Waves of Devotion

I recently gave a seminar on death and a question came to my mind before the class that I felt must be answered. Why death?

Death is the most heartless and cruel experience when everything we cherish is lost in one fell swoop. Why death?

There is nothing more traumatic than that horrid moment when we lose even our very concept of existence and identity. It is so traumatic that it still remains indelibly imbedded in our subtle bodies to the extent that even as a babe in our next life we are more terrified of death than anything else, even though we have no experience of it yet. Oh Lord, can you not spare even the innocent and pure this fear? Why death?

O Krishna, how I pray to beat the reaper of time. Please don’t appear before me in the form of cancer, your seeming doom flavor of the month that keeps us in a state of apprehension and terror. Don’t take me now! Don’t take my loved ones! Let us live on at any cost, even a few years more! Why death?

Our problem is not death, or the inevitable change of body. It is the ego—the false conception of controller and enjoyer that binds us to the body and causes our suffering. Death announces with certainty that we are not the controller. It is a tool given by God to help us remove the root of our suffering—the false ego. It is not the enemy. Ignorance is! Fear not!

Staying in the body forever, even if healthy, is not a boon as long as we have the mood of selfishness, which disconnects us from the soul.  When that spirit dies, which is the root of all anguish, we are, in one sense, no longer in need of a body. We then live eternally within the true self, our spirit self of pure service. “Die to live.” Fear not!

When some things don’t go our way it is called a problem. When our world is upended it is called a tragedy. I felt tragedy. All I could do is take shelter of the holy name chanting day and night. A realization came. The voice of chanting is a heartfelt prayer for service and thus related to the real me, the soul, which is consciousness meant for service, and that me, the one calling out to God, will not end with the body. Only the false self, the ego, the voice that is disturbed when the world is not conforming to my desires, will die. I deeply sense eternality and feel great relief. Fear Not!

I was there when Śrīla Prabhupāda arrived in Vṛndāvana to leave the world. He called us to his room and announced ever so nonchalantly, “What is death, but a change of body?” He then quoted from the Bhagavad-gītā chapter 2 verse 13 where it says the self-realized is not bewildered by such a change. We were there when he left. He was sober, undisturbed, and not bewildered by such a change. Fear not!

“The holy name of Krishna is as powerful as the Lord Himself. Therefore, simply by chanting and hearing the holy name of the Lord, many men can be fully protected from fierce death without difficulty. Thus a devotee is saved. By the grace of the Lord, if a devotee, at the time of death, can simply chant His holy name.” (Bhāg. 4.10.30)

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare

“Simply by chanting this mahā-mantra, he immediately surpasses the great ocean of the material sky and enters the spiritual sky. He never has to come back for repetition of birth and death. Simply by chanting the holy name of the Lord, one can surpass the ocean of death.” (Bhāg. 4.10.30, purport)

“What is death but another birthday?”[1] Fear Not!

Death is the illusion of non-existence. Fear Not!

Why death?  My question is answered.

[1] I remember reading how Śrīla Prabhupāda said this, but I cannot find the reference.

Don’t worry, nothing serious happened. It is a good story, however.

I was staying on 7^th Street just off 1^st Avenue. I left my apartment at 3:30 AM and turned onto 1^st Avenue for the short five-minute walk to the Bhakti Center. I usually chant japa before the morning ārati, but this was the first time I walked there from outside the center. I was actually surprised to see so many people still mulling around. I guess am a bit naïve. Of course, they are out so late. It was early Saturday morning. Young singles work all week at stressful jobs, and starting Friday night it’s prime time to drown their pain into the wee hours of the morning. Mostly there were mixed groups hanging outside the bars, usually with at least one in every group nervously smoking a cigarette to hide their inhibitions.

As I walked past 4^th Street I noticed the  “Karma” bar. Yes, that’s the name. An Indian lady and her sons own it. At least in the midst of all this ignorance someone has the sense to hang a purport to this madness. Amused, I looked across the street trying to locate the Nam Café. I can’t find it. Maybe it has been closed. Oh, the Nam Café.  I surmise that some Vietnamese immigrant opened a café with their country’s namesake and that by Krishna’s mercy the “Viet” fell off of their sign leaving us just the “Nam”, [1] as if to give those here in their stupor a hint at salvation.

Monday Morning Greetings is based on seeing the world through the eyes of śāstra. As a devotee of Krishna, I am trained to see things not just through the mind, which categorizes and ascribes feelings according to our past prejudicial experiences, but to see the world aided by thoughtful judgments based on śāstra, a vision I believe more lucid and healthy than just seeing only with the eyes and impure mind.

As I was just awakening to take avail of these hours that infuse clarity and contentment into the consciousness, the people around me, drowned in ignorance, are soon to slumber. I thus thought of the “eyes of the Gītā”, which had also become my vision:

“What is night for all beings is the time of awakening for the self-controlled; and the time of awakening for all beings is night for the introspective sage.” (Bg. 2.69)

The Bhakti Center at last! Just as I was about to try to open the door, which was, in fact, still locked, a drunk appeared out of nowhere, like “poof”.  I hadn’t noticed him at all, but even if the door was unlocked, I still couldn’t have opened it from where he was standing without moving him aside. With glassy angst eyes, his drunken head tilted to the side a few inches from my face, as if sizing me up, he asked about my religion. The drunk was about thirty, swarthy complexion, bi-racial, with semi-braided long hair, and a kind of Fu Manchu facial hair. I think of a young Carlos Santana. I did, however, see a spark of sincerity in him. I answered clearly and lucidly with a universal answer that I was confident was communicative, satisfying and stimulating. I guess not. “You’re f’ing with me!” Not what I wanted to hear.

I had no choice but to try to engage in dialogue with this madman, a post-modern drunk, who I could see, even if sober, would not agree with my more traditional perspective. I tried to find a common ground despite his clouded mind and muddled view in order to reason with him, but he remained belligerent, projecting that I was rude and condescending even on my most accommodating replies. He took exception to my name—“Mahārāja”. “Why did you change it? What’s your real name? You’re Jewish aren’t you?” What? The situation remained volatile.

I had already been up for a few hours writing and reading and I was quite peaceful. I felt no enmity or anger towards him for troubling me. I had this confidence that if I could remain peaceful, it should influence him to be at least non-violent. I thought of my study of the Yoga Sutras where the mystic perfection of ahiṁsā is discussed. One fully accomplished in ahiṁsā projects an aura of peace so powerful that in such a person’s presence even the most mortal enemies, the mongoose and the cobra, would not war. I certainly haven’t perfected that, but I was convinced that by remaining focused and calm, his frustration wouldn’t boil over. I wasn’t really sure how this would end, but I did know soon someone from the harināma ashrama would arrive, as they do very every morning at that time.

Suddenly Bhakta Amrit Singh opened the door and apologized that it was locked. “Come in! Come in!” My drunken “friend” looked at him and demanded three more minutes. I tell Amrit it is OK. The drunk makes one more incoherent request. I then tell him it’s time for me to go. He turned, almost sheepishly, and headed towards 2^nd Street.

Amrit is from a kṣatriya family, all of whom served the Indian military. I have noticed that he holds himself with a certain dignity and discipline. I thus meditated on another bhāva or internal mood, that of the noble warrior. I couldn’t help but think that by the way the drunk quickly walked away that he intuitively felt some of that bhāva from Amrit, which is probably a more effective way of dealing with these modern day Jagāi and Mādhāis[2] than my attempt at ahiṁsā.

As I finally entered the oasis of the Bhakti Center, I reflected on the faith that I have been gifted, one that gives happiness by changing the consciousness. I contrasted that faith with the conviction I saw outside, an illusory happiness based on fleeting pleasure ending in sadness and ultimately inebriation just to dull the consequent pain. I remember a saying I read that describes it all:

“Pleasure is the happiness of madman, and happiness is the pleasure of a sage.”[3]

[1] “Nam” is short for “nāma”, which means the holy name of Krishna.

[2] The infamous drunken and vicious brothers that tried to kill Lord Nityānanda but were ultimately delivered by him.

[3] A quote referenced in a book called Happiness by Matthieu Ricard. I don’t know offhand the origin of the quote he referenced.

Even though “heaven” is technically not the right word, the phrase works here. I can’t think of a better match of two people or things than the match between humility and prema (love of God). They nourish each other. The more one’s humility increases the more one feels love of God, and the more one feels love of God the more humble one becomes. In fact, one who has attained prema is so humble that he or she feels devoid of even a scent of divine love. Let’s explore this unique relationship, for it forms the foundation of bhakti.

Philosophical concepts can be subtle and difficult to explain. They often need practical examples to illustrate them. In my struggles to explain the relationship between humility and prema it took me years before I finally came up with some examples to help communicate this principle.

Example 1

A child who is proud and entitled never feels the love of his parents even if the parents give their child the whole world, and as a result of not feeling that love from his parents he doesn’t develop love for his parents either. A child who is humble, however, overflows with appreciation and love at the slightest gesture of affection. In the same way, a proud soul feels entitled and can neither feel God’s mercy nor develop love for Him, while a humble soul can both fully experience the mercy of God and awaken feelings of devotion in his heart. Humility and prema thus naturally encourage each other.

Example 2

A mafia Don sees the world according to his own desire to such an extent that he may even kill a person who gets in his way. He is an emblem of pride, for in his self-created world he sees everyone under his control. That same crime boss, however, when at home may happily take the humble position in the presence of his mother and center his desires according to her will out of affection for her. Similarly, as one develops prema-bhakti, one puts Krishna in the center and sees the world according to His desires, a vision that fosters deep humility. Again, there is a direct relationship between prema and humility.

Example 3

As hunger increases a person feels his own lack of food more and more. Lack or poverty naturally makes one humble. Prema is the thirst or hunger for God and thus as prema increases one feels a lack of it to the extent that one humbly feels devoid of even a scent of devotion.

Example 4

When one receives something far beyond his or her ability to earn, one experiences undeserved kindness and naturally contemplates one’s lack of qualification. In other words, being a recipient of mercy instinctively makes one feel humble. The greatest treasure is love of God. Therefore when even a drop of that love enters the heart one feels unbounded mercy, reflects on one’s dearth of qualification, and becomes humbled by such grace.

Example 5

If a person keeps a messy living space then he will hardly notice the addition of more clutter, while a person who keeps things spotlessly clean notices the smallest mess. Prema is the height of purity and thus even an apparent impurity or mistake becomes glaring and prominent. Ironically, a person with the treasure of prema thus feels impure and humble, while a person filled with selfishness doesn’t even notice.

Example 6

Two verses come to mind that succinctly illustrate the correlation between humility and prema. The first is by Śrī Caitanya and the second by Queen Kuntī:

“One should chant the holy name of the Lord in a humble state of mind thinking oneself lower than the straw in the street; one should be more tolerant than a tree, devoid of all sense of false prestige, and ready to offer all respects to others. In such a state of mind one can chant the holy name of the Lord constantly.” (Śikṣāṣṭakam v. 3) [1]

“My Lord, Your Lordship can easily be approached, but only by those who are materially exhausted. One who is on the path of [material] progress, trying to improve himself with respectable parentage, great opulence, high education and bodily beauty, cannot approach You with sincere feeling.” (Bhāg. 1.8.26) [2]

The point is clear. Humility and devotion are tied at the waist. But the question remains: How to become humble? I heard a nice saying that sheds some light on the question: “It is easier to act humble and then to become humble than think humble and then act humble.”

Acting humble means to culture a mood of service and to think of others before oneself. In this regard, I heard one beautiful definition of bhakti: To make oneself available. And that is the mood of chanting the mahā-mantra – to announce both in voice and in heart that we want to serve and actually be ready when Krishna, through guru and the Vaiṣṇavas, respond to our prayer.

Whenever we talk about spiritual life and developing our relationship with Krishna it comes down to this point of humility, because it is indeed a match made in heaven.

[1] Implied here is that humility is the foundation of prema because the only activities that can be done ceaselessly are those done in devotion, so if humility is the cause of constant chanting it must have invoked feelings of devotion.

[2] Simply put, only one who is not proud can chant with devotion.

What’s a nice Hare Krishna doing in a place like that? Barring how I got there, Green-Wood Cemetery is arguably one of the most beautiful places in New York City. Walking through rolling hills and dales and sitting by its beautiful ponds and glacial moraines, I could see why this 500 acre cemetery couched in an natural park-like landscape served as the inspiration for the creation of Central Park, even though it was still technically a graveyard.

And what is this “Morbid Anatomy”? Oh, that. Just an exhibit of art and artifacts “designed to connect with the most universal of all human conditions: death.” I chanced upon the exhibit at the Fort Hamilton house just inside the park’s entrance on my way in for the afternoon walk.

My thoughts on my lovely afternoon at Green-Wood Cemetery

First thoughts. Why thoughts? Just enjoy the walk. I just finished a beautiful meal with my hosts David and Ann-Mary at their apartment just a few blocks a way. They go to the cemetery often. They wanted to take me for a pleasant and very interesting after lunch stroll. The city is externally hellish. Śrīla Prabhupāda once called modern day cities “dungeons of demons” and quoted part of a poem by the British poet Cowper: “God made the country, man made the town”. So after being cooped up in the city for a week why not just absorb the surroundings made by God and reconnect with the divine by a type of osmosis?

Of course, with all the tombstones, mausoleums, and obelisks, there was more to peak my interest than just a country-type walk in the middle of Brooklyn. I was especially intrigued by the personal epithets on the graves. They seemed to bring the dead lying there back to life, as many wore their personality on their tombstones.

I chuckled when I passed the tombstone of one lady who left her friend and relatives a perky message: “Get over it!” I loved the inscription on Billy “The Butcher” Poole’s grave, spoken just before dying after being shot in a Brooklyn saloon. Scribed on his tomb, serving as a good example of a typical disintegrated alpha male were these final words: “Good bye boys. I die a true American.” Mostly I appreciated the inscription of the pious, expressing their faith and peace in Jesus.

And naturally there were also some philosophical thoughts. As we approached the beautiful archway entrance on the other side of the park at the end of our journey, I couldn’t help but be struck by the contrast between where I was standing and the bustle and grime outside:  “Why on this absolutely beautiful sunny spring Saturday afternoon were there just a handful in this paradisiacal park, and millions standing just outside the gate in a hellish place by their choice?” I came up with two theories:

People are just conditioned to pleasures that don’t serve their happiness. I thought of the story of Indra, the king of heaven, who was cursed to take the body of a hog. His family and subjects finally found him after many years, and informed him that the curse had ended and he could resume his form and position as the king of heaven. They were shocked how conditioned he was to his degraded position. He replied, “Why should I go when I have such good stool to eat and so many good pig friends and family?”  In a similar way, it seems most people in Brooklyn would rather hang out on a dirty, noisy street corner than cross the street into a bucolic park, a place that by its very mode would elevate them to goodness and peace. How much are we all Indra, attached to pleasures that make no sense and cause us grief?

To be fair, it is a cemetery—but still, its open spaces and beauty should be a lure for the millions bordering it. It makes me suspect that people mostly avoid crossing the street due to the powerful psychological impulse of denial or fear of death, one of the five classic kleśas,[1] or foundational psychological conditions binding one to material existence. I again thought of a relevant story called “The Pool Of Death”.

Standing before the pool of death, Maharaja Yudhiṣṭhira, the king of righteousness, is challenged to answer one hundred questions by the Lord of Death, or else be immediately slain. He deftly answers the first ninety-nine questions correctly, but is seemingly stumped by the last one, “Of all the things in the world what is the most astounding thing?” Just an instant before the reaper of death is about to strike, the correct answer finally comes to his mind: “My father has died, my father’s father has died, and every father’s father died, but still everyone lives as they will not die. Denial of death is the most amazing thing.”

I took a last glance of this beautiful park and meditated on where all this ends—no pun intended—and pondered over how well I am gearing my life to this most stark fact of being, death. Crossing the street back to the real Brooklyn, I remembered a line from Bhaktivinoda’s Ṭhākura’s Aruṇodaya-kīrtana which depicted the thinking of an enlightened soul.

“This temporary material world is full of suffering. Take shelter of the holy name of Krishna as your only business.”

And that’s what a nice Hare Krishna was doing in a place like that.

[1] The impediments to samādhi are ignorance, ego, attachment, aversion and fear of death. (Yoga Sutras II.3)