Frolic

Tonight in meditation, I entered the garden of Vrindavan, which is located just below the 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.

"Why do you impose your religious beliefs and political ideas on each other, then call it 'improvement'? Does this make your lives better? There is no such thing as 'better.' You're just creating conflict. Stop improving."

Totally confused, I replied, "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 burned a diamond wound in my forehead. He said:

"Just relax. 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, start dancing."

I couldn't make any sense of his words. In fact, now that I think of it, there were no words, just some flute sounds that my vain little mind tried to translate into speech.

So the Lord and I abandoned words. We just frolicked with peacocks, whirled with 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, we offered lotus petals and coconut milk to the Mother of Gardens.