Space Between the Stars by Deborah Santana

Author:Deborah Santana [Santana, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-54715-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

he night Carlos and Mahavishnu completed their musical collaboration, they danced into the house like fireworks from heaven. One of Sri Chinmoy's books had a poem, “Love, Devotion and Surrender,” that Carlos felt represented his spiritual journey, and he chose the title for the album.

The next morning Carlos and I rose early to finish packing for our flight to London. I tidied our little guest room, stripped the sheets, folded blankets, and left a note leaning against Sri Chinmoy's photograph thanking Mahalakshmi for her hospitality. Hugging the Mahas good-bye, I had to fight not to cry. So much had happened in the month we had known them. I was sad to part with our new friends.

We flew into Heathrow International Airport. I thought of the time I had come to London with Sly. The memory of snorting cocaine in the bathroom of the Bally shoe store on King's Road seemed like another life. I chanted “Supreme, Supreme” to push the image out of my mind. Carlos, by my side in his white disciple clothes, myself in a sari beneath my long woolen coat—we were definitely not the same people we had been the year before.

We walked to the bus that would carry the band to our hotel. Barry Imhoff, the tour manager, was the first face whose mouth dropped open when he saw Carlos's hair. Michael Shrieve said, “What happened, man?”

“Remember John McLaughlin's guru? We joined his path.”

Michael rubbed his chin. “Whoa. That's drastic.”

Carlos and I slid into a row near the back of the bus. “We have to try to stay awake all day to get our bodies on this time,” he said, hugging me. I listened, smiling in sleepy agreement as we leaned back against the soft, high-backed seats. All I wanted to do was rest my head on his shoulder and take a nap.

At the hotel, we opened our suitcases and set up our shrine. We centered Sri Chinmoy's and Christ's photos on the coffee table, placing a brass incense holder to the left and a votive candle in front of our two spiritual guides. Carlos, intent on staying up, rushed to change into jeans, then spirited us off to Kensington Market in a roomy, box-like black taxi with a horn that sounded like a circus clown's. There were many Indians living in London, so I did not look out of place in my sari. We stepped into a boot maker's shop in a marketplace. Smells of leather and polishes hung thickly in the room. Carlos shook hands with the craftsman. “How've you been, man?”

The shopkeeper smiled, pumping Carlos's hand. “We're doing all right, my friend. Thanks for coming back.”

Carlos strolled down a row of the high-heeled cowboy boots he loved to wear. He chose three pairs—a creamy light brown, a bright red with white stitching, and a dark green. After paying for his treasures, we strolled through the other market stalls. Carlos paused near a curtained entryway. “I've been to the psychic here,” he said. “She predicted our band was going to break up.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.