Gaura prema comes from chanting his name
After that life won’t ever be the same!
Acting puggle, the name causes one to laugh and cry
As it takes one to beyond even parivyome
Gaura prema, the salve smeared on ones eyes
Drawing higher the meditative mind
Leis of roses and petals too right in line
A higher life one can’t find
Even if one searches from tomorrow until the end of time
So many visions to post on line that Murka and I stay on the highway lots of time. Then the lion’s park calls where school kids are playing volleyball as one. Up and over the campa hatti hill where there are still a few pink lilies growing near the yard. Fog is coming in at the point of the hook and the kittens play there sliding on their small soft pads. the windmill is on the right and a team is there taking some kind of refreshment. Sufferers are at the edge of the beach near the road collecting driftwood for bon fires later. The natasala has people lined up for the second show. I take leave while Murka breaks for the pedaler’s ramp. The pitch has a game going on and the referee has his yellow and green flag in hand. Under the first highway to the long and winding where the kalarupa takes the pacer role and takes Murka back to the sandhya where another of the parishioners sees Murka pass the drive and then greets him on arriving.
There they are wearing “in the ninth” offered for Guru Maharaja’s vyasa puja and you cannot wait for mangala arati. All night long they’re dancing away
in brahma muhurta, the last of the day
you’ll come for mangala arati
probing deeply “what color and style dress for Janmastami?”
with the seamstress in the sewing room looking at pictures of Thakuras
Praying for Gurudeva’s inspiration as we lay out cloth on a table
speaking with care we recognize the direction and follow it well
as I’m offering arati I hear the young girls talking
of the Thakura’s outfit and colors they don’t have yet
then they come and ask me do they have yellow and red? can't talk so i nod my head. it’s through this conversation that this dress came out of the mouths of babes.
Leis of petals of sumanas flowers and a sprinkling of whole roses to follow movements of their forms
Pedaling from the asrama to the main street crossing over to the highway stepping into an ethereal world where ones and zeros are the dominant language. The snob hill takes Murka and I through the village, which is a little quieter now that the days of summer are behind. Now the cobwebs and pumpkins are the biggest group on the street. Past the sufferers and the sunny cove where the windmill is empty once again. The tennis park is on the right where a pair is playing. Along the toad road where he comes out for the first time in an age saying ‘Gaura Hari’ he joins in at least to where the wharf road meets the long and winding Murka goes north and he goes south and I go on straight with a song in my mouth. Ratha-bhojana-vrksa sees Murka’s folded palms and the kalarupa pedals beside to chase him back to the sandhya greeted by some wascally wabbits.
When the day is over on Monday it’s time for the baby blue nightdress that starts of Tuesday the day of blue. A Radhastami offering that has Giridhari in the reverse of Mahaprabhu and Gandharvika so he won’t blend in to his outfit.