”Kama esa, kroda esa.”
These words of Lord Krishna
Resound in my mind.
I was
Working on my bicycle.
Although it is already
Mid October
I still see
Ample opportunity
For biking around.
Leaf trees are now bare.
Rising in the morning,
Several times
I have found temperatures
Below zero.
But with my
Norwegian conditioning and
Viking heritage,
I find this climate stimulating.
Nature calls,
As a distant echo
In my heart.
However,
Today
I get a taste of
That other side,
That home of Gremlings,
Moldy corner
Of a dark cave,
Where no pure light
Shines.
I am changing tires
And it’s not working.
I am adjusting the break
And it’s not working.
In the beginning
I am only building up
Some small frustration.
I sigh, and speak to my mind:
“Oh, so you are making some trouble today?
I am not surprised.”
But it evolves,
Taking on other,
More condensed forms.
I speak again, voice deeper,
In anger:
“Why do you thwart my efforts so?
What is the lesson to be learned here?”
No reply.
An so it comes to that,
O’ so infamous point
Of no return.
The breaking point
Of all righteous,
Common sense.
I glare at the bike,
Mind reeling,
All I see is destruction.
Hate!
I hate the bike!
The tools!
My incompetentness!
The pure enjoyment of nature
Evaporates,
And in its place
Arises
Fury!
And so all practical skills
Become handicapped.
No progress is made.
Only speculations
On depressing possibilities,
Out of reach.
Blood boiling,
Crying dry tears of frustration,
I pace the cellar floor,
Seeing only
My lonely, brittle form
In the darkness…
After some time,
Graced by some invisible
Good fortune,
I again speak to my mind,
But it is not my regular voice.
It is as if I speak
From a far corner,
Softly, but
With firmness.
Words looking me in the eyes
With compassion,
Not judgement:
“This path leads to nothingness.
No gain. Why endeavor, why invest
In profitless currency?
Why indulge in insanity?”
As water poured on fire,
My mind hisses,
Curling up
As if to counter attack,
Only to remain
It that springboard position, making comments like:
“Well, so you may say..”, or
“Pff, so you think you are so smart?”
However,
Gradually,
As the seething hiss subsides,
And that enveloping, choking smoke
Thins,
I again look down on my bike,
The scattered tools,
The concrete cellar floor.
I get this feeling of
Arriving home from abroad
Seeing old things anew.
"It is lust only, Arjuna.."
I sow the seeds every day
In the garden of my daily routines.
These sprouts and creepers
Do not grow
Without
Cultivation.
Diligence is required.
Diligence and a surrender
To the understanding
For the need of diligence
In devotional life.
In the service
Of Guru and Krishna.
It is not a cheap thing...
