Some years ago, Giridhari’s dhoti was made gold
all the colors of the rainbow, the Queen in days of old.
Offered for Guru Maharaja’s vyasa puja
Siddhanta was dispensed there.
Leis of purple stock, pink roses and white and orange lilies
Symmetry is beauty no it’s not silly, Prabhupada said so really
Gecko and I take off for Saint Dagwood’s park by spinning down the long and winding and bowing to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa first then making a right onto the main street. Crossing the first highway to the campa hatti. The whalers are watching the passing cyclists. Through the treacherous triangle with ease past the corner and around the park leave is taken at the shop, I go through the harbor where all the boats are out. Several sufferers are in the water trying to escape the heat. Windmill has been dark for months now. At the entrance to the cyber highway sits el siddhamuni with his camouflage on like a soldier in the field. After a short visit with the friends I might find there I turn myself back to the long and winding and fold my palms to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa. Looking up it looks like I might be late so I hammer to the sandhya the kernel of divine love greets me with a key jaya! and just as the bell rings I blow the horn signaling that the ceremony has begun.
Dressing himself in orange Giridhari says if I want to cross the river I only need remember his advice to his highest devotees, repeat “Krsna is a brahmacari” and the river will part. They are dancing late into the starry starry night.