Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami June 13th, 2016

I am fascinated by apologetics, the discipline of defending the existence of God through reason. I have listened to and read the best apologetics from William Lane Craig to Alvin Plantinga, and I have studied their arguments carefully. I even devised a public seminar called “Can God Be Blue?: A Study of Kṛṣṇa” based on apologetics, even including arguments for God being a person and that person is Kṛṣṇa.
 
During that time I coined what I thought was an original argument for the existence of God.  I call the argument “The Argument by Coincidence.”
 
Basically, I argue that if one carefully studies his own life he will find a synchronicity between certain events, or “meaningful coincidences” as Carl Jung defined it, whose probability of occurrence was so small that it was far more likely that the cause of those events rests beyond any random occurrence under the laws of nature. What makes those events even more improbable is the link between those external events and our inner life, as if those events were personally directed towards helping us grow. An example from the life of Jung’s practice illustrates this phenomenon:
 

A classic illustration of synchronicity presented by Jung involved one of his patients, a woman with a highly developed rational mind— a fact that made her psychoanalytic treatment difficult.  One day she was telling Jung about a dream she had had in which she received a golden scarab, a beetle with significance in Egyptian mythology.  Just at that moment, Jung reported, he heard a noise “like a gentle tapping” on his window.  When he opened the window, a scarab-like beetle flew in.  Jung caught the beetle and presented it to his patient saying, “Here’s your scarab.”  The stunning impact of this synchronicity overwhelmed the defenses of her rational mind and led to a breakthrough in her treatment.*

 
Here is a similar example from my own life:
 
I met the devotees in 1970 while visiting California during the summer break after my second year in college. While visiting Los Angeles my friend received an invitation card from the devotees chanting on Hollywood Boulevard for a Sunday Feast at their new temple on Watseka Avenue. Four of us went and very much enjoyed the feast and chanting. In fact, we enjoyed it so much that we decided to chant non-stop on our drive the next day up Highway 1 to visit San Francisco. In San Francisco, we specifically wanted to eat at one famous Chinese restaurant. When we finished, to our surprise, we saw the devotees chanting on the street right outside of the restaurant. I immediately joined in as I was already familiar with the chanting from our visit to the temple the Sunday before. When the chanting ended we proceeded to find a place to stay by calling the various references and leads we had collected in our travels to the west coast. The only person that was even the least bit accommodating was a young man who offered that we could sleep in our car in the parking lot to Kezar Stadium on the southeastern side of Golden Gate Park, smack in the middle of the city, and use the bathroom in his apartment across the street. When we drove into the empty, open parking lot, which we discovered was really only used on Sundays for the football game, we noticed that the back of the stores on Frederick Street faced us about twenty yards away. And as we looked up we saw through the back window billowing smoke and robes. It was the Hare Kṛṣṇa’s working in their kitchen! I turned to my friend and said “Holy cow, everyone in this city into this! We called out “Hare Kṛṣṇa!” Two devotees (Gaura Hari and Babhruvahan) leaned out the window at the beckoning four travellers and exclaimed “Ah! Kṛṣṇa’s brought us four! Have some prasādam!” We were offered a tray of sumptuous peanuts, raisins, and chickpeas, which we woofed down with gusto. We stayed in that lot for the last two weeks of our summer break; We visited the temple daily and met many wonderful devotees such as Jayananda, Madhuvisa and Locan das, to name a few. The rest was history. We all became devotees.
 
Of course, not everyone in the city was into this. That was the lone Hare Kṛṣṇa temple in a city. I am not sure that what happened is exactly called synchronicity, but this series of mutual coincidences – how I went to temple, met the devotees outside the restaurant, and was granted a place to stay outside the only Hare Kṛṣṇa temple in a city of millions, and then dedicated myself to that same path – is certainly a coincidence, the probability of which happening is small enough to at least stretch the concept of godless randomness as the foundation of those synchronized events. If this was perhaps the only coincidence of my life, I could pawn it off as chance, but when I look at my life and see how the world has repeatedly moved to teach me needed lessons geared directly at the most subtle impurities in my heart, the sheer probability of such synchronicity is implausible.
 
It could be argued that I am just seeing into to my apparent destiny things that don’t exist, that synchronicity is just in my mind. Besides the fact that synchronicity is an observance that happens just too often in the lives of too many people to be disregarded as chance, the fact that there is a moral force or destiny in every persons life beyond randomness that is called “the law of karma” that can be proven by the science of astrology, makes providence undeniable. It is beyond the scope of this article to discuss this is in detail, but I am puzzled as to why no one has applied the scientific method to the study of astrology to prove that there is a destiny set at birth. It seems that it can easily be done.
 
In summary, the argument of coincidence states that the preponderance of the occurrence of mutual coincidences in people’s lives and the fact of destiny are so far beyond the explanation of chance that the only plausible explanation for them is God.
 
* I found the excerpt in a magazine article about synchronicity that I was unable to locate before the deadline this morning to get this out. When I find it I will update the reference.

Tags: apologetics, journal, Monday Morning Greetings, synchronicity

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 6th, 2016

I just finished our 2nd international bhakti retreat at our beautiful Shyam Ashram in Cali, Colombia. On our first day I posited reasons for taking a spiritual retreat:

1. Recreational: You may just need to get away, especially if you live in the city, to relax in a more spiritual atmosphere, especially where there is kirtan and the devotees.
2. Educational: There is a specific subject you want to learn, like meditation or the Gītā, and the retreat is based on that.
3. Experiential: There is no specific educational objective, but a variety of activities keeps one immersed in devotional service and gives one a deep devotional experience.
4. Transformational: We have certain life patterns that inhibit our spiritual growth. The retreat is organized to help us confront them, often by taking us out of our comfort zone. For one who is not familiar with the path of bhakti, just being in a retreat based on devotional objectives may be challenging in a transformative and healthy way.

There can be many reasons for a spiritual retreat, from recreational to transformative, but the main purpose that ties all of those reasons together is that we need to find times of the year to move from our day-to-day life to exclusively focus on God. A good example of this is the story of the elderly sage Vidura. He was deeply insulted and then physically thrown out of the kingdom by his evil nephew, King Duryodhana. However, Vidura was spiritually astute enough to see the hand of God. He thus heard his tribulation as the voice of God telling him that it was time to leave his kingdom. His response was like a mantra for pilgrimage:
 
vratāni cere hari-toṣaṇāni — “I make a vow, only for the pleasure of Kṛṣṇa.”
 
One advances in spiritual life when his meditation or devotional service is focused. The yoga sūtras specifically defines spiritual practice as the effort to concentrate, which bears fruits when that concentration is prolonged without interruption and with an understanding of it sacredness or importance.
 
Just as we need times of the time of the day for this type concentration, sādhana, and times of the month, ekādaśī, and even times of the life, vānaprastha or sannyāsa, we need retreats or pilgrimage — times of the year exclusively reserved for God.
 
In modern life, where it is often difficult to find even the time of day for concentration, finding times of the year, pilgrimage, is essential. The realizations gained by a prolonged and uninterrupted focus on the pleasure of Kṛṣṇa can last a lifetime.
 
Back to our 2nd international bhakti retreat at our beautiful Shyam Ashram in Cali Colombia — the beauty and food of this place is unparalleled, but it seemed our visitors more than enjoying the beautiful atmosphere, they were deeply transformed by its spiritual focus.
 
It was pilgrimage — the perfect vacation.
 
 

Tags: journal, Monday Morning Greetings, retreat, the perfect vacation, vacation

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 30th, 2016

What Makes Something Funny?
 
During my research for a talk on What Makes Something Funny, which was meant to follow a performance by the B.Centered Comedy group, I was surprised that every great philosopher from Aristotle to Kant had a theory on comedy. I read through one thinker after the next trying to understand “what makes something funny?” but I found the most profound theory espoused by none other than Groucho Marx who succinctly said:
 
“Humor is reason gone mad.”
 
It may be funny that Marx trumps Schopenhauer, but it seemed to make the most sense, as it was similar to a theory of comedy I had espoused many years before based on the Bhagavad-gītā (http://wavesofdevotion.com/2001/01/13/calcuttamayapur-met-kaustubha-jai-nitai/)
 
I posited that everything in this world serves the purpose of the world, which is liberation.  As the Gītā says, when you are forced to act helplessly according to the modes of nature you are a fool. I surmised that comedy is a parody of that. On the other hand, if you describe someone who acts very thoughtfully, it is not funny, but sobering.  I thus theorized that humor discourages conditioning by laughing at it. And now 15 years after writing my thesis on what makes something funny, while studying the theories of all major philosophers on the theory, ironically I am convinced of the validity of my theory—that humor is part of the Absolute Reality meant to discourage our folly—by the insights of Marx (not Karl):
 
Humor is Reason Gone Mad!
 
 

Tags: comedy, journal, Monday Morning Greetings

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 23rd, 2016

About three years ago a friend sent me an eight-minute talk by Apollo Robbins called the art of distraction. Apollo Robbins is arguably the world’s greatest pickpocket and his demonstration showed why. I watched in awe as he pickpocketed a man on stage in front of hundreds of people, with neither the man nor audience having a clue when he did it. After Apollo finished he rewarded the man for good sportsmanship by giving him a beautiful watch, the man’s own! The man was shocked. He then proceeded to return the man’s wallet, credit card, and so on before an incredulous audience. And for a finale, he pointed out to the audience that he was wearing a different shirt from the one he started the show with. One could almost hear the audience sigh in collective astonishment, “How in the world did he do that!” Unbelievable? Just watch the video at the end of the article to witness it for yourself.
 
In his presentation, Apollo explained the art of distraction. His basic premise is that perception is not just based on the senses, but our attention. Stop reading this article and hear the sounds around you. Why are you hearing them now, and not when reading this article? It wasn’t because the sound vibration wasn’t in the air, but because your mind was focused someplace else, hopefully on what I am saying here. In a similar way, Apollo described and demonstrated that by manipulating a person’s attention, an expert pickpocket can rob one before their very eyes, and in this case before a packed audience.
 
There is such a forceful and clear point made here, a point that almost seemed to jump out of Apollo’s demonstration as a mantra:
 
Perception is dependent on attention
 
This concept is a little challenging. If perception is dependent on attention, do I actually hear or perceive the holy name when inattentive? Apollo indirectly dealt with that question also.
 
At the beginning of his short talk, Apollo put on an overhead screen an illustration about what constitutes actual perception. He projected a picture of the outline of a head with little man inside operating a control panel that could choose and direct the acceptance of different perceptive apparatus such as microphones coming from the ear and cameras coming from the eyes and so on. Behind him within the head was a storeroom representing the memory. He showed, for example, that when one is asked to remember something and scroll one’s memory, the little man in the head (representing one’s focus or attention) would turn around to do so, no longer giving direct attention to accepting input from the other sensory apparatus one directs. In the same way, when daydreaming and scrolling our memory it can be questioned if we actually hear the holy name. Hearing the holy name is not only about hearing the sound vibrating within our auditory apparatus. It is also dependent on the man in our head who focuses our attention on the sense of hearing, allowing the sound into our consciousness.
 
There is another important lesson learned by the relation between perception and attention. Just as there is very little effect from engaging with objects of devotion when we are not attentive, when we focus with concentration the effect can be exponentially profound. Śrī Jīva Gosvāmī illustrates this point in his commentary on the second verse of the Bhāgavatam.
 
The second verse states that by hearing the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam just once the Lord is captured in our heart immediately without delay. Śrī Jīva then raises an interesting question. Why doesn’t this happen to us? His answer adds another dimension to the question of what causes distraction, or on the flip side facilitates attention. His answer is simple: We don’t hear messages when we don’t like those messages. Thus when we don’t like the message of the Bhāgavatam, which is to fully surrender to guru and Kṛṣṇa, we can’t hear it, nor experience Kṛṣṇa in the pages of the Bhāgavatam, as the message of the Bhāgavatam is Kṛṣṇa incarnate (according to the Bhāgavatam itself). If that is true, then what to speak of Kṛṣṇa being captured in the heart, at once and without delay. Śrī Jīva then gives us hope. By hearing it again and again, Śrī Jīva informs us, we become gradually purified and eventually hear it with acceptance and full faith. Kṛṣṇa then appears in the heart by just once faithfully accepting that message.
 
Another dimension here has been added to this discussion of the art of distraction, or conversely the art of attention. Our perception is not only affected by our attention, but by our attitude or faith. The faith or acceptance of an object of devotion as non-different from Kṛṣṇa inspires our focus and allows the divine to touch our heart, just as ignorance or doubt closes our heart to the same experience. That’s why the śāstra informs us that whether it’s Kṛṣṇa in the form of the Bhāgavatam, his Holy Name, or His mahā-prasāda, when taken with full faith just once, sinful reactions are removed and divine love awakens.
 
When I begin these Monday Morning Greetings I have no idea where they can take me. This week my subject is opening up to practically a whole book, so I will stop now and summarize.
 
If we are distracted even if objects are before our senses then we don’t perceive them. In the practice of bhakti, attentiveness and faith thus allow the objects of devotion to enter our senses and awaken the heart. Let me leave this Monday Morning Greeting with two mantras:
 
Perception is dependent on attention.
 
Attention is based on faith.
 
Please check out this video and you will understand why I become inspired with these points:
 
Apollo Robbins: The Art of Misdirection
 
 

Tags: attention, faith, journal, Monday Morning Greetings, perception

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 16th, 2016

Dhanurdhara Swami will add once a month an excerpt from a new book he is writing called “Lessons from the CC”. It will contain chapter by chapter summaries of all the instructions in Vaiṣṇava behavior contained in the Śrī Caitanya-caritāmṛta. He is starting with Antya-līlā, Chapter 1.
 
 
Lessons from the Caitanya-caritāmṛta, Antya-līlā, Chapter 1
 
Lesson 1: To remove impediments to our spiritual endeavors one should acknowledge one’s shortcomings and pray for the mercy of great spiritual teachers. 
 
Śrīla Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja humbly admitting his frailties (he was already near the end of life) fervently prays for the mercy of the saintly devotees before beginning the most confidential subject of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s antya-līlā..
 
“My path is very difficult. I am blind, and my feet are slipping again and again. Therefore, may the saints help me by granting me the stick of their mercy as my support.” Antya-līlā 1.2
 
“I pray to the lotus feet of the six Gosvāmīs — Śrī Rūpa, Sanātana, Bhaṭṭa Raghunātha, Śrī Jīva, Gopāla Bhaṭṭa and Dāsa Raghunātha — so that all impediments to my writing this literature will be annihilated and my real desire will be fulfilled.”  Antya-līlā 1.3-4
 
 
Lesson 2: A Vaiṣṇava feels great urgency to enlighten others and thus seeing impending death due to old age meditates on how to finish his legacy.  
 
Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja, fearing that he won’t be able to complete the Caitanya-caritāmṛta due to his advanced age, had summarized what he is about to speak in Madhya-līlā.
 
“I am now almost an invalid because of old age, and I know that at any moment I may die. Therefore I have already described some portions of the antya-līlā.” Antya-līlā 1.11
 
 
Lesson 3: A Vaiṣṇava is very liberal hearted in terms of giving shelter to others.
 
Śivānanda Sena took responsibility for arranging and managing all aspects of the Bengali Vaiṣṇavas long journey to Purī to join Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu. Even when a dog took shelter of his group he gave it shelter.
 
“While going to Jagannātha Purī, Śivānanda Sena allowed a dog to go with him. He supplied it food to eat and maintained it.” Antya-līlā 1.17
 
 
Lesson 4: A Vaiṣṇava fully accepts his responsibilities without excuse for mistakes.
 
Śivānanda Sena gave shelter to a dog who joined his pilgrimage party. When he disappeared because the dog was not given food in his absence, he himself fasted after learning that the dog was nowhere to be found.
 
“When the men returned without success, Śivānanda Sena became very unhappy and fasted for the night.” Antya-līlā 1 .23
 
 
Lesson 5: A Vaiṣṇava is very humble and seeks forgiveness for his mistakes.
 
Śivānanda Sena gives shelter to a stray dog. Under his care the dog is then lost. He fears it is due to his neglect. His reaction when the dog is found:
 
“When he saw the dog sitting in that way and chanting the name of Kṛṣṇa, Śivānanda, because of his natural humility, immediately offered his obeisances to the dog just to counteract his offenses to it.”  Antya-līlā 1.31
 
 
Lesson 6: The association of advanced devotees is inconceivably powerful and we should eagerly seek it out.
 
The results of Śivānanda Sena’s favor to even a stray dog:
 
“The next day, no one saw that dog, for it had obtained its spiritual body and departed for Vaikuṇṭha, the spiritual kingdom.”
 
Purport: “This is the result of sādhu-saṅga — consequent association with Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu and promotion back home, back to Godhead. This result is possible even for a dog, by the mercy of the Vaiṣṇava. Therefore, everyone in the human form of life should be induced to associate with devotees. By rendering a little service, even by eating prasādam, what to speak of chanting and dancing, everyone can be promoted to Vaikuṇṭhaloka.”  Antya-līlā 1.32
 
 
Lesson 7: The most important and powerful practice of devotional service is taking shelter in a pure devotee and invoking their mercy and shelter.
 
Śivānanda Sena accepted responsibility for a dog that took shelter of his pilgrimage party to Purī. When the dog was not fed in his absence he lamented. Upon arriving in Purī the devotees were astonished to see the dog eating the remnants of green coconut pulp thrown to him by Śrī Caitanya and chanting the Hare Kṛṣṇa mantra again and again. The next day the dog was gone because it went back to Godhead showing that regardless of one’s elevation in consciousness, if somehow or other one humbly seeks shelter of a Vaiṣṇava one can achieve the highest destination.
 
“We may conclude that even as dogs we must take shelter of a Vaiṣṇava. The benefit will be the same as that which accrues to an advanced devotee under a Vaiṣṇavas care.” Purport, Antya-līlā 1.24
 
“The next day, no one saw that dog, for it had obtained its spiritual body and departed for Vaikuṇṭha, the spiritual kingdom.”  Antya-līlā 1.32
 
 
Lesson 8: When Vaiṣṇavas meet after a long time, they sit together and discuss good news (about Kṛṣṇa consciousness).
 
Upon his arrival at Jagannātha Purī, Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī meets Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu and Haridāsa Ṭhākura at the latter’s hut.
 
“Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu then sat down with Haridāsa and Rūpa Gosvāmī. They inquired from one another about auspicious news and then continued to talk together for some time.”  Antya-līlā 1.49
 
 
Lesson 9: The glory of mahā-prasadam.
 
“When they [Śrī Rūpa and Haridāsa Ṭhākura] received the remnants of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s prasādam through Govinda, they respected it, and then they both began to dance in ecstasy.” Antya-līlā 1.64
 
 
Lesson 10: Tests are necessary to strengthen one’s resolve in spiritual life.
 
While Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, accompanied by his most confidential devotees, was going to visit Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī, Śrī Caitanta Mahāprabhu praised Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī profusely to test those devotees and observe their reaction.
 
“Just to examine Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya and Rāmānanda Rāya, the Lord began to praise the transcendental qualities of Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī before them.” Antya-līlā 1.106
 
Why does the Lord test his devotees? Just like we shake a nail it to test if is secure enough to withstand the initial blow of a hammer, the Lord or spiritual master tests a devotees capability to contain their mercy before bestowing it.
 
 
Lesson 11: A Vaiṣṇava is averse to personal praise.
 
Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu was exceptionally impressed with Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s poetry and he requested him to share it with the devotees. Śrī Rūpa’s reaction to his request shows how a devotee responds to personal praise:
 
“When Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu ordered Rūpa Gosvāmī to read the verse they had previously heard, Rūpa Gosvāmī, because of great shyness, did not read it but instead remained silent.” Antya-līlā 1.112
 
 
Lesson 12: A devotee is patient and works steadily towards his goal.
 
The six Gosvāmīs made great literary contributions. Even their works of philosophy were composed in verse. The books that we enjoy were thus not produced overnight, but after years of austerity. Below Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta reveals that the Vidagdha-mādhava, one of Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s dramas, took almost twenty years to compose showing the steadfastness and patience of a devotee in working towards his goal.
 
“Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura informs us in this connection that Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī finished the drama known as Vidagdha-mādhava in the year Śakābda 1454 (A.D. 1532) and the Lalita-mādhava in Śakābda 1459 (A.D. 1537). The discussion between Rāmānanda Rāya and Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī at Jagannātha Purī took place in Śakābda 1437 (A.D. 1515).” Purport, Antya-līlā 1.126
 
The discussion being described was about the introductory verse to the Vidagdha-mādhava. So if the introductory verse was existent in at least 1515, and the book was finally published in 1532, it means that the work took at least eighteen painstaking years to finish!
 
 
Lesson 13: Kṛṣṇa consciousness is beyond duality.
 
Śrīla Rāmānanda Rāya requests Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī to chant some of his poetry. This particular verse describes how Kṛṣṇa consciousness is beyond duality as it describes how on the absolute platform even the greatest distress is the greatest happiness:
 
“ ‘My dear beautiful friend, if one develops love of Godhead, love of Kṛṣṇa, the son of Nanda Mahārāja, all the bitter and sweet influences of this love will manifest in one’s heart. Such love of Godhead acts in two ways. The poisonous effects of love of Godhead defeat the severe and fresh poison of the serpent. Yet there is simultaneously transcendental bliss, which pours down and defeats the poisonous effects of a snake, as well as the happiness derived from pouring nectar on one’s head. It is perceived as doubly effective, simultaneously poisonous and nectarean.’ ”  Antya-līlā 1.148
 
 
Lesson 14: Despite substantial accomplishments a devotee never feels proud.
 
Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s reaction to Śrīla Rāmānanda Rāya’s profuse praise of his poetry:
 
“Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī said, ‘In your presence, which is just like brilliant sunshine, I am as insignificant as the light of a glowworm.’ ” Antya-līlā 1.173
 
 
Lesson 15: One cannot understand the pastimes of Śrī Kṛṣṇa by scholarship alone.
 
When Śrīla Rāmānanda Rāya asks Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī to further recite his poetry he quotes the following from the Lalita-mādhava (1.23) spoken by Paurṇamāsī in a conversation with Gārgī.
 
“‘The dust from cows and calves on the road creates a kind of darkness indicating that Kṛṣṇa is returning home from the pasture. Also, the darkness of evening provokes the gopīs to meet Kṛṣṇa. Thus the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa and the gopīs are covered by a kind of transcendental darkness and are therefore impossible for ordinary scholars of the Vedas to see.’” Antya-līlā 1.188
 
People who are covered by passion and ignorance cannot understand Kṛṣṇa. In Vṛndāvana, however, even in a hazy storm of dust or the dark of night devotees can understand what Kṛṣṇa is doing. Śrīla Prabhupāda thus describes that “the purport of this verse is that under no circumstances is Kṛṣṇa ever lost to the vision of exalted devotees like the gopīs.”
 
 
Lesson 16: Only by poetry can one describe love (bhakti).
 
“Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu praised the metaphors and other literary ornaments of Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s transcendental poetry. Without such poetic attributes, He said, there is no possibility of preaching transcendental mellows.” Antya-līlā 1.198
 
To effectively communicate love one not only has to describe the sentiments of love, but one has to recreate those feelings of love. This can be done in writing only by metaphors and other literary ornaments and thus poetry is the most effective medium to invoke emotions.
 
 
Lesson 17: If we write poetry it should have a profound effect.
 
“‘What is the use of a bowman’s arrow or a poet’s poetry if they penetrate the heart but do not cause the head to spin?’” Antya-līlā 1.195
 
 

Tags: Caitanya-caritamrta, Lessons from the CC, Vaisnava Behavior

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 9th, 2016

Do you have spiritual prejudice?

“Spiritual prejudice” is a phrase I coined myself, so I guess I also get to define it:

Spiritual prejudice: Prejudging the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa based on misapplying our previous experience to them and thus seeing the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa as mundane.

An explanation about the foundation of prejudice may help us understand how we can also avoid spiritual prejudice.

Prejudice means judging something not on actual experience, but on a preconceived opinion formed by either generalizing a past experience or worse, by categorizing an individual or group based on misinformation or propaganda.

To illustrate this concept of prejudice let’s use the example of two young boys in terms of their perception of their teacher, one from a normal family (Boy A) and one from a dysfunctional family (Boy B).

Boy A gets corrected by his teacher and laments that he has done something wrong. The teacher is genuinely dedicated to his student’s welfare and Boy A sees that and respects him. Boy B, however, gets corrected for the same thing and sees his teacher as mean or oppressive. His teacher is not mean or oppressive, but because Boy B’s parents were abusive or neglectful he distrusts all authorities and projects his bad experience with authority on his teacher. Prejudice thus clouds perception because it prevents us from understanding something as it is.

Perhaps I am not using the word prejudice in the more common way in its application to race, gender, or ethnicity, but my point here is just to illustrate the foundation of prejudice: preconceived notions that give negative or harmful impressions and prevent us from experiencing things as they are.

What does this have to do with spiritual prejudice?

In a similar prejudicial way, we tend to misjudge the transcendental pastimes of Kṛṣṇa as mundane by projecting on them our own experience in comparable relationships.

In reality, the forms of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa are not in the least mundane, but rather are the essence of God’s internal or spiritual potency. Even their most amorous exchanges are exclusively imbued with selflessness and pure devotion. Rādhā embraces Kṛṣṇa, but her thoughts remain singularly “How can Kṛṣṇa be pleased?” To see them in any other way has little value and at worst can harm our spiritual life by intensifying mundane lust.

Understanding the benefit of hearing the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa and the ill effect of being covered from them by prejudice, we are left with one last question:

How does one overcome spiritual prejudice?

The best way to know Śrī Kṛṣṇa in truth is by regularly hearing the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, a brilliant text in 12 cantos. It is brilliant in that the first nine cantos are carefully composed to step-by-step educate one on the science of Kṛṣṇa and gradually purify one of attachment. By doing so one can eventually come to the platform of properly hearing the pastimes of Śrī Kṛṣṇa in the Tenth Canto faithfully without prejudice.

And the great teachers who have undergone this Bhāgavata process can also speak and present the beautiful pastimes of Kṛṣṇa in an appropriate way even to most neophytes, which is what Śrīla Prabhupāda did in his summary presentation of the Tenth Canto called Kṛṣṇa Book. By carefully couching the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa within carefully worded explanations of the science of Kṛṣṇa to inoculate one against misconceptions, he could recommend even at the very beginning of his mission to his inexperienced disciples:

“If you read Kṛṣṇa Book every day you will be happy.”

Oh, the joy of being freed from spiritual prejudice!

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 2nd, 2016

(Kirtan refers to devotional singing, but it also refers to the recitation of spiritual poetry and drama or even just speaking about spiritual subjects. In the school of Śrī Caitanya, when devotional singing is done in a group with musical accompaniment it is specifically called sankirtan; the prefix “san” comes from samyak, which means “complete”. It is called sankirtan, or complete, as the group experience of kirtan is more absorbing and moving than the individual one. For the purpose of distinguishing group from individual kirtan, when I refer to devotional singing and music in a congregation I will use the word “sankirtan”, although it is commonly known as just kirtan.)

I was happy to read that “sankirtan (chanting with others) is superior even to kirtan (chanting alone) because it produces such extraordinary feelings”.[1] That has always been my conviction, but here was a declarative statement by Śrī Jiva Gosvāmī, one of the greatest Vaiṣṇava scholars in his classic work Śrī Bhakti Sandarbha.

Although I was happy to find a supportive statement for the magnificence of sankirtan, the question still remained, why? Why does sankirtan produce such extraordinary feelings? Luckily the answer came soon. While thumbing casually through a book containing the personal correspondence of my spiritual master, Śrīla Prabhupāda, I chanced upon the following statement:

“The hearing tendency is made easy and still more favorable by songs and music of spiritual value to be equally shared by all classes of men namely the highest educated and the lowest illiterate.” [2]

The answer was simple and clear: “hearing made easy by music!” The test of any meditational practice is its ability to facilitate focus on the object of one’s mediation, usually a mantra that is heard. As proper melody and rhythm spontaneously allure the mind, mantra couched in music naturally makes mantra meditation easier.  And as the focus in sankirtan is the very object of the practitioner’s devotion (the divine names of God), extraordinary feelings, such as devotion and joy, naturally arise as one’s meditation deepens.

The power of music is not the only reason why sankirtan invokes more astonishing feelings than chanting alone. Being inspired by the reference about sankirtan from Śrī Jiva, I delved further into why this practice is considered exceptional. As bhakti and kirtan are the main components of sankirtan, I naturally began my study there.

Bhagavad-gītā clearly distinguishes bhakti as the topmost yoga.[3] It also implies why:

In bhakti, the object of meditation is Brahman (the Divine) designated in divine names such as Rāma and Kṛṣṇa, which are considered non-different from Brahman. Thus unlike in classical yoga where to quell the mind one chooses an arbitrary object as a prop for meditation, the bhakta selects an object of loving relationship. Consequently, the bhakta is spontaneously drawn to meditation out of faith and devotion, rather than will-power alone, making it the best means of focusing the mind.

Furthermore, the Divine names as an object of meditation are alive and personal. They thus can reciprocate the practitioner’s devotion by bestowing the desired fruits of practice, even samādhi, which is the final goal. Because in bhakti the fruits of devotional meditation can even exceed the practitioner’s yogic effort, bhakti is therefore called the path of grace and highly praised.

As mentioned above, the use of songs and music in mantra meditation is deemed particularly powerful, even within the path of bhakti. Why? Among sense objects sound is considered particularly absorbing, and especially gripping in good music. The mind is thus naturally allured to the designated mantra embedded in musical sounds. In addition, the melodies, or rāgas, accompanying kirtan are composed to stir devotional feelings, which are the very force behind the bhakta’s meditation.

Attraction to music is imbedded deep within the psyche. Many great thinkers affirm this. Plato in The Republic, for example, recommended that a child’s education be mostly composed of good music to harmonize or spiritualize the mind. Śrīla Viśvanātha Cakravartī, a prominent 17^th century Vaiṣṇava scholar, went even further. In his commentary on Kṛṣṇa’s famous midnight dance with the cowherd maidens (the gopīs) of Vṛndāvan, he described the number of melodies the gopīs sang as one for every 16,000 species of life, implying the innate connection between the essential nature of each species and a particular melody. It is precisely this instinctive connection between tune and being that so powerfully weds mantra and music in the heart and mind of the chanter and makes the experience of sankirtan so potent.

Still it is not the resource of music alone that elevates sankirtan over even other practices of bhakti. The full capacity to evoke grace, the power of group petition and the superiority of shared bliss are also enhancing characteristics of sankirtan.

For the followers of Śrī Caitanya, the inaugurator of the sankirtan movement, perhaps there is no greater reason why sankirtan is considered so effective than the grace it attracts to help one advance on the path of bhakti.

As the inaugurator of the sankirtan movement, Śrī Caitanya is glorified in Caitanya-bhāgavata as sankirtaṇaika-pitarau, the father of sankirtan. The best way to please the father is to serve his son. Śrī Caitanya’s followers therefore trust that by wholeheartedly giving oneself to that which is born of Śrī Caitanya (sankirtan), they will gain His blessings. This is strongly the culture and philosophy of traditional India: by honoring the predecessors of one’s tradition, the power of what they exemplified, practiced and taught flows to one’s heart. The fullest manifestation of Śrī Caitanya’s teachings is prema (divine love), which manifests to those fully absorbed in the sankirtan of the holy names born from Him.

The Bhāgavata gives another interesting perspective on the efficacy of sankirtan in its description of the events leading to Śrī Kṛṣṇa’s advent. The story begins with Mother Earth in the form of a distressed cow tearfully approaching the chief executive of the universe, Lord Brahma. She seeks relief from the burden of the increasing number of militaristic rulers plundering her planet. Concerned, Lord Brahmā, accompanied by Śiva and all the demigods, leaves for the sacred milk ocean to petition the Lord’s advent. One commentator rhetorically questions why Lord Brahmā brought such an entourage of luminaries with him, when he was perfectly qualified to gain direct access to the Lord by the purity of his own prayer. [4] The answer: Lord Brahmā was instructing by example that in prayer, all things being equal, group petition is more powerful than individual prayer. Bhakti is the path of entreaty. Accordingly, sankirtan, the kirtan of collective appeal, invokes extraordinary feelings of grace and delight.

Ideally in sankirtan all qualified participants share in the musical devotional offering, especially the sentiments being expressed. As they are shared they tend to be more intense. This type of phenomena can be clearly seen in drama. One purpose of good theater is catharsis, the literary effect where the audience (or the characters) is overcome with the strong emotion of the drama, a shared experience that uplifts the audience in a unique way. Abhinavagupta, one of Indian’s most respected theorists on mystical and aesthetic experience writes extensively on the necessity for the experience of rāsa to be in the company of like-minded souls. He even went so far as to say that the fullness of joy in theatre and mysticism occurs only when every participant fully shares the experience.[5]

One of my favorite examples of this is the scene describing the day Śrī Caitanya left home to take sannyāsa. He is effulgently sitting amongst His devotes who remain unaware that their master will leave in the evening. His splendid form is covered with the many exquisite garlands his associates have piled with love around his neck. Fresh sandalwood paste has also been affectionately patted across his forehead. Their unbounded bliss reaches its height as “they gazed upon him as if with a single pair of eyes!”

For this reason, the power of shared feelings and extraordinary devotional emotions tend to increase in communal kirtan.

I remember a kirtan I joined one summer evening in 1986 in the Indian town of Farrukhabad where the accomplished B.B. Govinda Swami was leading our sankirtan group in the town’s annual Rāma Bharata procession. Almost one million people from the district lined the streets for this yearly commemoration of the wedding of Sītā and Rāma. I could barely stand the heat on this muggy August day, but it was the portable lanterns on the heads of the dozens of coolies walking by our side to light our way that created an especially intolerable setting. One can’t imagine how many bugs even a single lantern attracts on a muggy summer night in India! The Swami is not an ordinary kīrtanīyā. As a child he grew up in Nashville, Tennessee, the son of a famous music agent. Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash regularly frequented his house and often held him on his lap. Anyway, whatever soul he imbibed from his birth was later channeled into kirtan in his youth. In the early 70s he became a devotee of Kṛṣṇa and lived in Vṛndāvan at the feet of some of the greatest kirtan masters. On that muggy night in August his sweet, powerful, melodious kirtan accompanied by a host of expert Bengali and African American mṛdaṅga players was exceptionally potent. I remember it well. Due to my discomfort, when it began all I could think of was, “when will this end!” Shortly, however, the mantra, the melody, the rhythm, the camaraderie and the grace, sent us to another world, as it did the throngs of Indian villagers lining the streets. I closed my eyes and absorbed myself in the sankirtan. What seemed a relatively short time later I opened them. It was five in the morning! I was startled! “How did that happen?” I pondered. Now I know: Yoga made easy by music!

 
[1] Śrī Bhakti Sandarbha, Anuchheda 269

[2] Correspondence of A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami, letter to Seth Mangumal Amarsingh, Bombay 24 July, 1958

[3] Śrī Kṛṣṇa says in Bhagavad-gītā 6.47 ‘Of all yogis one who worships me with faith and devotion is the best of all.’

[4] The Absolute Reality is called Brahman, which can manifest in various ways. When the Absolute Reality is fully manifest in sound (śabda), it is called śabda brahman, sound, which is Absolute Reality.

[5] See Acting as a Way of Salvation, David Haberman,  p. 16-29
 
 

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Dhanurdhara Swami April 25th, 2016

Enternot! What a nice play on the word internet by the poet Madan Oppenheimer. Everything has a utility. I say that for those who will shoot back after my post, “But you are using the internet to make this post!”
 
Disclaimer: I am not against its use, but rather its abuse, and we may even have to consider if its abuse outweighs its use.
 
For those of you that go back to the Sixties, the famous sociologist Marshal McLuhan coined the phrase “the medium is the message”. He argued that the nature of the medium you use has a greater affect on you than the content it communicates. I think everyone has to thoughtfully weigh what one is getting out of the internet to determine whether the content they get outweighs the affect it has on one’s consciousness. I did.
 
I now use the internet for email, to check the news once a week, and occasionally google a piece of information, as I did for the spelling and refresher understanding of Marshal McLuhan. Others may require more for their service, but everyone should be very sincere and cautious about its use, especially serious spiritual aspirants.
 
For those who are serious spiritual aspirants we should especially be aware of the internet’s susceptibility to foster prajalpa (idle talk), one of the six main obstacles to the growth of bhakti. Prajalpa also includes frivolous news and politics (almost all news and politics). And the real danger of prajalpa is that it usually becomes parā-doṣānusandhana – finding faults with others, the general subject matter of idle talks. And there is nothing that distances oneself from awakening of the heart of divine love than sādhu-nindā, the propensity to carelessly criticize others, especially those committed on the spiritual path.
 
In regard to the internet I want to share with you two pieces on the subject matter. The first is Madan Oppenheimer’s poem Enternot, which serves as the title of this essay. The second is a piece I wrote ten years ago when my computer broke called “Windows to the Material World” – a play on the computer software “Windows” and Śrīla Prabhupāda’s statement where he called the beautiful paintings on the wall at the foot of his bed “windows to the spiritual world“.
 
First Madan’s poem and then a link to my article “Windows to the Material World”.
 
Enternot
  
Dot communists everywhere
Invasion on a grand scale
Too much information too quick
Check your head when you check your email
  
They come disguised as friends and well-wishers
You’ve never had less time to think
This fruit of man’s progress looks good on the surface
But inside it’s toxic and stinks
 
If I give in
And I hope that I don’t
I’ll log on to forgiveme.com
   
But until then
You’ll find me on the run
From the fallout of dot-commie bombs
 
My essay: “Windows to the Material World”
 

I guess the message is simple:
 
Beware Of Computer.
 
Enter at Your Own Risk!
 
 

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Dhanurdhara Swami April 18th, 2016

Note: For this Monday Morning Greeting I am republishing a re-edited version of one of my favorite articles.
 
The Mother, the Mind, and Food
  
Recently my mother related to me how she was advising her daughter-in-law who had become overwhelmed with the responsibilities of her family and job. She quoted to her a Yiddish saying that her own mother told her when my mother was raising my two brothers and myself.
 
“It will all soon pass”.
 
Now that my students have children, and I am often living among them, and see the sacrifice they are making, I have become more aware of the great sacrifice my mother made in raising us. Somehow, until my mother recently told me her advice to her daughter-in-law that alluded to her own struggles as a mother raising young children, I never realized that she also underwent a similar sacrifice taking care of us. When she told me, my immediate reaction was to feel bad for the pain that I caused her by the insensitive way I joined the Hare Krishna movement (although I, of course, have no regrets with the fact that I joined). I have to say that seeing the sacrifice my students have made raising their own children my admiration for motherhood has soared over the last few years!
 
 
A realization I recently gained from astrology about motherhood increased this appreciation more. In astrology different planets and different houses are the karaka, or main indicators, for the prominent aspects of ones life. For example, we can look to the position of the sun and the strength of the ninth house for the nature of ones relationship with the father. The tenth house deals with one’s occupation, and Jupiter ones wisdom, guru or religiosity. In the same way, the moon and fourth house indicate ones mother. What struck me is the fact that the moon and the fourth house are also the indicators of the mind. As the mother and the mind have the same exact karaka, astrology shows that the strength of one’s relationship with one’s mother, the nurturing aspect of ones life, is also the main determining factor for ones strength of mind.
 
When we say, “mind”, in this context, we are also referring simultaneously to what we call the heart. A strong mind thus means that one can both freely express, and when needed control, ones feelings. In other words, a person with a good mind is thus openhearted and secure, but at the same disciplined. They can thus also control their mind, make decisions, and think clearly. A good mind (heart) is thus the foundation of properly relating, communicating, and learning, the emblems of culture.
 
An interesting incident last year reinforced this realization about the correlation between the mother and the mind. His Holiness Radhanatha Swami asked me to accompany him to place his mother’s ashes in the Yamuna. From the soberness and attentiveness he gave to this task, I could sense his gratitude and strong relationship with his mother, although he is a monk and is certainly a detached person. I was also told later about the positive influence his mother had on his life. As I reflected on the nature of his good heart, his ability to be openhearted and loving, and also the strength of his mind, his ability to remain fixed and undisturbed, it further dawned on me the strong connection between the nature of ones mind and the quality of the nurturing influences in one’s early life.
 
This understanding is also confirmed by my observation of those lacking formative nurturing influences. Years ago I was dealing with a person in Vrindavan who had all the signs of serious clinical depression. He was gradually losing touch with reality and needed serious mental health care. It took me months of pushing to finally get the temple authorities to seek professional consultation. Afterwards, I spoke to one of the leaders, a very cultured Indian, and told him frankly that he could never understand the need for psychiatric care because he had a loving mother at home who fed him. I also knew his mother and how close they were. He was startled by my statement, and told me I was absolutely right. He related to me that when he would sometimes read in the newspaper how the rich and famous were depressed he would say to himself “what is this depression?” He had absolutely no personal frame of reference to understand it. We then discussed how much the sense of being loved in a family is transferred through the serving and taking of meals affectionately prepared by a loving mother, and especially how the children were inoculated against insecurity and depression by the love and security impressed within them by this loving exchange.
 
As a person’s real success is based on one’s strength of mind, there is, in a sense, a mother behind every successful man. As the strength of a society is the character of its people, which is this strength of mind, it goes without saying how essential motherhood is to the proper development of society. Thank you mothers!
 
*Although the nurturing influences in one’s life is the most significant factor in the development of ones mind (heart), even if this is lacking it can be compensated for, or rectified, by other factors, like training and other forms of personal development, especially by cultivating a loving relationship with God and His devotees. Similarly, even if those nurturing influences are there, the mind can be disturbed by other factors such as sinful reactions from bad karma or traumatic experiences. However, the effect of the appropriate nurturing in childhood on the development of one’s mind cannot be underestimated. Also there is a difference between proper nurturing and co-dependence and other forms of over-indulgence.
 
 

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Dhanurdhara Swami April 11th, 2016

Can Women Take Sannyāsa? *
 
An interesting question was asked after my Bhāgavatam class Sunday, “Why are women forbidden to take sannyāsa?” A thoughtful discussion ensued. I especially like the contribution of Kaustubha dās, the Senior Educator of The Bhakti Center, who was asked a similar question in a seminar he had given the week before. The thrust of his explanation involved how the dynamic of western or modern upbringings fosters a perspective of tradition that is somewhat skewed and often leads to the misunderstanding of the value, and even the basic intent, behind much of the traditional practices of yoga or bhakti, such as sannyāsa. Here is the gist of his interesting answer on this subject:
 
“In terms of women being forbidden to take sannyāsa, it is not unfair or discriminatory. It only seems so because of the image we have of sannyāsa in today’s world. The modern sannyāsa is usually in a hierarchical position in society, often a guru, and a leader within an institutional preaching mission. Even if very renounced, his position still generally wields power and he often controls substantial wealth and assets and much facility is offered for his. If that is indeed what sannyāsa is about, then I can see why people today would think it was and is discriminatory not to offer the same opportunity for women.
 
The traditional sannyāsa, however, was much different. It was an arduous life of renunciation. After taking sannyāsa, the man would have to leave home and walk through the forest barefoot and depend on God for sustenance and protection. Even sixty years ago when Śrīla Prabhupāda was initially asked to take sannyāsa by a respected god-brother, he momentarily balked contemplating what the life of a sannyāsa in the Gauḍīya Maṭha meant.
 
The people of yore thus shuttered to think what the life of a sannyāsa would impose on their father who left home, what to speak of the thought of putting their mothers, or any woman for that matter, in such an unprotected and painstaking situation. The prohibition of women taking sannyāsa was thus born out of this sense of compassion. As difficult and dangerous as it is for a man to wander as a homeless beggar, that situation would be even more vulnerable for women.
 
And for women who sought and were qualified for that level of renunciation, other gender appropriate situations were offered. After Lord Caitanya took sannyāsa, Viṣṇupriyā, the wife of Lord Caitanya, shaved her head, wore only white cloths and stay at home protected by his senior disciples. She would count her japa by placing one grain of rice in a bowl after each completed round and then after chanting all day she would cook that rice and offer it to a deity of Lord Caitanya. And that’s all she would eat. She was more than sannyāsa.”
 
So that was the gist of our discussion. I am satisfied with our conclusion. Having said that, the next obvious question arises, “Can women be dīkṣā-gurus?” That’s a subject for another day.
 
* I am not sure everyone reading this is familiar with the term. For those who are not familiar, sannyāsa is the fourth ashram of the Vedic social order, where a man, usually towards the last part of his life, leaves home for a life of complete renunciation.
 
 

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