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Some of us will never forget this date—September eleventh—a sad day in human history. On a positive note, it is also the date that marks the birthday of a dear follower of Krishna. His name is Keshava and I remember this day of his, not because he is a terrorist, by any stretch. He is a kind-hearted Malaysian Canadian. I wish him well. Very well!

I walked to Saint Jamestown, to a clinic, to intimate a medical check-up for next week. A queue of people were standing in the hall, waiting for the gr

A brahman (priest) had just finished dealing with the call of nature, and took a quick look at what had come out of his system, remarking, “You are so disgusting!” His output responded back saying, “I was a sweet ladhoo until I entered your company for a few hours.”

That was, perhaps, a lesson in gross humility.

I was chatting today with the foreman overseeing the renovations going on in our ashram. He was speaking about the sewage pipeline in our building. “This building, which is well over 100

A last little touch of the boreal forest marked the end of my stay in Thunder Bay. The Beaver Meadows Trail takes one through a sweet boreal forest, a forest that occupies so much of Canada, holding a treasure of a huge collection of freshwater. Check out maps of this extraordinary spread of trees, ancient rocks and lakes. People speak of rainforests, such as the Amazon but, as I understand, the boreal bush impacts the globe in a similar, environmental way.

If you are a walker you have to love n

It has been relaxing here for me, and also for Ananda, who came from Regina. Both of us are getting some walking in—a piece of trail here or there. A treat was to get to Kakabeka Falls, which translates as “steep cliffs.” That they are. It’s always inspiring to be at this location, where I marvel at the cascading Kaministiquia River.

A twenty-five minute walking trail is connected to the falls, as an added feature. A sweet smelling boreal forest cuts the high winds of the day and makes you appre

Nature was conjuring up a storm of water. Ominous clouds were ever present in the sky and lightning made its periodic flash, accompanied by the rumble of thunder. Hey, that’s the name of this place!

It was at this time, early afternoon, that I began my mere two kilometre walk (my physiotherapist suggested I reduce daily treks and work on stretches to counteract stiffness). In any event, I decided to go at strides at a critical hour of nature. I don’t mind the reminder to be humble. The elements

Jim is a First Nations person, who had cycled over the creek’s bridge when he stopped to ask, “Are you a monk? Have you been to Tibet?” So I answered. He knew I was about to cross the bridge myself and mentioned there are lots of spirits that go to this bridge. When I handed him my mantra card and the mantra’s translation, he liked the word, “Creator.”

“Do you believe in a creator?” I asked.

“Yes.”                         

A young man, about twenty-five, Ray, was my next encounter. There was no

From Christie Pits Park we took ten minutes for contemplation. Sanjit, Chris and I sat on a bench, tilted our heads back and did a bit of stargazing. The moon, Jupiter and Saturn were close to each other. Clouds, white ones, skirted by, obscuring those luminaries. The wind was just the best of breezes. It was a wind bath. “Of purifiers I am the wind,” Krishna states.

The morning began with contemplation on Krishna’s words from 13.21 of the Gita:

“Nature is said to be the cause of all material ca

“Govinda’s,” the dining facility, which some people call “the restaurant,” was open today for the first time since the Covid-19 closure, and patrons are back. It has been a patient wait for folks. Over the months past I’ve been approached plenty of times by Govinda’s fans, in the course of my evening walks. It has been tough to tell people, “We’re closed!”

But now, that’s over. We’re closed on saying “we’re closed.” The food (prasadam) is the big attraction, as well as the atmosphere being a spa

It was sweet going from home to home with Savyasacin, not by foot, but in his red Jeep, following the caravan headed by Jagannatha deities. It is the Covid version of the Chariot Fest and, because it is relatively small scale, executing this mini party is very doable. All that is required are mantras, rituals, musical instruments, some satvic food—gas in your tank—companions, and a lot of bhakti. Today it took place in the burbs of Milton and tomorrow it’ll be Kingston. With the heat it felt lik

The life of a monk is so much about building bridges and closing gaps. The endeavour one takes is to connect jivas to the Divine; bringing two worlds together.

I have always admired bridges—those who engineer, those who construct and also those who repair them—while on my walking travels. I had a flashback of men at work on bridges over the Fraser, in Hope, British Columbia, in the rain.

There are many kinds of bridges. One is for the mouth, as in dentures. At noon, over lunch, my temporary bri

A package arrived. It came from my sister, Rose Ann. It was kind of her. She sent a homemade mask, crafted by her own hand. The print on this Covid 19 mask is of Radha and Krishna, so I was immediately reminded of something or guru, Prabhupada, said, that when chanting, using the upper and lower lips as well as the tongue, it is Krishna and His internal potency dancing on your tongue.

I’m not a big fan of wearing these masks but I understand they are very necessary. I’m somewhat fortunate to be

Rudradeva took me out of the city to Niagara-on-the-Lake, after we met with Vaishnava to open a bank account for our registered ISKCON Niagara. I was taken to see another property. Unbeknownst to me, this impeccable piece of land, ten acres, has animals on it—alpacas! Beautiful! And, in addition, we had a gorgeous chalet to view what operates like a B&B at rating 9.7.

This area is peaceful. One coyote comes around to catch the field mice. He moves around the pond which is in the shape of a figur

I got around today, but not too much. That Credit River, running through the hamlet of Terra Cotta, is full of prana, living force, although it’s a tiny flow of water that meanders for about 100 kilometres. Keshava and I went looking for land, thinking about a senior’s home for Vaishnavas.

We did not get the pleasure to swim in it, since time was limited. It was important to maintain my schedule, a Zoom live-streaming of an ongoing series on The Gita studies. It’s going well.

I also was pleasant

Chris is a Canadian, Catholic-raised guy who looks like Jesus. He came back from Thailand and India in the nick of time before Covid 19 slammed everything into lockdown. He, along with Sanjit, joined me for my evening walk. We talked about each other‘s upbringing and we discovered we had something in common — the Catholic connection.

Chris was a devout Catholic. He was an altar boy and he had nothing but a good experience. I would attend mass in church before going to school. I liked the peace o

I’m Hankering to be on the trail again

Where there’s nature and, yes, women and men.

A time for openness, interaction and then

A harmony, a calm, like a pure state of Zen.

I’ve taken to walking the land of the maple leaf

And foot-cruised the U.S. like a runaway thief

Through clover, corn, desert to the west coast reef

In a rhythm unstoppable beyond my own belief.

Took the challenge of Israel, its sand so dry,

And ventured under Ireland’s rare blue sky

Sugar cane countries where fish are put

From Bhagavad-gita As It Is, purport 13.8-12: “False ego means accepting this body as oneself. When one understands that he is not his body and is spirit soul, he comes to his real ego. Ego is there. False ego is condemned, but not real ego. In the Vedic literature it is said, ahaṁ brahmāsmi: I am Brahman, I am spirit. This “I am,” the sense of self, also exists in the liberated stage of self-realization. This sense of “I am” is ego, but when the sense of “I am” is applied to this false body it

The Greater Toronto Area has entered into its third phase of lifting restrictions imposed due to the pandemic. At Gage Park in Brampton, Stephen Philips and I could see how the public there was taking advantage of trees, grass, benches, flowers and the gazebo. I remember that gazebo. At eighteen years of age, a friend, Ron Casier, and I hitchhiked from Chatham, a good 300 kilometres through country roads, for an experience, and reached as far east as this gazebo. We took a nap at the shelter. It

I was ambling along, beyond The Annex, through the common neighbourhood, when I received a call from my assistant, Krishna Chandra.

“You have a zoom class, Maharaj!” He said on behalf of someone hosting.

“Oh, that is my total stupidity.” I’m routinely walking at this hour but tonight was special. I was to give a Gita class based on chapter nine, verse three, about faith.  “I forgot. Is it too late?”

Thus I answered my own question. I can still try it. I’m 38 minutes late. “Send me the zoom link.

The water was great at Cherry Beach; a rather hot spot in the summertime. It’s a big draw during these sultry, sunny days. This was my first time swimming there. Parking is free. No drinking is allowed on the beach. Positive elements for a monk. Scantily-clad ladies? Not too much of that.

It was Billy who drove me there, in his fire-engine red car—I’m not sure of the make. I never took much interest in car models. Trees always got me more excited.

Billy also enjoyed the water. It was catch-up ti

We managed to sustain an evening mini-concert on our temple’s entrance steps. Three extra people joined us — Georgia from Mexico (her first time here) and two guys, both with the name, Victor.  The sarod and djembe were captivating.

For today, rather tonight, we set out walking in the Casa Loma area, entering a lush ravine, residential area and then the famous castle itself. It was definitely a leisurely walk, which included a peek at the castle’s old stables and examining flora and fauna.  As t