Thousands gather to be embraced by the 'Hugging Saint' of India.
#amma #saint #guru #hugs #hugging #india
From 'EMBRACED BY A REAL LOVE GURU' - nypost.com/2008/07/20/embrace...
Super Preppy and I are leaning into Amma, the “hugging saint” who’s come to visit New York all the way from India - receiving a blessing as a couple.
Wearing smart, brightly checkered business attire, SP looks about as out of place in this sea of Hindu spiritualism, Indian mysticism and sari-clad devotees as one possibly could.
“Please come with me,” I had begged him a few days before her arrival at the Manhattan Center. “It’ll be really special, I promise.”
“All right,” he agreed. “It sounds interesting, definitely.”
But as we enter the convention hall, filled with booths of disciples selling worshipful images, blessed bathmats, sacred eye pillows, I realize immediately: Toto - we’re not in the Hamptons anymore.
The two of us are shuffled into line, and one of Amma’s handlers asks: “Who here is a couple?”
“We are,” SP speaks up, and I stare straight ahead, bewildered at the calm, organized swell of people, all waiting to receive an embrace, or “darshan” as it is called in Indian culture.
First, Amma holds SP tightly, cooing and drawing him into her perfumed bosom. As I watch - my body feels electrified, energized, every cell on fire. You’re supposed to think of a powerful intention when you see Amma, and I’m wishing him a life filled with love, a life filled happiness.
I’m wishing him this life - whether I am in it or not.
Amma is whispering to him. SP is kneeling. I am drawn forth. “Roootoootootoooooo,” Amma hushes into my ear, kissing my cheek and drawing SP toward her at the same time.
I’m reeling, vibrating, high - and SP is late for work.
“I’m going to stick around, just for a little bit,” I tell him, kissing him, then letting go.
I visit various shamans hawking their otherworldly services - “So much sadness, we will release,” “You are too hard on yourself, you must practice imperfection” - until my final appointment with the Amma-approved “sound healer,” a tiny French woman who laughs and tilts side to side like a child.
“When I sing to you, I may scream or cry, because I am channeling what’s inside of you,” she says, while telling me I need to “pardon, pardon” all those who have hurt me.
“OK,” I say limply, and she begins singing softly as her hand touches my side.
And then she begins moaning. And then I begin weeping.
My body is tingling, and I feel a release I’ve never felt before.
Later, I practically float from the center. I check e-mail on my phone. SP has written me.
“Amma rocks,” he says, and I know he felt something, too.
I’m digging around, trying to find one of the rose petals I’ve stuffed into my bag.
And that’s when I see it: “Follow your golden heart,” the note from the healer says to me.
I know then - exactly what I have to do.
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