Saturday, May 07, 2016

13) An Alien From Atlantis.

These stories, that have been available on Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1st volume of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing, writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.

Below are introductory paragraphs and some pictures that I still retain to illustrate this story, hopefully to give you a come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.


Rambling down a back street of Melbourne-city in 1968 Arthur noticed a sign reading “YOGA” and, with a kind of weird déjà vu, recognized the word as something important for his life though he’d never heard of it before. (Perhaps it had sunk into his subconscious as a boy when he read all those super-hero comics where protagonists such as Batman and Doc Savage learned arcane powers from Masters in hidden Himalayan fortresses.) Though finding it eerily exotic, yet fearless at heart, he entered the Yoga Club, the atmosphere heady with the incense of esoteric knowledge and mysticism.
The Gita School of Yoga was run by a Jewish Swiss-German woman by the name of Margaret Sagesman who had been a refugee from the Second World War, escaping concentration camps, trekking across the breadth of Europe and down into Asia searching for refuge. Now here she was, mistress of an establishment that had everyone convinced she was a self-realized saint, an initiate of the famous Himalayan yogi, Mahadev Babaji. She promulgated the myth that she had been dying of tuberculosis when first she staggered into the great yogi’s cave but a rigorous course in Yoga under the Master cured and enlightened her. Possibly she was over-imaginative and in reality rehashing Madame Blavatsky’s “Secret Doctrine”, for everything the old girl went on about was of the same fantastic mythologizing, of Masters hidden in the Himalayas providing a light unto the mundane, darkening world via obtuse, "shamanic" discourses.
About 5 foot 6 inches Margaret looked mighty fit in her black leotards and fishnet stockings, attractive even, "well-preserved" for a seventy year old, "that's what yoga can do for you" she often bragged. Like an archaic Priestess of the icy Tibetan heights, she crept quietly about the carpeted corridors of the five rooms, ready to impart secret mysteries to Arthur for a few pieces of silver and a lot of rapt attention. She was a sweet, kooky old soul who mothered him through his introduction to the  practices of Yoga, where he attempted to gain control over his breathing, his heart-beat, his disordered mind and his life from the center of his ‘psycho-sphere’ and thereon open the gates of his chakras and fly throughout the various levels of the wondrous Multiverse. 
He definitely stretched his wound-up muscles, cracked his stiff limbs and squeezed his endocrine glands, enabling him to remain fit and disease resistant throughout his life. Hours and hours of exercise, meditation and relaxation did indeed ameliorate his depression, relieving his existential anxiety over his deviant sexual dilemma and, exercising the attention muscle of his brain, he was long able to concentrate on his studies, multi-tasking and achieving his goals. So it wasn’t all other-worldly hocus-pocus, years of yoga made him strong, confident, wise, and able to stride through all manner of obstacle and travail. 

(If your curiosity is piqued please go to the WEB address above and buy the book to read further.)