Dear Jayananda, you are so very fortunate, when you gaze at Srila Prabhupada, you taste his pure love, his pure Krishna bhakti ... and while feeling pure love of Krishna, even for just a moment, if only just once, you remember this fallen soul, by the name of Vishoka das, my life will be supremely triumphant.
I pass my days in New Vrindavan Dham, where Sri Krishna eternally enjoys His pastimes with Sri Radha. Still, I have no power, my dear Jayananda Thakurji, to taste that nectar that you drink eternally. Please help this lowly beggar obtain just a minuscule drop of pure love for Lord Krishna, thus pleading upon bended knees, your eternal servant.
Do you remember, dear Jayananda, that morning we parked our van on a towering hill, right on the edge of a sheer precipice, overlooking a vast valley that cut through a forest land, situated in beautiful Northern California? The valley below was covered with morning fog, and the sun slowly rose, scattering it’s brilliant rays all about the fog, electrifying the pastoral scene, as the white fog turned crimson red and brilliant orange, it was so beautiful, an inconceivable work of art, painted by an unimagined mystic artist. [and Jayananda will say to me....]
This is my fondest meditation: I converse with Jayananda Prabhu, and I pose questions to him, and he gives erudite answers to all of my queries.
“Wait a minute!” says the reader, “how can you be talking to Jayananda, and how can he give an answer? He’s not here, remember?” [end of selection]
# Excerpt taken from tentative beginning to “Jayananda Thakur volume 3”