Last night I got my long awaited hug from Mata Amritanandamayi (Amma), who is known in the media as the “hugging saint”. They say that during the past few decades she has hugged over thirty million people worldwide, sometimes over 50,000 in one day while sitting continually for over 20 hours.

As I moved forward in the line toward Amma I saw that her expression was often pained. They say Amma, who was born in 1953 in India into a modest family of fisherman, is often in pain when giving hugs to this virtually endless procession of devotees.

I was also surprised to see a toddler screaming and kicking as he was placed in Amma’s arms. From the photos I had seen and the super human stories I had heard, I imagined Amma to be a continually smiling being who transformed all distress and fear into harmonious serenity with a mere glance or hug. Yet the toddler continued to scream in Amma’s lap until his mother carried him away. Perhaps I expect too much from living saints or a woman many call the “Divine Mother”?

Yet others who received her embrace appeared to be deeply grateful. One man ahead of me broke into deep and soulful tears after he was hugged. A devotee told me that Amma provides a clear reflection to those whom she embraces. The experience of her embrace is referred to as “Darshan”, which in Sanskrit means seeing or beholding visions of the divine.

Given the thousands of people who came to experience Darshan at her Ashram (an intentional spiritual community) in San Ramon, California, there is a apparently strong hunger in the world for inspiration, love and a glimpse of the divine.

Amma considers giving Darshan to all who wish for it to be her primary calling despite the unrelenting line of pilgrims and the associated pain. Yet her large volunteer organization known as the “Amma Family” also manages dozens of charities, schools, hospitals orphanages; hospices, women’s shelters and other services, while building over 25,000 homes for the homeless each year.

Though she and her primary Ashram are based in India, she travels the world almost perpetually and has become a worldwide phenomenon. Her simple and non dogmatic message of love and selfless service transcends religious creeds and resonates universally.

Movie Trailer for “DARSHAN” – a film about Amma

As a “recovering Catholic” I’m repulsed by authoritarian and legalistic dogma and I’m highly skeptical of institutional religion or intermediaries. But I agree with Amma’s basic philosophy that ultimately love for humanity and nature and selfless devotion to both is our best antidote to war, scarcity, environmental destruction, famine and self destruction.

Who can object to her philosophy of love conquering evil and selfless service over coming selfishness? Thousands have volunteered their time and talents during her visits around the world, while many others have devoted their lives to serving her many charitable enterprises.

Her work and universal message of compassion has earned her worldwide recognition.   She has spoken before the United Nations, the Parliament of World Religions and won international awards.

Yet she is criticized by some ex devotees who call her followers “Ammabots” and publish their experiences and opinions online in blogs and on forums online such as the “Ex-Amma Forum (a place where people who’ve left the Amma cult come together to help each other heal from their ordeal)”. One former member of the Amma family, Bronte Baxter, publishes the blog – cultofthehuggingsaint.com and writes:

“Amma’s brand of religion is a return to the infantile. She makes babies of grown men and women, giving them dolls to babble to and telling them she’s their mother. While speaking fine words about “the God within each of us,” her actions teach something different. Allowing people to pray to you, kneel to you, and worship you as God Incarnate is not the behavior of someone who wants people to recognize themselves as magnificent, powerful expressions of God.”

Amma is many things to many people. To her devotees she is the Divine Mother”. To others she is a demagogue. To learn more about Amma, visit the Amma Family website.

Amma Dolls

So what is one to believe? In my experience, most people will believe what they want to believe or perhaps need to believe. Personally, I believe in the transformative and transcendental power of love. I believe that we all have the divine spark within us and that we do not need to worship anyone or anything outside of ourselves.

The Universe is divine and we are all a part of the Universe. What do you believe? Feel free to post it by replying below.

They say “you can take the boy from the Midwest but you can’t take the Midwest out of the boy”. But what happens when you immerse this Midwest boy from Minneapolis/St. Paul into a land of shamans, white witches, human potential junkies, parties in hot mountain springs, full moon parties on the beach and a vegan diet that includes magic mushrooms?

Would this Midwest boy open his mind and achieve a deeper consciousness or simply pass out unconscious? With the help of my fun loving funky Northern California friends, I’m willing to experiment and find out. Perhaps I’ll become a hybrid – a far out fun loving flake with a work ethic?

My New Age guru and guide to the local scene is a very far out native San Francisco native named, Nirmada (that’s Sanskrit for “one without pride”). She’s a very bright and intense woman and when she follows her passions, she jumps in 210%. After a selling a very successful jewelry business she has dedicated her energy to spiritual growth and enlightenment.

Nirmada – My New Age Guide

Hanging out with her is a bit like living in an ongoing intensive human potential seminar immersed in the power of crystals, intuitive healing, vortexes, Amma (the hugging Saint from India), health and wellness and the belief that love transcends all. It’s a lot for a Midwest boy like me to digest but I keep eating it up because I know it’s good for me, right? When in Rome do as the Romans, right?

I’m also learning the language of the local Northern Californians as I repeat the sacred Sanskrit names of her friends, like mantras in an attempt to remember them. “Piyusha”, “Aniruddhan”, “Chandra”, “Satyavan”, “Bhaskar” tend to go in one ear and out the other unless chant them repeatedly to embed them in my consciousness – unlike Sally, Bob or Lisa.

Even the body parts have different names. What I grew up calling a pussy is actually a “yoni”, which is a sacred Sanskrit word for the “Divine Passage”. To “celebrate” the sacred yoni click here.   To learn how to worship the yoni visit Yoni Massage.

The men in these parts tend towards being androgynous, which is a politically correct way of saying emasculated psychological eunuchs. However, I prefer them over carnivorous violent rednecks.

But many of them have the self awareness to joke about it. I met a local musician named Vir (yes, yet another hard to remember sacred name) who’s YouTube hit song “The Man from Marin” parodies this androgynous vegan male creature. It is must viewing for those seeking to understand this breed of males who roam Marin County in search of organic bean sprouts and colonic cleansing.

The locals in Fairfax even have their own pep squad for the divine in everyone known as the Shamanic Cheerleaders.

The Shamanic Cheerleaders – Go soul and go spirit!

These lovely females “cheer for all beings . . . and raise the vibration, spread contagious smiles and set freaks free.” The Morman’s have their tabernacle choir and the consciousness movement has its “Shamanic Cheerleaders”. Go soul and go spirit – win divine enlightenment!

I also seems that every other female is an “intuitive healer” or a massage therapist. Yet with everyone eating organic, hiking and doing yoga – how do they find work? And why all the health and wellness, when many of the locals believe that according to the Mayan calendar the world is scheduled to end on December 12^th of 2012? There is even a seminar in the town of Mill Valley about these Mayan end time prophecies for $100 that includes “activation of your inner power for Ascension”.

This “new age” culture, even when it doesn’t inspire, amuses. But right or wrong, pseudo scientific fantasy or profoundly transcendental this new age of consciousness is inspired by love and compassionate of humanity and its oneness and shared destiny with nature.

Unlike many traditional Christian religions, it does not preach the separation of the divine (supernatural) above and beyond the sinful terrestrial (natural) and create an unhealthy alienation between man and nature and his own nature.

As a “recovering Catholic” turned humanist, I’m wary and skeptical of soul deadening dogmas, authoritarian mind control and oppressive creeds. So I find the human potential movement in Northern California to have potential.

I plan on make Fairfax in Marin County my home as I continue my Californication.

Well, wish me luck with my new age make over and feel free to post your suggestions below.

Special thanks to Michael Olsen at www.ZorkMagazine.com for providing my “make over” photo.

Halloween in San Francisco and Marin County 2008

Also see Halloween blow out in Jackson Hole, Wyoming 2007.

The most painful part of traveling is leaving people behind, especially when the person is a beautiful, charming, smart, sexy and passionate woman. It’s enough to stop a vagabond dead in his tracks. Marta, from Poland, is such a woman.

I met her at a business gathering in Montreal in September. We both felt far more than just business. So I flew to Chicago where she lives and we partied in Chicago and took a road trip in her BMW through the rolling hills of Wisconsin in autumn. With the fall colors in peak and her in full glow I was basking in beauty and driving through a dream. It was as life should be but rarely is.

We got silly and spent a day at the bizarre “House on the Rock”, which is a delightful combination of thrilling fun house meets the Smithsonian. It was created over forty plus years by a passionate genius eccentric named Alex Jordan. Being lost in a fun house full of giant carousels, mechanical orchestras, dollhouses and hundreds of other outrageous displays was delightfully romantic with Marta.

Marta also flew into San Francisco to be with me. We only had 48 hours together. But we made a whirlwind trip through San Francisco and camped at Coit Tower our first night and in the Redwood forest our second night. City lights one night and campfire light the next.

I miss her and the beautiful times we made together.

If the military can have a parade, why not lovers?

Yes, why not make love rather than war. Why not dance spontaneously through the streets rather than march in a column? That beautiful idea came alive once again as LoveFest paraded joyously through the heart of San Francisco conquering petty consumerism, greed and even violence – if only for one very outrageously cool and funkadelic day. Ten’s of thousands of lovers of music, life and love joined the   visionary organizers of the 4th annual San Francisco LoveFest in a free parade “that celebrates music, love, diversity, tolerance, dance, and community”.

This beautiful parade danced through the heart of San Francisco on Market Street and up to the steps of city hall. There the universal vibe of dance and music resonated from a dozen mobile musical stages   – uniting tens of thousands of lovers in an all day and into the night funkadelic dance party.

I camped out the night before in my motor lounge on a street one block off the party’s ground zero – city hall. I woke up, smoked up and dove into the parade late Saturday morning as it flowed several blocks up Market Street and on to the steps of city hall.

I handed out roses and danced my way through the swaying mass of lovers with the hippie goddess Shima, while sucking the funkadelic coolness of it all through my camera lens (see and feel the love below).

LoveFest – what a truly lovely celebration of what life can and should be!

Shima is a lovely woman with a beautiful heart and soul who caught up with me for the LoveFest party at City Hall. She’s a hippie goddess who loves to dance and we dove in and danced our way through the party taking the below photos.

As I write this, I’m flying above the clouds over New York City and still feeling high from an incredible seven day Burning Man experience in the remote Black Rock Desert in Nevada. That one week transformed me profoundly, just as it has thousands of other souls who have made the annual pilgrimage to this oasis of humanity and creativity.

Since Burning Man two weeks ago I’ve cheerfully weathered my baggage being lost, being stuck in rush hour traffic in NYC without air conditioning and having my clients locked out of a major event – all with good cheer and empathy. Before Burning Man (B.M.) I can only imagine the bitching, griping and negativity I would have spewed.

I’ve changed and I have a new found love of life and humanity. I hope and pray that I stay stuck this way for the rest of my life.

If I sound like a born again Christian it’s because Burning Man at its soulful best is a spiritual experience in which we rediscover our faith in humanity, life and ourselves. But this soulful experience is free from all the typical religious guilt, dogma and creeds.

I went looking for the “American Dream” at the Burning Man Festival. But I found much more than a vividly alive American Dream. I found humanity. Burning Man renewed my faith in the goodness of life and human beings when we are free from repression, materialism and competition. It can sometimes be hard to see the beauty in life and humans when you are jockeying for position in rush hour traffic or scurrying through a soulless strip mall.

At Burning Man I felt the naked truth that people, life and the Universe, when they are free to be, are amazing miracles. The Burning Man experience is so beautiful and profoundly moving that it can move a grown man to cry. I know because it happened to me.

The beauty of this powerful and liberating revelation overwhelmed me on day five as the sun rose over the mountains and light up the desert playa. The beauty of life, humans at their best and pure natural beauty couldn’t no longer be contained within me or repressed. All my feelings came streaming out in tears of joy, like the tears of a prisoner released from captivity and seeing the sun from outside their cell for the first time in decades.

Those near me gave me heart felt hugs and said “Welcome home brother”. On that glorious morning I became a “Burner”, who as they say “gets it”. I had come home to myself and the powerful realization of how beautiful people and life can and should be. In the “real world” these people would be called strangers. But out in the middle of the desert playa we were all soul mates. A full account of this tearful transformation at Burning man is at “Born Again“.

The seven day party that some dismiss as a giant drug induced orgy is really a celebration of humanity, creativity and life itself. Burning Man is a state of mind that can live far beyond the Black Rock Desert and well past one week. As the true Burners say “take it with you when you leave”.

When the almost 50,000 participants return home to virtually every corner of this world many of them carry it with them and share it with those they encounter. Some Burners even participate in “Burners without borders” and donate themselves and their spirit of generosity to those who are victims of natural disasters. And when Burners return to Burning Man each year they welcome each other home, as in “home is where the heart is”.

When Burners say “Welcome home Brother (or Sister)” they don’t mean to a particular place on earth but in our hearts. Returning to Burning Man and the Black Rock Desert each year is about returning to your best self and renewing your vows to take your best self back into the world to shine and make it the world we know it can be.

Burning Man says to those who come – be whoever you want to be or need to be. But be genuine. Be real. The symbol of the Burning Man is of a human being with arms stretching up into the sky. To me it says burn bright human beings. Lift your hands and heart up into the sky and burn beautifully and rise again from the ashes to do it again and again year after year.

I believe that we humans can and have created both Heaven and Hell here on planet earth. Burning Man was the closest experience of heaven that I’ve experienced here on earth. Where else can you spend one week with thousands of the coolest most turned on people on the planet and have your needs and dreams fulfilled without ever spending a dime?

Unlike the “real world” where “money talks”, at Burning Man money is practically useless since everyone is giving themselves and what they have freely. The real currency of exchange at Burning Man is you. People are interested in you and your ideas. The often corrosive and bullying power of money has no business at Burning Man.

Now doesn’t experiencing perfect strangers who are truly interacting and sharing rather than transacting sound like Heaven to you? Doesn’t experiencing the social barriers of class, gender and race as irrelevant sound like Heaven to you? Burning Man proved to me that such a Heaven is possible.

Some year I want to take a leap of faith into the arms of humanity and parachute naked into the Black Rock Desert. I know and trust that within minutes of hitting the ground the Universe would provide everything from a toothbrush to all the essentials of food, water, love, brotherhood and ecstasy.

I no longer intend to say, “have a good time”. From now on I intend to say “be a good time” because we make the good times within us and all around us. I am overjoyed to be a “Burner”. I can’t wait to return next year and bring those I love to share all the beauty with them and watch their inner beauty burn brightly in the desert.

I will always take Burning Man with me where ever I go.

Burning Man 2008 from Jason Mongue on Vimeo.

Burning Man 2009

I’m looking forward to going home to Black Rock City for the 2009 Burning Man Festival. This year I’ll be camping out in “Bat Country” with this year’s Roads Scholars, some close friends and a fantastic group of truly gonzo burner’s. To view our plans for the 2009 Burning Man during the first week of September, click here.

To see more photos of Burning Man from 2001 to 2008 from Michael Olsen “FireFingers” visit ZorkMagazine.

I drove East from San Diego as the sun set in my rear view mirror in pink and purple, like tequila in fruit juice. I crossed up and over the Santa Rosa Mountain Range and descended into the hot Hell of the California desert along the Mexican border. It was ten o’clock under a clear moon night in May and my thermometer read “102 degrees”. I stuck my hand out the window into a giant blow dryer and I knew that the cool ocean breeze was long gone.

As I drove East along the US Mexican border I saw border patrol SUVs patrolling the open desert under the moonlight like coyotes prowling for jackrabbits.

Further East the desert morphed into cultivated flat lands that spread out across the desert floor. The hot dry air stunk like manure and milled grains. The nearby Colorado River served enough water to this desert to turn it into a giant sprawling outdoor food factory. This desolate region was only fit for Indian reservations, growing food or testing weapons.

I rolled into a small border city called “Calexico” (population 34,000 people, 47,656 dogs and an unknown number of chickens, pigs and armadillos). Right across the border in Mexico was the much larger city of “Mexicali” (Population one Million people, two million dogs and an unknown number of chickens, pigs and armadillos).

These brother sister cities were so close it felt incestuous. Given that I saw no other Gringos in town it felt like I was already in Mexico, except for the strip malls displaying the English signage for US national chains like Toys R Us, Walmart, Burger King, McDonalds, Dennys . . .

I learned that Calexico is known to have the highest percentage of Mexican residents in any U.S. city, with nine out of ten residents being Mexican. The US stole the Southwest from Mexico during the Mexican American War (1846 to 1848). But the Mexicans are taking it back. As some Mexicans point out, they didn’t cross the border. The border crossed them.

Calexico combined the worst of both worlds – crass soulless American commercialism with cheap and tacky Mexico. Thus the name – “Calexico”.

With the evening temperature hovering around 100 degrees, I knew the next day would be an inferno when the sun came up. I had to find an electrical hookup for the AC in my motor lounge or I would bake under the sun like a potato in an oven.

With no campsites in sight I snuck into a motor home park and found an electrical outlet I could suckle on for the night and hopefully into the next day. I planned on parking my motor lounge on the US side and crossing over into Mexicali the next day.

The last time I’d driven into Mexico was in the mid 80′s when I was a 22-year-old vagabond exploring North America in my 1974 VW Camper Bus. A week into that excursion I ended up in a Mexican jail after the police shot the Mexican I was traveling with. Since I was the only witness the police took me out into the desert to execute me. But I talked my way out of it. But I digress.

Given that I associated the Mexican desert with gunfire, stupid and corrupt cops and a miserable three days in jail, I decided to play it safer and leave the vehicle behind on the US side this time around.

I drove up to the border where I expected to find a parking lot. But instead I found myself on a one way road into Mexico with no way of turning back. I was going to be forced to take my motor lounge and my stash into Mexico.

I stepped out of Destiny and walked toward the Mexican border guard to explain the situation. He put his hand on his gun holster and stepped into his shooting stance. He asked what I had holstered on my hip. I pulled up my shirttail to reveal my camera holster. He took his hand away from his gun.

But that was enough to trigger a hot flash back to the last time I drove into Mexico and was shot at by the Mexican police – accidentally of course. Accidents do happen, especially to Gringos in Mexico.

He told me I had to drive into Mexico and then get in the long line of cars trying to enter the USA. Interesting how there had been no wait to get into Mexico. He waved me through and I reluctantly drove into the tacky sprawl of tourist shops and naked dance clubs.

I would have visited one of the dance clubs, but the idea of coming out to find my motor lounge stripped down to the axles motivated me to get in line for the USA. The line of cars was four lanes wide and a few miles long.

I was the only motor home trying to enter the US as armed US custom guards walked their dogs in between the lanes sniffing for contraband. No doubt they would soon board my motor lounge, spot the lounge lights and strip lighting in the floor and begin the process of tearing this party lounge on wheels down to the axle in search of drugs.

I hoped that the produce I had bought in Humbolt County, Northern California that was wrapped in coffee grounds and sealed in Tupperware would elude the dogs. I wondered if dogs ever got colds and stuffy noses.

When I got to the US border inspection area, the guy laughed and asked if I was the guy trying to back up at the Mexican border. I told him I was and that I had accidentally crossed into Mexico and was glad to be back in the US.

Obviously a drug runner would not be pulling that stunt and so he waved me on into the USA. I was now officially a successful, though unintentional, drug runner.

Emboldened by my success, I decided to park on the US side and walk across. But when I asked the parking attendant if the lot was secure he held a form to me to sign that stated in bold red text that they were “Not liable for any damage due to fire, collision or theft.”

Were they asking for written permission to steal me blind? Once again, I imagined returning to see my motor lounge stripped bare down to the axles. I backed out of the lot.

It was time to get the Hell out this hot hybrid hellhole, where the Chinese restaurant was run by Mexicans who had no stir fry on the menu – only sandwiches like the classic eggroll sandwich. I guess this cuisine would be called Chin Mex. You might not get food poising. But you’ll throw up anyways.

I stopped a Taco Bell to eat, write what you are now reading. Some how it seemed like the right thing to do.

Then I got the Hell out of town and headed for Arizona.

Next Stop – Phoenix Arizona and the Desert

Grown men building and playing with train sets all day? Yes, such a place exists at the train museum in San Diego’s Balboa Park. Of course, they don’t get paid. But they seem to love it and so do the kids.

This post is dedicated to my brother Brian the train lover. He just recently completed his train conductor/engineer training last month and officially became a railroad engineer for Burlington Northern. Becoming “Casey Jones” was a life long dream of his that started with train sets and moved on to hopping freight cars. Congratulations Brian!

Visiting San Diego’s urban cultural park, Balboa Park, is a “must do” for any visitor. This 1,200 acre cultural complex is full of amazing natural vegetation, museums, theaters, gardens, Spanish Revival style buildings and the world-renowned San Diego Zoo. It even has a huge train set museum. I could wander for days within this marvelous park.

Next Stop – My Accidental Trip to Mexico

I met Punam, which in Hindi means “full moon”, in the Spring of 2007 when I was visiting a friend, Karen, in London. Punam showed me her country so I offered to show her mine.

One year later, at the end of April 2008, she flew into San Francisco to join me for a two week journey down the Pacific Coast to San Diego. I think she feel in love with the state of mind known as California.

She was a great travel companion – easy going, sweet and considerate. And she put up with me – pretty impressive gal.