Hair Loss Garland

Whenever undulating throng, as the modest ‘A frame’ structure is called, inside Amrita Hall Amma is surrounded by a dense.

Whenever breaking for only a few hours in the afternoons, and going until three, four, five in the morning, so it’s what she does nearly any day.

Clad in a billowing white sari, her rotund figure is perched atop her dais, a cushy throne draped in garlands and strewn with rose petals. Whenever watching the proceedings projected on a massive screen hanging from the ceiling, tears streaming down their faces, as devotees refer to themselves, her stamina is a point of reverence among her children more than a few of whom are sitting on the temple’s open floor in the lotus position. Accordingly a sly, benevolent smile spreads across her face as she pulls one person after another to her bosom. She hands what’s now a Blessed Cookie out into the crowd, and I watch as So it’s broken into minuscule pieces -crumbs, really -which are savored by those surrounding her, as Amma holds him. Blerone bar for $ Before my hug, a plump guy in his forties with greasy light brown hair shows up with a package of pecan cookies for Amma. People are coming to her with everything from coconuts to candy bars to handmade crafts, and for those who forgot to bring something, a table is set up at the start of the line where gifts for Amma are for sale.

Her hugs are referred to as darshan, a Sanskrit term roughly meaning visions of the divine, and as gratitude for this vision it’s customary to bring Amma a gift before your hug. Whenever cupping their hands under her mouth to ensure she doesn’t dribble any crumbs into the hair of the man, whose face is now buried in her chest, she opens it with the zeal of a small child, and as she places a cookie in her mouth, two of her staff members rush in. I close my eyes, and, for a moment, give in. Warmth. For those few seconds everything she has said suddenly makes perfect sense, the way dreams seem real until you wake up. Then, while pulling me in close and tight for a long time, as I get up to leave, amma stands, and again embraces me. Thence it goes, her talk growing ever more metaphysical and impenetrable until my time is up.

Calm.

She lets me go, and inevitably the harsher light of reality intrudes once more.

Darkness. Making an attempt to bring the interview back to a less celestial place, Know what, I ask what exactly should happen when she leaves her body, as devotees refer to the death of a guru. I would like to ask you a question. Is there a plan in place to comfort your followers, ain’t in Amma’s nature to harm anyone, only to love. Therefore, while going back literally thousands of years, he says, the relationship between guru and disciple is a very complex one.

Has he surrendered?

Has he learned?

Life at the ashram, he says, can often feel like a battle for Westerners -the language barrier and the unfamiliar culture can make them feel unwanted and unappreciated. Also, as in any system of belief, the moment you lose faith is the moment when structures that once seemed sensible suddenly seem questionable, even senseless. Essentially, the objective is not to say we’ve done wrong but to see if we’ve gone beyond the surface, sometimes we might be scolded even if we don’t deserve it. Prasannan says he has never seen Amma hit or kick anyone, and explains Tredwell’s allegations in cultural terms, as far as abuse goes. Sometimes a guru will scold a devotee as a kind of test.

Another devotee, Prasannan Jyotish, who left the organization last year after two decades and now lives in his hometown of Vancouver, agrees that Amma’s organization, despite advocating selflessness, is plagued by its share of hungry egos -this, in the end, is why he left, though he has since reconciled with Amma. Actually, the urs double as fundraisers. Amma whose design seems inspired by the Cabbage Patch Kids.

And so it’s as if she is my little piece of Mother.

Inside, meanwhile, a large portion of the temple is turned into a kind of bazaar specializing in all things Amma.

Sometimes, I actually need a hug from her, and that same feeling of all accepting love and softness is there, a nameless devotee says of the dolls on the Amma Shop website. It’s a well it comes in small, medium and large – $ 45, $ 90 and $ 180, respectively -and the idea is that it provides a kind of cosmic hotline to Amma when not in her presence. Lots of people take to clutching their Amma dolls while staring at Amma, inside the temple and seeing them it’s impossible not to be reminded of how the line where devotion blurs into obsession, where faith morphs into fanaticism, can become so thin and porous that you can cross it without ever knowing it. Tshirts’, hoodies, books, DVDs, magnets, key chains, essential oils, body washes, mantra counters. So there’s jewelry Amma has blessed ranging from silver bracelets costing $ 800 to a silver crown for $ 5, among the most sought after objects for sale is the Amma doll. At San Ramon, I actually can take only a few steps in any direction before running into a donation box, and outside the temple loads of vendors are doing brisk business selling clothes, coffee and Amba Juice smoothies.

Whenever in the course of the course of which she will dispense somewhere in the ballpark of 60000 hugs, adding to the 32 million already under her belt, amma devotes much of the year to uring the world to hold everyone from migrant workers to celebrities to Western yoga obsessives in her arms, and she is here on the second stop of her annual, 10 city ur of North America, a zigzagging seven week sojourn across the continent that begins in Seattle and ends in Toronto.

So there’re many who compare the environment of Amma’s urs to that once fostered by the Grateful Dead or Phish.

While finding the Amma experience so intoxicating they travel with her from city to city, from country to country, virtually, a lot of people do not leave. It is she attracts a diverse crowd, Amma does. Known wandering the temple, I see aging hippies happily petrified in late Sixties nostalgia, earthy suburban yuppies, ‘squarejawed’ businessmen, macrobiotic hipsters, loads of ddlers and teenagers, and the smattering of Indian immigrants who are on hand wherever Amma sets up camp.

I do my best to push things along, 60 minutes with Amma is a long time for a devotee -more than most spend in a lifetime – it’s not so long for an interview.

How do you address that?

Look, there’re some who accuse you of being inauthentic, I say. Anyway, most distressingly, she wrote of terrorism -in a subtle sense, not with guns or anything and of violence. Tredwell’s background made it a problem to discredit what she had to say. Tredwell wrote of backstabbing, cruelty, hatred, power struggles. You see, the post began with her personal reasons for defecting before going on to paint, in brushstrokes both vague and disquieting, a portrait of life with Amma that gives one pause.

Whenever planning and suspicion, she wrote of secret things going on, and of my be empty, and hereupon I was driven out. It was in San Ramon where I finally left Amma, she says. That was 12 years ago, and it ok me years to get over that experience. You should take this seriously. It was all very ‘topsecret’.

Whenever sounding not a lot bitter about her experience as disappointed, she is polite and direct.

While working various jobs while writing a book about her time with Amma, tredwell lives in Hawaii.

Since I knew they’d be interrogated, I ld only two other people, and I did not tell them where I was going. For instance, Tredwell claims, she was really a whole different person Amma pulled her to the floor by her hair and kicked her. That kind of thing was not uncommon. Oftentimes whenever receiving people for long hours, she grew increasingly irritable when out of the public eye, tredwell says that as Amma’s popularity grew and as Amma spent more time on stages. She says, as long as I was often the one bringing them the cash and gold.

Tredwell asserts that Amma quietly gave money to her parents and six siblings, who had once been modest fishermen but came to live in palatial houses.

Tredwell was also bothered by what she saw as a shady undercurrent surrounding Amma.

She laughs, when I ask how Tredwell knew Amma was giving her family the money. Anyways, So there’re no sessions today, and I ask her what she does on her days off -if, perhaps, she uses them to get a night of restorative sleep. I laid down at 30 and got up around 11 dot 00. As a result, while explaining that after the previous day’s services, that ended at 5, she retreated to her room, where she first read the letters given to her in the course of the hugging, and spent a few hours answering e mails, I didn’t sleep much, she replies.

She does not seem the least bit fatigued. Whenever during our talk, Amma is as charming as she is opaque, with most of her answers digressing into the kind of metaphor-­sprinkled monologues she favors when addressing large crowds. Their destination is the tranquil and sprawling grounds of the Center, an ashram named after Mata Amritanandamayi, a 58 year old spiritual guru from southern India. They make the journey each year, thousands of people heading up an unmarked, unpaved road into the feral hills outside San Ramon, a suburb some 30 miles east of San Francisco. Wherever Amma goes, people wait for hours in case you are going to kneel before her and be embraced, and they are waiting on the morning in early June when I first arrive. That said, known to her devotees as Amma, a honorific nickname meaning Mother, she is most famously referred to as the hugging saint because of her trademark blessing.

Tredwell, for her part, wants me to understand that she does not believe Amma is a fraud or a charlatan.

It’s just that I don’t believe she’s 100 percent divine.

By the way, the energy and euphoria they’re feeling is ­actually their own, all this love that people are pouring on Amma. She pauses. It’s actually just their own love, projected back onto them, they think they’re feeling Amma’s love. Fact, she believes Amma ain’t a normal human being and that her reserves of love and compassion are genuine. Essentially, the trouble is an ordinary devotee gives all that credit to Amma -that it’s Amma’s energy he’s feeling -when in truth it’s only indirectly because of Amma. Generally, it’s hard. It is people really, really, really look for to reckon that in Amma there’s this savior, that said, this embodiment, and that belief is very euphoric. Needless to say, pictures of Amma are hung on the walls, ornate scarves are draped over the furniture, flowers are everywhere, and the scent of patchouli or maybe sandalwood hangs in the air.

a couple of her inner circle, recognizable by their orange robes, are seated on the floor.

I’ve been ld by it’s true.

She also has access to the presidential suite, that is where I am led to meet her, unlike her for any longerside female members of her inner circle in a standard room with the beds removed. However, on Amma’s third day in town, she grants me an interview. Spotting me, her eyes light up as they did when I had received my hug, and she opens her arms and pulls me ward her -this is just what Amma does. Certainly, though Amma has a cursory understanding of English, one of her swamis sits on the floor and serves as a translator.

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