Ehe er sich versieht, lebt er im Ashram des Gurus in Indien, geht als sein Chauffeur mit ihm auf Weltreise durch Kanada, die USA und Europa. Doch je länger er mit dem Guru unterwegs ist, desto mehr beginnt das Bild des Erleuchteten zu bröckeln. Ist er am Ende etwa auch nur ein ganz normaler Mensch?
Authentisch und mit viel Witz erzählt Timm Kruse von seiner spirituellen Reise und gibt einen faszinierenden Einblick in das Leben eines waschechten Gurus.
Ehe er sich versieht, lebt er im Ashram des Gurus in Indien, geht als sein Chauffeur mit ihm auf Weltreise durch Kanada, die USA und Europa. Doch je länger er mit dem Guru unterwegs ist, desto mehr beginnt das Bild des Erleuchteten zu bröckeln. Ist er am Ende etwa auch nur ein ganz normaler Mensch?
Authentisch und mit viel Witz erzählt Timm Kruse von seiner spirituellen Reise und gibt einen faszinierenden Einblick in das Leben eines waschechten Gurus.
Roadtrip mit Guru - Wie ich auf der Suche nach Erleuchtung zum Chauffeur eines Gurus wurde: Wie ich auf der Suche nach Erleuchtung zum Chauffeur eines Gurus wurde. Eine wahre Geschichte
Roadtrip mit Guru - Wie ich auf der Suche nach Erleuchtung zum Chauffeur eines Gurus wurde: Wie ich auf der Suche nach Erleuchtung zum Chauffeur eines Gurus wurde. Eine wahre Geschichte
Overview
Ehe er sich versieht, lebt er im Ashram des Gurus in Indien, geht als sein Chauffeur mit ihm auf Weltreise durch Kanada, die USA und Europa. Doch je länger er mit dem Guru unterwegs ist, desto mehr beginnt das Bild des Erleuchteten zu bröckeln. Ist er am Ende etwa auch nur ein ganz normaler Mensch?
Authentisch und mit viel Witz erzählt Timm Kruse von seiner spirituellen Reise und gibt einen faszinierenden Einblick in das Leben eines waschechten Gurus.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940170372225 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Eden Books - ein Verlag der Edel Verlagsgruppe |
| Publication date: | 06/06/2014 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
| Language: | German |
Read an Excerpt
MINDING AMERICA
By D. A. GRADY
AuthorHouse LLC
Copyright © 2014 D. A. GradyAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-6922-2
CHAPTER 1
The Test
Spinning the Web
From behind a large one-way mirror, four pairs of eyes impatiently watched the shapely form on the bed for any signs of movement. They had been here for several hours now, and a quick murmur went through them as the shapely figure moved slightly and then stretched as if coming from a deep sleep.
She opened her eyes into blinding light accompanied by a hammering headache, having no idea where she was or how she had come to be there. Shielding her eyes, she determined that she lay on some type of bed and was fully clothed. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Tamara Burk, or Tam as she was known, squinted hard and found herself in a small room with no windows and one door with a small window. The intense light came from a series of studio lights, all focused on the bed. Sitting up slowly, she shakily eased to her feet.
Tamara Burk was a willowy brunette with hazel eyes, an outdoor natural complexion and a compelling way of moving which could rivet men's gazes as she passed by. The twenty three-year-old Chicago native now lived in New Haven, Connecticut, where she provided various types of entertainment at parties and occasionally provided much more to a selective clientele for a nominal fee. Right now, she would settle for a drink of water and a lot of answers.
Walking gingerly to the door, she saw a very large black man in T-shirt and jeans sitting in a chair with his head down, as if he were dozing. The door appeared stuck so she tapped on the glass to get the man's attention. He half-turned in the chair and looked at her but then turned back again as though he had heard nothing. As she started to bang more loudly, a quiet voice speaking from behind, startled her. Whirling around, she found no one. Unnerved by the weirdness of the situation, she heard an accented voice telling her to relax and that everything was under control. In a panic, she tried to solve this puzzle of where she was and what was happening.
She had gone to a small gathering of mostly friends at the apartment of Doctor Suan (Sue'-en) Hoi (Hoy), a young Korean woman who had befriended her of late. Quickly reviewing the night before, she remembered one or two unfamiliar faces, but no one seemed interested in much more than drinks and conversation, so she had relaxed and made herself comfortable on the overstuffed by the entertainment center, occasionally losing herself in Brubeck or Ellington.
As the evening had worn on, she had gotten a little bored but it was so pleasant not having to maintain appearances, and the variety of conversations had made it very relaxing. She remembered that Suan had an oriental date, which was notable because the dark haired beauty had spoken of her dislike for oriental men. Tam made little of it, though, and as the evening wound down, she had seen Suan's date mingling quite well by himself.
The party had broken up about 1:30 a.m. Nothing unusual had happened, except when she accidentally backed into Suan's date going out the door. She remembered a quick pricking sensation on her bottom as she fell against him. Her momentum was stopped there as he gently pushed her upright, apologizing profusely for his clumsiness. Everyone had paused momentarily to see what had happened. She had assured them and Suan that everything was okay, accepted one final apology from Suan's date, and then went out the door, instinctively rubbing the itching sensation where something had poked her behind. She remembered feeling tipsy about halfway to the car and thought it strange since she had only had two drinks.
She also recalled nearly bumping into a very handsome man with a military style haircut who had taken her arm and said he would help her. Soon his arm seemed to be the only thing that was holding her up, but they were at her car now, and she knew it would be all right once she got in. The man then opened the passenger door and said he knew she would feel better once she could sit down. She had started to say this was the wrong door, but it seemed like such an effort and this nice man seemed so sincere in his efforts to help that she simply sat down and patiently watched as he closed the door, went around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. He had asked where she lived. She remembered that she said the words but her lips hadn't appeared to be moving. He had reached across, gently touching her with his arm as he pulled the seatbelt into its latch. She had heard him say something about the beginning of a whole new experience and that was all.... until this moment.
She flashed back to reality. "What am I doing here? Where am I?" she asked in a her best bluff voice.
The voice from nowhere said, "We will begin the test now."
"Begin what?" she asked. When no response came, she repeated, "Begin what test?"
Suddenly a transformation came over the woman. She became calm, then walked directly to the bed and sat down as if waiting for something.
Behind the one-way glass wall of the room where Tam now sat motionless, three men sat in front of a small console of equipment, looking intently at the girl. A fourth, lean-figured man leaned back in the shadows looking over the entire scene.
A voice from the latter said simply, "Do it." The middle man leaned forward and typed on the small laptop keyboard
"Open Door.... Invite Man In"
His finger flipped a switch, and the cocaine-loaded man in the next room heard his voice say, "Go through the door into where the girl is".
The typing continued and unlocked the electronic door so Tam could open it.
As the man entered the room, the middle man in the hidden room typed "Have Sex With Him."
The group watched without emotion as Tam seemed to listen to some sound, shed her clothes and lay back on the bed. The huge man smiled slightly and unzipped his pants. When it was over, he simply lay over her with his head in the mattress.
"Help Him Sit On Edge Of Bed.".... came the typed command.
The men at the console looked at each other not knowing how she would react. Slowly Tam moved out from under him and in a mechanical voice, asked him to sit on the edge of the bed. He simply groaned. She got off the bed looking at him and then gently reached out for his hand. Bracing herself and pulling she coaxed the huge man into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The trio looked at each other with surprise at the initiative. The man sat slumped over as she stood in front of him. He slowly reached out to touch her leg and raised a question to her with his eyes.
"Get Gun From Behind Headboard."
She stepped towards the headboard, and the man's head resumed its downward cast.
"Get Behind Him On Bed."
Taking the small handgun in her right hand she crawled back onto the bed and around behind him. He turned to look at her briefly and then his gaze went back to the floor.
"Shoot Him In Back Of Head."
She placed the barrel in the small hollow in the back of his head and pulled the trigger. The silencer on the gun made a quiet "phfft". The man's head jerk slightly forward. He fell to the floor without sound. Tam remained emotionless on the bed in a kneeling position, her hands at her sides, the right one still holding the gun.
In the control room a quiet murmur was heard and then the shadowed figure said, "Finish it."
The words "Get Dressed." rapidly appeared on the laptop screen.
When she was done, the computer typed "Pick Up Gun.... Stand In Middle Of Room.... Hold Gun Against Temple."
The last sensation Tamara Burk's brain would ever feel was the electronic message, "Pull The Trigger".
Even before her body had stopped moving, the other two men on the console had entered the room with buckets of water and soap. They struggled with the body of the huge man as they carried it carefully out the door into a large empty warehouse room with one large container in the middle. Sliding his body into it, they returned with the girl's body, wrapping her head in plastic to contain the blood spots. As they rolled her over the top into the container, the smaller of the men cursed quietly when he tore his shirt on a sign hanging from it that read "Nitric Acid."
As the two returned to begin cleaning the room and removing lights, cameras and any other evidence that anything had occurred there, the third man packed the console into small cases and thoroughly wiped down every appendage in the small area. The fourth figure had labeled and carefully boxed all the tapes gathered during the incident and then had moved under the security light in the warehouse to clean his shaded glasses. No words were spoken. The trio loaded all the equipment into a gray van and left.
The fourth surveyed the scene, recalling that Burk's car had been sent to a downtown chopshop last night and by now would be parts of several other cars. Sliding behind the wheel of an older rented car, he placed the briefcase of tapes on the seat beside him and slowly drove into the early morning sunrise.
The test had gone well.
CHAPTER 2Pro Gun Rally
Several Weeks Later....
As he drove into Tulsa, Oklahoma, for the annual rally of Guns in America, John Hatch thought, "At least I got to shoot the opening day of dove season before coming to this fiasco. If the guys in the "New" Old Duck Hunters Association knew I was here, I'd never hear the end of it." He chuckled as he pulled into the parking lot at the convention center because there were only two members in the club, himself and his long time hunting partner Ben Holmes (known as "Mr. President"). Ben had tagged Hatch as "Junior Member" some years ago. He pulled the '82 Chevy Blazer into an empty space and headed for check-in. It was late in the afternoon, and September still had a firm grip on summer. At 96 it was still ten degrees cooler than his hunting buddies were experiencing 250 miles southwest of there for the evening shoot.
Clay Jamison waited impatiently for Hatch at the reception desk. He had called in a marker to get Hatch here for the meeting and he needed some time with him before the convention started. The Georgia millionaire sportsman had met him during the short period Hatch lived in Georgia before returning to Oklahoma. It was there that he learned of Hatch's skills as a professional guide and hunter in the Sooner state. Jamison admired Hatch as a consummate outdoorsman but knew little of him other than that. Hatch had once told him he felt obliged because Clay had done a kindness for his family, and that was the marker called in on this occasion. As Hatch approached, Clay shook his hand saying, "Let's talk." They walked into the bar. Hatch ordered Jack Daniels and water. Clay asked for tea.
With little in common Jamison came to the point, "You're a steady influence in the hunting community, and I need you to use that here. We are drafting some very controversial legislation to strengthen gun laws, and emotions are running high. In the face of an unprecedented increase in gun violence lately, that is going to be a Herculean task. Your job here will be to work behind the scenes, gathering support and helping to convert the opposition. You already know most of these guys so it shouldn't be too tough. John, if we don't do something quickly, the anti-gun and anti-sports groups will eliminate all those things we enjoy. All the recent shootings are giving them plenty of ammunition.... if you follow my meaning. I've spent a lot of money putting this thing together. It may be the last move of strength we have left now that the National Rifle Association(NRA) and other groups have been discredited."
"What makes you think this will work?" Hatch asked as he filled a well-worn, straight stemmed pipe, from an oiled leather pouch shiny from time.
Jamison waved a hand and casually said, "The details would bore you, but the plan calls for buying a few more congressmen, sabotaging the efforts of the anti's by paying some of them to publicly change direction, and then strengthening the constitutional amendment through a national vote. The money will mainly come from this group—the gun, ammo and sporting goods companies—and some international investors. All I'm asking you to do is let your feelings about gun control be known to the guests we've invited and keep me posted on the radicals you can't convert. I don't think that's asking a lot considering guns are what you're about anyway."
Between puffs and through a small cloud of vanilla flavored smoke, Hatch simply said, "It isn't."
They talked for a short time more, and Hatch noticed that Jamison had changed somehow. He couldn't put a finger on it and wrote it off as not having seen the man in some time. Shortly, Jamison left to continue his orchestration of the meeting. From the far corner of the bar, a figure moved in the shadows and went in the same general direction. Hatch's eye caught the motion, and he chuckled quietly, wondering if the man had hired a body guard. He casually made his way towards registration, thinking that after this, he would owe the man nothing and would be rid of him.
The social opener was held in the Cherokee Room at seven, and even before the drinks were poured, it was obvious that everyone's temperature was up. John Hatch strolled through the door, leaned casually against the nearest wall, and surveyed the group. Satisfied with where his work lay, he moved quietly towards the bartender, noting pieces of conversation along the way.
A huge red-haired man wearing a three hundred dollar Resistol hat and five hundred dollar Justin boots was allowing that, "They, by god, better not try to get my guns. They ain't seen nothin' 'til they piss off a cowboy."
Hatch thought, "You wouldn't know a cowboy until he knocked your head off, you store-bought joke."
A thin graying man in camouflage was talking about hauling all the anti-'s and their congressmen buddies out to the mountains and let them take the place of game. "That way they get to save the animals and we get what we want, a chance to shoot somethin'."
At yet another table, he heard, "How the hell can we whip this thing if folks keep killing each other with guns? Have you seen the news lately? Last week alone, more than one hundred people died by the gun, and almost all of them looked like executions. It's got the police in a frenzy, trying to figure it out."
"What'll it be?" asked a laboring face behind the bar.
Hatch looked at him briefly and said, "I'm thinkin' peace and quiet, but double Jack Daniels in a water glass will do for now".
Out of habit, he eased into an empty corner table towards the side where he could see the room, about ten feet from the fire exit. When he realized what he had done, the "Shooter", as he was known, smiled to himself and began scanning the room for familiar faces. That moniker had been slapped on him years ago when he had been earning a living on the Trap and Skeet Professional shooting circuit and had quickly risen to the top of Oklahoma's crop of gunners by winning competitions state-wide and his accuracy in the hunting fields.
He saw Clay at the door with two older men and their younger women. Jamison caught his glance and maneuvered the group towards him. After the introductions, John found himself seated with two U.S. Senators and their "secretaries". Clay had introduced him as the very embodiment of what real sportsmen are all about and then left. It became obvious that the these two Easterners hadn't a clue as to why they were really there, so Hatch opened court. What they did know was that this was one hell of a party, and it was free for them. John asked if either was a hunter or shooter, and both replied they had already captured what they were hunting, and the shooting would follow shortly. Both of the women acted coy and giggled.
Hatch thought, "You two are the ones captured and are too dumb to see it. As far as shooting goes, you probably will fall asleep trying to get your guns up."
When he asked them about gun control, both men became very noncommittal so he asked them what they knew about this rally. Smiles narrowed abit as they wondered why. He told them to look around the room. There were people here from all over the country, including their districts, that opposed gun control of any kind, and each of them were voters. It was also obvious that each of them cast some influence or they wouldn't be here.
Firing up his pipe, Hatch continued, If it became known that you gentlemen were not pro-gun, ... Well—you're smart men.... You figure it out."
"That tobacco smells wonderful," the little blond said.
Her senator said, "I hate the smell of smoke; put that away."
Hatch set the hook hard. "Senator, do you know that the majority of people in this room are smokers? Look around. If word got out that you hated smokers.... Well, I guess you know the answer to that one, too. Of course, I'd be glad to call a vote if you prefer the democratic way." The smiles disappeared completely. He had their attention now.
"I realize that there are a great many folks who want not only gun control but also the elimination of all weapons and all hunting events. Most everyone here is at the other end of that spectrum. I believe there is a middle ground that can be reached to the mutual satisfaction of everybody but the extremists, and we will always have them".
(Continues...)
Excerpted from MINDING AMERICA by D. A. GRADY. Copyright © 2014 D. A. Grady. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
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