Don't Mess with Texas Day 3: Lucky 7s in Houston

Continuing to back-post...

Don't Mess with Texas Day 3:
"Lucky 7s in Houston" (7/7/07)

I awoke this morning to find the vast majority of my left arm had been devoured by what must be the hungriest, ugliest mosquitoes in Dallas. I lay in bed, staring up at the whirling ceiling fan, trying to figure out if I was dreaming or awake. It was one of those "Where am I? What am I doing here? Why is my arm red, swollen, and itchy?" type of moments.

Fortunately, after a brisk shower I regained my consciousness and the bug bites (plural -- the arm was just the main course; apparently my legs, neck, hands, and feet were appetizers) looked more manageable.

The program the night before had gone well. Govinda Maharaj was in top form, leading a rousing Hare Krishna kirtan peppered generously with some "Radhe Radhe / Syama Syama" rows. In fact, at one point Maharaj induced the ladies to call out the Radhe part, and the men to chant Kalachandji -- and everyone's hearts just melted.

Those soft hearts were receptive to the Kazakhstan cause, and many gave generously. Helping the devotees in Kazakhstan is critical, and this is a cause I believe in wholeheartedly. Still, I felt more than a bit awkward being the buzz-kill who pleads for money-- especially after Maharaj won the crowd over with his smooth voice, enchanting stories, charming wit, and unassuming good nature. Anyway, Lord Krishna was definitely in control: when I thought I was doing a good job, He arranged for there to be challenges and a lackluster response. When I thought I was not so convincing, people came forward and helped. Lesson: I am not, not, not the supreme controller. Better to be detached and remember that without Krishna, I simply can't do it. I'm just here to be an instrument, like Sultana's saxophone or Bimal's harmonium. If I can produce a sound that pleases Krishna or the devotees, my credit is just that I am allowing myself to be utilized by the real Musician.

Random highlight from last night: At one point a devotee's cell-phone went off and the ring tone was the trademark of the Motorola Razr that begins "Hello Moto..." This devotee (in front row) tried to find it to shut it, but took a bit too long, so the ring tone was pretty hard to miss. I thought Maharaj might get irritated, but instead when he saw the devotee, he recognized that they had known one another in Vrindavan. Maharaj shared some memories and said how happy he was to see the devotee (who was beaming by now). Finally, Maharaj said: "When I last saw you, you were so thin! Now, you have put on a lot of weight. Even you're phone calls you 'Hello, motu...' [fatso]" Everyone got a real kick out of that, and I could appreciate that Maharaj has a great sense of humor and is generally a very chill, understanding Swami.

Anyway, after chanting a few distracted rounds and packing my bags, I head over to Kalachandji's for a late breakfast. Since it was closed, consummate host Nityananda Prabhu brought me to this house where he (and his son, Chaitan) fed me a freshly made pizza brunch!

After the typical ISKCON Standard Time delay, we left for Houston. The devotee driving -- a member of the Houston congregation who came over to Dallas just to serve Maharaj and us in this way -- did a great job of getting us there safe and sound, despite the fact that the uninspired stretch of highway between Dallas and Houston put everyone else in the vehicle right to sleep.

Arriving in Houston, I was surprised to find that arrangements had been made for me to stay at the home of a godbrother, Adi Guru prabhu. Interestingly, Adi Guru and family - who I had hung out with a few days earlier in New Vrindaban - were still traveling (hence his being in New Vrindaban), so I stayed there without them.

Ate, shaved, and was about to hop in the shower, when a frantic knocking at the front door demanded my attention. It was Houston TP Shyamasundara Prabhu who, seeing me in a towel, let me know that Maharaj was waiting to talk to me. I guess that IST thing doesn't always hold, so I quickly showered and dressed up and went to the hall to meet Govinda MAharaj.

The devotees set up Gauranga Hall, which serves as a rental facility for big gatherings, for a beautiful semi-formal sit-down dinner. On the guest list were several friends and supporters outside of the usual temple community (fror them, we will do something at the Sunday Feast), yoga scene movers and shakers, and interfaith representatives. Fresh table linens, classy decorations, centerpieces, and even a silent auction helped to make this event very attractive and a big success.

I made a modified appeal that was very well received; confirmation that my trip to Houston was well worth the endeavor and money.

Walking back to Adi Guru's place (many Houston devotees elect to live within walking distance of the temple) I felt exhausted but also inspired. Suddenly, I remembered that today was July 7, 2007. In other words, it was 7-7-7 -- and because Western culture considers 7 to be a lucky number, a date that is supposed to be considered good luck (which translates to "very auspicious" in ISKCON-ese). I said a quick prayer that some of the 777 magic could be sent to the devotees in Kazakhstan; they certainly need whatever good luck is available out there.

One funny incident to cap off my night: walking back with Bimal prabhu and Sultana mataji, Sultana was in a somewhat giddy mood. She began to reflect -- in her broken English -- on possible connections between the name of the city of Houston, and pop diva Whitney Houston. It turns out that Sultana was (is?) a huge Whitney fan, grew up idolizing her, and considers the pop star to be her "singing guru." Hearing that bit of history I couldn't resist, so I pleaded with Sultana to sing a Whitney song... and she (giddy again!) obliged. Her voice is almost as amazing as her sax playing ability is, and she nailed a few Whitney ballads.

I fell asleep almost a soon as my head hit the pillow, the DJ in my head spinning some weird mash-up of Mama mana mandire and songs from the "Bodyguard" sound track.