"[T]he only subjective account of a mystical experience induced during ritual tantric sex ever written. That Ward experienced it, and that this experience was profound, there seems little reason to doubt. . . . Diabolically funny at times, this is also a brave, wise, and brilliant book."— Toronto Star "This book is . . . about learning. Its great strength, aside from its finely crafted prose, is Ward’s honesty about what he learned . . . The process of acquiring wisdom provides the narrative with its dramatic muscle . . . risky, bracing stuff."— The Globe and Mail Tim Ward spent six years in the Orient wandering the Dharma trail. He visited temples and monasteries, desert ashrams, and mountain top holy places, seeking out monks and mystics. In this, his third and most sensual book, Tim falls in love with Sabina, who has come to India to research the temptation of the Buddha by Mara (Hinduism’s devil) and his three daughters. The Buddha overcame his final temptation, in the moment before Enlightenment, by touching the earth beneath him, and asking the Earth to bear witness to his Realization. The Earth Goddess rose in his defense. For her thesis, Sabina must record and photograph rare Buddhist statues bearing this scene. Tim accompanies her as her assistant. A mixture of sex, love, coming of age, and Buddhism, Arousing the Goddess is filled with humor and recognition of the absurdities of life. It has been praised for its honesty and insight. Tim Ward is the author of What the Buddha Never Taught , which was a best-seller in Canada, and a Book of the Month selection in the United States. He has written for a variety of publications, including Reader’s Digest, The Toronto Globe and Mail, Common Boundary Magazine , and several Traveler’s Tales anthologies. He is president of Intermedia Communications Training, Inc., in Maryland where he lives with his -family.
If you want to read a book about a spiritual wannabe who traipses through Indian with a beautiful Austrian woman getting her phd in Indology who thinks his spiritual aspirations are bullshit but likes fucking him, this is a good place to start. I was sympathetic enough with the young man whose balls are being crushed in the vice of desire--I've been there before--and who gets his girl--I've also been there before--only to part ways at the end because that's what she wanted--I've been there before--in part because the author never seems to have believed he was worthy of her--I've also been here before. Unfortunately, Ward's yeoman writing style rarely lets us feel the exhilaration, the blur of the festivals.
Still, there were moments of fine description. Take this section on Ratnagiri, where he describes how the ruins are filled with shit.
"But the entire complex reeked. To the residents of the hamlet, the ancient treasure also served as a colossal latrine. Human feces dotted every room of the foundations; a lump rested on the eye of one decapitated Buddha head. Inside one alcove, we found a life-sized Buddha, his head still intact, face visible, serene smile gracing his lips, and a decaying turd in the middle of his lap. I admired his composure in the midst of decomposure."
The words 'ancient treasure' are enough to make me tear out my hair, but there's a lot of great description here worth thinking about. Then he overdoes it. After that smart phrase about composure and decomposure, he says, "In his crumbling, befouled serenity, he continued to preach his message: Everything is transient, so don't get too attached to great temples or plans for glory." This may be true but it is unnecessary. a typical piece of overwriting in case anyone didn't get the spiritual message. Do we understand this when we read the first passage?
Normally the language, carefully structured to commercial interests, never goes beyond the workmanlike. This true-life bildungsroman is not an abject failure. We do get good sense of traveling in India, of being in love, of struggling with personal identity. But what makes it in any way an exception from other books that tackled these subjects except for the excellent sex that seems to involve tantric lovemaking (though we're really not sure) is a bit of a mystery.
This is an interesting if sophomoric effort that occasionally enchants but also misses the mark often enough to sap its vitality. I respect the intent to render some of the profound meditations and mythology in contemporary terms; it doesn't always succeed, but it's an admirable effort with some real depth. I enjoyed the portraits of intimacy and the author's candour, wasn't crazy about the characters and some lack of narrative sizzle, yet was warmed by the memories of India it evoked.