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Sumangali.org In the Spirit of Serendipity


Sumangali.org In the Spirit of Serendipity
Dedicated to the spirit of serendipity, finding good-fortune from unexpected sources, discovering the extraordinary in the ordinary, and the new in the familiar, fueled by the sense that all we need is already within us, we only need learn how to loo
Articles: 1, 2, 3, 4

Articles

Editors’ Pick in Kindred Spirit Magazine #117
2012-06-01 10:13:00
This story of a Western woman becoming disillusioned with her Western lifestyle and, through a number of twists and turns, finding fulfilment as a spiritual disciple of modern Guru, Sri Chinmoy, is both heart-warming and informative. The book is beautifully written and well-crafted. The pace of the story, whether through the chapters where the author is chasing everything that Western society offers or those set during her years studying meditation with her Indian spiritual master, is gripping. It gives a rare insight into the fascinating, conflicted life of a very modern spiritual seeker. Morhall makes no secret of her initial scepticism about the likely outcome of her spiritual search, yet after reading her candid account of life as a disciple, there can be no doubt that she loves her chosen lifestyle. This is a personal memoir that spans childhood, career and relationships and the sudden near-death experience that transformed her life, yet it is the insight into how she struggles...
Editors’ Pick in Kindred Spirit Magazine #117
2012-06-01 10:13:00
This story of a Western woman becoming disillusioned with her Western lifestyle and, through a number of twists and turns, finding fulfilment as a spiritual disciple of modern Guru, Sri Chinmoy, is both heart-warming and informative. The book is beautifully written and well-crafted. The pace of the story, whether through the chapters where the author is chasing everything that Western society offers or those set during her years studying meditation with her Indian spiritual master, is gripping. It gives a rare insight into the fascinating, conflicted life of a very modern spiritual seeker. Morhall makes no secret of her initial scepticism about the likely outcome of her spiritual search, yet after reading her candid account of life as a disciple, there can be no doubt that she loves her chosen lifestyle. This is a personal memoir that spans childhood, career and relationships and the sudden near-death experience that transformed her life, yet it is the insight into how she struggles...
The Art of Leafleting
2012-05-27 15:07:00
I consider myself something of an expert on leafleting. Indeed I went pro at the age of eleven, door-to-door with my brother, earning tuppence a house. Two whole pence mind you. It was the first job I ever had, and I took it very seriously. Having just moved to a village outside York, we two were employed by our parents to promote our new corner-shop. The business had a rather dismal reputation until we took it over. It was thus with particular pride that I informed our neighbours of the sort of family who had joined their vicinity. The premises would be clean and bright, the produce fresh and in abundant variety. Our customer attention would be friendly and efficient; our trading hours accommodating. We would work hard, each of us in our own way, and were glad to be of service. Leafleting, like shopkeeping, was a dignified and lucrative profession as far as I was concerned. Nowadays I don’t get paid at all per leaflet, never mind two pence, but I have just the same feelings o...
The Art of Leafleting
2012-05-27 15:07:00
I consider myself something of an expert on leafleting. Indeed I went pro at the age of eleven, door-to-door with my brother, earning tuppence a house. Two whole pence mind you. It was the first job I ever had, and I took it very seriously. Having just moved to a village outside York, we two were employed by our parents to promote our new corner-shop. The business had a rather dismal reputation until we took it over. It was thus with particular pride that I informed our neighbours of the sort of family who had joined their vicinity. The premises would be clean and bright, the produce fresh and in abundant variety. Our customer attention would be friendly and efficient; our trading hours accommodating. We would work hard, each of us in our own way, and were glad to be of service. Leafleting, like shopkeeping, was a dignified and lucrative profession as far as I was concerned. Nowadays I don’t get paid at all per leaflet, never mind two pence, but I have just the same feelings o...
God’s Great Experiment
2012-05-19 10:50:00
This story was first published in Inspiration-Letters #25, an online magazine of articles, written by members of the Sri Chinmoy Centre around the world. The theme for this edition is “Living in the Now”. My father forwarded an email to me this morning — one of those circulars sent between batches of friends and family. I always read them; I know my own friends and family would only share with me those topics that had profoundly moved them or amused them. This one must have been going around for years, and yet the story was new to me. Maybe you know it already. It was the morning rush hour, some time in early 2007, at an especially ordinary subway station in Washington DC. An unassuming busker played violin, wearing jeans and a baseball cap. During his performance of 43 minutes he made $32. Not a bad haul, until you find out he was Joshua Bell, one of the most highly acclaimed virtuoso musicians in the world. Three days earlier, one of the cheaper tickets to see him play at B...
God’s Great Experiment
2012-05-19 10:50:00
This story was first published in Inspiration-Letters #25, an online magazine of articles, written by members of the Sri Chinmoy Centre around the world. The theme for this edition is “Living in the Now”. My father forwarded an email to me this morning — one of those circulars sent between batches of friends and family. I always read them; I know my own friends and family would only share with me those topics that had profoundly moved them or amused them. This one must have been going around for years, and yet the story was new to me. Maybe you know it already. It was the morning rush hour, some time in early 2007, at an especially ordinary subway station in Washington DC. An unassuming busker played violin, wearing jeans and a baseball cap. During his performance of 43 minutes he made $32. Not a bad haul, until you find out he was Joshua Bell, one of the most highly acclaimed virtuoso musicians in the world. Three days earlier, one of the cheaper tickets to see him play at B...
The Humble Gourd
2012-05-13 23:30:00
My mother was an engineer, and still is at heart, even in retirement. Growing up in her presence everything could be questioned or taken apart: physically or theoretically. I thus learned that the Way of Things followed logical reason, whether or not we understood that reason at a given time. We were scientists, artists, tailors, chefs and gardeners, mechanics and explorers, borne on the wings of patience and liberty. Life was a joint adventure: the victory craftily skewed to me; the mess and mistakes discreetly absorbed by her. One of our forays was the growing of sunflowers and ornamental gourds. I did not care for mud, so my mother did most of the squatting and furrowing. Having been stung by a wasp between ice-creamy fingers at an earlier age, I could not tolerate dirty hands. My self-appointed roles were instead Sower of the Seeds, and Wielder of the Watering Can, as both carried acceptable levels of pomp and cleanliness. Gardening was one of many good bargains for me, but when...
The Humble Gourd
2012-05-13 23:30:00
My mother was an engineer, and still is at heart, even in retirement. Growing up in her presence everything could be questioned or taken apart: physically or theoretically. I thus learned that the Way of Things followed logical reason, whether or not we understood that reason at a given time. We were scientists, artists, tailors, chefs and gardeners, mechanics and explorers, borne on the wings of patience and liberty. Life was a joint adventure: the victory craftily skewed to me; the mess and mistakes discreetly absorbed by her. One of our forays was the growing of sunflowers and ornamental gourds. I did not care for mud, so my mother did most of the squatting and furrowing. Having been stung by a wasp between ice-creamy fingers at an earlier age, I could not tolerate dirty hands. My self-appointed roles were instead Sower of the Seeds, and Wielder of the Watering Can, as both carried acceptable levels of pomp and cleanliness. Gardening was one of many good bargains for me, but when...
Accidental Spirituality
2012-05-05 12:59:00
I did not have a religious or overtly spiritual upbringing, in fact the subject of God was conspicuous by its absence. I am grateful to my family for not forcing any beliefs on me, for deliberately letting me choose my own way, but it seems quite funny now looking back on my first encounters with religion, and my childly interpretations of them, not really having a clue what any of it meant inwardly. I suppose my late development in a spiritual sense was partly down to the fact that I was not destined for a Christian path, and yet as I grew up in England and America, my exposure to spiritual teaching was naturally through Christianity. A First Encounter with Christianity My first encounter came via an afternoon film in the style of a soap opera. Its leading lady had a disappointing romance, and travelled a long way from home by herself. She came to a stone house with gates at the front, where a much older lady answered the door, wearing a cape and a long matching headscarf. ‘Why ...
More About: Spirituality
Accidental Spirituality
2012-05-05 12:59:00
I did not have a religious or overtly spiritual upbringing, in fact the subject of God was conspicuous by its absence. I am grateful to my family for not forcing any beliefs on me, for deliberately letting me choose my own way, but it seems quite funny now looking back on my first encounters with religion, and my childly interpretations of them, not really having a clue what any of it meant inwardly. I suppose my late development in a spiritual sense was partly down to the fact that I was not destined for a Christian path, and yet as I grew up in England and America, my exposure to spiritual teaching was naturally through Christianity. A First Encounter with Christianity My first encounter came via an afternoon film in the style of a soap opera. Its leading lady had a disappointing romance, and travelled a long way from home by herself. She came to a stone house with gates at the front, where a much older lady answered the door, wearing a cape and a long matching headscarf. ‘Why ...
The Making of Auspicious Good Fortune
2012-04-27 20:45:00
Auspicious Good Fortune is officially launched today, 27th of April 2012. I thought I would tell you the story of how it came to be, as this is a tale of mysterious good fortune in itself. The end was really the beginning. The poem on the last pages of the book was written just after Sri Chinmoy‘s passing in 2007. I was sitting in the place of meditation, known as Aspiration-Ground, where my Guru spent much of his time in New York. I had written down a few of my recollections in years past, but I knew at that moment I would not be satisfied until I had put them together as a complete story – the story of how I came to this particular spiritual path, or to any path at all, and how my life has continued since. I had delighted in writing little anecdotes until that day, but a book seemed a bridge too far. There were surely other people with much more to say, and no doubt with more talent, but I felt compelled beyond anything I can really describe. It was massively daunting, b...
The Making of Auspicious Good Fortune
2012-04-27 20:45:00
Auspicious Good Fortune is officially launched today, 27th of April 2012. I thought I would tell you the story of how it came to be, as this is a tale of mysterious good fortune in itself. The end was really the beginning. The poem on the last pages of the book was written just after Sri Chinmoy‘s passing in 2007. I was sitting in the place of meditation, known as Aspiration-Ground, where my Guru spent much of his time in New York. I had written down a few of my recollections in years past, but I knew at that moment I would not be satisfied until I had put them together as a complete story – the story of how I came to this particular spiritual path, or to any path at all, and how my life has continued since. I had delighted in writing little anecdotes until that day, but a book seemed a bridge too far. There were surely other people with much more to say, and no doubt with more talent, but I felt compelled beyond anything I can really describe. It was massively daunting, b...
Back in New York
2012-04-22 13:23:00
Sri Chinmoy, August 2005, by Prashphutita I still go at least twice a year to visit the place where Sri Chinmoy spent most of his time – once in April and once in August. Some things are naturally different since his passing in 2007, but some things are still the same. Although I do miss the outer presence of my Guru, the feeling in that little corner of Queens, New York , is just as refined and powerful. I always come back thinking I have been away for weeks, even after days – vigour and inspiration renewed, a fresh perspective on life, solutions to problems, new ideas for creativity. It’s a time not just for inner reflection, but a time to spend with friends from all over the world who have come for the same reasons – a time of laughter and conversation, a chance to plan new projects and compare ideas, as well as sitting together in silent meditation, or performing Sri Chinmoy’s music and plays. I was looking through my earlier recollections today, and found t...
More About: Back
Back in New York
2012-04-22 13:23:00
Sri Chinmoy, August 2005, by Prashphutita I still go at least twice a year to visit the place where Sri Chinmoy spent most of his time – once in April and once in August. Some things are naturally different since his passing in 2007, but some things are still the same. Although I do miss the outer presence of my Guru, the feeling in that little corner of Queens, New York, is just as refined and powerful. I always come back thinking I have been away for weeks, even after days – vigour and inspiration renewed, a fresh perspective on life, solutions to problems, new ideas for creativity. It’s a time not just for inner reflection, but a time to spend with friends from all over the world who have come for the same reasons – a time of laughter and conversation, a chance to plan new projects and compare ideas, as well as sitting together in silent meditation, or performing Sri Chinmoy’s music and plays. I was looking through my earlier recollections today, and found t...
Emus and Egyptology
2012-03-31 08:51:00
I live right on a railway line. The whole building shudders when the heavy freight goes by, and I can hear the echoing announcements from the platform when the wind blows the right way. Somehow I find it comforting. I always had a happy association with trains, even when I was little. They knew the way to mysterious exotic places like Brighton and Burgess Hill. Trains were harbingers of good fortune. They brought people I loved – my father from work, or other relations for family visits. My very earliest memory is of a railway platform. I was eighteen months old when advertisements came out for a major exhibition in London. The image on the station wall beguiled me: a gigantic burial mask, two wide eyes in frames of kohl, a gentle smile of gold and a collar of precious stones. My father taught me to pronounce the name in grand, deliberate syllables. I had barely mastered the mechanics of walking, and a waddle was all anyone could have managed in underwear so heftily frilled and r...
Emus and Egyptology
2012-03-31 08:51:00
I live right on a railway line. The whole building shudders when the heavy freight goes by, and I can hear the echoing announcements from the platform when the wind blows the right way. Somehow I find it comforting. I always had a happy association with trains, even when I was little. They knew the way to mysterious exotic places like Brighton and Burgess Hill. Trains were harbingers of good fortune. They brought people I loved – my father from work, or other relations for family visits. My very earliest memory is of a railway platform. I was eighteen months old when advertisements came out for a major exhibition in London. The image on the station wall beguiled me: a gigantic burial mask, two wide eyes in frames of kohl, a gentle smile of gold and a collar of precious stones. My father taught me to pronounce the name in grand, deliberate syllables. I had barely mastered the mechanics of walking, and a waddle was all anyone could have managed in underwear so heftily frilled and r...
Emus and Egyptology
2012-03-31 08:51:00
I live right on a railway line. The whole building shudders when the heavy freight goes by, and I can hear the echoing announcements from the platform when the wind blows the right way. Somehow I find it comforting. I always had a happy association with trains, even when I was little. They knew the way to mysterious exotic places like Brighton and Burgess Hill. Trains were harbingers of good fortune. They brought people I loved – my father from work, or other relations for family visits. My very earliest memory is of a railway platform. I was eighteen months old when advertisements came out for a major exhibition in London. The image on the station wall beguiled me: a gigantic burial mask, two wide eyes in frames of kohl, a gentle smile of gold and a collar of precious stones. My father taught me to pronounce the name in grand, deliberate syllables. I had barely mastered the mechanics of walking, and a waddle was all anyone could have managed in underwear so heftily frilled and r...
An Early Friendship
2012-03-24 12:06:00
Dogs were my first obsession, and from the time I could talk, I repeated an ardent desire to have one of my own. In the innocence of youth, my parents decided to grant my wish just before my brother was born. They soon discovered it was not their greatest plan, but I was euphoric almost to the point of madness. Spaniels themselves are mad at the best of times, at least when nobody has time to train them. Left to instinct they revert to a state of random ebullience, as if their brains are full of sherbet and their bodies made of slack elastic. They are free from cares or aversions, remaining cheerful while their ears are sucked and their eyes prodded. Whether ridden bareback by a lopsided infant or locked in the laundry room by a haggard mistress, they are simply glad to exist. Mine was no exception, and we were instant friends. The lawn soon grew small craters and an air of carefree wildness. The flowerbeds were troves of half-eaten, half-buried wellingtons and other rubber treasure...
More About: Friendship , Early
An Early Friendship
2012-03-24 12:06:00
Dogs were my first obsession, and from the time I could talk, I repeated an ardent desire to have one of my own. In the innocence of youth, my parents decided to grant my wish just before my brother was born. They soon discovered it was not their greatest plan, but I was euphoric almost to the point of madness. Spaniels themselves are mad at the best of times, at least when nobody has time to train them. Left to instinct they revert to a state of random ebullience, as if their brains are full of sherbet and their bodies made of slack elastic. They are free from cares or aversions, remaining cheerful while their ears are sucked and their eyes prodded. Whether ridden bareback by a lopsided infant or locked in the laundry room by a haggard mistress, they are simply glad to exist. Mine was no exception, and we were instant friends. The lawn soon grew small craters and an air of carefree wildness. The flowerbeds were troves of half-eaten, half-buried wellingtons and other rubber treasure...
More About: Friendship , Early
An Early Friendship
2012-03-24 12:06:00
Dogs were my first obsession, and from the time I could talk, I repeated an ardent desire to have one of my own. In the innocence of youth, my parents decided to grant my wish just before my brother was born. They soon discovered it was not their greatest plan, but I was euphoric almost to the point of madness. Spaniels themselves are mad at the best of times, at least when nobody has time to train them. Left to instinct they revert to a state of random ebullience, as if their brains are full of sherbet and their bodies made of slack elastic. They are free from cares or aversions, remaining cheerful while their ears are sucked and their eyes prodded. Whether ridden bareback by a lopsided infant or locked in the laundry room by a haggard mistress, they are simply glad to exist. Mine was no exception, and we were instant friends. The lawn soon grew small craters and an air of carefree wildness. The flowerbeds were troves of half-eaten, half-buried wellingtons and other rubber treasure...
Ashrita Furman in the News
2012-03-18 13:13:00
Ashrita Furman has been in the UK news quite a bit this week, leading up to his next record breaking attempt in Brazil: to jump rope 900 times in an hour. Underwater. In an aquarium tank. Full of manatees. Ashrita currently holds 137 Guinness World records, including the one for holding the most world records. He attributes his achievements to Sri Chinmoy, having learned from him the art of meditation and the philosophy of self-transcendence since his teens. My favourite article this week was by Will Pavia in the Times. Here is a short excerpt: “It’s about getting closer to God,” he said. And what does God make of a man gyrating down a running track with a milk bottle on his head? “I think He gets a good chuckle out of it,” Mr Furman said. Read an article about Ashrita in the Telegraph » Read more stories about Ashrita here at sumangali.org » Find out more about Ashrita at Ashrita.com » Or watch this video on ABC Nightline from 9th March 2012…
More About: News , In the News , The News
Ashrita Furman in the News
2012-03-18 13:13:00
Ashrita Furman has been in the UK news quite a bit this week, leading up to his next record breaking attempt in Brazil: to jump rope 900 times in an hour. Underwater. In an aquarium tank. Full of manatees. Ashrita currently holds 137 Guinness World records, including the one for holding the most world records. He attributes his achievements to Sri Chinmoy, having learned from him the art of meditation and the philosophy of self-transcendence since his teens. My favourite article this week was by Will Pavia in the Times. Here is a short excerpt: “It’s about getting closer to God,” he said. And what does God make of a man gyrating down a running track with a milk bottle on his head? “I think He gets a good chuckle out of it,” Mr Furman said. Read an article about Ashrita in the Telegraph » Read more stories about Ashrita here at sumangali.org » Find out more about Ashrita at Ashrita.com » Or watch this video on ABC Nightline from 9th March 2012…
More About: News , In the News , The News
Ashrita Furman in the News
2012-03-18 13:13:00
Ashrita Furman has been in the UK news quite a bit this week, leading up to his next record breaking attempt in Brazil: to jump rope 900 times in an hour. Underwater. In an aquarium tank. Full of manatees. Ashrita currently holds 137 Guinness World records, including the one for holding the most world records. He attributes his achievements to Sri Chinmoy, having learned from him the art of meditation and the philosophy of self-transcendence since his teens. My favourite article this week was by Will Pavia in the Times. Here is a short excerpt: “It’s about getting closer to God,” he said. And what does God make of a man gyrating down a running track with a milk bottle on his head? “I think He gets a good chuckle out of it,” Mr Furman said. Read an article about Ashrita in the Telegraph » Read more stories about Ashrita here at sumangali.org » Find out more about Ashrita at Ashrita.com » Or watch this video on ABC Nightline from 9th March 2012…
Making a Wish for Peace
2012-03-11 21:17:00
Giant glass letters look out from a face of steel, the words like an ancient promise: In These Stones Horizons Sing. The roof shimmers like a beetle’s back in the new spring sunshine, crouching in a burrow of layered slate. I had been using a map until I realised my destination could be seen quite plainly from miles around – Canolfan Mileniwm Cymru,  Wales Millennium Centre – a home for the arts and culture, covering nearly five acres of ground. I am to spend the weekend here with around 50 others. I travelled 5 hours to make a wish for peace; many have come much further than me, and some making a good part of that way on foot. I lived in Cardiff for several years, but Cardiff Bay was still in its infancy then. Now the Bay is the seat of the National Assembly, and it is as though the heart of the city beats here now. The Senedd (Senate or Parliament) makes its home in a temple-like structure of glass and curving tactile wood, gorgeous and opulent in its very simplicity. ...
More About: Peace
Making a Wish for Peace
2012-03-11 21:17:00
Giant glass letters look out from a face of steel, the words like an ancient promise: In These Stones Horizons Sing. The roof shimmers like a beetle’s back in the new spring sunshine, crouching in a burrow of layered slate. I had been using a map until I realised my destination could be seen quite plainly from miles around – Canolfan Mileniwm Cymru,  Wales Millennium Centre – a home for the arts and culture, covering nearly five acres of ground. I am to spend the weekend here with around 50 others. I travelled 5 hours to make a wish for peace; many have come much further than me, and some making a good part of that way on foot. I lived in Cardiff for several years, but Cardiff Bay was still in its infancy then. Now the Bay is the seat of the National Assembly, and it is as though the heart of the city beats here now. The Senedd (Senate or Parliament) makes its home in a temple-like structure of glass and curving tactile wood, gorgeous and opulent in its very simplicity. ...
More About: Peace
The Tiger-Striped Goat
2012-03-02 18:13:00
Long ago in the 19th Century,Sri Ramakrishna related a story to his disciples, which comes to me very often. As I recall, a tigress went to attack a herd of goats, but a hunter saw her and killed her. As she was dying she gave birth to a cub, who was left behind with the goats. Goats were all the little cub knew, so he thought he was one of them. The nanny goats nursed him, and when he was weaned he ate grass as they did. Even when he was fully grown, he would bleat like a goat and run away if the herd was under attack. One day a fierce tiger came hunting, and was amazed to see one of his kind bleating and trying to flee. The fierce tiger grabbed the grass-eating one and dragged him to a pool of water where he could see his own reflection. “See, you have a face exactly like mine,” he said, “what a disgrace that you have been eating grass and living like a goat!” The fierce tiger gave the goat-tiger some meat, which he refused at first, but soon got the taste of it. Realising...
The Tiger-Striped Goat
2012-03-02 18:13:00
Long ago in the 19th Century,Sri Ramakrishna related a story to his disciples, which comes to me very often. As I recall, a tigress went to attack a herd of goats, but a hunter saw her and killed her. As she was dying she gave birth to a cub, who was left behind with the goats. Goats were all the little cub knew, so he thought he was one of them. The nanny goats nursed him, and when he was weaned he ate grass as they did. Even when he was fully grown, he would bleat like a goat and run away if the herd was under attack. One day a fierce tiger came hunting, and was amazed to see one of his kind bleating and trying to flee. The fierce tiger grabbed the grass-eating one and dragged him to a pool of water where he could see his own reflection. “See, you have a face exactly like mine,” he said, “what a disgrace that you have been eating grass and living like a goat!” The fierce tiger gave the goat-tiger some meat, which he refused at first, but soon got the taste of it. Realising...
Things my Grandmother Taught Me
2012-02-25 13:36:00
Gulls called constantly in the Sussex seaside towns. The sun had a peculiar intensity, and the wind was always keen. In such a town there was a row of Victorian terraced houses. They all looked the same from the outside, but one had barely changed its interior during its life of a hundred years. It was rented by two sisters: my grandmother and an aunt. There was never a man, at least not in my lifetime. The hall confused the senses with dinginess and sour mustiness, opposing the outside brilliance and the smell of chip-shop frying. There was a formal parlour on the right, with dark drapes, dour patterned walls and the door ajar. I heard from a cousin that old people went in there to die, which was easily believed by a young imagination. Nobody ever went in while we were there, which both relieved me and fired my curiosity. Although I never dared ask further, I quickened my step while passing it, just to be sure. All life was led in the crowded back room and kitchen, smelling of pets...
More About: Things
Things my Grandmother Taught Me
2012-02-25 13:36:00
Gulls called constantly in the Sussex seaside towns. The sun had a peculiar intensity, and the wind was always keen. In such a town there was a row of Victorian terraced houses. They all looked the same from the outside, but one had barely changed its interior during its life of a hundred years. It was rented by two sisters: my grandmother and an aunt. There was never a man, at least not in my lifetime. The hall confused the senses with dinginess and sour mustiness, opposing the outside brilliance and the smell of chip-shop frying. There was a formal parlour on the right, with dark drapes, dour patterned walls and the door ajar. I heard from a cousin that old people went in there to die, which was easily believed by a young imagination. Nobody ever went in while we were there, which both relieved me and fired my curiosity. Although I never dared ask further, I quickened my step while passing it, just to be sure. All life was led in the crowded back room and kitchen, smelling of pets...
More About: Things
Love, Freedom and Fifteen Years
2012-02-14 23:45:00
When I was little, February was a frenzy of red and pink paper; a time of round-ended scissors, glitter and Elmer’s glue. Is it still so for the children of America, or was it a fashion of the 1970s? We foisted cards on everyone, at least everyone in our school class and family, perhaps the janitor and principal too, the bus driver and the local librarian. There was really nothing personal about Valentine’s Day. It was about the sort of love that extends randomly in all directions, rather than the sort that attaches itself with hope to an individual. It was perhaps somewhat perfunctory, but it came with enthusiasm, and without expectation. Later it grew a gangly teenage awkwardness: a game of daring, angst and mortification. Now I barely think of it at all. By chance, February fourteenth is the day I became a student of Sri Chinmoy, so it has had a very different meaning for me these past 15 years. I joined the Sri Chinmoy Centre as a single person, so according to custom...
More About: Freedom , Love , Years
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