A Summer Morning
(In the mood of Satsvarupa dasa Brahmachari)

I’m in my room up at 2 A.M., thinking of Krishna and Swamiji, or I should say, “Thinking of Swamiji,” ’cause I can’t really think yet of the Supreme Lord.  But I have my red beads and I’m fighting sleep.  I don’t know anything, but I’ll see my spiritual master in just a few hours.  I’ll walk to the storefront, sit inside and he’ll come looking very serious and calm.  He’ll begin to sing, “Softly, softly,” while the sunbeams filter dust motes and the first garbage cans start clanging.  I’ll be listening to the new knowledge of Lord Caitanya’s teaching to Sanatana Goswami.  (I think that’s how you spell it.)  Swamiji doesn’t talk long in the morning ’cause Rupanuga and I have to get to work.  That’s blissful too, saying goodbye to Swamiji and the boys, and then I’m on my own.  I take my necktie out of my back pocket and tie it on as I walk, buttoning my jacket, feeling cowherd-boy bliss after two bowls of heavenly porridge with ISKCON bullet juice.  Into that sad-glad atmosphere of the downtown street.  I’m alone, but no longer alone.  The Cowherd Boy Govinda, the Supreme Personality, who Swamiji loves and wants us to love—He seems to be calling me— I seem to be one of His frolicking friends and my necktie is like some paraphernalia for Govinda’s sports.  I can’t explain it.  But all I know is that