I realized the other day that I’d just missed Guru Singh’s birthday, the man who’d predicted it all. As in, my writing career, back when I didn’t think I’d amount to much more than Head Poop-Picker-Upper on the mean streets of Beverly Hills. Not that I didn’t love being an “animal excrement engineer,” as my sister called me.
Dog walking is magical. Easy Street stuff, if you don’t mind chasing canines in the hot sun all day (I didn’t). I was the one getting treated like a movie star by the pups of Julia Roberts & Kiefer Sutherland (before their wedding crashed), Kurt Douglas, and Paul Williams. They always thought I was beautiful, those pups. No hair or makeup required.
But Guru levitated into my life with his fairy dust and prophecies and changed everything, as Gurus tend to do (it’s in the job description). To help start your Monday off magically, here’s some inspo for keeping your eyes on the dream you’ve perhaps been hiding from everyone, even yourself. A Beautiful Writers book excerpt with a few pics I posted on social to make these folks come to life.
You’ll know the players if you’ve read the New Mexico portions of Beautiful Writers (you have, haven’t you?):
✨The Yogi & the Shaman.
✨Our solar cabin w/ blanket curtains.
✨Group pic following ceremony & Thomas’s Feast Way.
✨Grampa Pete Concha, the spiritual leader of the Taos Pueblo.
✨Guru’s episode graphic for the Beautiful Writers Podcast.
Excerpt: “Linda! You’re going to love this magic guy I just went to!” my sister Carol said, breathless. “Trust me! You’ve got to book a session!”
Guru Singh, a Sikh leader, healer, and master yoga teacher, had given her just the right spiritual prescription in one session to put a stop to her wailing over her recent breakup with Bad Boyfriend. Thank God for that; nothing else had worked. Several of the world’s biggest movie stars, in fact—who I imagined could afford the best and probably had A+ level bullshit detectors—also credited this nondenominational, all-religions-welcome Guru character with their emotional and financial freedom.
Hmm. Did I need healing? What if he could confirm Drew’s astrological prediction? What ultimately cinched it for me was that Guru had just been named “Best Guru in Los Angeles” by Los Angeles magazine. Uh-huh. So very La La Land.
I arrived for my session to find Guru’s West Hollywood compound abloom in sweet-smelling jasmine. Wind chimes crashed, an unseasonable warning of a relentless Santa Ana wind season to come. Guru greeted me outside, a tall smiling man with a long, dark beard and bright blue eyes, clad in pure white from turbaned head to sandaled toes. His fingers were adorned with citrine and moonstone rings, and silver bangles climbed up one arm.
We took our shoes off at the door to his office, a white room that smelled of incense and earth, with large flat pillows on the floor. Guru and his healing center were exactly as you’d imagine. Crystals as big as softballs were strewn about. A floor-to-ceiling mirror covered one wall, festooned with hundreds of stickers straight out of a label maker:
“Do not try to fit in; you fit perfectly in you.”
“Accept the other as yourself.”
“Eternity is not at all logical.”
“Time is always here forever, and it’s always right now.”
Unlike in his yoga classes, where Los Angeles magazine wrote that you had to “levitate for space,” we sat comfortably cross-legged facing one another on a large area rug. Suddenly, Guru stopped smiling or blinking and looked into my eyes as if evaluating my very existence. Almost a minute passed. I nodded nervously. Will he see how blessed my future’s supposed to be too? Will my aura or vibes reveal the destiny Drew saw?
“What the hell are you doing hiding behind all those dogs?!” Guru scolded.
Well, that was unexpected. Whoa, how does he know about my dog-walking business? Did Carol talk with him about me? His penetrating eyes stayed locked onto mine; the ferocity of his stare unnerved me. Um, am I in trouble? What does he mean, hiding behind all those dogs?
“You’re supposed to be a writer, remembered for at least a hundred and fifty years after your death,” he boomed, as if reading my heart. “When are you going to stop avoiding your destiny?”
Destiny?! Writer?! Wait! How does he know about my secret literary dreams? I hadn’t told him anything; Carol must have. But hold up! Not even Carol knows!
I felt enormously uncomfortable and profoundly relieved all at the same time. “But what am I supposed to write?” I asked. I hoped Guru didn’t give the same prophecy to everyone and that he’d have the answer to this too. The only topic that motivated me was educating people on things Mom had taught me about the environment. But that wasn’t popular, and in any case, I was no expert. How could I, a diploma-less laywoman, hope to make such topics entertaining to a populace that didn’t seem to give a shit?
“Words to heal humanity,” Guru pronounced. “You will write words to heal humanity.”
Oh, is that all? No biggie, although that was precisely what I yearned to do. But this all sounded ridiculously grandiose, particularly for someone who hadn’t written anything longer than a grocery list for ages. Guru kept on, each word speaking to my greatest wish—the one held close by my kid self, where I hoped dearly that one day I’d pen books that, like the aforementioned rows of gilt-edged encyclopedias that graced my childhood home, would stand the test of time.
I shielded my eyes with a groan-squeal and shook my head. “I’m scared,Guru. I don’t know if I can do it!”
“Stop! That’s horseshit, and you know it!” Guru was glaring at me, or through me, I couldn’t tell which. He seemed genuinely irritated. I wasn’t used to men scolding me—well, not before marrying Jesse. Jeez. Carol said he was so compassionate; when does that kick in? And are gurus allowed to swear like this? Can’t he see I still have six weeks before my auspicious window opens? Don’t these shaman types ever compare notes?
Guru motioned for me to sit in what looked like a tilted massage chair in a womb of a second room no larger than a walk-in closet. As I lay back, he covered my body in a weighty white blanket and slid cool egg-shaped crystals into my palms and another larger one over my heart that was connected to some kind of electrode or something because it was pulsing and lit from within. As the scent of sandalwood focused my senses, Guru placed bulky black headphones over my ears and shielded my eyes with a soft cloth. My cocooning was complete.
My headset came alive with tinkling bells, birdsong, waterfalls, and what could only be described as space vibrations. Guru held a microphone in his hand and began to speak powerful affirmations that seemed to merge with the mysterious symphony. I tried to memorize the various commandments he was imbuing into my consciousness, but I lost his words as soon as I heard them. Just relax and trust, I told myself. My breathing deepened.
An hour later, the faint pinging of a gong woke me up, but I had no idea how long I’d been out. “Keep your eyes closed and wiggle your toes,” Guru said as he put a Kleenex laced with lavender oil into my palm and raised it to my nose. The effect was immediate, like fragrant smelling salts. I was suddenly fully in my body.
“Good work!” Guru said, his voice now mellow, sweet. He uncovered my eyes and handed me a glass of Emergen-C vitamin drink before sitting down next to me. “You’re ready to step into your bigger life now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah!” I answered, careful not to break his gaze. Am I out of trouble yet?
“The wheels are already in motion,” he said with a wink. Goosebumps raced across my arms.
For the magic & mayhem that followed Guru’s prediction—& what to do to secure your prophetic writing support, read the copy you’ve got collecting dust on your bedside table already, or order your beautiful copy here.
And PS. You don’t have to have a guru. Trust your ache. You have the ache because you have what it takes. Let the very fact that you want something be enough of a reason. Your desire is the only WHY you’ll ever need.
And, in most of the stories throughout this chapter, there was one person, one sacred relationship, that made a significant difference. Your people—coaches, mentors, groups, and uplifting friends—are out there, everywhere. When you find them—those who get you, believe in you, and hold the vision if or when you can’t—stay close.
Every book, every character, every story has a champion. Sometimes, that champion spots the potential within you; sometimes, that champion is you.
Write on!
Linda xo
PS. Guru told me you really should get the book. You’ll love it. He knows these things 😀.
