Waves of Devotion

Last week I wrote about the sādhus who never stop walking. Last Tuesday I again walked halfway around Govardhan starting at 5:00 PM. With the heat and humidity, I sweated so much that when I returned from parikrama, although I drank almost a liter of water before bed, I didn’t get up once all night. I was dehydrated and exhausted. Yet these elderly, raggedy, worn old men walk two or three times a day around the whole hill, even now in the hot, humid rainy season! Are they over doing it? In what mode is their austerity? Could it possibly be ignorance?

“And those penances and austerities which are performed foolishly by means of obstinate self-torture, or to destroy or injure others, are said to be in the mode of ignorance.” (Bg. 17.19)

Of course, they mean no harm to others, but doesn’t it seem almost a kind of self-torture? Is it great devotion or over endeavor? Before having this discussion, let us introduce a short outline (my own) describing what is austerity, especially in the line of devotion.

The seven principles of tapasya

1. We are not the body, but we identify with and experience the pains and pleasures of the body due to the false ego, the desire to be the enjoyer and controller.
2. The general purpose of life is mokṣa (liberation), to become free from this false identification so we can live in the true self, the soul.
3. By extraneous sensual indulgence, one’s absorption in and identification with the body increases, which naturally exacerbates the pains and pleasures of the body.
4. As this is a temporary world full of suffering and “a pinch of suffering is felt more than a ton of pleasure”,[1] sensual indulgence meant for pleasure that increases our bodily identification almost counterintuitively increases our suffering exponentially.
5. In contrast, when one undergoes tapasya, voluntary discomfort for a spiritual objective,[2] one naturally abstracts oneself from absorption in the body and consequently minimizes suffering.
6. Vaiṣṇavas do not perform austerity for austerity’s sake, as it negates the heart and emotions that are required for cultivating and experiencing devotion. However, as some tapasya is still necessary for a Vaiṣṇava to help them transcend the material condition and to serve Śrī Krishna with greater focus, a Vaiṣṇava willingly accepts the bodily and mental inconveniences that arise naturally during a simple and fully dedicated devotional life.
7. A simple definition of tapasya (for Vaiṣṇavas): “Despite the irrational impulses of the mind and body, one engages fully in one’s devotional service.”[3]

Now back to our walking Vaiṣṇava sādhus. How do we characterize their tapasya? Of course, according to the Bhagavad-gītā, austerity can be mixed with passion if done for some reward, or even done in ignorance if done harshly and with ill motive. It’s hard for me, however, to envision some material benefit for what they are doing. This is what I do know:

For a Vaiṣṇava, circumambulation of the Deity is one of the sixty-four items of devotional service, especially when chanting God’s names constantly. Parikrama forces one physically and even mentally to place God or Śrī Girirāja in the center of one’s existence and to move to the periphery. The very nature of this activity thus puts one in a good place to beg Śrī Krishna for mercy and is therefore devotional and humbling at its core.

India is also tapa bhūmi, the land of tapasya. Despite the onslaught of materialism in the last century, there are still, to this day, true tapasvīs who have been born here who have zero interest in this world, like these sādhus. It seems so, otherwise, why would they spend their whole life walking around a sacred hill chanting God’s name? And it is certainly not a fruitive endeavor, for as soon as they meet their vow for the day, they must begin anew the following day!

If indeed, by one’s karma, one is inclined for renunciation, why not use it in the service of Krishna by throwing oneself fully into service in that way without any other material concern? Such renunciation in service to Krishna is certainly in our line. Look at the instructions of Śrī Caitanya to Śrī Raghunātha about renunciation and how pleased the Lord was that he dedicated himself to God to such an extent that he practically gave up eating and sleeping. Are not the walking sādhus just following in his footsteps? But what does this have to do with us?

Yes, there are rare souls who, by dint of their spiritual evolution, are qualified to completely renounce the world for the purpose of dedicating themselves to Śrī Krishna. Although such a life is noteworthy, it is not necessary on the path of devotion, for the essence of bhakti is dedication and not renunciation. In other words, devotion is giving oneself fully to Krishna, not physically renouncing the world. In the name of devotion, however, we cannot negate the value of tapasya, for it helps us transcend the bodily concept of life, which facilitates a fuller absorption in Krishna. We should therefore be careful not to fall prey to a Western complex (as opposed to simple) lifestyle that is geared to avoiding bodily discomfort or tapasya at any cost. Nor should we shy away from the challenges and inconveniences that may come in dedicated devotional service[4] or the special opportunities to perform tapasya offered in our lineage to increase our devotion, such as fasting on days like Ekādaśī.

Today on parikrama I passed a group of about ten of the walking sādhus. It seems they stop at a particular tea stall for a few minutes to sit and drink water. I stopped and watched them carefully. One saw me and gracefully put his left hand over his heart, slowly bowing his head ever so slightly to offer respects. I saw another gently smile in loving exchange with another. Although they were tired, I could feel their bhava, their mood of devotion. I understood that what was externally a chore, was certainly a joy for them, so much so, that in another seven or eight hours they would be in the exact same place on their second time around! I humbly bow to the sādhus who never stop walking.

Conclusion: We cannot imitate the walking sādhus, but we should certainly follow in their footsteps:

“Lord Ṛṣabhadeva told His sons: My dear boys, of all the living entities who have accepted material bodies in this world, one who has been awarded this human form should not work hard day and night simply for sense gratification, which is available even for dogs and hogs that eat stool. One should engage in penance and austerity to attain the divine position of devotional service. By such activity, one’s heart is purified, and when one attains this position, he attains eternal, blissful life, which is transcendental to material happiness and which continues forever.” (Bhag. 5.5.1)

[1] Not sure where I read this quote.

[2] It is important to understand that hardship that is forced upon one may not necessarily detach oneself from the body. Tapasya is voluntary, so it has spiritual objective, and it is this internal objective along with the self-imposed bodily inconvenience that is purifying.

[3] This definition is from the BBT translation of the 10^th Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. I cannot find the reference off hand, but it is from a commentary after the Bhaktivedanta Purports that struck me when I read it many years ago.

[4] I am not minimizing the great tapasya that naturally comes from those who dedicate themselves to spreading the mission of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu and strictly follow the bhakti sādhana that they were given.

I believe that’s the title of a book by Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami aptly describing its contents—free writing—a process of writing where, without a specific preconceived idea of a subject to write about, one just lets one’s pen fly. It’s been so busy a week, so let me “just write”.

A disciple proudly shared with me that they have been my student since their teens, more than twenty-five years ago. I thought, “But are you chanting your rounds?” I thought of the story of the boatman, who rowed all night, but forgot to pull up the anchor and despite all that effort remained in the same place. Pulling up the anchor is a metaphor for letting go of our extraneous attachments and taking full shelter of the will of Śrī Guru and Śrī Krishna. If you don’t, you stay in the same place no matter how long you have been a devotee. I challenged myself. “Fifty years and how far have you advanced?” Time to let go, fully surrender and, through attachment for the holy name, enter the realm of real devotion. That’s why I am here.

Well, that’s it for “just write”. What happened?  A “Greetings” theme just came a few hours ago, so when I sat down again this afternoon for another writing session, rather than “just write” I felt compelled to carefully write about what just happened and share my realization about it.

I was walking out from my ashram to the parikrama path to go visit a friend down the road for lunch. When I reached the parikrama road, I saw a group of very worn, bare-chested sādhus wearing just their simple white loin cloth limping past. One very old sādhu, back bent forward, had his left arm on a friend’s shoulder in front him to brace his rickety knees from the shock every time one of his feet hit the pavement. Another was using a crutch-like cane, the kind supported by one’s whole forearm. All of them had layer after layer of dirty white cloth wrapped around their feet to ease the pain of their worn-down raw feet repeatedly hitting the ground. It was painful to watch. I had heard of these devotees before. They are here under the midday sun because they practically never stop walking, going around twice, some even three times a day! A friend of mine once asked one of them why they perform such arduous austerities. No matter how many times he asked, and no matter in whatever way he phrased the question, the answer was same: “I’m so sinful! I’m so sinful!” My friend carefully listened to the old sādhu’s voice. He had no doubt it was the crying of the soul tired of being engaged by bodily demands and calling for Krishna in separation.

The next morning while chanting I thought of that sādhu. I felt I could do so much more in my devotional practices if, like that sādhu, I also got more tired of my bodily demands and regretted more deeply my separation from Krishna. I self-reflected at least enough to sincerely call out in my mind, “I’m so sinful” and continued chanting. The mood was right, contrition and begging for the holy name.

I also took the sādhu’s example of devotional punishment.[1] I went around Govardhan yesterday during the day when I was free. It was humid. It was tough. It was blissful. I was inspired:

tapo divyaṁ putrakā yena sattvaṁ

śuddhyed yasmād brahma-saukhyaṁ tv anantam

“One should engage in penance and austerity to attain the divine position of devotional service. By such activity, one’s heart is purified, and when one attains this position, he attains eternal, blissful life, which is transcendental to material happiness and which continues forever.” (Bhag. 5.1.1)[2]

Just write. A nice exercise. I pray it worked.

[1] One doesn’t perform austerities to torture the body. Next week, I think I will analyze the concept of tapasya to explain why the austerities of the walking sādhus of Govardhan are enlightening and not in ignorance as described in the Bhagavad-gītā:

“And those penances and austerities which are performed foolishly by means of obstinate self-torture, or to destroy or injure others, are said to be in the mode of ignorance.” (17.19)

[2] If you have time, I suggest you read Śrīla Prabhupāda’s purport on the above verse: https://vedabase.io/en/library/sb/5/5/1/

The best laid plans of mice and men[1]

I am writing this from the Five Towns Inn in Lawrence, Long Island, New York. My flight today to India to observe Puruṣottama Māsa[2] in Govardhana was cancelled. I will try again tomorrow. My trip naturally started with slight anxiety as it always does. That is how my mind works when having to travel by plane, especially a long trip. It’s a saṁskāra, an impression, probably from a previous life, that, for no good reason, makes me react somewhat worrisomely when travelling. As soon as I get in the car to the airport, I begin to anxiously pat my different pockets to see if I forgot my wallet, passport, or something else. I then envision the horror of not finding a space for my carry-on, and other silly thoughts. Anyway, this time I resolved to be mindful—that I am not the controller, that what happens is Krishna’s will, and therefore I should be peaceful in any situation in life, what to speak of travelling. It kind of worked, at least within the limits of my realization. I became mindful to catch my mind before it followed its whims. Instead, I turned towards my faith to see every twist of fate, no matter what that may be, as just a different opportunity for service. Off now to the airport for the second time to catch a flight to Śrī Vrindavan, if Śrī Krishna so desires.

Praise and the death of my devotion

It wasn’t easy to finish my post last week as I was leading the upstate Bhakti Immersion retreat last weekend. As I had to finish writing it between breaks, when my last post, “Praise and the Death of Devotion”, was done, I wasn’t sure of its quality. Therefore, I read it to my friend Jayanta das during dinner for feedback, as he is educated, literary, and frank. “That was incredible. It’s one of the best…” I heard enough to know what he was saying was about, but because of the noise in the dining room, I didn’t hear him fully. I instinctively leaned forward and perked my ears to hear more. I looked up, Jayanta was chuckling. Rascal! He caught me. He did, however, honestly like the post.

I like Mormons

Despite the objective of the modern media to dis anything religious, from the show Unorthodox[3] to the Broadway musical The Book of Mormon,[4] I am usually impressed when I meet the young religious in the post-modern age.[5] In the JFK lounge waiting for my flight, a young, handsome, clean-cut young man came up to me politely: “Excuse me sir, can I ask you some questions? I am going to India with my friend, and we are inquisitive about your religion.” He went on to explain that he was a Mormon, had just came back from his two-year mission to Brazil, attended the Holī festival at Spanish Fork ISKCON, and was curious to learn more about the world. We chatted. I was impressed with him. He was highly moral, emotionally balanced, humble, and innocent, but with a strong mind, which is the ability to control and express emotions. His friend was a beautiful young lady, his age, whom I later met. When I asked if she was his girlfriend, he said matter of factly, “No, just a friend.” His voice was earnest. Now that’s impressive, traveling with a beautiful lady alone and not melting in passion. Who are these people? The main take away from meeting Jacob and Reagan was that growing up with an intact family that instills values within a greater community that supports those values produces evolved souls, especially compared to the general youth in America, who seem so confused about their mission in life and the values they should emulate. Jacob and Reagan will visit me in Vrindavan. They asked me to teach them meditation. I will keep you posted.

Destiny is the language of God

Arrived in Vrindavan for five weeks. I will return again shortly in mid-September. It’s humid now, and anyone I know that assists or befriends me is gone. I thought for a second, “What the hell am I doing here now!” My trip, however, was not whimsical. I thought deeply about it and consulted my mentors, and destiny is also the language or indication of God’s will. God talks or instructs one by how one’s life unfolds? I wake up early, and except for chanting and some writing I have no external obligations during the day. That certainly was not my plan, but it’s Krishna’s, so I am grateful. My service seems to be mostly sedentary sādhu life, so why not Vrindavan? I love it here—Vrindavan in the rainy season—bare chested, barefooted, pleasant cold showers, and a solitary life dedicated to begging the holy name for service and for more direction for the next phase of my life.

SDG (Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami) July Festival

Every year I try to go to this simple and sweet festival honoring Śrīla Satsvarūpa Mahārāja in July. He is nearing eight-four years of age, so his age and physical condition affords him the energy to sit for only a half hour of kirtan followed by another half hour reading from some of his new books. Even though he was not lecturing, but reading, the voice in his writing is strong and engaging. He read from his book about making the best use of a bad bargain. The bad bargain being the old age and disease that plague him, and the best use of it is his ability to still serve, mostly the opportunity to write, despite that. Afterwards, I was able to go to where he was sitting just to exchange some pleasantries and honor him. He told me he reads Monday Morning Greetings every week and that it was a mix of high philosophy and my personal life. I sensed he liked the second objective better as it’s more his style of writing. Somehow, this week’s post is just a simple recount of my travels and consequent arrival in the Dhāma. Nothing exceptionally deep here, so let me end with some food for thought that came to me today. It’s still quite simple:

For the six months I usually reside here, there a huge influx of international pilgrims that I try to serve. I love it, but with that life comes all my upādhis, material designations—guru, preacher, leader, and so on. Now here I am, just another anonymous resident of Vraja. It’s a sweet and simple life. I have even been able to rest my active mind and fertile brain to just bask in the simplicity and sweetness of Vraja, called mādhurya. “Enjoy it when it lasts,” I tell myself, because I am sure, by the grace of Śrī Śrī Guru and Gauranga, challenges will be thrown my way that will require a depth of realization to digest. They may even provide some good stuff to write about, but for now I just hope you have enjoyed “The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men and Other Thoughts”, the more personal and simple style of my writing.

Stayed tuned. See you next week from Govardhana!

[1] Of Mice and Men is a book by the famous American author John Steinbeck. The title of the book is from Scottish poet, Robert Burns’ poem “To a Mouse” — “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley”, translated into English, “The best laid plans of mice and men / Often go awry”. This also serves as one of the themes of the book: destiny being superior to our will.

[2] https://iskcondesiretree.com/page/Purusottama-adhika-masa

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unorthodox_(miniseries)

[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Book_of_Mormon_(musical)

[5] Every religion has its faults and scandals. Those bad parts can be highlighted by the media to create a narrative. I often find a dichotomy between the media narrative and what I’ve found when meeting people of faith personally. I found this documentary quite interesting in that regard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUDFpt6lcew

A devotee certainly doesn’t embrace praise. Rather, they resist it.[1]

“Jaya! Jaya!”, meaning “victory”, is what subordinates chant to praise someone they revere. If one eagerly accepts that praise and doesn’t dismiss it in some way, at least internally, their devotional spirit will be dampened. Why? Casually accepting praise puts one in the center, which feeds one’s core material nature to enjoy, control, and to feel superior, which is antithetical to the mood of bhakti or devotion. In other words, devotion is the mood of serving the center, and therefore one who has devotion shuns praise that tends to move one towards the center and away from devotion.

It’s not that a devotee deflecting praise is just doing it from a theoretical platform of “it is not good to accept praise”. It is genuinely the way a true devotee feels.

A devotee who has the sincerity to look inward sees clearly that whatever they have of worth, including their talents and intelligence, is coming by the grace of God and can be withdrawn in a second. How then can a devotee seriously embrace praise for their status or accomplishments?

A devotee also doesn’t easily accept praise because an awareness of God naturally illuminates the true nature of the soul as simply one among countless jivas who are mere sparks of God’s splendor. How can a person with such realization possibly feel entitled to glorification independent of guru and Krishna?

But there is something more:

A devotee not only doesn’t feel worthy of praise, but they also have no taste for it. Only the humble feel affection or love, for whatever is received by a proud person is accepted as something deserved, not something coming out of mercy or kindness. As the humble devotee can feel God’s affection and naturally experiences feelings of devotion as a result, which is God’s pleasure potency, why would they seek praise to inflate their ego and dampen such joy?

One of the best ways to understand the philosophy of devotion, however, is through the devotees who exemplify it. A few examples:

Śrīla Prabhupāda had just returned from a preaching program where he had to speak strongly against another speaker who not only misrepresented the philosophy, but spoke offensively about Krishna as well. Śrīla Prabhupāda was fatigued from a long day of service, so when he returned home, he sat cross legged on the floor and had one of his servants massage his shoulders. The servant was proud of how his spiritual master quieted this cheat and suddenly had a vision according to his own nature. He envisioned Śrīla Prabhupāda sitting on a stool in the corner of a boxing ring like the heavyweight champion after thrashing an opponent. As he continued to massage Śrīla Prabhupāda’s shoulders in this mood, he blurted out, “Śrīla Prabhupāda, you are the greatest!” Śrīla Prabhupāda became silent for a moment and then soberly turned to his servant: “No, I am just a devotee!”

Forty years ago, in a sparsely attended maṅgala-ārati in the Krishna Balarama Mandir, someone pointed to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s vyāsāsana where a sādhu with folded hands was deeply immersed in prayer. That sādhu was soon recognized as the great saint Śrīla Akincana Krishna das Bābājī. As soon as Bābājī Mahārāja realized that he was being noticed in adulation, he immediately scuttled off.

In 1992 I wanted to do an article on the famous and very beautiful sādhu who was ordered by his guru to paint the name of Radha Krishna on every tree and wall in Vrindavan. I humbly asked if I could take his picture. “No. I am not in this for name and fame!” he forcefully replied.

Let us all remember the instructions of Śrīla Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī to his mind:

“O mind! How can the highest and purest prema ever touch my heart while the desire for prestige dances there like a shameless dog-eating, outcaste woman? You must constantly serve those unparalleled generals of the army of the Lord who are most dear to Him. They can quickly expel that woman and allow prema to enter the heart.” (Manaḥ-śikṣā 7)

[1] In Vedic culture one sometimes must take a position of spiritual leadership and accept adulation from their students, which is the duty of a students. Even if one must accept that adulation externally, they must be internally very vigilant to accept it only on behalf of and in a mood of service to their own spiritual master.

A great spot for a parade—a wide boardwalk filled with throngs of people enamored by Bally’s, Harrah’s, and at least a dozen other impressive edifices of cheat, with the ocean to its side to boot. As I walk down the Atlantic City boardwalk to meet the Ratha-yātrā, I hear a city public service announcement blaring that struck me as a bit strange:

“Anyone who has a gambling problem please call 1-800-GAMBLER.” I chuckle, “The whole city is a gambling problem. Just shut the whole damn thing down!”

As I continue to walk to greet Lord Jagannath, while surveying the mecca of New Jersey “fun”, another thought came to mind: “This is their Vrindavan—their concept of heaven.” In other words, as devotees of Sri Krishna see Vrindavan as the abode of joy, people here wander around this fantasy world as their ultimate destination of happiness, and probably even envision heaven as casinos and boardwalks.

The greatest tragedy is having the wrong faith or goal, one that will not only not bear true happiness but will ultimately lead to the opposite, which is more suffering. How is that? Happiness is a matter of consciousness, not just the things we surround ourselves with, and when those things are frivolous or sinful, a false and temporary identity is fostered, which means duality and fear. Win or lose here on the boardwalk, there is only degradation of consciousness and more suffering.

The next day, I gave a short class to our congregation here in New Jersey as Jayadvaita Swami, our special guest, would speak at length after me. Atlantic City was still on my mind, and while I usually speak on the more positive aspects of Krishna consciousness, such as the bliss of Vrindavan-līlā, my class spontaneously turned to hellfire and brimstone.[1]

“Suffering is when the world moves against our desires, and enjoyment is when the world moves according to our desires. To be the enjoyer, not sufferer, on the material platform you must be the controller. We are not, and therefore, we cannot be the enjoyer. Material attachment, therefore, ultimately means suffering. Honestly, if I lost my cell phone today, I would suffer. If something like that would disturb you, imagine what it feels like losing everything at once. That’s called death, and it’s coming soon. If we don’t cultivate non-attachment, and realize our eternal nature as Krishna’s servant, how much suffering awaits us!” I went on and on. Whew!

Jayadvaita Swami spoke next. If you know the Mahārāja, he needs no prompting to talk about renunciation. He takes his sannyāsa dharma seriously and is quite comfortable representing his ashram by living and strongly preaching non-attachment. He spoke very forcefully about the nature of material life and the need to cultivate non-attachment. He warned the audience not to become “dharmic karmīs”, a term he seemed to coin, having a veneer of religiosity, but at heart making one’s prime goal expanding one’s material existence.

I surveyed and gauged the audience’s reaction, as people, even devotees, can’t always swallow the unfiltered truth that this temporary world is simply suffering. Also, there is a history in ISKCON of the misapplied preaching of renunciation that mistakenly caused some to prematurely renounce family life, which may make people apprehensive to hear about renunciation in general. Most of the audience were past their forties and were practicing Krishna consciousness to one degree or another, but there were some newer and well-educated people as well. His lecture, however, was very well received, and that was the feedback I got later. I surmised that the people attending were honest and already had enough of material life to realize that that Swami’s uncompromising, but well-reasoned and clear message, could not be easily denied.

Of course, there is a philosophy of attachment that people should take what they need to be peaceful for the ultimate goal of self-actualization. I speak about that often, but hearing Mahārāja speak and seeing the positive response of the audience, I realized how important it is that we also hear a healthy exposé of the world we live in. I read something this morning in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam that shows that, like Mahārāja, the Bhāgavatam also cuts to the chase in this regard. It’s too good not to share:

“Death is not at all pleasing, and since everyone is exactly like a condemned man being led to the place of execution, what possible happiness can people derive from material objects or the gratification they provide?” (Bhag. 11.10.20)

And that’s my hellfire, brimstone, and Atlantic City!

[1] Idiom to describe a preacher’s intense speech when he focuses on the misery awaiting one in hell.