I’m writing a book about my 24/7 twelve year marriage to Bhagavan Das.
The memories are contained in me like how the icloud holds my poetry. In a huge ball in the sky I am imagining.
I need to free up some psychic space and tell a story that nobody on earth can tell but me. There is nobody who knows BD like I do. I literally hold his memories in my own mind. I know all his stories. Even now, wherever he is, he is always with me. Not the personality that pretends I no longer exist but the bigger thing I feel between us that neither of us can destroy.
There have been a lot of movies he’s been in. There have been interviews. But he gave them BD, not himself. He put on the show, it was an act. Nobody cared about the person, he didn’t even have one at a certain point. Deep inside he always feared everyone would find out the real truth about how insecure he really was and “not come to see him anymore.”
All I’m saying is when I left him- I told the truth about why – and a lot of people didn’t like it and didn’t understand my behavior. It did disturb me – all the attempts to censor me, seeing the true colors of people I had known for years – and so I went away for a few years. But I have changed since then – and I just don’t care anymore about people and their opinions- like AT ALL anymore. I have nothing to lose by being myself whether others agree or not – because they obviously don’t know me – and they therefore don’t matter. I did not “destroy” his career. I stopped him from doing more harm to himself and others, especially women. Is it my job, in a way yes it was. In a way, no it isn’t.
Nobody knows what I know. I think it’s ridiculous that people act like some sort of connection to him immediately bestows powers upon them. I was given every transmission possible by BD. He gave me everything he had (both good and bad) It was very real and it came with a price, which I paid. He always said he was so relieved that he met me before he died because he had felt everyone he had ever known in America was a groupie except for me. I’m just telling you what he said. He would cry like a little child and tell me I was his “only friend in the whole world.”
More than once I said to him, “God, you guys are all stuck in 1967 talking about “Be Here Now.” Don’t you think we should instead call it “Be Here Then?”
He laughed every time.
(He always said, “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”)
I really know now what he meant by that.