Krishna Bus Tour

Part 18- California

Narottam and I recited Bhagavad Gita from memory to stay awake for the overnight drive. "You're such a weirdo," I said, "learning Sanskrit. I wish there were more people like you."

***

My first stop that morning was the Pacific Ocean. We caught a few waves then walked to the temple which is just a couple blocks from the beach. Lunch was in the courtyard under tropical trees that broke sunlight into dancing palm leaf triangles.

The Pacific Ocean keeps San Diego cool in summer and warm in winter. I wondered why I'd lived in North Carolina all these years.

Our bus tour kids were beautiful and well dressed. I tried to blend in by standing tall and thinking young.

Nitya Lila was at the head of the line making plates.

"You're serving again?" I said.

"Yes, I enjoy it!"

"Then I'll eat something to make you happy."

"That's a good idea. Take one more of these."

I hope to live long enough to see these kids take over the world.

A monk joined me at the table. "Do you remember me?" he said.

"Yes of course! But from where?"

"We met in Seattle a few years back ..."

"Oh, yes! You're from Iran."

"Yes."

"You read the Gita in Iran ..."

"Yes."

"Then you met devotees at Penn State University."

"Yes."

"Then got a job in Seattle. When I met you there, you said the devotees were the only people you knew—your entire social circle."

"Yes." He spoke with precision.

"So now you're here? A full time monk?"

"Yes."

Our table was loud with jokes and conversations, I leaned closer to be heard. "That required teamwork," I said. "Someone brought a book to Iran. Was that risky?"

"Yes, it was."

"You found it and became interested."

"More than interested. I was hungry, searching ..."

"Then you met devotees in America, several times. It was a team that got you from one point to the next."

"Yes. I'm grateful to each of them."

"We each play a part ..."

Laughter erupted at our table, migrating to the other tables, too loud for us to talk anymore. We ate lunch and watched the fun.

***

As I locked the bus, a wrinkled hippie woman stopped to admire it. "I lived many happy years in a bus just like this," her eyes brightened.

I told her about our tour.

"It's wonderful that young people still do that!"

"Yes."

"What are you about? I've seen you people over the years."

"We believe in kindness." I'd never answered it that way before, but it felt right. "I've been sustained by kindness and I pass it on every chance I get." I held my guitar, "I'm supposed to be at the temple right now. There's a concert. You're welcome to join."