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To
be
specific
,
I
crawled
outside
over
the
railing
,
gripping
it
with
my
sweaty
palms
and
dangling
there
from
two
stories
up
over
the
darkness
for
a
moment
,
only
then
asking
myself
the
reasonable
question
,
"
Why
are
you
jumping
out
of
this
building
?
"
My
reply
came
with
a
fierce
,
impersonal
determination
:
I
have
to
get
to
the
Gurugita
.
Then
I
let
go
and
dropped
backward
maybe
twelve
or
fifteen
feet
through
the
dark
air
to
the
concrete
sidewalk
below
,
hitting
something
on
the
way
down
that
peeled
a
long
strip
of
skin
off
my
right
shin
,
but
I
didn
’
t
care
.
I
picked
myself
up
and
ran
barefoot
,
my
pulse
slamming
in
my
ears
,
all
the
way
to
the
temple
,
found
a
seat
,
opened
up
my
prayer
book
just
as
the
chant
was
beginning
and
-
bleeding
down
my
leg
the
whole
while
-
I
started
to
sing
the
Gurugita
.
It
was
only
after
a
few
verses
that
I
caught
my
breath
and
was
able
to
think
my
normal
,
instinctive
morning
thought
:
I
don
’
t
want
to
be
here
.
After
which
I
heard
Swamiji
burst
out
laughing
in
my
head
,
saying
:
That
’
s
funny
-
you
sure
act
like
somebody
who
wants
to
be
here
.
And
I
replied
to
him
,
OK
,
then
.
You
win
.
I
sat
there
,
singing
and
bleeding
and
thinking
that
it
was
maybe
time
for
me
to
change
my
relationship
with
this
particular
spiritual
practice
.
The
Gurugita
is
meant
to
be
a
hymn
of
pure
love
,
but
something
had
been
stopping
me
short
from
offering
up
that
love
in
sincerity
.
So
as
I
chanted
each
verse
I
realized
that
I
needed
to
find
something
-
or
somebody
-
to
whom
I
could
devote
this
hymn
,
in
order
to
find
a
place
of
pure
love
within
me
.
By
Verse
Twenty
,
I
had
it
:
Nick
.
Nick
,
my
nephew
,
is
an
eight
-
year
-
old
boy
,
skinny
for
his
age
,
scarily
smart
,
frighteningly
astute
,
sensitive
and
complex
.
Even
minutes
after
his
birth
,
amid
all
the
squalling
newborns
in
the
nursery
,
he
alone
was
not
crying
,
but
looking
around
with
adult
,
worldly
and
worried
eyes
,
looking
as
though
he
’
d
done
all
this
before
so
many
times
and
wasn
’
t
sure
how
excited
he
felt
about
having
to
do
it
again
.
This
is
a
child
for
whom
life
is
never
simple
,
a
child
who
hears
and
sees
and
feels
everything
intensely
,
a
child
who
can
be
overcome
by
emotion
so
fast
sometimes
that
it
unnerves
us
all
.
I
love
this
boy
so
deeply
and
protectively
.
I
realized
-
doing
the
math
on
the
time
difference
between
India
and
Pennsylvania
-
that
it
was
nearing
his
bedtime
back
home
.
So
I
sang
the
Gurugita
to
my
nephew
Nick
,
to
help
him
sleep
.
Sometimes
he
has
trouble
sleeping
because
he
cannot
still
his
mind
.
So
each
devotional
word
of
this
hymn
,
I
dedicated
to
Nick
.
I
filled
the
song
with
everything
I
wished
I
could
teach
him
about
life
.
I
tried
to
reassure
him
with
every
line
about
how
the
world
is
hard
and
unfair
sometimes
,
but
that
it
’
s
all
OK
because
he
is
so
loved
.
He
is
surrounded
by
souls
who
would
do
anything
to
help
him
.
And
not
only
that
-
he
has
wisdom
and
patience
of
his
own
,
buried
deep
inside
his
being
,
which
will
only
reveal
themselves
over
time
and
will
always
carry
him
through
any
trial
.
He
is
a
gift
from
God
to
all
of
us
.
I
told
him
this
fact
through
this
old
Sanskrit
scripture
,
and
soon
I
noticed
that
I
was
weeping
cool
tears
.
But
before
I
could
wipe
the
tears
away
the
Gurugita
was
over
.
The
hour
and
a
half
was
finished
.
It
felt
like
ten
minutes
had
passed
.
I
realized
what
had
happened
-
that
Nicky
had
carried
me
through
it
.
The
little
soul
I
’
d
wanted
to
help
had
actually
been
helping
me
.
I
walked
to
the
front
of
the
temple
and
bowed
flat
on
my
face
in
gratitude
to
my
God
,
to
the
revolutionary
power
of
love
,
to
myself
,
to
my
Guru
and
to
my
nephew
-
briefly
understanding
on
a
molecular
level
(
not
an
intellectual
level
)
that
there
was
no
difference
whatsoever
between
any
of
these
words
or
any
of
these
ideas
or
any
of
these
people
.
Then
I
slid
into
the
meditation
cave
,
where
I
skipped
breakfast
and
sat
for
almost
two
hours
,
humming
with
stillness
.
Needless
to
say
,
I
never
missed
the
Gurugita
again
,
and
it
became
the
most
holy
of
my
practices
at
the
Ashram
.
Of
course
Richard
from
Texas
went
to
great
lengths
to
tease
me
about
having
jumped
out
of
the
dormitory
,
being
sure
to
say
to
me
every
night
after
dinner
,
"
See
you
at
The
Geet
tomorrow
morning
,
Groceries
.
And
,
hey
-
try
using
the
stairs
this
time
,
OK
?
"
And
,
of
course
,
I
called
my
sister
the
next
week
and
she
said
that
-
for
reasons
nobody
could
understand
-
Nick
suddenly
wasn
’
t
having
trouble
falling
asleep
anymore
.
And
naturally
I
was
reading
in
the
library
a
few
days
later
from
a
book
about
the
Indian
saint
Sri
Ramakrishna
,
and
I
stumbled
upon
a
story
about
a
seeker
who
once
came
to
see
the
great
master
and
admitted
to
him
that
she
feared
she
was
not
a
good
enough
devotee
,
feared
that
she
did
not
love
God
enough
.
And
the
saint
said
,
"
Is
there
nothing
you
love
?
"
The
woman
admitted
that
she
adored
her
young
nephew
more
than
anything
on
earth
.
The
saint
said
,
"
There
,
then
.
He
is
your
Krishna
,
your
beloved
.
In
your
service
to
your
nephew
,
you
are
serving
God
.
"
