If ever you were a true believer, I've got the best news possible. Maharishi is our symbol in common, and from a strictly scientific approach, let's see if a case cannot be made for us to honor Maharishi in just about every way a person can be honored.
Obviously I am on record here excoriating the thugs he put into power over the movement, and I have probably even taken a few shots at Maharishi, personally, too, as I tried to gain the clarity about what I did WITH him. This word "with" needs an essay, and here it is. Weep not for Maharishi, the lost movement, the billions hidden in Girish's rolls of fat, nor weep for thee, the bells I hear tolling are pealing a song of bliss. Let's get scientific. The brain remembers stuff. Agreed? You can, right now, remember things you experienced in your childhood. But science tells us, whew, it's so much more than that. Proof? They can stick an electrode into a certain part of your brain, turn on the juice, and WHAMMO, you are not only remembering a past event, you ARE RE-LIVING IT, nay, you are LIVING it with all the plenitude of being inside a Star Trek holodeck. The brain gots data up the yin and out the yang with such detail preserved that it simply staggers the intellect. Got that? Inside the brain are physical structures that are "exact" "duplicates," sorta, that are maintained over decades of time. These structures can only be living tissue that is constantly taking in nutrition and expelling waste and "keeping the lines humming" -- just in case one's attention goes to these "parts of the body." Pick up the phone, and there's the dial tone. Here's the deal: inside me is all the Maharishi data, on call, at the ready, pulsating. Not that any memory is especially handled. I can remember trying to pee my name in the snow too, but consider not mine but your own brain's contents in this regard. Are you not chocked full of material, and did your interpretation and assigned meanings not also get stored also? Example, if you ever gave Maharishi a flower as he pulled himself through a crowd one sacredly offered stem at a time, did not that experience get stored with all the awe and love and sweetness that you felt at that moment? Is that not right this very moment BUZZING inside you? I just remember one of my flowers to him, and, yep, there's 'tis, a nice warm fuzzy feeling THAT'S ALWAYS THERE FOR ME TO ATTEND, if I wish to. Well, for 29 years+ I used Maharishi as my symbol of holiness, and I used him as a living model of "what I'd love for me to be if I ever get enlightened." And that dynamic was part of all my stored memories of him. No matter what he really was. No matter what he really was. No matter what he really was. Got it? No matter what he really was, he really was holy to me when I input his data into my brain, and it's all inside there right now, and let me underline this: IT'S BUZZING. I am very happy with most of what I put in there. For 29 years, I poured thought after hope after love after good intent after high resolve after goal of spirituality into my living pulsating brain -- Maharishi was my "tag" that I put on all my steps towards perfection -- like a picture of a Roll Royce on the frig of an Amway person, see? A Mary Kay pink Cadillac, see? Oh no, no way, Maharishi is not dead, not for anyone. Doesn't matter who he really was. Now, here's the good part: I have brimmed myself with the buzzing of holiness. Whether dreaming or merely deciding what next to do in waking life, I've got -- SCIENCE SAYS SO -- billions of neural connections that are just champing to get my attention -- each one equally vying for my spotlighting them with awareness. Oh, the bad parts of me buzz too, and yeah, they can grab a spotlight, commandeer a microphone, do a knee jerk before I get control back, but because of Maharishi, overwhelmingly, mostly what I can pay attention to are "the buzzes of me" that, even now, are wanting to be good, wanting to be holy, wanting to be higher, better, nicer, sweeter, smarter, and on and on. Doesn't matter who he really was; I used him as my symbolic inspiration to pump my brain with goodies instead of baddies. Now, when a child offers me a flower -- let's say it's merely scribbles of crayon on paper -- I have tons of handy memories that can be "channeled" into this moment with the child. I can smile beneficently just like Maharishi did when he took my flower, ya see? I can love this child's innocence as I imagined Maharishi loving my own. I can pull myself closer to this child by taking the paper rose. Using the symbol "Maharishi," I practiced goodness -- I defined the goodness for the most part, but he was always my symbolic pot of gold at the end of enlightenment's rainbow. I used him as my way to focus on this goal of constant evolution towards perfection. How much do I owe this businessman for that, eh? He may have sold us nothing more than a charm bracelet, but I wore it and am wearing it still in that "to be good" is almost always my first impulse even when a ton of pitch-fork-wielding devil midgets are doing a war dance on my shoulders. How could I have done this with anyone else "in my world" when Maharishi came along? Gotta tell ya, I was heading down the tubes when he hit my life. I was hating everything at the speed of light, and suddenly, there was Maharishi with the sweetest giggle in the history of humanity. He had me at hee. Oh, it cost me almost everything, this addiction to a vision. When I finally pierced the veil, saw my own soul being in charge of my brain, saw symbols for symbols, saw my mindful validations, it hurt like lemon juice in a papercut to see my folly. But though such a high price was paid, where else could I have bought the brain I have now? In my next life, as if, I would hope that I will see that I am and always am IN CHARGE OF MEMORIES. Right now, I'd suggest that all followers of Maharishi pat themselves on the back for lives that are and have been for decades dedicated to truth, pure vision, clarity, innocence, love, health, community, globally good intent, and deeply sacred sacrifice. I bow to all of us, and to Maharishi. Yeah, him too. Do you think that all his lectures of "pinky petals" were not buzzing on his deathbed? Do you think that all his hours of holding the hands of sycophants, doing private meetings, structuring the actions of thousands of believers, do you think he escaped from the goodness of his own mind's jam packed memory banks? We're all complexities, massive data sets with cognitively dissonant dynamics, but again and again, I bow to most of what, because of Maharishi's inspiration, I put into what is buzzing right now. Long live Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in me. Edg
