Sri Chinmoy on the phone (Picture: Dmitry Volkov)

Some short and very sweet anecdotes about yesterday:

• In my dream, I was sitting on a sofa, taking a phone call from my teacher, Sri Chinmoy . After talking about some things that were going to happen, he suddenly asked 'How are you?', with a directness and concern that momentarily took me aback. Words started pouring out of me, directly describing my real life waking situation, I didn't hold back; perhaps I had been unconsciously waiting to tell someone for a long while. Very good, my teacher responded.

• Before leaving the house for work in the morning, a thought struck me: where's the keys of the meditation centre? Before my centre leaders, Ambarish and Mangala , left the country last week, they handed me these keys with many entreaties to look after them, bearing in mind my propensity for losing things. The building in which our new meditation space is located is shared by quite a few other city centre businesses, and the ramifications of losing those keys would not be pleasant. So when I saw the keys weren't in their Officially Designated Location (people who lose things have to have these), a minor chill ran up my spine, eating away at the warm feeling I was carrying from my dream. The last time I was using them was Thursday night; well, Thursday night might well have not existed, such was my amnesia about what I did once I left the centre. I took a hasty look through the apartment, hoping my brother Colm wouldn't notice, let's not make a big deal about it just yet. No luck. I went with Colm to a gardening job we were doing; trying to keep my mind still, so some clue as to where they might be might materialize out of the void. Then I get the feeling I was waiting for: perhaps I should ask Colm. I hesitated. Colm is not a morning person, and he will not be happy when he finds out. I continued working, morbidly contemplating the consequences if those keys were to stay lost. Suddenly some part of me gives in: 'Colm, you haven't by any chance seen the centre keys?', I blurt out. 'Oh, that's right, I was going to tell you I took them' he says, 'I was actually thinking I should tell Shane because he'll be worried'. A sigh of relief. 'And here was me not wanting to ask you because I thought you'd give out to me!' I exclaimed. We both had a good laugh at that.
• At evening centre meditation, feeling like a single flower offered at the foot of a radiant inner shrine, I watch a video self-recorded by Sri Chinmoy in Malaysia at the beginning of this year. 4:05a.m, it says in the bottom corner of the screen. First he spontaneously composes a most beautiful and soulful prayer, then sings one of his own compositions; then another prayer, another song, and then meditating in total silence, the silence deepens in our room too, and time stands still. A sense of Eternity. Brought to us by one man in front of a camera in the small hours of the morning. 'The eternal beginner', Sri Chinmoy announces quietly, before putting violin to shoulder and starting to play.