by Anodea Judith

 In fact, I was too poor to own a car. Mostly, I got around on a bicycle, sometimes carrying paint cans from the handlebars, or occasionally renting a truck when I needed to move equipment.

This particular mural commission was for the inside of what was once a movie theatre, located on the infamous Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, California. It was to be converted to an indoor mini-mall for craftspeople to sell their wares, one large, shared space, but set up with separate booths for the artisans. My job was to paint a coherent but idealistic landscape that tied the whole place together. To add to the challenge, I often had to work at night, so as to avoid other workmen on the project. On rainy nights, I left my bicycle at home and took public transportation or hitchhiked.

The man who commissioned the job was a devotee of a local guru, Swami Muktananda, who had an ashram in nearby Oakland. I wasn’t particularly into gurus at the time, being more into goddesses, but I was open to all things spiritual, and duly paid homage to his picture that hung over the back of the room each day when I entered.

The space was huge, 140 by 60 feet, and I was to paint clouds all across the ceiling, and a visionary landscape around the sides. I began in the corner, painting a small statue of Iris, the Greek Goddess of the rainbow, whose prismatic arc was believed to be the bridge between humans and the gods. I humbly asked her to bless the project.

One rainy night, when I was about to head home, my employer suggested I look at the picture and ask the guru to help me travel easily and safely. Why not, I thought and went about doing so. After my prayer, I stepped out onto the sidewalk, but just missed the bus, water splashing all over me as it went by. Knowing it would be a good 20 minutes before the next bus came, I stuck out my thumb. Car after car went by, and no one stopped. The rain was coming down harder and harder and I was soaked. My prayer went unanswered.

So I changed my tactic. I said, “OK, Goddess, sorry I didn’t ask you first, but now it’s your turn. Will you help get me home?” I didn’t pray to a particular goddess, I didn’t do a big mumbo jumbo ritual, I just appealed to her, simply, with my dold, wet need. No sooner had I made this prayer, than a lovely woman driving a silver BMW pulled up to the curb. The window slid down and she leaned forward and said, “Need a ride, honey?”

I nodded and gratefully climbed into the passenger seat. It was warm and cozy inside and my favorite jazz station was playing on the radio. After asking where I was going she told me, “Whenever it’s raining, I make it a point to pick up women hitchhikers, to help keep them safe. It’s the way I pay my tribute to the Goddess.”

And with that, She took me all the way home.

Anodea Judith
Excerpt from GODDESS: BLESSED REUNIONS WITH THE FEMININE FACE OF THE DIVINE