35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
washing off the dust I’d collected just by touching anything in my
room, if I had time to see the entire Prado emblazoned on a single
grain of rice, or whatever it was. I decided to go.
Then there was a rapping on the door. I hid in the bathroom,
noticing a huge albino lizard lounging high up on one wall. Could
the bhagwan have some sort of telepathic powers? He did have a
terrifying sense of humour. I heard the unlocked door burst open.
Ma Yoga Tantra flew through the air, gripping me in a steely
embrace.
‘I heard!’ she announced.
She’d heard right, too. And she wanted a piece of my shakti force,
since it was suddenly worth having, now that the bhagwan had
personally recharged it, or refuelled it, or whatever she believed he
had done.
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I must be honest with you . . .’
On the way out, the desk clerk gruffly demanded about three
cents for a Campa Cola I had no recollection of ordering. I would
have paid thirty dollars if he’d waived the lengthy and complex
receipt he spent fifteen minutes practising calligraphy on before
allowing me to run all the way to the bus terminal.
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