Yes. Sad indeed. I was 100% sincere about living the essence of that poem every day! Year in and out building up to the crescendo of 1979 string of caravan programs mostly on the West coast leading up to Hans Jayanti. 

I am embarrassed to confess that during that time I insisted on setting a place at the table for "Him" and placing a portion of our dinner every night. I was criticized by the other premies. Presented with logical arguments about waste etc. One night after satsang, I was polishing the China and silverware, and I took a small hard green apple, washed and carefully dried it. I put it on his plate. I then went out and walked the neighborhood, raiding neighbors roses. I came in, clipped and arranged 2 vases. I looked at the plate, it was empty!!!!!! The apple was gone! I froze. The only sound was a quiet gait of a single person walking away from the house. I took the remaining petals off the rose stems and scattered them from the dining room out the front door and down the walkway. I then went to sleep.

Next morning all hell broke lose! I told someone what happened and after intense interrogation, maybe one parson believed me. "Are you sure you didn't just EAT the apple and forgot you ate it?" That kind of shit. Over and over for what seemed like hours. Finally I was left alone. Was it a visitation? Did I generate something of a "mind over matter" incident? I will never know. I just know it actually did happen.

Out of that came the writing of the Bhilni poem. Bhilni shows up for a couple of pages in the 3,000 page epic of the Ramayana. 

Then came the Hans Jayanti festival. I was given the service of attending to the "fainters" post darshan. I ended up there myself. At the end of the festival the night climaxed with Prem doing the mala dance with the crowd ramped up to a devotional frenzy. I pranamed into the mud offering my soul with my whole being to completely merge with him...... Nothing happened. I felt really empty. I blamed myself that I wasn't chosen for ascension.

So there it is...... I have never told this to anyone. Tears are in my eyes at the depth of my (stupid) sincerity and the completeness of both my abject debasement and the totality the betrayal. So when I talk about soul rape, I REALLY MEAN IT!

No wonder I have been furious at Prem all these years. Please someone, tell me a really funny story about Prem slipping in a mud puddle or farting in the middle of a darshan line or something! I really need it.

Karen