The Adventures of Bindi Girl: (2012) by Erin Reese Read Free Book Online Page A

my perspective does a complete flip-flop in the near or distant future. Second, this is MY experience. I do not judge nor wish to analyze another’s path or viewpoint. The beauty of travel—of life, of the path to self-discovery—is that things are constantly evolving within and without.
    Ever heard of “Osho”? Perhaps the name Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh rings a bell. Rajneesh was labeled as the “sex guru” at one time—the charismatic, funky skullcap- and sunglass-sporting spiritual leader with long white beard. In the early 1980’s, Rajneesh owned dozens of Rolls-Royces and enticed thousands of seekers ( sannyasins ) to leave all behind and join his famed commune, “Rajneeshpuram” up in Oregon.
    In 1985, Rajneesh was exiled from the U.S. on grounds of misconduct and violation of immigration laws, although some devotees claim CIA tampering and gradual poisoning. Rajneesh returned to his homeland of India, dropped the old identity of Bhagwan and, voila , became simply “Osho”—new look, new name, new image. Osho’s ashram empire was rebuilt in Pune, a city of three million lying about three hours east of Mumbai (Bombay) in the state of Maharashtra. Osho left his body in 1990, but the ashram, known as “Club Med-itation,” lives on, bigger and juicier than ever before.
    When I was in Rishikesh at Christmastime, a fellow traveler gifted me with a daily meditation book by Osho, Alone We Fly . The simple, inspiring words and insights made sense and drew me in. Plus, the philosophy was exciting! Follow your bliss! Find out! It resonated; after all, the Buddha encouraged people to investigate the truth rather than rely on hearsay. Not only that, I’m quite the curious cat. After traveling in India for a while, hearing much of the Osho controversy and the words of skeptics, distant admirers, and a few loyalists, I figured there was only one way to find out what was really going on behind those ashram gates: go there. It would be a sort of “spiritual investigative journalism.” Was it brainwashing? Absolute rubbish? Were people really having tantric sex on the lawn? I decided to dive in and discover the truth.
    After the Rainbow Gathering, I indulged in one month of pure beach peace and perfection. Lest I find myself “stuck” in tropical paradise for the remainder of my India journey, I decided I better pry myself off my duff and get moving. It’s backpacker nature to get stuck. There are two sides to the “stuck” phenomenon: sometimes you’ve simply got to motivate yourself or you’ll never see more of the country you’ve traveled halfway around the world to experience; on the other hand, if you’re blissfully happy, why change it? It’s really a western mindset that we must “be productive” and “do,” rather than just BE. I think I’ve learned, through recent events, that it’s better to ride the wave of bliss while it’s up rather than unnecessarily extricate oneself from ecstasy.
    In any case, I’m neither so evolved nor distant from western thinking yet. Although I almost skipped the rail reservation altogether, I reluctantly packed up the mud hut and loaded my rucksack at dawn to board an overnight sleeper train headed north to Pune, in the state of Maharashtra. It is here in this polluted metropolis that the great and famous Osho Ashram is found.
    Half asleep, I deboarded the train at sunrise, and the rickshaw dumped me off at the ashram gates. I wandered around the outskirts of the compound in the dark, riling up a cacophony of dogs and waking up servants and housewives until someone offered me a decent room. At midmorning, I entered the ashram, feeling things out, and discovered I’d landed smack dab in the middle of a spiritual theme park of sorts. It was “Guru Disney”—with steep Western prices to prove it.
    Though I reminded myself to keep an open mind and not to judge too quickly, I recoiled from the pretentious, commercial energy of the place—a far cry from the natural