Spiritual Summer
A novel by Nori J. Muster
Chapter One
"I'd like to buy a ticket to San Francisco, please," Sandy Edinburgh said, searching through her backpack. She took out her wallet feeling small and lost after the confusing events of the day that led her to the airport.
"Will that be one-way?" the ticket agent asked.
"Yes, unfortunately," Sandy said, as she brushed aside her wispy brown hair to sign several traveler's checks.
"Cheer up. San Francisco is a great town," the man said, as he checked the schedule. "Your flight leaves at 6:30, gate sixteen. That way," he said, pointing toward the concourse.
Sandy merged into a busy avenue of human traffic. What was the point of going home now? She and her boyfriend had already broken up after graduation. Senior year was great but he was going to Drew University in New Jersey and she to the University of California, Santa Barbara. It was his idea to end it before she left for the summer.
She recalled the scene that morning at the Topanga Canyon Yoga Art School, especially the anguish of the teachers when they got the news that their elderly guru had died in India. The school offered graphic arts, painting, and sculpture to the public, and had a good reputation in the art world. She felt sorry that their guru had died, but it seemed unfair to close the school and send everyone home.
Arriving at the gate, she put her backpack on a chair and sat down. Looking at her ticket and waiting for the check-in counter to open, she felt drained and depressed. Her concentration flickered with the constant movement of people in the terminal. Thoughts of home flooded her mind. She would be there soon and call her mom to pick her up.
Sandy tried to entertain herself by watching people, imagining where they might be going and whether their summer would be any worse than her own. Her eyes stopped on two women sitting on the floor near a pillar, who seemed to be having a picnic of sandwiches and food from plastic containers. They were dressed in slacks and blouses that looked like they came from a thrift store. One had a long blonde braid; the other had short red hair and freckles. Although they had large shoulder bags, they didn't appear to be going anywhere. The women finished their sandwiches and left. Sandy stared at her ticket again and looked over her shoulder to see if the check-in had started.
A little while later the women were back, approaching people on the walkway and stopping them to talk. Sandy stared at them and suddenly the redhead was walking straight toward her. Sandy couldn't understand what was going on, but the woman took a magazine out of her shoulder bag and put it in Sandy's hands.
"This is for you, miss," the woman said.
Sandy looked at the magazine, then at the woman.
"We're giving these to the most spiritual people in the airport today."
"Me, spiritual?" Sandy asked. "Well, maybe I am."
"Of course you are," the woman said, reaching into her bag for more magazines. "Everyone is a spirit soul, part and parcel of God. Let me tell you, we're having a fund-raising drive to print these books and magazines. I wonder if you could give something to help out."
"Is this enough?" Sandy took a dollar out of her bag and handed it to the woman.
"Actually, most people are trying to give at least five dollars today."
"Oh, five dollars." Sandy opened her wallet again and took out a five-dollar bill.
"Thank you," the woman said, putting the five and the one in her shoulder bag. "Now, let me give you this book too. I'm giving one to every kind soul who gives at least six dollars." The woman pulled out a thick hardcover book and put it in Sandy's hands.
"I've seen this book before," Sandy said. She stared at the picture of the Hindu God Krishna on the cover. "My Aunt Trina gave me one a long time ago. I might still have it. This is a Krishna Center book, isn't it?" A gradual recognition came over Sandy as she remembered that Trina had spoken of the Krishna Center devotees many times. During Trina's years at Berkeley the Krishnas used to assemble on campus to chant and sing. A Krishna Center man once led a seminar on campus that Trina attended. She even spent a week at their temple.
"You're familiar with the Bhagavad-gita, then?"
"The Bhagavad-gita? Oh, yeah, this book is the Hindu bible, right? I remember it, but well, really it was my aunt who was involved. She was in a Krishna Center group in Berkeley."
"Yeah? Hey, you mind if I sit down for a second? It's a very rare soul that knows about Krishna." The woman took the chair next to Sandy's backpack and rested her book bag on the floor. "Everyone in the material world is always in such a hurry. Just like, take for example this airport. Everyone is rushing around, not knowing what is really important for their eternal soul. As a matter of fact, where are you going right now?"
"I'm on my way home from the Topanga Canyon Yoga Art School."
"We have a center in Topanga Canyon too," the woman said, grinning.
"Yes, well, this was an art school. Anyway, it closed because the guru died suddenly."
"Is that the Guru Swami Ashrama in Topanga?" The woman thought for a moment, then added, "They have an art school there, don't they? Was that the place?"
"Yeah, the Guru Swami Art and Yoga School. Anyway, they canceled all the classes and told us to go because the Guru Swami died."
"He died?"
"Yeah, and we all had to go. I'd give anything not to have to go home."
The woman lowered her head, appearing immersed in thought. After a moment she looked directly at Sandy and, still smiling, said, "Why not come stay at our ashram for a few days and see if you like it there? We have an art department where you could get art lessons. Then you won't have to go home right away. We have a guru, too."
"But I'm," Sandy paused to weigh the possibilities. "It's just that," she paused again. "What's it like?"
Obviously pleased by Sandy's curiosity, the woman told her about the temple. She promised that Sandy could meet the artists who paint illustrations for the Krishna Center books and maybe get art lessons. It would be so easy, too. The woman offered to get Sandy a ride to the temple and promised there would be a room waiting.
"Besides," the woman said, "what do you have to lose? You said you won't be missing anything in San Francisco."
Absolutely nothing, Sandy considered. The woman explained that a van from the temple would be coming at six o'clock to drop off more books, so Sandy could follow her down to meet the van and get a ride to the temple.
Sandy walked with the woman to the street level, then out to the lane where cars were driving up, stopping, and pulling away. Amid the confusion and noise, security guards were shouting and blowing their whistles to usher idling cars along. The long day's events, coupled with the exhaust from the cars, made Sandy feel dizzy.
The Krishna Center woman watched the oncoming cars for some time before she recognized the temple van. When she saw it, she put her hand up and waved the driver over to the curb. She then turned to Sandy, who was sitting on a bench, and yelled, "Here he comes."
A white Dodge van stopped and a man dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, and an orange T-shirt jumped out of the driver's side. He looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and had short brown hair with a Krishna Center pony tail in the back. Running around to the curb, he opened the van door to reveal dozens of brown boxes.
"How many books this time?" he asked.
Sandy was standing with her suitcase, ready to get in the van when the man noticed her and smiled. She saw a certain liveliness in his eyes and felt comforted by his smile.
"How 'bout three boxes of magazines and four of books," the woman said.
The man began unloading the boxes and stacking them on the sidewalk. "A new devotee?" he asked, nodding at Sandy.
"This is Sandy. Can you take her back to the temple?"
The man finished unloading the boxes, and before she knew it, Sandy was in the van waving goodbye to the woman, who remained on the sidewalk with seven brown boxes.
"How will she carry those books?" Sandy asked.
"Oh, don't worry," the man said, navigating his move into the traffic. "She'll get a luggage cart."
"Oh."
"By the way, my name's Jeff. I'm not initiated yet. You're Sandy, right?"
Jeff was now driving quickly, weaving in and out of the evening traffic. The sun was just setting and the air was hot; still thick with auto fumes. A car stopped in front of them and Jeff brought the van to a halt, a foot short of hitting the car.
"Hare Krishna!" Jeff said.
"Good thing the brakes work," Sandy said, releasing her grip on the door and ceiling.
"I swore I'd never move back to L.A. once I got away, but here I am!"
Sandy settled back into the seat and caught her breath. "Where did you move here from?"
"Santa Barbara. I was raised here in The Valley, but I had started college in Santa Barbara."
"I'm supposed to go to school in Santa Barbara in the fall! What a coincidence. Which school did you go to? The university? When?"
"Oh, gosh, it's a long story. Yes, the university. I was there for a year, but that was a long time ago," he said, now picking up speed to get on the freeway. He watched the traffic out of his side window.
"What was your major?"
"Like I said, I was only there a year, so I was just doing my requirements. What's your major?"
"Fine art. They have an excellent art department."
"An artist, huh?" Jeff flashed Sandy a smile and then his eyes went back to the road. "You look like an artist."
For a Krishna Center devotee, he's okay, Sandy thought. "Why did you leave Santa Barbara?"
"I met devotees."
"And they got you to leave?"
"Well, it was kind of like my decision, actually."
"What did your parents say?"
"My mom," he trailed off. "Well, see, I don't have a dad. Or rather, I have one, but . . ." He paused again to negotiate a lane change. "Anyway, my mom didn't like the idea much. She started complaining, 'I scrimp and save to put you through college! And now you quit?' You know the routine."
"What did she think of the Krishna Center?" Sandy wondered what her own parents' reaction would be.
"The Center? Oh, it was a shock at first. But now she's gotten used to it. It's been almost a year."
"Well, what made you join?"
"Join? It was the people for sure. I was looking for a group to belong to. College was okay, but UCSB was so big and my friends, all they ever did was get together and drink beer, party, you know. I wanted to get away from that. My father was an alcoholic and I've always been afraid of it. I would hate to end up like him. Being in ICKW is great because we don't take any intoxicants, including coffee or tea."
"So you met devotees in college and joined their center because you didn't want to drink?"
"It was sort of like that. They opened a preaching center near campus. I started going there all the time and reading their books. Then I started visiting the temple on the weekends. Everyone was so nice to me. I spent the summer here and just never went back to Santa Barbara in the fall."
"You just dropped out?"
"Sort of."
They rode along in silence for a little while. Sandy studied Jeff as he drove the van; his strong shoulders and soft smile. He turned and noticed her glance and smiled. Sandy yawned and closed her eyes, feeling the van's bumpy ride and listening to the wind and hum of the highway.
"Where are we?" Sandy asked, after a few minutes.
"We're almost there now."
"L.A. sure is a big place."
"Isn't it? Is this your first time here?"
"Yes, it is," Sandy said. "I've been here since June, but I was supposed to spend the whole summer here." Sandy explained the events that led to meeting the Krishna Center woman in the airport.
As Sandy continued telling her story, Jeff turned off the freeway onto a street that ran along abandoned railroad tracks. They turned onto a residential street covered by a thick canopy of maple trees. As they continued on, the trees seemed to pull back and the street became wider again. The houses gave way to stucco apartment buildings. They looked perfectly normal, each painted a different color: pastel pink, yellow, light green, brick red, white, beige. But it was like a city within the city populated with women in bright colored saris and men in flowing cotton robes. Sandy noticed the change and abruptly stopped talking. She looked at the people, especially noticing two bungalows with children, also dressed in Indian clothes, running around on the lawn. At the end of the block she saw a pink building that looked like a church.
"We're here," Jeff said, pulling into a parking lot.
"So this is the temple?, Sandy said, surprised that it was right in the middle of the big city.
"Hey," Jeff said. "Can you hear that?"
Sandy stepped out of the van and Jeff came around to take her bag.
"That music," he said. "that's the evening kirtan."
Sandy didn't know what a kirtan was, but agreed to follow Jeff to the pink building. It had definitely been a church at one time, but peering in the door, Sandy could see that it had been remodeled as a Hindu-like temple. Instead of pews it had a shiny marble floor, with no furniture. The room was filled with music and barefoot devotees singing and dancing.
"This is a kirtan. We chant Krishna to music. It's called kirtan."
"I'll have to remember that." Sandy was sure she had forgotten the word already.
As they stood together at the door, looking in, Sandy noticed an altar at the front of the room with Krishna deities. There was a man on the altar, with no shirt on, fanning the deities with a white whisk fan.
"We can go in, if you want to take your shoes off."
"No, that's okay." Sandy said. She watched as the devotees sang louder, dancing more and more frantically. "Do they chant like that all the time?"
"Just at certain times of the day," Jeff said. "Morning and evening. Sometimes at noon, too."
"Why?"
"Chant and be happy." Jeff smiled.
Jeff led Sandy next door to a room with soft couches and chairs.
"This is our reception room," Jeff said. "For guests."
Sandy sat down and Jeff set her bag next to her.
"I'm going to find out where you're supposed to stay. There's a bathroom down the hall if you need it. Do you want something to eat? I can get you something."
Sandy found herself alone in the room, listening to the noisy kirtan. Soon the music died down and the devotees began chanting Sanskrit. Sandy recognized the sound because her Aunt Trina had sometimes played tapes of Sanskrit chanting when she visited. It was a droning sound familiar to Sandy.
Jeff was gone a long time. It was now 8:30. But Sandy continued to wait, feeling tired and anxious, but trusting. When the door finally opened, a thin woman wearing a white sari walked in, holding a long, colorful flower garland. She looked frail and light, almost like an apparition, in the darkness of the doorway. She had blue eyes and blonde hair, and smile lines.
"You're Sandy?" the woman asked.
"Yes," she said, rising to her feet.
"My name is Prana. Jeff told me you want to stay with us for a while. You must be tired." She put the fragrant garland around Sandy's neck.
Sandy had been garlanded in Hawaii with her parents, but this was not at all like a fragile little string of tuberoses she received there. This was a thick rope of hundreds of carnations at least forty inches long. It felt heavy on her shoulders.
"It's beautiful," Sandy said, lowering her head to smell the carnations. "But don't you need this for something?"
"It's for you. Krishna was just wearing it on the altar."
"Thanks," Sandy said.
