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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

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

To complement walking, swimming is one of those activities on the top of the list. A most pleasant person from Stratford, Jaya Gopal, picked me up from the big city to bring me to Lake Couchiching, one of three clean and tame lakes in the Orillia area. Now that was super sweet, however, the real purpose of the day was to partake in Orillia’s first Ratha Yatra festival. Done in downscale-style, the deities of Jagannath were set in the backseat of a van, and then driven to dozens of recipients, mo

Before I took my walk today I was sitting, and across from me was our senior-most monk who resides in our ashram. His name is Dakshin, a native of London, Ontario, and he became committed to bhakti, devotion, back in 1974 when he joined in Vancouver.

He’s a jolly and dutiful type of person and in the temple portion of our building he does two poojas (rituals) per day and also functions as our security for three hours. He can look mean with his stick and bears a grave persona, however, deep down

Judging by the amount of people in cafés and outdoor bars, things are opening up. At least that’s what Jivan Mukta, my walking companion for tonight, and I were observing. The problem with one, or two or more drinks is that you leave your guard down, and then social distancing can easily turn into social mingling. It looks like you could call it “opening up for trouble.” Oh well, I’m glad I don’t drink. I can’t, I’m a monk. Drinking toxins is a major taboo for us on the bhakti-yoga path. Drinkin

Sanjit and I decided to take a night walk going north to the Yonge and Davisville area, where walkers, runners and cyclists know the Beltline only too well. It was a former railway track and is now a trail used voraciously by feet and wheels—of a gentler kind. I mean to say no motorists here. The Beltline is characterized by a generous tree line on both sides, which is so much needed for a city like Toronto. I imagine many deer roamed here centuries ago. Not anymore.

I relayed to Sanjit that som

“We have some questions,” asked a curious young couple, modest in appearance and child-like in inquisitiveness, as I sat there in the centre of the park. I slid over on the bench to make room for them.

“What do you believe?” they persisted.

“We follow an ancient way from India called bhakti, it is a form of yoga-devotion.” I replied.

“You’re not a Buddhist?”

“No, we follow Krishna.”

“Christian?”

“No, Krishna, the speaker of the, Bhagavad-gita. Do you both live here in Canada?”

“We just arrived.