Grey Day
Toronto, Ontario
The day is grey, just like the previous one, and the one before that. That most dismal of colours is on a roll. It's out of our control.
I roamed Cabbagetown, the place of early Irish settlers. Cabbages is what they grew and hence, the name. Potatoes failed them. A new veg arose.
I passed by Pembroke St. In 1975, our beleoved guru, Srila Prabhupada, took residence in an apartment there for two to three days. His visit was cut short due to a meeting that became scheduled with Indira Gandhi. Prabhupada had to rush back. That sign, when I read it, caused a yank at the heart strings. There was 187 Gerrard, once an ashram, now a house. It's where I joined. I also walked by a billboard. There was a friend of mine posing as a homeless person for the Salvation Army. He is gestured as reaching out for a blanket neatly folded above him, yet beyond reach.
"Hey, Durward, you're all over town, as a poster boy, relaying the message that there's hope."
Hope is a topic we discussed this morning during our Bhagavatam lesson at the temple ashram. Without searching for a dictionary definition I openly asked our dozen attendees. The replies came, "It's something for the future." "It's light at the end of the tunnel." "A promising sign." "It's Krishna reaching out."
As we analyzed this great virtue an optimism was rising. Apart from the greyness of colour, darkness came my way. A friend from PEI wrote, "I have Parkinson's, a type they can't cure." Another message said, from another devoted soul from Halifax, "I'm having surgery. It's a risky situation." A phone call from BC told that a family I know is breaking up. Through all of this, the japa chanting made it possible to bear challenging bits of news tolerable.
As a renunciant one cultivates a feeling for others, it compels one to wish well those sufferers of this mundane existence. It stimulates compassion and empathy. Without these components the world has no heart.
9 Km
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