Monday Morning Greetings 2025 #32 – Swan Lake, the Ugly Duckling, and Krishna Consciousness
Dhanurdhara Swami August 4th, 2025
It was the first ballet I ever attended.
I had no choice, actually. My gracious hosts in St. Petersburg thought I would love it. They had set a full schedule before I came, but somehow I didn’t notice they arranged an evening at the ballet. The tickets were not cheap and were non-refundable.
In other words, they gave me an offer I could not refuse.
We had the best seats in the house. We sat in the front row, the middle seats right over the orchestra pit, the conductor’s head bobbing and his hands flailing a few feet away.
I had no idea what was going on. How would I? My idea of culture growing up? Bruno Sammartino and Gorilla Monson![1]
I thought I would be bored out of my mind.
I was wrong. It started out slow, but by the time it all ended, during the four curtain calls, we also stood up applauding. I was surprised at my reaction. We really enjoyed it.
What happened? What did I get out of it?
I have studied the nāṭaka śastra, where drama theory is outlined. It’s the elaborate science of re-creating an overwhelming emotion found in the world so that a qualified audience experiences the same emotion, but in a cathartic or “spiritually” uplifting way.
Here at the Mariinsky Theater you have arguably the best ballet dancers in the world, a great orchestra, and probably one of the best conductors in the world. The audience seemed also quite qualified. They were therefore unified in relishing the ballet as if they were of a single mind. That’s a condition in rasa theory for the emotion portrayed to be relished at its height. Jagadish, who accompanied me, also hadn’t seen a ballet before, but we were able to appreciate the performance just enough as to not disturb the unified mind of the audience!
Bottom line, the performance was rasika. The ensemble and the person who directed it definitely knew the science of recreating an uplifting emotion through music and dance. I was swept away in the moment. At least, I enjoyed seeing in action what I studied in the nāṭaka śastra.
Also, I realized what I saw could be used as a tool to remember Śrī Krishna. Śrī Krishna is naṭa-vara, the most excellent dancer. How would I even conceive what that meant, if I didn’t see the best dancing that could be found in this world?
Excellence reminds one of God. I remember when I was preparing a seminar on apologetics, the rational defense of the existence of God, finding a supporting quote by the famous American conductor, Leonard Bernstein. He said that in classical composition every note is so right that it points to a divine order. I can’t find that quote now, but I found another quote by him where he describes the same idea:
“In the beginning was the Note, and the Note was with God; and whosoever can reach for that Note, reach high, and bring it back to us on earth, to our earthly ears—he is a composer, and to the extent of his reach, partakes of the divine.”
As I left the theater, I thought of the verse in Gītā where Śrī Krishna says He is the ability in all men. As these performers were the best at what they are doing, it was therefore not difficult to see their reach to God bringing a divine “note” back to earth for us to experience.
Would I go again? I want to. Should I? Maybe just to an opera where there are not so many beautiful, skimpy dressed ladies dancing. That is certainly a better place for a monk, but is that OK? If this sannyāsi (monk) goes to the opera next year perhaps you may even read the following Monday post:
The Barber of Seville and Sannyāsa Oparadha![2]
[1] I don’t have access here to get something from YouTube, but when very young, our culture was watching the Worldwide Wrestling Federation. These two names stand out in my memory.
[2] Oparadha is a play on the Sanskrit word aparādha (offense) and opera suggested by Jayanta, my editor.
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