August 4, Saturday, Los Angeles. Gurukula Reunion and Harinama in Santa Monica.
The annual Gurukula Reunion at Culver City Park starts at 11:00 a.m. "It's not really a reunion for me," says Jahnavi. "I don't know anyone here. It's more like a gathering of youth who have grown up around the Hare Krishna movement." Gradually more and more people trickle into the park and begin to cluster around their friends. A frisbee takes flight over here. A football is tossed over there. I search for gurukulis from my generation. There's Chaits, Bahu, Sri Shyam, Dayanidhi, Shivajvara, Ramachandra, Kirtan Rasa, Giri, Vibhu... The "reunion" seems to attract mostly younger people these days. Several teenage skateboarders from Watseka Avenue and their siblings. I feel like a dying breed. At 35, I'm twice as old as the average attendee, old enough to be their father.
I strike up a conversation with Dayanidhi, whom I haven't seen in years. He is living with his wife and two children in Badger, California, growing a garden, living in nature, the simple life. Chaits is researching the history of the L.A. reunions. We spend a few minutes remembering those involved in organizing the early reunions. Bahu says he wants to revive AS IT IS magazine. I give him my thumbs up and share my interest in recording audio and video interviews with the older generation of gurukulis, to tell their stories, and to rekindle communication.
Here are some photos taken by Chaits. Click on this link to view them.
The reunion feast arrives, late, but worth the wait. Krsna Gauranga Prabhu has prepared lasagna, salad, nectar drink and mango cheese cake. We reminisce that Krsna Gauranga has been cooking the reunion feasts ever since we can remember. After everyone has had their fill, there's leftover cheesecake. I grab a tray and walk around the park, serving extra cheesecake to anyone who will eat it. "Have seconds! Have thirds! A cheesecake eating competition!"
By 4:40 p.m. it's time to head back to the temple to get ready for harinama.
3rd Street Promenade, Santa Monica. Harinama Sankirtana.
Harinama literally means the holy name of Hari, or Krishna. Sankirtana means to glorify or chant with lots of people in congregation. What we have come to refer to as "harinama sankirtana", or harinama for short, means going out in public and chanting the holy names of Krishna loudly, in procession, accompanied by mridanga drums, kartal cymbals, and enthusiastic dancing. This has been a part of our Krishna culture going back to the time of Lord Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, who held harinama sankirtana with thousands of people in the streets of West Bengal, India, 500 years ago.
3rd Street Promenade is a pedestrian shopping street in Santa Monica, a trendy ocean-front suburb of Los Angeles. Brand name stores line the streets here, from fashion to jewelry to cosmetics to Apple computers. Once a year, Hare Krishna devotees engulf this place in an ecstatic wave of Krishna kirtana, joyfully chanting the holy names of Krishna, blissfully dancing in the streets. Some 200 to 300 devotees who have come for the Ratha-yatra festival participate. And the locals have come to expect it.
I follow behind the harinama party with a video camera, filming audience reactions. I study the faces of the onlookers, of those curiously gazing at the devotees chanting and dancing in apparent abandon. I ask a couple of gentlemen, "What do you think of all of this?" They respond, "It's beautiful. Just beautiful. Thank you so much for coming out here."
This was not the reply I had expected. I had expected people to be annoyed with us. For three hours I continue to follow the harinama party, filming audience reactions. Some people stay for half an hour at a time, watching us, soaking in the exotic visuals and music. I see smiles on faces. Some shake their head from side to side, as if to notion, "I don't understand... what is this?" But they can't stop looking. A Korean father trails behind us, his young son on his shoulders. They follow the harinama party intently, as if to figure out its meaning.
The bus tour girls are now dancing in choreographed unison at the front of the procession. Jahnavi from England is leading the Maha-mantra kirtana. We've taken over the center of the shopping street. A curious couple stops to look. The man is watching our girls dance, saris swirling. I note some discomfort in the facial expression of his girlfriend. Soon she begins to tug at her man, urging him to move along.
It's now half past nine in the evening. The pedestrian zone is illuminated by multicolored signs above shop windows. Most of the shops are closed but people are still gathered in the streets, watching the harinama commotion. Acyuta from New York begins to lead. Normally you'd be completely exhausted by now. Instead, the youth and older devotees swell up with a new burst of enthusiasm and dance like they haven't danced before, sing like they haven't sung before, and the kirtana soars to another level of transcendence. You finally abandon all thought of material comfort--you're hot, thirsty, sweating. You stop worrying about what other people think of you--your tilak and kajal is running all over your face, your dhoti and sari are no longer neatly pleated. You just close your eyes and get caught up in the waves of kirtana... Hare Krishna... Hare Krishna... Krishna Krishna... Hare Hare... Hare Rama... Hare Rama... Rama Rama... Hare Hare! There's nothing but you and the holy names in the three worlds. Everything else loses significance.
August 5, Sunday, Los Angeles Ratha-yatra Festival of Chariots.
Early this morning a team including Premanjana, Haridas, Priya, Krsnapriya, Datta, and Jaya Radhe meet with senior North American leaders about the feasibility of the youth taking over ISKCON St. Louis as a youth temple project. The youth express concern about whether or not they will be given actual responsibility to manage. The senior devotees express concern about the spiritual strength of the youth. Will they be able to maintain Srila Prabhupada's spiritual standards? Both sides are hopeful and positively enthused by the end of the meeting.
By mid morning, Lord Jagannatha, Lady Subhadra, and Lord Baladeva are taken via luxury limousines to the Ratha-yatra parade start, where their four-story tall chariots await them. Jagannatha Ratha-yatra, or the Lord of the Universe's Chariot Festival, is, according to our tradition, the world's oldest continuously observed festival. It has been held annually in the holy city of Puri on the eastern coast of India for the past 5000 years. Puranic histories ascribe the beginning of this festival to the time of King Indradyumna, who purportedly lived in a previous age, tens of thousands of years ago. He desired to see the Lord face to face, which led to the manifestation of the Lord in the deity forms of Jagannatha, Baladeva and Subhadra. During the Ratha-yatra chariot festival, the Lord of the Universe comes out of the temple to bestow His blessings upon the people of the world. On the request of our founder Acharya, His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, members of the Hare Krishna movement have been holding Lord Jagannatha's Ratha-yatra festival in major cities around the world for the past 40 years. Los Angeles Ratha-yatra is one of the largest, and has been observed annually in this city for 32 years.
The parade begins to move. The Lord's three large chariots are being pulled with long yellow ropes by hundreds of participants along Main Street in downtown Santa Monica. Three kirtana parties glorify the Lord's holy names, one in front of each chariot. The festival tour youth lead one of the kirtanas. The parade passes the bustling farmer's market. We turn right, then left, onto Ocean Front Walk. We're now entering the city of Venice, and Lord Jagannatha is strolling along Venice Beach. This is tourist mecca. Hundreds of curious visitors walk past the chariot procession and kirtana parties. We pass roadside vendors selling incense, temporary tattoos, air-brushed t-shirts, sunglasses... A handful of fundamentalist Christian preachers have come out to protest in front of our procession. They yell derogatory statements over their megaphones. They inform us that we're all going to hell. They march in front of our parade, as if they're a part of it, with their banners raised high proclaiming Jesus as the only way. I wish they would utilize their energies to hold similar processions glorifying the Lord's holy names, rather than fight over designations.
"Krishna surya sama," the Sanskrit saying goes. Krishna is like the sun. As the sun is known by many names around the world, similarly, God is known by many names. God is one. He cannot be two. He has many names according to time, place, culture. In our millennia-old tradition, God, the Creator, the Lord of Lords, is known as Krishna, or Vishnu (another name for Krishna.) By meditating on Him and His names we come to realize that we are all children of the same Father, and thus develop goodwill and peace towards our brothers and sisters of different creed and color.
Eventually, the Ratha-yatra procession reaches the festival site on Venice Beach. Our tent village is filled with people from all walks of life. Old people, young people, Asian, Caucasian, African American, Latino... a melting pot of designations absorbed in the dazzling cultural display that is Lord Jagannatha's Ratha-yatra Festival. Coming to think of it, Lord Jagannatha is black, His brother Baladeva is white, and Their sister Subhadra is yellow. If that isn't a sign to unify as brothers and sisters regardless of our external designations and skin color, I don't know what is.
Some of our youth take turns serving the free feast. Hibiscus iced tea, pasta salad, peanut butter sweets, potato fritters, peanuts and raisins. More than 10,000 plates of free vegetarian food will be distributed to festival goers today.
The "Changing Bodies" diorama exhibit about reincarnation is popular as ever. Absorbed, people sit on the grass in front of the main stage where Viji Prakash and her dance academy are performing intricately choreographed Bharata-natyam dances. The music stage is well attended. Nirantara and Titiksava Karunika Prabhus entertain with devotional rock music.
At 3:15 p.m. our festival tour youth go on stage to perform DEVOTION. I notice the audience has a hard time sitting attentively in the hot sun. I wish there was a way to provide shade for them. Madhuha Prabhu and I discuss options for a large canopy or parachute hanging over the area in front of the main stage to throw some shade... Maybe next year, if we get a donation for this.
After our performance, Karnamrita leads a kirtana that evolves from blissful to nectarean to ecstatic, as more and more devotees join her, inspiring the audience to get up and dance. Soon the entire crowd of people in front of the main stage is dancing. People are plucking flowers off Lord Jagannatha's chariot, tearing them apart and throwing petals over each other's heads.
Sunset signals time for take-down. For us festival tour youth this means changing into work pants and getting ready to take down the tents, exhibits, and stages. We begin by handing out trash bags and encouraging people to pick up the flower petals that have been strewn all over the lawn in front of the chariots and main stage. Teams begin untying the ropes that secure the tents to concrete blocks. Others carry exhibit panels back to the festival trailer. Soon the tents are empty and ready to be disassembled. It takes four people to carry the smaller ten-foot by ten-foot tents. One person per pole. We lift the tent and start walking towards the trailer where all the festival gear is stored. There, we pull out the poles that serve as legs for the tent, lower the canopy to the ground, unstrap it, fold it and roll it up, and then take apart the poles that form the frame that supports the canopy. The poles are stored in color-coded slots in the trailer. Just as it is described in the scriptures that, at the end of the cosmic cycle all universes enter into the body of Maha-vishnu, so at the end of the festival, all tents, exhibits, and stage pieces disappear into the Festival of India trailer.
It's dark. The wind is blowing chilly spells from the ocean. I put on an extra sweatshirt, flip the hoodie over my head and secure it with a scarf. Using flashlights we search the festival site for remaining Festival of India gear. Once all of our stuff is put away, it's time to start helping the L.A. crew put away their festival gear. It's basically like helping with two take-downs in a row. Ratnabhusana Prabhu has his own set of tents, exhibits, poles, canopies, and stage pieces which we don't want to mix up with our gear. So we take down Madhuha Prabhu's Festival of India equipment first, and Ratnabhusana Prabhu's L.A. festival gear second. After a five-hour marathon, we're finally done. Refreshments await. Leftovers from the various food booths. Strawberry milkshake. Mango milkshake. Curd steaks in tomato sauce. Oatmeal and raisin cookies. Nothing like a midnight snack after a long festival day and extra long take-down. We are just hallucinating about warm Caribbean beaches, palm trees, pinacoladas, when the call comes to use the bathrooms, brush our teeth, and head to bed. The buses will be leaving shortly. Time to get back on the road again. If Jack Kerouac reincarnated as a Hare Krishna, he's probably on the festival bus tour right now.
August 6, Monday, Kings Canyon Sequoia National Park.
His Holiness Radhanatha Swami accompanies us to Kings Canyon this morning. He's riding in the back of the men's bus, on the deck area. About 15 of our young men are gathered around him, on all sides. Maharaja is leading Guruvastakam prayers. The deck is a raised platform at the back of the bus, surrounded on three sides by bunk beds. Some are lying down on bunk beds and others are sitting on the deck... wherever they can fit into this tight space. Radhanatha Swami recalls the time he lived in a cave in the Himalayas, before he joined the Hare Krishna movement. He says this situation reminds him of that time. A modern cave on wheels. He tells stories of the sages he met, and how later, some years ago, he went back to find those same ascetics, to see what had happened to them. He tells the story of one particular yogi, Tatwalla Baba, who wore only burlap loin cloth and would sit in meditation for twenty hours at a time. He was his cave mate.
We arrive at Kings Canyon Sequioa National Park late morning. I notice a signpost for Grant Grove, an area of giant sequioa trees, and ask the bus driver to pull over. Radhanatha Swami mentions that he has never been to this part of the country before, never seen such large trees. We get off the bus and stroll down the circular path that leads to some of the named and more famous trees. The Tennesee Tree. The Robert E. Lee Tree. The General Grant Tree, apparently the third largest tree in the world by volume. Maharaja stares incredulously at these giant trees that have stood here for 2000-plus years. He asks us to consider what these trees would say to us if they could speak. What would their message be, having witnessed hundreds of generations come and go, entire civilizations rise and fall? Maharaja reminds us that Lord Chaitanya Mahaprabhu requested us to be more tolerant than a tree. He asks us to consider the kind of tolerance the Lord is speaking about. These giant sequoia trees have withstood long cold winters, rain storms, forest fires, strong winds, people and animals picking away at their limbs and bark... For hundreds, even thousands of years. How tolerant the Lord wants us to be.Breakfast calls. We board our bus and catch up with the ladies' bus that has already arrived at our Dorst Creek group campsite. Breakfast is granola, milk and fruit. One of our older youth and bus tour counselors, Dattatreya Prabhu's grandfather passed away yesterday. Datta found out this morning and has been quite sober and teary eyed. Radhanatha Swami tries to console him and suggests that we hold a kirtana in honor of Dattatreya's grandfather. We spread out a large green tarp under a canopy of red pine trees and place the bus tour Gaura Nitai deities on a table at one end. Maharaja begins the kirtana. Gradually the tarp fills with youth. Observing the deities, we respond to the Maha-mantra kirtana.
Later, we take the ladies to Sherman Grove, another patch of giant trees. Maharaja and I accompany them. We approach the General Sherman Tree, the largest tree in the world by volume, touted as "the largest living thing."
Again Maharaja pauses and asks the ladies to ponder the message this tree would impart to us, could he speak. He asks the ladies to share their thoughts on what this tree might tell us. "Stop fighting with one another," says one girl. "Go back to Godhead," says another. "Don't become a tree like me," Varshana says jokingly. We take group photos against the trunk of the world's largest tree, who is estimated to be between 2300 - 2700 years old. On the way out of the grove we see twin sequoia trees, merged at their base. "They must have liked each other in a previous life," someone whispers. "I wonder what kind of karma they've had to spend thousands of years together as trees," another adds.Radhanatha Swami has an appointment in San Diego and Balarama Chandra Prabhu is here to give him a ride. Sadly, we part. It is always a blessing to have the association of sadhus on the bus tour. To my surprise, Radhanatha Swami gets behind the wheel of the SUV, smiles and waves goodbye as he drives off. Apparently he doesn't often get to drive--people are always chauffeuring him--so he enjoys this opportunity away from formalities where he can drive a car through the rugged countryside of Kings Canyon Sequoia National Park.
Satvata Prabhu, our cook, has prepared a dinner of rice and beans. We spend the evening around the campfire, holding evening arati for the Gaura Nitai deities, telling stories, and playing Krishna conscious charades.
August 7, Tuesday, Kings Canyon Sequoia National Park.
Amal slept next to the campfire last night. He points to where flying embers hit and burnt holes into his sleeping bag. One by one, people wake up and gather around the fire. We've thrown more wood on it early this morning to ward off the chill that happens just as the sun rises and evaporates the dew, cooling the surface of the earth. Some of us get out our bead bags and begin our japa for the day.
I notice leftover beans and rice in the pots from yesterday. I glance at the cozy campfire and wonder if we didn't bring with us an iron skillet and some butter. Jaya Radhe, my wife, rummages through the kitchen at the back of the bus, and a skillet manifests. And it so happens there's some butter left in one of the coolers. With choice ingredients in hand, I simmer butter, beans and rice in a skillet over the glowing embers. "Hot campfire baked beans and rice, anyone?"
"Mmmmh!," the first of the taste testers mumbles. Govi and Jaggi agree. "Mmmh! - Mmmmh!" they echo. Soon, the entire stash of leftover beans and rice has been devoured by the early risers. "Anyone ready for this morning's actual breakfast?" Apparently Jaya Radhe and Mohini have made pancakes in the kitchen at the back of the bus. Aunt Jemima's table syrup and all.
Today's activity is supposed to be a hike to Mist Falls, at the bottom of Kings Canyon. I start the yellow bus (Garuda 2) and am surprised when, a minute later, the engine dies on me. I take a look... there's no fuel in the fuel filter. The fuel gauge reads the tank is just under half full. The bus is parked at an angle. Maybe the gauge is jammed or broken? I try again... no fuel. The bus won't start.
"We have to try and siphon some diesel fuel out of the tank and fill the fuel filter, so the engine will start," I suggest to the gathering of blank stares. Right. Siphon. Yup. People disperse. Not me. Not me either. Nobody wants to get diesel fuel in their mouth. And besides, what hose are we going to sacrifice for this adventure? The only hose we have? The one used to fill water into the bus water tanks? Yup.
I cut the hose and stuff it deep into fuel tank. I suck on the open end but get diesel fumes in my head and have second thoughts. I pause. I look around. Lots of incredulous stares from the peanut gallery. Then a flash of genius hits me. I dip the hose deep into the fuel tank, stick my index finger into the open end of the hose to plug it, and pull it out halfway and try to drain the fuel, to create a siphon. It works! Only one little problem. There doesn't seem to be much fuel in the tank. We are getting droplets and dribbles. Not the gallon of fuel I had hoped for to refill the fuel filter. Maybe the hose is too short. I cut another length of hose, longer this time. Again I feed one end of the hose deep into the fuel tank and apply the stuff-your-finger-in-open-end-of-hose siphon technique. Droplets. Dirty diesel fuel. Maybe the tank is really empty. The fuel gauge must be broken. How else would the fuel filter have run completely dry?
Onto plan B. Forget the drive to Mist Falls. Ain't happening. We look at the Kings Canyon Sequoia National Park map to find an alternative day-trip location. There seems to be a stream with swimming holes a few miles south of our campsite. We could take the boys' school bus and shuttle people there in two trips. Or squeeze all 50 of us into that smaller bus for a short 20-minute drive to this alternate location. Sounds like a plan.
We all mount the 35-foot short boys' school bus, which is outfitted with permanent bunk beds and doesn't comfortably fit more than 20 people. "Girls on the deck in the back, boys on the bunk beds in the middle and front of the bus!" People squeeze in as best they can. We drive to the creek, let everyone off, and then turn the bus around and drive about 30 miles to the only gas station that sells diesel fuel, just outside the park. It's $3.59 per gallon. I don't care. We're filling buckets, coolers, empty 5-gallon water containers, anything we can get our hands on, with diesel fuel to bring back to the big yellow bus stranded at our campsite.
Back at the site, Sacinandana, Dravinaksa and I have rigged a funnel into a hose into the fuel tank, and are transferring half-buckets at a time from coolers into the funnel, straining the diesel fuel as we go. It's a slow process. The sun is high in the sky by now, burning down on us. Beads of sweat run down my forehead. We're covered in fuel. We laugh at our predicament, trying to keep our sanity. The diesel fuel is bright neon yellow. We joke about it being Gatorade. "Anyone thirsty?" Dravinaksa sets aside a few gallons to refill the fuel filter at the back of the engine. We're now 4 hours into this project of trying to resuscitate the big yellow bus. Drav doesn't have the right tools he needs to undo the fuel filter. He tries with several wrenches. Getting it off is one thing. Getting it back on is another. Somehow or other, by Krishna's mercy, 5 hours later, in the mid-afternoon heat, we are ready to try to start that bus again.
I switch on the main power switches inside the battery compartment. I turn the red battery conditioning switches. I walk to the front of the bus and hit the ignition switch. A rumble. The whining of belts and the engine turning over. Then silence. The engine is dry and not burning fuel. We're hesitant to play this game too often, because the batteries can get drained quickly and we're miles away from civilization. Dravinaksa is confident. He says the fuel filter is looking good. He can see the fuel level through it's transparent looking glass, and it's only a matter of time before the engine will suck it up and start. I press the ignition switch again.... the engine turns over and runs dry for about a minute. I can hear it slowing down as the battery drains and drains. There's air in the fuel lines, for sure, that has to be eliminated. I hear a stutter. And another. I pray at this point that the battery will last to keep cranking the engine until the fuel arrives. Another stutter. Now two in a row. Sounds promising. There! A cloud of black smoke from the exhaust! More frequent stutters. More smoke. At last... the engine turns over on its own. "Jaya! -- Haribol!" Sacinandana exclaims, visibly exhausted but happy to see the end result... Dravinaksa smiles. We look at each other contently and begin to clean up the mess. With the engine running on high idle in the background, we wipe diesel fuel off our arms using paper towels, carry the funnel, coolers and buckets over to the campsite water spigot, douse them with laundry soap and scrub away.
We drive the big yellow bus to the gas station, fill the tank to the top with diesel fuel, and pick up the youth by 5:15 p.m. at the swimming hole. We're running 15 minutes late (we told them to be ready for us at 5:00). One of the boys complains that he had to wait for 15 minutes. I swallow a humble pill and choose not to react. I smile and wave him in. "All aboard!"
That evening the day's stresses melt away as my mind gets a chance to bathe in the sounds of sweet bhajans. The occasional crackling of moist wood in the campfire blends with melodious beats from Amal's mridanga, Nani's kartalas, and Kumari's singing Maha-mantra melodies. We're surrounded by old-growth red pine forest, and it's as if these grandfather trees are standing there, participating, in their own quiet way. Unpretentious bhajans like these inspire me on the tour. Nobody is trying to show off. We're just winding down the day, meditating on the holy names, focusing on Krishna.August 8, Wednesday, Hume Lake. Ekadasi.
It's early morning. Several guys roam out into the surrounding pine forest to collect firewood. Others are busy tucking potatoes into aluminum foil. Dasa and Premanjana build a large campfire to create mounds of glowing red embers. When the fire dies down, Dasa whacks away at the embers to break them up and spread them evenly across the pit. We toss foil-wrapped potatoes onto the embers, followed by dry twigs and branches. The potatoes are being cooked from two sides, by the embers below, and by the resuming fire above. 45 minutes later, we try to retrieve them with chapati tongs and sticks. Mohini inspects one. She unravels the tin foil and breaks apart the potato inside. Soft, thoroughly cooked. She prepares it with butter, salt and sour cream, and offers it to the murti of Srila Prabhupada. Now we're ready for a nice Ekadasi prasadam breakfast.Time to clean up and load the buses. Nani (Ananda Gopal from Hawaii) is inspired to do service this morning and washes pots for about an hour at the water spigot. After that we're off to man-made Hume Lake in the Sequoia National Forest.
Our goal for today is to fit drama rehearsals into the schedule, to train new actors who are replacing Sundari and Rasikananda. Between them they played Hanuman / Lord Nityananda and Sukadeva Goswami / Yudhisthira / Ananta the carpenter. It will take four less experienced volunteers to replace these two gifted prabhus. Sundari is going back to school, which starts early in Hawaii. Rasikananda needs to make money and has been offered a design job in Los Angeles.
At our pre-trip inspection of the buses, Sacinandana Prabhu notices that the water pump belt on the school bus is cracked and looks like it needs replacement. Upon closer inspection, some of the other belts look worn and are starting to fray. We decide to send the boys' school bus to Fresno, to a truck repair place, to have the belts replaced. We split the youth into two groups, one who prefers to spend the day shopping in Fresno, the other swimming and rehearsing the drama at Hume Lake.
I stay with the group that spends the day at Hume Lake. I help Satvata Prabhu prepare lunch. At the swimming beach, Jaya Radhe, Deva, Jaya, Ani, Dasa, Laksmi, Krsnapriya, and Basab have an involved discussion about the merits of astrology. Is it that if you believe in astrology you don't really have faith in Krishna, that Krishna will take care of you? The arguments go back and forth.
In the evening we drive to Fresno, where we shop for groceries and serve a dinner of mashed potato and vegetable subji in the parking lot of a Target supermarket. By 10:00 p.m. the lights go out in the parking lot. We take it as a sign to board the buses and hit the road again, hauling north along Route 99, then I-5, towards Oregon state.
August 9, Thursday, Crater Lake National Park.
The Klamath River Rest and Recreation Area on the state line between California and Oregon serves as our breakfast stop. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us so it's a short stop. We continue on Interstate 5 northbound. The ladies' bus is blissed out on bhajans... they radio the men's bus over the walkie-talkie, showing off the bhajans they're having, including singing the Brahma Samhita Prayers, Siksastakam Prayers, and Anapayini's rendition of Markine Bhagavata Dharma. The landscape changes gradually from arid scrub to forested to lush and green. There's more rainfall in Oregon than in California. After several hours we arrive at Crater Lake National Park.
This is the only park that gave us an educational fee waiver, which we put in a request for at all the parks we had planned to visit this summer. "To educate our students about the beauty of God's creation." So we present the fee waiver at the park entrance, and are waived through by the rangers.
The winding road climbs up and over the rim of an extinct volcano's crater. As we cross over the top of the rim to the other side, we can see why the rangers gave us the fee waiver. The cobalt blue, almost fluorescent deep blue waters of crater lake are a mysterious beauty of God's creation that have little comparison anywhere else on the planet. 1,900 feet deep, the water has a clarity of 100 feet visibility, and contains almost no dissolved solids due to the absence of any incoming water source like a river. The lake is fed by rain and snow melt, which equals the rate of evaporation. The hard volcanic rim around the crater seeps little sediment into the cold water, preserving its clear, deep blue, mesmerizing color.
I ponder another aspect of the majesty of Krishna's creation, as I try to imagine the peak of this volcano before it blew off and created this huge 6-miles-in-diameter caldera which is now filled with water. I try to imagine the eruption, the sheer force of it, which must have been visible from hundreds of miles away. There's something uneasy about standing inside the caldera of a volcano, even if the geologists say it is extinct. From this vantage point, I can see other, active volcanoes in the distance, to the north and south. We're in the midst of the Cascade Range, a long string of volcanoes, some active, some dormant, some extinct.
There's a path that leads down to the waterline inside the caldera. Most of the youth don their swim suits and climb on down. I stay back, along with a core team of people, to prepare lunch. From the photos they bring back on their digital cameras, it seems like it was definitely worth the hike down the caldera. It seems that some brave people actually jumped into the cold water and swam for a few seconds.
After everyone returns, by about 4:30 p.m., and we do a head count to make sure we're not missing anyone, we serve a late lunch and take group photos with Crater Lake in the background. Then it's time to get back on the buses. We're expected in Seattle tomorrow.The familiar rumble of the bus engine feels like home away from home. The only constant in a constantly changing landscape.
August 10, Friday, Seattle.
The buses are parked at a rest area south of Tacoma early this Friday morning. We decide to stay until people get up, so they have sufficient sinks and rest rooms to attend to their morning routines. We serve breakfast here. My wife, Jaya Radhe, is getting off the tour today. She's a teacher and needs to fly home to begin teacher's meetings a week before school starts. As it turns out, we have family in Seattle. Jaya Radhe's grandma, aunt, uncle and several cousins.
We drop Jaya Radhe off at the Wild Waves water park exit, where her aunt is waiting to pick her up. Jaya Radhe will spend the day with relatives and fly out late this evening. It's a teary eyed goodbye. Both I and the rest of the crew will miss her. She adds so much life to the bus tour with her good natured, personable approach to the daily challenges. I'm generally introverted. Jaya Radhe is the opposite. She thrives on socializing with people on the tour, being everyone's friend and well-wisher. It's sad to see her leave. After several rounds of hugs and goodbyes, we part.
Today is laundry day. Time to wash a week's worth of dirty clothes that have been piling up on and under our bunk beds, and in our bags. Finding a laundromat is sometimes easier said than done. I finally call 411 directory information, and ask for the Chamber of Commerce for Bellevue, the suburb we're driving through on the way to the temple in Redmond.
"Yeah, hi. I'm with a church youth group from Florida, traveling through Seattle today. We're looking for a laundromat in the Bellevue area where we can have our youth wash their laundry? Would you have any ideas or suggestions for us?"
"Uh, hmmm... let me see. Laundromat? You mean a self-service coin laundry, not one of those dry cleaners, right?"
"Yes, coin laundry."
"Okay, I'm googling "coin laundry" in the Bellevue area right now and... Google is showing me a Kwik 'n Cleaner Laundry and Dry Cleaning on 156th Avenue Northeast."
"Great! How do we get there from the 520 freeway?"
"Let me see. Google says to take the Redmond way exit, then right on 24th Avenue North..."
I am amazed that the Chamber of Commerce help desk person is so helpful, and even more amazed that he's using Google to find all of his information. Makes me think twice about bringing along one of those Internet data cards the cell phone companies are offering... we did it last year but didn't use it that much... it ended up costing us more than $650. The call to 411 directory assistance and to the chamber of commerce is costing me only a $1.
By 5:00 p.m. we've washed and dried our laundry, more or less (some items are still a bit wet), and Satvata Prabhu has cooked a late pasta lunch slash early dinner for us. We eat linner (lunch/dinner) in the parking lot next to the laundromat. Then we head out to find the temporary Seattle temple. They've relocated the deities to an office building in Redmond while they're building the new temple in the Seattle suburb of Sammamish.
Arriving at an office park in Redmond we see a hand-painted sign, "Vedic Cultural Center", pointing towards the back of one of the buildings. We follow the sign. Next we see a giant hand-painted "108" glued to one of the office building windows. There's an open garage door with some devotees cooking on an outdoor burner, camped out in this unusual location. This must be it. I approach them. They show me to the entrance around the corner. ... Lo and behold, a temple room temporarily manifests in the middle of a warehouse building. The deity curtain is open for darshan. I see four sets of large deities, Gaura Nitai, Radha-Krishna, Jagannatha, Baladeva and Subhadra, and Sita-Ram Lakshman Hanuman, on altars raised above the warehouse floor, humbly awaiting their new Vedic Cultural Center to be built. I pay my respects, offering prostrated dandavats.
The devotees and congregation are expecting us to perform here tonight. It was supposed to be a hall program but somehow the promotions didn't work out in time. (The devotees were busy with another festival that happened the week before our arrival.) So Anapayini and I scope out the available space in the temple room and decide on what corner of the room to use as the "stage." Then we put down mats on the floor where the audience will sit, and find an empty room for the performers to change and get ready.
By evening arati, I notice that there are only about 20 guests in the temple room. I search for the performers and give them a little pep talk. "This is going to be a small, intimate performance. There are just a handful of people in the audience tonight. But these few people are the most important people in the Seattle congregation. They are the committed ones. They are building a 4 million dollar Vedic Cultural Center. If you give them your best performance tonight, hopefully they will be so impressed that next year they'll rent a hall for us." The performers agree to give it their best, despite the low turnout.
I sit up against the wall of the temporary temple room to watch the performance. I must have seen it two dozen times by now, but every time there's a new nuance I can appreciate. As I watch each scene, I can see that the performers are really trying their best to stay focused. (Thank you!) It's not easy to tour the country and perform with volunteers, amateur actors, some of whom have never acted before coming on this tour. It's entirely up to their inspiration and devotion if the performance will be good or not.
During the Karna and Kunti scene, I can't hold back my tears. They're just streaming down my cheek. I don't bother to wipe them away. I decide that I am not going to care about people looking at me. If they are watching the play, they're probably crying too.
Within five minutes after the performance is over I'm approached by Harivilas Prabhu and two of the local festival organizers about renting a hall next year. They insist that they will rent a really nice theater they've used in the past, with a capacity of 450 people, and that we should let them know four months in advance so they have enough time to prepare and promote.
The Seattle devotees serve a nice prasadam dinner for the guests and performers. At around 10:30 p.m., we're packing up and loading the buses again, heading ever further north to the Canadian border.
August 11, Saturday, Vancouver Ratha-yatra, Day One.
I wake up due to people getting on and off the bus, making the bus bounce slightly as they step on or off it. We're at the Vancouver temple parking lot once again. Don't ask me why we drove from Vancouver all the way to Mexico and back again. It's a long story. Let's just say that it would save Festival of India and the bus tour tens of thousands of dollars if certain Ratha-yatra festival coordinators could agree to coordinate their dates with one another so we didn't have to drive up and down the Pacific coast twice in one festival season. Grrr. Arrgh.
By Krishna's arrangement, we are at Vancouver temple parking lot once again. The men are helping to set up the festival, on location at Stanley Park, near the ocean. The ladies are helping to pick marigolds in the field behind the Vancouver temple and string garlands to decorate the Ratha-yatra chariots. They're also helping to shuck (de-husk) corn on the cob for one of the festival food booths. Today is the first of a two-day weekend Ratha-yatra festival.
Around 1:30 p.m. we all meet at the festival site. The tent village is set up in historic Stanley Park, on English Bay, right on the shore front, facing the Pacific Ocean. We've set up a children's tent, several food booths, a free feast tent in the center, the main stage with large tents above where the audience sits (for shade), a music stage for bands to perform, questions and answers, mantra meditation, vegetarianism, reincarnation, a deity tent for Lord Jagannatha... now we just need people to show up.
It's 3:00 p.m. We've been scheduled to perform. There are seven people in the audience. Two of whom are devotees. The festival site is empty. It's an overcast day, a little on the cold side out here in the park next to ocean. The logic is that if we perform, then the non-moving living entities will applaud and gradually the moving living entities will find their way into the tent because they see something is going on at the festival site.
Hmmm. Aha. Right. Hmmmm again. Okay. We will perform. Come on, it will be fun. After all, this is our devotional service. Nobody is paying us to do this. Think of it as a dress rehearsal run-through. Performance number 21. We need the practice. So we do it. We get ready (it takes about 45 minutes if we rush it). We perform for one hour and 15 minutes.
Anapayini's father has come to see the performance. He drove up all the way from Seattle to see us perform this afternoon. Overall, the site remains rather empty. The youth are somewhat disappointed. I don't blame them. This is supposed to be Vancouver Ratha-yatra? We could have spent this Saturday in a more productive way, from an outreach perspective. Saturday evenings are a great time for hall performances.
I ask some of the local devotees about the reason for the low turnout. It turns out they did not promote Saturday as being part of the festival. In the press releases, newspaper advertisements, and posters they focused on tomorrow, Sunday, the actual day of the Ratha-yatra chariot procession. They didn't promote Saturday because they thought fewer people would come, and if the press came today, they'd be disappointed.
August 12, Sunday, Vancouver Ratha-yatra. Chariot Parade.
All good things come to those who wait. Lots of people have come out today for the Sunday chariot procession down Beach Street. Devotees and congregation members are getting ready to pull the ropes of the chariots. The television cameras are here. Just as the three chariots begin to move, it begins to rain. People rush to take shelter under the overhangs in front of store windows. It pours for a good fifteen minutes. Then the rain stops, the sun emerges from behind the clouds, and Lord Jagannatha's smiling face blesses all who look upon Him as he rides into Stanley Park.
I dance the entire parade route, in front of Lord Jagannatha's chariot. Several youth dance in front of and behind me, and I try to keep up. Jahnavi, Lalita, Narayani, Prtha, Saci, Govinda, Vrajesh and others. I must say I now have a newfound appreciation for those people who can dance like this all of the time. It really requires some stamina of the leg muscles.
Here are some photos that one of the passers-by took, and posted on Flickr.com.
At the festival site, I play mridanga with the kirtana party that accompanies Lord Jagannatha, Lady Subhadra, and Lord Baladeva. Gradually Their Lordships descend from Their chariots and are carried to Their festival tent, where They will spend the afternoon accepting visitors who offer fruits, and who get some maha prasadam fruit in return.
I look around and observe the crowds. The free feast tent is busy. People on bicycles who have been riding through the park have pulled into the feast line and are waiting patiently to get a plate. The Questions and Answers tent is well attended.Once again it's time for our festival tour youth to get on stage and perform DEVOTION. This time the tent is packed with people. I'm glad that so many have shown up and are now watching the performance intently. DEVOTION is a dance drama with live music that features many of the devotional talents these youth have acquired while growing up in the Hare Krishna movement. Musical skills on traditional instruments, singing kirtana, acting, and dancing. The performance gives them a sense of pride in their upbringing, seeing so many people appreciate their skills, talents and abilities. After the performance, the youth mingle with the audience and get to hear their positive feedback.
Sunset signals time for take-down. For the last time this season, we change into our work clothes, put on yellow Festival of India gloves and aprons, and begin to disassemble the exhibits, tents, and stages. Three hours later, the whole place is restored back to its pre-festival ocean-front park-like state. The festival equipment is once again tucked into the belly of the large yellow Festival of India trailer. And we're headed to the temple for a delicious prasadam feast! Set-up, chanting, dancing, feasting, and take-down. Ten times at ten Ratha-yatra festivals across the continent. Plus a dozen hall programs, adventures at national parks... What more can you hope to do with your summer? Join the festival tour.
Stay tuned for details of the final week of adventures. We've yet to perform in Boise, Idaho, Denver, Colorado, and Miami, Florida. And we're snorkeling on the coral reef in Key Largo, Florida.
