Chapter 18 excerpt from my novel: Vessie Flamingo Outshining the Moon

The ashram was a New England style structure:

wood frame, salt-box shape, except for the veranda that flounced around it like a teenager’s skirt.  It looked warm and inviting –– a great place to find a shady spot, curl up with a good book and dream, or sit in the sun and be a nuisance to a fly.

              “It’s where we live and study,” Lester said. “It’s our temple.”  He pointed to a narrow path trellised with multi-colored flowers that curled off to one side. “Master lives down there in a small house.  I’ll tell him you’re here, although I’m sure he already knows. Guruji knows everything.  Go to the main house, Ves.  You’ll be welcomed there.”

              Vessie watched Lester disappear through the vines.  Then, suddenly, the sound of spinning tires spun her head around. She could see the tail lights of the limousine disappear as it left the parking area and descended out of sight. Foot was gone. Oh my god. What the hell am I doing here? She felt her heart race and took several deep breaths. You’ll be alright, she told herself. Lester’s here. Lester? Lester’s a flake! Relax, be present. Another deep breath. Okay, temple, she thought.  The only time I heard the word temple was when Daddy spoke about the Jewish church, uh, temple. What kind of temple is this?

              Vessie climbed the wood stairs past several men and women who were busy sweeping, but not too busy to offer her smiles. On the veranda others were washing windows and tending to flowers that grew in deep pots. The women were draped in saris of unstitched cloth that flowed neatly over a blouse with a scooped out neckline. The men wore dhoti-kurtas, the same fashion as Lester wore the night he levitated into the pool. They were all dressed in white. They weren’t whistling, but Vessie thought they should be, for their lilting presence radiated a happy weightlessness.

              A strong fragrance permeated the air. Rose incense, Vessie thought, breathing it in like ambrosia. She followed the sweetness inside. There, a large entry hall, wainscoted with rich reddish-brown maple, led off in three directions.

              Vessie was fascinated by what she might find behind each door.  She chose door number one, the center door, and opened it.  There was no bedroom suite or trip for two to Hawaii.  Not even an air conditioned Cutlass Supreme with sunroof and power-steering.  There were pews and a center aisle, like in Everend’s church; but no wooden effigy of Jesus bleeding all over his feet.

              She walked cautiously to the altar.  There were framed photographs and paintings of men she had never seen before, except for Jesus.  He was smiling, not all cut up like meat. The other men had beards and mustaches. They looked serious, but jolly, and were dressed in an orange dhoti draped over their chest like Ghandi. An urn filled with sticks of incense burned beneath the gallery.  Vessie felt compelled to sit down and close her eyes.

              Seconds later, a man stood beside her.  She didn’t hear him come in, but felt his presence and opened her eyes. He was tall and dark skinned, dressed like the men on the altar. His nose was long and aquiline, jaw strong and jutting, lips red as plums. Black hair fell in ringlets on broad shoulders. Black penetrating eyes stared at her.

               Suddenly, electricity flowed from him to Vessie forcing the release of walled up tears.

                 “There has been much sadness,” he said. “Let the sadness go.  Let the anger and frustration go.  Lose that which clutters and covers who you really are. You are not the mind. You are not your thoughts. That is illusion.”

                 He zapped her with more energy. 

                 Instantly, Vessie’s tears felt like warm gold.

              “Welcome, I am Paramahansa Bramananda.”

              She didn’t know what was happening to her. She just knew it was wondrous.

              He turned, walked softly to the altar and pointed to the photographs. “This was my Master, and he ... his … and he … his.”

              Vessie had heard East Indian accents before, but now every lilting syllable seemed to be a song on the cosmic hit parade.

              “Ah, you’re wondering about the men and women on the veranda.  They are acolytes ... my disciples.”

              His extra sensory perception is awesome, she thought.  Sort of like knowing the phone’s going to ring.

              “Yes, it’s like knowing a phone is going to ring.”

              Vessie realized she was no longer alone. There were others like her, other oddballs.

              “If you are an oddball, then all here at the ashram are oddballs,” he said.

              A wave of excitement, relief, hope filled her. She wished her father was there. She watched the powerful man in the orange dhoti lead her from the sanctuary to his dwelling.  He seemed neither man nor woman, but a delicate blending of the two.  Now it was her turn to walk down the trellised pathway.  She felt oceans away from Los Angeles. The air was scented with pungent jungle flowers, and the trees and shrubs grew at their own pace.  Everything was natural, unlike the manicured gardens of Beverly Hills where hedges looked like bowling balls and storage boxes, and flowers grew in predictable placements like colors on a paint-by-number canvas.

              Vessie watched Bramananda remove his sandals before entering, and followed suit.

              “We remove our shoes to keep the vibrations of the outside world, outside,” he told her.

              The little house was the size of a hut –– its one room separated only by the arrangement of a futon at one end and a small altar at the other. He sat down on a gold silk cushion and folded his legs in a full lotus position, then closed his eyes. 

              Inside, beyond the retina and vessels of blood, he was transcending the outer world, letting go of all that was material, experiencing that which is beyond pizza, under arm deodorant, and taxi cab receipts.  Vessie didn’t intend to, but again was compelled to close her eyes.  She felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, but, the hole was filled with light.

              “Ooooooooooo.” Vessie could feel her breathing slow to a snail’s pace and a rush of energy bubble from her belly to her toes.  Bramananda was causing her to experience pure energy.  He was giving her a sneak preview of what was to come if she chose to study with him.  She felt like everything delicious: chocolate, black forest cake, hot buttered challah, Dijon mustard on chips, honey on apples, and whipped cream on everything.  Nothing was going to drag her away from this experience. Nothing.

              Just as he had caused her eyes to close, he opened them.  Her body was a marshmallow calm –– her mind as clear as Mrs. Smith’s chicken soup.

              “You have been under much stress.  That is the greatest hindrance to enlightenment.  You must recharge yourself.  I will show you how, if you choose for it to be so.”

              Vessie chose to be sewn into the hem of his dress if it was okay with him.  But, why me? she thought.  How come I’m so lucky?

              “Because, it is your karma,” he said.  “Nature’s law of cause and effect.  Nothing in life is luck or chance.  You get what you deserve and you deserve to learn from me.”