Transforming the Big Muddy into an oasis

Rosalie’s start as a Twinkie on Rancho Rajneesh, with visitors and media streaming in.

My first hour at the Ranch

My first day, my first hour, as a resident of Rancho Rajneesh, was beyond thrilling! I was assigned, without asking, to the public relations department. I remember walking up the two wooden makeshift stairs to the trailer. Opening the door was the rush of my new world, before my eyes! In front of the door, sitting at a desk was Shunyo, Makima’s mother, an elderly women who wrapped me in her warmth with a big hello. To my left was Veena, an oh-so-elegant, beautiful, and refined English woman.

They told me the good news: they were now referred to as ‘Twinkies’. Shunyo, who was American, coined the nickname from a cake we Americans grew up with. The name stuck and from then on we were referred to as The Twinkies. I was delighted!

The door opened and this time it was Isabel! I had been living in the Portland Rajneesh Meditation Center before receiving an invitation to the Ranch.

My job, while in Portland, was to be a courier, delivering and picking up tapes from local TV stations. In the evenings we would watch the interviews given by Isabel, so there she was!

Within moments I was wooshed away, in a Suburban, and sitting in the passenger seat was a plain-clothed man; rather serious – was my first impression. Off we went, me learning first-hand from Isabel, not only how to give a tour, but more importantly, the style, the wit and intelligence from my dream-come-true mentor!

I sat in the back seat listening intently to every word she uttered. It seemed to me this serious man may be caving in and maybe unable to stay focused on whatever his intentions and questions were. Isabel’s charm and beauty must be throwing him off his game. How could he resist? We were heading into the Ranch yard and were parking in front of the trailer when he turned his head and whole body toward me.

He asked, glaring into my eyes, “Do you know anything about marriages between foreigners and Americans?” My heart seemed to stop. The magical spell I thought he and I were under, came to a screeching halt! Up until then I was a fly on the wall, simply there to observe. “No, I have never heard anything like that occurring,” I replied. Both set of eyes riveted on mine, as if I may give something away. He then asked, “Have you married anyone?” “Well, I was brought here as a mail order bride.” (A mail bride was a playful way to describe those of us who were imported by our boyfriends. We became residents without needing additional accommodation which was scarce in the beginning.) I didn’t dare glance at Isabel in case it might appear I was looking to be coached.

“What is that?” he asked. I explained with an air of pride and the unflappable stance of a natural born Twinkie. “Is he European?” “No,” I replied, “he is from Texas!” Visibly annoyed that I was not the live fish he thought he had caught, he turned away from me. Isabel seemed to exhale, and said nothing, but I knew I had passed my first test by being thrown into the frying pan and surviving. Later I found out that the serious man was an FBI agent.That’s when I knew that the stakes were high and a wrong answer might jeopardize the existence of the commune. I got cold feet. The following morning I met with Vidya explaining, “I am not right for the job.”

Mahakashyapa

That very day, on January 2, 1982, I was assigned to work at the radio nerve center of the Ranch. This was a perfect first step for me to integrate as a member of the community. It was located in the original barn with a window that could view, at least in those first months, all the comings and goings of ranch life.

There were so many great snapshots seen from that window, for instance, a garbage truck with a lovely Madhuma jumping out, at every stop picking up piles of garbage and piles of hugs. Swamis with oil-stained faces and hands, enormous smiles, clumping across the yard with mud up to the top of their boots. RBG and the welding shop right across in the old sheep shed – a nonstop activity. Heavy equipment driving by, dump trucks, buses and Twinkie tours. I felt a pang of regret as I watched those go by. Four months later I was back to being a Twinkie.

Returning

I now felt included and had a sense of community. I returned to the little trailer and from that day forward till the end, I remained a Twinkie.

By the time the Ranch came to a close there had been dozens, mostly women, working for various lengths of time. By the end we had expanded to about 15 Twinkies, managing all the media that swarmed into the Ranch, each of them needing one of us to chaperone them. We were a hot story in the press, so to speak, ‘on fire’! Exactly what Bhagwan wanted. The whole world was looking at us and, as I understood, the fire would grow from an ember to a blaze and in that moment all of humanity could wake up!

Twinkie life day-to-day was changing at the same pace as the commune was changing. The more we accomplished and turned the Big Muddy into a farming community, and then into an incorporated city, the more curious visitors made the journey down the county road, and the more journalists would arrive for lengthy editorial articles in magazines and newspapers.

I remember, a lovely journalist and his wife stayed for an extended amount of time to get a feeling of what we were really up to. We had a wonderful time with him and he with us. Stern‘s lengthy article, complete with a lot of beautiful photographs, hit the stands just before the shit hit the fan on Rancho Rajnesh.

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Giving tours

It was wonderful to give tours of the Ranch and watch every day the changes that were happening. With a blink of an eye the culverts were installed to redirect the water so roads could be carved into the hills and mountains.

A-frames and quadruplexes using tent platforms from the festival and voilà’ Walt Whitman and Alan Watts Groves appeared! The truck farm started with rows of seedlings that were watered by an irrigation system, and presto! – rows of vegetables to feed our commune. A dam, not just any dam, landscaped with our logo that welcomed each visitor as they made their way down the 26-mile narrow, dusty, bumpy county road. Surely, whatever their preconceived ideas, these would be dispelled by seeing the beauty of the dam and Krishnamurti Lake. They knew, right then, this would be an experience like no other!

It was very easy to show off our community as everything was so beautiful including every one of us. The brilliance was evident. I gave approximately 1000 tours and, sometimes I felt robotic. And when I was feeling that way I would remind myself that Bhagwan would talk about how he would eat the same dal every day and was always excited to be served, as if for the first time!

By the time the tour was finished everything was making sense. All questions were answered and their fears quashed. They had had a personal experience. My heart brimmed with love, viewing from the tour bus our commune and all we were accomplishing from one day to the next.

When I said goodbye to the visitors most often their eyes were bright and many hugged me. I congratulated them for taking the time to have a real experience. My wish was always that they would go out into their communities and tell their friends how awesome Rajneeshpuram was and that the orange people turned the Big Muddy into an oasis!

Working with the media

Working with the press the first few years was mostly interesting and we became friends with some of the journalists who came frequently. They expressed sympathy and were falling in love with our commune, seeing that the transformation and all that we were doing was fueled by our love and sincerity. Some wonderful articles were written in the early days.

One journalist had his own column in an LA daily. The first year he had come out of curiosity. Two years later he came to write an investigative exposé. The story of Rajneeshpuram was now on the radar and had grown exponentially in the awareness of the public. He made his way back with the intent to do a lot of research this time.

Before he arrived he had already interviewed the governor in Portland, Oregon’s attorney general, the land commissioner, the mayor of The Dalles. He knew now why Oregon was on a campaign against our very presence. I talked with him and felt that his guard was up. He had a whole other feel to him from when I met him two years before. He was determined not to be swayed, by all there was to be swayed by.

It stands out for me now that he said he had been warned to watch out for the Twinkies, as we might distract him from focusing on the piece he came to write. My role was to warm him up, make him feel welcome and safe and then pass him on to Isabel. She took over from there. He had interviews with Sheela, Niren and many others.

He learned about our plans for the future and he even visited The Institute of Nature Living at Patanjali Lake. Sunny was there, as the on-site Twinkie, and I was the Twinkie who brought him there. We had a lovely day. He wrote in his article about the lake experience and that he was genuinely moved by the kids arriving nude (as we all were), boys and girls, jumping into the lake, enjoying each other without being self-conscious.

He requested an audience with Bhagwan, but it was not granted. His extensive 3-part article was objective, and for the most part positive. As an acknowledgement, and even as a bow of his head to Bhagwan, his picture that usually appeared in his column was replaced by a picture of Bhagwan.

The media became more and more aggressive as the years went by. At drive-by the photographers would rush toward Bhagwan’s car to get the shot they wanted. As this posed a danger to him we were instructed to hold on to the waistbands of their pants. There was something comical about this. The more forceful they were lunging toward the car, the more we were holding them back. It was quite a tug of war!

Taking the show on the road

The Twinkies were invited to talk at various venues in Oregon. With great effort and good intentions, we would take our act on the road. These public events helped to further educate the Oregonians about Rajneeshpuram. Once I was speaking at the University of Oregon, and that day was escorted by Anahata. There were about 300 people in the audience. I stood in front of a podium and Anahata was seated to the left of me at a long table. We both had microphones.

Most students were genuinely interested, but about a half hour into it, a number of hostile men started accusing us of having an arsenal and a stock pile of ammunition, ready to go to war against Oregonians. Of course we had invited the press to have a public viewing of the weapons we had as part of the Rajneeshpuram Peace Force and the security force, so there was no denying the obvious. In that moment I reached into my personal arsenal that I had learned from listening to Sheela defend the commune. I looked into the crowd and heard myself saying, “There is so much aggression in this room that if you all had guns I would be dead!” The room fell into silence. I shocked myself!

The next question came from a lovely sweet young women. I imagined she was trying to keep the peace, which is usually my role in life… She asked a question referencing the Bible. This was way out of my league, I had never read the Bible and was brought up Jewish. Anahata began to talk about Jesus’s message and with his smooth southern gentleman voice and demeanor steered the volatile vibe into what felt like a slow walk in the park with a gentle breeze. Whew, I felt I had missed a bullet. I was so grateful Anahata was with me.

After the talk people surrounded us with reassuring comments that they enjoyed the talk and were sincerely interested in visiting Rajneeshpuram.

Photos of Rosalie thanks to Prabhat, Vinod and Haridas, plus still from TV show – snapshots in slide show thanks to Nirdosh, Prapat, Arjava, Tara, Ann and friends on FB