Posts Tagged ‘making fun of gurus’

Let’s Talk About Braco

Monday, March 26th, 2012
He exists.
That much I can verify without hesitation.As for the rest of the claims? Well. Um. I’m going to have to go with a solid “I don’t know.”

I’ve taken this time – a month plus. One shouldn’t rush philosophical inquiry – to reflect on the age-old question: is it a mystical experience or is it caffeine?

We made it to Braco. We returned to Lahaina a second time and found a small line of people waiting to get in. It was high hilarity…in theory. When we were actually sitting there in this weird room that kind of reminded me of church with a small group of maybe 25 people, I started to feel self-conscious.

“What are we doing here?” I hissed at Jason, just before bursting into nervous laughter. What WERE we doing there? Well, mocking a Croatian guru with our mere presence, that’s what. And I felt kind of guilty about it, if you must know. Who am I to say he doesn’t heal with his gaze? Well, a rational sane person, for one, but that’s beside the point.

Anyway, the thing got started with a spastic woman going on and on about the wonderment that is Braco. She had one of those toothy horsey grins and a vibe I can only describe as hyperactive on speed. If enthusiasm really were contagious, I would be Richard Simmons right now.

She tried her best to pump us up with stories of the famous people you’ve never heard of and their devotion to Braco. There was the prince of some Azikstan or the like who shows up whenever the going gets rough. There was the Croatian rock star whose fame had rendered him bummed out on life.¬† He came to gaze with Braco and everything turned around. He was so impressed, he wrote an entire album – in English. Bad call – entitled “Thank you, Braco” which apparently was some kind of political risk (is Braco illegal in Croatia?) or maybe just career suicide. Either way, our overly excited hostess stressed that there was grave danger and serious peril involved, and I am going to take her word for it.

At some point, we were told the tale of the Midwestern lady who came and gazed with him all day long for days on end and then decided to make it her life’s mission to bring him to Indianapolis. It was around this time that I started to get scared that maybe he’d put some kind of spell on me and I, too, would be seized by a compulsion to serve him.
Then came the movie and my fears were put to rest.
The movie.
Oh, the movie.
It was, I think, a celebration of Braco ‘s existence or maybe the story of his life or perhaps it was just a long Levis commercial. Judging from the prevalence of tight-fitting, acid washed offerings, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Regardless, it was a photo montage and kind of embarrassing. If one of you ever makes such a thing featuring me and I’m alive to see it, I will never speak to you again. Or in the first place.
Meanwhile, and don’t get too excited, but I just saved you $7 AND made this commentary a lot more relevant. Feast your eyes on the exact movie I’m talking about and keep your expectations low. You won’t be disappointed:


Now, they recommend you don’t look at Braco for more than 30 seconds at a time. Or maybe it was three minutes? Either way, it’s probably not wise to blog about him for more than 600 characters¬† AND include a video, so I am going to spare your embryos and your virility and save the second half of this adventure for tomorrow.

I know what you’re thinking, “Lies! All lies!” but watch and wait. I may just surprise you.

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