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The Place at RamaLila
 
 

 

We were all in a fantastic seminar in a place like SUNY. The night was grand. Rama had been spectacular. "Sparks were flying, eh, boy?"

I had stepped into the arty center and down to street level. Rama was waiting for his car near the revolving doors. A couple people were closing down tables and moving by using other doors. I was there and Rama looked back to see if the students were there. To my unenlightened eyes, he looked nervous and cautious.

I stayed nearby and was impeccable as to not speak with him.

After his car pulled up, a stately grey/black lincoln towncar limosine with his favorite dogs inside to greet him, he stopped for a second to "size me up". He said "What are we up to these days?"

"Oh, RamaLila, Rama. Have you seen it? Folks are coming together to remember you. Even Mark Lurtsema. Really."

"Sounds Great. I'll have to check it out."

Dream Shift.

I am at work at the RamaLila space. It is a room with three tables that completely fill the lower half of the room with about six computers whose screens face out from the wall. We were hard at work in this grey space with an extra-vivid flower by each station putting the next weeks' edition together.

Rama comes in through the outer door almost directly behind me. I see him walk to the inner door and sneak a glance. I figure he is working out the business details with the webmistress and think not further figuring he will appear behind my shoulder just in time to see the latest graphic.

A time goes by. They must have some "important details". Wait, the webmistress is sitting next to me banging away at her keyboard. Who, then?

"Has anyone thought to look for Rama?" I ask, sheepishly.

As we stop to consider, Rama emerges from the inner door. He says that we needed to look for him more. All of the students did.

As incongrous as it may sound, he says that he could use a hug. All of us hug Rama.

Peter

 


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