Waves of Devotion

I just finished studying and teaching the second chapter of the Madhya-līlā, “The Ecstatic Manifestations of Lord Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu”. It’s a challenging chapter because counter-intuitively the highest ecstasy is described as manifest through emotions, which reflect neither ecstasy nor the highest consciousness, but gloom and an uncontrolled mind:

“[…] all the ecstatic symptoms of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu—including despondency, moroseness, humility, restlessness, joy, endurance and anger—instructed His body and mind.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 2.76)

Śrīla Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja outlines this dichotomy:

“Externally there appeared severe tribulation, as if He were suffering from poisonous effects, but internally He was experiencing bliss. This is characteristic of transcendental love of Krishna.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 2.50)

My attempt to resolve this quandary:

Beyond Duality

The spiritual realm is beyond duality. The Taittiriya Upaniṣad describes this as raso vai saḥ, “He (the Lord) is rasa (heightened love)”, which is ecstasy, because pure love is the highest pleasure. Makes sense. If there is a God, everything that happens in His spiritual realm would naturally be only for the purpose of intensifying rasa, or His transcendental pleasure, and thus every emotion, even the apparently negative ones, would also serve this purpose and in that way there is no duality between the agony and the ecstasy there. The rasa theory further resolves this dichotomy.

The Rasa Theory

The rasa theory, based on the Nāṭya Śāstra, is a thorough description of how drama is to be composed. It’s a complex thesis but let me try to simplify it for our purpose, which is to reconcile how agony can be ecstasy in Krishna’s pastimes. Rasa is a consuming human emotion. There are generally nine in number such as tragedy (karuṇa-rasa), fear (bhayānaka–rasa), romance (śṛṅgāra-rasa), and so on. Rasa theory is the science of recreating a consuming emotion in a drama, so that the qualified audience feels that same emotion and enjoys the drama. In other words, the audience should feel sorrow (karuṇa-rasa) while watching a tragedy or feel scared (bhayānak-rasa) while watching a horror movie and enjoy those dramas at the same time, a dichotomy I think we may have all experienced. Śrī Krishna-līlā in the spiritual world, as portrayed in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, operates by the same principles of drama found in the Nāṭya Śāstra, but instead of recreating one of the nine consuming human emotions, Śrī Krishna-līlā is about bhakti-rasa, the heightening of love for God. Cannot therefore the same principle be applied there, where negative emotions are intensely felt but enjoyed at the same time? But I think there is one more point that is even more compelling in terms of resolving this dichotomy.

The Lord has Inconceivable Potency

We often make the mistake when trying to solve apparent contradictions in reference to the Divine by trying to resolve them through how things operate in this world, forgetting that God has inconceivable potency and thus not subject to the laws of nature and the reasoning they dictate. The Śrī Īśopaniṣad describes this nicely:

“The Supreme Lord walks and does not walk. He is far away, but He is very near as well. He is within everything, and yet He is outside of everything.” (Mantra 5)

Śrīla Prabhupāda elucidates the point further in his purport:

“[…] Ordinarily, if someone can walk, it is illogical to say he cannot walk. But in reference to God, such a contradiction simply serves to indicate His inconceivable power. With our limited fund of knowledge we cannot accommodate such contradictions, and therefore we conceive of the Lord in terms of our limited powers of understanding.”

So, I think, in a sense, this may be the ultimate reconciliation of such quandaries—that God has inconceivable potencies, and such contradictions cannot be resolved by ordinary reasoning based on how the laws of nature operate, which do not rule the Absolute.

So can the agony be the ecstasy? Why not?

I was standing in a large meadow in Golden Gate Park in the middle of San Francisco before the stage where Śrīla Prabhupāda was lecturing to thousands of young people who were attracted by the Ratha-yātrā. It was July 1974. Perhaps, you remember that famous picture of Śrīla Prabhupāda wearing a white sweater adorned with a starkly contrasted bright red rose garland, his hands raised in ecstasy in kirtan surrounded on stage by his dancing disciples. To this day I remember the profundity and force of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s speech that reverberated from the speakers in the trees that lined the back of the meadow:

“There are so many movements of liberation: women’s liberation, black liberation, this liberation, and that liberation, BUT THIS IS THE MOVEMENT OF THE LIVING ENTITY!”

Now let me take you forward to yesterday, here in Govardhan, and then explain what inspired me to connect that experience to what I heard in 1974.

Paramananda das and his son Kana were visiting, so I took them, along with two lady guests, Bhakti Śāstra and Yogamāyā, for some Brijabasi rotis in the nearby village of Aniyor in Govardhan at the house of the family of Bal Kishan Sharma, 84, one of the blessed brāhmaṇa families who, for generations, cook rotis for the sādhus who circumambulate the hill once or twice daily. I like to share the experience of taking lunch there with others so they can relish the rotis and watch one effulgent sādhu after another show up at the door as the family enthusiastically responds to serve them. When we arrived, Bal Kishan was there along with his wife, daughter-in-law, and a couple of late teen/early twenties granddaughters congregated in their small second floor common room, which also has two attached small bedrooms and an adjacent uncovered large veranda that houses a small enclave for their one simple clay chula (stove) on the floor.

We watched how the family exchanged so lovingly with each other, served us with enthusiasm and reciprocated with the sādhus who blessed them with their smiles. When we finished, they also brought us into their web of joy and laughter. It took me some time to extract our group from the “party.” I finally just looked at my watch and decided it was time to kill the fun and politely asked permission to go. We then proceeded again towards the parikrama on a small village road perpendicular to the front of their house, which rests practically adjacent to Govardhan Hill. It was the first day of spring so as we were walking, we passed many elderly Brijabasi ladies sitting in bunches in front of various houses getting sun and enjoying each other’s company. Upon seeing us they also invited the people with me to exchange with them. My party was again caught in a web of joy.

When were back on the parikrama path, I think we all had the same epiphany—that this was a kind of Alice in Wonderland experience where you fall down a rabbit hole into a fantasy world. It was like a veil was lifted and we entered Krishna’s village thousands of years ago when He was manifest there. But something else struck me that was also more topical, which is the focus of what I was inspired to share this week and brings me back Śrīla Prabhupāda’s comment in 1974.

Besides our epiphany in relationship to seeing the real Vrindavan, I also saw something more basic, a very functional family and community. To me it was such a stark contrast to the increasing social dysfunction today in the west, especially America, where I stay part of the year. Numerous studies show that there is a burgeoning mental health epidemic that just can’t be minimized by the greater awareness of mental illness today.[1] It’s real, just as is the rapidly increasing problems of drugs, crime, and loneliness in the modern world are real. I think you have to be blind to not see that something has gone terribly awry. Therefore, when leaving Aniyor, and experiencing what seemed to me to be the best of tradition in terms of family and community and contrasting that to what I am seeing today, I thought of the statement by Śrīla Prabhupāda that reverberated in my ears in 1974—that although some change, some liberation was arguably needed, that alone would not lead to the transformation that people wanted and that should be obvious today more than ever. What we need more than ever before is a spiritual revival—A MOVEMENT OF THE LIVING ENTITY!

[1] Studies that indicate this take into account that mental illness is less of a stigma and more readily acknowledged and reported today.

There is a principle in spiritual life that the more one is advanced in devotion, the less devotion one feels they have. Here’s how Śrī Caitanya feels at the height of His devotion:

“Srī Caitanya Mahāprabhu continued, ‘My dear friends, I have not the slightest tinge of love of Godhead within My heart. When you see Me crying in separation, I am just falsely exhibiting a demonstration of My great fortune. Indeed, not seeing the beautiful face of Krishna playing His flute, I continue to live My life like an insect, without purpose.’” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 2.46)

It sounds almost counterintuitive to have the most of something, in this case devotion, but to feel you have none of it. Here’s four reasons why this is the case in terms of prema-bhakti, the height of devotion:

Purity and humility

Just as in a clear, pure glass of water a speck of dust becomes apparent, in a pure heart even an apparent indiscretion seems significant. Srīla Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja illustrates this humble position in relation to attaining prema with a similar analogy:

“Love for Lord Krishna is very pure, just like the waters of the Ganges. That love is an ocean of nectar. That pure attachment to Krishna does not conceal any spot, which would appear just like a spot of ink on a white cloth.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 2.48)

The immanence of God and humility

The very definition of maya (illusion) is ma (not) ya (this)—that what you are seeing is not what it is. In other words, everything is God’s energy, but we fall into the illusion that it is not God’s because if we recognize God’s immanence then our false ego, the desire for a sense of control and superiority, cannot be maintained, and we are humbled. In contrast, one who has pure devotion embraces God’s immanence rather than avoid it, for seeing God’s immanence is simply an inspiration to serve Him. In this regard, I always liked how Śrī Gopīparāṇadhana dāsa, in his commentary to Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta, described the reason why a pure brāhmaṇa so militantly demurred Nārada’s praise, when Nārada deemed him the topmost recipient of Śrī Krishna’s mercy:

“Any true devotee of Krishna considers himself insignificant, thinking himself one of countless jīvas who are mere sparks of God’s splendor.” (Bb. 1.1.44, commentary)

Hunger and humility

When one strongly desires something, one feels a lack of it, even if they have a substantial amount of it, just as a craving for food indicates a lack of it in one’s mind, even if one already has been sufficiently fed. Pure devotion is the strong desire to be with and serve God. Therefore, as one’s hunger for God increases, one naturally feels they have less and less devotion.

Reverence for the sādhus and humility

A devotee just related to me an exchange that he had with a senior Vaiṣṇava from ISKCON who had just given class, a devotee I know for his deep internal attainment. He asked him how to remain humble when one’s devotion increases, especially when one has a deep religious or spiritual experience. I loved his answer: “We don’t compare ourselves to our previous selves or compare our devotion to just anybody, but we compare ourselves to those more advanced in devotion. Whenever I feel Krishna’s mercy while chanting in a particular place of pilgrimage in Vrindavan, I just imagine what Srīla Rūpa Gosvāmī was feeling there in comparison, and it’s humbling”. When this was related to me, I immediately thought of Uddhava’s response when Śrī Nārada approached him as the topmost recipient of Krishna’s mercy:

“[…] Aware of what Nārada was thinking, Uddhava remembered many devotees who had received the Lord’s special favor. As Uddhava meditated on those devotees, their love for the Lord, and the wealth of their loving ecstasies, he felt distress, thinking himself fallen, and cried helplessly […]” (Bb. 1.6.19-21)

It should not, therefore, be hard to understand:

“Wherever there is a relationship of love of Godhead, its natural symptom is that the devotee does not think himself a devotee. Instead, he always thinks that he has not even a drop of love for Krishna.” (Cc. Antya-līlā 20.28)

Years ago, I showed a short TED Talk called “The Art of Distraction” during a japa seminar.[1] It featured Apollo Robbins, the world’s most expert pick pocket, explaining and demonstrating his art. His premise was that perception is based on attention and as the mind can focus on only one sense at a time, if you can distract a person from the feel of touch in their pocket to some other sense—perhaps touching them someplace else—you can pick their pocket without them knowing it. He was so expert at the art of distraction that he was able to pick the pocket of a person brought on stage right in front of the audience with neither the person nor the audience noticing it.

This principle—that perception is based on attention—is more deeply described in Sāṅkhya when discussing the two main qualities of the mind as anutvam (atomic) and ekatvam (it can only focus on a singular object at one time).[2] Using these terms, for example, “the art of distraction” can be translated as deliberately moving or distracting the atomic and single focused mind away from something someone really wants, in this case a focus on the things in their pocket for the purpose of taking them without notice. It doesn’t take much to understand how this principle of perception based on attention can be applied to japa meditation, for if one doesn’t take precaution to concentrate on hearing the holy name by at least creating a time and space for chanting free from distraction, our perception of, and therefore taste for, the holy name will probably be compromised. I would like, however, to couch this discussion in just a slightly different way, which I will aptly call “the art of traction”—consciously moving the atomic and singular focused mind toward something we want, in this case the sense of hearing, so that we can perceive (hear) Krishna’s holy name during our japa meditation.

There are two ways that the mind can be focused in japa meditation by “the art of traction”. We can do this by bringing the atomic mind to a single focus on hearing the holy name by consciously awakening an understanding that we should do so (traction by intelligence) or awakening an attraction to do so (traction by the heart).

Of course, the most powerful connection with an object is through traction by the heart, or an emotional connection, in the case of japa meditation by a love for Krishna and thus an attachment to His holy name. Most of us, however, either do not have a profound attraction for Krishna or are too distracted at the beginning of our meditation to immediately access such devotion. Here are just some ways in which I try to gain traction for meditation, at least at the beginning of my chanting.

There are no hard and fast rules for gaining traction for the holy name. This post is more about explaining a principle than outlining a definitive guide. To demonstrate the “art of traction” I will therefore share two ways I have used recently to gain traction in meditation, and then I will share a link to some other ways that I have previously described.

An example of traction by intelligence

Focusing on one couplet of the mantra: I especially consciously focus on pronouncing one couplet of the Hare Krishna mantra, usually the first. At the beginning of our meditation the mind may wander even during one mantra. By bringing the mind to the first couplet with special concentration on pronouncing it helps fix the atomic mind (anutvam) back to singular focus (ekatvam) on the whole mantra. I was inspired to do this by Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura’s Bhajan Rahasya.[3]

An example of traction by the heart

Reading and chanting: The Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam and books based on the Bhāgavatam describe and imbibe devotion for the person (Śrī Krishna) whose name you are chanting. The combination of imbibing the mood of the Bhāgavatam and chanting the holy name can help one gain focus in japa meditation, especially when done together. This was the example of Śrī Caitanya in the Gambhīra. During His bhajan, He both chanted the holy name and listened to the songs and stories of the person of the name He was chanting (Śrī Krishna) recited by His confidential associates Śrī Rāmānanda Rāya and Śrī Svarūpa Dāmodara. Following His example, sometimes before chanting and after every eight rounds or so I read a few pages of Krishna Book.

Other examples of the art of traction

In a post from over ten years ago I mentioned five ways in which I gained traction for chanting, both from the intelligence and heart. For example, I mentioned how Śrīla Prabhupāda told us to chant like a child crying for his mother, which is a powerful technique to gain traction in meditation by the heart.

https://wavesofdevotion.com/2012/04/10/the-five-qualities-of-effective-mantra-meditation/

We should not be surprised that meditation is not always easy for us. The Bhāgavatam predicts that people today will always be disturbed and distracted.[4] I thus found it helpful to understand “the art of distraction” and apply “the art of traction”.

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZGY0wPAnus

[2] I first heard this concept of the mind in a discussion with Bhakti Vijnana Goswami about ayurveda and mental health. I assumed it is from the school of Sāṅkhya but never confirmed it.

[3] I first was inspired to do this by reading Bhajan Rahasya by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura. He described advanced techniques to connect each couplet of the holy name with a stage of devotion and with a period of time in the day of Krishna’s pastimes. I am not referring here to such an advanced meditation, but reading this did spark in my mind that this was also a technique for mechanically focusing the mind. In our dīkṣā mantras there also is a seed mantra before each mantra that helps refocus brings the mind back to our mantra before each repetition of it.

[4] Bhag. 1.1.10