Waves of Devotion

Some readers may be thinking, “You write about authority and surrender, but isn’t blind following dangerous?” It’s condemned![1] Before exploring why, let’s put that discussion in context by first briefly summarizing something I have stressed many times — the need for faith.

As mentioned before, while faith is essential to learning, blind faith is an impediment. Blind faith means accepting what one hears from authority without a reasonable effort to get one’s doubts cleared to understand it. Being faithful without being thoughtful poses two risks: accepting something that is false because of faith in what an unqualified teacher erroneously taught or accepting something that is false because of misunderstanding what the qualified teacher properly taught. Either way one fails to catch the truth.

Accepting things that are false

Without being thoughtful we not only wind up accepting things taught that we would normally see as overtly false, but we also surrender the tool required to extricate ourselves from a false prophet.

To avoid such an unfortunate situation, it is thus incumbent to be reasonably certain that one has accepted a qualified guide before accepting their authority. The search for a spiritual guide begins with sincerity, the honest desire to live and surrender to the truth. Ultimately, a spiritual teacher is sent by providence in response to our sincere desire for truth. To ascertain, however, whether one is qualified to play that role in one’s life, one must first test the qualification of that person over a reasonable period of time by asking questions and having one’s doubts cleared.

Misunderstanding something that is true

Having a worthy guide also doesn’t guarantee understanding the truth. We often filter what we have heard through our desires and conditioning so that even if what we are taught is true, what we have understood is not. That’s why we often see good people with qualified guides embracing untenable positions in the name of faith.

To avoid misunderstanding a qualified teacher the student must continue, if necessary, to ask questions and get their doubts cleared. Such questioning does not belie our faith in our teacher, because we are not doubting his or her authority, which should have already been tested, but rather our own understanding of what he or she has said.

The need for such thoughtfulness in learning is stressed in some of the most traditional teachings of India, which are presented in the form of a dialectic where we can observe the sincere student continually questioning his teacher until his doubts or misunderstandings are cleared. The best example is the Bhagavad-gītā. It took Arjuna five chapters of going back and forth with Krishna before he finally understood one of the basic points that Krishna was stressing, which is that work can be spiritual if done with knowledge and in the proper consciousness. Arjuna is not an example of blind faith, nor is Krishna the example of a teacher who demands blind allegiance.

So yes, authority is not a bad word, nor is surrender, but blind faith is.

“Don’t follow blindly. Following blindly something, that is not good. That will not stay. But one should take everything with logic. But the servants of God, they put everything in logic. caitanyera dayāra kathā karaha vicāra. If you study the Caitanya’s philosophy with logic and argument… Don’t go by sentiment.” (Śrīla Prabhupāda’s lecture on Bhāg. 6.2.1-5, Calcutta, January 6, 1971)

[1] I got the phrase “blind following is condemned” from Śrīla Prabhupāda’s purport on Bg. 4.34: “In this verse, both blind following and absurd inquiries are condemned. Not only should one hear submissively from the spiritual master; but one must also get a clear understanding from him, in submission and service and inquiries.”

It’s Tuesday — another day with the nothing-to-write blues. It’s definitely pressure, but I’m not worried. Classic Bhagavad-gītā. Do your duty and leave the results to Him. If Krishna wants, it will happen. A few reflections:

There is magic in putting your pen to page (fingers to the computer). It seems to activate part of the brain. I now know why Satsvarūpa Mahārāja wrote a series of books called Every Day, Just Write. If you can’t express yourself, or don’t know what to write, just write. Wonders will happen.

Pressure. I kind of like it. It serves as a barometer to my soul. Nothing to write. Why? Laxity in service and practice means a lack of clarity of mind and a dearth of realization to see and say something. Simple solution. Chant! Chant more!

Back to the page. A thought came: Winter in Vṛndāvana.

There is magic in Vṛndāvana in the time after Kārttika and the ensuant retreats until the Christmas holiday, when there is a short respite from the massive influx of visitors. I can even walk outside in relative solitude. Don’t get me wrong, the pilgrims bring a certain intensity of devotion, but along with the throngs of visitors comes the passion and the commercialism. This short winter lull in the bustle bares Vṛndāvana down to the local residents and their mood and culture. I love it.

I brought a flower garland for the deities of the Radha Tila Ashram next door. The sādhus are sitting peacefully taking prasad on the floor, which is one-foot of sifted Vṛndāvana dust, in their three-sided caged hall attached to their ashram. The small porch has a perfect view of the real Vṛndāvana. These kind sādhus have preserved a two-acre forest where hundreds of happy birds are welcomed by the pounds of millet left on the ground for their daily feed. They implore me to join them. I park myself on the cushy sand of Vraja. Ah! To sit with the simple sādhus of Vṛndāvana!

Vikramaditiyan, the assistant of Indradyumna Swami, takes Radhacaran and me to a place I have never seen before — the country path to Varṣāṇā through the mystical forest of Śrī Radha with its thousand-year old trees. As we walk through the thick talcum powder-like dust roads, lined with stately old trees and bordered by the lush fields of golden Radha-colored mustard flowers that are hugging the path, I am struck by its beauty. We finally reach the village of Varṣāṇā. One thought keeps coming through my mind as we pass one simple, happy “Rādhe, Rādhe!” smiling folk after another. These people have little, but what is important is not what they have, but how they feel. The fact of real happiness is staring me in the face. It’s the consciousness, stupid!

The parikramā continues. Vikramaditiyan takes us to an ashram on the foothills of the Śrīji Mandir, Varṣāṇā’s main temple, for prasādam. He knows the sādhus well and introduces me. I don’t know what he said, but the sādhus practically fall over each other to honor me. As I sit there honoring the most delectable prasādam, I can see that it’s not just me. Each and every visitor that enters is honored, and each person entering imbibes the same mood. Their humility is genuine. It’s like a page out of Jaiva Dharma.[1]

Just as I am about to leave, the mahant, who I was told has been chanting since five in the morning, suddenly comes out of his room. He profusely thanks me and drapes my shoulders with a new expensive pashima chaddar in a way that we have to embrace. A thought follows:

When you are criticized from people who are not well-wishers it is common to respond by thinking of your qualifications in defense. When you get honored by those who are pure far beyond what you deserve, it makes you reflect on your lack of qualification. I leave humbled and happy.

The winter evenings already have gotten down to 45 F/8 C degrees. I haven’t surrendered yet to using the space heater. I fear getting too cushy. I remember the advice of an old local friend, a married sādhu, who lived in Vṛndāvana so simply. “Vṛndāvana is for Krishna. When you want to have a prolonged stay here, then you have to show Krishna you are here not for your enjoyment. My experience is that you will be tested. You can either self-impose a simple life with some austerities to demonstrate your sincerity, or some challenge will be imposed in another way to test your sincerity.” I have observed that people who come here to stay a long time and adjust too much for their comforts never stay. I fear getting too comfortable.

“Of months I am November and December [Mārgaśīrṣa]” (Bg. 10.35, spoken by Krishna)

[1] Jaiva Dharma is a novel by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura that is about the activities of very advanced Vaiṣṇava monks living in a forest ashram in Godrumadvīpa, one of the nine islands of Navadvīpa, the birthplace of Śrī Caitanya.

1954. I was four years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was walking down the street in Brooklyn in front of my home, holding my grandmother’s hand,when I saw a tall, imposing, and dignified looking figure dressed in a blue uniform walking towards us. Excitedly I told my grandmother, “Look grandma, a cop!” She looked down towards me at her side and soberly corrected me, “No, an officer of the law!”

She escaped the pogroms in Ukraine and came to America in 1912. She appreciated her newfound country and the freedoms and protection it afforded. She also carried with her some of the old-time culture rooted in respect for authority. I appreciated that culture of respect and was fortunate that my parents were responsible enough not to completely ruin that for me.

Words are impregnated with the experience of their use. If your elders are affectionate and mature, you tend to hear the word “authority” as knowledge and wisdom, but if you experience abuse and whim you will most likely hear it as exploitation and foolishness.

That is not to deny the experience many people have with the abuse of authority, perhaps by the same institutions I learned to respect, but let’s not get distracted from the point inspired by my grandmother’s instruction—regardless of how you feel about the word authority, the culture of respect towards authority is an important foundation of a proper culture, especially in terms of the ability to learn, relate, and communicate. A few examples in relation to respect for the authority of teachers and elders:

• Faith is the precursor of knowledge. If you don’t have faith, which is assisted by the culture of genuine respect, your ability to understand things is limited to your own frame of reference.

• As teaching and learning take effort, a teacher generally extends themselves to the degree they can gauge the student’s faith shown by their sincere respect.

• People naturally reciprocate honest relationships. The love that flows up to one who is senior is called respect, and the reciprocation that flows down to one who is junior is called affection.[1] If one is not taught to be naturally respectful to those who are senior, one will likely be deprived of the most prominent source of love available in a proper society – the affection of one’s elders, a void that is often filled with depression.

• Loving relationships create a natural conduit between people’s hearts. It is thus especially important on the path of bhakti to be respectful and to have good relationships with seniors who embody a devotion and wisdom that can naturally be absorbed in relationship with them.

• Offenses destroy bhakti. As the eyelids protect the eyes from dust, humility and respect protect the soul from offense. It is thus a hindrance on the path of bhakti to not have nurtured and imbibed the culture of respect.

• The most important relationships we have are the ones where we learn and teach. Good communication is essential to those relationships. Unless we learn to be a proper student through the culture of respect, we will neither properly communicate with our teachers nor effectively learn how to properly relate with our students and children.

• Part of culture is the things prescribed to help us understand that there is a world, a reality, greater than our whims and desires. Honoring and respecting those in positions of authority is one of the things in a proper culture prescribed to help move us towards the higher consciousness of service and devotion.

It is important to note here, as mentioned above, that when talking about nurturing the culture of respect we are not just talking about respecting people based on their qualities. We are also acknowledging and honoring the position of authority, barring, of course, any serious and obvious anomalies in their behavior. Imagine if children are taught that instead of “honor thy mother and father” to “judge thy mother and father” and then come to a decision whether they should be honored. Of course, the capacity of a child to judge is completely limited, but we are all limited to some extent by our desires and prejudices. To reserve dealings of respect based solely on our judgment simply fosters what is known as the mental plane, the sphere of thought where one endlessly calculates based on material advantage. Such a judgment culture doesn’t nurture humility and respect even where overtly deserved. That should seem obvious today.

The śāstra also acknowledges honoring the position of authority. In the Eleventh Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam Krishna declares that one should worship the ācārya, the spiritual master, as “Myself.”[2] While the term ācārya usually refers to the spiritual master, commentators indicate that in addition to the position of spiritual master, Krishna is also referring to anyone in a position of authority in society.

Of course, one may challenge that the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam describes an intact, ancient culture where people in authority were trained to represent traditions of knowledge and wisdom, whereas today authority too often represents religious fanaticism and demagoguery, and thus the culture of respect simply nourishes the cult of totalitarianism. I agree that people today, perhaps more than ever, need to be encouraged and trained to be independently thoughtful in order to keep their guard up for potential exploitation, but that doesn’t negate the need for people to nurture their character by the culture of respect, nor is being thoughtful and principled the same as acting as a rebellious teen. Despite my own occasional periods of rebellion when growing up, in retrospect I am glad grandma told me “No, an officer of the law!”

[1] This concept of respect being the love that flows upward and affection being the love that flows down is one that I first heard in a seminar at the Vrindavan Institute for Higher Education entitled “Vaiṣṇava Etiquette” by Śrīpad Bhakti Caru Swami over twenty years ago. Later it was confirmed by my study of rasa theory where parental love was called anugrahaḥ, mercy or affection.

[2] Bhāg. 11.17.27

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide[1]

A realization came this morning while chanting: “Krishna sees not just what I am doing, but the heart behind it.” It was somewhat heavy, because it means that not only does Krishna see the sincerity beyond the externals, but He also sees the insincerity beyond any bluff. But the point is that either way we can’t hide. To know and live by that is very important in spiritual life, especially in gaining impetus for an inner life. After meditating on my realization for just a few minutes it dawned on me that it didn’t just come out of nowhere. It was actually from my studies the day before. Before I continue, here’s the point that inspired me:

After waiting for twelve years in Mathurā, Akrūra was finally on his way to Vṛndāvana for the opportunity to see Krishna. Suddenly a doubt entered his mind: “I am carrying the order of the evil King Kaṁsa by summoning Krishna to Mathurā where he plans to kill Him. Despite this, will Krishna see my heart and welcome me?” Sure, there were many good reasons in Krishna’s service for why Akrūra stayed in Kaṁsa’s government, but the optics were terrible. He even feared that the cowherd friends of Krishna would attack him before he got to see Krishna. After a minute of anguish, a thought relieved him: “Surely with His perfect vision, both externally and internally, Krishna would only externally see me as Kaṁsa’s friend, but internally would see me as a devotee.”

Reading Akrūra’s realization and then dwelling on it later helped reinforce in my mind how essential it is to be cognizant of Krishna as the witness and knower of our hearts at all stages of our spiritual development. I know many new people that come to a Krishna temple, especially in the west, who initially fret over the etiquette and rules, not knowing if they are doing something wrong. Even more experienced devotees, not always perfect in the external details of worship and devotion, may doubt their progress. What is implied here, however, is that our sincere intentions are more important to Krishna than any external formality or paraphernalia.

I don’t mean to minimize acts of devotion and strict adherence to spiritual practice. What and how much we do in Krishna’s service very much represents the devotion in our heart. The point here is different — that one should not make an absolute correlation between what one does and one’s level of devotion. To do so can not only influence us to remain mechanical in our devotional practices, but risks blinding us to the ability to see, as Krishna does, the good heart of both those who may not know the rules and also those sincere people struggling in devotion.

Strongly developing this cognizance that Krishna is seeing our heart should also make us more vigilant in developing an inner life of devotion. I am not talking about inner life in terms of practices of advanced devotional meditation, but just the simple awareness that for Krishna’s pleasure all devotional activities must be accompanied by an internal prayer commensurate with our level of devotion. A personal example of this comes to mind. Years ago, during my studies in Kārttika, I read something that particularly intrigued me. When one pays obeisances one should consciously cultivate the feeling of “I am inferior”, a mood meant to express and invoke reverential devotion. After reading that, every morning upon first seeing the sacred mount Govardhana I would bow down silently repeating that phrase. Doing so not only consciously amplified the devotion that was previously relatively silent in my more mindless and mechanical obeisance, but it helped me to become more cognizant of Krishna’s presence, and made that simple act of devotion more meaningful and devotional.

Our hearts are the place where Krishna enthuses devotion, which is the essence of His pleasure potency. Seeing such a heart is Krishna’s pleasure, and therefore the prime aim of one on the path of bhakti-yoga is to purify one’s heart by both adopting the practices of devotion and by enthusing that devotion with appropriate thoughts and feelings. Śrīla Prabhupāda called this conscious internal development the “mental culture” of Krishna consciousness. In other words, if we can’t hide our heart from Krishna, why not consciously try to bring it alive?

“Those who are cultivating spiritual life and executing devotional service are always engaged in activity. Such activity can be performed with the body or with the mind. Thinking, feeling and willing are all activities of the mind, and when we will to do something, the activity comes to be manifest by the gross bodily senses. Thus, in our mental activities we should always try to think of Krishna and try to plan how to please Him, following in the footsteps of the great ācāryas and the personal spiritual master. There are activities of the body, activities of the mind and activities of speech. A Krishna conscious person engages his words in preaching the glories of the Lord. This is called kīrtana. And by his mind a Krishna conscious person always thinks of the activities of the Lord—as He is speaking on the Battlefield of Kurukṣetra or engaging in His various pastimes in Vṛndāvana with His devotees. In this way one can always think of the activities and pastimes of the Lord. This is the mental culture [emphasis added] of Krishna consciousness.” (NOD, Introduction)

[1] “You can run, but you can’t hide” is a famous English idiom that means that no matter what you do you can’t avoid the consequences you are trying to avoid. It was originally spoken by Joe Louis, one of the greatest heavyweight boxing champions of the world just before the rematch will Billy Conn, a lighter, faster boxer. I have used it in context of this Monday Morning Greetings to indicate that Krishna is always seeing our hearts even if we try to avoid Him.

As you get older and your peers start leaving the world, death naturally becomes more of a reality. We suffer when we lose anything, and death is the loss of everything. The prospect of death therefore strikes fear into most. How can we be fearless, not just in our last moments, but also while living, knowing that sooner or later it will all end?

One of our greatest fears is uncertainty at what rests at our next destination. Even when traveling we may fret over not being sure of the accommodation and reception that awaits us, what to speak of our uncertainty about what awaits us after this life. How can we remain equipoised and fearless when, for almost all of us, except for those who are self-realized, our future identity will not conform to what we relate to now, nor will it include the attachments we have in relationship to that identity?

In a sense, the general solution is clear. Whether we are riddled with fear or we feel peaceful and assured in the face of death, it all depends on the identity we are embracing, and there are only two basic options: we can identify with the present body or we can identify with our soul.

Identification with the body is a temporary designation. Based on our past activities and desires our consciousness is delimited by the false ego (ahaṅkāra) to fit a particular field of activities for this life, which are designated at birth by race, nationality, family, and gender. As we grow, our superficial bodily identity is further fortified by our acquired proclivities and attachments. As that identification is spurred by the false ego (ahaṅkāra), which changes according to our karma life after life, one who embraces the body as their core identity will be increasingly fearful of losing everything at death, including their present identity.

The other option is to identify with the soul, which is eternally a conscious particle of the universal supreme consciousness, by constitution naturally meant to serve that which it is part of. To the extent we therefore realize and embrace our intrinsic, devotional identity, we will not fear the end of the body, for our soul identity will endure.

Fearlessness thus comes naturally in the practice of Krishna consciousness as long as we are focused on the process of transforming our identity from a self-centered focus on the body to a devotional focus on the soul. We can’t, however, take the process for granted. One must be conscientious to realize that succumbing to the attachments connected to the body, meaning those beyond what we need to keep the body and soul together, will only increase bodily identification and consequent fear, despite accepting the general tenets of bhakti-yoga. Identity comes by attachment. Therefore, unless we are becoming attached to Krishna by sufficiently hearing His pastimes and chanting His name, we won’t develop a yearning for a relationship with Him and the consequent deep identity as His servant will not awaken. We will then remain, to one extent or another, either mired in fear or ignorance of reality.

I sense this may feel a bit preachy. I want to assure my readers that when I speak very strongly, I am mostly preaching to myself. The whole process of Krishna consciousness is about transformation of identity, which is based on developing our relationship with Krishna. I must be especially vigilant not to feed my material identity, but to nourish my relationship with Krishna, otherwise the future is just fear, or worse — ignorance. I can’t hide my head in the sand anymore. If not now, when?

“My dear King, if you want to be fearless in meeting your death next week (for actually everyone is afraid at the point of death), then you must immediately begin the process of hearing and chanting and remembering God.” (Paraphrase of Śukadeva Gosvāmī’s instruction to Mahārāja Parīkṣit, The Nectar of Devotion, chapter 2)