Kundalini Splendor

Last night I went to see Krishna Das in concert. I had planned to see him in San Francisco before I left, was unable to because of my move, so I discovered him here. As always, he was quite wonderful, singing his familiar kirtans and telling his stories. The audience loved him, and, although many of us know these stories by heart now, we overlook the repetition and enjoy the presence.

The audience looked much the same as that in S. F.--all thirty or forty-somethings, some accompanied by their very young children. However, for some reason, the audience did not seem as expressive as those I had been in before. I always look forward to the ecstatic dancers in the aisles, and, for some reason, those who chose to dance stayed in the back of the room. At first, only a few people stood in the audience (as the music heated up), but finally they did stand and move their arms and bodies a bit. As for me, I went into my familiar altered state, and moved my hands and arms at will, since I believe this kind of devotional music calls for bodily participation. Some sat throughout rigid in their chairs, as if they were in church or attending a solemn ceremony.

As I looked over the crowd, it seemed that I was the oldest person there--something I am getting used to these days. I would not claim that age brings wisdom, but I do find that it lends perspective. For example, at the end of the evening Krishna Das led us in chanting "Shanti," Sanskrit for "peace." My first introduction to this word was in graduate school when we were studying "The Waste Land," a complex poem by T. S. Eliot that describes the decay of Western Europe. This famous poem ends with three repetitions of "Shanti," explained in the notes as the ending to an Upanishad. Eliot was one of the first Western scholars to investigate Eastern spiritual thought, now quite prevalent in this part of the world. For me, this shift is like another "time collapse," something quite foreign at one moment, then extremely familiar the next.

There is a Buddhist college near where I live. Many Tibetans flourish here, with at least four gift shops on or near the main street, and at least two restaurants I have discovered. It is gratifying to note this integration of cultures, and to realize that these recent immigrants have done so well in this city.

Even two of the apartments in my unit display Tibetan prayer flags on their balconies, and there are two "OM's" on the front of a house I frequently pass down the street. The yard also boasts one of the biggest flowers I have ever seen--is this a rose or something else?)

(The picture of Boulder Creek has lots of white light on it, but I have never discovered how to photograph water with light on it without getting a lot of distortion, and I wanted to show where I again walked this morning.)