A religion by any other name

Dear UK
I still love USA....
Dear USA
Thank you...

OKay catch up.

Friday night the lovely Marah, schoolteacher, met me at the hotel and we trundled off for supper. At the local (well other side of town and travelling in rush hour) Hari Krishna cafe. Hmmm. I could smell it as I parked the car. Remember, I'm open to new experiences??! The supper was all you can eat buffet. Ah well. I decided that I didn't like cubed tofu way back in the seventies. It was a joy however to munch on a pile of alfalfa sprouts, vegetable dry curry and lentil poppadums......

I chose water as my beverage option... A request for unleaded didn't raise a smile......

I remembered the protocol and took my shoes off as I entered the dining room. Oh blast I'd forgotton I'd have to sit cross legged on the floor and hunch over my plate! I neatly placed my new Calvin Klein navy high heeled sling backs with the array of leather Jesus sandals and Vegan boots and was placed at the head of a large table. (Oh God does this mean I'm the offering?!) I was introduced as the British friend. I now know what that 'British Friend' entails...... An offering, preferably an offering that speaks. I was famished and even my mung beans were looking desirable. Lifting my plastic fork and staring at the food piled high on my paper plate I wondered for a split second if I was supposed to bless the food, say a prayer, chant or something. Hell I was hungry so I started to munch away, deciding that if it was 'incorrect' I could always claim 'I'm British'. Seems to be working so far.....

The conversations were pleasant, I was invited to lunch with a famous artist/sculptor today. She is slightly brusque and has the confidence and manner that only a person who has comfortable success owns. It was an honour. Apparently. Nobody is invited to her home unless she really wants them there. (well don't we all think that about our houseguests??) Anyway I realised the importance of the invitation and accepted the details so generously thrust in my direction. The conversations got round to the spiritual path quite quickly after that. These people had been on a lifestime journey of fulfillment that had taken them all over the world. I was asked about my journies and faith. Ah ha! Cleverly harnessing all my years of wild and wonderful journeying I was able to regale many a trip into the unknown and finish with the statement that I found Tucson a spiritual home, bowing my head in a humble manner.

This was clearly a monumental moment for them. (Shit did that mean I was going to be sacrificed now? And I wanted seconds of the sprouting alfalfa sprouts...)

Through their body language I was aware of something behind me. I turned around and it would seem I had been seated in front of the main man, the Hari Krishna himself. Well a statue obviously. Apparently I had been 'given' to them, there is no fate or something weird. Well I wasn't going to be 'given' to any of them thank you very much. I'm British and we don't get 'given' to anyone. Well not unless you fancy the pants off them, and sad to say there wasn't anyone there that I would have willingly given myself to. And certainly not a fat man called Hari..........

Having watched a repeat of Sex in the City recently, the one where someone takes Carrie's Milano's (shoes) from a party where they too had to leave their footwear at the door, I panicked. I loved my new Calvin's. I needn't have worried, even though they were all American they were all honest and I slipped myself back into my material world and headed off to the car.

Next stop was a church. (Oh God this gets better) A Pentecostal church but some trained devotee of the Dali Lama was speaking. I assumed he was speaking, maybe he would just sit there and meditate and we would all try to tap into his brilliant and clear knowledge. When we got there (Marah is always late) we sat towards the back and entered as a rather jolly round lady, with a tight round smiley face and short electric hair, was giving some sort of group meditation. A lot of 'Omming' , which actually sounded really nice in the church, filled the room.

After a 10 min break, for which I queued that, and more, for the loo (restroom in US!) we were given the Puri something- or- another himself. He sat in front of us, proffering his pearls of wisdom. Hmm, nothing new at all, all Christian stuff, just different costumes and facial hair. Essentially his message was, material things will not get you into the kingdom of God. Grr. Religion! He dons a heavy silk brown brocade suit with a long jacket a a funny hat and he's all truth! In fact he was a pompous ass. He sat there spouting forth and his ego was bigger than the congregation put together. Couldn't anyone see that? I sat in an aisle seat and occasionally wafted my Calvin's into the aisle and admired their beautiful form. Shoes are such a work of art. Is that sinful?! Well maybe to pay lots of money but the shoe itself, please.... Hmm, was that a sinful look Mr I'm Above All That? I threw a few femine tricks into the pot. (No I won't tell you cos you men must not know!) Good Lord, or Buddha, or indeed whoever, you ARE looking with lascivious eyes, besides you've know faltered on 2 words, tee hee. But he's taken teachings from the Dali Lama direct so he's bound to be perfect.

Now now people, remember what God and Jesus said about false Gods.........

That aside it was an interesting experience with welcoming warm people. And no I did not put any money in the box, he didn't need it after all.................


So leaving the church, feeling like Eve, The Original Sin, I filled up the car up with gas (petrol) and discovered when I dropped Marah off, I'd left the gas cap (petrol cap) behind at the gas station (garage). Drove back and it was nowhere to be found.

I headed straight to the hotel bar for a long sinful drink..........


'I'll buy the lady that drink Janis'

Enter Travis and his mate Charlie, stage right.........