Hippie Land

Paradise Hotel, Continued

"Swami in Hippie Land"

After the morning kirtan, Ginsberg and Hawk were invited upstairs for a talk with the Swami. He had his own apartment above the temple. They were solemnly ushered in by Atmarama, who bowed on his knees before the Swami. He sat behind a low table, talking with his disciples. He had cooked a number of sweetballs called Gulab-jamins, which were on a tray.

As the poet entered, the Swami held out a sweetball, saying "Take."

Ginsberg took the sweet and began munching. Licking his fingers and grinning, he said, “That’s good.”

The Swami beamed with luminous joy. His ecstasy was contagious. Even the cynical Ginsberg seemed transformed. He sat before the Swami with great respect. Atmaram served the rest of the sweetballs from a tray to the others who were seated. A vibration of divine love and transcendental bliss filled the silence.

The early morning San Francisco rain had stopped and a beam of sunlight parted the clouds and shined through the saffron curtains. Sandalwood incense permeated the air. The Swami broke the silence: “Allen, you are up early.”
Ginsberg said, “We answered the call of the temple bells.”

The Swami picked up an imaginary piece of dust that glided down on a mote of light and studied it between his thumb and index finger, forming the mudra of enlightenment. “Have the arrangements been made for this evening’s program?”

“Yes. Everyone’s coming for the Mantra Rock: Moby Grape, Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead. It’s good I slept in the office. While I was explaining the power of the mantra to my friend Hawk here the phone was ringing all night long. After he fell asleep I talked to Jerry Garcia. He wants to know more about Hare Krishna. We’ll put the Hare Krishna chanters in about half-way through the program. It’s funny: I came here for peace, but the phone has been ringing since I arrived in San Francisco.

The Swami laughed. His disciples, seeing his mirth, followed his example. Everyone laughed joyfully.

“You are too famous now, Allen. That is what happens when one becomes famous. That was the tragedy of Mahatma Gandhi also. Wherever he went, thousands of people would crowd about him, chanting, 'Mahatma Gandhi ki jai! Mahatma Gandhiki jai!' The gentleman could not sleep."

Ginsberg laughed and took another sweetball from the tray.

“Well, at least it got me up for Kirtan this morning.”

 The Swami smiled: “Yes, that is good.”

The Swami's followers smiled and laughed and ate sweetballs. While all this was going on, a young man had entered wearing a cheap suit and a skinny black tie.

He was in his thirties and was the only one not laughing. He was a reporter from the San Francisco Chronicle. They had been following the Swami and his new followers. The reporter took the awkward silence as a chance to get his question in.

“Downstairs, you said you were inviting everyone to Krsna consciousness. Does that include the Haight-Ashbury Bohemians and beatniks?”

The Swami noticed him for the first time. He signalled Atmaram to offer him a sweet from the tray.
“Yes,” he said, “everyone, including you or anybody else, be he or she what is called an “acidhead’ or a hippie or something else, everyone is invited to participate. But once he is accepted for training, he becomes something else from what he had been before. He must give up his bad habits. ”
The reporter flipped a sheet on his notebook and began scribbling. “What does one have to do to become a member of your movement?”

“There are four prerequisites,” the Swami said. “I do not allow my students to keep girlfriends. I prohibit all kinds of intoxicants, including coffee, tea and cigarettes. I prohibit meat-eating. And I prohibit my students from taking part in gambling.”

“That’s very strict,” the reporter said. “He looked askance at the disheveled poet Ginsberg, at Hawk and some of the strange-looking followers of the Swami. With their shaved heads and golden robes they seemed to live with their heads in the clouds.

“Do these shall-not commandments extend to the use of LSD, marijuana, and other narcotics?”
The Swami became grave. He looked around the room, making eye contact with his students as if to impress them with the point: “I consider LSD to be an intoxicant. I do not allow any one of my students to use that or any intoxicant.”

Some of his students lowered their heads. Allen Ginsberg looked straight ahead, unashamed and defiant.
Smiling at Ginsberg, the Swami said, “I train my students to rise early in the morning, to take a bath early in the day, and to attend prayer meetings three times a day. Our sect is one of austerity. It is the science of God.”

The reporter noted everything very carefully. He looked up from his notes. "Swamiji: you said Bohemians and Beatniks are welcome. What about hippies? Do you accept 'hippies' in your temple?"

The Swami reflected for a moment and looked at Ginsberg: “Allen,” he said, “What is this hippie?”

The reporter and the Swami’s followers turned to Ginsberg. Here was an expert. Wasn’t he the prophet of the hippies?


Ginsberg grew serious and began intoning with his stentorian poet’s voice:

“The word hip started in China, where people smoked opium lying on their hips.” He moved from the lotus position to a lying position to show off. Even the reporter had to laugh.
Ginsberg droned on: “Opium and its derivatives then spread to the West, and were looked down upon by the people in power, who were afraid of the effects.

As a result, the opium-taking hip people created their own culture language, signs, symbols to show that they were hip.”
The reporter scratched away at his notebook, feeling that he had hit pay-dirt. Finally there was a connection.
Ginsberg said, “See, San Francisco is a spiritual meeting ground. The word hip has changed into hippie today. But you people in the press have got it all wrong. You basically sensationalize everything. You’re not interested in truth. You’re not going to print the truth. You’re only trying to titillate your readers with sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. You’re just trying to sell newspapers. The people who come here are looking for something higher, man. They’re interested in a higher state of consciousness. These young people here are truth-seekers. They're interested in all forms of spirituality. But the Swami can tell you about that. You should listen.
The Swami bowed his head. “That’s very kind, Allen. Thank you. Very nice definition. As you can see, Krishna Consciousness resolves everything. We are not interested in these drugs or this L-S-B. The Hare Krishna mantra is complete. Nothing else is needed. We have been very kindly invited to demonstrate the teachings of Krishna Consciousness at evening’s program at the...?”

Ginsberg helped with the missing name: “The Avalon Ball room, Swamiji”
“...Yes, the ah, Ball Room.”

Ginsberg said, “I would like to ask your permission to play my tune on the harmonium this evening.”
The Swamiji said, “Very nice; Harmonium is not generally acceptable for aroti or kirtan purposes, but it may be played for bhajan as long as there is respect shown."
As the reporter jotted his notes, Ginsberg said, “Swamiji, I hope the program tonight is a big success. Some of your rules are pretty strict. I have to confess that I can’t give up smoking.”
The devotees laughed. They too had made sacrifices for their faith.
“I love the peace and bliss here, and I’m not sure ashram life is for me, but I will chant the Maha Mantra every day.”

“You must try to be sincere, Allen. If you simply chant Hare Krishna, these bad habits will soon disappear.”
“Thank you, Swamiji. I will chant the mantra:
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare
until I leave this Earth.”
As Hawk and the reporter watched, Ginsberg then bowed before the Swami. He touched the Swami's feet and then touched his own head. Atmaram offered him a paper bag with a few sweetballs.
The Swami said, “You have my blessings, Allen. Try to chant Hare Krishna and remember the teachings.”