Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

efore we could open our Divine Shop the next morning.
And such calls kept coming. An old stove from floor four.
Or all that is left from granny’s belongings. It paid off
really well, especially since it took me a while to get the
hang of income tax and VAT.
After a year or so it all ran smoothly. We had money,
kept our books with a professional double entry accounting
system, even paid our taxes and had ashrams, junk
collection and successful junk shops in four cities. Our
cars were maintained in our own garage and the leaflets
with ‘guru Maharaj ji brings eternal peace’ came from
our own offset print shop.
Three years after I floated like a question mark around
the Vondelpark in my embroidered Moroccan shirt, I
zoomed through The Netherlands in a Van Gils suit and
a Triumph 2000 Overdrive, with lease contracts, appointment
notes, cashbooks and tax correspondence on
the seat next to me. Somewhere along the way, the quest
for enlightenment had taken an unexpected turn. And I
liked it a lot, to my own surprise. I could do this.
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