The layover in Istanbul was a good seven hours, providing an opportunity to divide up time with either sitting, lying, standing or lotus-sitting. There are carpet patches which interrupt the tile floor, and they were just perfect for doing some yoga stretching. I guess in an international setting like this, one might expect a guy in orange robes to do such maneuvers.
Personally, though, I had to address my right side pain, a new feature to aging. It helped.
I indulged in a breakfast, and around the corner I could see a woman and man with bead bags around their necks. I know them to be devotees of the bhaktitradition. I beckoned them to come and see me, and it turned out these were members of the Nova Gokula Retreat in Brazil. My meeting them broke the isolation. Sweet people. Their flight was on, and we parted, but I then engaged in communication with an old friend, The Gita. Reading chapters seven and eight was mentally appeasing—grounding.
It was now time to queue for Flight 17, Turkish Airlines, destined for Toronto. Sneaking up behind me was a voice that went, "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna..." as he left me to guess. I surrendered and turned around. It was red-haired Jagannatha of Ukrainian descent, whom we call, "The Viking," who burst into a smile that was contagious. There we spoke of old and recent times, of the walks he and I did in Israel along the Mediterranean Sea, and of the dramas done together in Canada.
I was blessed on these very stretched out hours for one day.
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