Waves of Devotion

It’s the one week of the year where I give myself leeway to not produce a new Monday Morning Greetings. I am incapable of devoting the concentration required to write while overseeing and teaching during my annual Puri retreat. I will therefore be re-sharing an article I post every year at this time, which is also relevant to the retreat, a subject that I feel is so important that I think it merits reading again and again.

What is Vaiṣṇava Saṅga?

Vaiṣṇava saṅga is an assembly of devotees mutually dedicated to the assembly’s objective — the glorification of the Supreme Lord.

As all members of the Vaiṣṇava saṅga are focused on that objective, personal objectives become secondary.

Although the leaders and senior Vaiṣṇavas may help guide the saṅga, and are appropriately respected, all participating members are deeply and equally valued as essential members of the saṅga.

Cooperation in a Vaiṣṇava saṅga is spontaneous and manifests genuinely out of the feelings of natural attachment and respect for authority within the saṅga. As much as practical within the saṅga, corporate or hierarchical structures of authority are not forcefully or externally imposed.  

The channel of relationships and communication in a Vaiṣṇava saṅga is open due the trust among its members. Saṅga members thus get the maximum benefit from each other’s insights, including the realizations of its more spiritually mature members.

As mercy flows so freely in a Vaiṣṇava saṅga, a Vaiṣṇava saṅga naturally inspires humility in its members, which is the natural response to mercy.

The activities (service) of a Vaiṣṇava saṅga are born from a humble mood of service and thus truly become seva, or devotional service.

As the members of the Vaiṣṇava saṅga are humble, they are constantly absorbed in nāma-saṅkīrtana.

A Vaiṣṇava saṅga is confident in the mercy it is experiencing within its saṅga. The members welcome and value any participant or visitor from any saṅga or organization as long as they sincerely want to serve the saṅga’s objectives.

A Vaiṣṇava saṅga does fear Vaiṣṇava aparādha. Its members deal very carefully and respectfully with everyone.

A Vaiṣṇava saṅga is thus the yoga of association, where members naturally control their minds and senses out of respect and appreciation for the association and care they are receiving within the saṅga.

The duty of an ācārya is to create Vaiṣṇava saṅga based on the six loving exchanges of a Vaiṣṇava. To assist in its development is the best offering of service for his pleasure.

A Vaiṣṇava saṅga is most attractive. Sincere people will appreciate it. Pure devotees will naturally gravitate towards it. It is the basis of spreading Vaiṣṇava dharma.

In the progressive step-by-step levels of bhakti, in order to reach the stage of ruci (taste) one first has to come to the level of niṣṭha, which means to be fixed or steady. In order to set the tone for our discussion, here’s a simple example based on the Bhagavad-gītā that illustrates the connection between fixedness and taste in bhakti.

Krishna says in Bhagavad-gītā that He is the taste of water. That statement always puzzled me. Isn’t water neutral? Doesn’t water only become tasty when something is added to it? I never really resolved this minor conundrum until I visited Hrishikesh, where I drank the pure Ganga coming from the mountains before it flows through the plains of India and mixes with the minerals of the ground. I had an epiphany. Ahh, so tasty! Yes, this is the taste of water, when water is just water, unmixed with anything else. In fact, when water is pure we call it “sweet water”. Similarly, when we attain niṣṭha and become fixed in devotion, when our devotion is not mixed with anything else, we come to the stage of ruci, sweet or tasty devotion. Simply put, water is tasty when water is just water, and similarly devotion is tasty when devotion is just devotion.

The first principle, therefore, in gaining taste for bhakti is to gain this understanding or conviction that without a concerted effort to become more concentrated and fixed in your devotion, whether it is in your practices or life, your taste for bhakti will not substantially deepen. In terms of practically doing that, or achieving any spiritual goal, the most important thing is first to have the right understanding and conviction. That is the point I am making here, and it has certainly been my experience with nurturing my taste in devotion. In that regard, I will share something somewhat personal.

What I write is what I am thinking at the time, so my focus lately has naturally been on how to increase taste. Every morning after breakfast I take a short walk to chant some more rounds. My practice then is much more casual than in the early morning when I sit in one place and meditate. Still, this conception, the one I am writing about, kept on coming into my mind, inspiring me to remain focused so that my devotion could become just devotion. I felt the difference. It became so clear. Without the right conception in the forefront of our minds, it is just too easy to become casual and close the door to the taste of devotion. Other thoughts about this subject kept arising throughout the week related to the subject at hand.

I thought a lot about the nature of the mind. As the mind always seeks distraction and change, it is the enemy of fixity and taste. We must therefore, according to our capacity for meditation, set aside an exclusive time and place for meditation unmixed with the distraction of other interests and responsibility where we can be free to observe the mind and fix it on the holy name. In terms of fixing the mind, japa is very powerful, but it takes practice. Without some concerted effort for meditation, without some practice where we keep the mind in the present and experience the company of God, it is unlikely we will ever fully enter the world of ruci, or taste.

Although japa is powerful, and some meditational practice is essential in fixing the mind and rising to the stage of ruci, by Śrī Caitanya’s mercy we have the dispensation of kirtan where mantra is couched in raga (melody) and tāla (rhythm). Raga and tāla naturally allow us to easily enter deep aspects of the psyche to enhance our emotion and connection with mantra that can help transport even those in passion and ignorance to a state of meditation, fixity, and taste.

Often when writing Monday Morning Greetings, I realize that the scope and depth of my subject is so much vaster than what I can express in just a blog. In a longer dissertation so much can be said about avoiding the various conceptions and attitudes that keep our devotion unsteady,[1] especially offenses and criticisms that readily distance the mind from our connection and fixity on Krishna, even when we set a time and place to do so, but for now I will end with perhaps the most important takeaway from this morning’s musings that I think says it all:

“Simply put, water is tasty when water is just water, and similarly devotion is tasty when devotion is just devotion.”

[1] Mādhurya Kaḍambinī dedicates a whole chapter to anistitha bhakti (unfixed devotional practice) and lists six attitudes that prevent steadiness in bhakti. That in-depth analysis is beyond the scope of this post, but recommended reading. They are listed briefly below:

“bhajana-kriyā is of two types, aniṣṭhitā (unsteady) and niṣṭhitā (steady). niṣṭhitā means one cannot fall down or slacken anymore. aniṣṭhitā is due to immature devotion. It appears in six stages as utsāha-mayī (temporary vigour), ghana-taralā (simultaneous intense and unsteady practice), vyūḍha-vikalpā (indecision), viṣaya-saṅgarā (struggle with the senses), niyamākṣamā (inability to hold vows), and taraṅga-raṅgiṇī (delighting in the facilities offered by bhakti). In the stage of aniṣṭhitā bhajana these six weaknesses gradually appear in the heart of the devotee.”

I just spoke with Raghunath. He is very enlivened leading and teaching at the Govardhan Eco Village. He quipped that unless he is surrounded by a lot of people and leading a group, he can’t imagine how he could be absorbed in Krishna consciousness. I think what people like about him now is that he is not all pretentious as a leader. He humbly shares his own struggles, at times almost to the point of self-deprecation. It was a short casual call, so we couldn’t have an in-depth discussion, but one thing stood out — that what a devotee is and how a devotee remains engaged cannot be stereotyped. There are many different types of devotees and many different things devotees do. Therefore, what makes them advanced in practice and consciousness is not particularly what proclivity and service they have, nor whether they are extroverted or introverted, but the degree to which they are absorbed in devotional service and the humility and devotion they have in executing it.

I sometimes illustrate this point about distinguishing bhakti from external designations in relation to my own position as a renunciate by explaining how my sannyāsa is not necessarily a sign of devotional attainment, but a reflection of engaging my propensity for renunciation in Krishna’s service. To sum it up, bhakti is independent of both jñāna-sukṛti, credits from past deeds that grant one the propensity for renunciation, and karma-sukṛti, credit from past deeds that grant one a good material situation, including one’s personality and behavior. You can thus find sincere bhakti even in situations where it appears incongruous to classic yogic spirituality. I think a stark example will help make my general point more clear.

One of my favorite god-brothers, and a favorite of the devotees where he serves, has severe mental health challenges. His condition is so acute that he requires strong doses of heavy medication, including lithium, just to be functional. He lives in government housing and is incapable of rising from bed until late in the afternoon. Still, every day since I have known him, and that spans over thirty years, he immediately goes to the temple after rising and spends hours into the evening intricately cleaning every nook and corner of the three-story temple/ashram structure where he serves with the utmost sincerity and dedication. He is always humble, never offends anyone, and mostly uses whatever is left of his government stipend after meeting his essential needs to serve the devotees. In this life, he certainly doesn’t have enviable karma-sukṛti or a pronounced level of renunciation. What he does have, however, is considerable devotion.

My point about the independent nature of bhakti and the example I gave to illustrate it shouldn’t be misunderstood to mean that those on the path of bhakti are devoid of karma or jñāna-sukṛti. They certainly don’t have to be. The point I am stressing is that bhakti can be done without reservation from any platform of life, whether materially auspicious or not, because bhakti is independent of any external cause.

Śrīla Prabhupāda once stated that his purports to the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam were his personal ecstasy. I don’t think it is wrong to suggest that perhaps a purport of extraordinary length can indicate a particular enthusiasm or ecstasy in relation to a particular subject, not just because of its size, but by the apparent enthusiasm in which he cites so many varied references to establish a particular truth. I challenge the reader to find a purport longer and more well referenced than Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 2.9.36, one of the four nutshell verses of the initial Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, which describes the universal application of devotional service. Śrīla Prabhupāda goes on for over twenty-six pages about the subject we are discussing, how there is no material prerequisite for devotional service regardless of caste, creed, age, or even species of life and so on. I also don’t think it’s unreasonable to suggest that it was this ecstasy or conviction that gave him the faith that he could transform the wayward and uncultured youth of the 1960s by finding the ways and means to engage them in devotional service.

Our discussion here began with Raghunath’s observation that he can’t possibly be fully Krishna conscious unless he is surrounded by others and leading them, which almost seems counter-intuitive to bhakti where God is put in the center. His inquiry, however, brought out an interesting point – that it doesn’t matter what nature or status you have if you give it to Krishna. What a merciful opportunity to perfect our lives and achieve spiritual attainment! Whoever you are, whatever you do, just give it to Krishna.

For sheer drama and dependence on God, I don’t think any modern pilgrim’s journey can top Radhanath Swami’s trip from Europe to Vṛndāvana over forty years ago, which is memorialized in his popular recount The Journey Home. But if there is anything that even comes close, it is the recent “journey home” by a twenty-four year old from France named Marcel.[1] He not only walked from his birthplace to Vṛndāvana through Turkey and Iran to the border of Pakistan,[2] but, by choice, he did it penniless without ever stepping even once in a vehicle!

Upon arriving in Vṛndāvana he was directed to my afternoon class by a devotee that he met. I welcomed the sober and handsome Marcel, along with Marie, his partner of seven years, an attractive and highly educated Catholic, who occasionally joined him during her breaks from the university. After class I invited Marcel to share his story with me.

Marcel walked and chanted the mahā-mantra the whole way, mostly through smaller towns and villages. He was overwhelmed by the hospitality he received, especially through Turkey and Iran. He explained the culture to me. When a guest knocks on your door in the Middle East, it is considered that Allah has personally come to your home. He certainly felt received in that mood. Still, there were challenges. A substantial part of the journey through the Middle East was walking in the desert, which meant long treks between towns. He solved that problem by getting a small hand cart to carry food and water for a few days so that he never went hungry or thirsty even once!

I heard personally from people in Iran that despite the theocratic rule there, there is still quite a lot of violent street crime but, like most places, the crime rests more or mostly in big cities where the struggle for existence is more pronounced. As a result, he completed his journey danger free, except for one harrowing incident in Sirjan, a small city of history and culture in South Iran. He was confronted there by three ruffians, one who pulled a huge handmade dagger from under his shirt and brandished it in front of Marcel’s face demanding money. It was terrifying, and all Marcel could think of was the strange advice his well-traveled uncle gave him before he left: “If you are ever accosted on your travels, just stare quietly in the person’s eyes with a smile. If you don’t show any fear, you will go beyond the person’s eyes to find his soul. The aggressor will then immediately become confused and disarmed.” He couldn’t think of any other option, so he smiled and looked into the thug’s eyes. To his amazement, the thug just uttered some nonsense and quickly left. Marcel then continued peacefully on his journey.

I was impressed by Marcel’s journey of faith, but also humbled because it reminded me of my own duties to cultivate dependence on God as a sannyāsī (renunciate). It is not that I have to walk across Iran penniless, but I do have to consciously cultivate simplicity and detachment. If one doesn’t occasionally challenge one’s comforts to foster dependence, then how will one gain the deep realization that it is Krishna, not oneself, who is the protector and maintainer? And without feeling that, how is it possible to develop deeper feelings of love for Krishna?

Sannyāsīs today, by necessity, sometimes serve as institutional and spiritual leaders and, to one degree or another, need to accept the amenities provided to them out of respect and to facilitate their service. I admire those who cultivate dependence by selflessly taking on huge responsibility where they are forced to see Krishna’s hand in sorting out numerous seemingly impossible problems, but still Marcel’s example spoke to me. I need to shed more of what Śrīla Prabhupāda called “our material protective agents” and to learn what doing that teaches us. Sure, the world spins out of our control anyway. Just think of the inevitable struggle of old age and death. But still, if we are not careful to live a simple life and cultivate detachment, we risk obscuring God’s mercy and impeding our devotion. Without cultivating detachment, it also makes it much more difficult to face the imminent reverses in life without bitterness or fear when they do come as God’s mercy.

I am speaking from the perspective of sannyāsa, my āśrama, which is meant to prepare one for death by accepting situations beyond one’s control to learn full dependence on God’s mercy. I think, however, embracing difficult situations to learn dependence on God’s mercy is applicable to all on the path of dharma, for doing what is right often entails sacrifice at the expense of material advantage. And I think that is also the answer to my dilemma on how to increase my own dependence on Krishna within my service as a leader of sorts, a position that can at times compromise the life of simplicity that my āśrama calls for. My dharma is to be a sādhu, to vigilantly accept only what is necessary for the service of Krishna and not a farthing more, and then to watch how, by Sri Krishna’s mercy, His full shelter unfolds.

Wasn’t Marcel’s journey home inspiring? It seems to pose the following challenge to all of us: What is the best way for each of us to practically loosen our “material protective agents” so we can experience Krishna’s mercy unobscured by our false sense of control? I don’t, however, recommend a trek through Iran as your own journey home.

[1] The names “Marcel” and “Marie” are pseudonyms for our pilgrims who requested that if I write their story that their real names not be published.

[2] The immigration at Pakistan refused his request at the border to walk through their country penniless, and he was forced to fly to Delhi on his way to Vṛndāvana.