Cleveland, Ohio
The Storm and After
Just as the sun was to greet us
for the morning, Kaustubha and I could see clear over the horizon a mess of
black coming our way. It was menacing in appearance though a regular stunt of
nature. We were simply on a walkway by the lake when I felt cold drops from the
sky strike my neck. Then polkadots appeared on the white cement surface; more
and more came until it became a solid mass of wet.
Kaustubha and I darted for the
Kiwanis’ Pavilion, a shelter. It became a hard rain and then
seventy-three-year-old Mr. Patel joined us and shared his breakfast things with
us. He became our new friend. And for a good while K and I paced back-and-forth
chanting on our beads.
The rain subsided. K pointed to a
bird, “There’s an American bald eagle.” And indeed the massive bird soared
along to reach the peak of a tree. No longer than a minute later K pointed to a
family of associates. “There are his buddies, the Canadian geese.” They had
just landed now in the freshness of air.
These are some of my last
impressions in Cleveland before taking the flight back to Canada.
Actually, it was with great joy
that in these last days that I felt strongly the play of rhythm; whether
through the waves of water lapping on the beach, the movement of clouds and, of
course, walking, but most definitely the movement of warmth emanating from the devotees
at the gatherings with kirtan.
May the Source be with you!
4 km
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