Brown Rice

It was 230 in the afternoon. We were in Advanced Sanskrit class in the Vermont Street Ashram working out of the Rupachandrika, a grammar book. They appeared at the back of the room: Padma, Alan, Shelly, Mark, Phil, and Lillian, who'd been in the original Broadway cast of Hair. "We have one more ticket - to the Stones - and we want Tupper to come with us." Somehow, I was reticent. Guruji said "Go".
Stevie Wonder opened and so did we. Soon I was in another world and feeling unglued. As we left, we became separated in the large crowd. Being disoriented, I used forest orientation and knew Ashram was east so walked away from the sun.
17th Street appeared. I recalled there was an IYI, Integral Yoga Institute restaurant somewhere there, found it and sat down. Ordered brown rice, miso soup, tofu and kombi. There was gomasio on the table. It made me feel safe, located, locatable. The brown rice arrived. It was good. I became quiet again.
To accept oneself is not always an easy thing.
Before Yoga, I'd had a fast car, a very fast car and I drove it very fast.
Under that speed and noise and clamor though was only someone who needs quiet sometimes, even when there's a great party and wildly successful music. I mean the Stones and Stevie Wonder, in 1972, in San Francisco. Please. Yes, Silence Please.
Healing Warrior, Yes. Where to put the "the", grammatically. And it does change what is being said, notice ye wordsmiths.
The Healing Warrior.
Healing the Warrior.
All together now.
Healing Warrior drawing and Zen Garden photo are by me, Jon Tupper. Ha.