Why fear you, little heart?

Do you not know that a broken flower

cast away from a maiden's hair

might be fetched up from its gravel path

and pressed again between leaves

the stained leaves of a love-worn book

to keep its beauty

to hold its color

forever?

When we were small

we knew exactly what love was
from how Mother kissed our foreheads
and kissed our Father's lips
it was simple
it was true

But we are now smaller
and we know nothing
save for our smallness
and the shade of a feeling
(to grow lighter? or darker?)

I
little bird that I am
tired of flying across the sea
tired of seeking the one solution
weak and cold
want only to find a place
to share a nest
with one as weak and cold
and tired and
small
as I

where
it is simple
it is true

Last night I had my first beer.

(Actually, I had an accidental sip of beer in Brazil two years ago. But that doesn't count!)

After being absolutely mesmerized by the songs of the late Billie Holiday here at the Montreal Jazz Festival, Dan led me to Brutopia for a pint and a sharing of thoughts. I had no qualms against it. Not only was I with a friend to give me a proper introduction, but alcohol consumption is completely legal for a little boy my age here in Quebec. (Ha! Take that, Mom!)

I had an awful time deciding which of the house brews to choose. How am I supposed to know what I like, good sire? I was given a few samples before Dan basically picked for me: a pint of Nut Brown Ale.

It was such a good experience. I like the atmosphere of the bar a lot. The low lights and close quarters and friendly people who actually talk with us-- the jazz band downstairs jamming for hours and hours... perfect. Or it would have been perfect had it been a mug of tea or coffee in my fist. But quite honestly, I didn't enjoy the taste of beer. I tried a few different brews, and I could tolerate the feel in my mouth, but only barely. It reminded me of childhood shots of NyQuil, which I seem to remember tasting like an old rubber glove. Maybe my taste buds are immature. I was frankly a bit disappointed in myself: Dan told me that every time I took a sip, a disgusted grimace would cross my face and hover there for a few seconds. If there is goodness in the world I want to appreciate it! But I feel so much more goodness in a hot tea warming my hands and insides. Can I keep the atmosphere and have a different drink?

As for the effect upon my mind, I drank two thirds of a pint (Dan and I shared a bit) and didn't feel particularly different, save for being quite sleepy. (That might be traced to our staying until the 3 A.M. closing time, though.) And apart from my sleepiness in this laid-back jazzy setting, I didn't feel any loss of inhibitions or awareness of surroundings. Dan had to poke me a few times to keep me from dozing off on the leather sofa.

Dan said that he liked beer the first time he tried it in Argentina. It was a symbol of freedom to him, and a comforting wholeness. But I am not burdened by a heavy conscience, here. I am in no prison. So without this symbol I am left with only the bitter taste in my mouth.

I think that, for now, tea will remain my beverage of choice for my evening ritual.

Bhakti Lata Das

I asked to sit beside him, and the yellow-shirted man on the stone wall turned his warm brown face towards mine, silver waist-long dreadlocks resting gently on his back. He, a man of intellect and experience, grinned broadly as he chose each word. And we rose to that land between the material and the spiritual, where there are no names or differentiations.

"It's so simple that the ones who say they are intelligent cannot understand it. Love. Everyone is searching for it."

A person must first love God, Krishna, says he. Who is God? "God is the one who can hear your thoughts."

What does God/Krishna require? We must find what we can do most perfectly. Be the perfect businessman, policeman, soldier. If you are to be the perfect intellectual or musician, "Don't get a job at McDonald's." (I laughed.) "And you quit!" And if you are not yet perfect, it is your intention that makes you perfect. : Michelangelo saw a perfect David even before he put his chisel to the marble, and so are you perfect even as your innermost being is liberated. In this way, time works with you to make you more and more who you are.

Every facet of this man's life was shaped to love Krishna: to do what he could perfectly. He sits in the park, and lets his presence flow. He explains and lets others grow to new depths of understanding. And as he does his daily work, his eternal mantra echoes in his mind from the stillness of dawn's prebirth to the wild dancing night: Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare.

With this mantra, he knows the presence of God. He remains true to his life commitments because of his first commitment. "There is no greater force in the material world than the sex drive. And no man, no matter how strong the commitment to his wife, can resist that force when the right pussy comes along--unless his first commitment is to Krishna."

But then again, who is God? Who is this Krishna?

"Everything lives. And everything has as much a right to live as we do. But this world is a prison. So when I take the life of a plant for my own, or when I step on an ant on my path to do Krishna's work, it is in His power to liberate the life. When I swat this mosquito, who wants to take my blood, I can ask Krisha to liberate the insect from this world of the cycle of life and death."

The man spoke emphatically, but not forcibly. He told me that the time would come when my guru would find me, and I would undergo a complete surrender. But for now, I keep my eyes open. Our conversation was long, and though we sat still on the wall as the dozens of jovial drummers and dancers soared before us, we too danced. The more I listen, the less I understand, but I am more whole for exploring the world behind the eyes of another wise, beautiful traveling companion.

Letting Go

The floor is littered with the treasures and meaninglessness of the past. Things that I have no emotional connection to—at all—but have clung to for so long: a mess of day-to-day memories of what I was.

My mother collected pieces of people: childhood drawings and A-grade term papers. Collecting dust until they were made into a yearly shrine, far in a corner.

My father collected pieces of things: musical instruments and video discs. Collecting dust until they were previewed by hungry eyes and hands.

And I, I collected everything—for fear (horrible fear!) that I might turn back into what I was.

As each of them scorned the other's collections, so I scorn myself. For I want everything and I want nothing.

Still, I imagine that I am not far from discovering what is truly meaningful. And soon I will no longer need to carry all this weight of the past upon my neck.

Why my Soul Dances

An idle sip of green tea, poured from the ocean inside a hollow cat, is only the topper to a series of joys:

• Appalachian Spring by Aaron Copland evokes preminisces of Andrew Bird's genius, in the form of a ballet portraying a simple wedding celebration.
• The brand-new red (pink!) handlebar tape on Dan's bike looks super-schnazzy!
• My mind is swirling with mists of intertwining melody, begging to be fleshed into something concrete if only I can find the power.
• After my last class with the 4th-6th graders, and my final story and scribbles with the kindergartners, I am still enthralled with the idea of teaching, though perhaps not right away.
• Americorps is still a definite maybe. I'll find out how the interview went in 3 weeks.

But the greatest of all joys is in this: I know—with my entire being—that I have people who truly care about me, who I am deeply connected to. I am uncertain about the future, but I can be absolutely sure that I have beautiful souls to share it with. It will be all right.

03.27.09

We shunned the warmth of the fire
And sat in the warmth of each other
With legs in laps
And kneecaps in hands
And sands of the earth upon us
We three
(And more)
We traveling companions
Went forth to find wonder
Among our mingling souls