Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami January 3rd, 2022

My titles are usually catchy. Not this one. I think it’s kind of boring, but I wanted to personally reach out to my audience to celebrate. I started Monday Morning Greetings six years ago to the day, so today’s post will be number three hundred and thirteen! Every week I write on whatever thought or realization is prominent in my mind. Well, this was it—to celebrate with my readers.

When I begin writing on Tuesday, I usually have somewhat of a vision of expanding my initial realization. Today I thought I could expand my initial inspiration by discussing whether it’s OK to be proud of what one has accomplished, but I just couldn’t take that much further. I knew, however, that putting pen to the paper, so to speak, has a way of activating the mind if you just keep at it. Although this post didn’t exactly go where I expected, the process of writing itself became my inspiration, especially in relation to fostering my faith in Krishna.

I very much like the definition of faith that I heard from a Christian apologist[1]: Faith is trust by experience. Every single week, after the first session of writing, I feel helpless. I get to watch, however, how day by day the initial inspiration gets sculpted gradually and miraculously by an inner voice into a finished product way beyond my initial inspiration or abilities. As a result, I have gained faith as a writer—trust by experience—that the result is up to Krishna, that He has sanctioned my service, and if I forge forward with my service despite my inabilities, by His mercy the result will come, as it has every week. The process of writing for me is thus a week of watching the Supersoul at work in my life.

Contemplating the writing process also sheds light on my initial inspiration that I couldn’t bring forward: “Is it OK to be proud of my accomplishment?” I think the answer is that pride means to think oneself the doer, and the process of writing for me is seeing Krishna as the doer. I am constantly amazed how thoughts and ideas come far beyond my capability to culminate into a finished product that I can be proud of, especially as I was never a writer or an intellectual growing up, not particularly smart in school, and to this day still do not know the difference between a colon and semi-colon. What I do know, however, is where my inspiration comes from:

“I am situated in everyone’s heart, and from Me comes remembrance, forgetfulness and knowledge.” (Bg. 5.15)

I sit here today again amazed. I began lost, couldn’t imagine this post would amount to anything, or how I would even proceed, but I finished by listening to God in the heart.

As I began this post to celebrate with my reader, let’s also end it that way. For those who would like to participate in that celebration, could you please look at my website wavesofdevotion.com  and pick your favorite post for the year 2021 and send it to me. You will hear back from me personally. Perhaps even mention why you liked it. That’s up to you. On the right-hand bottom of the home page, it says “archives” and in ten minutes you can browse all the articles for 2021. For me it was a tough choice. I like many, but I seem to especially like one’s that include a personal story expressed in my own unique voice with a touch of wisdom. Anyway, here’s one I liked for that reason called Let the Dead Bury the Dead.

Monday Morning Greetings 2021 #24 – Let the Dead Bury the Dead

May you all have a prosperous, healthy, and uplifting New Year by the mercy of Sri Sri Guru and Gauranga!

[1] I heard this definition in an interview by Alvin Platinga, John A. O’Brien Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of Notre Dame, who is arguably the most prominent Christian apologist in the world.

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Dhanurdhara Swami December 27th, 2021

The success of yoga depends on our ability to concentrate or focus our attention on a particular object. Never in history has there been so much competition for that attention. Perhaps the biggest competitor for our attention, and thus our spiritual life, is social media. A short analysis as to why:[1]

A successful business markets a product. How then did Big Tech become one of the most successful commercial enterprises in history overnight if it is for free? The answer is simple: We are the product. Big Tech markets us to advertisers. We are a valuable commodity because advertisers sell certainty in sales, and the extraordinary amount of data Big Tech collects on us ensures them exactly that—the advertisements of whomever learns the sophisticated science of utilizing the vast data of our preferences and proclivities will be, without doubt, successful. Such predictability is obviously a businessman’s dream.

I think we all already basically know this in a cursory way. What I don’t think we understand is the level that they are able to control us. Simply put, we are dealing with behavior changing geniuses who have perfected the science of the gradual and imperceptible change of what we think, what we do, and who we are on behalf of a commercial goal. Perhaps even more frightening is that as they collect more and more data over time, their prediction models on each of us becomes increasingly refined, enabling them to not only control us for commercial purposes but also to inculcate their own non-spiritual values.

There are obvious ramifications in all this for those with a spiritual goal, and certainly for those seeking to develop Vrindavan bhakti. On one side is guru, sādhu, and śāstra trying to mold our attention towards a philosophy and culture of selflessness and devotion, and on the other side stands a business model geared to get as much of our attention as possible by inspiring our ego and greed. Just see their juxtaposition. While the whole purpose of yoga is to quell the frivolous fluctuations of the mind, the insidious purpose behind social media is to exponentially increase them. It is a battle for our soul. May Lord Krishna save us!

“There are only two industries that call their customers ‘users’: illegal drugs and software.” —Edward Tufte

“Nothing vast enters the life of mortals without a curse.” — Sophocles

[1]  Much of my analysis comes from the documentary The Social Dilemma http://www.documentaryarea.tv/player.php?title=The%20Social%20Dilemma

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Dhanurdhara Swami December 20th, 2021

One on the path of bhakti is not inclined to argue. At the least one should try to avoid it. Śrī Nārada felt strongly enough about this principle to include it in his carefully chosen sūtras for those serious on the path of bhakti:

“One should not engage in argumentative debate.” (NBS 75)

Of course, one may reluctantly engage in debate or argument to establish important truths to protect others from confusion, but, in general, a Vaiṣṇava doesn’t care to defend themself, especially in contentious discourse that is mostly based on ego. The starkest example of this characteristic was demonstrated in the life of the great Vaiṣṇava scholars Śrī Rūpa and Śrī Sanātana. When a prideful traveling scholar named Rupanārāyaṇa Sarasvatī, also known as digvijaya (a person who had conquered everyone in all directions) came to Vrindavan to challenge them, rather than waste precious time in argument, they informed the visiting paṇḍita that their reputation as great scholars was exaggerated. When he pressed them further for debate, they even signed his jayapatra, a letter acknowledging defeat by him, although by all accounts they were more than qualified to engage with him.[1]

The message here is clear. A Vaiṣṇava has one clear objective, to attain love of Godhead. He or she therefore doesn’t prioritize false ego—that cherished conception of being better than others, founded on the desire to be the controller and enjoyer. In contrast, most people in this world are figuratively ready to die to defend themselves. Die to defend themselves? Yes, just reflect on your reaction the last time someone told you that you were wrong! I did. It hurts to acknowledge our mistakes.

As the world has become increasingly polarized on practically every issue, I have been thinking a lot about how vigilant one on the path of bhakti must be to keep this principle in the forefront of their consciousness—that neither being right nor defending oneself from being wrong has value if it does not increase the devotion in our hearts or serve the upliftment of others.

At times, I have shared with my audience my penchant for branding and making catchy phrases. I would like to end with one that came spontaneously to my mind this year by observing how much this unhealthy ego-driven urge to always be right has been exacerbated by the nature of today’s polemic. My experience and observation are that relationships, even one’s important to the progress of devotion in oneself and others, are too often put at risk for the sake of victory, unless one is firm in the conviction that:

Relationship is more important than being right.

[1] Śrī Jīva, the nephew and disciple of Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī, soon after Rūpanaryan Sarasvatī’s engagement with Śrī Rūpa and Śrī Sanātana, defeated the paṇḍita in debate after a seven-day discussion. For a more elaborate description of the whole story of Rūpanārāyaṇa Sarasvatī’s visit to Vrindavan and his consequent defeat by Śrī Jīva see The Six Goswamis of Vrindavan, Steven Rosen (Satyaraja Dasa), Ch. 5.

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Dhanurdhara Swami December 13th, 2021

What Is Bhakti? [1]

Bhakti is a faith—the faith that the best thing is to surrender to God with devotion. But it is more than just an understanding. It is the actual feeling in the heart to want to do so.

And bhakti is more than just that feeling of devotion. It is also the practical expression of that feeling through the faculty of the mind, body, and words called devotional service, or seva.

And higher than that is pure devotion, when that practical expression to please Krishna is the exclusive desire of the heart, unmixed with or covered by any other desire.

Ultimately, bhakti is also God’s energy, the essence of His pleasure potency, which Krishna mercifully places in the heart of that devotee who attracts His mercy by pure devotional service.

Is bhakti inherent? Bhakti is certainly the jiva’s purpose lying dormant within heart, which is actualized when touched by the Lord’s internal potency.

That full potential of bhakti is thus called bhaktyānanda,[2]  the bliss of devotion, which is the essence of God’s internal potency and His highest pleasure. Unlike svarūpānanda, God’s own pleasure, in which He basks alone, bhaktyānanda, the bliss of devotion, must come from another. We are that potential “other,” created as receptacles for a love meant to be offered back to the one who has bestowed it. That is real bhakti, because love of Godhead, kṛṣṇa-premā, the essence of His pleasure potency (hlādinī-śakti), is the thing that pleases God the most.

To understand such bhakti, we must understand the term tad-ātmikā, “to become one with.” Our eternal nature is to serve, to be perfect instruments for the pleasure of God. When that service attitude is pure and God trusts us with His energy of love, our devotionally inclined mind becomes fully energized by, or one with, that love, just as an iron rod becomes energized or one (tad-ātmikā) with fire. That mind absorbed in devotion offered back to God for His pleasure is bhakti in its highest sense, although the mood of service and the practices of devotion to get such bhakti can also be deemed bhakti.

Monday Morning Greetings has a diverse audience, from people many decades mature in bhakti to those with a cursory interest who may have signed on to my mailing list after hearing just one of my lectures. This Greeting touches some deep philosophical content that may give food for thought, especially to experienced practitioners of bhakti, but I hope these beautiful concepts will touch everyone’s heart. To close, I would like to offer a definition of bhakti that was shared with me by a Sanskrit scholar,[3] which in a sense sums up the essence of bhakti in such a way that if you can imbibe that mood, then for sure you will one day be bestowed with the highest devotion. He told me, “Bhakti is to make oneself available [for service].”

[1] This is a reprint from June 12, 2017, that I have edited slightly.

[2] I did further research on this subject from Priti Sandarbha 65 (section 63 in some editions, such as H.H. Bhanu Swami’s translation) since 2017 when I first published this article. Bhaktyananda is discussed there in relation to Krishna and His eternal associates, which we may eventually fully experience at the stage of perfection when we qualify to exchange love with Krishna in His eternal pastimes.

[3] This definition was shared with me many years ago by Pradyumna das, who served as Srila Prabhupada’s Sanskrit editor, in a discussion I once had with him.

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Dhanurdhara Swami December 6th, 2021

Last week I received a very interesting inquiry from Satyaraja dasa concerning my post “Are the Gopīs the Greatest Renunciates?” Below is his inquiry and my attempt to answer it:

“One question in regard to your latest essay. Might it not be dangerous to cite the example of the gopīs as the “exemplars of renunciation”? I mean, should one just leave everything to go be with Krishna? What about dharma? Might this not send the wrong message? For example, might not a simple married person, with children, read this and then enthusiastically join ISKCON, giving up his responsibilities in the material world? Is that what we want? Shouldn’t we in fact NOT follow the gopīs’ example if we have prior commitments in the material world, and instead engage in bhakti while honoring our prior commitments? Otherwise, society falls into chaos.”

For the sake of focusing the discussion, I will paraphrase his inquiry: What exactly is the gopīs’ example of renunciation, and can it be dangerous to cite them as an example?

First, it’s important to point out something about comparisons: “One should not disregard a comparison simply because it is partially applicable.” (Bhagavat-sandarbha, Anuccheda 40) In other words, when we use a comparison, it is usually meant to compare only particular aspects of two things, not everything. For example, if one compares another person’s face to the moon, it may just be referring to the brightness of their face, not its shape, depending on the context in which it is used.

In terms of the comparison between the renunciation of the gopīs and the ideal for sannyāsa, the example of the gopīs highlighted complete disinterest in the object of the senses or any internal attachment, like respect and honor, to the extent of being prepared to make any sacrifice for the service of Krishna, including renouncing all attachments in this world. It seems to be a perfect example for the renounced order of life and for the aspects of the comparison I was trying to highlight, which is why in the beginning of my post I wrote:

“Why do the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava ācāryas connect gopī-bhāva, meditating on the gopīs, to the inspiration for renunciation when a member of their sect takes the varṇāśrama social position of sannyāsa?”

The difficulty that Satyaraja observes is that the gopīs are householders, and as I cite them as the ideal example of renunciation, people can easily misunderstand my comparison as being completely applicable, and therefore make bad decisions such as the ones Satyaraja pointed out where people not only renounce things that are required for their spiritual life, but also cause a social disturbance in doing so. I trust that his concern is at least partially based on the history of ISKCON in its early development where an immature understanding of renunciation too often led to demeaning household life and women.

In further defense of Satyaraja’s concern, it is of note that one of the main themes of the Bhagavad-gītā is that spiritual life is dedication or devotion and not external renunciation, and thus Arjuna could be on highest platform of spiritual life even as a warrior in battle. In other words, Satyaraja’s concern is an existential and historical concern—that people suffering in this world tend to misunderstand spiritual life only as leaving what they are doing rather than changing how they are thinking and feeling, even on the path of devotion.

I should note that doesn’t dismiss that within the path of bhakti, as one advances in devotion, one should increasingly become detached from material life and also gradually become even more externally renounced. [1] Only in that sense the gopīs’ renunciation may serve as an inspiration for all, although Śrīla Prabhupāda makes it very clear in his description of the rasa dance that the gopīs’ abject renunciation of the world for the sake of Krishna, to the extent of surpassing and transcending all Vedic injunctions “was possible for the gopīs because they saw Krishna face to face,” and “not possible for any women in the conditioned state.” [2]

I hope it is clear now what my comparison between the gopīs and sannyāsa was meant to highlight and that Satyaraja’s input and my clarification helps to inoculate my presentation from the type of misunderstanding that historically has caused too much confusion and harm.

[1] Śrīla Prabhupāda comments on the gopīs’ renunciation: “This is the test of advancement in Krishna consciousness: a person advancing in Krishna-consciousness must lose interest in material activities and personal sense gratification.” (Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Ch. 29)

[2] Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Ch. 29

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 29th, 2021

This story begins in Govardhan and ends in Goloka Vrindavan.

Mukunda Murari spent Kartik in Govardhan as my guest, camping in my living room. I was thus privy, so to speak, to his “Mahābhārata”—his two-week challenge to somehow get Hemangi Priya, his mother-in-law, who was diagnosed with incurable stage four cancer, to Vrindavan to leave her body. The challenges seemed insurmountable. He not only had to quickly secure three visas from the Indian embassy in Moscow, which were under very restricted COVID immigration policies, but he also had to get Aeroflot to accommodate a bedridden patient needing numerous special accommodations, including eight business class seats for Hemangi Priya’s bed, doctor, and travel companion. His most pressing concern, however, was that if this wasn’t done immediately, she would soon be too frail to travel. As the time approached to leave, and with so many contingencies still hanging in the air, Mukunda sought out Śrīla Radhanath Swami, their guru, for some spiritual support. His counsel was almost poetic: “Regardless of what happens, whether she makes Vrindavan or not, by her sincere desire to go to the holy dhāma, she’s already in the hands of Śrī Radha.” It is hard to describe how much solace Hemangi Priya and Divya-shakti, her daughter, felt from hearing these words.

After much drama, including the total lack of information anywhere on the logistics of picking up a bedridden person on the tarmac, either from the airport or the airlines, a random security guard finally suggested to try Gate 10. After anxiously waiting two hours, an ambulance from the tarmac arrived, transferred her to another ambulance from Vrindavan, which then took her to the Bhaktivedanta Hospice in Vrindavan for her final journey.

I am quite close to Hemangi Priya and her family. I would thus go every day to chant japa by her bedside. She initially could acknowledge me, but after a few days her condition deteriorated to the point where she was incapable of communicating with anyone. This morning I again chanted there from 7:00 to 9:30 in the morning before returning to my room. Only a couple of hours later I got a message from Mukunda that I should come immediately. By the time I arrived Hemangi Priya had passed from this world. Divya-sakti was anxiously waiting for me eager to share what had transpired. When she began to speak and reflect on what had just happened, I watched as her separation and sadness turned to relief and almost joy:

“I spontaneously began to bathe her head gently with Radha Kunda water. I had no inkling that her condition had substantially worsened, as she has been breathing heavily for almost the last two days. For no overt reason, I began to read to her the lyrics in Russian to Narottama dāsa Ṭhākura’s bhajan “nitāi-pada-kamala”, which describes the mercy of the lotus feet of Lord Nityānanda. I began to sing the song repeatedly in Bengali and on its third recitation, exactly at the time when I got to the line, “Without the mercy of Lord Nityānanda, one cannot attain the lotus feet of Śrī Śrī Radha Krishna” a hospice aid tapped me on the back and handed me a 14×16 inch lamented picture of the Divine Couple, something I had requested the hospice to bring to our room almost ten days before when I first arrived. I placed the picture on the table next to a similar sized picture of Śrīla Prabhupāda that was kept directly before her eyes. “Look Mama,” I said, “Radha-Krishna has come!” Although she had been non-communicative for several days, a tear rolled down the corner of her right eye. Again, I can’t understand why, but I spontaneously began to sing another bhajan about the mercy of Nityānanda, this time one by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura: “dayāl nitāi caitanya bole nāc re āmāra mana!” I began repeating the refrain “nāc re āmāra mana, nāc re āmāra mana” again and again. “O my mind, please dance! O my mind, please dance! O my mind, please dance!” My mother then opened her mouth widely and left this world listening to the name of Dayāl Nitai, the presiding deity of the temple in Moscow that was her shelter for years.[1] I looked up at the digital clock on the wall. It read exactly 12:00 noon, which stirred a beautiful thought in my heart: “Maybe my beautiful, loving, devotional Mama has entered the Lord’s midday pastimes!”

Hemangi Priya, aged 62, was an extraordinarily beautiful woman from a very aristocratic and educated family, and by all accounts a very humble person. Despite her background, by fate her life wasn’t easy. She thus felt great solace in the shelter of guru and Krishna. She woke early every day and with deep feeling, and without fail, chanted her quota of the Hare Krishna maha-mantra before leaving for work. One thing that stood out for those who knew her well was that they never heard her say even once anything bad about anyone. Perhaps that is why her guru so confidently declared even while she was still in Moscow: “She’s already in the hands of Śrī Radha!”

Hemangi Priya ki jaya!

[1] The presiding deities of ISKCON Moscow are Śrī Śrī Dayāl Nitāi-Śacī-suta.

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 22nd, 2021

I think most bhaktas are not aware that when one takes sannyāsa (the renounced order of life) in Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, one receives the gopī-bhāva mantra from their guru to chant. There’s almost an irony here. How can the simple cowherd damsels of Vraja, adorned with their gold and silver anklets, wrapped in fine silk, absorbed in dancing and singing rasa, be the exemplars for renunciation? Isn’t sannyāsa meant to inspire people to devalue those things? Yes, everyone in society should be inspired by the gopīs’ devotion, but the question remains: Why do the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava ācāryas connect gopī-bhāva, meditating on the gopīs, to the inspiration for renunciation when a member of their sect takes the varṇāśrama social position of sannyāsa?

I think the question is best answered when one first understands what a proper standard of renunciation is. For that I will refer to the Yoga Sūtras where dispassion is elaborately discussed as one of the foundations of yoga. There Patañjali defines renunciation as not just remaining aloof from the objects of the senses, but being free from a thirst or craving for them (viṣaya-vitṛṣṇasya). The commentators on Patañjali further espouse that upon attaining this level of renunciation, one doesn’t even spend too much energy overly rejecting sense objects in one’s presence because of one’s full inner disinterest in them. Finally, one’s level of renunciation should go beyond just the lack of craving for external likings to the platform of total indifference to even internal attachments, like a desire for respect or reputation.

It should be easy now to see why the gopīs are the exemplars of renunciation for those devotees who take Vaiṣṇava sannyāsa. Although leading the life of ordinary milkmaids when called to the forest by the sound of Krishna’s flute, in a second they renounced all personal societal attachment for the cause of selfless service. The well adorned gopīs, in contrast to people who are externally renounced and austere but attached to their prestige, even sacrificed their honor and reputation for the mission of devotion.

I am in the sannyāsa order myself. Being freed of any family or occupational commitments, I am expected to fully sacrifice every moment of my day for the service of Krishna and to attain unalloyed devotion to Krishna completely free from any personal motive or distraction. In other words, my order is a call to service beyond any other material commitments or conditions, no matter what that means to my life. I am not there yet, but it is obvious why I should aspire for the bhāva (mood) of the gopīs.

Last Wednesday, it seemed I reached a block in completing this week’s post. Although the next morning I was conscious to concentrate on the holy name and leave that quandary for later, still some inspiration came seemingly out of nowhere, solidifying my thoughts corelating the mood of the gopīs and the order of Vaiṣṇava sannyāsa. I became inspired to continue to write. In the fourth verse of the Ṣaḍ-gosvāmy-aṣṭakam, Śrīnivāsa Ācārya glorifes the six Gosvāmīs of Vrindavan both for their adoption of the renounced order and their absorption in the mood of the gopīs. Furthermore, he makes clear that imbibing the mood of the gopīs ecstatic love for Krishna is itself the most powerful force to invoke complete disinterest in that which has no value to the service of Krishna:

“I offer my respectful obeisances unto the Six Gosvāmīs namely Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī, Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī, Śrī Raghunātha Bhaṭṭa Gosvāmī, Śrī Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī, Śrī Jīva Gosvāmī, and Śrī Gopala Bhaṭṭa Gosvāmī, who kicked off all association or aristocracy as insignificant. In order to deliver the poor conditioned souls, they accepted loincloths, treating themselves as mendicants, but they are always merged in the ecstatic ocean of the gopīs’ love for Krishna [gopī-bhāva] and bathe always and repeatedly in the waves of that ocean.” (Ṣaḍ-gosvāmy-aṣṭakam, v. 4, translation)

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 15th, 2021

An old toothless babushka, maybe in her late eighties, sits hunched over on the grass outside the open pavilion in Braj Vasundhara in Govardhan, where Bhakti Vijñāna Goswami gives class. I stand next to a friend who is translating the class for me just ten yards from her. Unexpectedly, the old lady turns around and slowly makes her way towards me. An old Lakshmi-Narasimha deity is put in my hand. I look at it, but before I can say a word she just saunters off. I look at my friend puzzled, “Now what?” “It’s for you,” he replies, “She’s like that.” I then hear her legend: “Her name is Satya. She has been here it seems forever, at least longer than any other Russian devotee. Since she came, she has been living in a tiny room near Kaliya Ghat right off the parikrama path, with just enough space for a bed and a couple of people to sit. A multitude of deities adorn the shelves above her bed. Once during the rainy season, a cobra took shelter in her room, but she lived there peacefully for weeks despite the pleas of others to leave. The snake eventually departed. Even at her advanced age, she still bathes every morning without fail in the Yamuna, even in the middle of winter!” I thought: “She’s the real thing. I’m not that. Only in Vrindavan, and only a Russian babushka!”

Well maybe not only a Russian babushka. French Canadian-born, Six Goswami-like Jamuna Jivana das ambushed me with an embrace from behind at Radha Kunda. I embrace him in return. A contest of devotion; he wins. I’m forced to slacken when I sense he will squeeze forever. He lived at Kusum Sarovara for ages, his bead bag as his only possession, where he tolerated a simplicity and dependence that few could bear. After some time, he shifted to Radha Kunda for further dedication to Śrī Radha and to share with others what he has learned from the books of Śrīla Prabhupāda. He is now more or less settled in Vrindavan, not Radha Kund. I’m puzzled as to why. “Everyone in Radha Kunda now has Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books (I suppose he meant from him). I now also visit Delhi and Punjab for kirtan.” The complete package: Dedication to the holy name, abject indifference to anything outside of Krishna’s will, complete faith in the teachings and mission of Śrīla Prabhupāda with a selfless commitment to distributing that message to others. Another jewel that Śrīla Prabhupāda hid in the land of Braja.

A serious sādhaka here expresses his wish that Śrī Radha do to him whatever it takes to purify him in this life for Her service. I shudder at the thought. What would it take to uproot my attachments and misconceptions? We can’t avoid it. Sincere devotion must come to the platform of śaraṇāgati (surrender).

In Memoriam: Last Thursday my godbrother Rajendranandana das passed from this world in San Diego while chanting the holy name. We were initiated together in Dallas. I remembered him as a very kind and soft-hearted devotee. I hadn’t followed his devotional career in the past years, but from what I read in some homages all agreed: he was exceptionally pure, kind, loving, and filled with the pastimes of Śrī Gauranga—a rare soul indeed. After reading these homages, I began to wonder how I will be remembered, but then I catch myself. What a nonsense thought! Become that way and leave the rest to Krishna.

Final Thoughts: Vikram, who assists me here in Govardhan, came back from a lecture in Hindi from a famous sādhu on Vrindavan Mahimamrita, a book about the glories of Vrindavan. He shared with me some notes he translated into English. One especially caught my attention: “One who resides in Vrindavan should never leave, but if one leaves Vrindavan to share the glories of Vrindavan that place is as good as Vrindavan.” When I came here this year, I was skeptical of my motives. For forty-six years I have only come here for service, first in the gurukula, then in hosting the pilgrims, but with the restrictions for foreigners coming still in place, and now having shifted to Govardhan, I wasn’t sure what service merits my residence here? I have been here for less than a month, but it couldn’t be clearer in my heart: Govardhan is my home. My service is to chant the holy name, purify my heart, and, as people come to my door, share with others what Śrīla Prabhupāda has given to me—all the while basking in the saṅga of the Govardhan sādhus.

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 8th, 2021

A natural inquiry that comes up in almost all spiritual traditions concerns the origin of the living entity being in the material world. All mokṣa traditions—Vedic, Buddhist, and Jain—universally profess that our condition here in ignorance is beginningless or eternal. The Judeo-Christian traditions, in contrast, profess that the material world, and consequent ignorance, is not eternal but has a creative beginning point that is followed by a sort of “fall theory”, which begins with Adam’s tumble from a position of innocence. Śrīla Prabhupāda seems to have indicated at different times propositions that coincide, more or less, with either theory, although the propositions are mutually exclusive. In other words, if one is true, the other cannot be. So, which is a better explanation of the origin of the conditioned soul’s ignorance?

From the standpoint of reason, there is no satisfactory answer to this straightforward inquiry, for rather than one position being reasonable and the other not, they are both problematic when engaged from within the parameters of human reasoning. To think that the soul has been eternally suffering for no initial causal reason on its part seems ontologically unreasonable and cruel. On the other hand, how can imperfection exist in Goloka or Brahman, as that goes against the unspoiled nature of that reality? In other words, no matter which way various theistic traditions tackle the question of the origin of the conditioned soul’s ignorance, their conclusion seems to challenge a theistic or divine basis of reality. But does it? Some thoughts on this quandary:

First, we need to remember that these questions on the origin of the living entity are being discussed within a cause-effect framework, where all scriptures posit that Brahman (God) is beyond time and space and thus the Divine can only be fully known by revelation and not human reason. Similarly, the nature of His energies emanating from Him, such as avidyā (ignorance), can only be known by revealed scripture, because their origin is beyond the space/time cause/effect frame on which reason is based. In other words, the laws on which this world operate, and upon which reason is based, come from God and can thus never subject Him to their parameters. So, while reason can tell us that there is an intelligence behind the creation, it is limited in talking about its intrinsic nature, such as the “whys” about avidyā, a position clearly established by the Vedanta commentators in the very opening verses of the Vedānta-sūtras: trans-temporal and trans-spatial truths can only be revealed.

Let me offer an example how inconceivability, or beyond reason, is a sensible conclusion when describing the ontology of creation. There are only two choices for the nature of reality: it is either eternally existing, or it came into being out of nothing. Can we possibly conceive of something that has been eternally existing, and that no matter how far back we go ad infinitum can still recede in time further and further forever? Or, in contrast, how are we to conceive of a reality manifesting from nothing? If we think deeply about the possible choices of the origin of this world, there is no way to fit either into to our frame of cause-effect reason based on our experience in this world. As both alternatives are inconceivable, yet one must be true, we can conclude that the nature of reality, however it came into being, must be beyond our ability to fully conceive.

I therefore think that when dealing theologically with quandaries concerning an ultimate origin such as the origin of ignorance, the existence of evil, the ontology of the soul, and so on, we are bound to reach a roadblock in our understanding by reason, for they are phenomena that originate in God, who is existing in an eternally present spiritual time but by necessity expressed through a language and logic based on material time. This is like trying to fit a multi-dimensional reality into our two-dimensional reality—the former can only be expressed by flattening the concept into the dimensions of length and breadth and thereby losing its spatial extensiveness.

I, myself, appreciate how Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura deals with this point after discussing the ontology of the soul in terms of the locus of bhakti:

“I have explained all this to you in words, but you can only understand their true meaning to the extent that you have realized and experienced the unalloyed spiritual realm. I have just given you a glimpse; you should try to realize the meaning of what I said through spiritual meditation (cit-samadhi). You will not be able to understand these topics through mundane logic or debate. The more you can free your faculty of experience from material bondage, the more you will be able to experience the spiritual domain.”[1]

And that is why some reasonable questions logically have no reasonable answer.

“What is the use of such discussions? So whether you were in the Brahma-sāyujya or with Kṛṣṇa in His līlā, at the moment you are in neither, so the best policy is to develop your Kṛṣṇa consciousness and go there [back to Godhead]—never mind what is your origin.” (an addendum that Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote to a letter he penned to his disciple Madhudviṣa Dāsa in June of 1972.)

[1] Jaiva Dharma by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, translation and commentary by Śrīla B.V. Nārāyaṇa Mahārāja. Chapter 2, p.30

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 1st, 2021

Vrindavan the Beautiful![1]

February 25, 2019

I recently renewed a cherished old daily practice. Early in the morning, before dawn, I walk out into Vrindavan to experience its beauty. And what is that beauty? Is it the visuals, what I see as I negotiate through the meandering streets to the town’s center, or circumambulate the city on the path now paved around it? Is it the dilapidated structures, open sewers, and sleeping street dogs, or piles of trash with the pigs feasting on it? What exactly is the beauty of Vrindavan?

In the far distance I periodically hear the start of a kirtan, and then another and another. I can’t see them, but it’s so mystical to witness a city gradually awakening to the sweet sound of the holy name.

An elderly bābā sits on the side of the parikramā path in the cold. He sits in the same spot every day without fail, beautifully chanting the morning melody of Hare Krishna on an old harmonium. His smile reflects the beauty of his heart. I read his mind: “I am the most fortunate person in the world!”

I pass through the narrow corridors that embrace the once grand but now in-disrepair Kesi Ghata. I step over the small powerful stream of sewage rushing toward the river. I continue down the long dark corridor where on my left the path finally opens to the river in descending sandstone steps. A smattering of small rooms and platforms in the palace wall house sadhus and paṇḍitas huddled for joyous worship with incense and mantras. I pass a family sleeping together on the side of the path under a pile of thick blankets. The father’s head pops up—“Haribol!” The children follow suit, and they all smile—a blissful family in a most unlikely place.

Thank God the celebrated, nasty eyeglass/hat/purse-snatching monkeys are still asleep as I walk the narrow street to the center of town, carefully negotiating my stroll around the resting bulls and sleeping dogs. Even I, Venus and all,[2] am overwhelmed by the thick ambrosial fragrance of devotion surrounding me. I whiff what I feel is the heart of the vraja-vāsīs’ offering of incense to their Lord. My heart is buoyed by their devotion.

An old sadhu bathes by the hand pump in just his kaupīna.[3] A barefoot shopkeeper throws water on the ground in front of his shop to clean it, then waves incense before baby Gopala[4] on the shelf. I see the same souls every day. What happy hearts with so little!

A simple man on a bike passes me on my right, singing odes in joy to Krishna. An old widow scurries past with soft, deep prayers to Radha under her breath. I pass full-throttled maṅgala-ārati kirtan and peer into the various temples behind worn, intricately carved entrances. A few temple-hopping souls rush past me to catch another ārati on their morning rounds. A whole city gradually awakening to devotion—a joyous sight!

I meet a simple mālī (gardener) as I walk through the beautiful flower gardens just minutes from town. Hundreds of acres of lush floral acres spread out before me, a splash of color if I ever saw one. The real Vrindavan is still there, hidden behind a secret black gate that seems to preserve its beauty. Amidst the paradisiacal Vrindavan, the mālī tells me his woes. The floods have wiped out his crop. As he is complaining, I am puzzled; his eyes and body still sparkle with immense joy. I ask a simple question: “How can you be so happy?” His answer is like a mantra revealing the true glory of Vrindavan, whether walking through its run-down town or strolling through its splendid gardens: Happiness is a heart filled with devotion.

Ah, Vrindavan the beautiful!

[1] This is the first time I posted two articles in a row that were posted previously. I was working feverishly to complete this Monday Morning Greetings, but with my kārttika-vrata and people also visiting me after so many years there is not a minute to spare and I just couldn’t complete it on time. However, it really expresses what I am experiencing here.

[2] I sometimes joke about the weak Venus in my astrological chart, which is not overly sensitive to refined things like fine scents.

[3] Loincloth.

[4] Deity of baby Krishna.

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