Tonight in deep samadhi I entered the garden of Vrindavan, which is located just below my pituitary gland at the center of my brain.
There I met Krishna wandering among the poppies, eating a banana. When he learned that I was from 21st century earth, he said, "Whooh, not that crazy place! I was there a long time ago... or was it the future?"
I said, "You were there 14,000 years ago, just before Kali Yuga began, dear friend, and I would like you to give me a message to take back to my friends, the poor troubled earthlings."
The cosmic lord thought for a moment, then said, "Stop improving yourselves."
"What?" I said.
"You impose your anxieties, your obsessions, your beliefs onto everyone and everything, especially on yourselves, then you call it 'improvement.' But this doesn't make things better, only more complicated. Make it more simple, not more complicated. Stop improving. Besides, there is no such thing as 'better.'"
Totally confused, I said, "If we don't try to improve, then what should we do?"
Shyama Sundara, the Blue Sky of Boundless Beauty, smiled very gently, but the sparkle in his eye almost burnt a diamond wound in my forehead. Then he said:
Become who you already are.
Let the nectar of perfection
bubble up from the ancient well
in your solar plexus.
When you scent the music
of the inner light,
I couldn't make any sense of his speech. In fact, now that I think of it, there was no language: just some flute sounds that my vain little mind tried to put into words.
So the Lord and I abandoned words. We just frolicked with the peacocks, whirled with the Gopi girls, sipped blue wine from the sky in a tulip cup, laughed at the moon in a mud puddle, and when the misty sun came up, offered lotus petals and coconut milk to Mother Divine.