Enlightening Nonsense

I met Alex Steinberg through my years of attending the New Life Expo. He runs Neo-Actualities, which involves him organizing and interviewing bigwigs in the New Age movement. He has even interviewed and been interviewed by Deepak Chopra, who is listed in certain New Age texts as being the final prophet after Muhammad.

About a year ago at one of the expos, I pitched Alex to conduct an interview with me. At the time he said he was game but, as most people in the New Age world wear a different face on the outside than they do on the inside, that could have just as easily meant, “Yeah, not gonna happen. Ba-Bye!” I followed up via email and Alex pretty much said, “I don’t really know anything about you, besides the whispers around the block that you have a 14” cock and that at one time you stuck it in the vagina of the raw food world’s pride and joy, Roach. Can you send me something to help alleviate my ignorance?” And so I did.

I received no response back. I followed up. No response. I followed up. I received a response that seemed to indicate that he didn’t read my first flesh-out email. He said we would arrange the interview but after multiple emails and calls and reminders at the next New Life Expo, and the next one after that, about what we talked about, I still wasn’t hearing shit from him as far as making it happen, captain. As far as I could see, he was just another 60s burnout who had dropped way too much acid and whose brain was only slightly less Swiss cheesed an Alzheimer’s patient.

Finally he gave me a call and essentially said, “Can you join me for my cable show tomorrow night?” I had a feeling that he had found himself in the last minute needing another guest and I was the 5^th person he called but I didn’t’ give a crap. I had to check my calendar—which was completely blank except for the numbers of the days and the names of holidays in which the calendar company thought I may be interested, like Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, who I think was some black guy with a beef about something or other. I was thinking of playing hard to get, which ladies, only makes you not gotten, but instead said, “I’m in!”

I was very excited about the show. It wasn’t my first interview ever but he supposedly has a mailing list of 3000 people and it was possible that if we were talking face to face, he might even cough up one of Deepak’s curly pubes into my face! Did I say “curly”? I meant, “curry.”

I had come to the point where I saw that it was time for my voice to be heard to a larger capacity in this world of bullshit, where instead of facing the shit pile problem, everyone just sprays perfume to mask the odor. I thought that this interview was going to take me to the Promised Land—hey, if Oprah can give away cars to her studio audience, I figured why couldn’t this Jew bastard give me a ticket to Israel!

At the time I was friendly with Princess Flip-Flops. This was before I found her to be an unbearable annoyance and so I invited her to come. She was very supportive and cut short her swim in the public garbage dump in Jersey to drive in to the city.

I was decked out in my costume, wearing one of my Paki shirts that Paki Sam brought back from her trip to Pakistan. I think I might have had one of my mala bead necklaces on as well for adornment. I also worked my hair with just the right combination of ointment and semen and I was having an awesome hair day!

When we got to the studio, Alex introduced me to some of the staff and a couple of his associates from the show before. They asked me about being a swami and what that entails. I put on my “deep” swami persona and talked about pursuing Truth and consciousness and left all the details about how I’m just in the spiritual game to get laid out of the conversation.

I met one older broad who, like me, happened to also be a sannyasin, or devotee, of Osho. She was tough and sweet, reminding me of a day-old jellyroll found in the trash outside a bakery. She was giving me all kinds of advice that I just smiled at and planned to ignore, such as, “Don’t insult anyone. You want to be likeable.” Yeah, right!

I don’t really prepare too much for shows or workshops or classes that I teach. That’s not 100% true; I do prepare a bit. For workshops I usually thinking about and write a skeleton of the overall workshop and what I want to cover. In my yoga classes, I often bring a theme to class, such as “Risk” and then try to convince the students to have unprotected sex with me. But, for the most part, once we get rolling it’s pretty much a free-for-all and, like the roulette wheel, “Round and round she goes, where she lands no one knows!” Finding my flow in the Unknown is my sniffing glue minus the blackouts.

I introduced Princess Flip-Flops to Alex and even pitched her a little, telling him how she was a psychic. He was like, “Oh, can you give me a little reading?” and she being the typical New Age whore, started telling him about what she saw for his business, some bullshit about bringing in investors, and he was eating it up.

I don’t own anyone—not even my dog—and I was all for sharing her and him and maybe even have a gang bang if it progressed to that, but this was “my” prom and I started finding myself a little annoyed that both Alex and Princess Flip-Flops were off making out by the punch bowl. There is that balance in sensitivity that you hope for in a friend, for them to see when it’s time to step out of the spotlight and let you take the lead and when it’s right for them to step up and be the prima ballerina and leave you playing with your overstuffed ball sack in the background. You can forget this being present in psychics, as they are all just concerned with angels and 10-year into the future projections that they’ll be long gone by the time you figure out they were completely wrong—if you even remember. Princess Flip-Flops might consider herself an “intuitive” but she was definitely not a “sensitive.”

The other guest was totally late and showed up around one minute to show time, sweating his ass off and looking like he may actually die on camera, which barring the whole “death” thing, would be pretty cool. Princess Flip-Flops offered some of her “energy” and he said he felt a little better afterwards and I was like, “What the fu—? Can you just sit there off-camera and shut the fuck up for the next half-hour?” Of course this was my head voice, which is the voice inside that usually tells me I need to kill my mother, as well as the one I have when getting head that usually shares such brilliant insights as, “Oh—yeah, that’s…uh…OH…AAARGHH!”

And then it was “ACTION!” Well, no one actually said, “Action!” as this was not a movie set. It would have been nice if someone clacked that black and white scene marker board, though. They didn’t. I’m sure Princess Flip-Flops would have offered her services as official clacker, which wouldn’t be a big stretch from usual role as official quacker. Speaking of which, I miss the days on the porn set when I had an official wacker to prepare me for the scenes. Ah, nostalgia…

“I’m here today with…” And the ball was in play. But I soon found myself feeling like, “I’m open! I’m open! Pass me the ball! Pass me the ball!” The other guy was a more straight-laced psychotherapist and while the topic was essentially “Practical Spirituality,” of which I have an honorary Doctorate from the School of Jackassery, he was dropping a bunch of his own made-up terms that seemed to be nothing more than labels of things that were completely useless in the world or real-world spirituality.

I worked to keep calm, probably more so to appear like some “spiritual” dude than for any other reason, as we all know people who are spiritual appear to be drugged out on happy pills and never get upset. I made a few points here and there but didn’t feel in my flow, which is really all I care about. The message is less important to me than the flow. But they are also connected, for when I am in flow the message is usually pretty good, whether its form comes in the shape of poetry or pornography. If people could see flow and not just forms, the world would be, to quote Phil Collins, “a groovy kind of love.” But instead we focus on form and whether someone is sharing God or sharing made-up nonsense is irrelevant to us as long as the form fits into our definition of “pretty” or “spiritual” or “large breasted.”

Now I believe we are all personally responsible for regulating our own flow valves and can’t depend on someone else to open it up for us (it’s “righty tighty, lefty loosy,” right?), but Alex definitely wasn’t in tune with me. I remember mentioning one point on how the so-called experts in spirituality were selling “It’s all bliss!” in a bottle and that was a friggin’ lie, that the spiritual process involves some serious challenges and rock bottom struggles and that I personally new top speakers and psychics who preached their “bliss” mantra to their audiences while in private they were completely miserable. I wanted to go more into this but Alex pretty much just dismissed my statement with something like, “Well, that’s just the life process. So anyway, Gabb, can you mention some more extraneous terms for us tonight?”

The perfect example of how my flow was impeded was we had one caller into the show who ended up asking something silly in two parts. The first part asked if I was in a 70s rock band, obviously making fun of my big hair, which did I say was looking marvelous? The second part of her question was, “Do you guys blow each other after the show?”

Now I think the first question was silly but the second question was definitely cutting-edge spiritual nonsense, which is my specialty. Had I been in flow, I probably would have answered something like, “I was the lead singer in that band but the late nights of snorting coke and fucking teenagers started to burn me out so I decided to switch to a life of burning incense and fucking teenagers instead. As for the second question, of course we don’t blow each other after the show! We blow each other before the show, in order to help us relax. And in truth, Alex is okay but Gabb uses way too much teeth. Thank you caller.”

More important than being open to my cleverness, had my flow valve been wide open, I would have found the question totally amusing and enjoyed it. Instead I put on a fake smile and became yet another phony New Ager, pretending to be or feel different than what I was being or feeling. Totally lame.

After the show, I was feeling really down. My chance for a #1 chart-busting hit ended up being a cheesy country song about how my cow Betsy has flatulence, and although having a catchy bridge, no one would be hearing my voice after this stinker.

I was walking on the sidewalk with Princess Flip-Flops and she asked me how I felt. I told her pretty shitty, that I felt totally not in flow during the show and was feeling down about it now. I think she offered something standard like, “You’ll feel more comfortable the more you do it.” She then did what I may do at times but after getting it from her, I now realize is totally annoying. She started telling me about herself and her experience with difficulty before she became a self-proclaimed expert in media presentation. “I remember the first time I…” I was thinking, “Bitch, it’s still my night. Let’s stay with me here, shall we?” but I let it go and just smiled like the dope I was when the caller asked her questions.

Then immediately she started telling me about this woman she bumped into today and how—blah, blah, blah… My inner voice was shouting, “DUDE! SERIIOUSLY, DO YOU NOT SEE THAT I STILL HAVE ABOUT AN HOUR BEFORE THE CHARIOT TURNS INTO A PUMPKIN HERE?” But then I thought of something. And after thinking about bludgeoning her with a pipe I thought about something else a little deeper.

In my explorations with others, and myself I had come to the understanding that one key element of depression is being totally self-absorbed. I decided I would absorb myself in another, in this case a babbling, self-centered bitch, and see how this affected my Debbie Downer mood. It didn’t necessarily make me feel like I was going to win any Miss Congeniality contest but I did feel a little better.

We got to her car with which she was going to drive me to my apartment, with her still gabbing on about herself, when I finally mentioned my theoretical application. “I was down and you just barged in like a fat lady to the front of the buffet line and totally ignored what I may be needing. But I realized that by focusing on you, whether you are completely oblivious to my needs or not, it might help me get out of my own self-pitying. And it did a little.”

Because she is so self-centered, she didn’t see the forest of my great epiphany for the tree of her emotionally unstable self and got a little insecure about what I said. So she then shifted to asking me some forced questions to put me in the focus chair but it was lame and annoying and I finally said, “Can we drive in silence for a bit?” And we did. I finally said, “You know what, I don’t feel as bad about everything now and I’m pretty sure that when I wake up tomorrow I will give even less of a shit.” I did feel better. I mean, not totally but I didn’t think I would have any more shittiness to drop the next morning besides during my morning toilet sitting.

That night I wrote Alex an email, voicing that I didn’t feel I was in my flow but thanking him for the opportunity, for as much of a rebel as I am, I think not giving an acknowledgement to an offering from another is not rebellious but just being a douche.

There was even more drama about getting a copy of the show, as Alex—when he wasn’t completely disregarding my emails, texts and voicemails—was busy playing the role of the typical New Ager, giving me his word on multiple occasions through the various mediums that he would get me a copy and then never following through. When I would see him in person, he would apologize profusely and tell me that he would get me the copy but never would.

I finally bumped into him at the last GYNO [See GYNO at http://rebelyogi.com/gyno], right after I entered the door to the studio. He started in with his apologetics and telling me that he’d get me the tape and I had a fuckin’ ‘nough.

“How many times do you have to give me your word and it ending up not being worth the semen covered tongue it passes over? I’m sick of it. For me, my word is of tremendous value and I don’t say anything unless I sure as hell plan to do what I say. But you are acting just like all the New Age flakes whose behavior I despise. New Age…New Life Expo—that’s not ‘spirituality.’ Spirituality is being able to not just talk about theoretical ‘truths’ but to be able to function in the real world of day-to-day activity, to be respectful, to honor your word and to follow through with action. I’m sure if Deepak Chopra called you, you would get right back to him. But with me, you think it’s okay to just blow off responding to my multitudes of emails, calls, texts and voicemails and I don’t accept that. That’s disrespectful and I demand to be treated with more respect than that.”

“I’ll get you the tape,” he said, like a dog with his tail draping between his legs.

“I’ve heard that for the past six months now, multiple times from you, and every time it’s not worth the sticky lube you’re trying to fuck me in the ass with. I want a commitment to a date and time. Because, frankly, the next time I see you, if I don’t have the tape by then, I’m going to smash your fuckin’ head in.” Okay, I didn’t threaten him like that but that’s how the scene is going to go down in the movie version. I think I’ll have Brad Pitt play me, as Duck has already established that I’m not Brad Pitt—how funny would it be to be able to answer, “Yeah, but Brad Pitt is me!” [See Not Brad Pitt at http://rebelyogi.com/not-brad-pitt.html]

On my way out of the GYNO, I apologized to Alex for ripping him a new one right at the entrance to the event (and right in front of one of the studio’s workers!) He said that I didn’t need to and that something really penetrated him tonight. I wasn’t sure if he meant my words or that he downing cup after cup of organic wine had scored him some sodomy. I was too scared to ask.

Not too much after that night, Alex and I arranged to meet for a one-to-one sit down where he would give me the tape and I would refrain from giving him a black eye. I sent him my recent piece The School of Truth Through Torture [http://rebelyogi.com/the-school-of-truth-through-torture] and told him to read it before we met, as I thought it would help him to see more of what I had to share with the world and how my voice was much different than the noxious somnambulance that is being preached from the pulpit of the New Age.

The day of our meet, Alex wrote me an email how moved he was by my piece. When we met he seemed visibly shaken up, but in a good way, as if reading that piece had thrown some cold water on him and even if he was still in bed, at least for a change the wetness wasn’t a nocturnal emission.

We talked for two hours and he voiced how I have something very important to say and in a very unique voice to what’s out there. He felt like his eyes were washed clean of the sand of sleep and he voiced how most of what is out there is just Ego in a more clever disguise. I found this particularly amusing, as he has made his career about interviewing these disguised egos who would talk about all this garbage from planes of existence, to angels to UFOs but if you ever confronted them that they were still in bed dreaming, they would be quick to say, “Leggo my ego!”

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-Yq1I8gIA0]

I felt like the old blind Chink from that 70s show Kung Fu with David Carradine as Kane, from a time way before he was found dangling from a closet rod with his pants around his ankles. I was like, “Very good, grasshopper.” And he seemed ready to wander the world and fight not with fists and feet for justice but perhaps with the weapons of hard-hitting questions and a low tolerance to bullshit for awakening.

I wrote him an email sometime after and told him that I would like him to arrange an interview with me, like ones I’ve been to that he’s run for a $10-25 charge. I said how with him promoting me as the “rebel” with a voice and message that is both controversial and Truth-full, that we should be able to fill the house and really start the rebel-ution. He wrote me back essentially saying, “I’m not interested in arranging an event with you. If you arrange an event, I will gladly help publicize it.” Seemed like his gung-ho kung fu had turned into a heave-ho, stinky poo overnight.

I had also invited him to this open mic poetry slam (which happens to be tomorrow) where I share my poetry as well as either my original Poetry Meditations or a “dharma” talks once a month in a black bookstore in Harlem. Last month I read my latest poem “FUCK gOD!” and wasn’t surprised that it raised some interesting discussion afterwards.

I wrote him it was in an intimate setting and for $5 he’d get to see me and my rebel teachings in action, which is a whole different world than just reading my words from a webpage, and I think this would give him more of an idea of what I have to offer and perhaps inspire some future collaboration between us. I told him, “I’d really like you to be there,” making sure I didn’t write, “I’d really like you to come,” as knowing him, he would probably just jerk-off and go back to sleep.

His non-prompt reply was basically that he wasn’t coming, that he would probably be doing editing that night. I found this completely lame. To me it was as if he had sat at the table with Jesus himself and J.C. said, “I’m going to be giving this sermon on the mount out back next week, you know, that big pile of dirt? I really think it’s going to be one of my best. I would like you to come—I mean, ‘attend,’” and he was like, “Sorry, me and Judas are going to go and bang some whores.”

But it so represents to me why we don’t see miracles and mystics and prophets today. “Miracles and mystics and prophets, oh my!” It is not because they are not out there. They are. It is because we do not have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. And even if we manage to part one of our sleepy lids and catch a glimpse of light, or some soul-seeking words penetrate through the thick wax build-up in our ears, we’re quick to hit the snooze button and go right back to sleep. Here I am, offering the adrenaline shot of Godliness for practically free and unable to fill the seats, while the disguised egos charge an arm and a leg for sleeping pills.

“]”]”].

I couldn’t believe how Alex went from flake to inspired back to flake in the blink of an eye, a feat that not even David Copperfield could pull off without the audience storming the stage and ripping him from limb to limb as they demanded their money back for unexpected douchery.

Not all mystics are also teachers. Most aren’t. Most are like heroine addicts who find the high so grand that there seems no point to come down from the clouds and return to the dense earth filled with dense people. This is what makes people like Buddha and Jesus and Zarathustra so rare. It seems like they were not going to be satisfied in the clouds unless their brothers had every opportunity to join them there as well.

I could never understand how blind someone had to be that back in the day, whether it was 500 B.C. or the year zero or in the 14^th Century, to not be able to see the charisma, the power, the Truth, the godliness expressing through these great men. But today, besides having a car instead of an oxcart, things are really not much more different in terms of consciousness. And it is a very dangerous world to be in when technology keeps advancing and consciousness stays stagnant. That’s a world where you have chimpanzees with hands on red buttons, where pressing one drops a pellet of food and pressing the other drops a nuclear bomb.

People are too focused on survival, and emotional diversions like sports and sex, and power to see the “miracles and mystics and prophets, oh my!” They miss not only the gods who walk among them, but also the gods that they themselves are.

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To watch the video interview of Swami X in a discussion on the cable show Neo-Actualities on YouTube go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xkub2VOpR5s

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