Images At Street, Ashram and Paper
It was just awful! Just awful! This very scruffy man very strung out on drugs at the top of his lungs screamed out obscenities towards a disabled helpless and homeless elder. It was a display of cold heartlessness. At the south-west corner adjacent to Dundas Square stood the antagonist whose recipient hobbled his way in a backward direction out of fear wheeling his buggy of belongings. There was no physical contact. It was worse – coarse curses.
At only 6 AM. Imagine. And it’s Monday morning when energies are generally low this screamer was all wound up and ready to pounce on the old vulnerable man who was shaking in fear. Frankly the sight (which I personally witnessed) was like a step into hell. For some people stalking, threats, punching and stabbing are all regular fare. I felt thankful to not be enmeshed in such lifestyle but feeling some empathy for the two street folks. I wanted to help but how?
Paradoxically I entered the temple after a 7 KM stretch to hear about our two monks from Assam knocking off the remainder of the Sunday feast pots. They were cooperatively cleaning them to the standard of squeaky clean. One of the boys tends to splash the sudsy water in the process. He was talking and some of the dish water accidentally landed in his mouth. The second one took the squirty hose and instantaneously shot a good dose of water in the other’s face much to this recipients surprise. It brought out a good laugh in them. It was an exchange of brotherly love, you could say.
The two events were so juxtaposed as opposites. While I say that there are disagreements amongst the brahmacharis (monks) from time to time. Life in the ashram is not perfect. We are human after all.
All in all though, it was a good day as it ended. Someone pointed out to me an article in the Toronto Star captioned “Hare Krishnas Go Mainstream.” The photos were great telling not a thousand but limitless words. The message was balanced. At least it caused my sister to call whom I don’t see often.
A second walk led me westbound on Dupont Street when a young motorist spotted me, saw the robes and made a U turn. He got out of his car, ran after me and asked if I was the dude mentioned in the paper.
“Yes, that was me.”
“It said you grew up in Blenheim (a town of 3,500). Well, I’m from Blenheim.” Hey! We talked!
Small world it is and it’s full of duality.