Rachael LeValley: today was special
by five thirty, i was outside. it was dark.
the sunlessness gave cooling.
the rain had come and gone. i walked to the subway,
not wanting to go down there
but not knowing the bus routes either.
darkness and bewilderment. the material existence.
on the subway, i chanted.
Hare Krsna Hare Krsna Krsna Krsna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare
my stop and i’m back in the gift from God called atmosphere.
i breathe
in “Ni”, out “tie”
in “Gor”, out “ah”
the deities are dressed in blue, the temple lights are off
so the blue looks more blue.
the white dots on the blue fabric look more white. perfectly.
they are marble, in terms of material, but the tenderness in their forms
moves me.
they appear like clouds.
i hear. then i go with Adi Prabhu to the roof
he feeds the pigeons prasad then sits to chant.
he says,
“of all the roofs in new york city, why this roof? why these pigeons? HARE! HARE!”
i walk to the other side of the roof and notice the two fig trees.
they are strangled in their undersized pots. the deserve land.
turning away, i focus my attention on a half of an inch of this whole entire universe
(and all of the universes)
a flesh fly has stopped.
i’m chanting.
the fly turns to face me, then sideways,
standing on its legs, it seems to be staring at me. i chant.
the fly sits up, tilts its head. it doesn’t move.
it is trying to hear. it is definitely listening!
man eats slaughtered cows. large bodies.
the flesh flies breed primarily in animal carcass.
this is the most degraded sexual act imaginable
and here is this fly, with this destiny, in front of me. i chant.
“forensic entomologist use the larvae of these flies, collected at murder sites, to help pinpoint the time of death”.
and here is this fly and me, listening. Hare Rama Hare Rama
a half of inch, my attention focused…
the fly flies off.
many times, at Harinam, people stop with mouths agape to stare, shocked or stunned.
they are listening,
almost out of compulsion. exhaustion, perhaps.
as if one’s life depends on it! listening…
like no others listen.
that fly listened like that – that fly of those activities!
i turn back toward Adi chanting,
he is facing the rising sun which shines through a large bundle of cloud
the sun God is doing that thing he does when he pours sunlight through the clouds
to make that divine silver-lining image…
the inspiration for nations throughout human history;
of what poets write;
upon which mystics contemplate…
i contemplate
i imagine all the different kinds of workers on planet sun
– some in the mode of passion, some in the mode of ignorance,
some wondering what it’s all worth?
the living entities on planet sun stay so busy for so long!
work, exhausting work.
they work to make what we call sunrise, sunshine, sunset…
they are probably proud of this work.
here on earth, we are so proud of our vitro activation
and our cement architecture
our manmade parks and
forests and, of course, our embryos generated by nuclear transfer to clone humans!
i chant.
today, in the subway, i handed a 9-year-old boy a Bhagavad Gita.
“he’s very into meditation,” his mother says, handing me $5 without hesitation.
his wonderful eyes touched my own eyes and the Love i sensed in that eye contact was otherworldly.
another Mataji, an indian body, gave a donation. she told me to keep the book.
i told her she should keep the book.
she said give the book.
i said you give the book.
this banter went on directly in front of a black-body woman and Krsna turned my head,
“Excuse me, this wonderful woman has bought you a book.”
the black-body woman accepted it.
i sensed that she was starving, dying for connection with Krsna,
though her hand received the book so delicately, gracefully.
serving prasad a few times to the homeless has taught me more life lessons than i gained during my own 41 years of self-realization process.
my ego. my arrogance. my disguise. my comfort, safety… welcomed entrance at mundane coffee shops!
as i place divine remnants of God into their dirty hands, a bit of
them touches me
as i facilitate God’s touching them.
i realize i am more one with them than i am one with God.
the wind on planet earth tells tales.
if we can’t sense these stories then why try to do anything else?
rain. wind. ocean tides.
a thought appeared in my mind, spurred by a yellow school bus.
i rode those things to a school that was more like a prison.
serving meat to children. wholesale violence.
i recall, in this memory, the shock i felt from being herded onto school buses
to do unfortunate math
and discuss unimportant subject matter, to associate with hopelessness in physical forms.
in this present moment, i never want to experience anything like that again.
and here i am now, nearly 42 years through. and the sweetness of the blessed Lord’s mercy cloaks me in an eternal and infinite something
which i can feel but not see.
and i feel peaceful.