Waves of Devotion

I got an exceptional amount of feedback from my last entry “Windows to the Material World”. My point about the deleterious effect of modern media seemed to have struck a chord. Here’s one impassioned reply:

“And the second thing about the devices… it is so incredibly true. We had a computer but my husband got so sick of the kids being addicted to it that he smashed it to pieces 🤣 and honestly, it was the best feeling ever. We are so glad it’s gone. Now my kids don’t watch anything and it’s SO much better for them. You can just see the difference.”

But my computer is still not working, so this is again typed on my iPhone, and I will have to include a reprint. Although I will also again include a journal entry from almost twenty years ago, it is still quite relevant to the subject we have been discussing concerning the ill effect of modern technology. It’s my journal entry from August 14, 2003 when I was in New York during the mass power blackout:

When New York Turned into Vrindavan

August 14, 2003
New York City

When I was a young child, not more than six years of age, my father would occasionally show up at my door at bedtime, poke his head in, and ask in a fatherly manner, “Where was Moses when the lights went out?” Whether I responded reasonably—“In the dark!”—or remained silent in protest, the result was the same: I was soon in the dark. And no matter how much my desire to stay up late was foiled, deep down I enjoyed the affectionate exchange with my dad.

Affectionate exchanges are life. Without them, the heart closes and the soul dries; neurosis consumes us. Therefore, the perfect place is Vrindavan: an anti-psychotic world where everything moves for the purpose of selfless intense affection, called rasa.

In contrast, New York is devoid of rasa. Here, the selfless loving spirit is overwhelmed by the vain pursuit of wealth, fame, and sex appeal. Even those intelligent enough to escape this frenzied passion are certain to be distracted from meaningful relationships by the lure of the lonely world of computers, the busy chatter of cell phones, or the insanity of multimedia. How unfortunate to mistake such loneliness for real community?

Today I sat peacefully on the Upper East Side as the plug of passion was pulled in New York and much of the Northeast—something to do with a malfunction on the Northern Grid. Factually, however, the Northern Grid is a glitch on normal life. I thus celebrated today as the day when non-electricity was restored to the world. With great relief, I observed:

A peaceful and quiet environment

With people sitting on their stoops

Talking to their neighbors

Helping one another

Sharing meaningful relationships

Manifesting community Enjoying real life as

New York turned into Vrindavan

A final thought: Today’s power outage ironically blossomed with rasa—just as the “lights off” of my childhood incongruously flourished with affection.

My computer crashed for the third time in six months. I have noticed that every time that happens my japa meditation flourishes. We cannot underestimate the potency of modern technology to distract us. In the 1960s there was a famous social scientist named Marshall McLuhan who wrote The Medium is the Massage. He said that every communication medium has its own particular effect beyond the content you watch or hear through it. I can see that clearly. I notice that some of the devotees who are deepest into their internal spiritual life don’t use personal computers—although their secretaries may have one. Every week I read Satsvarūpa Mahārāja’s journal. I see how absorbed he is in hearing about Krishna. I know he doesn’t use a computer. I especially hold in high esteem for their internal spiritual life two friends, Sacinandana Swami and Partha Sarathi Goswami. They don’t have personal computers. Here in Vrindavana, two of the deepest sādhakas that I know are Jamuna Jivana das and Mother Srimati. They don’t have personal computers. I know several devotees who use their personal computers effectively for preaching and organizing Krishna consciousness who seem to maintain very deep spiritual lives without being distracted, but that seems increasingly rare.

Because I am dictating this on my iPhone it may not have the same standard of clarity that my writing usually has, but I think I’ve gotten across that modern technology can be distracting in spiritual life, and we have to be cautious of that fact.

For this week’s entry I’m choosing an entry that goes back to even before I started Monday Morning Greetings—something I wrote almost twenty years ago on the same subject called “Windows to the Material World”. I hope that you enjoy it, ironically, through the facility of social media—but sādhu beware!

Windows to the Material World

May 27, 2004

I just finished assembling my journals into book form for a final edit. Fortunately, I finished the work before my computer crashed. I knew it was on the blink, but I dreaded the day when it needed to be sent for repair. Leaving the shop on my way home, however, I felt a surprising relief, a sense of liberation. Even though I use the computer mostly for my writing and correspondence, it felt as if some shackle of illusion had been lifted.

I vaguely remember a popular book from my college days called The Medium is the Massage by Marshall McLuhan. His point was that the medium in which one receives information has a greater influence than the message it conveys. I recall him describing television as a cold medium because one generally learns passively from it. In contrast, he described the press as a hot medium because we have to activate our intellect in order to assimilate what we’ve read. McLuhan concluded that cold mediums, like television, make one lazy and dull the intelligence, while hot mediums have the opposite effect, regardless of the content one receives from either.

I am convinced that, like television, the medium of the computer also has insidious effects because it subtly injects one with the need for incessant distraction—an especially menacing prospect for those on a spiritual path where the mind needs to be calmed to touch one’s essence.

I lived in Vrindavana for 20 years without even a phone. I didn’t die of boredom; instead, I remained absorbed in scripture, nama (meditation on God’s names), and sevā (service). To be peaceful now, I require the world at my doorstep with the click of a button, even while living in Vrindavana. Something is wrong.

According to the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, God sits within our heart to observe and advise us in the form of the Paramātmā, the Supersoul. It describes this by the analogy of two birds in a tree: one bird is eating the fruits of happiness and distress, while the other is watching, waiting for his friend to turn to him. The observant bird is compared to the Supersoul and the engrossed bird is compared to the individual living entity. The idea is that as long as we are externally absorbed in the chatter of the mind, we cannot hear the voice of God in the heart directing us.

Riding home, unshackled from my computer, it suddenly hit me how the medium of mass communication so strongly allures us to the platform of the mind, and how the effect is so pervasive that we usually mistake our bondage for normal life. I felt cheated of my innocence, a life unfettered by the unremitting dialogue of the mind that affords one the quietude to turn toward the Lord in the heart. Sadly we have been drawn in droves to the life of the engrossed bird. Perhaps it is more like lemmings to the sea.

Just to the right of the foot of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s (my guru’s) bed in Vrindavana hang two beautiful paintings: one of Krishna and the cowherd boys returning home from the forest of Vrindavana, the other of Radha and Krishna by the bank of the Yamuna under a kadamba tree. Śrīla Prabhupāda called such paintings of Krishna “windows to the spiritual world.” In my early Vrindavana days, I would gaze at these masterpieces during japa and think of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s “windows” analogy. It made so much sense. Today I thought of another “windows” analogy, and unfortunately, it made just as much sense: Computers are the windows to the material world.

Help Wanted: Messenger needed to deliver confidential message to pacify the anxiety of My dearest family members and friends, especially My girlfriends residing in Vrindavan, who are near dead from the snake bite of separation from Me. Must have ministerial and communication skills, be very dear to Me, highly educated in śāstra, and extremely intelligent. Only close associates need apply. Those interested contact Śrī Krishna, Palace of Rukmiṇī, New Dvārakā.

Just having some fun here. I just finished studying and teaching the pastime of Uddhava visiting Vrindavan. I was intrigued by the character of Śrī Uddhava and why Śrī Krishna chose him to execute two of the most challenging tasks: to deliver a message from Him to pacify the gopīs, headed by Śrī Radha, and to witness, understand, and disseminate the glories of the gopīs’ topmost devotion.

Let’s analyze below the qualities of Śrī Uddhava that made him ideal for task at hand as expressed in the first verse of the story:[1]

vṛṣṇīnāṁ pravaro mantrī (The best counselor of the Vṛṣṇi dynasty)

The gopīs were in a most highly intense emotional state. Anything in reference to Krishna could easily set them off into an even deeper emotional state. One trying to pacify them would need the most highly developed emotional intelligence and the most profound skill in counseling to understand their mind and to know exactly what to say to them.

kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā (The beloved friend of Krishna)

Uddhava was the dearest devotee of Krishna in Dvārakā and thus held a position of great status. The pride of any devotee in their own devotion, however, no matter how advanced they were, would be crushed to dust in comparison to the topmost devotion of the gopīs. Anyone carrying this task would therefore require the deepest love for Krishna to not be overcome with some form of envy. What better candidate to deliver a message to the gopīs than the beloved friend of Krishna?

The message was also extremely confidential, which means not easily understood outside of the frame of reference of one’s own heart and mind. Krishna could therefore only share this missive with someone so close—a beloved friend—with whom He could trust to share His heart.

śiṣyo bṛhaspateḥ sākṣād (Direct disciple of Bṛhaspati)

Uddhava was a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati, the guru of the demigods. He was therefore learned in practically all subjects of knowledge. Although he was being sent to Vrindavan to learn about the prema of the gopīs, only one with such vast knowledge in śāstra would have the frame of reference to identify and appreciate their topmost ecstasies and not be confused by them.[2]

uddhavo buddhi-sattamaḥ (Having the highest quality intelligence)

When Uddhava returned from Dvārakā he was able to successfully share what he experienced with Śrī Krishna, Lord Balarama, and some of the elders of Dvārakā such as King Ugrasena and Vasudeva. Only one with the highest quality of realization and intelligence would be able to successfully conceptualize and express such deep ideas.

These four qualities allow Śrī Uddhava to successfully pacify the gopīs and to understand and communicate their glories. They also serve another purpose. They help demonstrate the exalted love of the gopīs. If the topmost devotee of Krishna outside of Vrindavan, the chief counselor, and the most intelligent and learned person of Dvārakā is so humbled by the devotion of the gopīs that he prayed to be grass in Vrindavan so the dust of their feet may fall on him, we can only imagine the glory of their rūḍha-bhāva, the very height of devotion.

My prayer: I am not the most intelligent nor the most learned, and certainly not the most beloved friend of Krishna, but I am the humble servant of Śrīla Prabhupāda. By his mercy, may I carry His sweet message of devotion to all!

[1] śrī-śuka uvāca
vṛṣṇīnāṁ pravaro mantrī
kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā
śiṣyo bṛhaspateḥ sākṣād
uddhavo buddhi-sattamaḥ

Synonyms

śrī–śukaḥ uvāca — Śukadeva Gosvāmī said; vṛṣṇīnām — of the Vṛṣṇis; pravaraḥ — the best; mantrī — adviser; kṛṣṇasya — of Kṛṣṇa; dayitaḥ — beloved; sakhā — friend; śiṣyaḥ — disciple; bṛhaspateḥ — of Bṛhaspati, the spiritual master of the demigods; sākṣāt — directly; uddhavaḥ — Uddhava; buddhi — having intelligence; sat–tamaḥ — of the highest quality.

Translation

Śukadeva Gosvāmī said: The supremely intelligent Uddhava was the best counselor of the Vṛṣṇi dynasty, a beloved friend of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa and a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati.

[2] Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya was the most learned scholar in South India. When he saw Śrī Caitanya faint in the Jagannath temple he had his servants take Him to his house to recover. Although Śrī Caitanya was in a catatonic state, Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya was able, by his vast knowledge, to know that Śrī Caitanya was not suffering from a physical ailment but rather was in a state of ecstasy.

Lord of the Flies is an acclaimed novel written by William Golding in 1954 about a group of young boys stranded on a deserted island who revert to savagery and primitive ritualistic behavior. One of the boys, named Ralph, assumes the role of ruler of the other young and confused boys and gets carried away with his power, and from this the term “Lord of the Flies” acquired an idiomatic meaning indicating a leader ruling peers with an inflated self-perception of their own status and dominion. I have also heard the term used to describe the early days of ISKCON, especially after Śrīla Prabhupāda left this world, when sincere young men, most less than ten years in the movement, assumed immense positions of authority over their peers, not only as spiritual masters, but as ācāryas, the institutional and spiritual heads of large zonal areas covering many countries.

I am not writing this to place blame on anybody. Mostly, I am reflecting on my own immaturity as a young devotee who was, at the age of 28, thrust into a position of authority and prestige way above my pay grade as the head of a relatively prestigious educational institution, the ISKCON school in Vrindavan. The sign above my office, placed by the previous principal, an elderly and distinguished Indian gentleman, read “Prādhān Ācārya”—the Hindi nomenclature for principal. “Ācārya” means guru and “Prādhān” means the chief. The sign above my door thus literally read, “Chief Ācārya” or “Chief Guru”. What a joke! I am glad most ISKCON devotees at the time, who were mostly foreigners, couldn’t read Hindi. Was that not, in a sense, Lord of the Flies?

Śrīla Prabhupāda recognized the quandary of trying to establish a spiritual institution, which is still corporate, by placing young and uneducated men in positions of authority. In that regard, he described his predicament and offered a Bengali proverb to illustrate his dilemma: “Sometimes my god-brothers criticized me, but there is one thing that they were correct about—I gave very young men sannyāsa, but what could I do? ‘When there are no large trees in the forest the castor oil tree looks big.’” In other words, his preaching movement required a social structure with a class of people holding spiritual authority to move forward, which in his lineage meant the renounced or sannyāsa order. But, as there were no elders, all he had to choose from were inexperienced men in their early twenties. What could he do? But was the sannyāsa order at the time in ISKCON not in a sense Lord of the Flies?

Two young men were barely past twenty when Śrīla Prabhupāda gave them sannyāsa.[1] They immediately began to travel to South India to defeat all opposing views to Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, their lineage, as they thought was their duty as sannyāsi spiritual leaders. They first met Pejavara Swami, the most distinguished and learned Madhva sannyāsa and guru. They immediately challenged him: “What are three aspects of the Absolute Truth?” It was the most rudimentary question, but not for them. The saintly Pejavara Swami didn’t get angry. He was just amused and smiled at these immature children in the guise of sannyāsis trying to sincerely serve their guru. It’s astounding how much we were Lord of the Flies.

Ravindra Svarupa Prabhu, a saintly god-brother known for his clarity of thought and sharp wit, years ago summed up the challenges of ISKCON in its budding days:

“The problem with ISKCON in the early days was that Śrīla Prabhupāda was the only adult!”

The behaviors of the early devotees were not savage, but there is something to be learned from Golding’s cautionary tale. Still, there were significant problems caused at least in part by lack of maturity. So, I look back and lament. But I also feel hope for a more grounded and realistic understanding of who I am. I am also seeing how much devotees have matured, and hopefully so have I. I pray for more years so that I can now relish the depth and sweetness of true Vaiṣṇava relationships free from the Lord of the Flies.

[1] This was told to me over thirty years ago by one of those men. As I haven’t had to time to get his permission to use the story and confirm the details, I have kept their names anonymous.

It’s still a mess! Construction on my place in Govardhan was just finished two days ago. Groups of people are already arriving. I’m just not settled here yet. If there is one thing that is certain. I have less the illusion of control here than anyplace else. How can that not be? Śrī Radha is the queen of Vrindavan!

Why do I come here?

I come here for one reason only. My service here is to help pilgrims enter the holy place. The experience of Krishna, the deep faith that comes when God touches your heart is more profound in Vrindavan than any place else.

But my main service is to have that experience myself. You must have something before you can give it. And that experience comes in association with the saintly.

If I think about it, however, I mostly come to Vrindavan not because I am qualified to mine the jewels of devotion here—jewels not just buried here, but present in every speck of dust and every flower that blooms—but because there are devotees that stay and visit here that are qualified to do so. They have entered the holy land in a mood of service and can thus scratch beyond its external covering to strongly feel a deep and very real connection to Krishna. I hanker for their audience.

I think most of us can admit that we are not pious. We just have to look at our birth and the many unwholesome influences we had growing up through our teens. There is one reason only we are here—the mercy of Śrīla Prabhupāda. He created our piety by giving us a mission of service and sacrifice and thus the lens to enter and see the land of selflessness.

I therefore begin my stay here by the audience of those souls who have given their life to Śrīla Prabhupāda.

I visited Kadamba Kanana Swami yesterday evening. I was told I could visit him after he returns at 4:30 PM. I not sure from where he was returning from, but he was leading a parikrama for most of the day. When I opened the door, I was quite shocked. Instead of visiting an energy depleted dying man, I met an energetic and effulgent person sitting upright with full energy eagerly waiting for my visit. How can a person with a hundred tumors in one’s lungs, and that is just the number in one organ, still be alive let alone be firing on all cylinders? His realizations were simple, but deep, because they were said with realization and conviction. In other words, he meant it: “I am ready to go or stay. It is all in the hands Krishna. Why should I care?”

I spent two evenings with Jayadvaita Swami. A devotee thinks of others before oneself. He is here for Kadamba Kanana Swami. He will be with him to the end. His vision of life and service is always very succinctly and clearly expressed. It was honor to hear his thoughts.

I was invited for lunch with Bhurijan Prabhu. Among other things we talked about how to go deeper in vraja-bhakti following in the footsteps of Śrīla Prabhupāda. He stressed two things: deep understanding of the Caitanya-caritāmṛta and service to His mission. The jewels of realizations were flowing. I leave his room a wealthier person.

I have been here a few days, but now I have some hope of being able to truly enter this most sacred of holy lands. I leave this morning for Govardhan parikrama. Vrindavan becomes alive through the smiles of the saints, sādhus, and simple vraja–vāsīs I meet along the way whose humble smiles radiate their inner contentment. Home at last!