I cannot think of a better — or more appropriate place — to start this new year than in Vrindavan/Mathura, which is the spiritual home of the revered Bhagavan Krishna and his eternal beloved, Radha. Exuberant devotees cry “Radhe! Radhe!” to welcome the new year with blessings, positive energy and spiritual focus; they fill the streets, alleyways, Yamuna river banks, and every temple and ashram in town with their exuberant faces and good wishes of “Radhe! Radhe!” The whole community becomes one, with locales welcoming strangers into their hearts as warmly as they greet their closest family and friends.

Rhonda and I had no idea of what we were about to walk into when we set out from our distant hotel to make our way into town. We thought we would just jump into a rickshaw and pay a few hundred rupees to go the six kilometers to Keshi Ghat. No go! Through several convoluted conversations we learned that there were barriers in place where a few motorcycles could get in past the police but that rickshaws had to turn back. Town was closed to the usual traffic. We drove one rickshaw as far as we could and then set off for what we thought would be a very long walk to Keshi Ghat.

Fortunately, a young man named Ravi offered us a ride on his motorcycle for a nominal fee, so on we got, laughing that we were finally riding Indian style with three adults on the bike. Ravi maneuvered that bike like a master through the thronging crowd that just seemed to thicken down each bumpy road bordered by dilapidated shacks and temples on one side and food stands on the other. Cows wandered about oblivious to the commotion all about them. We jumped on and off the bike at some border points and got close enough to where we wanted to go that we decided to just walk. We got Ravi’s contact information — our God-sent savior for the next two days — and plunged into the jubilant masses, drawing an incredible amount of attention with just our presence.

We tried to enter a few of the temples but found out they were closed until 5:00 pm, so we worked our way toward the riverbank and followed along its shores, making many new friends. The faces around us glowed with a spiritual energy I had never before seen. Imagine: it was a cold, damp day, and some of these people walked barefoot through the dirty streets, were shabbily clothed, begged for money or limped along with physical ailments. Elderly men and women hobbled along on crutches. No matter. They had transcended this bodily realm and sought divine blessings on this sacred day of renewal. Eyes shone with pure joy and smiles flashed with such purity and goodwill that our hearts sang the glory of existence. How incredible to witness such divine longing and devotion amid the ruins and poverty all around us. Everyone cried, “Radhe! Radhe!” expressing their love and devotion for the Goddess Radha, as well as wishing spiritual blessings upon us.

Many friendly folks wanted selfies with us — especially Rhonda — and wanted to know where we came from. We could barely move two feet without a new mob of six or seven curious onlookers trailing after us and soon inquiring if they could take a selfie with us. Those selling wares fixed their best sales pitch on us and then blessed us on our way whether or not we bought something. The business, this activity, was all like a game, God’s lila, part of His Cosmic Drama.. The true vibe to tap into was the spiritual flow of energy percolating through all of us as one ecstatic chant: “Radhe! Radhe!”

We came upon a small temple that had very few people about, so we quickly ducked inside. What a treat. An elderly man and woman chanted “Krishna Krishna, Radhe Radhe, Krishna Radhe, Radhe Krishna” while playing instruments. We sat with them and meditated in the lovely peace radiating within this ancient holy site. After an hour we left and encountered a group of articulate teenagers who wanted to know all about us, then went in search of food and eventually ate fruit on a stoop in a decrepit courtyard.

The energy flowed all evening with the power of a cosmic mantra going deeper with each breathless chant. We couldn’t find Ravi so found another cyclist to take us home in a roundabout way, nearly bouncing me off the bike on speed bumps and through pot holes.

I didn’t care. I was floating on air!