Do even a little bit of studious digging into the matter and it quickly becomes apparent that the mass acceptance of Eastern spirituality in the United States, beginning in about the 1960s, was by no means accidental. That the '60s counter-culture was not simply a social phenomenon that sprang into being organically, isn't a conspiracy theory but is historical fact.
Various alt-media and credible researchers have produced some excellent work with regard to this period, most notably Jan Irvin, who has helped to expose various '60s' icons, such as Alan Ginsberg, Timothy Leary, and Alan Watts, for who they really were.
So it was that I couldn't help but cringe upon hearing the names of these three intelligence assets mentioned in passing here, and in a favorable light, no less.
Elsewhere, in one or two of my past reviews, it's been commented on the notable influence that eastern gurus Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and Maharishi Mahesh also had on mid-to-late 20th-century Western culture -- whether directly or, in the case of Ganesh, er, Mahesh, indirectly, via musical superstars, like the (not so) Fab Four, for example (themselves, doubtless tools of the social engineers at the time).
In KARMAGEDDON, one learns of yet another Indian mystic, who made such a lasting impression on one young American man that the impressionable fellow chose to abandon a secure career in order to follow in the (rather unimpressive) footsteps of his spiritual father-figure.
You may have heard of Kermit Michael Riggs. If not, then maybe you're at least familiar with what was Mr. Riggs' stage name, so to speak: Bhagavan Das.
Name still don't ring an alarm bell? Perhaps it should, or might to anyone who has ever crossed paths with said tall, staff-toting beardie.
Das also played a huge role in the life of author/filmmaker, Jeff Brown, who in this, his directorial debut, tells of his experience in meeting the cultural icon in Toronto and the subsequent (and eventually rocky) friendship that ensued following this initial encounter. (Brown would also go onto write about this impactful chapter in his life, in the introduction to his book, "Grounded Spirituality.")
Indeed, it seems all that it takes for a man to acquire a New Age following -- as also evidenced in the excellent 2011 documentary film, "Kumare" -- is an overgrown beard, a name change, and either the spouting of pretentious vapidities or vacuous, meaningless vocalizations. Certainly, it's enough to attract mesmerized female groupies to your side; women who are somehow able to see past unsightly, hirsute appearances, if not also the guru's oftentimes paternalistic age.
Listen closely to Bhagavan Das as we hear this supposedly evolved human soul speak of women in explicitly smutty terms. Jeff Brown, while filming a man whom he thought was an embodiment of higher consciousness, an uplifting role model, is taken aback upon witnessing this other side of his friend and mentor. (Lo and behold if the crotches of trees were not the only crotches Das liked to wax lyrical over.)
It was this shocking glimpse into a side of someone the filmmaker had considered decent and respectable that would largely serve as a catalyst of sorts, an epiphanic actuator, toward Brown's eyes being opened, up to the extremely flawed man behind the pompous hierophant persona, enough for Brown to want to sever ties with the guru and to strike out on another spiritual path in the world -- one less flaky; more substantial...and one that, incidentally, I am more or less on the same page with, and having been so since my own intense study of Alexander Lowen's canon myself and being instantly drawn to it, some twenty years ago. (Whereas, I have only recently discovered Jeff Brown's work, after hearing him discuss the late Al Lowen on a podcast not too long ago.)
Spiritual guru. The image most of us have of these so-called wise, old souls and 'enlightened' mystics is one of an almost saintly mortifier who has managed to overcome the desires of the flesh. Whether you consider this to be spirituality in its highest form (I don't) or rather a perverted Pauline rejection of our divine nature is beside the point here, for if one publicly professes to be enlightened and of advanced spirit and has acquired the status of a guru, then it seems to me it is almost expected of such a person to live up to the holier-than-thou character that is portrayed to the world, lest they lose all credibility in revealing themselves to be a hypocrite or, worse, an outright charlatan.
Personally, I don't understand what Jeff Brown ever saw in Bhagavan Das in the first place, nor can I very well sympathize with those so pathetically needy and vulnerable as to succumb to guru worship. Surely, the deifying of any human being is not even remotely spiritual...unless, of course, they happen to be a goddess incarnate, which may be the only exception to this principle, eh Bhaggy?
I suppose some people have to learn the folly of guru worship the hard way, for themselves. For guys like Jeff Brown, this can involve a baseball bat and a 'Bioenergetic cube.' (Who knew the portraits of other people could serve such a therapeutic purpose?)
Various alt-media and credible researchers have produced some excellent work with regard to this period, most notably Jan Irvin, who has helped to expose various '60s' icons, such as Alan Ginsberg, Timothy Leary, and Alan Watts, for who they really were.
So it was that I couldn't help but cringe upon hearing the names of these three intelligence assets mentioned in passing here, and in a favorable light, no less.
Elsewhere, in one or two of my past reviews, it's been commented on the notable influence that eastern gurus Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and Maharishi Mahesh also had on mid-to-late 20th-century Western culture -- whether directly or, in the case of Ganesh, er, Mahesh, indirectly, via musical superstars, like the (not so) Fab Four, for example (themselves, doubtless tools of the social engineers at the time).
In KARMAGEDDON, one learns of yet another Indian mystic, who made such a lasting impression on one young American man that the impressionable fellow chose to abandon a secure career in order to follow in the (rather unimpressive) footsteps of his spiritual father-figure.
You may have heard of Kermit Michael Riggs. If not, then maybe you're at least familiar with what was Mr. Riggs' stage name, so to speak: Bhagavan Das.
Name still don't ring an alarm bell? Perhaps it should, or might to anyone who has ever crossed paths with said tall, staff-toting beardie.
Das also played a huge role in the life of author/filmmaker, Jeff Brown, who in this, his directorial debut, tells of his experience in meeting the cultural icon in Toronto and the subsequent (and eventually rocky) friendship that ensued following this initial encounter. (Brown would also go onto write about this impactful chapter in his life, in the introduction to his book, "Grounded Spirituality.")
Indeed, it seems all that it takes for a man to acquire a New Age following -- as also evidenced in the excellent 2011 documentary film, "Kumare" -- is an overgrown beard, a name change, and either the spouting of pretentious vapidities or vacuous, meaningless vocalizations. Certainly, it's enough to attract mesmerized female groupies to your side; women who are somehow able to see past unsightly, hirsute appearances, if not also the guru's oftentimes paternalistic age.
Listen closely to Bhagavan Das as we hear this supposedly evolved human soul speak of women in explicitly smutty terms. Jeff Brown, while filming a man whom he thought was an embodiment of higher consciousness, an uplifting role model, is taken aback upon witnessing this other side of his friend and mentor. (Lo and behold if the crotches of trees were not the only crotches Das liked to wax lyrical over.)
It was this shocking glimpse into a side of someone the filmmaker had considered decent and respectable that would largely serve as a catalyst of sorts, an epiphanic actuator, toward Brown's eyes being opened, up to the extremely flawed man behind the pompous hierophant persona, enough for Brown to want to sever ties with the guru and to strike out on another spiritual path in the world -- one less flaky; more substantial...and one that, incidentally, I am more or less on the same page with, and having been so since my own intense study of Alexander Lowen's canon myself and being instantly drawn to it, some twenty years ago. (Whereas, I have only recently discovered Jeff Brown's work, after hearing him discuss the late Al Lowen on a podcast not too long ago.)
Spiritual guru. The image most of us have of these so-called wise, old souls and 'enlightened' mystics is one of an almost saintly mortifier who has managed to overcome the desires of the flesh. Whether you consider this to be spirituality in its highest form (I don't) or rather a perverted Pauline rejection of our divine nature is beside the point here, for if one publicly professes to be enlightened and of advanced spirit and has acquired the status of a guru, then it seems to me it is almost expected of such a person to live up to the holier-than-thou character that is portrayed to the world, lest they lose all credibility in revealing themselves to be a hypocrite or, worse, an outright charlatan.
Personally, I don't understand what Jeff Brown ever saw in Bhagavan Das in the first place, nor can I very well sympathize with those so pathetically needy and vulnerable as to succumb to guru worship. Surely, the deifying of any human being is not even remotely spiritual...unless, of course, they happen to be a goddess incarnate, which may be the only exception to this principle, eh Bhaggy?
I suppose some people have to learn the folly of guru worship the hard way, for themselves. For guys like Jeff Brown, this can involve a baseball bat and a 'Bioenergetic cube.' (Who knew the portraits of other people could serve such a therapeutic purpose?)
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