I was to work in the greenhouse, this was my karma yoga, for 4 hours a day with a man named Paul who when I asked "So what brought you here?" replied: "A 62' Dodge". I planted rows upon rows of spinach; little tiny seeds that in my brief stay I would come to see poke their first sprouts above the soil. My crisis had left me flying high in the ether of untethered existence and somehow it was perfectly aligned that I was to spend the bulk of each day with my hands in the earth.
The day was book ended with meditation, chanting, reading and prayer. I have not been so much for the structure of such things, but the familiar rhythm of ritual was as grounding as playing with earth worms. Most of the time, the satsang was led by a man named Krishnadas. He was inappropriately gorgeous for a man of his celibate status; he seemed to glow from the inside like his blood was actually pure Norwegian spring water. And he played those tablas like it was hot jazz. Most of the time it was Krishnadas at the helm of these operations, steering our varying numbers towards Spirit; but sometimes the resident Brahman priest dressed in orange and all of about 5 feet would be our guide, using little English and chanting long Sanskrit recitations.
I have never met or seen another person before or since who has so apparently been able to control the flow of their own energy at will. This small yet mighty 60-80 year old man (these people don't seem to age... only get wiser and more intense) would walk down the hall head high and brow relaxed yet engaged; as he got closer I would observe myself preparing for an average social interaction: perhaps a "Hi, how are you?" or "Good morning"... and he would often breeze by with no acknowledgement leaving you to wallow in your own attachments to societal norms and your disappointment at these expectations not being met.
There were a few occasions however when I saw this serious spiritual scholar reach down into the depths of his heart and erupt in a belly laugh or an ear to ear grin that would immediately illuminate the entire ranch. His eyes would shine pure love at you and all would be right with the world. One of these times was when a fellow karma yogi and I were making chai from scratch in the kitchen and he began poking fun at us for our unnecessarily fancy western recipe (he then proceeded to make us the most delicious tea I have ever tasted out of simply: milk, black tea, ginger, cinnamon and sugar... lots of sugar). Another was when we were outside at dawn celebrating the Equinox and from his bare feet (standing on two feet of fresh Catskills snow) to his bald head he ignited as the sun rose and he sung the final stanza of his chant. And the third time was during my naming ceremony at which he chose me my spiritual name for this life. That was three years ago today... the details of which are between a seeker and her teacher, but I can say this much: from the hard earned lofty place of thought this man was operating from, he imparted on me the wisdom I needed to go forward: You are pure, pray for ego-lessness, you shine brightly and the moon loves you.
Happy Spiritual Birthday to me.
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