Waves of Devotion

Disclaimer: I am not speaking about a cure as we know it. According to bhakti texts, one should try to save life as far as possible. But still, the title perfectly serves the point I want to make.

Years ago, I was speaking with an Ayurvedic doctor about a mutual acquaintance who was being kept alive by modern allopathic medicine. As my faith is in the Vedas and thus Ayurveda as the ultimate authority of medical knowledge, this naturally led to a discussion about the effectiveness of Ayurveda in curing the prominent terminal diseases of today. When I asked about the Ayurvedic cure for cancer, his answer took me off guard: “Death!”

He then illustrated his point. “Look at this photo,” he said. It showed a contemporary yogi leaving the world peacefully, surrounded by his students. As soon as the yogi found out that he had terminal cancer, the doctor told me, he fasted until death. The scene looked so dignified. The doctor continued, “By fasting to death, he was able to die before the body was completely ravaged by unbearable pain and while his consciousness and mind were peaceful and lucid.”

His explanation made sense, and it was consistent with one of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s last wishes. When Śrīla Prabhupāda became ill in his last days, he instructed his disciples not to take him to the hospital. He mentioned specifically that he didn’t want to leave this world with tubes in his body. I was there when he passed — peacefully and in clear consciousness, with what seemed to be minimal pain.

Support for this “death cure” thesis also comes from the most unlikely of places. Some time back, I read the book Morality by Christopher Hitchens, one of the most prominent “New Atheists.” The book chronicled the last weeks of Hitchens’s treatment at one of the best hospitals in the United States, just before his death due to terminal cancer. Writing was so effortless for him that he was able to describe his waning life almost to the very end. One sentence about his experience stuck out. To paraphrase, “The advancement of modern medicine is prolonging one’s torture in this world while at the same time ravaging what is left of one’s family fortune.”

Although Mr. Hitchens had some insight into the futility of prolonging life artificially in a body devastated by disease, he missed the real point. The solution is not just death as the end of our present suffering, but seeing death for what it actually is: the illusion of non-existence. And that’s the real import of the Ayurvedic doctor’s seemingly counter-intuitive answer about the cure for cancer. Without a culture of the soul informing our present life, including how it ends, we have no recourse but to make terrible choices, including wasting money and time artificially living in a tortured and fearful condition all because of the false notion of the eternal self as the temporary body.

Having lived much of my life in the holy land of Vṛndāvana, I have witnessed many saintly people leave this world. One departure in particular stands out — the passing of Mother Gauri. It also shines light on our subject — death as a “cure” for cancer.

On what would be the last day of Mother Gauri’s life, I was in the room when Dr. Narottama, her Ayurvedic doctor, came to check her. He mindfully took her pulse for diagnosis, looked at Gauri compassionately, and announced, “Disease is finished. You have one hour left to live.”

It took me a few minutes to understand what he was saying. Gauri devi was an exemplary Vaiṣṇava completely surrendered to the mission of her spiritual master. Her dying was simply the final impetus to relinquish the last vestiges of her false ego, attachment to the body. Dr. Narottama, a vrajavāsī and elevated devotee, could understand her attainment, that she was now living within the eternal soul and thus no longer identifying with the body. As cancer exists only in the body and she had transcended the non-self, he could boldly and simultaneously declare that her disease was finished and that she would also soon die. And sure enough, Gauri devi left one hour later, peacefully and extraordinarily alert and conscious. Had she not cured cancer?

I leave you with a verse from a song by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, which sums up the cure for all diseases:

“This temporary body is full of suffering. Take shelter of the holy name of Krishna as your only business.”[1]

[1] Aruṇodaya-kīrtana, Song 1, verse 6.

It’s quite a relaxing ride. I’m in the passenger seat answering mail on my phone as we cruise down the scenic Palisades Parkway on our way to the city. I receive a call. It’s Pradyumna. We exchange many thoughts. He laments that more people do not take advantage of his advanced Sanskrit class. He is going through the various commentaries on the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam to train students how to understand the depth of our philosophy, something he is uniquely qualified to do. He laments that more devotees in the city are not taking advantage of what he is giving: “I may not be here for long. Who knows — a few years, a few months, or even twenty minutes.” As soon as he says twenty minutes — zoom! A deer darts in front of our car. Al quickly swerves to the left and misses the deer by a hair. He then swerves to the right, barely steadying the car back in our lane.

Al has a small PT Cruiser. If we had hit the deer the car would have been totaled at best; at worst the deer would have crashed through the windshield. Who can say what destiny holds? I can’t help but see the synchronicity between Pradyumna’s call and the deer immediately tempting our fate. I read it as, “Take care of what is important now, for the future cannot be trusted.”

Such thoughts have already been on my mind. I am already past sixty-eight. When in the world did that happen? How long can one put off what one should and can do now? But it is not just a matter of one’s age. The message, the urgency, is for all. It’s a theme that seems to be re-occurring.

I began reading the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam again from the beginning about a month ago, and I kept on running into that message of urgency. I was struck by the answer to the question by King Parīkṣit upon which the whole text is constructed: “What is the duty of man who is about to die?” His answer: “Your question is most glorious for it is most relevant and beneficial for everyone.” The import of Śukadeva’s answer is clear. Such a question is relevant to everyone as impending doom is universal. It can strike anyone anytime, so who can say who is the person who is about to die? The inquiry is thus glorious because no one can put off such inquiries for the future, which therefore requires an immediate solution.

When what one is reading and experiencing in life synchronize, the message should not be taken lightly. Of course, I am a monk (sannyāsi), and renunciation is my station in life, so I have specific duties, but the urgency of self-realization does not mean sannyāsa. Everyone one has responsibilities according to their station in life and responsibilities in their spiritual practices according to their level of advancement. We all need to be wary of habits of rationalization or lethargy that put off for the future what we should and can do now. That includes, of course, a specific and appropriate spiritual practice. Our availability to God’s will in all aspects of one’s life is what bhakti means. That depth of surrender is the challenge of life and what we all need to confront now.

I was discussing with a friend how this tendency to put off things until the future is symptomatic of the lower modes of nature. He related an interesting story that highlights this unfortunate psychology:

A person was visiting some friends who were perfect hosts. Every day they would feed him a sumptuous feast. He felt challenged. The food was delicious and served with so much love, but he was gaining weight, and it wasn’t good for his health. He thought of a brilliant idea to help him control himself. He immediately went to his room and put a sign above his head on the ceiling that read “Tomorrow I will fast”. Sure enough, when he woke up the next morning the first thing he saw was the sign. He therefore vowed that tomorrow he would fast. He was thus able to somehow feel good about his sincerity and determination and be assured that he would never have to regulate himself at the same time.

I loved the story. It’s so true. How foolish! We make vows for the future to feel good about ourselves, but that is usually all we achieve because things almost never happen unless we do them now. I think the famous American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow summed it up so succinctly in his famous line, “Trust no future however pleasant”.[1] Sādhus take heed!

[1] From the poem “A Psalm of Life”.

I am often asked how I come up with a topic to write about every week. It seems a bit mystical. I just think about the first realization that came to mind since I began the last Greetings. I then begin to write. I often get stuck on a paragraph, or even a sentence, feeling hopeless on how to proceed. It’s hard to envision a completed piece. I move forward, however, in the mood of service, confident that the inspiration will surely come for Krishna is in everyone’s heart and from Him comes remembrance and knowledge[1]. Inevitably it does. Writing is just such a faith builder because it works every time. I start, can’t imagine how something of worth will come, but then watch the process unfold. By the time I am finished, I am generally quite surprised by the result. It seems to have far exceeded my own abilities, almost as if I didn’t write it myself.

I am staying upstate this week at my place. It is my paradise. Nothing to do, no one to meet. Just writing and chanting. Japa meditation, and all forms of meditation, are like starting a car. You don’t start in the highest gear. You have to gradually build up speed. So gaining chanting momentum takes some time, not in how quickly I am chanting, but in the intensity of focus attained. I have that time this week, and with increased focus comes realization. Well, I had one. Chanting is like a heart massage. And that is the focus of today’s Greetings.

A massage is something one enjoys that happens to one without one’s effort. The holy name is Krishna. We can’t create God, or the holy name, by our effort. It is something that only manifests to us fully by Krishna’s mercy in response to our heart or the sincerity of our chanting, and when the holy name does come no effort is required. Chanting then happens to us. We can relax. Let the vibration of the holy name massage the heart.

Krishna is not different than His name. We vibrate the name and we have direct communion with God. The vibration of the holy name is the hands of God loosening the knots of desire in the heart. Don’t just hear the holy name, feel the holy name. Let the vibration of the holy name massage the heart.

The best massage is done out of love. The holy name masseur does not charge anything. He is serving His devotee only out of love. The heart massage is thus Krishna’s mercy — undeserved kindness. We feel grateful. Devotion then awakens along with a strong desire to serve. And what is that service? To become purified. We accept the caress of God only to make our heart a worthy offering of devotion. Heart massage is thus our most important service. Let the vibration of the holy name massage the heart.

Krishna giveth. Krishna taketh. I haven’t really met my quota in the sense that I prefer Monday Morning Greetings to be a bit longer. Usually the flow continues and ends at right about the appropriate length. I paraphrased at the beginning a verse from the Bhagavad-gītā where it describes that Krishna gives remembrance and knowledge. I left out a part. From Him also comes forgetfulness. Krishna has turned off the flow of this article, so I guess it is time to end. Maybe I will just go for another massage and wait for my next realization to appear.

[1] Paraphrase of Bhagavad-gītā 15.15

It’s early morning. My thoughts are clear. As I am writing, a simple but challenging question suddenly appears: Why am I writing this article? Is it for “likes”, a fan base, or any other egoistic adulation that fuels my sojourn in this world? Bhakti is for Krishna. Am I really writing for Krishna? If not, then how is it bhakti? I feel challenged. Bhakti, only for Krishna?! That’s not easy! A counter thought comes: But anyone can do bhakti, even a child. Bhakti is easy. Well, which is it? Here are my reflections.

Bhakti is easy

The Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam was originally spoken in four verses from Krishna to Lord Brahma at the beginning of creation. The fourth verse describes the abhidheya-tattva, the means for realizing the truth, which is bhakti. Bhakti is specifically described there by the words sarvatra (applicable in all space and time) and sarvadā (applicable in all circumstances). Bhakti is thus a path that is uniquely independent of any material prerequisite. In that sense it is the easiest thing to do.

In his commentary on this verse, which is almost eighteen pages, Śrīla Prabhupāda supports this contention of how the qualification for bhakti is so undemanding and so easy that there is no impediment to executing it, whether by caste, gender, creed, or even species. Even the unborn are qualified![1] Śrīla Prabhupāda once said that his purports are his personal ecstasy. Perhaps his extended thoughts in his long purport on the universal applicability of bhakti are an expression of his faith and joy in sharing bhakti with all.

“Therefore there is no need to seek properly qualified candidates for discharging devotional service to the Lord. Let them be either well-behaved or ill trained, let them be learned or fools, let them be either grossly attached or in the renounced order of life, let them be liberated souls or desirous of salvation, let them be inexpert in the discharge of devotional service or expert in the same — all of them can be elevated to the supreme position by discharging devotional service under the proper guidance.” (Bhag. 2.9.36, Purport)

It’s quite a declarative statement. The conclusion couldn’t be clearer: As bhakti is applicable in all time, place, and circumstance there can be nothing easier than practicing bhakti. But is it?

Bhakti is not easy

Even the simplest things are often the most difficult to execute when you have no interest or liking for them. Have you ever struggled with saying “I am sorry” or “I am wrong”? You can do either immediately in any circumstance, but it all depends on your liking — whether you want to do it or not.

Bhakti is like that. Although it is the simplest thing to do because there are no material prerequisites for practicing devotion — even a child can bow his head before God — it is still difficult to execute if you have no interest or liking. But how can one not like to do bhakti?

Certainly, simple devotional activities that attract us are to our liking and easy to do, and our various tastes in Krishna consciousness are the door to our full absorption. Pure bhakti, however, is a bit different. It is not just the activities we like to do in devotion, but the consciousness and identity in which all our activities are done. Pure devotion is to serve God without motive, never seeking the center for ourselves. To the extent that we are still seeking to be the center and thus still desiring for ourselves profit, adoration, and distinction for ourselves, is the degree to which devotional activities will be difficult when we see no personal gain. Can we deny that this spirit to be the enjoyer and controller rests in all of us, both subtle and gross? Otherwise why wouldn’t we fully surrender to guru and Krishna right now when such devotion is the ultimate benefit?

I like the way Śrīla Prabhupāda reconciled this simple yet difficult quandary with a concise phrase: “The process is simple. The application is difficult.”

My internal struggle today with writing

Back to my inner dialogue. Am I writing for Krishna? Is it bhakti and is bhakti easy or difficult to do? These are my thoughts: Writing is my service and it takes determination and sacrifice to do it. That’s certainly devotion. Sure, I see that there are personal fruits from my service that agitate subtle desires for distinction, but the main thing is to engage in devotional service and to give your work to God. No matter what impels us, we will be purified. But is that enough for me?

Śrīla Prabhupāda taught pure devotion. It means not just giving your work to God but giving yourself to God. And once you offer yourself to guru and Krishna then whatever you do will automatically be offered to Krishna and imbued with devotion. That’s real bhakti, and that’s my goal and also my challenge, to just write in a spirit of devotion.

I am writing this before a large picture of Śrīla Prabhupāda. I begin and end with a prayer that I may consciously write only for his pleasure, without any desire for personal adulation or profit. For one who fully takes shelter of a guru that is very easy from the start. Just flip the switch to the consciousness that I am servant of guru and Krishna, and we are liberated. So easy. Yes, simple, but easier said than done.

[1] Śrī Prahlāda performed devotional service in the womb when his pregnant mother listened daily to Śrī Nārada recite the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam.