Dozens of embroidered peacock feathers etching iridescent furrows on the retina of our eyes
The full carnation leis take their form from the curves in their dancing bodies transforming each flower to its full dedicating potential.
Quickly around the opal cliff and the hook of the point to the redone road and the gecko who adjusts another saddle as I pass. The dog wash pulls me through the triangle and sends me down the main road to the curve and the florist. The long and winding road and the tree welcome me back for the vaikalika. I salute the tree and sprint on to the asrama door.
Of all the dresses Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari have and all the names each person has for them this is one they dance all night long in and call baby blue.
February 26
Gandharvika with her blue sari on Giridhari and Mahaprabhu by her side they’re none less than the absolute truth even covered by a devotee’s bhava and kanti just can’t hide.
Mahamuni brought this cloth that became the sari the mango, orange, green, yellow and purple came from all around to combine in the seamstress’ mind. Manifesting in this most wonderful dress. “I’ve got saffron roses for today’s leis!” the maker told me. So excited the leis could not but be extra wonderful.
Taking the round about way past Bhakta Blade’s kutir on to the marine museum where a giant skeleton of a blue whale keeps watch. A second darsana of the kutir over the railroad bridge viewing the skateboarders below executing superman flights through the air with the greatest of class holding fragments in their teeth as they grin all the way down.
Bhakta Blade takes the leis and flowers away and dresses them up to ride into the Marakata Mani puri on a horse of a different color.
February 27
More carnation leis fluffy and somehow Giridhari inspired the maker to the combinations that just fit each outfit. This one is in the tradition of flowing coats and chodders that catch the breeze as they swirl and dance their way into each and every heart.
Mahamuni’s post and the fruit market call me out. The ratha-bhojana-vrksa clears the way for the travel and Saint Dagwood beckons me over the bridge to the tennis park and the redone road. The gecko says it’s time for a tune up and I get ready for that by flying through the triangle back to the harbor where all the boats are out and I take the big road to over yet another bridge keeping the shops on the right while I rejoin the long and winding just in time for the vaikalika service.
The lotus nails shine rusty from one angle but glow green from the other side. The take their rest in the foggy night with all happiness among all the fragments that old toffee nose can count, wait toffee that’s no fragment it’s a sutra.