Secrets of a Spiritual Guru (Guru 1)

by Tamara Dorris

  “Can you give me a little more information, please?” I think being enlightened has improved my communication skills with seniors.

  “Honey, relax, he’s safe.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Oh, because, they are very careful at screening the applicants.”

  Applicants?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Golden Years Dating dot com.”

  Now, while I’m trying to understand that my mother, who lost her childhood sweetheart (my father) years ago and who said she was never going to love again, is now cyber dating, I can’t help but flash on the fact that she has a date and I don’t.

  “You signed up for a dating service?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s just great! You should try it.”

  “But aren’t you a little, you know…old?”

  “Listen, kid, I’m sixty-three, and I have needs, too.”

  Eww.

  “More information than I need, Mom. When did you decide this?”

  “Well, I just get bored, and a few of the girls at the lunch last month were talking about this online dating site for seniors. I just signed up for fun, and boy, has it been keeping me busy.”

  “It has?”

  “So many men, so little time.”

  I am sure I’m going to throw up. I can’t even keep one man, and she’s being flooded with invites.

  “I just thought you weren’t going to date, you know.”

  “Honey, there will never be another man like your father, but I still have things I’d like to do. I’d like to travel.”

  “You hate traveling,” I remind her.

  “Yes, but it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten why. Maybe I’d like it now.”

  I decide there’s no talking any sense into this woman. She’s dead set on hooking up with Bill at Starbucks for tea at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. Apparently, Bill is a retired foot doctor. She forgot the name of it and so did I. Something that starts with a P, I think. I tell her to take her turn at our game. I have to really get used to this idea of my mother socializing with another man. She tells me if Ron doesn’t come back by a certain time, I might want to sign up for my own dating site. She tells me she’d even pay for it and reminds me how close my birthday is.

  One of my favorite poses in all of yoga so far, next to the corpse (and don’t think that doesn’t take skill) is the child’s pose. In the child’s pose, we sit on our knees with our head to the mat. Dawn has us stretch our arms out in front of us. At first it felt awkward, but after several impossible poses, the child’s pose can be a real relief. In fact, it’s the pose we’re supposed to come to when we’re all worn out and can’t go any farther. Dawn says it’s a good time to just accept what is and be OK with it. I am guessing that accepting that my mom has a meet-up with some foot guy is something I am just going to have to do. Sitting on my bed, I curl down into child’s pose. Living yoga off that mat is not always easy, so it helps when I can do this. I think “living yoga off the mat” means applying yogic philosophy to our lives all the time. I am hoping that doing yoga on the bed is kind of like that.

  I am super excited that this is Friday so I can drink wine. I do notice, however, that sticking to water the past few days has given me more energy. It even helps me sleep better. Of course, I’ve been falling asleep with Kelly Dean in my ears every night, too.

  In my office I get an e-mail from Yoga Barbie telling me I have comments. I have no idea what she means, but then I figure out that she’s referring to my blog post. Someone commented? I’m actually kind of excited. I go to the yoga studio website, and there it is on my last post.

  “Hey, Nala! Great post. Coincidentally, I’ve been listening to that exact abundance meditation for the past few months. In fact, I keep it in my desk at work. I’m enjoying your posts. Keep up the great work ”

  Is this Tac?

  The comment is not signed, and the commenter’s name is shown as “user112.” I know it’s got to be Tac, though, right? I mean, how many people keep Kelly Dean in their desk drawer at work? Plus, I already know he read the post the other day. How to respond. But more importantly, I am interested in the fact that he’s only been listening to that meditation for a few months. I thought he and Kelly Dean went way back. So what else has he meditated to that’s made him do so well?

  “Thank you for your kind comments! What other kinds of meditations and CDs have you listened to?”

  I figure it’s a little short, but it gets to the point. Besides, it’s not like it’d be very smart to start some Internet friendship with Tac, of all people. I wonder if he uses online dating services.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It’s the big day, and I’m nervous. It’s pretty obvious that there’s a chance I’ll get a glance at Yoga Barbie. My fear is that I’ll see Ron, too. I momentarily contemplate the missing sound of football noise blaring from his flat-screen from the empty spot on my wall. The games themselves, I suppose, were not so hard to deal with. However, his incessant yelling over what this idiot did or how that dumb ass missed the ball? I guess I don’t miss that. But speaking of football, it’s kind of ironic that I will play defense today. I will be on the lookout and ready to blend in and duck out. Ron taught me what defense is, so it’s pretty funny I’ll be using it on him.

  I’m immediately impressed by all the cars in the parking lot at the hotel, which I have never been to in my life. It’s not all that far from me either, but really, how often do people go to hotels in their own town? It’s not like most people check into their local motel for the free continental breakfast. Kind of ironic when you think about it, but more out-of-towners know this hotel better than someone who’s lived eleven minutes away for thirty years.

  There’s a long table outside the entryway of the main ballroom. I hustle past the hotel registration and go straight to the table where people are checking in attendees. A pretty woman, plumper than I am, tells me it will be five dollars unless I have a coupon. I wonder why I don’t have a coupon. Then I remember. Yoga Barbie said she’d put my name on the list so I could get in free. It occurs to me that if I check in as Nala, then Barbie would know—if she happened to check—when I was here. That could be dangerous, especially when I’m supposed to be playing defense today. The five-dollar discount is tempting, as free always is, but checking with my intuition like Kelly Dean says I should, I pay the lady and go inside.

  Whoa! The large room is lined with booths, then, the middle is a mecca of booths as well. All the colors, and jewelry, and clothes. Clothes at a consciousness fair? How good does it get? There are all sorts of people sitting and giving…readings.

  In the far left corner is a makeshift stage with a microphone and several rows of metal foldout chairs. Right now, they are only about half full. A man is talking at the microphone. The cardboard sign that’s sitting on a stand says, “Dr. Mike: Heal Your Body.” Hmmm. Sounds promising. The lady who took my five bucks handed me a program, and now I’m interested in seeing whom this Mike guy is and how I can heal my body.

  Before I can find out about Dr. Mike, I’m blown away by all these great topics. Healing with Color, How Aroma Therapy Can Change Your Life, Secrets of the Tarot…the list goes on. In front of me is a booth that just seems to call my name. I make my way past a few other booths and past Dr. Mike, who I will check out later, because the program says he is in Booth 16. The older woman at the booth I am drawn to smiles at me. She is surrounded by crystals. Balls of all sizes are dangling from red satin ribbons, making rainbow prisms on the table.

  “These are lovely,” I say, ever so gently touching one of the bigger balls.

  “Austrian crystal,” she assures me.

  I nod and casually try to read the itty bitty tag for a price. This glass ball is $58?Apparently getting crystals from Austria is pretty expensive. I shift my eyes to the smaller balls.

  “These are feng shui blessed,” she tells me.

  We share a wise nod, as if I know what in the heck she’s
talking about.

  “I like this one,” I tell her, picking a smaller ball that is only twenty-eight dollars. I know that it seems like a lot to pay for a little crystal ball that I have no idea what to do with, but we have to remember, it has been feng shui blessed and it is from Austria.

  She takes it off the Manzanita branch and wraps it up in brand-new white tissue paper. I haven’t owned brand-new tissue paper since the ’90s. Doesn’t everyone else reuse it too? I’m thinking how clever it is that she uses Manzanita branches to display all her little crystal balls when she tells me to hang the ball in my money corner.

  I have a money corner?

  Happy with my purchase, I stuff it into my bag, suddenly wishing I’d have gotten one for Crystal Visions. I really do need to call her; we haven’t chatted in so long.

  Then I see her. Yoga Barbie in the flesh.

  For a moment, I can’t breathe. Or move. That’s her, for sure, talking to someone who isn’t Ron (thankfully) and pointing across the room. She looks different than she does on her website. For one thing, her hair isn’t pulled back like it is in the photo, and it really is long and blond and beautiful. Also, she’s not wearing yoga clothes. I guess I thought when people were totally enlightened like she is, they just always wear yoga clothes. She’s actually sporting a super-cute long dress made of some fabulous gauze material. It definitely fits into the realm of the latest spiritual-wear, but she’s belted it, giving it a fun, fashionable look. I catch my breath and realize I am standing there, ten feet away, staring at the woman who took Ron away. I totally can see why he likes her.

  She starts heading my way, and I quickly turn and start walking briskly in the other direction. I need to remember why I’m here. Why am I here? Oh yes, for the blog. Actually, I could leave now. I could make something up about Dr. Mike and feng shui balls, right? There seriously is enough information on the program I’ve stuffed into my purse that I can leave now, unscathed. Why do I want to stay? I feel Yoga Barbie still heading in this direction, so I duck into the first booth that seems like a good hiding place. There is a tent-like cover and a lady with dark-red hair sitting at a table. The chair across from her is empty. She motions me to sit down like she’s been waiting for me her whole life.

  “Would you like a reading?”

  I look at the little sign that says “Astrology Readings with Myrna.”

  Myrna?

  I ask how much, thinking that maybe Nala is not such a dumb spiritual name after all.

  Myrna tells me it’s twenty-five dollars for a fifteen-minutes reading. Boy, these consciousness events get pricey. Sensing my hesitation, she asks me when my birthday is. I wonder if this is some kind of trick.

  “December seventeenth,” I say, leaving off the year.

  “What year?” nosey Myrna wants to know.

  I ask her how important birth year really is. She tells me it’s very important.

  “Sagittarian women are amazing leaders,” she says.

  I sit down and pull out my ATM card. After all, she was so spot-on with what she said.

  Myrna tells me a bunch of stuff that sounds just like me. She tells what a great future I have. I like her a lot. Then, she tells me that next spring, I will have some major changes. She tells me to watch my health. I explain to her that I am a vegetarian yogi. She doesn’t seem to buy it, but she nods. That Myrna is no dummy.

  “Do you see me getting married?” I ask, as if it’s just a casual after-thought.

  “Perhaps.”

  “What about work? Will I sell more houses?”

  “Ah, you are in sales. This is a good fit for you,” wise Myrna says.

  She goes on to tell me some other wonderful things about myself, like that Pluto is in my sixth house. I didn’t even know I had a sixth house. Just when she tells me we’re done, I feel a soft touch on my shoulder. My whole life flashes before my eyes.

  “Hey Kiddo.”

  Tac?

  “What are you doing here?” I say, not meaning to sound nearly as rude as I must sound, based on the look on his and Myrna’s faces.

  “I read about it on the blog.”

  Suddenly I remember why I am here.

  “When’s your birthday?” Myrna asks Tac.

  This Myrna is one sharp marketer.

  “August Sixteenth,” he tells her.

  “Ah, Leo the lion, easily mastered by the Sagittarian.”

  Huh?

  Obviously Tac is just as confused as I am.

  Myrna smiles. “The two of you, you’re a Leo, and she’s a Sagittarian.”

  Oh.

  “We just work together,” I say, suddenly flattered that she thinks we’re a couple. After all, we have to remember, Tac is younger than I am. And way more immature. Myrna doesn’t seem convinced, but then, I suppose people who charge by the minute don’t often like to be proven wrong. I thank her and turn to go. Tac grabs my arm.

  “That’s her!”

  “Who?”

  “Shanza! The gal from the yoga place.”

  I see he is pointing directly at Yoga Barbie. Great.

  “Let’s say hi,” he says, pulling me along. I break the connection and tell him I really have to get going, looking at the exit doors the same way I look at a good glass of wine.

  “Shanza,” he says, catching her attention.

  Barbie has this big perfect smile, and I am wondering why she got more than her fair share of teeth.

  “Hello!” she says, all warm and fuzzy.

  “We recognize you from your website,” Tac says, like they’re old friends.

  “Nice! Well, I’m Shanza, and you?”

  “I’m Tac, and this is Melissa,” he offers. I think he’s star struck or something

  “So nice to meet you both. Have you been to the studio?”

  “Naw, I’ll give it a try one of these days,” Tac says.

  I realize I’ve been standing there completely mute with what I’m sure is a very stupid smile pasted on my face. I can’t speak. Crap.

  “And you?” she asks.

  “No,” is all I can muster.

  Tac gives me a strange look. Fortunately, he’s on another mission.

  “Is the blog writer here?” he asks, clearly hopeful.

  “Nala? Um…good question. I’m not sure. I was going see if she’s checked in yet.”

  I secretly thank God that I didn’t take the free pass.

  “Well, her posts are really great,” Tac tells her.

  “I know! We are so blessed to have her.”

  “Is she our age?” he asks, as if we were all born in the late ’80s.

  “You know, I’m not sure. I know she studied in India, and she sure has a lot of knowledge, but who knows.”

  “We read her post every week, right Melissa?” he says, including me in the conversation that I am desperately trying to escape. I even have my body turned toward the exit now.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, great blogger.”

  I’m talking about myself like I’m not even there. The sad part is that I’m so nervous I can’t enjoy the praise. Something about seeing Barbie all up close and personal is making me want to throw up, but I’m not sure why. Is it because I’m afraid Ron will pop out of the crowd saying, Namaste? Or, is it because I’m a big fat liar who’s going to ell for being a big fat liar? Could be a combination.

  “Well, I commented on her latest post,” he tells her, “and I love her name.”

  Barbie is looking like she needs to go, and I am very grateful. She smiles and nods, politely excusing herself.

  “Nala…that name reminds me of The Lion King,” Tac says to me. Then adds, “Loved that movie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tac seems disappointed that I have to leave. This surprises me, with so many younger, thinner spiritual divas all over the place. Probably wants to use me for bait. Anyway, I’m shaking from my head to my toes and tell him I have to go. He looks at me like I’m acting oddly (mainly because I am), and I tell him I have a date. He nods
like he believes me, and I practically sprint to my car, where, once inside, I take my first real breath in sixteen minutes.

  It takes me three days to recover. I go to yoga on Monday morning feeling that I need to get my spirit back inside my body. I am sure I left it in Myrna’s booth with my twenty-five bucks. At yoga, Dawn tells me she is holding a spiritual rebirthing on Wednesday, would I please come? I do not know what a spiritual rebirthing is, but I agree to attend, being her favorite student and all. She tells me there is a twenty-five-dollar donation. I feel like I am being twenty-five-dollared to death.

  On my way to the office, I see I have a voice mail from Broker Bert. He’s asking me if I gave permission for a rap video with naked women draped on a Ferrari to be shot in front of my listing.

  Uh oh.

  I rush to the office, where both Becky and Tac, and even Stan, but especially Broker Bert, are all standing at the front desk waiting to hear what I have to say. I am sure they’ve been talking about me all morning. I knew I had a strange feeling when I was doing my upward dog.

  “There you are,” Bert says.

  “What happened?” I asked, since I’m getting so good at playing the defense.

  “Well, apparently, a music video was shot in front of your Granite Bay house, and the neighbor called the cops when he saw his young kids watching naked women sprawled all over a red Ferrari.”

  Everyone is quiet, waiting for me to say something. I am impressed about the car.

  “This guy asked me if they could take some pictures in front of my house as a way to promote the listing and me,” I say, leaving out the part about making me Sacramento’s premier luxury agent.

  “So he didn’t mention naked women and red cars? And loud rap music?”

  “No,” I say, telling mostly the truth.

  Broker Bert rubs the back of his neck like maybe my little rap video escapade has given him a headache. “Well, I have the neighbor’s number here, so I think an apology call will keep him from pressing any kind of charges.”

  “What kind of charges could be pressed?” Tac asks.