Sunday, 31 May 2009

• Have You Ever Been Turned Down for Sex? Part I

  Tonight I was having some bad dreams, so I decided to get out of bed and share this story from my past. The story that I am now conveying is 100% a true stroy.
  

  This story goes back to my time at Osho International Ashram in India, (also discussed earlier) which is now being called online Osho International Meditation Resort, or something like that.  But the outside of the place is covered with waterfalls running down the sides of the walls, and the sound of the waterfalls is all around, and the last time I was there it said Osho International Commune in gigantic letters out front, and I suspect that it still does. And such a beautiful place, inside and out:

  

  

  When I first met him, I had been there at the commune/ashram/resort for about 3.5 months, doing the work-as-meditation, never leaving the ashram (which was more than entertaining enough without having to step foot into the real India), and hanging out at the main gate, answering the phones [and getting hung up on. loudly and frequently because I knew zero Hindi (other than the word "fuck" which was a very favorite word used amongst my colleagues of the gate keepers)], and checking people's ID because no one is allowed to enter the premises without a photo ID which declares them HIV negative (the tests are given at the front office).

  So it's late afternoon, and I had just gone off to get cappuccino, and got one for the Indians at the gate also (one guy had never ever had a cappuccino; it was his first) and I was standing there in the afternoon sunlight of early November watching all of the people stream past in the mandatory maroon robes, when up strolls this most gorgeous man I could imagine. 

  He was wearing a blue-green-turquoise shirt/jacket, and right away I saw that his eyes were the bluest bluest blue I had ever seen.. even bluer than the eyes of House.  He had long long hair, way down below his shoulders, thick and flowing, and so blonde as to be white.  He was not wearing robes, and as it turned out he rarely did (as he rarely even wanted to come into the ashram anyway). He wore jeans and that turquoise shirt/jacket even in the daytime, which made him stand out from the maroon so much it was ridiculous.

  Anyway, and as the ones I end up liking the most tend to do, he walked right up to me and started talking and joking around. And it was in the most articulate English that I had heard anyone speak in 3.5 months other than the few people (and I do mean few) I had encountered where English was their first language.

  That right there was like giving crack to a crackhead because I was so lonely for someone who could really speak English, who was funny and brilliant and witty and sarcastic and I must say, watch out what you pray for. He said his name was Colin, and that his sannyas name was Chondrin (or the male version of the name Chandra, if there is one), and he spoke with this very intense foreign accent, and he told me he didn't use his sanyas name anymore. So I told him I was Jyoti (my sannyas name) and while he indicated a preference for my original birth given name, I said I'd rather he didn't, so he didn't push it too much.

  So I asked where he was from, which was always the first question all non-Indian people asked each other on the ashram, and he said that he was   

  

  but I misunderstood him and I thought he said he was

  
  

  Australian, LOL which later became one of his many favorite things to tease me about: "How could you think I sounded like an Australian. Of all things" and I'd be like, "Because that is what I thought I heard you say, and because your English is so perfect." And he would laugh at me (not with me, at me) and he would say...How can an Austrian sound Australian? and I had to admit it was true; he had the same accent as all the Germans on the ashram, so, yeah, duh anyway...

  Turned out that his flat was in the motel next door, and he had a big motorcycle on which he was traveling all around the country of India to various ashrams to do news reports on them for his job as a journalist of some sort.  He said that he had been an Osho sanyasan in his younger years, but that now he was an atheist.  Some of his stories involved trying to tell me stories about his experiences of the early years with Osho (apparently he had some things he felt negative about), a time when I was not there, and I really didn't want to hear that stuff. 

  But I listened raptly to everything he said about everything (and he talked a lot) because I had fairly quickly come to be in love with him. Totally in love with him. Completely besotted and only more so every single day, and every single time I saw him.  He was serious in the land of playful.  He was a questioning person; a nonbeliever in a world of dancing and lighthearted faith.

  

  He was a rationalist in my world of spirituality of the best kind of mindless variety, and he rather made fun of my wish to keep the mind as empty as possible in ongoing work-and-play as meditation.  ("Do I ever have an empty mind?" he said, in response to my question.  "The answer is no, not ever, and especially not when I am on the toilet!")

  He challenged my beloved spiritual master on certain grounds ... while I joyfully continued to attend the meditations

  

  and, well, did I say he was an Atheist?  And passionate?  Oh was that man ever passionate when he spoke.  He got so fiercely passionate that on one or more occasions I actually saw some spittle accumulate in a corner of his mouth because he wouldn't stop talking long enough to make sure that didn't happen. He made fun of people mercilessly which is certainly not what I was about although I must admit that Indians can be funny as hell. 

  Well, I need to check out the planetary aspects for the approximate day we met, because it was that day where my life just went ahead and changed yet again BAM. He was a committed vegetarian like myself, and he is the one who finally got me off that Ashram and into the heart of Mother India.

  For all of the days he was there, he took me on amazing explorations of temples and we would feast every night at Indian restaurants, where he always ordered for both of us without even asking me and I thought it was all just so marvelous (it was!) 

  

  I would never have had the courage to go in and explore India by myself, but by the time he left, I no longer cared at all about where I went in India. (There is something about not caring what happens to you which is quite the boon when it comes to boosting of courage). After he left me there, I went anywhere by myself because I was so devastated that he had left me there (I had no idea this whole thing would be over what felt like so quickly).

  I slept every night in a big bed with him at his flat the motel, and it was there that I began to learn the meaning of this from a man:

  

  I did not take it lightly.  For one thing, every evening when we would be getting on the motorcycle to go back into town for dinner after having spent the entire day going to exquisite Indian temples (he always told me all the stories about the Gods when we were at the temples, none of which he believed, all of which I liked to believe anyway, and he was mocking them and also studying them) ... every time I would jump on that motorcycle behind him he would always turn his head around, look me in the eye, and say

  "Do you love me?"  And my answer was always yes, yes! And I would cuddle up to him from behind on that vibrating motorcycle, and we would take off into the heart of India there, which I was still mistakenly equating with the heart of danger...and so it was just as exciting as it could be. And while he never said that he loved me, I think he was falling in love with me. I later came to believe that he was, and that he didn't like it for some reason...but either way it wouldn't have mattered because I loved him enough as to generate enough love energy for both of us (not to mention, to light up the entire ashram for a decade).

  Every night we played Scrabble in the lobby of the motel/his flat (Scrabble!  In India!) and where, ironically, they blared American love songs, and nothing but love songs all night long.  And he usually kicked my ass at the game even though English was clearly not his first language! And so there we drank peppermint tea until way into the night because neither of us drank alcohol. And he was starting to call me by these really affectionate nicknames. (It was so hard to get up and drag my ass to work-as-meditation, let alone being awakened at 6:15 a.m. every morning because his place was right outside of Buddha hall on the ashram, and super loud yelling is a part of dynamic meditation which begins there at 6 am every morning).  Nonetheless I would wake up, jump up, go put in about 5 hours every day, and then be back at his place as soon as I could possibly get back there.

  So I was like, what do you mean no sex? It drove me purely crazy.
  

  Every night I wanted to have make love and share all of this intense passion physically.  Every night I was hoping it would begin, but he would say things like, "You can have sex with any man.  I am going to give you a different experience.  You are not necessarily going to remember all the men you have had sex with, but you are going to remember me. What we have is better than sex."

  And I'd be like, "Better than sex?  Better than making love?  We can have what we have, and also, we can make love!" That will just make it so much better!" and so every night I would be like, oh come on come on come on, and thinking to myself, 'in my wildest dreams, I never imagined that I would be the one who is practically begging for sex and the man is saying no.  So I continued to hound him

  

  and come one give me some

  

  to be continued

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