Karuna Sindhu and I were setting up our tent at a suburban intersection where it was fairly quiet – grassy with some trees to provide enough privacy for the night’s slumber. It was just another one of those days, on the road, walking the country, putting in a good 40 kilometres/25 miles. Some young boys, a half a dozen or so from the neighbourhood, heard about the Walking Monk. They huddled around Karuna and I as we were setting up. They were intrigued with our rugged life-style as marathon walkers and as monastic men. I asked them if they could do us a favour – collect some rocks from the trees nearby and put them in a pile close to the tent. These rocks would come in handy in case some bears would come on an attack and we could then hurl them at them in order that we go back to slumber. The boys were most enthusiastic to help. They collected rocks and then wished us good luck for tomorrow’s journey on foot. They really wanted to come with us but their parents, they expressed, would not be persuaded.
The above was simply a dream of last night. I wish it wasn’t. It brought my subtle-self back to the road where I like to be.
In any event I really had to pinch myself and take stock of my actual day. In reflection some items of the day were 1) recording a message reporting to the local community on how the temple ashram is doing during the lockdown 2) taking a walk with Aisvarya, in his early 20s, from Trinidad, and stuck in Canada 3) relishing David’s attempt at quesadillas 4) delivering a class from the book Bhagavatam and 5) listening to Dwarkanath playing his sarod. How sweet it all was!