Freezing to Flowing

I stepped out the day after landing in Boston, and the city was unrecognisable. Cars, dustbins, parking meters and benches—everything buried beneath two feet of snow. The urban machine was brought to an abrupt halt. I saw a simpler world, a cleaner world, a less busy one… a beautiful world. In the so-called age of the Anthropocene—where humans believe they run the planet—it felt good to witness a force far beyond us. I wandered the abandoned streets, jumping into frozen puddles and cracking their icy top layer. Innocent mischief, meaningful message. Srila Prabhupada told us the nature of water is to flow; its frozen state a distortion and suspension of its essence. A single strike of his cane, and fluidity would return. Following in his footsteps, however modestly, the chilly walk became an empowering meditation. In the grip of freezing temperatures, I asked: how can I re-enter flow state?

The masters of flow don’t preoccupy themselves with watching everyone else—they know their business and get down to work. No time for complaining, no energy wasted on comparison—stay in lane and honour your journey. Along that path, success and victory emerge, yet they never bask in the glory or get distracted by applause. Every achievement simply a platform for heightened selflessness. These people live integrated lives where every effort compounds and every action adds value. Energy is relentlessly invested in a single, focused direction. Most fascinating is how these souls align with the divine. The mystic contemplatives hear the voice of intuition—a superconscious current guiding them from within. In flow, they may not even consciously register the divine dictation which gives them a strength and certainty that logic can’t explain. Instruments of grace in the theatre of divine drama. On all counts, Srila Prabhupada was the superlative master of flow.

But flow isn’t free; it requires a series of deliberate shifts. We must move from imitating to honouring—recognising that each of us carries a distinct temperament that can be refined into a unique superpower. Next, a hard pivot from “I, me, and mine” to “us, we, and ours,” reorienting ourselves from self-obsession to selfless service. When credit no longer concerns us and contribution takes the lead, something magical transpires. We also move from rigidity to flexibility, accepting that divine plans are constantly evolving. Instead of resisting and resenting, we know when one door shuts, another three are opening up. Take a “no” with style, keep on searching. Finally, we emerge from fearfulness into fearlessness. We can’t annihilate fear, but we can discover something so compelling that fear no longer has the final say.

I walked over an icy Boston bridge and saw the frozen river. Let it flow, let it go! The Bhāgavata depicts the saintly souls as flowing rivers. They don’t collide with the world, but gracefully navigate past every obstacle with quiet determination. As they flow, they generate a resonant, pleasing sound—one that pacifies the hearts of those they encounter. These saintly rivers leave everything they touch better than they found it—rocks are smoothed, the environment cleansed. The river effortlessly carries others forward by its own momentum. They never slow down, but speed everyone else up. The saints take everyone on the adventure with them.

In term one, I tried to Rise in the Fall. In term two, may I learn to Flow in the Freeze.