Swami Z Returns

It happened so quickly. What with the Covid and the idiot in the White House, I seldom had time for anything else on my plate. Unless….my mind was sniffing like a dog getting his first whiff at a bone. I smelled cinnamon! And then I smelled another note, pecan. It had to be him.
I sat up straight in my recliner and heard a key being forced into the front door. That scared me and I sat there another 3 minutes loaded with fear.

No, it couldn’t be Swami Z. I had written him off, literally. Exit, stage left. And now he was forcing his old key into my new lock. Then the banging began. He knew I was in here, so I gave up and unlocked the door. He flew in like a deranged woodpecker and threw himself down on the couch. What could I do but go and sit beside him?

“Vicki, someone has put a suggestion into my head that I revisit you. It’s been so long and you still look puzzled by me.”

“Puzzled? You are the Rubik’s Cube of Gurus!

“Vicki, Vicki, Vicki, haven’t you outgrown that form of childish wit?”

I breathed deep into my Hara and stared at him. “You little twit, you little twerp, you little fascist dictator. Ordering me around my own kitchen. Forcing me to let you have satsang in the sunroom. Making me the Second Banana in my own kirtan….”

“I have a secret,” he opened his mouth like a Venus Fly Trap. I looked down into his belly and saw nothing but undigested donuts.

“Spill it, I said. “Spill it.”

“Okay, Spillane,” he said. “The secret is that some of my devotees prefer me to you and you can’t stand that!”

“I am down with that,” I said.

“I have come back to give satsang to those that tilt in my direction instead of yours.”

And I thought of Rose and Jim and Larry and Ruin. I even thought of how much I had loved the swarm of busy bees that was Swami Z. I capitulated. I rolled over and let him scratch my tummy. I’ll be doggoned if he hadn’t lost his touch. If anything it had increased.

I loved him and I hated his power over me. But it already smelled like cookies in the kitchen.

Vicki Woodyard