A Monk by Bhaktimarga Swami



A monk from the Orient, China, I suppose, excitedly and hurriedly ran to me with a gift.  It was a gamsha, a short lower garment for sleeping in, or to be used as a towel after bathing.  He doesn't know me very well, but he extended himself for that devotional touch.
 
"What is your name?"  I asked him.
 
"My name is ??? Swami," he answered, with a name that was the length of the Ganges.
 
"Is there a short form to that?"
 
"Haridasa," he replied.
 
"Thanks.  I can handle a three syllable word."  
 
He was all smiles.
 
I walked to the samadhi auditorium for the morning drama session.  When I came out, the Russian pilgrims were sitting, partly on stone, partly on the grass.  A senior monk of the brahmacaris was delivering a class. All eyes came my way when I stumbled upon the group.  The class was interrupted.  The listeners offered obeisances in my direction, as is done in a place like Mayapura. I threw everyone a kiss.  Laughter followed.
 
I walked to my room, Number 505 in the Gada Building and there on the bed was a copy of the latest "Padayatra Newsletter," an actual glossy magazine.  I was thrilled that my article entitled, "The Bruce Trail in Canada," made it into the 2019 edition.http://www.padayatra.com/padayatra-newsletter-2019/
 
High points—these brief encounters were, but there's more.  Another day of converging with monks of guru or teacher-status devotees was really special. Then there was the dress rehearsal for, "The Queen's Secret."  The troupe expressed being tired, but they worked on, nevertheless.  https://www.instagram.com/p/BupjPteAsVM/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=z4ru0ff0b8xh
 
 
May the Source be with you!
 
 
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