Two came over from the San Jose Math and the arati started on thyme. They excited chattered about today’s outfit. “I love this one, it almost looks Russian” one said to the other who replied, “Look how big Mahaprabhu’s hands are! I think Gandharvika is saying ‘don’t let those two do anything for Me’” All the while I don’t believe they knew I was within earshot. On down the road saw one and her mother making up the leis and I don’t think they were aware I was once a flower child.
Another carrot another stick how much of this can I take? Manasa pedaling goes on. The clips of an old road through the mountains where the “log trucks” sign signals the end of the climb and the beginning of the decent. Where the Christmas trees are waiting to be cut down the last hills along the summit. The sounds of the flute in the back ground (no not that one a mundane flautist is playing away, but I do get the feeling that I’m not the only person sitting in the audience) one of the kukuras comes in to check me out and leaves after a few minutes. Last time it was here it’s nose was snapped in a mouse trap. Soon it’s time for the vaikalika service and all of my engagements pressing, arati, offering and Deity dressing are waiting there at the end of pedaling.
Still the rain keeps coming and the Deities are in their touch that kills nightdress. Swirling and dancing in the rain all night long.