Riding in Rishikesh

Brothers,

I crack a coconut on the altar of the Great Rishi’s and Sages who have kept custody of this sacred document, and anoint the lotus blossoms of their Divinity.

As some of you may be aware, I spent much of this summer communing with high energies in the Himalayan foothills taking retreat in the sacred city of Rishikesh on the banks of the Mother Ganga (Ganges to the unannointed).

It was a time of deep introspection and cascading enlightenment as I pondered my true nature and my place amongst the cosmic records that make up the vast volumes of the celestial library we call the Universe.

Mother Ganga gives succor to us all. Firm yet fair; unyielding yet tender; nurturing yet demanding. And so she has proven to be on this occasion:

My last act of reverence before departing Rishikesh found me knee deep in the Sacred River, bathing my impure mind and body in the cleansing largesse of Her watery bosom. Dowsing my chakras in Her holy liquid bounty, I prayed to be merged with Her so that I may return to the Maia of my decadent and shallow existence in the West, and somehow imbue any vestiges of Her deep wisdom that She would allow for the upliftment of that Gomorrah of the North - Warrawee.

“Mother Ganga – Bless me and give me strength to return to the West, landing on the East, before getting a cab to the North, before looking back to the South and reminding myself what an ordinary place Melbourne really is…..” I entreated in divine supplication.

“Mahatma Bullet, So Be It!” I heard an inner voice whisper. 

Confirmation. Enlightenment would be mine……………or so I thought.

I gave thanks and waded to the water’s edge and stepping from the ambrosia of Mother Ganga’s milk onto the surety of sacred Rishikesh rocky shore. It was at this very time that I felt a twinge in my lower left leg. I paid it little mind, assuming that I’d tweaked my left calf – and being a hard man of the North who looks to the South and reminds himself what and ordinary place Melbourne really is, thought nothing more of it.

The return journey to Sydney (Sodom) and subsequently the Gomorrah of the North was like travelling to a parallel Universe as I drifted in and out of consciousness; from the frightening images of  heavily armed Delhi security forces to the fierce look in the eyes of the Australian customs fruit inspectors – “Got anything to declare, Sir?” “Ah, no……” “Righto, through you go” – everything was a duty free blur of stapled shut plastic bags and simple currency conversions.

After nearly four weeks off the bike, day one of the return was a lung busting reminder of the earthly limitations of my gross form. Thanks to Great God Ganesh Chippo who took me to the mountain, down the other side, back up again to really rub it in, down the other side, and then up once more for good measure.  

Maxolon was able to calm the uncontrollable movements that my inner environment had experienced during my time of purification on the sub-continent; but could do nothing to stop the organ shut down I experienced after my first ride home that day. Indeed more than my resolve passed through the eye of the needle that evening – in fact, so did my lunch.

Om Great God Ganesh Chippo.

It was at the end of this week that Mother Ganga came to me in her turbulent fierceness. From nowhere it seems, my left calf turned as black as a demons tongue and I began to limp with a beggar’s gait. I could barely walk, I most certainly could not ride.

“Why Great Mother!” I wailed, “Help me understand, Oh Ganga,”

Again came the whisper, “Meditate upon your impurity. Burn the Karma from previous lives. Allow your old self which no longer serves you to melt as the Himalayan thaw that floods my tributaries. Only then will you be free.”

“But how…….how!?!” I recoiled.

“A Yogi awaits you. Seek him out. His wisdom will heal you.”

So, friends, my search has been long and painful (mainly due the limp) and I have spent much time in deep contemplation under the instruction of Yogi Adrian of the temple of North Sydney Physiotherapy (an ancient healing modality of Swedish Yogi’s). 

I have received many healing insights from Yogi including the many doses of the Rub of Wisdom and the Tug of the Sacred Purse Strings. Yogi Adrian is a powerful healer and even more powerful generator of revenue.  The cave of in which live my doubt is now closed to me and the wounded calf has now paid its Karmic debt – and I the physio debt.

I am about to emerge chrysalis-like, purified, cleansed, golden.  

Namaste

Mahatma Bullet (The Golden One).

Translation: I pulled my calf and have been getting physio. Back in a day or two.