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Samskara Sam Archive

MARch 1995 to August 1996

Into the Sadhana Dome
by Atmadeva

Esteemed and spiritually elevated readers (who may or may not be in samadhi) will no doubt already have full knowledge of what has happened and what will happen to the our SuperSentientSams. However for the benefit of those lagging behind on the lotus petal path, here is quick run down of the previous episode.

Our cult-busting duo have descended into the very pit… the very Sahasrara cakra… of the cult’s operations: a giant hi-tech Yogi cave. Escorted by their junior jiiva, their guru of the moment, the Kamamaya Kid, the Sams now hide on the periphery, wondering which pebble to kick next on the rocky road to J.R. Rasagoullafella Jnr. (treasured son of Incense magnate J.R. Rasagoullafella Snr). Your humble narrator, a time-bomb of samskaras takes up the story.

Before long we heard a motorised sound coming up the river tunnel. The emanation of light became brighter and brighter, then suddenly we were caught in the headlights of an amphibious vehicle. Surely this was the end. We would be handed over to the Cakra Balance Technicians and used as spare parts. Like terrified toadstools, we were rooted to the spot.

The light seemed to incinerate our secret existence, as it honed in on us. Then, to our relief, it became apparent that the vehicle was unmanned and was in fact a robot. ‘Unit Entity No.12’ to be precise: one of a fleet in-animate servants that carried out mundane tasks around the Master Unit… tasks such as the delivery of chillies, the painting of things orange, the postering of walls for meditation retreats etc. etc.

A further easing of our concerns followed: The Kamamaya Kid and ‘Unit Entity No.12’ (UE-12) were in fact quite well acquainted. Our young minimitus of an escort had counselled UE-12 after UE-1 had declared itself ‘THE Supreme Cognitive Faculty’ and started subjecting the other robots to a reign of terror.

‘Howdy, UE-12’ said the youngster nervously, trying gloss their illegal presence with a veneer of normality.

‘Hello Kamamaya Kid’, said the robot in it’s digitally sequenced tin-pot voice ‘are you aware of the fact that you are outside your micro-sector. I’m afraid I shall have to report your locale to Unit entity No.1’ .

‘OH NO!, don’t do that No.12, don’t tell Pol Pot’ said the Kid, trying to get all sentimental ‘not after all I’ve done for you… here, would you like to meet Mr and Mr’s Samskara… they’ve come all the way from Sydney to get initiation’

Having affected a distraction, our nimble guide ducked round behind the robot and pulled the plug. UE-12’s android consciousness coughed and spluttered, then gave a last gasp, sagging into a sulking hulk of metal and silicon.

The Kamamaya Kid darted a quick glance into the Yogi cave. Nobody had noticed the goings on. The Kid, a dab hand at AI (Artificial Intelligence), quickly reprogrammed the lifeless robot, removing it’s autonomous functions.

‘OK, you two, get in them sacks!’ he shouted in an urgent whisper ‘We’re going into the cave

‘What for?’

‘To see a friend of mine’

Unit Entity Number Twelve had a cargo of half a dozen hessian sacks of chillies, slung from a bamboo pole, in the manner of a Chinese peasant.

We half emptied the sacks into the river and clambered into them. It was HOT… very HOT… rather like eating 8000 Thai restaurant meals all at once. Drowning in my own sweat, and with the sacks swinging wildly, I made a peep-hole in the hessian and observed the Kid securing his hiding place. He would operate the robot using a sort of ‘Nintendo Gameboy’ remote control.

Then the engines sputtered into life and we crossed the river into the yogi cave. The robot’s caterpillar tracks took us on a circuitous and inconspicuous route through the maze of freight containers. Occasionally, clusters of Cakra Balance Technicians could be seen hanging out, doing asanas and exchanging psycho-spiritual babble. Then we started climbing, spiralling upwards on a narrow catwalk, clinging to the cave wall, as the cave’s infrastructure opened out below us.

After about six rotations we came to a lonely ‘cave-let’: (an apartment recessed into the wall of the cave). UE-12 barged in drunkenly, demolishing the mantelpiece. (Oop’s, there goes the porcelain statuette entitled: ‘Züngenreiniger Nümmer Eins [Tongue Cleaner Champion]/Berlin Sector/1996’. Oop’s, there goes the glass jar containing Arnold Schwarznegger’s pineal gland. Oops, there goes the bottle of 1955 Patna Chardonnay. Oops, there goes the fish bowl containing positive microvita from the 1978 Sectorial Conference. Oops, there goes the framed Warhol silk screen print of two VSS storm troopers standing over Mr Lecherous Leech and Mr Villainous Crook.

‘What the!'

A startled, blue haired Cakra Balance Technician jumped about two metres out of his bean bag, scattering polystyrene peanuts and plastering the walls with ‘egganana smoothie’ (a genetically engineered cross between an eggplant and a banana)

The sacks split open and we tumbled out onto the lounge room floor, along with about 30kg’s of chillies

‘What the! - Get those dammed things out of here!’ yelled the technician, his shoulder length blue hair standing on end

The wicked little red and green capsicums were hurriedly shovelled out over the balcony rail and into the space beyond.

‘Kid, you’re not supposed to be here!!… get back to your micro-sector at once’.

‘RS Pluto, I can explain… I’ve brought some candidates for initiation. ’.

‘I’m not in the mood for initiation! Look what you’ve done to my mantelpiece!’ He said, tearfully surveying the damage.

‘Now listen here, my dear Technicianji, you know full well mantelpieces are a violation of conduct rule 45B Article 12. Souvenirs and momentos are a hindrance to spiritual progress. Now please give these people initiation and get us back to the surface. If we are caught down here…’.

‘…I’ll think about it’.

Pluto was a hardship posting; a spiritual backwater; a Siberia for the Cakra Balance Technician. The current RS Pluto got the ‘honour’ to serve there after being implicated in a corruption scandal at the ‘Honey Drip Prasad Corp.’ It was claimed he had misused his powers as quality control officer. Rasagoullas were recovered from a drum of Tilak. Burfi was found sown into a sadhana mat… a complete fabrication!… a VSS frame up!

Ever since this gross injustice, he had something of a soft spot for renegades, and felt for the Kamamaya Kid’s predicament - despite the havoc he had just caused. Maybe he should help him out. Just this once.

‘OK, Kid I’ll do it’ RS Pluto said, sweeping rubble into a corner. ‘But you’ve got to help me get a re-posting’.

For our part, we could hardly refuse initiation, lest we blow our cover. Anyway, it probably wouldn’t hurt if we wore sunglasses… just a simple ego extraction. The blue haired renunciate took me off to the broom cupboard. Words cannot describe this commencement of my spiritual life. But perhaps food can: it was like being thrown into a smoothie machine along with milk and a pinch of cardamom. Following a sudden jolt, a centripetal motion began and I was whirled closer and closer to the blissful source of macro-cosmic emanation. Then someone pulled the plug and it was all over. Dripping milk I returned to the lounge room and spaced out in an armchair.

Samskara Samantha received a simultaneous initiation next door, from DSL Pluto (a women’s Cakra Balance Technician also posted to the blue planet). Her experience was remarkably simular to mine, except for the carob flavouring.

Despite the chaos of the lounge room, a sentient vibe pervaded the apartment. The Kamamaya Kid was deep in meditation, levitating amongst the crystal chandeliers, while UE-12 was singing Prabhat Samgiit, just like a lawn mower imitating Frank Sinatra. Selfishly I chose to disturb the peace and quiet and reached for the TV remote control. There was only one channel: the cult’s cable service. We were just in time to catch the tail end of ‘Nine-Sectors-Global-News’; Michael Jackson, Andy Warhol and Madonna have admitted themselves to the Hollywood Master Unit’s reformatory for immoral artists and writers; The VSS was hunting a PROUT worker believed to have crashed the ERAWS stretch-limousine into a Neem tree, and; (a busy night for the VSS): A special task force, headed by Pol Pot, are seeking the whereabouts of a runaway robot who has littered the Lismore Sadhana-Dome (and Ganges-Down-Under River) with this month’s sectorial chilli ration.

Then there was a station promo of macrocosmic proportions. J.R. Rasagoullafella Jnr. will appear on tomorrow’s Oprah ‘Otayoga’ Wimfrey Show.

I stole a quick look at Samskara Samantha.

We both hated Oprah ‘Otayoga’ Wimfrey and it was by no means certain we should we suffer the cult’s queen of Kitsch in order to achieve our objectives. There was something to discuss.

Fork out another three bucks for the next issue of Pranam and discover: 1). If initiation will effect the behaviour of our operatives 2). If our ‘cave-let’ of renegades make it out of the Sadhana Dome 3). If RS Pluto gets a re-posting, and 4). If The Sams are admitted to the Otayoga Wimfrey Show.

Episode 4