Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami July 17th, 2023

The best laid plans of mice and men[1]

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

Praise and the death of my devotion

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

I like Mormons

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

Destiny is the language of God

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

SDG (Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami) July Festival

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

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

Stayed tuned. See you next week from Govardhana!

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

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

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

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

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

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 10th, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

But there is something more:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 3rd, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 26th, 2023

I often tell the story of how my budding conviction that Śrī Krishna was God became reinforced while going to school. In 1971, I was studying philosophy in university, and in one class the definition of God was given: “That being of which no greater can be conceived.” That stuck in my mind. Shortly after, my former roommate, who had joined the Krishna temple in California, returned to campus and gifted me the newly published Krishna Book. I believe Krishna Book was the first time in the western world, which also meant it was the first for the devotees in the Hare Krishna Movement, that the full pastimes of Krishna were being described in English. I immediately started reading it. Somewhere around the second chapter, where Krishna’s immanence and transcendence were being described, I had an epiphany: “Usually, God is described mostly as just all-pervading and all-powerful, but I now can describe a being greater than that—one who is not only omniscient and omnipotent as described here, but one who doesn’t have the defect of impersonality, who, in addition to Their supreme power, experiences perfect love in relationship with parents, friends, and lovers.” Yes, I concluded, Krishna is that being of which no greater can be conceived! I chuckled, for my reasoning also made sense of the great philosopher Nietzsche’s most famous and puzzling statement, “I would only believe in a God who can dance!”

This post will be about God who can dance. I will do that through the Kālīya pastime, where Śrī Krishna, who is known as the most excellent of dancers (naṭa-vara), gracefully leaps and twirls on the head of the many hooded serpent. I hope you relish the description of Krishna’s dancing, although no description can do justice to the sweetness and talent of the original guru of all dance, Śrī Krishna. That description is certainly more than charming, but I am describing it for a particular reason. I want to vividly illustrate my theme—that to deny in the Absolute, the most excellent of qualities and talents, like out of this world dancing, is to deny Their supremacy, for a being without such demonstrable talent, is certainly not one of whom no greater can be conceived.

To make a long story short:[1]

Śrī Krishna had jumped into to the water of the Yamuna to subdue the many headed Kālīya serpent, who was poisoning her waters. He eventually winds up on top of Kālīya, whose broad hoods were situated high above the river. As Kālīya repeatedly tried to bite Krishna using one of his thousand heads, Krishna would dexterously avoid the sting and jump from one broad, stage-like hood to another. As Krishna, who is ādi-guru kalatra—the original guru of all arts, including the supreme maestro of the art of movement—moved in this way, He naturally began to rhythmically bang Kālīya’s hoods with His heels like a Kuchipudi classical dancer, but even far more expertly.[2] The demigods, realizing that Krishna wanted to dance, immediately arrived on the scene with their instruments to accompany Him. First came Indra with his mridanga and then Śrī Nārada with his vina. Soon all the demigods were present offering their enthusiasm and artistic skills to assist in Krishna’s unprecedented serpent dance by carefully observing the extraordinary rhythm of His feet so that they could perfectly accompany Him. The gandharvas, the denizens of the planet of the unparalleled singers, also arrived, and from deep within their hearts they began belting out the glories of Krishna’s dance in the most melodious and sweet voices. Lord Shiva, who brought his drum known as the Damaru, was also there, as were the vidyādharas, the denizens of the planet of the great musicians, bringing flutes, trumpets, and all sorts of percussion instruments to further inspire Krishna’s dancing by a symphony of suras.[3] Only the Apsarās, the best of the heavenly dancers, stood by idly, too embarrassed to demonstrate their own skill in comparison to the extraordinary artistry of the supreme performer. Nonetheless, the whole scene became a festival for the Vrajavāsīs, who were on the shore dancing, cheering wildly, and watching with amazement, while from above the heavenly performers were doing the same.

Reflecting back more than fifty years ago to my faith building epiphany, I still say with the same confidence, I would only believe in a God who can dance!

[1] My description of Śrī Krishna dancing on Kālīya comes mostly from the lecture of Śrīla Radha Govinda Swami on this subject.

[2] In his commentary to Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 10.16.26, Viśvanātha Cakravartī Ṭhākura describes that just as a dancer sometimes dances on metal plates to show his expertise, Krishna danced on the hoods of Kālīya. See https://youtu.be/ko5sKNuSLbs?t=82 and https://youtu.be/vGH1a1fs6O8?t=434

[3] Suras means demigods.

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 19th, 2023

In last week’s post I discussed the article “Reckoning with Compassion”[1], which highlighted a very important point—that being an ethical person was more than rule following, but also having the practical wisdom that enables one to apply moral principles in new and novel situations.

A classic example would be Arjuna’s situation in the Bhagavad-gītā. He was fixed in the important principles of honoring elders, especially one’s family, and being kind to everyone, but was puzzled about how to apply those principles as a warrior when facing his elders, who, in battle, took the side of the enemy that was led by an unscrupulous king threatening to destroy him. Should he drop his weapons and adhere to such universal Vedic principles in that regard, those that we know in Judeo-Christian tradition as the fifth and sixth commandments to honor thy mother and father and thou shall not kill, or is being truly moral something deeper? Śrī Krishna thought so. He thus dissed Arjuna’s so-called compassion as sentimental and spoke the Bhagavad-gītā to hone Arjuna’s rule-based ethical world view in order to convince him that it was a higher principle to fight out of duty and devotion in a just war.

One practical example, which is almost a bit humorous, sticks out in my mind. It illustrates how when our moral judgements are reduced to rule following without the required wisdom to make good judgements, it can result in folly or disaster. One common principle of good behavior is cleanliness, especially in the pure ancient Brahminical tradition of India. Before entering a room, a cultured person takes off their shoes so that the dirt on their soles is not carried inside the house. Thirty years ago, it was reported to me by one devotee that a snake slithered into their room. I immediately called the chokidar (guard) to take care of the situation. He arrived at the room and before courageously entering the room with his choki (stick) to kill the snake, he politely removed his boots for the sake of cleanliness. Yes, cleanliness is next to godliness, but not when it can get you killed!

I am not minimizing that the foundation of morality is rules of good behavior and that too little affection for them is a detriment to bhakti, but rather just emphasizing how much—as was demonstrated in the inspiration for this post, “Reckoning with Compassion”—too much affection for rules is also a detriment to one’s spiritual development when it stifles the ability to practically apply those rules wisely according to circumstance.

Therefore, according to most legitimate spiritual traditions, a person interested in an ethically tuned life must strengthen their moral sense by following how the wise in the past have appropriately applied the tenets of their tradition. Let me end this post with a short discussion on how Caitanya Vaiṣṇavism attempts to create ethically tuned or wise adherents.

Like all traditions, Caitanya Vaiṣṇavism seeks to morally and spiritually elevate adherents by the careful study of the śāstra under the guidance of the wise. To understand how the tradition tries to accomplish this, it is helpful to understand the term sambandha-jñāna, which is the term for metaphysical knowledge or the study of the fundamental nature of reality.[2] The literal translation for sambandha-jñāna is “knowledge of relationship”. The best way, therefore, to understand the fundamental nature of reality is to understand the sambandha (relationship) or balance between various truths.[3]

For example, there is a truth of renunciation, or non-attachment, and there is a truth of attachment, regulating and satisfying one’s desires. If the truth of renunciation is overly accentuated in relationship to the truth of attachment, then jñāna-sannyasa, renunciation of one’s material duties, is artificially promoted, and the household ashram and the respect for women is devalued. Conversely, if attachment, engaging in one’s material duties, is overly promoted, one will adopt and recommend overly indulgent lifestyles and shun the need for the ultimate renunciation of material life. One who properly studies the śāstra, however, under the guidance of those who are realized, will learn sambandha-jñāna, an understanding of the size or relationship between renunciation and attachment, and will neither artificially inflate the importance of renunciation or live beyond what one needs to keep the body and soul together.

It is like that with any of the apparent dualities between different truths found in the tradition. I’ll name a few of those dualities that tend to polarize those who lack sambandha-jñāna: strī-dharmān/independence and empowerment of women, deep spiritual practice/commitment to preaching, strict adherence to tradition/adjustment for preaching, zero tolerance for abuse/api cet su-durācāro,[4] seeing everyone equally/the need for hierarchy.

In summary, sambandha-jñāna, the understanding of the relationship or size of one truth to another, is the basis of having a sound understanding of the fundamental basis of reality. If we don’t strengthen our moral sense by learning from the past applications of wise people, we will be cursed to embrace imbalanced conclusions based not on reality, but our material natures. My faith in this regard is strong based on my personal experience. The guidance of those who deeply study and realize śāstra can guide us to a balanced understanding and inoculate us from the kind of superficial understanding of truths that lead to distress as illustrated in “Reckoning with Compassion”.

[1] Monday Morning Greetings 2023 #24 – The Challenge in Living an Ethically Tuned Life: Part I

[2] The subject of sambandha-jñāna also includes epistemology.

[3] I got this definition of sambandha-jñāna from Pradyumna das, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s Sanskrit editor. He would occasionally visit me when I stayed in the Bhakti Center, and one day shared with me different ways in which we can understand sambandha-jñāna, and this was one of them.

[4] The phrase api cet su-durācāro is from verse 9.30 in Bhagavad-gītā where Krishna explains that even one who commits the most abominable action is considered saintly if he is generally fixed in devotion, and his sin was accidental. Obviously, that requires a careful balance between that conception, the exalted position of one practicing devotion, and the need to protect a society by laws.

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 12th, 2023

A message from Krishna Ksetra Swami:

“On another note, I thought you may find this article interesting (maybe food for thought leading to a Monday Morning Greetings).”[1]

I did.

The article he sent me was called “Reckoning with Compassion”. It was written by Jessica Locke, a follower of prominent Buddhist guru/leader Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche who was credibly accused of sexual and other abuses going back decades. She was devastated but faced a dilemma. She could neither follow her teacher and redefine her personal standards of basic moral behavior, nor deny how the teachings helped her to see the world around her more perceptively and with greater compassion. I found her resolution intriguing. Rather than reject what she received, she validated her positive experiences embracing Buddhism while also critically examining her tradition by questioning what she saw as some of the “unskilled aspects” within its lineage. What I would like to do in this post is just give a short summary of her analysis, which I found astute, as a template for how a tradition is susceptible to the unskilled application of its principles, and then discuss how a spiritual tradition, using the path of bhakti as an example, attempts to keep its teachings from being misapplied.

The main point in her article was to philosophically and historically address how her Buddhistic lineage dealt in an unskilled way with the problem of what they call “self-cherishing”: “the tendency most of us have to see the world through a self-other binary that polarizes our experience into ‘us and them’, ‘me vs the world’.”

The method taught in her tradition to accomplish this was to uproot what they see as the illusory conception of the self[2] based on this us/them duality by what they call “radical compassion”, a mindset that exclusively focuses on the well-being of others, even enemies and strangers, before their own. In other words, the most powerful way to counteract the illusory conception of the self and one’s consequent tendency towards selfishness and a lack of compassion is to not blame others, but to own the problem by thinking, “This is due to my own self-cherishing, my investment in my own selfhood as intrinsically real.” Sounds good on the surface. A doubt, however, arose in her when observing how some of her colleagues, due to their training in radical compassion, wouldn’t even acknowledge their guru’s faults. That anomaly awakened in her a past discussion she had with a friend who forewarned her of the misapplication of such a philosophy, especially in the modern world.

The problem her friend, who was a therapist, saw was that while radical compassion trained one to own the problem and never hold others accountable, the trauma of those who survived sexual violence is often manifest in self-blame, and to overcome that trauma they must acknowledge exactly the opposite and say, “They were wrong. This was not my fault.”[3] In other words, in radical compassion she saw the problem of “spiritual bypassing”, [4] the misapplication of valid spiritual practices to sidestep necessary emotional or psychological development.

This post has already far exceeded my desired word count for a Monday Morning Greetings post. I will finish the article in Part II, where I will specifically discuss how the path of bhakti is meant to deal with these issues. I thus finish here today with a template for what will be further discussed by just briefly outlining how spiritual and philosophical traditions couch this issue:

The problem: True morality or ethics is not just a list of moral virtues or rules. It’s the skilled application in applying those rules. Without such wisdom, moral rules often lead to folly such as the philosophy of radical compassion, a virtue which within itself is noble, but poisonous when improperly applied.

Solution: Legitimate spiritual traditions point to the sages of the past who have already carefully and skillfully negotiated the application of moral rules and thus can guide their adherents in not just knowledge, but practical wisdom. The path of bhakti has a specific recommendation to do this which will be discussed in the next post.

Stay tuned for Part II next week.

[1] https://aeon.co/essays/medicine-or-poison-when-buddhist-compassion-goes-too-far

[2] My tradition does not see the self as illusory, only its self-identification with the body as illusion.

[3] This doesn’t discount the power of forgiveness, just the harm of artificially and often pathologically assuming self-blame when one is abused.

[4] The author referred to a concept deemed by transpersonal psychologist John Welwood https://www.atpweb.org/jtparchive/trps-16-84-01-063.pdf

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 5th, 2023

The form of the Lord worshiped in the temple is called arcā-vigraha, the deity manifestation of God. Each deity manifests or represents a different incarnation. Occasionally the deity represents not only a particular deity incarnation, but also is the form of a particular pastime of that incarnation, such as Sri Nathaji, who is the form of Sri Krishna lifting Govardhan Hill. The deity of Sri Jagannath is particularly unique. It is not only the form of the Lord representing a particular pastime of the Lord, but also a deity who visibly performs that pastime. For the followers of Sri Chaitanya, Sri Jagannath is the deity of Sri Krishna who is returning to Vrindavan in ecstasy after many years in response to the separation of Sri Radha, and who re-enacts that pastime by inspiring His devotees to mount Him on a large chariot and parade Him.

Next Saturday is New York Ratha-yātrā. It is amazing that almost forty years ago, when the Hare Krishna movement was still very much considered a new religious movement and a cult, the devotees were able to get permission to parade Lord Jagannath down 5^th Avenue, arguably the most important and influential street in the world. How was that possible? What is not possible for Jagannath, literally the Lord of the universe!

Jagannatha Ratha-yātrā is a wonderful gathering of Vaiṣṇavas, but for the Vaiṣṇava it is much more than just a social gathering. They follow in the footsteps of Sri Chaitanya, who participated in Ratha-yātrā to relish deep sentiments of devotion. They thus prepare for the festival by hearing about the Lord’s Ratha-yātrā pastime so they can approach the festival in the right understanding and mood.[1] I offer this short explanation every year of the exalted position of Sri Jagannatha among all deity forms of Sri Krishna to especially serve the devotees who may be fortunate, by Srila Prabhupada’s mercy, to attend a Ratha-yātrā festival.

Is Jagannatha the Highest Manifestation of God?

January 23, 2017

Jagannatha is the highest form of God. That’s the realization I had today here in Puri. My reasoning goes like this:

God is a person. I am starting from this proposition because I assume my readership mostly accepts it. Also, I have already argued this point extensively in Monday Morning Greetings #26.[2] Assuming that God doesn’t have the defect of impersonality, my argument proceeds as follows:

The fullest manifestation of any person is not in their position or power, but in their personality, or inner self, as a friend, parent, or lover. For example, we may meet a very powerful person, but if we don’t have a familial relationship with them—if they are a stranger or even a reverential superior—very little of that person’s fullest or most intimate self will be revealed. Position therefore covers personality, or the fullest manifestation of being.

The example of a high court judge is often given to demonstrate this. We may have studied the judge’s background or history or even know him as kind or sober, but his full self is not manifest while holding court. It is only manifest when he comes home and his parental, fraternal, or romantic side is not checked by the formality and majesty that judgeship demands.

In the same way, God is not fully manifest when He displays His full grandeur as Narayaṇa, or the creator and controller of existence. His personality is only fully visible when He sheds His position of grandeur and appears as Krishna, a beautiful cowherd, so His intimate side is not restrained by the opulence (aiśvarya) and formality of Godhead. Krishna is thus aptly described by Sri Rupa, the great Vaishnava teacher, as akhila-rasāmṛta-mūrti, the personification of the combined bliss of all rasas—in other words, the fullest manifestation or personhood.

Certainly, there can be nothing higher than Krishna, but a question still remains. What is the fullest manifestation of Krishna? Here’s where we come to Jagannatha.

Krishna, like any person, gives His heart in proportion to the force of one’s love. As the most intense love is mādhurya-rasa, the mellow of conjugal love, Krishna gives Himself most fully to the gopīs. And as Sri Radha stands supreme even amongst the gopīs, Krishna opens His heart most fully to Her.

Therefore, the fullest manifestation of Krishna is in response to Radha’s love, specifically the height of that love, the peak of Her separation from Krishna. This is a love so powerful that even Krishna’s body transforms in overwhelming ecstasy, a condition where His eyes become highly dilated and His limbs withdraw into His body, a form known as Jagannatha.[3]

And if there is still any doubt that Jagannatha is the fullest manifestation of Krishna, please consider the following:

One of the main practices of spontaneous devotional service (rāgānugā-bhakti) is the worship of the form of Krishna corresponding to the love one aspires to attain. Sri Chaitanya was seeking to taste the love of His best devotee, Sri Radha, at the height of Her love. He therefore accepted Jagannatha as His worshipful Lord and spent the last eighteen years of His life in Jagannatha Puri, and even one year when Sri Chaitanya stayed in Sri Rangam for the four months of the rainy season, where the deity of Viṣṇu presides, and there is no Jagannatha temple, He personally carved His own Jagannatha deity to nourish His devotion.

Can there be any doubt that Jagannatha is the highest form of God?

[1] For those want to go deeper in the subject of Lord Jagannatha I have included an article by Madhavananda das of Gopal Jui Publications. See here: https://archive.org/details/kk-12-the-hidden-identity-of-lord-jagannath-b

[2] See Is God a Person? https://wavesofdevotion.com/2016/06/27/is-god-a-person/

[3] For an elaborate explanation of how Krishna became Jagannatha, see Three Logs of Wood from Gopal Jiu Publications.

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 29th, 2023

About twenty-five years ago, my personal secretary was working as the chief secretary for a large advertising company on Madison Avenue. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but she arranged for me to visit on the afternoon of dress down Friday [1]. She told me her coworkers were sincerely excited to meet me and, sure enough, when I arrived there was a large computer printout on the wall behind the front desk: “WELCOME HARE KRISHNA”.  I was then escorted from office to office, meeting the writers, graphic designers and marketers who were all welcoming and respectful. By the time I reached the large open space at the end of the corridor outside the Vice President’s office, about thirty people had followed me there. When the Vice President came out of her office, I gave her one of those special, otherworldly rose garlands from Radha Govinda Mandir, something that money can’t buy, even in New York. She practically melted into the floor, and then quite deferentially asked me a question: “Why do you dress that way?”

“It’s a uniform. A uniform has two functions. A person can be identified, and it gives one a particular mood to do a service, just like a policeman. By their uniform they can be identified when their service is required, and it also gives them a martial mood. There are also police officers who can do the exact same job in plainclothes. In other words, although wearing a uniform serves an important function, it is not essential. Similarly, by these robes I can be identified as a Hindu monk. Its simplicity also facilitates a spiritual mood, but the same worship of God can be done in plainclothes.”

This Monday Morning Greetings was sparked by a commentary I was reading in the Tenth Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam about the reason that the land of Vrindavan never erases Krishna’s footprints.

“As the tilaka worn by a devotee signifies ‘I belong to guru and Krishna’ the footprints are worn by Earth in the devotional mood that I belong to Krishna. The earth therefore never erases the imprints of Krishna’s lotus feet.” [2]

Reading about the pride which Earth feels wearing the imprints of Krishna’s feet gave me a deeper understanding of the connection between something external, like a devotee’s dress and bodily markings, and something internal, like imbibing the mood of belonging to Śrī Guru and Śrī Krishna. After reading this, the next morning I started marking my body with tilaka with a new mindfulness, devotion, and pride. Of course, there is a distinction between adorning the body with tilaka and wearing devotional dress, as marking the body with tilaka is a devotional item, where wearing devotional clothes is not. A similar principle is there, however, in that they both can, to one degree or another, foster the devotional identity of “I am a servant of guru and Krishna”, which is the raison d’etre or intention for everything that a devotee does.

Of course, I am a monk, where the principle of dressing for identification takes on more of a societal relevance, especially within a devotional community. Also, I lived most of my devotional life in India where the climate and culture give extra relevancy to simple cloth robes. What about devotees who are not monks or priests and live and work in the modern world? Should they dress as Vaiṣṇavas?  

Yes, all things being equal, a Vaiṣṇava should dress as one, provided other factors and circumstances remain the same, like they do for me, whose robes suit his occupation and who mostly lives in India where such dress is the tradition of the country and suited to the climate. 

“All things being equal” certainly means while doing deity worship. The first aspect of worshiping the deity is bhūta-suddhi, purifying the material identity, so at that time of deity seva one certainly does not want to wear clothes that invoke within one a strong material identification.

“All things being equal” generally means while visiting India for pilgrimage, where one has a chance to immerse oneself in an environment and climate that supports a simple and devotional mood of Eastern spirituality.

“All things being equal” usually means when one adopts the role of a priest or spiritual leader where even in the West such dress for such people is understood and even revered. 

“All things being equal” means anytime one is comfortable or desires to dress in traditional Vaiṣṇava garb, even in a foreign environment, to identify as a devotee and specifically to represent that tradition to others. 

I have been discussing here the relative merits of a more traditional garb. A basic principle, however, is that except for the dress required for essential occupational and social interactions, a Vaiṣṇava should dress simply, functionally, and cleanly, and they should avoid excess modern fashion meant to invoke a particular material identity, except in the cases where there is a legitimate psychological need to dress themselves beautifully and reasonably fashionable, which is the case for many women.  

The focus of a devotee’s life is to change the subtle body–the way one thinks, wills, and feels–from “I am the enjoyer and controller” to “I am the servant of my Lord.” As what we wear can influence or fortify our internal self-conception, a devotee also gives some thought to how they dress. For me, I like my uniform and my fresh tilak after bath. It invokes in me a mood more akin to my internal aspirations. But the most important thing for a Vaiṣṇava is not what they wear, but how they behave. I thus pray to belong to Krishna from the core of my heart.

[1] I don’t know if it’s a common practice in other places besides New York. But twenty-five years ago, there was still a formal dress code for businesses, even advertising, but on Friday one could dress casually.

[2] I am hundred percent sure of this commentary, but I was able to locate the exact reference.

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 22nd, 2023

Did you ever arrive in a new place and discover it was completely different from the image you had in your mind before you arrived? When I first stopped at the Hancock Shaker Village, I was expecting a building or two housing a museum. I found a sprawling fourteen-hundred-acre village replete with twenty buildings that were externally and internally pristinely preserved just as when the Shakers thrived there years before.[1] The Shakers are famous for their efficient and functional crafts, mostly furniture and equally fine crafted and constructed buildings. I was humbled by the simplicity and functionality of what the Shakers created, surprisingly as much as I was moved by the grandeur of the Vatican when I visited Rome thirty years before. Both, in their own way, are awe-inspiring edifices of devotion. I loved the Shaker motto: Hands to work, heart to God. My main inspiration for today’s post was the power of simple life, but first a little something about the Shakers.

The Shakers were a Christian, communal, charismatic society of strict celibates born in the late seventeen hundreds that accepted both men and women. To this day they stand as the most successful and long-standing utopian community in United States history. They were famous for their simple life and craftsmanship, their gender equality, and especially their ecstatic singing[2] and dancing during worship. While there, a guide gave us a short lecture and a chance to ask questions. I was intrigued by their celibate lifestyle, especially as both men and women were living in the same community, so I naturally asked the guide if they had any history of scandal in that regard. Her answer was interesting:

“People who studied the Shaker history in Hancock over their many years of existence could not find any records of children being born at that time to anyone connected with the Shakers and no report of scandal has ever been reported in the news, so the consensus was that there weren’t scandals of note, if any. It may have something to do with the fact that women had equal footing in their community and a lot of the scandals in religious institutions occur when authority is placed in the hands of a single male spiritual leader with unilateral power. They also had a very strong work ethic that kept everyone in the community engaged.”

Her answer gave me food for thought.

It is not that the men and women weren’t allowed to converse. They just could not talk alone with each other; but they did share testimony to Christ in small mixed groups. In the paintings of their religious services, you could also see the groups of men and women enthusiastically singing and dancing in proximity but separated by gender. Although their official name was the United Society of Believers in the Second Coming of Christ, it was by their wild dancing after becoming overwhelmed in ecstasy that they got the name “Shakers” by those visiting from the outside. Obviously, the name stuck.

I was also intrigued by the proactive way in which they resolved internal conflicts:

“There was a team of two men and two women who would travel to the various Shaker communities. A special room was set aside where people could come to air their grievances or for those in conflict to settle their disputes.”

I only had time to see a few of their impressive buildings, replete with all the artifacts of their life just as they were when the Shakers lived there, but in my short stay the environment had a powerful effect on me. When things are made with devotion, they represent the spirit of those who create it, and you can feel it. In finely made things, there is also a beauty to their rightness that points to a cosmic order and therefore God. I felt humbled.

By nature, I am an alien, not an earthman.[3] You know how there are people who are just so in touch with the land and all that comes with it, such as the animals. That’s what I call earthmen. I am by contrast a city guy who rarely leaves his room and gets bored by country walks. Yes, I am an alien. But, despite my nature, I deeply admire those who live simply and with integrity, especially when the things they use are substantially created by them. Walking around here, I could sense and envision the transforming power of living in such a community. I also felt exposed by my lack of simplicity, at least to the level I think I should be. I am just too wired and conditioned by the ugra-uber-technological society.[4] Sure, I am a preacher and can make so many excuses in the name of yukta-vairāgya,[5] but there is an ideal here that Śrīla Prabhupāda stressed for everyone—simple living and high thinking—and I have fallen too far from the mark. Yes, ‘tis a gift to be simple. It is the message of the Shakers and Śrīla Prabhupāda too.

‘Tis a gift to be simple, ‘tis a gift to be free

‘Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be

And when we find ourselves in the place just right

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight

When true simplicity is gained

To bow and bend we shan’t be ashamed

To turn, turn will be our delight

Turning, turning we come round right

– Shaker dance song: Elder Joseph Bracket, Alfred, Maine, 1848[6]

[1] As the Shakers were a strictly celibate community, they did not birth a next generation and eventually died out, except for two Shakers who still inhabit the Sabbathday Shaker community. https://www.maineshakers.com

[2] The Shakers have a canon of 10,000 original songs that they could choose from for their worship, most very simple expressions of devotion and humility, often repeated again and again like mantras.

[3] I got these designations many years ago from my god-brother and friend, Varsana Swami, who is renowned for his service in New Vrindavan for taking care of the land and communing with nature and the animals there. He observed that certain devotees were not comfortable with rural life, and he called them aliens. Those who are naturally enlivened to be in the countryside and work with the land and animals, he called earthmen. I should mention that this was many years ago, at a time where the male pronouns were used when you wanted to indicate people in general. Earthmen in today’s English would be earth people, referring to people in general.

[4] Ugra literally means ugly or horrible, and Śrīla Prabhupāda especially used the word as an adjective for material civilization.

[5] Yukta-vairāgya means balanced detachment—that a Vaiṣṇava only gives up what he cannot use in God’s service. The concept and term are often abused to justify keeping and using more opulent things that one would normally renounce as a devotee.

[6] Judy Collins singing this Shaker song in the original melody composed Elder Joseph Bracket. The song starts at 49 seconds https://youtu.be/kWTDgc96bg8?t=49

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 15th, 2023

These intriguing questions were inspired by my study of the introduction to Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta.[1] This is how I understood the introduction in my own words:

Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī had been petitioned by Lord Caitanya to write a book about what He came to give to the world. Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī admits that he has a difficult task at hand—to describe parama-daśāntaṁ[2]—the extreme limit of transcendence, which is the love of the gopīs for Krishna. How can he ascend to the realization needed to ably express a love so great that even Śrī Krishna can’t fathom its limits?[3] As a humble devotee, however, he realizes that with the order of the Lord comes the ability to fulfill it by His mercy. With faith in the power of prayer and seeking to invoke the Lord’s mercy, he begins the task of writing the Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta by incessantly glorifying Śrī Krishna, His holy places, prema-bhakti, the holy name, and especially His full and merciful manifestation as Śrī Caitanya. He then confidently begins his narration of Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta inspired by the realizations he has gained by the shelter of Śrī Caitanya, and the inspiration he has realized internally from the Lord in his heart.[4]

Here is what I garnered in answer to my questions about the power of prayer and how it works from contemplating the example of Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī:

Prayer helps one to become humble

Prayer is a glorification and a petition. The object of one’s prayer is therefore acknowledged as superior. Thus, by its very nature, prayer means willingly embracing the humble position. As actions born of an emotion generally enhance that emotion, becoming prayerful and reciting prayers enhances humility.

Prayer gives one a taste for humility

Respect is the form of love that one offers to one in a superior position. As prayer is a manifestation of respect or reverential love, in prayer one naturally tastes love. It also gives one joy in the heart, for love is the highest pleasure. Prayer thus gives one a taste for the humble position.

Prayer makes one receptive to mercy and affection

Mercy or affection is the love from one in a superior position to one in a subordinate position.[5] The experience of that mercy or affection, however, is not just what one has been given, but also one’s capability to receive or feel it. For example, the parents may shower a child with gifts out of love, but if the child is spoiled and feels entitled, they will never feel the kindness or mercy of their parents. As prayer is willingly embracing the humble position, prayer allows one to fully feel God’s mercy or affection.

Prayer helps one to invoke God’s mercy

As a river flows downward, mercy naturally flows to one who is humble. The Lord wants to help everyone but is naturally inspired to give His mercy to those who are humble and receptive to His mercy. In other words, God doesn’t have the defect of impersonality and naturally responds to those who sincerely express their need for mercy in prayer.

Prayer embodies and invokes devotion

The nature of poetry is that rather than just explaining something it makes you feel it. Vaiṣṇava prayer, which is in the form of poetry, embodies the devotional sentiments of the pure devotees who compose them. By reciting them thoughtfully those same emotions are transferred to one’s heart.

I am very much moved by the prayers of Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī that invoke the Lord’s mercy and enable him to write his masterpiece Śrī Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta:

“All glories to that inconceivable Lord who descended to bestow the gift of perfect love for His own lotus feet. He is an ocean filled with many kinds of sweetness and He always bears the fragrance of fresh youth. In His form of Śrī Caitanya He has realized the last limit of extreme transcendence, the love residing eternally in the gopīs.” (BB 1.1.1)

Prayer embodies and invokes devotion

The nature of poetry is that rather than just explaining something it makes you feel it. Vaiṣṇava prayer, which is in the form of poetry, embodies the devotional sentiments of the pure devotees who compose them. By reciting them thoughtfully those same emotions are transferred to one’s heart.

[1] This post was inspired by the purport of the third verse where a doubt was raised about how one can possibly describe the love of the gopīs mentioned in the first two verses and explains that this third verse describing Śrī Caitanya is an answer to that question. There the correlation between invoking mercy by the power of prayer is described: “Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī wants the mercy of Lord Caitanya and therefore glorifies Him in this verse.”

[2] Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.1.1

[3] Bhag. 10.32.22

[4] In Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.1.11 he explains which (essence) was realized (anubhūtasya) under the auspices of Lord Caitanya (caitanya-deve). In the purport to this verse, it also mentioned that caitanya-deve also means the Lord of Consciousness, or Krishna’s expansion as the Supersoul.

[5] The love of a parent or superior in rasa theory is called anugrahaḥ or affection.

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