I sit upon the stone ledge in the temple of Radha Raman. The sun slants through the courtyard and holds my face. Incense fills the cool air, sweet and smoky. An old sadhu sings to his lord, Radha Raman. His voice spirals through the air like...
... like birds that loop through the sunset over the Yamuna River.
Amazing. I had just closed my eyes to find the words to describe the sadhu's singing. Suddenly, I felt something fall over my head. I jerked open my eyes.
A pujari had placed a garland from Radha Raman around my neck. The fragrance of roses encircled me in an embrace.
Every moment in Vrindavan is edged with the ethereal.
... like birds that loop through the sunset over the Yamuna River.
Amazing. I had just closed my eyes to find the words to describe the sadhu's singing. Suddenly, I felt something fall over my head. I jerked open my eyes.
A pujari had placed a garland from Radha Raman around my neck. The fragrance of roses encircled me in an embrace.
Every moment in Vrindavan is edged with the ethereal.
1 comment:
What a beautiful blog! I have just discovered it. I am about to make a Krishna conscious blog myself...thank you for sharing your realizations! That takes bravery.
Hare Krsna!
Post a Comment