Monday Morning Greetings 2023 #9 – A Tip for Learning Śāstra

February 27th, 2023

Śrīla Tamal Krishna Goswami was too busy assisting Śrīla Prabhupāda in a managerial capacity to have time to study. He brought his quandary to His Divine Grace. I love the answer he got: “Find a way to give more classes. Fifteen minutes of teaching is worth two hours of study.” Many years ago, Maharaja personally shared this story with me, and I took it to heart. Every day for the last thirty-five years, especially when in India—and I was there at one time for almost twenty years straight—at 4:00 PM I would give class systematically on śāstra for not more than an hour.

 

I don’t so much have the nature to sit down and concentrate and study. I am amazed, however, how many books I was able to teach and study in this way.[1] Of course not everyone has the opportunity or nature to teach. After elaborating on this principle of study somewhat further, at the end of this post I will share a method that hopefully makes what I am talking about applicable for everyone.

 

Of note to this discussion is what appears to have been Śrīla Prabhupāda’s own example of study while leading and managing the Krishna consciousness movement. When I first came to Vrindavan, I could look down from the third-floor guest house where I resided and see Śrīla Prabhupāda in the wee hours of the morning sitting on his upstairs porch writing his commentary on the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. He would first read a section of the book he carried with him, which contained ten commentaries on each verse of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, and then dictate his own commentary based on what he read. Later in the morning, around 7:30 AM, he would leave his house and give a thirty-minute class in the temple. In other words, although he read the commentaries on the verses he would be writing about, it appeared that a great deal of his contemplation and realization of śāstra came by immediately reproducing it through writing and teaching about it.

 

On the path of bhakti, the most powerful practice to bring devotion into our hearts is kirtan, which is the oral reproduction of what we hear about Śrī Krishna.

 

Although we usually think of kirtan in terms of hearing and chanting the names of God, writing and speaking about the stories and philosophy of Krishna is also kirtan. Therefore, reproducing what we have heard or read by writing or speaking about it is not only an excellent way to learn śāstra but also a very powerful process of absorbing ourselves in Krishna and bringing devotion in our hearts.

 

One time I was visiting Śrīla Narayana Maharaja around 9:00 in the morning. By his regular schedule, I thought he would have finished his morning practice of chanting, but when I came in, he appeared to still be engaged in his morning sādhana, though I saw he was writing. When he saw me, he looked up, smiled, and said in a charming way, “Oh writing is such a good kṛṣṇānuśīlanam!” I immediately recognized what he said as the third line of Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmi‘s definition of uttama-bhakti where the svarūpa-lakṣaṇa, or primary characteristic of bhakti, is described—that one’s activities, whether mind, body, or words, are absorbed in or follow the pleasure or will of Krishna.

 

I believe that for these reasons, both to assimilate what he taught and to absorb oneself in Krishna consciousness, Śrīla Prabhupāda encouraged his disciples to write every day:

 

“Realization means you should write, every one of you, what is your realization…You write your realization, what you have realized about Kṛṣṇa. That is required. It is not passive. Always you should be active. Whenever you find time, you write. Never mind, two lines, four lines, but you write your realization…This is cultivation of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Hear, write, remember, try to understand. Don’t be dull, dull-headed. Very intelligent. Without being very intelligent, nobody can have full Kṛṣṇa consciousness. It is for the most intelligent man.”[2]

 

For those reading this that feel they need to be encouraged in their study of Krishna consciousness I am sharing an excerpt from an article I wrote[3] about a method of reading śāstra that takes only fifteen minutes but could well be your “two hours of study”!

 

  1. Set a time and place exclusively for reading shastra. If you don’t yet have the time or taste for it; even fifteen minutes is sufficient. More time, of course, is better, but whatever you can do is adequate to begin. During that time vow that nothing else will enter your sacred space, whether it’s email, Facebook, or even family.
  2. Before beginning your study, pray to the teacher or teachers that you will encounter during your reading. Whoever it is, whether it be the book’s main speakers, like Śukadeva or Sūta Gosvāmī, or its prominent commentators, like Śrīla Prabhupāda, pour your heart out to them. You will be in the presence of a pure devotee, and a true saint is nondifferent than their vāṇī, or teachings. Ask them for inspiration, guidance, or whatever you feel you need spiritually.
  3. Slowly and prayerfully read out loud in the mood of your entreaties and in the consciousness of being before the persons that are instructing you.
  4. If any sentence or point in the text strikes you as exceptionally significant or relevant, read it over three times.
  5. When the allotted time is up, close the book and offer obeisances to the saintly people in whose presence you have just learned. Express your gratitude.
  6. Optional: Add three to five minutes of free writing. Free writing means that without referring to the book, just begin to write about whatever point in your reading of the Bhāgavatam impressed you, or even just write anything you remember. The trick is to keep the pen moving and never stop writing, even if you have to say, “I don’t know what to write.” In my experience that will not happen, for just moving the pen mystically connects you to your memory. You will have plenty to say.

 

Busy all day in Govardhana with guests today but managed to speak on the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam at the end of the day to three eager listeners for thirty minutes. And that was my “hours of study” in a very busy day![4]

 

 


[1] These are some of the books I remember covering systematically over those years by teaching daily and speaking for not more than forty-five minutes: First Canto, Second Canto, Sixth Canto, Bhagavad-gītā. Complete Nectar of Devotion, Śrī Bhakti-sandarbha, Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta, Nārada-bhakti-sūtra, Yoga Sūtras, Jaiva Dharma, Krishna janmalīlā, Brahma-vimohana-līlā, The Killing of Dhenukāsura, Kālīya-līlā, Akrūra-līlā, Antya-līlā. Rāmānanda-saṁvāda, Caitanya-caritāmṛta, Caitanya-bhāgavata, five chapters of rasa-līlā, Uddhava-līlā, Govardhana-līlā (presently).

[2] Lecture, August 14, 1972, Los Angeles

[3] From Monday Morning Greetings November 27, 2017 “The Talking Book”

[4] Śrīla Prabhupāda gave many instructions to read his books. Ideally, we should be absorbed for hours in reading his books. As I move forward in my devotional life, I have become increasingly absorbed in reading Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books, but I still marvel how relevant and effective is Śrīla Prabhupāda’s insight is to reproduce by speaking and writing what we have heard.

 

Monday Morning Greetings 2023 #8 – Float Like a Butterfly and Eat Like a Bee

February 20th, 2023

Recognize the title?[1] It’s a parody of a verse by Muhammad Ali. What is important, however, is not where the verse originates, but what I am conveying through it. I am describing the practice of mādhukarī—literally mādhu (bee) to do (karī)—where sādhus gracefully saunter (float) in ecstasy around Govardhana Hill and sustain themselves by taking just a few roṭīs each from the homes of selected brāhmaṇas whose families have been fortunate to carry out this sādhu-sevā for generations, just like a bee who only takes (eats) a little pollen from each flower and goes onto the next.

 

Somehow—not sure why—I became inspired to give it a try this week. So, I was off to the nearby village of Āniyora to beg for roṭīs from the designated houses where they cook for sādhus. I didn’t get far, however. The first home I approached was the family of Bal Kishan, my 83-year-old Brijabasi friend, the very simple, pious patriarch of the Sharma family. I couldn’t proceed to other houses as Bal Kishan implored me to stay for a full meal, but sitting there did afford me the opportunity to not only observe the saintly sādhus coming for mādhukarī, but more importantly to witness the infectious mood of sādhu-sevā exuding from my hosts. Just by sitting there a realization came that I would like to share, but first I will briefly finish describing what I saw today on mādhukarī.

 

“Radhe! Radhe!” A humble sādhu comes to the doorway of the second and main floor of my friend’s Brijabasi dwelling, announcing his arrival in the most familiar of Braja greetings, which is also a local mantra for roṭī begging. The whole family, including Bal Kishan and seven grandchildren (all teens), innocently lounge in the traditional center family room, peacefully enjoying one another’s company, while just outside one of the mothers sits on the floor of the adjacent roofless veranda turning out roṭī after roṭī in their simple rustic kitchen. Immediately, the oldest granddaughter runs to the kitchen and takes two roṭīs and a scoop of sabjī from her mother’s hand, which the peaceful sādhu accepts humbly and smiles his blessings to the family before gently leaving to bless the next house with mādhukarī.

 

There is a takeaway from my mādhukarī morning and it’s śāstric—the ritual of opening one’s house to guests, especially true devotees of God, is one of the most powerful positive influences on the consciousness of a household, especially its children.

 

I think the most important reference supporting this principle about the power of Vaiṣṇava hospitality is found in the second chapter of the First Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam where Sūta Gosvāmī analyzes bhāgavata-dharma and concludes dharmasya hy āpavargyasya[2]—that dharma leads to liberation. What intrigued me the most about this verse, however, was a commentary that answered the question of exactly how dharma leads to liberation: A dharmic person opens his house to saintly persons and as one of them is likely to be a Vaiṣṇava, they inevitably will be blessed with bhakti, and that is how dharma leads to liberation. Bal Kishan’s family is certainly a testimony to the power of this principle.

 

Observing the beauty of this sādhu-serving family, a story from the novel Jaiva Dharma by Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura came to mind that seems to also confirm this same principle of the power of opening one’s house to others, but in an indirect way. It’s about a miserly couple who never opened their house for the service of others, although they lived in the most pious district of Saptagram, a community known specifically for their generosity. As a result of their miserliness, instead of producing generous children as the other families of the district had done, the children of this couple imbibed their parents’ mood. They became so greedy that they even usurped their parents’ house and even exiled them from their own town. Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura makes a very instructive point in this regard—that one moves from kaniṣṭha (neophyte) bhakta to madhyaṁ (fixed) bhakta when, through this type of generosity, the number of quality associates one brings into one’s life exceeds the number of people who are not spiritual.

 

Well, I failed at mādhukarī. I left the first house I visited not like a bee, but instead stuffed with roṭīs. I began the article with a parody of a statement by Muhammad Ali, but as I waddled back to my place, I only then realized that the joke was on me! Some bee!

 

 


[1] The title is a parody of the famous quote from Mohammad Ali — “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” — describing his fighting style where he would gracefully prance around the ring and then “sting” the opponent with his jab.

[2] Bhag. 1.2.9

Monday Morning Greetings 2023 #7 – Sadhus or Cyborgs

February 13th, 2023

About two months ago, my computer was in repair, and I had to write my Monday Morning Greetings by iPhone. I shared with someone how difficult it was. She said, “Why not just use a pen and paper?” Duh! I was so technologically conditioned that the alternative never even crossed my mind. My computer has crashed again, and I’m writing this on a legal pad. Ah! The joy of no texts! Here it goes:

 

Last week, I wrote about visiting an enchanting thick forest ashram in Vraja, where the sadhus live unencumbered by any modern technology, even electricity, and where hundreds of cows roam with their calves, just as they did when Krishna was here—and who is still here for those with eyes to see.

 

Just being there had such a powerful effect on my consciousness that it inspired a remembrance of a statement that I read many years ago. I think it was by Paramahamsa Yogananda:

 

“In terms of elevating our consciousness, environment is more powerful than willpower.”

 

Influenced by the power of this simple and devotionally laden environment, I began to reflect on how much I have fallen into the illusion that technology is essential to happiness, while, in fact, it mostly degrades the spirit. I was shocked. Have I been captured by the enemy?

 

OK. I get it. We need and use so many things from the modern techno world that have become essential for our day-to-day living, including our service to God. But are they essential, or do we only require them to counteract the inconvenience that this same modern techno world has thrust upon us, like the dire necessity for the sophisticated tools of communication to assuage the loneliness caused by the advancement of technology, which has broken communities and scattered friends and family all over the world? Wouldn’t it be great if, like the days of yore, all of our loved ones lived within walking distance, and it took just a few steps for all of us to join together in the saṅkīrtana of the holy name?

 

I am astounded at the powerbrokers in the modern world who, with almost a religious fervor, try to sell us the cult of technology as a solution to the world’s problems while the quality of life under their direction with every step forward seems to move progressively towards hell. Do they really believe their dogma?

 

Evidently, they do. Last month, while browsing through the airport bookstore, I briefly skimmed through 21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Professor Yuval Noah Harari, perhaps the most prominent voice today promoting the expansion of technology for the evolution and betterment of mankind. I took interest in him from a video someone sent me of his lecture at the World Economic Forum, where he seemed to serve as their intellectual spokesman[1]. Harari is no doubt a brilliant person. He fits carefully into the fourth category of people mentioned in Bhagavad-gītā who never come to Krishna, “those whose knowledge is stolen by illusion”.[2]

 

Harari professes a philosophy called “Dataism”, a title that he coined, which promotes a mindset that worships “Big Data”.[3] In short, he strongly believes and preaches that there is no soul, and thus the next step in evolution, if engineered carefully, is the development and perfection of human behavior through the collection and manipulation of data by the increasing sophistication of technology. A few of his thoughts for a better world:

 

“People are bad algorithms soon to be reduced to be replaced because machines can do it better.”

 

“In the future, the elite, with their advanced technologies, will determine what is best for mankind.”

 

I sit here in my room, pen and paper in hand, remembering the powerful effect on my consciousness of sitting in an untouched forest with pure sadhus and hundreds of cows. I was also inspired today to scorn the absurdity of technocrats claiming to improve God’s creation when, by their mercy, we sit on the brink of moral and economic collapse. Sadhus or cyborgs? What will you choose? I know my choice. If the land of the cows and simple sadhu-like village folk of Vraja is God’s vision for perfection, it is certainly good enough for me!

 

 


[1] https://youtu.be/QuL3wlodJC8

[2] Bg 7.15

[3] “Big Data” is defined, simply, as data that is so large, fast, or complex, that it is difficult or impossible to process with traditional methods.

 

Monday Morning Greetings 2023 #6 – What Makes Something Funny?

February 6th, 2023

The Joy of No Texts

I recently visited a far-off sacred forest of Vrindavan that I had never seen before. I was stunned by the beauty of a community of sadhus who have lived naturally, and who have protected a large forest, lush with peacocks and herds of cows, with no technology. I chanted “Jaya Radhe” and hundreds of cows affectionately walked towards me from hundreds of feet away. I became enlivened to write about the joy of no technology. When I returned home, the Gods of technology took revenge, and my computer crashed again. Luckily, they have allowed me to dictate this through my iPhone to Kadamba Mala, my editor. I have sent my computer back to America for repair, and I will also get a new one. For the next month I will write Monday Morning Greetings by hand. I am looking forward to the challenge of defeating the Gods of technology, who have, in a way, captured our souls. I am therefore forced to include a short reprint for an unprecedented third time in a row. Please forgive me.

What Makes Something Funny?

May 30, 2016

During my research for a talk on What Makes Something Funny, which was meant to follow a performance by the B.Centered comedy group, I was surprised that every great philosopher, from Aristotle to Kant, had a theory on comedy. I read through one thinker after the next, trying to understand what makes something funny, but I found the most profound theory to be the one espoused by none other than Groucho Marx:

“Humor is reason gone mad.”

It may be funny that Marx trumps Schopenhauer, but it seemed to make the most sense, as it was similar to a theory of comedy I had espoused many years before, based on the Bhagavad-gītā.[1]

I had posited that everything in this world serves the purpose of the world, which is liberation. As the Gītā says, when you are forced to act helplessly according to the modes of nature, you are a fool. I had surmised that comedy is a parody of that. If you describe someone who acts very thoughtfully, it is not funny but sobering. I had thus theorized that humor discourages conditioning by laughing at it. And now, fifteen years after writing my thesis on what makes something funny, while studying the theories of all major philosophers, I am convinced of the validity of mine—that humor is part of the Absolute Reality meant to discourage our folly—by the insights of Marx (not Karl):

Humor is reason gone mad!

 


[1] http://wavesofdevotion.com/2001/01/13/calcuttamayapur-met-kaustubha-jai-nitai/