New Boston, Michigan
The wedding was late but nevertheless wonderful. Jahnu, the groom, and Rasa, the bride, tied the knot in a green location—Willow Park. Relatives and friends attended, as did I. Leading kirtanand filling in space was my job; I volunteered with words and mantras, until the younger men, very expert, took to song.
Kulavir conducted the marriage rites. He is one of the fellows whom I had in a drama years ago, in Detroit. It seems that I’ve combed, theatrically, through most of the Vaishnava youth of ISKCON at one time or another. With them, I see before me a transformation of flesh. Kulavir is one of many now approaching middle-age. A new generation steps up for matrimony, children are born, and the young whipper-snappers of the time when I became a monk, forty-five years ago, are cracking their whips less and snapping to a slower rhythm. When I see my peers I don’t often see their age. I go back in time to when we were running things, hurriedly.
We were, and some are still, leaders. Slowly a new crop takes over, just like the way of waves on the lake. If you go to Lake St. Clair, which is not far from the park, you see that one wave succeeds the next at the shore. It is a continuous movement of souls hitting dry ground, and then starting again to move as moisture. We become matter: water, fire, air and ether.
Somewhere along the journey, we become human, and that can change everything so far as free destiny is concerned. When one marries, one is meant to be a life-partner who assists another in real progressiveness.
Congratulations, Jahnu and Rasa.
May the Source be with you!