White Rock, British Columbia
Park and Beach
When I became a monk in April of '73 in Toronto, I met Jagadish. He was in charge of the ashram, and was like a big brother. I was 20. He was 26. Well, he's still around, and fast-forward, he just turned 72 this month. I had the pleasure to do a few walking rounds with him in Central Park, with towering conifers all around. I guess you can say we were just catching up on news about the world, his life, my life. He's been looking after his handicapped son.
It was a great hour and a half walk with Jagadish. My spiritual big brother.
In White Rock, at the beach, a group of us devotees meandered our way through rock and sand, dodging residual pools from the high tide. We set ourselves up with tarpaulins to lie on, to keep dry, and just as I finished teaching the gayatri mantra, Angelica spotted me.
"Aren't you the traveling...?"
"Monk. Walking Monk."
"I met you about three summers ago at a farm in Surrey," she recalled, "and it was one of the first farms then that the city built itself around."
"Of course, I remember the good work of that heritage place."
"Are you open for questions?" she asked, assuming that it's a monks obligation. And so the questions about life flowed and so did my answer ( or so I think they did) followed by a bonding time in the ocean's water. I felt blessed today.
May the Source be with you!