It had been two years since I had last been to Canajoharie. For one thing, the US hadn’t exactly been rolling out the welcome mat for Canadians, and, quite frankly, why would I travel to a country that seemed determined to insult and threaten its neighbour? But eventually, there comes a moment when you think: Enough politics. Just go with the flow. So when I started feeling that familiar pull towards CJ, I followed it and I have absolutely no regrets. The drive down was wonderfully uneventful. The border crossing was probably the smoothest I have ever experienced: there was literally only one car ahead of us. And, of course, there was the obligatory stop at Cracker Barrel. Some things are simply worth crossing a border for. Around 500 yogis had gathered in Canajoharie, and Canada was very well represented. So well, in fact, that we soon found ourselves being given more and more jobs to do. But that was perfectly fine. Many hands make light work and when you have enough Canadian hands, everything was done in no time. The Ministry of Health had provided the land team with a respectable list of regulations. The most disappointing one was that we were not allowed to swim in the pond. This was particularly tragic for the Yuvas. Three young guys decided that if swimming wasn't allowed, surely nobody had said anything about boating. So they found a boat, put it into the water and climbed in. What they didn't know was that they were not the only ones who had discovered the boat. It had apparently become prime real estate for some of the local wildlife. Then came the moment of discovery: there was a snake. And, as if that wasn't enough, they realized they were sitting on leeches. I have never seen three Yuvajs row a boat so quickly back to shore. They practically flew out of it and headed straight for the showers, presumably to formally end their relationship with the leeches. Speaking of showers: there are now shower trailers at CJ, and they are fantastic. Hot water and private cabins, they felt almost luxurious. But the best part of the weekend was, of course, seeing our American brothers and sisters again. Two years is a long time, and it was wonderful to catch up, laugh together and simply enjoy the collectivity again. The Havan, led by Canada, took place Saturday morning before the heat became too enthusiastic. Umesh was our ultimate reader of names, moving through them at such impressive speed that I suspect he had secretly been practising for this moment. The vibrations were beautiful, and there was that unmistakable feeling of stillness and connection that makes these gatherings so special. I’ll leave that for everyone to decide—or perhaps it was a little bit of both.In the afternoon, the heat made it difficult to do much outside. Luckily, the A/C in the pole barns and the huge fans in the hangar kept things surprisingly comfortable. And once the sun finally decided to call it a day and the thermometer dropped a few degrees, life outside became a little more manageable again. After a delicious Thai curry, the evening began with a meditation followed by a short but wonderful entertainment programme. There was fantastic music and dancing—from a Yuva dancing Kathak like a professional, to a family orchestra that had practically everyone singing along, and finally a beautiful sitar lullaby accompanied by a 15-year-old tabla player who surely must have been the reincarnation of a tabla master. And then came Puja Day. A light rain washed the land—and us—and brought some much kinder temperatures. When the puja began, gentle breezes were flowing through the hangar. Whether it was simply the wind or something more. The bhajan group, made up of several incredibly talented Yuva singers and musicians, brought everyone beautifully into thoughtlessness. The talk was strong and inspiring, and when we sang the Aarti together, there was that wonderful feeling that, for a moment, we were truly one. With hearts full of joy from the weekend, there came the goodbyes. Except that nobody seemed particularly interested in actually leaving. One goodbye became another conversation, which became another hug, which became another “Oh, before you go…” And somehow the farewells kept getting longer and longer. Which, I suppose, is the problem with good collectivity: nobody really wants to be the first one to leave. One thing I definitely learned that weekend: sometimes it’s worth putting worldly politics aside, listening to your heart, and taking the trip you almost decided not to take.