Jaya Prabhupada!

I looked across shadowed lawns as early October sun lit gabled slate roofs and fluted chimneys and slid down the story-book outer walls of Bhaktivedanta Manor, lighting the mullioned windows to rooms upstairs where you so recently played with us: I remembered the unusual beauty of your face and mouth, the flowing ease and subtle lines of cheeks and crinkles wrapping around and punctuating another perfect mood; your dancing eyes, now somber, unmoving in thought–now wide and full of mischief. I recalled the soft golden flesh of your shoulder—and the surprising hard tissues below; the flow of blue veins under forearms, behind knees, how they throbbed with a cool even pulse as you lounged in the sun—and roared with power when you danced all day. Watching you shave always had me in stitches: the wide intent eyes and grimaces as you swiveled the mirror to see that your tilak was straight—or to check on a possible loose tooth. I remembered how you dressed yourself slowly, keenly observing each cloth before choosing, then tied and tucked your dhoti with care; nor can I forget quick pink fingers at your buttonholes, and how sometimes you leaned forward for me to close the one at the neck…
Sun struck the bright-painted rainbow windows enclosing Sri Sri Radha-Gokulananda, and I heard the ringing kartals and muted voices of devotees singing your praises: Jaya Prabhupada, Jaya Prabhupada, Jaya Prabhupada, Jaya Prabhupada…growing louder as I entered into the temple-room and bowed flat, glancing to my right—wait, is he?—catching you for a moment, knowing you’re still here on your very cool throne.
I approached Radha and Krishna and saw Them well-dressed, serene and exhilarated with Their new home and family. I was weak with gratitude to Them, for gifting me this rare-most destiny. I’ll catch my spiritual master down in India now, hang out with him for a while, maybe chase some more rhinos, show him what I can do. How could life be any better than this?