Now we come to part two of Gurus from Hell. I had just got over an immature, perhaps dangerous potbellied Hindu with a penchant for steaks and young sex. He could tap dance, sing, play classical piano, make people stiff and put them across chairs, have a nail put through his hand and make an "instant repair" and he could charm you out of house and home, all with an English accent, and dressed in turban and tux. He could control everything but himself. About two years of Bogi Yogi was enough for me, and I fled to his once friend, Rev. Verna Talbot, aka GuruBurna. She had been real nice to me in the beginning, but once my suitcase was in the door she put out the welcome mat,


"Now things will be done my way!;"an ominous portent of what was to come.


How shall I count the ways? There is a bewildering series of negative anecdotes. The way she tried to control me. The ridicule and humiliation, the exploitation, the bad advise, the temper tantrums, the immaturity, greed and gluttony. The laziness, the lies, and even, of all things, the STEALING.





Having said that, the question is, who in their right mind would put up with her? Not many would. I was the only one who stuck with her for a long time and met her demands. Why did I do it?


Verna had Gifts of the Holy Spirit. One of them was Healing, which she demonstrated on me and others. She was also a channeler. No day would be complete without her drawing up to Heaven and letting celestial souls speak through her. Every evening for one hour they came through - and at odd times also. She had a "fort" of such souls, and they guided her toward building her Church - (which never happened.) That is what I was there for. With the other guy, I had started a road of Yoga and met my Atman. I could channel my own God within, but nothing else. I could do hypnosis but not healing. Verna ridiculed both. Instead of seeing the good of hypnotherapy she just poo-poohed it and insisted I drop it completely. Next, I was not to listen to my Voice, the Atman.


"You are not as high up as I am. Don't listen to it. I am much more advanced than you - just listen to me."


My voice told me, "If you go with her I cannot help you."





I had to make a decision. Oh, what a tough one it was! My precious Atman would not guide me any more if I listened to Burna. After a month or two with her she sent me on the road to make money for the Church. I heard a creaking door, like a big iron deal, closing. And my Atman bid me adieu. It said,


"You are suffering too much... I must close the door."


I understand this perfectly now. To have your "door" open to the Inner Self, your life must be at peace. Contemplation does not come in times of turmoil. Verna already blew my plans for a contemplative life, living with her and helping her build the Church. She said, after we had been together a month or two,


"Are you kidding? What are you going to do sitting around here? Go out and make money for our Church. I would do it if I were young, but I'm not young and I can't. That is your purpose in this."


It wasn't good enough that I stayed in the apartment putting together her newspaper. She had asked others to do it, but none of them did. I started working on it, as I was good at that. But finally, she said no. Just give her $200.00 and she'll get it done. Just go make money, and send money to me.





She then told me she was my manager, and as manager, she deserved a fat percent. Since she had saved my life (from Bogi Yogi) what was my life worth? Time and time again she told me I owed her 50% of my earnings for the rest of my life! It was outrageous, but she kept saying I would have been dead without her. The Bogi Yogi had made the same claim. I was dying when he met me, and he saved my life. He told people this behind my back, including Verna. He also told everyone I was his wife - as this built up his ego and helped him con more people - and when Verna asked him if this was true, he said, "She likes to think so."


I was so lucky to have been saved by these two characters...who when I did not give them what they wanted, then tried to kill me. Lovely people.




HOT FLASH, JUNE 12, 2005


Last night Verna Talbot appeared to me, not in a dream, but a lucid experience. She was dressed like a contemplative nun, all in black, completely veiled. My intense love removed the veil from her face, where she communicated to me her concern. It was the fact that I had complained how before her, I heard my Atman as clear as a bell, but she discouraged me from listening to it. She showed me three people visiting me - they seemed like family - and she told me (in order to improve my mystical ability) to,


"Close your door to them."


As we spoke she was bemused about something, like me trying so hard to do everything myself, without anyone's help. She smiled and had a great deal of love. Her last words were,


"I will pray for you." (end hot flash)


Ah, reconciliation! She wasn't so nice in real life and I must tell my tale. A few months ago I channeled Verna and asked why she'd been so cruel. Her answer:


"I was stupid, and you were young."


How stupid were you, Verna? As a mature woman today, I look back upon those times and there is one thing that stands out to me. That is that God gives a person one or more great gifts. And yet, that person, through their own lack of virtue, perhaps talent, and discipline, cannot do very much with the gifts. This to me is what Verna demonstrated.


Again, like the Bogi, Verna was fairly nice in the beginning. But then close-itis sets in. You have to live with someone to know their dark side. I have met more than one "saint" who turned out to be the devil in close quarters. Verna was obnoxious. I was not the only person who thought so. She had no close friends, although she had many acquaintances. Could it have been her personality?





To begin with, it was the domination. She wanted to be on top of everyone, at all times and in all ways. She couldn't bend or change or step down or in any way humble herself. Not a candidate for gifts of the Holy Spirit, you say? I assumed God knew better than me and saw something I didn't. She was a know-it-all who would cringe if I offered an answer to something that contradicted her, even though I was right. It was a given that there was nothing - absolutely nothing - that I could know that she did not know, and that was that. It wasn't only me. When I went to a top ballet teacher who had taught the best dancers in Hollywood including Mitzi Gaynor, (the woman then about 80 years old) Verna was telling her how to teach me to dance! Mz Etienne (not a real name, which I cannot recall) looked at her with a sense like, "Are you OK?"


Then we'd go into a store. Verna always talked loud. She was carrying on and a saleslady said to me,


"Where did you pick HER up?"


Instead of popping back to the saleslady, she dumps on me.


"You mean, where did I pick HER up?," she retorts.


It struck me as especially cruel because I had done nothing to Verna, nor had I insulted her. So why didn't she just deal with the saleslady? Why put the insult to me?


Another occasion shows a terrible ego. As a professional dancer and model, I had to get all kinds of costume jewelry. She went with me into a store and glared as I bought myself some necessary items. Her displeasure was so great - I know this sounds insane - that I had to buy her a rhinestone crown for $150.00 to appease her, telling her,


"YOU are the Queen!"


On another occasion her hysteria reached its peak... Verna was a working-class Italian. I never scoped her mannerisms until I moved back into Brooklyn and worked at an Italian place. She had the same mannerisms and speech affectation as them. It was crude. Her stock-in-trade was waitress, but she had hurt her back, and could not stand around long hours. When I met her she was the manager of a Hollywood apartment which was fairly nice. (Soon, with my contributions, she moved from a one bedroom to a two bedroom apt., and when I visited between jobs on the road I stayed in the other. She then told me I was lucky she kept that room (which I had paid for) open for me because she could have rented it to someone else. But that's another story.) Now as manager of this apartment building, she got first digs on anything people left behind - and they often left behind their bathroom rugs. All this stuff was thrown into the utility room. I had heard Verna speak about her favorite colors. She loved two the most - red and purple. Why? Because they were royal. Especially "the royal purple." That was her favorite, because in another lifetime, or maybe in her mind or something, she was a Queen. I kept that in mind as I searched through the utility room. I was cleaning the apartment in anticipation of her birthday. I decided to wash and put new rugs into her bath and mine. To my delight I had discovered both purple and red rugs, and put the purple in hers, and the red in mine. I worked all day fixing the apartment. She came home and exploded.




This screaming, hysterical tirade went on for two hours. I apologized a hundred times, but she screamed on and on.





Verna gave me conflicting messages regarding my body and how I looked. Many times, she admired the way I exercised religiously every day. She marveled at how hard I worked to look good. Her single attempt at fitness was one of those rental machines where you put your butt into a sling, turn it on and it gyrates. She had been doing that before I was there but I never saw her working it. She said I should try it and I did it daily, which only gave me cellulite. It took years to get rid of it. I think that machine knocked my flesh around into lumps or something. I needed it like a hole in the head, because my strict diet, as I said before, made me skin, bone, muscle and curve. Another time, we were walking down the street and a man was following us in a car.


"He is not looking at you," she said.


"It's me. He sees my power."


Anyone can see how laughable that is today, but then it was hurting me. Although at times she showed pride in my body, one day I was wearing a cotton jump suit - rather low cut, and sitting at the table working on something for her. She told me to cover up, because the saints in Heaven would be "tempted to come back to Earth because of your body."


This was not said in a complimentary way as a joke - but a bizarre serious remark. There would be many more.


What was totally different between her and Bogi Yogi was Bogi constantly praised me - the first year. He had to do that to get my attention and win me over. He generally knew how to praise, flatter, charm and entice people, anyway. That was his stock-in-trade, the tool that he used for future control.


Verna was nothing like that. If she had been more affirming my memories would not be so bitter. She would build me up when she wanted money, then tear me down after she had it. It was a chronic pattern. And yet, when she went to HER GURU - whose identity she kept hidden and did not take me to see - she complained to him solely that I WAS NOT RESPECTFUL ENOUGH TO HER. She said he said that I had to learn to be respectful. What else could he say?





Recently a new friend dropped a bombshell. He said that in the two years I was associating on and off with Verna Talbot - 1971 and 1972 - Baba Muktananda was there. Was it Muktananda she was seeing? She did say the man's name, and he was very prominent, but I could not recall. I of course wanted to meet him, but she said no. She probably knew that I would be interested in him and would leave her. And now that I know more about Muktananda, he probably would have been interested in me as well. If Muktananda was the Guru, then Verna had some of his shakti (although she was anointed long before that) and since she was my Guru, it would mean I was getting some of his shakti through her. This is interesting food for thought.


As I said, Verna was no charmer; not a con artist who could get what she wanted. The only person who supported her was me - because I was fanatically hungry for God and would do anything to get closer. She pushed people away with her bossy, know-it-all, crude manner that sometimes deteriorated into threats and accusations. She would lie on her couch every night, watching hours of television. She said she was going to "teach" me to watch tv. I have never been a big fan of television, preferring books. I did not think much of her habit. As she would lie there her back would bother her, and she would accuse myself and the Bogi for putting curses on her, which hurt her back. She constantly said she could no longer work because of her back, but I think that was only part of the problem.


Her other disciple (there were only two of us who were steady and consistent...the rest of her clients just came and went. Some paid $10.00 an hour for lessons on spirituality) had been a waitress with her. Verna said she had a problem, and that she was "light fingered" or something. I noticed that odds and ends of diner-style accouterments were here and there in the apartment. She led me to believe that the other lady had done this, without out-and-out saying so. Another time she accused me of weird stuff like writing things on walls and forgetting, and taking things I was not aware of. Later I realized this was PROJECTION. I made what was to me a sickening discovery. OK, it wasn't robbing a bank. Verna and I shared a room in a motel in Las Vegas. As we were leaving, she told me to take the towels. No way! I said. She then, in a routine and businesslike manner, folded up all the towels and put them into her suitcase. This really disturbed me, as the room was in my name. Another strike against her. I cannot abide thievery, even petty thievery.





Now about bad advice. She was a repository of it. I was following a magnificent diet and was totally sold on it, as I said. Being on it over six months did wonders for my body and my mind. She harped and harassed me to "be normal." This went on and on and on. It took her months, but finally, I began eating cooked food again, and later, even meat. I am sorry I listened to her and it took me years to become vegetarian again.


The other thing was sex. I had sworn off sex and not interested in dating at all. I had had my fill of hot and cold running men. But again, her mantra was "normal." She got me fixed up with this guy and that guy, all of them creeps. One was the manager of a nearby motel, which had a pool I could use. This she considered a big deal. I didn't give a crap - just wanted to be left alone and do my Yoga. I am not going to say she made me give up my celibacy, but dating once again, after a while, did make me go off the wagon. I was better off where I was. "Normal" is not always better.


As to food, she had no control. She was also greedy with it. She told me not to eat the food in the house - "If you go to a restaurant it's cheaper."


She meant cheaper for her. Can you imagine her being greedy with food when I was helping to support her? Oh yes, money. At this time she demanded about $350.00 a month. This went on for about two years. I had all these great privileges for that - like staying in her apartment between jobs (a couple weeks at a time) and talking to her on the phone from out of town. Psychologically I did feel like rather a lost soul and she was an anchor, but she wanted it that way. Of course I could have returned to New York and lived with my Dad, and pretty soon I did just that. She exploited the fact that I was all alone and needed help, and she used that problem to get as much money as possible.


The evil thing was that she insulted me so much. She seemed to thrive on breaking my self esteem. The only reason she was nice was because I was a cash cow. Be nice to the cash cow and she will deliver. She never affirmed me in any way except for exactly what she wanted, and that was usually money and nothing else. She did not want me to stay with her and help her build the Church, but said, as I said before, my place was to earn money and send it to her. She would build the Church. But she never built the Church. A Church takes more than money. And whatever it requires, she didn't have what it takes.





One dream that she sold me on was the land in Arizona. She had bought ten acres of desert in Pie Town, and it was the only plot around there, she said, that had a well. I was paying for that land. She said we'd build a spiritual center. I lived with that dream for a long time. When she died, of course, the land just went to her two sons.


When Verna was young she'd been some sort of high school track star. Now I had beautiful legs, and she said, in one of her confounding remarks, that she had given me my legs - that is to say, the muscles in my legs came from her. (transmitted to me like shakti?) The reason her legs were rather muscular was that she was short and if you are short, your legs might show more muscle. But the muscle I had was from exercise, not Verna. She was claiming benefits I had that she never gave me, thereby trying to gain more propriety and jurisdiction over me - all for the purpose of exploitation. She picked on my body constantly. It wasn't enough that she was my Guru. She wanted, somehow, to be responsible for my beauty. She said that before I got in with her, my breasts looked like "bundles." OK, maybe I had a bad bra day. Then she said my face looked pale and lifeless. But as soon as I got in with Verna, my breasts looked perfect, and life and beauty returned to my face...insane stuff. The reason I could have looked "lifeless" because Bogi didn't want me to wear makeup. Without makeup, have you ever seen the stars? They all look plain. I was also under bondage to him and depressed for a while. (But Verna was also bondage.) Being rid of him I started wearing makeup again and maybe I was happier in some ways, although constantly worried about this eccentric woman pushing me around.





The entire history of my friendship with GuruBurna was a series of anecdotes going like this:


Verna's exploitation and greed

Verna's crazy statements and accusations

Verna's eccentric and embarrassing behavior

Verna's schedule which proved how little a lazy woman could do

Verna's speeches on how great she was



Ah, there is a subject not yet remarked. Let us count the ways. Picture Verna in these places and then I will give you her series called "How great I am."


Verna at the beach. Verna drives to the beach daily - for no reason at all, just recreation, to have something to do. Verna does not sit at a desk working (where I often was) or at the gym (never) or looking for people who need help. She does a few things each day. One is, go get a shot from the doctor which will make her lose weight. This shot costs $6.00 which in 1971-72 was a lot of money for a poor person. But she makes a sacrifice. This is some kind of experimental deal and the serum is made of the placenta of pregnant women. After this important transaction - which takes the place of dieting that is impossible for Burna - the drive to the beach,... 45 minutes. I am dragged along. Here I listen to how great she is.


"Tell them about me, a great woman of's the real ones that don't get the credit. The phonies (like Kathryn Kuhlman, for whom she sang in the choir) get all the recognition. Those who are not authentic get the places, but those who are truly real get passed over."


Now at the beach she walks around, muttering, groaning, even crying out to herself, up and down the beach, while I wait by the sidelines.


Then, we go to the supermarket. I am strict vegetarian. She immediately goes to the meat counter. Here she stands, feeling up the chickens, poking at them and muttering, muttering. I walk away not wanting anyone to think I am with her. Twenty minutes later she is still there. I cannot fathom what she is doing and it takes all my patience to put up with it. Luckily, through some of this I was getting teeth fixed and was given a pain killer with codeine. This drug made life with Verna bearable, as without it I felt like screaming.


Now we go to a nice restaurant. She parks illegally. We return and there is a ticket for $40. She explains it was my fault, so I have to pay.


God help me if I ever suggested anything to her: Don't tell me what to do!" Was a constant reminder. She was one of those people that never stopped talking about money. She hated poverty, she hated suffering.


One especially painful experience. On a trip I buy Verna a gold cross. It is overpriced because I get it at the airport. Now she and I are discussing welfare. Again, she's been crying about money. So I ask, being that her back is hurt, can't she go on welfare or something? She SCREAMS,




Next she sends me to her room to get something out of a drawer. She of course, on the couch watching tv can't get up. I go to her room and open the top drawer. I am not nosy and never go into people's things but she sent me. On top of the drawer are two things staring at me. One, the gold cross with an APPRAISAL TICKET on top of it. It is worth only $14.00 although I paid about $28.00. She got my cross appraised because the love didn't count, only what the gold was worth!


The second shock is right there on the top is a WELFARE REFUSAL. She had applied and was turned down, and meanwhile screamed at me for suggesting it!





Now we go to Vegas. I already mentioned the towel incident. Her two loves can be indulged here: eating and gambling. She goes to the all-you-can-eat buffet for $5.98. Not a safe place for someone who should lose weight. At 5'2" and 180...not good.


Then there is some sort of jackpot, where if you win all the numbers, you get $75,000. Three times she said God gave her all the numbers and I had to pay for these little trips, but each time she was just one number off!


There were some incidents that really stuck in my mind as being cruel and humiliating. One was in Vegas. We were someplace far from the center of town and had to wait for a bus. I used to wear shorts during the day, and if I got stuck far from the motel wearing shorts, got cold, as the desert does get cold at night. So I am wearing these shorts and a bright fuchsia stretch top - really standing out - and we are sitting at the bus stop as I am trying to keep warm, sinking into myself. Now Verna says to me, with no explanation,


"Stand up."


I refuse to stand up. She gives no reason, and I don't feel like it because the cold used to bother me a lot. She gets so angry at me and starts to RUN away from the bus stop, down the road! Just runs off in her Pucci dress with fringe, like a madwoman, with myself totally perplexed as to what to do. A couple minutes later a car comes by with two guys we had met. They ask me if I need a ride. I say yes, and down the road we go, a couple miles later, catching up with Verna now sauntering. Naturally, we pick her up and are taken to our destination.


Now the humiliation. Verna tells me that because I disobeyed her, we are on the outs. I apologize. She says that the only way I can be reinstated is to pay a fine of $20.00 and also kneel before her as I hand it to her, and say I am sorry once again. She explained that she psychically knew someone would come by to take us home, and that was the two guys who came by, and she wanted to make sure they saw us. In 1972 $20.00 was not a small fine. It would be something like $80.00 today. But I paid the fine, and I kneeled, and once more, humiliated myself. That one really hurt. I also had to sleep on the floor while Verna used my bed, like a slave and mistress I suppose - but that kind of thing never bothered me. I had a period in my life where I, for years, dispensed all the two beds in my apartment and slept on the floor on sheepskin rugs.


When we looked at pictures of starlets advertised on the outside of a nightclub, Verna said,


"Look at how much light she has in her eyes!" The light in my eyes she never commented on. Having already a history of abuse from my family, my sad thought was,


"Yes, other women have light in their eyes. I have none. I am not as good as they."


Another incident stands out. She was now running for some kind of a minor political office. People were helping, but they were laughable in their efforts. She told me that finally, unless I took part, she had no chance of winning at all - and I had to do something. She insisted I make a spectacle of myself. Wearing a low-cut gown on a busy street, I had to hand out flyers about her campaign. I found this work quite offensive, as my breasts were showing a lot, but this was what she wanted. I drew a crowd. For about two hours traffic slowed down as people stared, and many men took the flyers from their cars. A group gathered around me and a guy came with a movie camera. Finally, after a man got insulting with me I had had enough and went back to the apartment. Verna was satisfied, and at the election, she got 16,000 votes. On the contrary, a close friend of ours who was being wooed by Bogi - a great big egomaniac - was running for mayor. He only got 399 votes and we felt that was humorous, because of the fact that he was so puffed up with himself and Prince Bogi kept referring to him as "our next mayor."


Now in relation to the fact that now Verna saw herself as a political presence, she presented tickets to me for a political fund-raiser that Cicely Tyson was speaking at. They were $20000. a pop, and I was to fork it out. Now we go to the gathering, which is about 90% black. Mz Tyson gives a commendable speech, about those of her race who are not making progress in the movie industry for lack of preparation. Good words...they have always stayed with me. Now after the speech many men approach us, because of my physical beauty. They do not approach me, but her, thinking she's my Mom or something, so she feels really big, and regales everyone with her spiritual exploits and how important she is to God. This sort of talk goes on deaf ears to the general public. Verna has a way of going on about her ministry to those who have not a clue, and just wish she'd shut up. Finally, one man really insults her, and I didn't want this. He says,


"Listen, we are not interested in you. You are only the old lady we are trying to get through to get to the beautiful woman."


But one man is a gentleman, and Verna gives him our number. Not long after, he visits. We go out to a nice restaurant, where we sit a long time talking. Verna talks incessantly about herself. Never does she mention me except in some sort of offhanded or disparaging way. The young man says little. He is a handsome black man, about 28 years old, and there is a calm about him, a serenity and later I see, wisdom. Patiently, we both listen for over an hour. Finally I venture to say something, hoping not to offend Verna, but to offer my services to God.


"I want to preach also!" I say.


She gives me a contemptuous look, like I am laughable.


"Preaching is not what you are best at."


I am crestfallen. But the young man rallies to my defense, for which I shall never forget him. He says, thoughtfully,


"This lady will surprise you."...


Before we had gone to Vegas, Verna kept talking about the friends she had there. I had this little room in a cheap motel - adequate but not great, as it didn't even have a phone. (That proved terrible when some guys came by and tried to kick the door in for five minutes. I realized they'd been looking for someone else after I heard them say, "those bitches must have gone." Without a phone, this is what I was facing.)


When Verna arrives in Vegas - (I drummed up the transportation from strangers nearby who took a liking to me. As they are driving us from the airport, the men laugh at the first time they saw me. One of them says, "We saw what we thought was an old lady sitting at a desk in her room writing. Then she came out in a bikini to the pool, and wow, she was no old lady!"


I was 26 then and Verna 52. I said to the guy,


"If I look like an old lady to you, then how old does Verna look?"


She gave me a withering glance from the front,




The insinuation being that it was ok to call me an old looking lady - but Verna was youth eternal.


So Verna has these "friends" who lived in the apartment building where she was manager, who were buying a house in Vegas. They said to her,


"If you ever come to Vegas, you stay with us."


Verna is adamant about the fact that she does not have to bunk in with me - she has friends. We visit. A young couple and a big, nice house. We talk and talk, and I pop up with my great luck at the slot machine. I never gamble but I saw a machine, my voice told me to play it, and I put in a quarter. Out comes $10.00.


"I just have this great inner connection with God" I say.


Verna fumes,


"What are you talking about? It is my connection, not got it all from me, etc."


The young couple seems to cringe at her hostility toward me. After some time, the male says to her,


"We are very sorry, Verna, but our cousins are arriving soon and we have no room for you to stay here."


Of course, people say offhandedly to someone, you can come and stay with them when you visit the area. But more often than not, unless you are good friends, they don't mean it. Verna was grasping at straws. When she attacked me it probably reminded them how obnoxious she was, and they wanted no part of her. That is how Verna got egg on her face, and I ended up on the floor with her in my bed.





Her incessant spiel was that I tell the world what a great woman of God she was. All this was based on the fact that she did heal me, I always felt great when she spoke to me on the phone (shakti was transmitted to me each time, taking from me any depression or anxiety I had) and she was a great channeler. But there was little evidence of her helping anyone else outside of myself - although I must say that few people allowed her ministrations. Her personality was so bossy, so offensive, that most people wanted to get away from her.


Wanting to obey, I contacted a few newspapers out of town to write a story on the Woman of God. But they weren't interested. I tried this many times in many places, always with the same answer.


Now here I did something few people would do. I decided, that since Verna wanted promotion in a newspaper, it had to be. They wouldn't print it for free, so I had to pay for it. But to present a statement on Verna as a paid add, I had to type it first. On the road in a hotel room, I did not possess a typewriter. Walking down the street, praying, I came upon A TYPING SCHOOL. Walking in, I spoke with the manager.


"May I pay you to use one of your typewriters?"


God had answered my prayer,


"Go right ahead, over there. No charge."


I type this tribute to Verna, call the newspaper and pay $400.00 for a display add. The Woman of God is being promoted, no matter what it takes.





Verna, as a channeler, was picking up Jesus all the time, or so she said. Lots of times she had souls who said things I didn't care for. One told her I couldn't stand her. I didn't want her to know that. Another soul - she says Clark Gable, said of me,


"She doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground."


But dear Jesus stood up for me. Verna channeled the following messages from Him:


"Why are you being so hateful toward her? She is going to be a great Saint."


Verna's answer, "If I don't treat her this way, she will not become a great Saint." Oh, Guru, give me a break.


He also said of me, "She is stronger and nobler of nature than you."


I was surprised Verna carried that message.


Now all of the above raises questions. Why did I stick it through, and how could I stand it? Why didn't I just go away and leave, like the rest of them? She did have one other disciple, Verita, who lived with her, but Verna told me, "She counted every penny. We had to go 50/50 on all expenses...but God said you are OVERLY generous."


I only did what I was asked and being tight was not my persona.





What is obvious to the senses and mind is the personality, but underneath that was the Anointing. I yearned for That. It carried God, it carried Presence and Power. Few people could stretch past the personality to the Reality underneath, and that was their loss. I felt that good things were worth suffering for, and this was good. In Wagner's Ring, Siegfried had to go through fire to find Brunhilda, and he was the only Hero who could, thereby awakening her and winning her love. It is one of my favorite, if not the favorite opera arias of all time - when Brunhilda awakens to the Light. Maybe God ain't so easy to get. Maybe God wants to hide Herself in secret places, where no one wants to go, so that the riff raff and the lesser mortals cannot reach that which is most precious. After all, death to self isn't easy, either. The saints all went through Hell to get to Heaven, one Priest told me. That is it in a nutshell. You want God, you suffer. You bear nasty people and situations. The axiom I also followed was this,


"Here is a woman anointed by God. Now I know her and she is helping me spiritually. Shall I spurn her because I can't stand her? Or shall I put up with it because God has given her something, and therefore, how can I judge God? Will I tell God in whom to put the anointing, that this one is not suitable for me, and that God should choose someone nicer? Nothing of the sort, I thought. Whatever God gives me, I must go with it, and receive it, and be grateful for it. In fact, although I was insulted and annoyed, for a long time, I only spoke of how wonderful Verna was. It was years later I realized she had abused me. This did not make me hate her, just look at it realistically. On some level I always loved her because of the Gift inside. And in spite of her behavior, on some level, she respected or even loved me. After all, she was channeling shakti into me for seven years! Once she told me she cried out to God,


"Why are you sending her so much light?" (this was the light through her office) And she said God said,


"Because she is so pitiful."


Once again, Verna liked this because it made me seem small. In the great movie, "The Red Shoes," a young composer tries to retrieve a letter that he wrote, from the entrepreneur, concerning his professor who stole his music, "Heart of Fire." The impresario says, unfortunately, I have already read your letter. He then adds a word of advise I shall never forget,


"It is better to be stolen from, than to have to steal."


If people were putting me down constantly, they were stealing from me. They were taking away my reputation and my self esteem. Or so they thought. And if they want to do this it means they are insecure and I have something they don't.


I had a spiritual son years later who was half Chinese. He was the most mystical boy I had known. He told me some interesting things. One, he saw the three balls of light above me which were my Guardian Angels. (I had seen them physically as huge balls of light once and didn't know what they were. I thought they were UFO'S.) He also informed me that the main reason Verna was so hateful to me, was not my physical beauty.


"What was it then?" I asked.


"It was those two virtues you have that are so strong. Zeal and obedience. She was jealous of this."


Aha, how understanding brings closure.







Verna Talbot Puts Death Curses on me TWICE...

I Finally Escape from GuruBurna...

GuruBurna Dies...

I Receive Her Great Anointing...

Conclusion on "Gurus From Hell"



© 2004 - 2006 RASA VON WERDER