We walk the dirt path, past a number of postcard and souvenir venders. There are people of all ages begging outside. The stone floors are worn down from the millions of bare feet over the centuries. There’s an old woman with a deformed arm making an elaborate Mandala (circular art representing the wheel of life) on the ground with different colored sands.

 “See, Ganesha is made up of earth. The elephant is totally grounded. And your mission is to let Ganesha ground you. Open your root. Get connected to Mother Earth. Feel what you’ve got going on down there, not just between your legs, but also at the base of the spine. And I don’t mean think about what happens in your head. Let that go. Feel from way down there as we walk.”

Sara lines up right behind Bud, placing her bare feet in Bud’s very footsteps. Sri Durga holds up the end, right behind me. We arrive outside an enclosed shrine and are instructed to sit on the earth and wait for Bud to return.

“Hey.” I whisper to Sri Durga.

“What is it? She asks in half tone.

“What’s with Bud? Isn’t he supposed to be silent like us? Why’s he doing all the talking?”

“He’s not. The master is. It’s just coming through his body.”

Sara can’t help but eves-drop on our conversation, and reaches over to take my hand and says, “Remember, I told you our master left his body over 10 years ago?” 

“But I thought Swami-Ji did the channeling?” I ask.

Sri Durga Explains, “He did, for the first few years, and then there came a point during one of the pilgrimages, when the Master felt that Swami-Ji’s teachings had begun to stagnate. So the only way to teach Swami-Ji new things was to move through the mind-body complex of other devotees. I was the first ones to channel after Swami-Ji, but now there’s no telling who’s the best vibrational match for the master to come through.”

“No Shit. Are you serious?” I ask.

“Dead serious.”  she says and punches me in the arm.

“So, Swami-Ji is no longer our teacher? I ask.

“He’s a student like you and me, and he’s in charge of our health and safety. He’s our translator and tour guide, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask either of us.

     “Got it.” I say.

Bud returns to announce, “We’ll now allow a Brahmin (priest) to do a puja for us. Stay present, without thinking about anything. Let go of your mind, man.”

 All the devotees file into this larger shrine tended by a massive Brahmin wearing a white dhoti tied around his legs like a Summo wrestler. He has a white string hanging across one shoulder and wears a number of ashen stripes on his bare chest, neck and arms. He lights up at the sight of our grand entrance. We step up to the deity and he tells us, in English, the history of how the wooden sculpture was made out of one huge tree. As he’s talking, fondness rushes my system. I can’t tell if it’s for Ganesha or his elephant-like devotee. Swami-Ji places a folded bill on the donation tray, which prompts the priest to chant on our behalf. He barks a fast singsong in Sanskrit, like an auctioneer, while throwing flowers and powders at the statue’s feet. He concludes by touching each of us between the eyebrows, with Cum-cum powder. Bud scoops light off the priest’s lamp and cleanses himself.

We follow Bud as he circumambulates the Deity three times, placing his hand on the back of the statue each time chanting Aum Shrim Reem Krim Glum Ganapata-yea Namaha. The priest looks surprised by this, but happy.  I think he thinks we belong to some kind of cult. And then it occurs to me that he is accurate. When I place my hand on the back of the statue, the muscles in my low back clench and spasm. Then Sri Durga’s cool hand on my shoulder, gently encourages me to move on, since everyone has already left the building.  

We step back and sit on the ground with our backs to the walls at the parameter of the little temple. In my mind’s eye, a huge dark door opens to let light in. Ganesha is a doorway. I wonder what that means. After some time of feeling warm sunlight on my face, Bud resumes his teachings:

 “It seems impossible that a human could survive with the head of an elephant, and do you know how Ganesha gets around? On a little rat. That’s right. This bastard child was made from dirt, has an elephant head, and rides around on a little rat, and, in order to have success in anything spiritual you have to pray to him.  Does that make any sense to you? I hope not, because it’s not supposed to.  If you’re committed to this spiritual path, the first thing you have to do is let go of having everything make sense all the time.

Let’s say that you were Ganesha and you were given this job of protecting your mother, and so no one’s going to get to her without getting a piece of you first. So the only way for the divine mother and the divine father to come together is for your daddy to cut your head off. Since their cosmic union is your enlightenment, then your losing your head is a small sacrifice to pay for their coming together.

Besides that, what you become is even better. You see, Ganesha is part man, part animal, part God. Have you ever looked at an elephant up close? The trunk is like a great big, prehensile Lingam, and the mouth represents a perfect yoni, part male, part female.

If you believe in Ganesha, it means you’re willing to accept the impossible. It’s a way to acknowledge the magical, and delve into the mystical. Know what I mean, man? From here on out, it’s a dead man’s party, so leave your ego and mind at the door. Where we’re going, you don’t need them, but you can pick them back up on the way out, if you want.”