The bus has wound its last knot upon the ribbon of highway of the Mexico Winter Bus Tour.
If I ponder too deeply how this experience whirled by in a blur, an ache will enter my heart. Just like the folding of a very long sari - both ends are so far apart, but with one quick fold, the ends touch.
Right now I sit on a whirring bus at 3am, wearing the same blue sweatpants I began this Tour in. It seems as though only moments ago I boarded a whirring bus in the night. It's like the first and last threads of this sari of a similar pattern, and now that they're touching, I feel this jumble in my senses, a disorientation of my heart.
This Bus Tour has breathed golden air into the lungs of my spiritual life. I've taught literally hundreds of people how to dance the Swami Step in kirtan; upon the encouragement of Gopal I've actually distributed some of the first books of my life; and every morning I would wake up to the adventure of jungles, oceans, pyramids and lost civilizations, which all prompted me to deeply ponder Krishna in my life.
Most of all, the mood of kirtan and service of the Vaishnavas on the bus has reached past my selfish shell and touched my heart.
I'm home, it's good to be home, but I'm still living in the phantom motions of the bus. I don't want to step off.
Not yet.
3 comments:
I really tried to but didnt understand anything written here. All I know- in that your photo there you look like a dream!
what didn't you understand?
r u guys like the ymca of iskon?
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