Any dream will do

Radhe. And Krishna.

I've recently returned from the best trip of my life so far. I still haven't come down from the high. And verbose and dry and prosaic as my posts are, and perhaps have always been, you just can't hear the music that plays when I write or read them :-). Whoever said that real life has no background music needs a bottle of Waxonil or a hearing aid.

For example, I can tell you of having eaten only dinner for four days and cramming in some biscuits and bananas through the day to curb the hunger that gnawed at my stomach, but you won't be able to hear the lilting voices all around calling out the Lord's name that drowned out the alimentary rumbling. I can tell you of the noiseless din in the dining hall during dinner where nobody spoke, yet everyone communicated, but you won't hear the speaker right outside the ashram that reverberated joyously in one voice the beat of a thousand hearts. I can tell you of our tireless barefoot journey in cold, cold December, on the very land that He roamed many, many years ago, but you won't hear all our teeth chattering in unison to a rhythmic chant of the Maha mantra. I can tell you how I did not know anything but Him for a precious few moments, far too precious and far, far too few, and how I did not want to know anything but Him for a long time after, but you won't hear the silent prayer that my heart knew but didn't say. I can tell you of the man with the kindest eyes I ever saw, ladling food into little bowls made from dried leaves for those who knew hunger like we never have, but you won't hear the melody that a thousand voices sang along as the hungry ate, voices that did not know dark skin from white. I can tell you of the narrow streets that were wide enough for only one cycle rickshaw to pass through at a time, streets with overflowing gutters on each side, but you won't hear the rickshawallahs call out "Radhe Radhe" to each other in a way that you could hear the smiles in their voices. I can tell you of the Lord's footprint that I touched with my own hands, but you won't hear the parrots sing and the cows moo in the gentle evening breeze. 

It's been a week since I've come back, but the buzz is still there. Leaves are falling outside and I can see them flit lazily downward, pausing for effect in the gleam of the streetlight as if to tell me, "Look how light I am. I'm not bothered with all the honking below me like you are. I may not be able to fly, but look at me float. Slow. Enjoying the lightness that I feel. And learn."

Angels fly, because they take themselves lightly, I've heard someone say. Well, what do you know. I've never felt this light in my whole life.

Vrindavan, heaven on earth, take me home. 

P.S. I touched HIS footprint!!!!!!!!!!! A very happy 2007, everybody! May this year be everything you want it to be!