Who am I? ... Muz Murray (aka Ramana Baba) thinks he knows!
He has seen me at his satsang. He pronounces me "faceless and bland," "ordinary and banal," a "nobody," a "nothing." Oh yes, I am so profoundly boring I attend his pitiful mutterings and endure his abortive mantras that click in the ears like dying insects.
Who am I? I am an Invention of the Zeitgeist, the ethers made corporeal. I am the Vengeance of Carthage, arisen from the salt-laden ruins. I am Back from the Beyond.
So Muz Murray, who am I? Are you on my case, tenacious to the last? Are you Sherlock Holmes or the Inspector Clouseau of Vedic Confusion? Yes! I was there but only in the lost clouds of your imagined ramblings. I am descriptionless, beyond your little mind.
Muz Murray, who are you? Are you a New Age Vedanta sage or just an ageing hippy has-been stealing the mantle of a Ramana revival?
Muz Murray, who are you? A fancy-dress reject in a Lawrence of Arabia out-take?
You're absolutely clueless. You drone on in your third-rate romantic gatherings about destroying the mind, the glories of the Self and the legacy of the Upanishads. You are nothing more than a charlatan fool lost in remembrance of the 60s while The Tiru That Was has gone: swallowed up by a horde of Kashmiri clothes shops and real estate sharks.
Muz Murray, I know who I am. My mystery is beyond your grasp. I will never pander to your adled sense of self-importance and I would prefer crucifixion to the drivel and tedium of your satsang!