My Gut Says He’s Right

I have been trying to put a respectable effort into Twitter and Facebook. I think I must be a born recluse, because I am incapable of getting excited about these services. And it disturbs me when someone I know “retweets” someone I don’t want to follow.

I am giving it the old college try, regardless.

Today on Facebook, someone asked if I was sorry to see Oprah’s show go off the air. Something like that. I had to vote “no,” partly because she promotes a professional antichrist by the name of Eckhardt Tolle.

There have been so many antichrists and gurus of real quality, it’s hard to believe people fall for this one. I could understand thinking Krishnamurti had the answer. Or Buddha. But Tolle is to antichrists as The Weekly World News is to Investor’s Business Daily. If the Dalai Lama is Olivier, Eckhardt Tolle is Yogi Bear.

Today I saw a real gem from this guy. Some poor lost soul wanted to know if it was okay to eat meat, and Tolle told her (I’m sure it was a her) to ask her body. It works like this: you think of the food, and you feel one of two things. Your body tries to open up to the food, or it contracts away from it. If your body opens up, it means the food is good for you, because “The body knows more about food than your mind ever will.”

Try this right now. I did. Apparently I should be living on pork sausage, pizza, ice cream, biscuits, country ham, and Tootsie Rolls. That’s just the list so far. If my body is right, medical science has made some terrible mistakes.

My body will open up to all sorts of stuff. Scotch. Cocaine. Ritalin (I loved that stuff). Caffeine. Premarital sex. Opiates. Even fruit-scented shampoo; when I smell it, a part of me wants to drink it. My body is getting all excited, just making this list.

My body is a moron. It probably thinks Eckhardt Tolle is the savior of the world. If my body called the shots, I would be worshiping either Naomi Campbell or Ronald McDonald.

It has to be a bummer to for a guy with Tolle’s pride to be severely outperformed by a third-tier science fiction writer who said our troubles were caused by dead people sent here in DC-8s by an alien named Xenu. And Tolle is also eating the dust of a convicted con man who pretended to read ancient Mormon mysteries off a pile of impossibly heavy gold plates contained in…a hat. And who claimed an Egyptian papyrus depicting mummification techniques was actually the collected works of Abraham.

If you’re going to fall for something, at least fall for something plausible. Don’t worship a toaster or the number 15 or a guy who shares Oprah’s private pantheon with Dr. Phil and a physician who has nearly succeeded in trademarking the word “poop.”

I wish I had some Pop Tarts. My brilliant body is really open to them right now.