To Even Warmer Breezes
It’s nice to be remembered.
The travelling road show, The Festival of India, is manned and operated by 15 young men under supervisor, an American devotee, Madhua, by name. On route and westbound towards the Prairies, the festival operation made a major stop at Serpent River, where they met an Ojibwa chief, who recalled seeing me walking on that same highway (Trans Canada) years ago.
Serpent River happens to be a First Nations reserve and the park where the festival boys stopped for a relaxer, was the site of a Native powwow. The boys were ready to jump into the cooling waters of this meandering river when they were halted by the chief and elders. “Wait until we’re finished our ritual” the chief commanded. When all was done, introductions began. The chief put two and two together and the friendly man revealed that he recalled talking to a peach robed monk, who was living off of the natural vegetation along the road. That was me.
I recall him as well. I just can’t recollect the jovial person’s name. There were too many syllables to his name. You know, upon hearing the exchange, it does tell me that people who saw that ghost, or phantom of a fellow (me) and that it was a decent exchange, confirms for me the validity of the mad monk marathon.
I was so glad to hear from my friend on the road and I offered my respects from afar to my eagle feathered friend. I considered him a warm friend during that pilgrimage.
And speaking of warm currents, three flights from Thunder Bay, and four airports brought me to the South, the Gainesville area and the Alachua community. The sun was shying away behind horizons when I was driven down to the Bhaktivedanta Institute house. Moving along the bumps of sand dirt, that felt like wheels over someone’s rib cage. “I will walk this trail in the morning”, I anticipated. It will be early. It will be a trail that I’ve tread before. And as for this day, a bashful swami admits – no kilometres on my radar today.