August 2 — By the time the Newtown Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings had happened, I was already living in Redondo Beach. It was a Friday and I had the day off. I think I went to go get a haircut, and I remember discussing the tragedy with the stylist. I remember telling her that it still felt close to me in terms of proximity, because I had frequently driven past Newtown for work throughout the years.
This time, I was 3000 miles away and I stayed inside to recycle through the 15-minute news cycle. I remember thinking how cold it probably was in Connecticut on that fateful day. I remember growing very tired of the senseless tragedies that befell the parents and relative of those affected by gun violence. I remember thinking that there was probably not a need for semiautomatic weapons in a suburban Connecticut town.
And then, earlier today, on the stretch of 84 that cuts through Newtown, I veered off the Sandy Hook exit and took the main road into the heart of a small country town. I parked at the Sandy Hook diner and walked through a dirt parking lot to the entrance. A rain had just fallen and the streets were quiet.
Everything was quiet. Continue reading Thoughts on Yogananda Street