So Friday 10/7 i went back to the Ashram. Surya was there, and we went to the Bodhi tree, then headed out to the federal building in los angeles a 10+ mi (16km) bike ride, one way. By the time we got there we were both sweating sufficiently that the sweat could be seen through our shirts. Surya was wearing a red nurses shirt, which i complimented him on earlier that morning. The plan, or at least as far as i could fathom it, was to see if we could connect and hopefully synchronize with people who were involved heavily in the music industry, and, of course, to spread the Dharma and insure justice is served.
There is some backstory to the whole point of trying to achieve music connections in the first place. There is an individual "Thunder Wolf" that wanted to meet with Surya regarding music production. Apparently getting a high end music studio to record this music was a goal.
I don't follow Michael Jackson's career (may peace be upon them), and only after this incident did i even know that popropol was the medication alleged to have caused his death.
Surya claimed to be MJ's chef for 40 years, which i found highly improbable, but didn't see why such a claim whether true or false was particularly relevant. Surya wanted to go there, and i needed something to do. He was more than capapble of name dropping, and as someone who didn't follow MJ's music or career very well, it didn't mean much to me. He did say "Latoya Jackson", and a few of the other more familiar familial names, but that wasn't exactly conclusive proof to me. Perhaps it's just his desire to create a story in life itself.
...it was nice to have a purpose, whether it resided in the imagination or not was irrelevant. The ride there was hard work, good exercise, and on the way there i could see how, indeed, Surya did ride like a bat out of hell.
Surya had already been there before, and he went straight to a woman who was on the side of Dr. Murray. She said that there were different lines, one for MJ supporters, and another for Murray supporters.
I pulled my bike up next to a tree, and put my bag down. Surya began to speak to this lady, and as i was putting my stuff down, a petite woman approached me.
"Can i talk to you?" asked the lady, through large dark sunglasses.
I looked at her, and not knowing the situation, or why she was singling me out, spoke thusly.
"Can you take those sunglasses off?"
She didn't take her sunglasses off, and i put my beanie over my eyes slightly. Surya then spoke some words to her, and she resented his presence and perhaps my request. A man nearby got involved then, and Surya told him he would perform violence on him if he didn't back off. The woman then felt she had grounds to get the police involved and walked off. Another man nearby, in a hopeful helpful tone, said "nobody is going to be doing any violence on anyone." I found the whole thing to be kind of silly, but at the same time, was thankful Surya didn't get involved in a physical confrontation. I do not like violence, whether verbal or physical.
Surya then talked to the other woman that he had known from before, and she told him that the mysterious woman with the dark glasses couldn't do any harm, which seemed to put us at ease.
Surya told the taller darker skinned woman that he was Michael Jackson's chef for 40 years, and went with it without a problem.
We then walked in through security. We both only had our keys on us, interestingly enough i had anticipated on leaving all things in my pockets at home, but never got rid of the keys. I guess homes are far too important to part with.
We wandered around a bit looking for the court room. Fascinatingly enough there was no 8th floor in the federal building. There was a 7, a 9, but no 8. Kind of a strange thing. It is either some kind of odd numbering practice that makes 8 into 9 or something, like they do with the 13th floor superstitiously on many buildings, or there's a secret 8th floor accessible by other means, which i find unlikely. At any rate, after spending some time on the 8/9 floor, we spoke to a few people, like an impersonator that was a cross between MJ, Samy Davis Jr., and James Brown. A few members of the Jackson family appeared to walk out, i think it may have been Germain, but i'm no expert on the Jackson family. We left after Surya tried to speak to the defense attorney, and went back downstairs to our bikes. I had to be home at 10am, and was already an hour late, when i noticed my phone had 10 missed calls. Surya then started to speak to the woman wearing dark glasses, who was caring a Michael Jackson sign, and as i grabbed my bag to leave i pointed out, more to myself than anyone else, that Michael Jackson was dead (i haven't heard anyone say where "he" was now with any certainty, aside from, of course, the materialistic nihilist view from the physical body as the self that he was "gone"), then mentioned heaven, hell, and perhaps rebirth. As i got on my bike, ready to leave, thinking Surya would also be leaving, i overheard the woman tell him that he was not Michael Jackson's chef, and that Dr. Murray was tantamount to his murderer (or the one that pulled the trigger). I didn't have anymore time, so i told them i would see them later, and prepare myself for the 10mi (16km) ride back home.
The next day, Surya said that he gave my card to the woman, but that she wasn't interested because there was no phone number. Ironically, my email address, twitter, and live chat are on there, so it is conceivable to get a hold of me for something worth while. But, perhaps the story will unfold further next week.
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