Read Online Waiting for Autumn by Scott Blum - Free Book Online Page B

first one was a tampura from India. After a few moments, an older-looking gentleman began to key the accordion-like instrument, called a harmonium. Then came the small silver tabla, a pair of drums that moved the audience to sway together in rhythm. And finally, a young Asian boy picked up an unassuming bamboo flute and began to make the most beautiful music I had ever heard. The notes flowed out of his hollowed instrument and floated over the audience right into my heart. I got chills with every long, drawn-out note that danced in and around a scale that was both foreign and familiar.
    I had never heard music like that before, but it released something deep inside that had always been within me. His flute told a story of love and devotion, and tears of pure joy began to stream down my face. I had never cried for happiness before, but it felt so right that I decided it must be the best use of my tears.
    The musicians let the flutist take the lead until an exotic-looking woman in a white robe and turban gracefully emerged from the audience and took her place in the center of the blanketed stage. She began to sing in a foreign language I didn’t recognize, and intuitively the entire audience repeated the verse with a single grand and powerful voice. The first time it happened, there was a wave of energy that swirled among the audience members before dissipating into the sky above. She repeated the verse, and again the audience followed, even more powerful than before.
    Initially I was reluctant to lend my voice to the collective, but as I listened closely and realized that many were not technically in tune, I discovered that the voices all blended together in a beautiful fabric not unlike nature itself. As I became more familiar with the chants, I started mouthing the lyrics first and then sang them aloud with everyone else.
    “Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya”
    Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya
    “Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya”
    Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya
    “Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya”
    Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya
    “Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya”
    Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya
    The simple lyrics were repeated with little variation for nearly a half hour before the first song was complete. Once it was over, the audience fell into silence and let the stillness wash over them until the musicians began to weave their melodic yarn once again. By the middle of the second song, I stood and closed my eyes and sang from the bottom of my soul, and with each verse, I felt gradually more connected with everyone in the park. The lines between our bodies began to blur; and we became one moving, breathing mass of energy. I felt that I was literally transcending time and space with every verse, and after a number of songs, I couldn’t feel my feet touching the grass anymore. My eyes could see that gravity was still employed, but my other senses weren’t convinced.
    The kirtan lasted nearly four hours, and when it came to a close, I was in a daze and could barely make my way home with Om and Garuda. After a few blocks of walking in silence, Om looked up to the sky while hugging herself and said, “I am so blissed out.”
    I followed her gaze, and although the stars were all shining, the moon was dark.
    “It must be the new moon,” I said.
    “A time for rebirth,” said Om as we turned onto my street.
    “It certainly is.” I smiled at both of them and glided up the walkway to my apartment. “Thank you.”
    “Namaste,” they said in unison while pressing their palms together in a prayer position and gently bowing their heads.
    That night I had the first of what was to become another recurring dream. I hadn’t dreamed about Cheryl’s accident since the constellation and was finally having restful nights for the first time in years. The new dream wasn’t as frightening, but it was no less intense.
    The dream took place in a small-town park I recognized as the one in