Our first pilgrimage to Vrindavan was in the winter of 1986; we numbered 22, all novices, and Radhanath Swami was our transcendental tour guide. It was a three day tour. We visited temples on the first day, circumambulated Govardhan Hill on the second, and visited Barsana and Nandagaon on the third.
“Am I getting old?” a thought sneaked into my mind. I was in my car, returning from a festival that bubbled with enthusiasm, with young men exuberantly dancing in kirtan in a style introduced by Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, a bhakti saint of the 16th century. Through it all I was feeling the opposite—unenthusiastic and sluggish. Now my intelligence figured out why—perhaps I was getting old.
