The middle aged musician strumming gently on his guitar while singing away, he had his own self styled attire, a hat which was a cross between an American cowboy hat and an Australian bush or slouch hat. Over his body was draped something in the family of a poncho. He sported long, sandy coloured hair. An artist? Yes. Eccentric? Yes, I’d say so. It was an instant judgment on my part.
He stopped playing and singing as Chaitanya Mangala, our Brazilian monk, and I, came close to him while on our walk on Danforth Avenue. He started talking. He spoke in an intellectual/philosophical way, yet coherent it was not. I basically nodded, agreeing to his remarks which rattled on. I couldn’t get a word in. I could sense though, that he approved of us. We were different, and so was he. The one radical can understand the other radical.
I find that when there is a lacking in communication, speech wise, then I just slide in a mantra card. That, then, does the magic. After all the mumbo jumbo the fellow was uttering, he finally came out and said the two Sanskrit words, Hare Krishna. The mantra seemed to clear any cloud of confusion for both him and us. It’s just doing its job. It works like the sun and burns away the fog.
May the Source be with you!