Bohemian Artists and a Little Baba Story

     If I could live in any place and 
time, it would be Paris, the Left Bank in the twenties, like the Woody Allen movie, Midnight in
Paris.
     I would like to hang out with 
Gertrude Stein, Picasso, Picasso's mistress, Hemingway, etc..  I would like to drink red wine with 
them and strong espresso in little white cups with a lemon peel and talk about art, music, writing and philosophy.
     In this day and age many people do not value the artist.  For instance, being legally blind and a stay at home person, people say to
me and I find it irritating, "so what do you do all day?"  
     I feel like giving a smart-ass comment like "I have the same number of hours in a day as everyone else" or maybe even, "nothing, just hang around and stare into space like a
total dead beat."
     But, instead I say, "I am a musician and a writer."  Sometimes I might add that I pay bills, clean the house, grocery shop, take care of my son who has an illness, socialize, etc..  Unfortunately, I am not a smart-ass.  Recently a guy made a rude remark about my eyesight.  I told my old mobility instructor's intern, who I am very good friends with way after being a student or his internship, but he said, "you should have said, thank you for showing your ignorance."
     Many years ago, Baba informed Elizabeth Patterson that a man named Michael on the fourth plane, a dangerous place for the aspirant and intimidating to others, for the fourth plane person can do miracles, would be coming to the Meher Center, and that he could not stay very long, that she must see to that.  Scary, huh?
     Michael visited my parents who lived at the Baba Center.  I do not recall him.  I was very young, a small child.  They said he was handsome, rich, charismatic and attractive to the women.  He also wore beautiful clothing and carried a velvet money pouch.
     He asked my father, "what do you do here?"  My father was an artist, but that is not what he said.
     My father replied, "I open the gate in the morning and I close it at night."  Later that day or the next my father saw him opening the gate with a key for someone.
     I thought this an amusing anecdote.  I heard that he was giving discourses at the boat house and lots of women went, even my mother I think.