So last night I made my second pilgrimage (if midtown counts) to see Amma, the Indian hugging saint. She's still in town today and tonight into the wee hours. Check here for info.

Yesterday was an incredibly long, stressful, hair-tearing, forgetting-to-breathe sort of day. But then I had therapy, where I was reminded about stillness and love and a quiet mind. And then around 9pm, I hoofed it to the hottest spiritual event in town right now: Amma, hugging equally stressed, tired, sweaty, seeking New Yorkers.

I posted about her visit last year here and my fellow blogger Karen just wrote about Amma's recent San Fran visit.

This time for me was different. There was the similar thronging, swaying mass during Amma's singing and chanting. And lots of folks with yoga mats slung over their shoulders. The pain in people's faces seemed much plainer than it does on the subways. Not sure if it was my filter or if in her presence our harried people set down a veil or two.

After the singing, I watched Amma pet a man in a wheel chair with a breathing tube. He was dapperly dressed, probably almost fully paralyzed, and she ran her hand over his forehead, petted his arms, smoothed his leg, with such mounting joy and caring. I watched his eyes close and his body relax.

Soon it was my turn. Last time was sweet and short. This time, she beamed at me and held me close whispering into my left ear over and over what sounded like "Madonna." I felt like I was swaying and dreaming on some other plane that was soft and distant. She let me go, smiled her round, nose-ringed smile and pulled me back in, murmuring the same chant. She placed an apple, a Hershey's kiss and a red rose petal shaped like a heart into my hand and off I went.

As I sat in my post-huggal bliss stew, I listened to recorded lectures by her over the loudspeakers. I was able to hear her better, receive her message about compassion; how if we have a hard time loving people, we can start with inanimate objects; how our indifference is even harming the honeybees. She said she prays that the chatter of gunfire will be replaced with the chirps of birds. Love, love, love. I started to get it, like rain on a roof. Love, love, love.

It wasn't until talking to someone later that I realized "Madonna" was probably "my daughter"—but I still like the idea that both Mother Mary and the Material Girl are now mingling in my soul with Amma.

You can get your own dose today, tonight, or take a roadtrip as she continues her tour.

Have you been hugged by Amma? What was it like?