Srila Prabhupada was totally fearless in every circumstance—on the tossing deck of a cargo ship across the rough Atlantic; wandering the mean streets of lower Manhattan with only pennies in his pocket; hanging out with the drug-addled crazies of 1960s America; rubbing shoulders with lords and ladies, bums, rock stars, philosophers, and kings; dropping behind the Iron Curtain under fire to plant real peace; invading India with twenty untested soldiers to change his nation’s destiny; roaring out Krishna’s name on every continent, staring down adversity. He was relaxed and laughing in the face of all danger, free from perplexity and hesitation, fixed in the moment no matter the gales and thunder and raised swords around him. After Prabhupada, the decades of my measured time are just a filling in, an enduring of the days until we meet again and, together, storm the walls that dare to hem us in.