Some surfers paddled out towards the horizon
anticipating a final set, the perfect ride. Others sat
with their heads fixed on the spell of the setting sun.
One rode a perfect little tube that curled left. He,
standing in a goofy foot stride, glided up and down the
glassy tube, and pulled out just before the wave broke into
its foamy white completion.

I rejoiced as love and the warmth of kundilini surged
through my being. I asked, “Go where Rama, where is it you
want me to go?”

No reply. Late afternoon found me preparing for
another pilgrimage northward. I would drive because Reno