A couple mornings ago I heard the summer dawn sound of a mourning dove. It immediately brought me back to  mornings in my teens at 735 West Green Street when, up early, voices hushed, mourning doves cooing, my dad, Marcia and I would jog around the race track. We would stretch our arms and walk across the wet grass in the backyard, down the hill, across the swamp and over the fence to the fairgrounds, where a one half mile harness racing track was kept in good condition. If we were lucky, a horse and driver would also be up early, training at the track.

Dad would go on these occasional diets which included eating dry toast and daily jogging. Sometimes he and Jim Sell would start up a daily jogging routine around our neighborhood in Hastings, Jim was all "Go Blue" and dad was in his white ragged canvas sneakers. Eating dry toast and cutting out the beer seemed to make my dad especially grumpy, and I would try to persuade him to at least add some jam to sweeten his mood. But he always stuck with his diet plan.

I always felt that I am among the fortunate ones who wake up easily as the veil of dawn moves into day. Dad and Marcia were also early morning risers. Why fortunate? As a kid, early morning was when I shared my sweetest moments with Dad. Sitting quietly next to him in the metal folding chair as he navigated the bus towards another unexplored vista. No talking. Everyone else still sleeping in the bunks that he made. Just watching and feeling the presence of dawn opening on grand mountains around us.

Early river mornings, dad's coffee in his hand, frogs galunking. 

​Early mornings at the race track, running side by side, just quiet panting and the soft thump thump of sneakers on dirt and the coo of the doves. 

Now in my 60's I need to diet. I was an all or nothing kind of dieter. Just stop eating. But I want to do it differently. I've thought about dad's style; cut out a few things here and there and add jogging until the excess pounds are off. It seems so simple. Or maybe it was all about companionship in the early morning, when no extra weight was needed.

Yesterday at the Temple we were looking for some keys. We looked in the usual places and when we couldn't find them, we tried other keys that we thought might work. Then I "removed" my mind from looking and instantly "saw" a picture of the puja set in the kitchen. I went to the puja set and there they were, the missing keys.

Finding things is one of my superpowers. Of course all moms inherently develop this superpower that goes on from morning till night, "Mom, I can't find my socks!  Where are the scissors? Who took my keys?" 

The Finding superpower that I was blessed with by Swamiji is magnified far beyond that. It's a power that happens when the third eye is open.  It's as if I am already there with the object and I just have to trust myself, open my eyes and see. This isn't always easy. Sometimes when I am "looking" I experience a swirling field of doubt where I feel there is nothing to hold onto and I don't know which way to go. If I can stay with that feeling, it settles, and what I needed to find is in front of me.

If you've ever been given a directive by Swamiji, that becomes one of your superpowers. When His gaze is on you and He speaks to you - the words He says are already a reality in the past, present and future. The directive that Swamiji gives gets instantly bolted into your bio-memory. Ma Durga just posted on Fb that she has recorded 75 videos in the past 5 years as directed by Swamiji. Making these videos has become one of her superpowers. Ma Sivananda was given a white towel that Swamiji was holding in His hand. When He handed her the towel, He said, "This is the Key". And directed her to build the Shiva Temple (Nithyanandeshwara Hindu Temple) in Columbus. This became her superpower. The first time it happened to me,  "Finding" was burned into me. 

I was in love with my hip length jattas/extensions. I loved how they defined me. I loved looking like Swamiji. I loved following Guru Vak. I loved doing my best to live as fully as a Hindu Yogini as possible. I loved knowing that they were supporting me in my journey by containing energy and clearing the higher chakras. I loved meeting the people who were drawn to them and talking about them. When the first extension fell out after about year of having them, I was shocked and repulsed. Even though it was synthetic hair, I felt I was losing my hair. Over three years, more and more of the 36 extensions fell out, which is the maximum length of time for extensions to stay in. At first I was disappointed. At the end of the fourth year, I cut out the remaining extensions, happy to have chest length jattas and all my own hair.

Fourteen years ago today I was immersed in the beginning of the biggest quest of my life. I was  was participating in the inaugural events of The Dhyanapeetam Anandeshwara Temple in Delaware, Ohio. Swamiji, an enlightened master, had come from India to not only bless and consecrate North America's first Nithyananda Temple, but to teach us all the rituals of prana pratishta and running of a temple. 

Swamiji blessed us, the Temple, the city of Delaware, and the deities who resided in the temple from that day onward.  ​

After fracturing my elbow on Thursday I had a huge bursting desire to paint. I had never painted and so was hesitating, thinking I needed to take lessons. A friend suggested skipping the lessons and just putting color on paper. Brian brought home an easel, brushes and acrylic paints and I was off.

The energy waned with the need to rest my arm and sleep, but today I one handedly dragged out the easel, cardboard, paints and brushes. I just started painting the colors that were bursting to come out, and before long an inner knot started to unwind and emerge; This Kavi is Mine!

There is a day when spring arrives, when she demands that you open your windows and let her in. The cool fresh air cleanses and renews all the winter stuffiness. You have to keep your sweaters on, as it is not yet warm enough for open windows, but it can't be helped. It is a time of awakening and new promises. It is the time when the flowering quince bursts forth in blooms. In 1985 it was the first time I opened my home for Brian.

I feel very restless, irritable and sad. Leah died two days ago. I couldn't believe how long, drawn out and dramatic it all was. How hard it was for me to stay present with the process. How many times I felt a screaming inside my head to DO something. As if I could stop it. As if I could change the outcome of her process. As it was, Leah died on Mahashivaratri, the most auspicious day of the year for Shiva Devotees. 

For seven days I thought she was dying. Every night Brian and I and Kala slept near her and everyday she rallied at some point. Every day Saskia and I face-timed and Leah responded to Saskia. She even started eating and drinking again - until the last 24 hours. I thought she had pulled through and she would see Saskia again this summer.