Searching for Solace In Ujjain: “You choose to paint as the cover of the book a picture of your heart,” I almost asked him to confess. No words replied he only sighed a soft and thoughtful “yes.” * * * * A little boy in short pants is walked home by his father. Side by side, closely they walk. His father, a golden, glowing saint, holds tight his son’s hand. The boy glances up and fears nothing He is not alone on the path home. Yet the sun is setting as it must. The boy will cry as he must. But he will walk on and will grow into his father’s grown-up son But never alone holding tight that ever-outstretched hand. And he did grow and like his father also glowed and loved his father’s family, as did his father And like his father taught and shared and preached showing culture and gentility, and caring for and serving all others with grace. Time passed His body slowly aged, as it must but inside he grew neither weary nor old nor stuffy nor grumpy nor angry nor cynical. His eyes never narrowed his eyelids never drooped But rather his dreams and heart expanded to the stars above. He remained always alive with a simple, warm innocence and childish glee. Always his father’s son always holding tight his father’s hand never alone. And now the sun has set again as it must at its ordained time, and although the world cries, dulls, dims, yet a great son of a great father-- inside always small-- but never alone, hand in hand with Prabhupada has journeyed home. * * *
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