On The Path

The Tired God

The Tired God

Having just given a concert, conducted a function, lifted some people and composed several songs, Guru sat on the stage in his reclining chair, relaxing.

I was alternately watching our Master sipping a glass of water and the boys carrying in several boxes of prasad and placing it at the edge of the wooden stage.

Mmmm. Being slightly tired and hungry from the long evening, I couldn't help wondering what kinds of delicious treats were hidden in those cardboard containers.

I tore my eyes away and started looking around, to keep myself from getting impatient at the the boys for taking such a long time to prepare the light-infused food. Not that they were dawdling, quite the opposite actually, but now that the function was drawing to a close every moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

My bed was calling my name - loudly, I might add - and my stomach was rumbling.

Almost equally as loudly.

And for the time being, all capacity to be soulful had completely disappeared. Which, of course, is exactly what you don't want when finding yourself in the rare presence of a spiritual  master. But I was not really concerned, since I knew from experience that my patience and the ability to concentrate soulfully on Guru once more would return as soon as I'd have a few bites of what was still hidden in those lovely cardboard boxes.

In those still closed, lovely cardboard boxes.

But...

We were not there, yet.

Therefore, I allowed my eyes to wander, since I did not want to look at my Master with only one thought in mind: 'Guru, how much longer will it take?!'

And judging by the growing level of murmurs and movement all around me, I was not the only one in dire need of some distraction.

Noticing a girl and boy - about four to six years old - sitting beside an acquaintances from the Viennese centre right next to me, I turned to her: "Are these your children?" I was curious, since I had always believed her to have only one grown-up son, who was also a disciple.

"What? Oh, these two? No, I'm only babysitting them."

"Babysitting?" I asked, glancing at Guru who was silently gazing at the audience. "Isn't this a slightly odd place to take children?"

My friend shrugged. "What better place to take children than to see a spiritual master?"

She had a point.

"Besides, the parents are gone for the whole week and I really wanted to come to the concert..."

Again I glanced at Guru, who was looking over to his right to talk to a tall boy that had just approached him. Before them and at the edge of the stage, satisfying ripping noises were proof that the boys had finally started with opening the blessed boxes. I almost started salivating at the thought of what treats I might soon enjoy.

Fighting my impatience, I turned back to my friend. "Do the parents know that you follow a spiritual path?" I wondered.

"Heavens, no. You know what kind of reputation spirituality has in our country (this scene took place in the mid 1990ies). I also never talk to the children about Guru, as they might tell their parents."

"It's a pity, really, "I mused. "There's so much children could profit from spirituality."

Automatically, my eyes sought out Guru, who was alone on the stage once again. A blanket covering his body he was reclining, his feet gently waggling.

"I sing with them." My friend smiled. "And they love it."

I remembered the time I took care of two small boys. They also had.

"Silvia," the small boy suddenly piped up, addressing my friend with a frown on his small face. "Our dear God looks really tired today."

It took a moment for me to register what he had just said. Astonished, I looked at my friend, who appeared to be equally surprised.

"You're sure you didn't tell them anything?"

"I'm positive."

"Wow. Interesting," I muttered, more to myself than anything. "The perception of children..."

Hi everybody! No time to write a clever author's note. (I'm sitting on a bus and my stop is fast approaching.) Therefore just one word: enjoy :)