Apparently, I’m the only person who has never heard of a Puja and those who have, describe them with words like weird, sex, and orgy. By true definition, a Puja is a gathering of people for a specific purpose, such as to teach a spiritual lesson, or as a practice in devotion to the self or to some sort of deity.
Kristy invited me to a Puja in Ojai this weekend.
It was like our own little road trip. We stopped for snacks at a gas station and listened to each other’s music; we had long talks, and also gaps of comfortable quiet.
As we snacked and sang to each other I started noticing that we were getting deeper into Dueling Banjo country.
Don’t tell anyone, but I secretly fear I’ll stop at a gas station in some backwoods town someday, and a guy with a wheat twig sticking out of his lips will approach my car, tap on the glass and say, “Ain’t you a bit far from your neckuh the woods… brownie?”
That fear always turns into a fantasy where I have to hump the guy silly in order to regain my freedom.
Up and up, and deeper and deeper (oh yes!) into Ojai we went.
On my facebook, I posted as my status:
If I die today, it’s because Kristy took me to some weird mountain cult and they sacrificed me to some old man who sucks on used underwear and worships chicken bones (or something). I love you all.
When we were near the destination we still had at least 30 minutes before game time so Kristy pulled off at a vista point.
“Giving me one last look at the earth?” I asked her.
She smiled and continued to rend gummy bears apart with her teeth, and I began to wonder if she had ever tore through human flesh with those same choppers. After 17 years, was there a side of Kristy I had never seen?
“Hey,” I said, as she chewed gummys, “I don’t feel like riding Hale Bop tonight.”
She smirked, “Oh please.”
Then it was time for us to head toward the Puja.
The directions Kristy received stated: “You will see a sign that reads Do Not Enter. This does not apply to you.”
About a mile down the road, the pavement turned to dirt and we passed a sign that read: Do not enter.
To Kristy, I said, “This does not apply to you.”
She continued onward, slowing the car when we wobbled over potholes and dirt hills. I continued to text my last goodbyes when Kristy said, “Dude, you’re not going to have access to your phone out here.”
“Convenient. No access to my phone so my blood curdling screams will disappear into the hills, you murderer?”
“Oh, dude,” she said with a giggle of endearment.
The dirt road began to show signs of civilization. Old trailer-park looking homes with scarecrows on the front lawn.
“I hope we’re going the right way,” Kristy said.
“I’m sure we are. I just saw a guy holding a still-beating human heart, and he was pointing this way.”
When we came around the final turn, we were looking at an amazing log home with a grand view of green hills and valleys.
It was beauteous.
Kristy was still driving very slowly when she spotted something strewn across the yard, like dried out pumpkins.
“I wonder what those are?” she asked.
I delivered my final wisecrack: “Remnant human skulls.”
Kristy parked, we grabbed our Yoga mats and pillows and entered the compound. All around us, wearing comfy yoga pants–even pajamas–were guys and girls my own age, and they were all attractive and in great health. Considering that this could become an orgy, I started picking out which guys I would wanted in my Mari Sandwich.
We were asked to remove our shoes, just like my childhood, and welcomed to grab a cup of hot green tea (after we paid our $25 entry fee, of course).
After we were shoeless and tea-filled, we found a seat inside a big room with Christmas lights strewn across the ceiling. The universe is sometimes within reach, I guess. We just have to want it.
Everyone laid their mats out in a circle, and mingled a bit until the leader of the Pooj had us take our seats. She introduced herself and then we introduced ourselves.
The beginning of the Puja was simple enough: Talk to two strangers in the room and tell them about your hopes.
Then it picked up speed. We began participating in exercises that were not sexual in nature, but meant to teach us–this small group of unknowns–to be more outgoing, and to nurture and love each other, complete strangers, so that maybe in those 3 short hours something would stick and we would remember to treat the rest of the world in the same loving way.
In any other blog I’d be more than happy to blanket you with the details of my experience, but in this case I don’t think details will do the Puja any justice. It isn’t something that really requires foreknowledge or expectations, and I can only promise: your skull will be used as a lawn ornament and you will not end up on a pyre surrounded by flames and, unfortunately, no group orgies. Everyone’s clothes stayed on.
I will tell you it was worth the money, but I’m not sure if I could afford to pay that price again for these lessons that should come as naturally as breaking wind: Treat others fairly and kindly. If the world really is going to end in 2012, wouldn’t our greatest attribute be how much happiness and love we brought to other lives? Maybe that’s just me.
Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/
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