Juice At the End
Sanjit decided to come over for our nightly stairwell kirtan and then a walk. The walk was left to me and him. The kirtan party dispersed while he and I honoured an hour of the night. Days are becoming shorter. You don’t hear birds. The crickets have taken over and I must admit I cannot favour one group over the other, as far as sound goes. They are equal in giving comfort, however, the birds offer more aesthetic pleasure. Those ground crickets look too much like black cockroaches. But I love them. Sanjit, too, was remarking how sweet their sound is.
My prayer for the evening came out of the calmness of the night, and relates to the consistency of the crickets chirping. “My Dear Lord Krishna, please endow me with the steady enthusiasm to serve.”
I’ve been serving as a monk, first as a novice for 11 years, then 36 years as a full-fledged monk—a sanyasi. Many people take to the spiritual life and excel for the first 3 or 4 years, then continue but with some weaning of eagerness.
I hope to stay in the fire of love for service, to the Divine and His world. I would not trade anything in existence for my lifestyle. Fortune, or luck, has reached out and held on.
When Sanjit and I parted I prepared for rest and reached out for my usual evening beverage—water, lemon, jaggery, ginger and pepper. I might just as well call it con-covid juice. I drank from a mug — a mug bearing a vintage picture of my family from 1954. Even as a monk it’s good to keep some ties with family.
May the Source be with you!