Alone with brother time in my rooftop world, I ebb and flow in an ocean of thought pulled between Broadway and Fifth Avenue, enjoying the view of Central Park from this penthouse suite. No, not my condo but rented for two weeks while I limo off to television interviews and to catch some plays. Finally I’m doing Broadway in style, and it does take a bit more than three bucks a day. But no matter since Now or Never has made it to the top. It took a while for book critics to catch its drift but it looks like smooth sailing from here on.
So I’m sailing without sails again, as Prema (now called Shoshoni) is joining me for an Antarctic cruise in March following our lovely November in Kenya on safari. She remains blissfully independent mostly in India and Sedona, and her touch is still the best energy work I have found. She tells me that Guruji is fine but fighting a losing battle against nude bathing as curious Westerners who have read Now or Never arrive to rent that one hut in perfect garden location. Sorry about that, Guruji.
Alberta is well and as lively as ever. She and Bubha cut quite a swath together for a few months in Canada and the States, and now she is bouncing wherever her yes takes her. She periodically visits my new ranch in the Rockies with its converted barn where we co-facilitate workshops called Spontaneous Creative Expression—sort of a playground for those who are tired of dealing with their victim and blame crap, and want to celebrate the meeting of heaven and earth in one’s body. It has been great fun, all natural, and I think mostly legal.
The magnificent Shri Shri Cy Bubha drops by for an occasional break from the lecture circuit and book signings. Since we think so much alike these days there is little left to say together, so we mainly watch reruns of Northern Exposure and Star Trek: The Next Generation. Always is great to see him. His latest book, Dear Cy Bubha, is doing quite well and he is already planning a sequel.
It sounds like he may pull out of the lecture circuit, however. He is tired of people stopping him on the street and saying, “Hey, I know you, aren’t you Deepak Chopra?” When Bubha tells them where they can stick that question, they quickly learn the error of their ways. But you know what? I could swear that his arms are growing long and sinewy.
Which brings me to my one regret of late—wishing that I had responded more seriously to Oprah when she asked, “So, does the book shape its author or vice versa?” My flippant reply—that she should check with Jane Fonda or Richard Simmons—did not do justice to the underlying premise. That premise being that imagination and reality each shapes the other in a lovely cosmic dance of the mind. The more I continue in this divine comedy of life, the more I believe that imagination is the push that opens the door to one’s future.
I sensed the power of this dance of imagination and reality even back when I chose the particular task whose instructions were in the last envelope that Guruji handed me after his compelling performance as a whip-wielding madman. As the final act to close my journey into amnesia, the instructions directed me to: Write an epilogue, an imaginary ending to ‘Now or Never’ where all your wishes come true.
And so I just did.