Bored Ramblings

Last night I had a dream that I was cooking kheer, rice pudding, and it reminded me of my fifth wedding anniversary in Belpukur when I made kichuri (rice and lentil stew) and kheer for Madan Gopal. I can't recall the dream, but from what I can put together, it was pretty lucid and realistic. There were no demons and I was no demon slayer. There was no handsome stranger trying to seduce me away from my partner. There was no grand temple inauguration or festival I was presiding over. How boring. What I can tell you is that when I woke up this morning, I specifically remembered dream-self desperately wanting to make kheer for Giriraj so I think it means Giriraj wants kheer. :)
In other news, Chandaneswar prabhu is training me in deity worship. We have been increasing our regular service since Giri Govardhan śila arrived in our home this summer and Chandaneswar prabhu wants me to know all the priestly stuff. It's slow going because between school, Krishna Chandra, martial arts, Giriraj, and sewing, I have to brush up on my Bengali to read up on procedures. It's definitely worth the trouble though, regardless of whether I receive brahmin initiation or not.
Since Giriraj arrived, I've been doing more crafting. Giriraj is definitely easier to sew for because He doesn't have specific dimensions that I must adhere to like the Deity forms. Also, since He receives daily bathing and dressing and doesn't have a wardrobe, I'm constantly designing new jewelry and outfits for him. Sometimes we borrow items from the other Deities for Giriraj to wear. I might knit or crochet something for him tomorrow. It's Odana sasti.
I'm supposed to go to India again this winter and I might see you-know-who. I'm still mad at him because he's an idiot, but I love him so I guess I should try to reconcile the relationship or at least try not to slap the living hell out of him. Anyway, I talked to him on the phone a couple weeks back and he apologized, slightly, but I imagine even that was a huge step for him and his enormous ego. I don't even know why the hell I answered the phone. I don't even know why the hell I told him I'd be in Mayapur. I don't even know why the hell I want to see him after all that bullshit he did and said to me. At any rate, I can't wait to hang out with Sanat Kumar and Jayadev's family. Hopefully we get to travel to Vrindavan or something. I really want to take them on pilgrimage. They seem hopeful as well.
The end of the semester is upon us and you know what that means-- finals week. In my case, I have a music jury I'm not particularly excited about. I feel like I'm butchering this poor concerto at this point. I don't think practicing this last couple days is going to give me any more of an edge; I think I've already over practiced and strained my body this semester. That's probably why my shoulders are sore every morning and why my hands cramp or go numb. I feel weakness or numbness in my right hand more often than my left and I always thought it was because my muscles were developing again. Last week my left hand cramped and fell asleep during my lesson! Somehow I managed to play through it, we were sight-reading a Bach partita, double stops and all. I didn't tell my master because I was afraid he'd make me put my instrument down for fear of dropping it. I think I worry him. If I ask him about stuff like this, he gives me the worried look tells me to sit down for a minute.
What else? There's a dozen other things I'd love to talk about but I can't right now. I have to finish some Chemistry homework/labs. :((
Oh, I hate typing Chem labs. There's a million data cells and you have to keep your data organized and shit or you may screw up your report. Great fucking waste of hours of your time.

Jazz Head

This Party Is On
So my latest dream takes place at a party and it begins with my my son and I showing up to the venue of an arts and crafts themed children's party. The host set up crafting stations for every craft imaginable. For example, one table was fully equipped with felt puppet making supplies like googly-eyes, hot glue guns, felt, etc. while another was a paper crafting table. The host even hired chaperones for each table-- most of them retired teachers and volunteers. My son was enamored with all the tables and decided to make a rouched black pencil skirt. After machine stitching the skirt panels, he hand-basted some loose gathers at the center front and back to get an idea of what the skirt would look like. I really loved the skirt, it looked great, especially for a nine year old's first try at sewing. The stitches were straight and even, the tension on his thread looked perfect, but the basting was a little slanted. The only thing he worried about was the size of the skirt because he hadn't taken my exact hip measurements before starting. "I think it looks fine, babe, but I can try on the skirt if you want." I said as I ducked into a nearby bathroom.
Rouched Mess
What I hadn't taken into account was that the material was stretchy and he hadn't used elasticized thread on the gathers or stretched the material as he stitched the vertical basting stitch so the hem was too high at the center front and back. When I tried on the skirt, my crotch and butt were completely exposed while the rest of the garment rested snuggly on my thighs. I have to disclose that I wasn't wearing any under garments, so I couldn't even model the skirt for him because there was a room full of nine and ten year olds that surely would laugh at my humiliation. It was like third grade all over again. I tugged hopelessly at the front of the skirt until the basting thread popped and the skirt front fell near my knees. Krishna Chandra knocked and peeped from behind the door and giggled at the silly sight. "It's alright, I can fix that later." he reassured me. He only saw the front of the skirt and I explained to him that I couldn't possibly come out because the back was more embarrassing; the basted gathers bunched up to the point of least resistance somewhere along my lower back. He got the picture and just had a fit. Besides the mishap with the basting stitch, the skirt was well-made. I assured him that we could finish the project at home where we had more materials and measuring tape. He laughed and I looked for my lover to show him Krishna Chandra's outfit.

Social Butterly

As it turns out, I knew plenty of people at the party, and by 'people' I mean intelligent adults with whom I could converse with for more than three minutes at length. Apparently, I was single because everyone at this party either kept asking me if I was seeing anyone yet or they would flirt and ask me out. I was seeing someone, and by 'seeing' I mean I was having casual sex with someone I knew but we weren't an official couple. My dream self is not very complicated but she confuses me. I really enjoyed the attention at the party but as the party went on, I started to feel guilty about lying to my friends about my relationship status. I wanted them to know the truth but I didn't know if my lover wanted to be my boyfriend yet. I looked for him everywhere as he assured me that he would be at the event, which, as I already related was more like an Arts and Crafts fair than a kid's birthday party. I started to feel bored and frustrated without my partner and so I left search for him. I wondered if he had fallen asleep or if he was sick, or if something terrible had happened to him.
Mountain Cabin
Around that time, someone mentioned to me that a huge storm was headed toward my lover's house and several attendees got emergency weather alerts from the National Weather Service in close succession on their smart phones. Thunderstorm warning. Flash floods. Hail. Heavy Rain. Flood warning. The jarring sounds of emergency alarms resonated in the corridors, which amplified the cacophony and my trepidation. I jumped into my car and drove to my lover's part of town and then hiked the rest of the way up to his cabin. He lived in a log cabin with a beautiful scenic mountain near a lake or river. As I hiked up to his place, I noticed the emerging thunderstorm clouds nearing the mountain and remembered that terrifying sound of resounding alarms so I ran up the rest of the way. I saw my lover's vehicle nearby and an unknown car as well. I thought that he must've gotten tied up with unexpected guests and was hosting them. Being cut off from cell towers and internet, he must not have received my texts of any weather alerts. It all made sense; I just had to warn them that the storm was on its way to this part of town and get them out of here before the flood water washed away the mountain side. Images of landslides and a collapsing mountain side wiping my lover's cabin from the face of the Earth rushed through my mind. As I approached his window side, I caught a glimpse of him in bed with a young blonde woman. As it turns out, my secret lover is none other than my husband, Chandaneswar. I should relate that is a recurring theme in my dream. It is unclear whether Chandaneswar and I are divorced, separated or if we were ever married in the dream. I just know that I'm an available single mother, a flirt, and I'm sleeping with an asshole. I don't know what it means, and it doesn't matter because we're at the scariest, darkest, most sinister, disturbing part of the dream. I hiked up the mountain trail past my lover's cabin and looked down at the view.
As I stood on the mountain side, a deep sense of calm detachment washed over me. I realized that his cabin was a perfect bachelor pad. I began to contemplate my life and wonder if it I wanted to make a scene or confront them. I grew apathetic and indifferent and concluded that it really didn't matter. I was using him as much as he was using me; perhaps I only wanted him for the purposes of filling a void in an uncomfortable social scenario. After all, I wasn't accustomed to handling social events alone. Eventually I would have to accept this new identity and social dynamic. As the storm descended upon that mountain, I decided to let my lover and his lady friend brave the storm and its wrathful destruction on their own. I didn't have to warn them, after all. Maybe they would perish in the flood water and resulting landslide. Who knows? Who can say for sure? Who knows the future?
Creative Destruction
I ran back to my car, got in and drove back to the party. As I drove, I remained eerily calm and determined that I would write my own future. I would go back to that party and get some phone numbers of people who wanted to be with me, who had no problem asking me out in public, and who didn't keep their cards to themselves. When I got back people were looking for me and asked me where I went and why I took off. I told them that I went to pick up a friend but got scared when I saw the approaching storm so I turned back. They all assured me it was wise that I had come back to the party quickly, I have a young son to care for after all. Krishna Chandra was still hanging out at the sewing station so I sat at an empty bench, grabbed some scrap paper and started jotting down lyrics, chord progressions, and a simple melody line. In my melancholic trance, it quickly turned into a jazz chart and song about murdering my lover and his mistress. I showed it to a couple of jazz guys and musicians at the party and asked them if they thought it was any good. The consensus was that it was inexplicably brilliant. "Have you ever written jazz before?" someone asked. "No, but I guess I should." I replied.

New Acquaintances

Have you ever met someone new and trusted him or her implicitly? I do not typically trust or disclose much personal or pertinent information about myself to strangers or casual acquaintances but when I do, it is because I feel like I haven nothing to lose by holding back. I guess that is how I have felt lately. I instinctively felt that I could trust this person with myself because sHe knew who I was and where I was headed or what I wanted in life or in death. I can’t describe it any other way and for some reason, I feel like I want to express every part of it, expose the darkest corners of that dream and let you see inside.

I got that feeling recently from someone in real life and it caught me off guard. I disclosed information that I have been holding on to for a long time. I did not think twice or hesitate about disclosing it. I even felt this person was trustworthy and worthy of my truth. This has not happened to me a lot but it has started happening with more frequency. At first, I met a few people that I trusted with vaguely personal things, and then I met many people—complete outsiders from my world—but I felt that they were not outsiders, they were insiders and they knew me. They knew the deepest parts of me because they experienced, felt, and understood the same experiences.
Lately I have been focusing only on violin studies and my personal puja. I do not worry if people do not see me at the temple; in fact, I have stopped going every day. There was a time when I had to go to temple for darshan once a day. It was compulsory. Now I do not really care and many times I do not even bother going to feasts for very long if I am not feeling it. Instead, I stay home and worship my personal deities. I gather flowers and leaves from my garden for Them and bathe Them with a simple abhishek. I give them Tulasi leaves and sing for Them without fancy melodies but with heartfelt lyricism.
All right, so in my dream, I travelled to Mayapur with some friends. We would be there about a month or so and I heard that Indradyumna Maharaj was coming back to India around that time so I brought my violin with me. I waited around the Mayapur Chandradaya Mandir in hopes of seeing some familiar faces or making new friends. As it turned out, a few young women were walking by, clad in bright yellows, pinks, and whites, and carrying instruments, costumes, and sewing baskets. I immediately fell in with them and befriended their leader. They were all from Eastern Europe and met at various events. The leader was hand-sewing new outfits that employed Indo-Western fused fashion elements. I was taken aback because I have never seen another devotee wear, much less create that kind of garb for temple activities, and she was doing it by hand. I have experience with sewing machine but I will be the first to admit that my hand stitching needs more practice and I realized this would be an excellent way to learn and improve my craft. Interested, I asked her if she needed help, an assistant, to press, gather, pleat, baste and so on. I explained that I had some experience but I wanted to learn more from her and she agreed. First, I noticed she was making pleated trim by hand so I offered to show her a technique I developed that made the process much faster. When I showed her, her face lit up and she said, “That’s brilliant! What else do you know? Quickly we became best friends by exchanging methods and techniques; she also loved music and studied back home so naturally Maharaja brought her along during Harinam tours and concerts. Her quarters hosted a dozen other girls, equally talented in various fields. Some girls were dancer/choreographers, others costume designers, other actresses and directors, and some were painters. When they learned that I studied violin, they asked me to join their troupe and I was so excited that they invited me in!
Later on, I went back to the temple where I saw a disturbing sight. My mother travelled to India and was lying in a cot sick and weak. I went to see her but she said it was merely jetlag and she’d been worse before. I told her that she should have told me should would come so I could arrange lodging for her but she said, “No, just let me sleep and close the door.” When I opened the door to exit, rays of light streamed in, and I noticed some boys in bed with her, my nephews! All four curled up with grandma, snuggled in close like wolf pups in a den. I asked her why she brought them along, scolding her, “Don’t you know they can’t stay in these quarters? This is for the local pilgrims who cannot afford lodging! They need beds, not woven cots! The heat will get to them, they need running water, showers, and AC!” Next to them, I saw another devotee I recognized from Dallas. I was stunned; certainly, an American can afford a room in the guesthouse, so why was he bunched up on a horrible cot in the underbelly of the building? When I kissed my nephews and mother, they felt hot! I felt obligated to check the other devotee as well, so I touched his foot and sure enough, he was burning up with fever and his body was covered in sweat. Disturbed and embarrassed, I walked away in search of a devotee friend who runs the guest services in hopes of securing a couple rooms for my family and possibly this other devotee. I searched around the compound but I could not find him and he is usually easy to spot because he rides around on a bright blue motorcycle. Instead, I ran into my new friends and told them what was going on. They said they had some friends who would gladly take them in. Their house was outside of the temple compound but a short walk away. They also had AC, indoor plumbing with hot water and plenty of space for four young boys. I was relieved. Maybe these women were heaven sent, I thought, they were the loveliest and kindest ladies I ever met and they took me in like one of their own.

                                                                                                     

My Deepest Darkest Secret

My new passport arrived in the mail this week. I'm really excited because the next step is to get my visas transferred to the new book. I ordered the larger passport because I intend to travel abroad as much as possible. I haven't had enough time to practice this week or do much studying because I was so exhausted from our road trip that I had a hard time catching up with my normal routine. I only went to Taekwondo a couple times this week but I feel like my body is getting back to 100%. Slowly but surely.
Tomorrow is Śrī Nityānanda Trayodaśi and I couldn't be happier. I feel like I haven't been to the temple in ages and, at the same time, like I need a break from everything. I need to withdraw and take time for myself. I don't know if that's strange but sometimes it's just better for me to relax and recover. I feel as if I'm mentally preparing for something incredibly life-changing and transformative. I don't know if its something in the air, my intuition, or what. Somehow, I feel like this trip to India is going to be ground shattering, even though I've been before and nothing particularly exciting happened.
I wanted to talk to you about my dream... the one I had when I was in India. About eight years ago, I was in Belpukur village with my in-laws and I had a weird dream. I was back in high-school except it was not a high-school anymore. The campus was also a college and a lot of my friends from school were studying or teaching there. I went there to pursue a degree and met with a few class-clowns from freshman year. I thought they were irritating in fact; their antics were no longer amusing but distracting and disruptive. I chucked a couple times but the novelty quickly wore off. I don't know what the hell this means so don't ask me. After class, another professor came in, a guru! He was someone I was close to and highly respected; he was also extremely dear to me so I felt bad that he had to deal with us, that he had to instruct us. It was strange, a saffron-clad Gaudiya monastic teaching a mathematics course? At any rate, I woke up with a feeling of urgency. I had to go back to school, take my spirituality more seriously and help others by giving back. I wanted to teach again. I wanted to play my violin again. I wanted to open an ashram, temple, and university in Belpukur. It was ingrained in my mind and for eight years it has slowly eaten away at my conscience. I feel guilty that I haven't taken steps toward my dream. I can't sleep at night because I'm trying to hash out plans to make this project happen. What do I do? Where do I start? Who do I ask for help? How will it manifest? So, I've broken this idea into smaller phases and goals to make them more realistic. I decided to pursue a degree in Music Education, as well as take some business or administrative courses. Over the years, it has nagged at me and, feeling the project was too far-fetched, I kept it hidden-- a secret. My most intimate hidden contribution to society and my goal of life.
When I first started school we had a project in one of our classes-- setting out a long-term goal, short term goals, and life long dreams. Of course, it didn't take long for my dream to come pouring out and when it did, I realized why I was so miserable. I have been locking my deepest, most daring desires away because I was afraid others would laugh at it. I don't care anymore. In fact, I've found that it helps me to discuss it with people and pick other people's brains. There are people in this world who have experience beyond our own and if we don't express our interests, there is no way they'll ever know who we really are. They will never have an idea of our inner most inclinations and that person may be a hidden gem, a treasure trove of knowledge waiting to give its bounty.
So I'm letting you know in hopes that you're also a vidya-ratna, a gem of knowledge and wisdom, and will assist me or guide me in actualizing my dream. Thank you.
About Sri Bilva-pakkha, Belpukhuriya, Belpukur

Attaing Mañjari Bhava

I woke up from a strange dream this morning and decided to write it down. We went to temple this morning for Guru-puja and Bhagavatam Katha. I dreamt that I was back in Braja-Dham searching for something. I was at the marketplace searching for something or someone. It was unclear what it was, or who it was, but I was desperately searching. At the marketplace, I spotted a lovely yogini dressed in tattered cloth performing yoga postures in the muddied road. She wore no garments save for a shredded loincloth, and kept an old, ragged mat which she sat upon. There were shoppers that would place alms in her bowl and after some time she collected her belongings, shattered, tattered, and bare, and left. Intrigued, I followed her alongside the road back toward her hermitage, which was shockingly clean, resplendent, fresh, aromatic, and wonderfully decorated with auspicious symbols. The courtyard area fumed with cow dung smoke billowing out into the atmosphere laced with purifying herbs and resins that reached out and caressed my hair and face. I gazed around the courtyard and spotted well-manicured gardens with fruit, berry, and nut tress of various types. I couldn't believe my eyes and rubbed them to be sure it wasn't an illusion. The very site of such a spiritually infused domicile lifted my consciousness and mood, and I suddenly felt that I was transported to the real Braja-Dham.

Along the walls were written names of Sri Radhe and Sri Krishna along with beautifully drawn flowers, creepers, and invocation symbols: lotus, oil lamp, plow, discus, club, water pots, bow, leaves, and syllables. I announced myself to the yogini and she re-emerged from within the residence dressed in fresh, clean garments, adorned with tilak, scented with intoxicating oils, and ornamented with enchanting cosmetics and donning a large set of chanting beads. So different from before, she looked more like the goddess Durga in her mood of meditation as Brahmacharini rather than the dirty, ashen, gaunt yogini from before that I hardly recognized her!

She introduced herself and pointed out that I was not a local, therefore, I should not traverse these parts unknown alone. I asked her forgiveness and stated my intentions clearly and boldly. She understood my mind and heart immediately and accepted me in her home. She said that I would receive a day's instruction from her, and then in the evening I would have to bathe in the holy river Yamuna, and change my garments. I readily agreed and asked what services I should render. She told
me that she was self-sufficient and perfectly capable of serving herself, what need was there for a servant when we are borne in ignorance and serve our senses since birth! Admonished, I apologised, and rephrased, "Devi, what tasks should I perform that serve me best?" She said, "Naturally, you're inclined towards the arts, so you should perfect those traits and qualities that are your strongest. Master this, young one, and you'll be a favourite among the damsels of Braj". She introduced a simple choreographed step, which I mimicked perfectly, then another, and again. We continued for some time until it was time to rest and eat. Somehow, it seemed that she did not cook, ever, her plants, vines, and trees produced food that were so complete and perfect, it would satiate all thirst, fatigue, hunger and unrest. So she continued tutoring me in political arts. "In Braj, you must master diplomacy, tact, wit, and stratagem in order to manage the various camps. Each has their strong suit, yours is to know their hearts and engage them rightly. Master this, and you'll learn the secrets of the universe."  Much of what she taught was veiled in cryptic allegories and coded messages about battle, politics, and military stratagem.

We practiced yoga and dhyan for some time in the afternoon, and she taught me bits of her bhava sadhana by which I understood that she was an adept practitioner deeply realised in the raganug path. In the evening, my mistress sent me away to the market while she continued to immerse herself in her evening meditation of the Divine Couple and Their elevated servants. She cried out names of various mañjaris. I almost didn't leave her presence for fear of never seeing her again. If I found my mistress by chance, certainly I could lose her by chance. As I made my way to Loi bazaar, back to the clamouring marketplace buzzing with chatter, swarming with throngs of anxious shoppers and sweaty shopkeepers, inundated with cheap trinkets rattling and colourful cloth waving in the air, I was brought back down to earth. I had to find clothes that were more suitable to Braja-vas, for as my mistress said, what I had on screamed out that I was a Mayapur-Vasini, an outsider, a foreigner. Not from Braj. Right then, a large dark, ominous cloud in the heavens burst on the scene and I suddenly found myself caught in the height of a monsoon storm. Soaked to the core, I waited around for a break in the rain with no luck. The shoppers scattered here and there. Some attendants retreated into their shops to relax and eat while my eyes darted around restlessly looking for shelter. I woke up from my dream. It was yet only six o'clock. 

Ronald Reagan

When I Answered “Ronald Reagan”
Melissa Cruz

I
I guess you would not understand
If I were to tell you plainly, I was dreaming,
Daydreaming, imagining, fantasizing
When I answered “Ronald Reagan”
I can tell you here without import,
Without repercussion knowing
It is never going to happen.

II
I wandered over beside your cheek
And inhaled the scent of your breath,
Hair and the wafting echo of your sensuous desire.
I could not possibly tell you this in class.
Certainly not or it would have been my ass.
Did you sense my caressing touch upon your neck
Meandering down across your torso
Absorbing every detail of your flesh
As I gazed deeply into your eyes?
I told myself I had to stop.

III
While I rushed through your dumb questions,
I delved into another fantasy propounding
All the inner secrets of your loving, tender, soft embrace.
I could not tell you this in class….
I gazed over at your desk as you checked on all the rest
And imagined; I could kiss and bite your tempting flesh
While you made every single effort to withstand
My increasingly aggressive, mounting, erotic wander.
Oh! But you would not glance over at me,
For if you had, you would have seen
The visage of a hungering, thirsting, insatiable beast
Craving every drop, every bite, every delicious taste of you.

IV
I imagine you would have resisted
Had I grabbed and fed upon you as I wished it.
And if you did, I would have told you
“Resistance is futile, weak fool!”
Certainly, I could not tell you this in class.
Well I could, but your ass’d be grass.
Oh! But how I wish I had.
For if I had, you would lose sleep, tormented,
Unable to imagine the depths to which I dived
Within the short span of a stupid quiz.
Don’t you wish you had not asked?
With every utterance, I gain strength and become more daring.
Surely, you must agree it is a small miracle
I answered only one question wrong.

V
Now you know how much I want you,
And long to feel, and taste, and be with you.
Now I have admitted all my secret thoughts,
And grown accustomed to the throbbing,
Crushing, overwhelming sexual hunger.
Now I have cleared the air and my lusty mind.
Now I have released my intense yearning
Into the vast cosmic manifestation.
Having no other purpose,
This poem has accomplished
The inconceivable, insurmountable, volatile task
Of explaining what the fuck I was thinking
When I answered “Ronald Reagan”

Dhām, Dhan, and Dharā

Yesterday I had another interesting dream worth noting. It took place in India at a temple, but one portion involved a local prison, interestingly enough.

In my dream, an old high school friend was traveling with me on a tour. He had a room in the temple's guesthouse, and worked on recording/editing audio. It appears I was performing again, and I was traveling to my favorite places on the pretext of touring. I was in Mayapur again, and the rice paddy was growing high. I couldn't believe it; I was elated and leapt with joy as I walked the muddy roads. There was torrential rain, and roads were washed away. I didn't care that my sari was soaked. I didn't care that I had to hike up my sari and struggle down the muddy, slippery road. I was content. As I struggled toward the temple compound, I sang and skipped along the paths. I saw flood waters near the end of the road, and the surplus spilled into a small dirgha. The river seemed to change its path, and I felt reassured in seeing it. The earth smelled beautifully fragrant, alive with all manner of plants and aquatics. 

I finally arrived back at the temple guesthouse, where I met my friend. He was happy to see I made it safely to Mayapur. He didn't know I'd been there several days already. He was working diligently while I roamed the flooded countryside, and I didn't care to tell him. It was best he found out, it was time I focused on my work. I headed to my room, showered, and changed into a fresh garment. I had an assortment of beautiful gowns, saris, and frocks on my room. I wondered why anyone with such pretty dresses at home would ever choose to run in the muck outside. I felt quiet and alone in my room as the dresses didn't console me, and I suddenly felt the urge to wander the town. 

Restless, I left the temple compound and headed toward the bazaar. There I saw trains, busses, and rickshaws headed in every direction; I walked further and spotted a jail. The jail was a chatur shala building, like a square. The interior courtyard was sealed with metal mesh to keep the prisoners from escaping. Some cried out to me, "Devi, please have mercy. Kripa koren! Bless us, please, that we may leave this place." 

I couldn't understand why they were calling out. I simply felt sad, and wondered what good prayers or blessing would be. Despondent, I turned back and sang a song. The prisoners cried, "Beautiful! Sing more for us, it brings us joy, ma'am. Please don't walk away from us." I turned and proposed to sing more songs if it pleased them, but all devotional songs of Śrī Hari. They wept with joy, and thanked me.   

I headed back, I told them I would return with instruments and more vaishnavas. 

My friend asked me as I wandered in for the second time, glassy-eyed and covered in mud, "Where do you keeping disappearing to?" 

Mayapur. 

Productive Potato

It is snowing and the roads are iced over here. Krishna Chandra is sick so he stayed home today. Thankfully, my school closed for a faculty development and training so I basically stayed home, watched movies, and ate junk food with my husband. I did not forget about my exercise routine. Cheko and Dolly will be proud to hear that I have been doing light calisthenics every couple hours. I did lunges, swats, and jumping jacks. I can not go jogging outdoors, but I was thinking about using the treadmill next door for a half hour. This way, I can justify eating all that junk food, and not feel like a couch potato for sitting around all day. I crocheted some mrdanga head warmers, think tea cozy for clay drum heads. I practiced violin, harmonium, and even sang some scales. I didnot forget about the piano, I practice an hour of piano and aural skills in the practice room. This leaves my afternoon free for algebra study, violin, and work. I reviewed my algebra homework, and finished a practice exam. I feel productive. Chandaneswar prabhu read a chapter of Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita while I crocheted, and we had some stimulating discussions about Mahaprabhu's friends, associates, and their family members. In particular, we discussed Nrsimhananda Brahmachari, whose entire family were vaishnavas. Eventually Nrsimhananda brahmacari left his household and became the Lord's servant. I wish I had Vaishnava relatives. My relatives are all materialists, and my in-laws are dedicated mayavadis. Sometimes I tell my husband that I prefer a materialistic family over a materialistic mayavadi family.

Simple Reckonings

Today was my first day of the semester, and it was thoroughly enjoyable. Except for the cold weather, everything was great. I have not attended my self defense and Taekwondo class in about a month. I was planning to immerse myself deeper into my martial arts practice this winter break, but I think The Lord may have other plans for me. I want to take a semester of martial arts on campus, at least, to better discipline myself and regulate my practice. On Sunday I had the opportunity to perform a duet with Bob at church during the Prelude. I am so flattered that he is impressed with me, and I could swear Juanita almost cried during the service when she heard Be Still My Soul. If I can satiate one soul, and thereby please The Lord with my service, it will make my life fruitful.
Piano class is going to be another enjoyable challenge. Yet again, I found the mercy of Sri Guru personified in an excellent professor, Ms. Jones. She is a thoroughly witty, opinionated, and humorous lady; I think I should do well under her tutelage.
I frequently hear students complain about their incompetent professors, but I am starting to believe this is a myth. There are probably very few incompetent professors, if any. I think it is more likely the students are incompetent, and lack a sense of accountability. It is quite common to blame someone else for your own mistakes, shortcomings, and flaws. It is easier to blame someone else for your problems rather than admit fault and take rectifying measures.
Today Citravasini taught me a new recipe for non-yeast rolls; she says the recipe can be adapted with any filling, whether cinnamon, cocoa, poppy seeds, or nuts. I will try to share it here with pictures. They resemble cinnamon rolls, and are prepared much in the same way yet omit yeast leavening. They are soft and tender due to the use of cottage cheese in the dough to condition it. Additionally, I am almost finished with another set of deity outfits, though, they are probably too small for the gurukul deities. I may have to alter the outfit in order to fit Their Lordships' height. I am not sure, however, I hope a good night's sleep will bring some ideas. Tomorrow, I plan to purchase textbooks, practice my instruments, and sew Deity outfits.

Krishna help me, my mind is thoroughly active and restless. Time is my enemy.  Even a thousand arms and heads would not accommodate me. If only I could expand myself to engage fully in each of my services. Lord of  all mystics, achieve this feat for me, please. 

Catching Up

My Christmas and holiday break has been pretty good so far. My relatives visited throughout Christmas and my nephew slept over. I spent a lot more time practing violin and sewing holiday projects. Recently a got a job for two bead bags and two book bags for two devotee brothers. Unfortunately, Krishna Chandra got really sick, I lost a lot of sleep, and was delayed for two days. Today I finally caught a break and managed a couple hours of productive sewing sessions. I forgot to photograph the Japa mala bags, one of which is linen. It looks incredibly stylish and so chic, I'm thinking about making a linen mala bag for myself and Chandaneśwar prabhu. I still have another request for another devotee; he wants drawstring bags, and a bead bag as well. I am also stitching up a quickie quilt for a relative, and eventually I hope to get around to some dresses, blouses, and skirts for myself. Above all else, I meditate on outfits for my lordships. I have plenty of material; I just need patience, determination, and enthusiasm. 😊
This morning I had the pleasure of accompanying Prajapati prabhu; we performed Away In A Manger and What Child Is This during the church service. I met some lovely congregation members, enjoyed the pastor's sermon, and was delighted that everyone enjoyed our musical offering. Juanita has a favorite hymn that I'd like to play for her pleasure. Hopefully we can do it soon.

Jay Sri Sri Guru Gouranga!

Sringar and Strange Dreams

I wanted to share the mehendi and alta designs that I completed today.

Last night I felt a little restless and started doodling along my hand.

 

 Unfortunately, the paste was too thin for the cone tip size, so the lines were as not sharp or controlled as I like. Still, the design is pretty good for the quality paste I made.

 Today, I wanted to decorate my feet as well, and since the mehendi was being finicky, I decided to use alta on them. I did simple vines on the toes, petals around the ankles and a heart in the middle. Originally, I planned to draw a paan leaf, however, my brushes were too thick for the fine line work necessary for detailed artwork.

The past couple of nights I have been having strange dreams that wake me up unusually early. One such dream was about my friend's dad. He gave up his job and started teaching at a local college. I walked into my class to find he was my new professor. I told my friend about it, especially about how differently he behaved in class than at home. Another dream was about flying and mountains, I think because we flew in a small plane recently. However, the most unusual one was about a charming couple that was hell bent on seducing me knowing I was happily married. They even suggested I remain 'open-minded' with regard to my dear husband.

"Oh my Lord," I exclaimed "what exactly are you insinuating? Do I come off as 'that kind of girl' to you?" With that indignant remark, I was startled awake. I could feel my heart racing, as if I were panic stricken by a very stressful situation. I don't know why I was so upset by that situation. Maybe because deep inside my heart somewhere, I am still agitated and disturbed by sexual advances. It makes me feel like prey, locked within the vision of a dangerous predator. Particularly when it involves couples, women, or my husband.

'Mala' Bead Bag

I made this 100% cotton bead bag with fully lined pocket and Velcro closure. Available to the public. Inquire within.

This Japa mala bag turned out great! I'm so proud of this project. 

I would like to start making devotional apparel a regular addition to my projects. 

Salvage project

This past week I altered an old ripped Gopi skirt into a gathered skirt. I only had this skirt for two years when it started to show wear, and even ripped several times until I decided it had to be thrown out. I was too attached to its colorful floral print, however, to fully part with it. I held on until I found a way to salvage the remaining fabric while keeping the original style intact.  It is nice and breezy for summer but not too short for my tastes. In order to complete it, I removed the top tier, gathered the second tier, and attached the waistband. I also made a petticoat with gathered tulle tiers to give the skirt body. This skirt is flirty and fun, and paired with a simple blouse, makes a great staple outfit. 

Currently, I am working on a pair of yogi pants/salwar this week, which I will try to.        

photograph and share. I would like my work to be more prominently displayed on my blog, as I have more time for sewing and crafts during summer. Hopefully, this will also help me advertise my services and reach like-minded crafters of Indian inspired fashions.