When I was a kid my parents followed a Guru. And by followed, I mean they followed his teachings, got together with other practitioners for what they called Satsung (which I believe means sharing in Indian), and went to festivals to see him speak. It’s amazing how the moment I tell people about this they want to know if he was a big swindler that took us for all our money. But he’s actually not the bad guy in any of my stories and I have nothing but fond memories of those meetings and festivals.
What I remember were lots of loving adults that held us as a part of a big extended family. The kids ran around playing like mad and the adults sat around together sharing experiences about their deep meditative practice. The festivals were huge and so much fun. I still remember one in Miami where we celebrated the Indian festival of Holi, and Guru Maharaji sprayed a big crowd of us in different colored paints from giant hoses. Later that day, we all walked around Miami and even ate at restaurants covered in paint. It’s a core childhood memory for me, and I don’t have too many of those since I seem to have forgotten so much.
My mother and grandmother fought so much during this time. My grandmother and most of my mother’s family are devout Catholics. My mother’s sister is actually a member or Opus Dei in Colombia which is a type of nun (I’m not sure of all the specifics). This sister was also gravely concerned for what they considered to be my mother’s sinful activity. And worst of all, I had never been baptized, and they worried a lot about my soul wandering in purgatory for all of eternity. I remember such terrible arguments because of something that will probably shock some of you, but we performed an old Indian tradition where we would wash Guru Maharaji’s feet and some people would also kiss his feet. It’s meant to be a show of love and respect for a person, such as a great teacher, but of course I told my grandmother about this and she flipped out.
The thing is, I was a total snitch without meaning to be. We were strict vegetarians but whenever I went to visit my grandmother, she was so concerned for my lack of beef iron that she would make me a steak and make me promise not to tell my mom. I would always swear I wouldn’t tell her, eat that steak right up, then the moment my mom walked through the door I’d say, “abuelita gave me steak and she cut it up into tiny, tiny pieces!”. I have no idea why I did this over and over again to my poor grandma.
Anyway, I certainly didn’t know that we weren’t supposed to tell her about the feet kissing. But again, this is really the “weirdest” thing that went on. Everything else was pretty much run in the mill hippy 70’s stuff. Although it was now the 80’s and people were a lot less open to this kind of thing. Maybe that’s why we were always the weird kids at school. A neighbor of ours forbid her daughter from playing with me after spying my mother meditating through the window.
It’s funny now how meditation has become such a part of mainstream culture now as is veganism. But in the 80’s showing up to school with a veggie and cheese sandwich in pita bread- well that brought chaos upon me. How dare my parents stray from the church of Wonder bread. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted that squishy white bread so bad. But it was not to be.
The other thing that’s funny to me is that people only seem to trust meditation when it’s taught to them by other westerners. God forbid an Indian, from India, you know, where meditation was born, teach it. And if they’re wearing traditional Indian clothing? It’s definitely a cult.
I realize a lot of this comes from some famous stories of Gurus that turned out to be cult leaders. But how many white guys have turned out to be cult leaders? I bet way more. So really, whenever people ask me if the Guru I grew up with was a scam artist, I get defensive. No, really, he wasn’t the bad guy in any of my stories. I have those, but he was definitely not one of them. Sorry to disappoint you.
It is an incredible time I’m George Ginas father and I remember that to be a world of hippies . So gina got soo involved that one day when she was five she spoke in front of 300 of us and nobody ask her to speak because of her age but they allowed her . Great Ginita for connecting me . Thanks 🙏💥
Amazing story and so well written! We had the same grandmother and I now feel eager to write some memories about her too.