Krishna's Planet

My little Hare Krishna Life & Death book explains it this way: The impersonalists leave the atmosphere of the Earth. They visit many planets, and stay for some time. They experience vast and untranslatable things. (In fact, I do not even remember all of the things I have experienced, much less have I experienced all of the things that have happened to 'me'.) Eventually, the impersonalists fall to earth- what a jolt!- without experiencing Krishna's eternality, his endless and timeless pleasure.

The personalists, on the other hand, have a personal love for Krishna. They worship at his feet. They pass the other planets, or perhaps visit with them, but know that those planets only grant differing variations on the life-decay-death scheme, and they continue on to Krishna's planet. Upon arriving, they stay forever.

The book contains no ideas on how one might begin this communion with Krishna, except through chanting. I'm curious because I myself left the atmosphere of Earth & found the Eternal Night Garden, the Heaven of Paths, the subjugation of all of my desires to one, with in its infinite wisdom purged and satiated me. And then it ended! Or rather, it didn't, as it had never "begun," yet certainly I no longer had my eyes open in its kingdom. Why?

It may have been a simple issue of timing, and yet it feels more logistical. I ran out of fuel. Partway to the planet, running on vapors, bailing out of the lander. I feel extremely vacuous. I know I don't have the "fuel" to make it the whole way. In fact, the way stretched out before me like a room crossed halfway each time--the last moments were the most critical to get through, the last minute was as thick as glue. don Juan: "You need drugs to provide the final amount of energy." But I have lost confidence that I am actually going somewhere reachable, to a real perch. I know drugs could extend my energy and concentration hours more, but it would just be more. Not everything, just more. I know I'm not running my life properly, often, but when I do run it well I ascend so quickly but on a staircase so rickety that I'm back to my starting point in mere hours or days.

So now I expect nothing. This is part wisdom, mostly fear. I still want badly to be perfect. My body is a suction cup, siphoning on to energy sources--lovers, people--using them to hold me up somehow, give me structural support. They won't, mostly, but I quietly build bridges of my thoughts, of my created and fantasized material about them, and use it for support. It works, mostly. It gives me something to hang on to.