“Lakshman lakshman lakshman ong ong lakshman. Now shake your hips as fast as you can, imagine gold, and let your kundalini rise! Chant this to get rich in 2017.” preached a white blonde “guru” sitting on a golden throne wearing a white turban.
In the dark, I hypnotically moved my body, my arms swung from side to side and I imaged money pouring down. The freedom to just move compulsively, to reach wide and fast and sensual as I felt, plus it was gonna get rich. I had become a hindu God, Ganesh, with slithering arms and an elephant’s trunk defying gravity. Every time I said the mantra “lakshman,” I could take myself into this mythological cave world filled with mountains of gold and the luck of the Irish.
Boom. Indian God in Ireland. Boom, I’m gonna get rich.
Laksham! 2017 Laksham! 2018 Laksham! Am I rich yet?
New Years Eve, the most lonely night of the year.