A Monday in Gupta Govardhana
Devotees arrive at the natha mandir
On a carriers of flip-flops and crocks
To see the cowherd boy with peal handled peacock feathers
Embroidered on his dhoti and chodder puts his flute to his lips and it’s not possible to describe the aural nectar that comes out
“How did you remain separate for so long?” he asks and before they could respond a drop of that nectar flooded the high hills of their consciousness
Now whom could you say this to and who could believe that this cowherd boy is the best friend of everyone appearing as a cowherd boy with a lump of food in one hand and a stick in the other.
Leis of assorted flowers and roses that curl around their bending dancing form of reality the beautiful.
Oh it’s a short pedal down the long and winding road with a pause for bowing to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa and you can see the deer in the right season. The gecko meets the main road and me right at the go light of the long and winding. We take off to the lion’s park and ease around to the snob hill. Through the village where tourists window-shop for unnecessary plastic objects. The opal cliff is full of sufferers walking sideways pretending that they’re leaving. The windmill is open but no live music today. Between the lakes the kites have all stayed at home today but a couple of families are pedaling on the other side of the road. Saint Dagwood’s park is full of people trying to stay out of the sun. Over to the fragment of kutir of Bhakta Blade. He’s out so we circle around the spinner’s church and speed to the bhavanaless mauli. We return to the sufferer thakura. He’s got lei of lilies today and there are pennies at his feet. We make a left to get to see what Della is wearing. The mountain men are having a deep discussion on three sixties and such. At the leaping manqué one of the folks sees me and I wave. What a surprise. “I didn’t know you came all the way to this end of town!” The gecko takes leave at his shop and I take the way of ms gualt to avoid the triangle. The tennis park is empty and so I sprint to the bridge over the first highway. The kala rupa has his watch out and I give him a high five and huff and puff my way to the arati.
This is a world of names and so why not call this one Baby blue? The humid night draws out Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari go out to dance out under the stars to beat the heat.