Oliver Benjamin
all the love and compassion that we are capable of. You are special,
wonderful people. Thank you so much for being here.”
And with what appeared to be a real tear in her eye, the
gorgeous goddess of golden greetings descended from the stage, her
white satin robe flowing behind her, leaving only seductively warm
silence that radiated an aroma that could be loosely described as a
mix of fragrant tree resin and gardenias.
Another woman approached the podium, and although fairly
attractive, she was merely human and the spell started to recede
while we listened to her describe our recommended routine for the
day.
It all sounded great to me. The daily cost of participating in the
ashram activities was ridiculously low by Western standards and
there appeared to be lots of things to do. This might just be the place
to spend some time, I thought. Or dosome time, my paranoid
subconscious mind suddenly burped. Like most burps, it tasted like
something I’d eaten too eagerly and hadn’t chewed properly.
As a concession to my overactive warning signals, I reminded
myself not to fall into their hands, which would be easy if I just
maintained that skeptical, untrusting attitude that I had perfected all
these years as a result of being a self-centered jerk.
Put simply, the ashram seemed like the perfect place to be born,
live a long life, die and be buried. It had virtually everything that the
Utopia-like kibbutz had, plus it was one of the most beautiful places
I’d ever seen. There was a captivating swimming pool that looked
more like a small lake, with lush and varied vegetation all around.
There was a sports complex that could accommodate even Joe
Fortune. There were charming restaurants and cafes, all offering
delicious-looking food at infinitesimal prices and served by gorgeous
women wearing white robes with apparently nothing underneath.
There was music and nature and beautiful people and sex and free
love and sunshine and so what if it was run by an army of brain-dead,
wannabe hippies who worshipped a loony old man that washed his
face with shampoo? Maybe this is what enlightenment is all about,
and if it isn’t, who cares? Plus, I couldn’t get over how good wearing
that robe felt.
“So what sessions are you thinking about taking?” I asked Oscar
while chewing on an all-natural hi-protein fruit and electrolyte bar
that was manufactured on the ashram.
163
 |
 |
 |
 |