich guy like Tony Curtis (was), maybe she'd like to marry me. Then we could come back to the half acre and I'd get free haircuts for life. And she'd have my electric company for the next 10 years, which will be about the extent of my likely potency level before serious old age strikes.

I had a sudden ethical challenge. An old guy who got his hair cut had a bunch of hair on his back. I thought about calling his attention to it, which might make the hair cutter look bad. I thought about getting the hair cutter's attention, which might also have ramifications. My third option was to do nothing, which was what I chose. My rationale: The chances of me being here and seeing that weren't good. It would've happened whether I was here or not. It has negligible significance. It's not like it's a tarantula. So I didn't say anything. And guess what, it worked out, because when the guy turned to get his coat, the hair cutter noticed it and brushed it off for him.

My big dream of being the next Mr. Felix is one of those dreams that will die someday. Already I know it's not going to happen. Just to go to school -- and to be the only old man in the class -- would be too much of a burden at this stage.

There's Anger Over Having To Offer Discounts

There's a subject that's always near and dear to my heart, the secret enmity businessmen hold against their customers due to the demands their business makes on them.

It'd be one thing if you were the only so-and-so merchant in town, like the only gas station or the only craft shop or the only pizza place. But because you have to compete against a bunch of other cutthroats, that means you have to offer discounts, and really bend over backwards to get customers. It can be tough on quotas and profit margins. But because a guy needs a job, he has to do it.

I'm real reluctant to buy anything, because I don't want to make these guys feel worse having a sale than they would not having it. Because I've talked to enough of them, I know what they're feeling. One thing I can say, these guys hate debit cards, true. One, they have to pay a little fee every time you use one. That's a very practical reason not to like them. But the second big reason is a psychological reason, because the customer's almost dismissive of the importance of the sale when he's just flashing plastic. Back in the old days, the businessman was more in charge, psychologically, in the transaction, because the customer had to carefully count out a number of bills and pieces of change. The businessman could see the approach of buyer's remorse on the guy's face, knowing that the farther they went in the transaction, the more he had the guy over the barrel. There was something of a victorious feeling in making a sale when the customer was putting some real thought and even sweat into the transaction. But now, they flash the plastic, and it barely registers on their blank visage; what they show, in fact, is a look of entitlement. It puts the businessman in the back seat, or in the inferior position.

I've sold things at craft sales. See one of my posts on selling Easter bunnies at Easter. So I know how livid the businessman is right below the surface. I felt that too. The customer has that sense of entitlement that's disgusting. I saw it clearly when I had to put a discount on my bunnies just to move a few of them. It makes you bitter. And bitterness gnaws on you till it bursts into full rage unless you get a grip on yourself. I think it's good to have a few cardboard boxes and a club right outside the back door of your business, so you can go out and beat and kick them, anything to bring down the rage at having to offer discounts.

Just the other night, I had a guy at a pizza place telling me some of his troubles. He's a guy I've known for some time, so it didn't take long to loosen his tongue. He's the perfect illustration of this business principle in action.

The orders came down from headquarters, sell a large 3-topper pizza for $10. OK, since they're normally between $14-16 -- supposed to be -- that means knocking $4-6 off each one, a killer. So the customer naturally has the audacity to order a 3-topper for $10, then the guy has to say to them, "You saved $5 on your order," or whatever it was. Gritting his teeth the whole time.

I was commiserating, "That's terrible ... you could probably use that $5!" He readily agreed. But he said it apparently didn't matter, because the customers are all going crazy for the discount. Meaning the rest of the menu, the specialty pizzas, and most importantly the profit margin, are suffering. He said, "Everyone goes for the discount. They won't order a pizza at full price anymore. Oh no!" He wiped his hands on a towel, getting off some pepperoni grease. "They're looking for good values. They don't realize it costs us money, which we're losing hand over fist!"

He seemed embarrassed to be unloading on me, maybe since I hadn't ordered yet, and of course I would've been ordering one of the discount pizzas. But since he'd gone that far, he continued, pointing at the drink machine. "And the same thing goes for the free refills -- it's killing us! The worst thing they ever did was give the customer free access to the drink machine!" I saw he had a couple of handmade signs on the drink machine: "Refills for guests dining in only," "No outside cups," and "Even ice costs us something -- please hold down your portions." This I hadn't imagined, and obviously I would've been drinking my fill as well, but of course I didn't dare to now.

He asked what I wanted, but I was a little afraid to order anything, so I made up a story about having just eaten at the big $5 All-You-Can-Eat buffet down the street, and said I was just dropping in to say hello. That seemed to soothe his frayed nerves, because he didn't have to get his hands greasy again making me a discount pizza.

Business is tough. And we can all help out by paying full price. Please think about those discounts you see. They're killing the little guy.