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Authors: Scott Blum
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hill.
“Hello,” I greeted her, feeling more friendly than I usually did.
“Hi there, I’m Om,” she said in chipper voice while doing a little curtsy.
I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “ M? Does that stand for something?”
“No, Om. O-M. You know, like Ommmm. ” She pressed her thumbs to her middle fingers and cocked her head into an instant meditation pose. I counted eight earrings on one ear and only two on the other and worried that she’d tip over if she didn’t straighten up quickly.
“I’m Scott,” I finally said. “Nice to meet you, Ommmm. ”
She laughed. “I’m so happy! It’s a beautiful day, and I’m going to kirtan, which always lifts my spirits.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but her energy was infectious. I could see it emanate from her body and enter mine, where my soul eagerly received her happiness. It was an incredible demonstration of the power of good intentions, and who better to be around than someone like Om, who was utterly filled with positive energy.
“Are you going to kirtan, also?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Oh, then you absolutely must come and meet my boyfriend, Garuda. Kirtan is the most beautiful experience in the world. You get a deep sense of inner peace and connectedness with the universe while you chant together with your fellow Earth spirits. Today it’s in the park, and a beautiful flute player from Nepal will be there. I met him at a party last night, and he has the purest soul you’ll ever meet. He can heal himself and others simply by playing his bamboo flute. It’s so magical.”
I didn’t have any plans for the day, and although I wasn’t familiar with what she was talking about, I could feel the excitement with her every breath. I also hadn’t seen any live music in a while, and a concert in the park seemed like a great idea.
“Let’s go,” I said, and we made our way down the hill.
We walked on the sidewalk that bordered the park, and after passing two wooden bridges that spanned the creek, the Japanese garden came into view on the opposite side of the street. We crossed, and walked by the narrow garden, which was filled with bamboo, red-leaf miniature oak trees, and a trickling stream that meandered down the hill through the rock work.
We then came to a large sloping expanse of lawn flanked by three giant sequoias. The trees were enormously majestic and seemed delighted with the crowd of people quietly setting up blankets at the bases of their trunks. I hadn’t seen so many people in the park before and was taken by the silence and peacefulness that accompanied their movements. Several were dressed in colorful, flowing fabrics; and a few were clad in nothing but white robes and turbans.
We found Om’s boyfriend, Garuda, after a few minutes of wandering through the crowd, and he seemed genuinely happy to meet me. His head was shaved, and he was wearing a long white robe and a strand of large wrinkled seeds around his neck. Om introduced me in a soft voice, and after our whispered pleasantries, we all sat down to share a large white blanket. They both continued to talk in whispers, and although I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, I could feel their energy welcoming me as a new friend. It was a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt before with people I’d just met, and I enjoyed the unconditional feeling of community.
Garuda had reserved a spot in the center of the lawn, and we had a great view of the stage, which was covered in a large gilded rectangle of handwoven fabric, with unusual-looking instruments situated among velvet pillows. The setting sun glistened on the instruments as the musicians emerged from the audience and took their positions.
The first sound came from a narrow cello-like instrument that sounded like a droning sitar floating through the air in a long, graceful ribbon. Garuda whispered the names of all the exotic instruments in my ear and explained that the
“Hello,” I greeted her, feeling more friendly than I usually did.
“Hi there, I’m Om,” she said in chipper voice while doing a little curtsy.
I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “ M? Does that stand for something?”
“No, Om. O-M. You know, like Ommmm. ” She pressed her thumbs to her middle fingers and cocked her head into an instant meditation pose. I counted eight earrings on one ear and only two on the other and worried that she’d tip over if she didn’t straighten up quickly.
“I’m Scott,” I finally said. “Nice to meet you, Ommmm. ”
She laughed. “I’m so happy! It’s a beautiful day, and I’m going to kirtan, which always lifts my spirits.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but her energy was infectious. I could see it emanate from her body and enter mine, where my soul eagerly received her happiness. It was an incredible demonstration of the power of good intentions, and who better to be around than someone like Om, who was utterly filled with positive energy.
“Are you going to kirtan, also?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Oh, then you absolutely must come and meet my boyfriend, Garuda. Kirtan is the most beautiful experience in the world. You get a deep sense of inner peace and connectedness with the universe while you chant together with your fellow Earth spirits. Today it’s in the park, and a beautiful flute player from Nepal will be there. I met him at a party last night, and he has the purest soul you’ll ever meet. He can heal himself and others simply by playing his bamboo flute. It’s so magical.”
I didn’t have any plans for the day, and although I wasn’t familiar with what she was talking about, I could feel the excitement with her every breath. I also hadn’t seen any live music in a while, and a concert in the park seemed like a great idea.
“Let’s go,” I said, and we made our way down the hill.
We walked on the sidewalk that bordered the park, and after passing two wooden bridges that spanned the creek, the Japanese garden came into view on the opposite side of the street. We crossed, and walked by the narrow garden, which was filled with bamboo, red-leaf miniature oak trees, and a trickling stream that meandered down the hill through the rock work.
We then came to a large sloping expanse of lawn flanked by three giant sequoias. The trees were enormously majestic and seemed delighted with the crowd of people quietly setting up blankets at the bases of their trunks. I hadn’t seen so many people in the park before and was taken by the silence and peacefulness that accompanied their movements. Several were dressed in colorful, flowing fabrics; and a few were clad in nothing but white robes and turbans.
We found Om’s boyfriend, Garuda, after a few minutes of wandering through the crowd, and he seemed genuinely happy to meet me. His head was shaved, and he was wearing a long white robe and a strand of large wrinkled seeds around his neck. Om introduced me in a soft voice, and after our whispered pleasantries, we all sat down to share a large white blanket. They both continued to talk in whispers, and although I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, I could feel their energy welcoming me as a new friend. It was a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt before with people I’d just met, and I enjoyed the unconditional feeling of community.
Garuda had reserved a spot in the center of the lawn, and we had a great view of the stage, which was covered in a large gilded rectangle of handwoven fabric, with unusual-looking instruments situated among velvet pillows. The setting sun glistened on the instruments as the musicians emerged from the audience and took their positions.
The first sound came from a narrow cello-like instrument that sounded like a droning sitar floating through the air in a long, graceful ribbon. Garuda whispered the names of all the exotic instruments in my ear and explained that the
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