Los Angeles Free Press, December 27, 1974
The Great Guru Shuck
"Bullish Cry!" … "Sacre Bleu!" … "Maharaj Ji!"
The vocal explosion will crack your head. Yes, it will send your
intellectual forebrain into tantrum. Pretty soon you'll be spitting out some profound truths in disguise of insults. The language is supposed to be Hin-
di, and the occasion is none other than to sit, dumbfounded, facing a meek Indian Mahatma who is clad in pink and has his head shaved.
This is the Age of Disbelief in a God, whose subscribers must frighten the masses in order to rake in the almighty dollar. This time we have made a place for a teenage guru to capitalize on some misinterpreted prophecy from the Book of Isaiah, as the other messiah before him. He is Satguru Maharaj Ji, a Perfect Master, arriving in the afternoon of a world catastrophe.
Today, our devastated world economy is supported by the independent consumer who is consuming everything which the manufacturer desires for him to consume. But when the wolves quit howling, and when the relative silence is deepened, yes — when the crickets
hesitate, that's when the celestial harmony of a saint is heard in the pockets of your heart.
So bold is this young saint that he requires not only our worldly possessions, but, also, the sacrifice of our very souls. He plays hide and seek with his prostrated devotees. They pack the hall at 2301/2 Larchmont Blvd. and await edicts from his Divine Light Mission.
Showing you that your life is a dream, this alien from the land of hashish and chillums comes to prey on your sense of separateness. Unlike the other groups of similar vocation, this family of surrendered desperados, featuring an evergreen smile, is usually hesitant to converse. One at a time, members mount the stage, toy with the microphone and finally dish out some holy melody or conceitedly offer some inspired prose.
This company of Truth consistently claims that "satsang," or holy discourse, is the consciousness of bliss. As such, this divinity can originate only in
the love of the Perfect Master's heart. His wisdom reaches them by the virtue of his grate, much as radio waves reach your hi-fi receiver - except that in this dream, the heart is the antenna.
These premies, as they are known, keep talking about a Knowledge which they have received. They keep repeating that just hearing about the Knowledge is not the experience of receiving the Knowledge. They are gifted in the art of teasing the newcomers to point of torture.
But, you see, one must be quite ready for Maharaj Ji's revelation. You must understand that not everybody may receive the gift of love and peace of mind, or any of the-other, late-model products (patents still pending). Reminiscent of some sexy actress who had outdone herself in the art of deception — only to become a commercial tactic for advertising anything from toothpaste
to transoceanic flights — so is this family of JOY asking to be raped by a parasitic burden on the economy — a monstrously fat, mocking child — the Satguru.
One wonders about the fate of a divine light mission in the hands of such ministers.
Lately, the curiosity aroused by this sublime group has been uplifted as the fanatic mumblers of "WOW" and "FAR OUT" seem to have yielded the stage to better prepared propaganda experts who come complete with social targets.
Armed with spiritual terminology, this Knowledgeable army is fully equipped for religious mania. This Divine Company sponsors a food cooperative as well as a coffee shop and Ashrams (which are like a kibbutz for lazy people), among other services.
The foremost lesson appears to be a final, but all-encompassing preparation for Death — a meditation which is designed to overcome your material attachments.
I have yet to meet a devotee of this Perfect Gurnisht who has a dollar to his name. But — who the hell minds it when you are partaking of this Holy Name?