Swami Pragyapad Leaves Islanders Questionless

The other night I went to the Salt Spring Centre of Yoga. The ad said that Swami Pragyapad was giving a presentation. I showed up about 10 minutes prior to his arrival. A somewhat flurried middle-aged woman was acting very officious and nervous as if she was awaiting Jesus or Buddha or the reincarnation of Mahatma Ghandi or something. She seemed annoyed at me for hanging around the lobby. Namaste to you too, I thought. Namaste. Namaste. Namaste.

A few minutes later Swami Pragyapad arrives up the stairs. He's got a very lovely face and very beautiful black hair. Love his hair. Imagine running my fingers through that hair. He's dressed in a long white sari. He has a fantastically warm energy. I would have liked to have gone up to him and asked for a big bear hug. There's something really sexy about a nice looking guy in a sari. I thought it was just kilts. Saris and kilts. Good to know. Scotland and India.

He seemed to have a bit of an entourage of Indian women of a variety of ages. Maybe he travels with his family. He was being driven around in a black Mercedes and that kind of ticked me off.  He better not being staying on that massive yacht in the harbour I thought although as I say that I think, why not? Why shouldn't we all be so lucky?

He was very silent and calm a the front of the room  as he sat with a placid smile resting across his lips. He just surveyed the crowd and was completely at peace. He didn't even move his feet or anything. No finger drumming on the chair. Nervous white people were wondering when he wanted to begin. "It's up to you," he responded. "Whenever you like."

The same officious women crept up to him and nervously poured him some water and placed a white napkin over the glass. God forbid he should get a fruit fly in his water. Minutes and minutes passed. I looked at him. He looked at me. A smiled crossed his lips. Maybe he could see my right eyebrow raised in questoning. How do you get to be a swami anyway? Who says so? I'd like to ride around in a mercedes and have men follow me and sit at the front of the room waiting for "sincere seekers" to ask me questions so I could ponder them and try to impart my spiritual wisdom to calm their conflicted minds.

He tells us that he doesn't really like to talk a lot. He'll talk a while and then as "sincere seekers" we must have questions so he'd be pleased to hear them and have this be more interactive. Isn't that right? he asks. That's his trademark question. Isn't that right? he asks. Right? Isn't that right? Well, you tell us I think.

Now here's the thing. On this island chock a block with people who boldly proclaim their "special powers", their ability to see your aura or fix your aorta, who claim to be able to read your future in a bunch of loose sticks left at the bottom of your teacup or to read the health of your intestines by looking at your tongue when they have a real, live, sexy, breathing Swami sittin' a mere 10 feet from them only THREE of us have questions. WTF?  That's right people. A total of 3 questions by an audience of more than 25 people. I don't get that.

After it was over he suggested that if anyone would like to be blessed they could come to the front. Many people lined up. They bowed. He put his hand on their head. They knelt towards his feet, as if they were going to kiss them.I thought about it for a minute. Should I have him bless me? Why not? Why wouldn't I want him to bless me? Why wouldn't I want anyone to bless me? But then I decided against it. I didn't really want to bow in front of him. I'm not really the bowing in front of anyone type ya know? Afterall, he's a mere male mortal and I want nothing to be happy and I can be happy in any situation so I don't really need his blessing and I have absolutely no doubt that these, his very own words, apply to me not requiring his blessing. But, he was a cool guy. I could tell. Just a feeling.

If I was a Swami what would you want to know from me?