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On the roof of Bal Krsna Bhavan

This morning I collected super fragrant parijata flowers to offer to the Lord. Delicate white flowers with a bright orange center that fall to the ground each morning at dawn. They are said to come from a tree brought from the heavenly planet as a gift from Lord Krsna to His wife, Rukmini (my namesake). Here in India, the spiritual realm is so intertwined with what’s right before our eyes.

Chanting on the roof of the Bal Krsna Bhavan for at least two hours, two nilagai reclined on the ridge of Govardhan, in profile, as still as Sphinxes, other than an occasional turn of the head or wiggling of the ears. How still and quiet to my murmur of the Holy Names– calling out for acceptance into this holy realm.

At one point, near them, upon the ridge, a large monkey jumped onto an aged tree and began to violently shake it back and forth. Have I seen this once in a Tarzan movie?

Which consciousness do I want? The quiet murmur, calling for grace, calling to be ardent in patience– or the violent, possessed urgency of passionate desire? Krsna, please come! I exist in a foreign atmosphere and I long to be accepted by You, in Your realm of selfless reciprocal love.

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