Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami December 12th, 2022

Goal![1] was one of my favorite movies. I must have seen it in the late 60s when I was co-captain of my university soccer team, and our coach organized a showing for us. I was enthralled. It was the story of the 1966 World Cup where England beat Germany in the final. Yes, young men love to hear about sports and war. It is now fourteen World Cups later, and there is another World Cup going on. I never really thought about this topic before through the eyes of śāstra, but when I came to understand that another World Cup was on, due to my past I did give team sports tattva[2] some thought, at least enough for it to become my inspiration for writing this week.

The first thing that came to mind on the subject was a story involving Śrīla Prabhupāda. In 1975 Śrīla Prabhupāda suggested a team sport called kabaddi for the children in the gurukula and explained how it was played. I was there. The beauty of kabaddi[3] is that it is so simple that you don’t need any equipment to play it. I don’t have time to go into all its rules, but a person can attack the other side as long as he can repeat over and over again the word kabaddi until his breath runs out. Śrīla Prabhupāda just spiritualized the game by changing the word kabaddi to Krishna, but I think even within itself there is something of value in team sports, especially for young boys today when there is an ever-increasing number of accessible and unhealthy excitements widely propagated as an alternative to capture and degrade their minds.

From my personal experience, if guided properly, one can learn important life skills from team sports like discipline, resilience, courage, patience, and the subordination of short-term comfort for long-term success. It also gives young people a somewhat low stakes chance in a relatively safe environment to confront and overcome the fear and apprehension of failure, a needed skill to help one successfully negotiate the higher stakes challenges of the world as one grows up. It can also teach one to integrate and subordinate one’s individual identity into a larger whole, which is sort of low-level spiritual, and if the coach is of the right character, teach respect for proper authority, an important attitude for learning and self-development that seems marginalized in the modern world.

Of course, I am also not blind to the fact that sports are not a spiritual activity and that there are many things about it that can be detrimental to one’s spiritual growth, or that there are many other perhaps healthier passions that a youth can absorb themselves in. It is certainly not an activity for serious sādhakas, but something best left to boys who need it to channel their testosterone properly away from destructive urges. Looking back on playing sports, what I remember most, despite the quasi-spiritual aspect of having to forge with others for a common interest, are those feelings of total self-absorption and pride during the game as I pranced around the field in my uniform and the absurd ritual after an important victory of joining with teammates pointing our index fingers to the sky yelling again and again, “We’re number one, we’re number one!”

That’s my take on participation, but what about being just a fan? The main and serious spiritual detriment of becoming a sports fan is the way we strongly latch on to a desired outcome and then surf the waves of elation and anger/frustration based on the outcome, which is pretty much what it means to be attached to the fruits—the foundation of karma and bondage. It is just hard to be a serious sādhaka and a loyal sports fan at the same time. They seem to pull the consciousness in opposite directions.

Today I turned on some clips of the World Cup just to watch the fans. Even I was shocked by the level of intense emotion. Watching, I realized how much this transient goal of winning—that only one country will achieve—has actually become the spectator’s goal of life. With so much at stake, no wonder that the fans of a team in unison contort their faces in tears, anger, elation, and disappointment as they drop their heads in despair or raise their hands in jubilation seemingly with every pass. Then I had a fantasy: What if the world developed love of God in place of love of team and country and the people were joined together there for the congregational chanting of the holy name in glorification of God, rather than a silly game? I would still be watching the same congregational scene, with the same exact feelings, but instead the emotions I witnessed would be components of rasa, heightened devotion, and instead of fleeting joy, and mostly the agony of defeat, the result would be the eternal joy of devotion. All that would need to be changed is the goal!

[1] https://www.fifa.com/fifaplus/en/watch/N8ia1vxVfJYyzgqX3anRT

[2] Tattva means the thorough body of knowledge and analysis of subject. It is usually used for spiritual subjects like guru-tattva, dhama-tattva (the science or study of a holy place), nāma-tattva, and so on. I have used it in a unique and creative way to announce that I would try to thoroughly analyze team sports.

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kabaddi

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Dhanurdhara Swami December 5th, 2022

From the title one may assume what follows may be sectarian. The faith I belong to, however, is anything but sectarian. Its core teaching is that true religion is not a particular faith, but the nature of the soul to love God. The gradation of religion is therefore not so much between one faith and another, but within the different levels of practice within paths of faith themselves. This type of gradation within my own tradition, Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, is clearly delineated in the discussion between Lord Caitanya and Śrī Rāmānanda Rāya, a discussion initiated by Lord Caitanya’s simple request:

“Recite a verse from the revealed scriptures concerning the ultimate goal of life.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.57)

In response, Rāmānanda Rāya cites verse after verse highlighting deeper and deeper levels of devotion but ultimately fails to satisfy Śrī Caitanya’s specific inquiry concerning an expression of the ultimate goal of life until the end of almost twenty-five verses. To discuss them all here is far beyond the scope of what I do weekly, but I will discuss the first few verses Rāmānanda Rāya suggests as a template for the principle of how to gradate religious practices and then broadly summarize the rest of the verses to further elucidate this same principle. Ramananda’s initial response from the Viṣṇu Purāṇa (3.8.9):

“The Supreme Personality of Godhead, Lord Viṣṇu, is worshipped by the proper execution of prescribed duties in the system of varna and asrama. There is no other way to satisfy the Supreme Personality of Godhead.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.58)

What it declaratively says here is that there are laws of God that dictate how we behave socially and occupationally and to adhere to them is pleasing to Viṣṇu, or God. Let me suggest an exercise to help one understand the crux of what is being said here. Just think of a modern-day political leader that you detest—it seems everyone has one—and visualize what it would be like if they came to the point where they began to execute their occupational and social duties according to dharmic principles. Śāstra here states that it would be wonderful, and that for people in general there is no other way to satisfy the Lord: nānyat tat-toṣa-kāraṇam.

Śrī Caitanya’s response to Rāmānanda Rāya’s initial response here about varṇāśrama is thought provoking. He responds, “This is external. You had better tell me of some other means.[1] External? How can a practice that is so pleasing to the Lord be external? The soul is consciousness that reaches fruition in service. Although doing one’s prescribed duties is pleasing to the Lord, such duties are impelled by the bodily concept of life and involve one’s material conditioning, which is certainly external to the essence of the real self. In other words, although it may be essential for a conditioned soul to purify oneself of material consciousness by their prescribed duties, the impetus to be engaged in one’s duty has elements that are external to our essence and are therefore not the ultimate goal of life.

The next verse offered by Rāmānanda Rāya suggests a more elevated practice, not only doing one’s duty, but consciously offering all the results of one’s activities to God.[2] Again, Śrī Caitanya rejects what Rāmānanda Rāya suggests as external for the same reason. Although offering the results of one’s activities to God is certainly wonderful, the activity we are offering is impelled by and mixed with the bodily concept of life, which is external to the pure consciousness of the soul.

Seeing that any verse dealing with prescribed duties will be rejected, Rāmānanda Rāya therefore offers a verse promoting karma-sannyāsa, the renunciation of all one’s duties. However, to practice karma-sannyāsa, to detach oneself from work, one must deliberate on that which one is to renounce. From the viewpoint of the nature of the soul, therefore, which is dedication and not renunciation, karma-sannyāsa is still a practice that is external to our essence and thus not an expression of the ultimate goal of life.

In this way, Śrī Caitanya rejects verse after verse until Rāmānanda Rāya offers a verse instructing one to give up the endeavor to analyze the world for the purpose of renouncing it, but to exclusively focus on dedicating oneself to God by sitting at the feet of a pure devotee and hearing about the Lord and His pastimes while being properly situated in one’s material position.[3] Although such devotional service is the pure expression of the soul and Śrī Caitanya finally expresses His approval—eho haya (that is OK)—He still asks Rāmānanda Rāya to say something more, for as long as one worships the Supreme in majesty, even in a pure manner, three things—one’s sense of obligation to a superior, the fear of not following the etiquette in doing so, and one’s sense of reverential distance from the Lord—technically temper one’s intensity of devotion.[4] Only when Rāmānanda Rāya finally quotes a verse on fraternal devotion where one can, as an equal in their relationship to the Lord, spontaneously serve the Lord without obligation and free from apprehension does Śrī Caitanya view the verse as excellent (eho uttama). Śrī Caitanya, however, still requests something more, for even when devotion rises to the level of spontaneous devotion, such as in fraternal or paternal love, the limit of devotion has not been attained.

As this post has already gone beyond what I consider desirable for my writing genre of a weekly post, I will quickly summarize the rest. As Śrī Caitanya requests an expression of an even higher level of devotion, Rāmānanda Rāya cites verses expressing the super-excellent love of the gopīs and then verses describing the even more intense devotion of the topmost gopī, Śrī Radha. Śrī Caitanya is eventually fully satisfied when a verse is cited describing the height of that devotion itself where the union between Radha and Krishna intensifies to such a level that Their hearts melt in devotion and They become so lost in thoughts of anything but Their beloved, that They even lose a sense of who They are.[5] This, Śrī Caitanya blissfully accedes, is the limit of the goal of human life (sādhya-vastura avadhi).[6]

I should mention here that these topics of Radha and Krishna in union are so elevated that at one point in the discussion even Śrī Caitanya lovingly puts His hands over the mouth of Rāmānanda Rāya as if to say these things should not be put into the air. I have thus only cursorily described them. But there is an important basic principle that we can glean from a summary of these verses that establishes a gradation between various devotional practices that has a practical application in our lives. Elevation in spiritual life is based on the degree of our absorption in the divine and therefore our focus should be how to increase our immersion in thoughts of Krishna and how to simultaneously reduce our occupation and absorption in those things that are external to the nature of the soul, which is to serve God. And even more importantly, especially for those of us who have spent years practicing devotional service, we must ardently pray to understand our personal relationship with Krishna, for as this discussion demonstrates as much as anything else, absorption in Śrī Krishna naturally increases to the degree one has developed a natural loving relationship with Him.

[1] Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.59

[2] “My dear son of Kunti, whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer in sacrifice, whatever you give in charity, and whatever austerities you perform, all the results of such activities should be offered to me, Krsna, the Supreme Personality of Godhead.” (Bg. 9.27 quoted in Cc. Madhya-līlā 6.60)

[3] “Lord Brahma said, ‘My dear Lord, those devotees who have thrown away the impersonal conception of the Absolute Truth and have therefore abandoned discussing empiric truth should hear from self-realized devotees about your holy name, form, qualities and pastimes…” (Bhag. 10.14.3 as quoted in Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.67)

[4] Although there is technically a gradation of relationships with Krishna, they are all at the same time perfect. After a long purport where Śrīla Prabhupada describes the gradation of relationships with Krishna, he concludes, “However, these are all spiritually situated on the same platform because all these relationships of perfection in love are based on a central point—Krsna.” (Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.83, Purport)

[5] Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.195

[6] Cc. Madhya-līlā 8.196

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 28th, 2022

Only the Ignorant Have Enemies[1]

“In former times there were many ignorant fools like you who did not conquer the six enemies that steal away the wealth of the body. These fools were very proud thinking, ‘I have conquered all enemies in all ten directions.’ But if a person is victorious over the six enemies and is equipoised toward all living entities, for him there are no enemies. Enemies are merely imagined by one in ignorance.” (Bhāgavatam 7.8.10, emphasis mine)

These are the words of the young saintly Prahlada to his powerful demonic father, Hiranyakasipu. When I read this verse today, I was particularly struck by the last line. It claims rather emphatically that enemies are envisaged, not real. I pondered the point. How can that be? People have enemies all the time. After some time, a resolution came.

We generally think of the term enemy as a person who hates us, but the term here has a broader meaning. It refers to anyone who opposes our goal. That became clear when I checked Srila Prabhupada’s English translation of the Sanskrit word for enemy, paraḥ, which is also glossed as “opposing elements.”

The resolution was thus clear. If an enemy means one who opposes our aim and the aim of life is self-realization, then we have no enemies, because by the law of karma everything that comes to us, even the enmity of others, is meant to bring us closer to God. To see another as enemy, opposing our welfare, is thus imagined only in ignorance. Here are some examples to make this clear:

Vidura was harshly insulted and unceremoniously banished from the palace by its ruler, his evil-minded nephew, Duryodhana. He was deeply hurt. Rather than see Duryodhana as the enemy, however, Vidura saw within his nephew’s cruelty the hand of God giving him a message. Advanced in years, he was being advised to renounce home and leave for pilgrimage. Being saintly and wise, Vidura understood that despite the hate in people’s hearts, ultimately there are no enemies, including his nephew. He knew that everyone, good or bad, is carrying a message from God for our own spiritual development.

When Maharaja Pariksit was informed that a bull had been beaten by a low-class rogue, he immediately left his palace to find and punish the culprit. When he found the stricken bull barely left standing on one leg, he inquired who had beaten him. To his surprise, the bull refused to identify the perpetrator. By the bull’s answer, or lack thereof, Maharaja Pariksit recognized the bull’s identity and declared, “You are dharma!” He understood the bull’s position, for the foundation of dharma is to see God’s hand in everything, and the height of that vision is to view not even one’s oppressor as one’s enemy.

This same point was made to me about twenty-five years ago in a very personal way during a casual visit with my friend Bhurijana Prabhu in Vrindavan. He knew that for the sake of cooperation and loyalty, those in institutions sometimes have to tolerate people who abuse their authority due to immaturity. Knowing my situation, he suspected that I may have had a cause to be resentful and wanted to try something that perhaps could be helpful for me. He asked me to visualize the face of the person with whom I felt I had cause to be most angry and express my feelings toward him. He even egged me on to rouse my anger. After a few minutes, he told me to replace that person’s face in my mind with my own. My feelings subsided, and I got the message. Only the ignorant have enemies, for by the law of karma, we are ultimately the cause of the enmity that is coming toward us.

An unusual thought suddenly came to my mind: this concept is probably most succinctly expressed by Pogo, the namesake of a famous comic strip that I read in the ’60s. I will leave you to ponder his famous words:

“We have met the enemy and he is us.”

[1] Originally published November 19, 2018.

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 21st, 2022

Yamuna devi had affection for Akincana Krishna das since hearing him sing a kirtan in a rāga he learned in Mayapur at her home at Śaraṇāgati farm when the youth bus tour visited there. Therefore, years later, when he went to greet her in the MVT on her visit to Vrindavan, the first thing she said to him was, “You have a great opportunity to serve the holy name as long as you don’t become a performer!” She apparently noticed a trend in ISKCON that concerned her, and in a very motherly and affectionate way, she was cautioning him based on her wealth of experience with Śrīla Prabhupāda, to vigilantly try to chant prema kirtan. In other words, the kirtan singer should be exclusively focused on the glorification of Sri Krishna rather than their own aggrandizement.

Pradyumna das, who was Śrīla Prabhupāda’s personal Sanskrit editor, shared with me a very similar perspective. He would occasionally visit my room at the Bhakti Center and, inevitably in our casual discussions, share insights based on śāstric wisdom that I would remember for the rest of my life. One time he was reflecting on the type of wild kirtans he would occasionally see on the internet and, in contrast, described the sober style of kirtan he observed in his time serving Śrīla Prabhupāda and on his frequent visits with Śrīla Prabhupāda’s godbrothers. He then shared an interesting analysis on the first words of the third verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam, where one is instructed to chant the holy name humbler than a blade of grass. I believe his analysis was from a commentary by Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura. He explained that although each blade of grass contributes to a pleasing over-all effect in a well-kept lawn, no blade of grass stands out individually and says, “Hey, look at me!” In a similar way, all those who participate in prema kirtan should be in the mood of contributing equally to the over-all spiritual and musical effect of the kirtan and no one, not even the kirtan leader, like a blade of grass in a lawn, should try to stand out individually.

Every day during Kārttika, in the late afternoon, Madhava das would lead a very meditative and melodic kirtan in the MVT gardens. One day afterwards, at the MVT restaurant, two prominent yoga teachers that I knew from New York who attended his kirtan that day came over to the table where Madhava was sitting to convey appreciation for his kirtan and to express how different it was from the kirtans they would normally hear at their yoga studios. I was with them. I was struck not only by how Madhava described what prema kirtan means and why it is different, but also by his own experience of what such kirtan feels like in a very visual way. He described the holy name like a fire in his mouth coming spontaneously from his heart.

I think it is necessary to clarify here that when I am using the term “prema kirtan” I am not necessarily claiming that the kirtan leader has reached the highest stage of chanting termed śuddha nāma. I am only indicating that he or she is practicing and chanting at the level of pure devotional service, which means the conscious effort to chant only for the pleasure Krishna without any motive.

Let me finish this short post about prema kirtan by clarifying something about śuddha nāma, chanting at the highest level of consciousness where the pure (śuddha) name of Krishna manifests. But wait a second! If the name is non-different from Krishna, how can one quantify its purity, that one name that is Krishna is better than another name that is Krishna? Let me share my own insight to resolve this quandary.

The full being of any person, which is one’s loving nature as a bosom friend, a loving child, or a passionate lover, is only revealed in a mutual loving relationship. Without such a relationship, although one may be standing before another person, very little of oneself is revealed. One remains a stranger. In the same way, the full being of Krishna, who is a person, is only fully manifest in His holy name (śuddha nāma) to one who chants purely and remains a stranger to one whose chanting is offensive (nāma-aparādha).

How fortunate we are that Śrīla Prabhupāda brought the pure holy name to the west and inspired his followers in prema kirtan. May we humbly follow in his footsteps and chant the holy name purely for the pleasure of Sri Krishna!

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 14th, 2022

I always wanted to write an article called “The Mind of God”. It was inspired over thirty years ago by reading the story of the passing away of Bhīṣmadeva. The story begins directly after the battle of Kurukṣetra where Yudhiṣṭhira, the king of the victorious army and the grandson of Bhīṣma, is surveying the carnage of a fratricidal war fought to enthrone him as the emperor of the world. Even though he fought to protect his immediate family from an attempted genocide, much of his family lie dead before him on the other side. He feels responsible and becomes extremely distressed. A deep existential doubt arises: “My life has been sinless. Why do such calamities even strike such virtuous persons?”

Yudhiṣṭhira naturally begins an earnest inquiry to resolve his quandary. Not even Śrīla Vyāsa, the author of the Vedas, nor Śrī Krishna Himself could satisfy his doubts. How could that be? Isn’t Krishna, the Supreme Lord, all-knowing? The commentators reconcile the quandary by revealing Śrī Krishna’s mind: “I can answer his doubts but let him approach his grandfather to establish him as the greatest spiritual authority.” The mind of God is revealed, “I have an ardent desire to glorify my devotees!”

After reading the story of Bhīṣmadeva, I have always been intrigued by this concept of the mind of God, but now I understand something a bit deeper—how this concept is one of the keys to being transformed by hearing Krishna-līlā. Śrīla Prabhupada said we advance by appreciation, but appreciation for what? It’s the mind of those who are exalted, not only of Krishna, but especially of His devotees, for when we appreciate the inner qualities of someone, those qualities naturally come to our own heart.

For example, recently I have been reading the story of Uddhava visiting Vrindavan. Krishna takes Śrī Uddhava, his gentle (saumya), fully devoted (ekāntinam), and dearmost (preṣṭham) friend (bhaktam) by the hand (gṛhītvā pāṇinā) and asks him to go to Vrindavan to deliver a message to give pleasure to His parents and relieve the gopīs suffering in separation. One of the greatest inspirations to invoke heightened devotion (rasa) for one whose relationship with Krishna is as a servant (dāsya-rasa) is carrying out Krishna’s orders.[1] Reading this section, I therefore tried to look beyond just the visual of Krishna affectionately taking His servant by the hand. I began to meditate more on Uddhava’s mind by deeply praying to understand what Uddhava was thinking and feeling when the Lord of his life lovingly grasped his hand to call him for such an intimate and confidential service. And, just as importantly, I tried to feel more deeply what was on Krishna’s mind when He reached out to clasp Uddhava’s hand, for more than anything else it’s the heart and mind of God that draws us to Him in devotion.

There is a popular English idiom: “The face is the index of the mind”. If you think about it, a person normally sees beyond another’s actions and gestures to understand what they mean in terms of their thinking, so I assume when reading Krishna’s pastimes, one is also intuitively seeing the mind of Krishna and His devotees. My realization, however, is that it is helpful when hearing Krishna-līlā to give even deeper thought to what God (Krishna) and His devotees are thinking, for the sweetest glories of Śrī Krishna and the most relishable jewels of devotion in His devotees are hidden within their minds.

Although I never wrote a full book about the mind of God, I’m glad that after thirty years I finally got around to writing about it, even though it is just a short post. Why did I wait so long? The mind of God—what an intriguing subject!

[1] One of the anubhavas (actions of devotion), one of the five components of heighten devotion (rasa), for dāsya-rasa (devotion in servitude) is awaiting the order of one’s master. This is described in the second wave of the western division of Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu.

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Dhanurdhara Swami November 7th, 2022

Rules: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly[1]

September 18, 2017

Niyamāgraha is a Sanskrit word that means either too little or too much affinity for the rules, both of which are impediments to bhakti. It is important for an aspirant on the path of bhakti to properly understand the purpose and application of these principles.

The purpose of rules

Setting and following sound rules helps one to be governed by good judgment rather than impulse. The purpose of the rules in bhakti is simple: to facilitate the remembrance of Krishna, which is the mechanism on the path of bhakti for transformation. For example, when a devotee enters the temple, he or she must bow down. Why? We are basically egocentric. Our tendency is to lack awareness and consideration for others. Bowing down before the deity is meant to increase our awareness of God and our humble position as His servant.

Impediment One: Too little affinity for the rules

One is averse to rules because rules represent authority, a governance of life that limits our prospects for conforming the world to suit our attachments. To resist following rules just for self-centered purposes is obviously antithetical to spiritual development, especially when such guidelines are meant to uplift us. Similarly, to have too little affinity for the rules of bhakti out of this sense of rebellion, or even just laziness, is an impediment to bhakti, for the rules of bhakti, as mentioned above, are meant to help us remember Krishna. Those who fall prey to or justify such folly only wallow in the impulses of their minds rather than awaken consciousness of God. Great souls thus strictly follow the rules of devotion. A good example of such firm adherence, for instance, can be found in the lives of the Six Gosvamis of Vrindavan:

“Who could list the unlimited transcendental attributes of Raghunātha? His strict regulative principles were exactly like lines on a stone.” (Cc. Antya 6.309)

Impediment Two: Too much affinity for the rules

We follow rules not just for the rules themselves, but for their purpose, which in bhakti is to enhance devotion. It is thus an impediment for the bhakta to rigidly stick to a rule in neglect of the general principle for which that rule was made. For example, on Ekadasi Vaishnavas would traditionally fast, usually not taking even a drop of water. The purpose was to reduce bodily needs and increase devotion, but if such fasting causes one to feel too weak to serve and remember Krishna, then one’s inflexibility in observance is against the intent of fasting and thus an impediment to bhakti.

As it is an impediment to have affinity for rules outlining practices beyond our capability, it is also an impediment to have strict affinity for rules applicable to a particular stage of devotion that one has already passed. For example, there is an advanced stage of devotion called rāgānugā-bhakti, where one’s devotion is better aided by acting spontaneously in devotion rather than blindly following the dictates of a specific rule meant for those without such devotion. For instance, while it is a devotional principle to not lie down in the temple before the deity, such a rule may be an impediment for one advanced in a particular type of devotion. Srila Prabhupada describes such a case:

“Sometimes it is found that a pure devotee lies down in the temple of the Lord in order to serve Him as a confidential friend. Such friendly behavior of a devotee may be accepted as rāgānugā, or spontaneous. Although according to regulative principles, no one can lie down in the temple of the Supreme Personality of Godhead this spontaneous love of Godhead my be grouped under devotional service in friendship.” (NOD 97)

Although those more advanced are cautioned not to be rigid about guidelines no longer applicable to their situation, Srila Prabhupada cautions all his disciples about the pitfall of too much affinity for the rules:

“The teacher (ācārya) has to consider time, candidate and country. He must avoid the principle of niyamāgraha—that is, he should not try to perform the impossible. What is possible in one country may not be possible in another… The essence of devotional service must be taken into consideration, and not the outward paraphernalia. … It is not necessary that the rules and regulations followed in India be exactly the same as those in Europe, America and other Western countries.” (Cc. Madhya 23.105, purport)

Too much or too little? How can we know? Srila Prabhupada was once asked a similar question in terms of distinguishing between a principle (rules that have to be followed in all circumstances) and details (rules that apply circumstantially). I think generally most tend to err on the side of too little, but I love his simple answer: “It takes a little intelligence.”

Yes, if we are thoughtful and sincere, we will mostly get it right.

[1] Just received my computer back but not in enough time to finish this week’s Monday Morning Greetings. Please enjoy this old post from September 18, 2017. I am so much looking forward to writing new posts beginning next week. Monday Morning Greetings and sharing new realizations is very much my life.

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Dhanurdhara Swami October 31st, 2022

I got an exceptional amount of feedback from my last entry “Windows to the Material World”. My point about the deleterious effect of modern media seemed to have struck a chord. Here’s one impassioned reply:

“And the second thing about the devices… it is so incredibly true. We had a computer but my husband got so sick of the kids being addicted to it that he smashed it to pieces 🤣 and honestly, it was the best feeling ever. We are so glad it’s gone. Now my kids don’t watch anything and it’s SO much better for them. You can just see the difference.”

But my computer is still not working, so this is again typed on my iPhone, and I will have to include a reprint. Although I will also again include a journal entry from almost twenty years ago, it is still quite relevant to the subject we have been discussing concerning the ill effect of modern technology. It’s my journal entry from August 14, 2003 when I was in New York during the mass power blackout:

When New York Turned into Vrindavan

August 14, 2003
New York City

When I was a young child, not more than six years of age, my father would occasionally show up at my door at bedtime, poke his head in, and ask in a fatherly manner, “Where was Moses when the lights went out?” Whether I responded reasonably—“In the dark!”—or remained silent in protest, the result was the same: I was soon in the dark. And no matter how much my desire to stay up late was foiled, deep down I enjoyed the affectionate exchange with my dad.

Affectionate exchanges are life. Without them, the heart closes and the soul dries; neurosis consumes us. Therefore, the perfect place is Vrindavan: an anti-psychotic world where everything moves for the purpose of selfless intense affection, called rasa.

In contrast, New York is devoid of rasa. Here, the selfless loving spirit is overwhelmed by the vain pursuit of wealth, fame, and sex appeal. Even those intelligent enough to escape this frenzied passion are certain to be distracted from meaningful relationships by the lure of the lonely world of computers, the busy chatter of cell phones, or the insanity of multimedia. How unfortunate to mistake such loneliness for real community?

Today I sat peacefully on the Upper East Side as the plug of passion was pulled in New York and much of the Northeast—something to do with a malfunction on the Northern Grid. Factually, however, the Northern Grid is a glitch on normal life. I thus celebrated today as the day when non-electricity was restored to the world. With great relief, I observed:

A peaceful and quiet environment

With people sitting on their stoops

Talking to their neighbors

Helping one another

Sharing meaningful relationships

Manifesting community Enjoying real life as

New York turned into Vrindavan

A final thought: Today’s power outage ironically blossomed with rasa—just as the “lights off” of my childhood incongruously flourished with affection.

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Dhanurdhara Swami October 24th, 2022

My computer crashed for the third time in six months. I have noticed that every time that happens my japa meditation flourishes. We cannot underestimate the potency of modern technology to distract us. In the 1960s there was a famous social scientist named Marshall McLuhan who wrote The Medium is the Massage. He said that every communication medium has its own particular effect beyond the content you watch or hear through it. I can see that clearly. I notice that some of the devotees who are deepest into their internal spiritual life don’t use personal computers—although their secretaries may have one. Every week I read Satsvarūpa Mahārāja’s journal. I see how absorbed he is in hearing about Krishna. I know he doesn’t use a computer. I especially hold in high esteem for their internal spiritual life two friends, Sacinandana Swami and Partha Sarathi Goswami. They don’t have personal computers. Here in Vrindavana, two of the deepest sādhakas that I know are Jamuna Jivana das and Mother Srimati. They don’t have personal computers. I know several devotees who use their personal computers effectively for preaching and organizing Krishna consciousness who seem to maintain very deep spiritual lives without being distracted, but that seems increasingly rare.

Because I am dictating this on my iPhone it may not have the same standard of clarity that my writing usually has, but I think I’ve gotten across that modern technology can be distracting in spiritual life, and we have to be cautious of that fact.

For this week’s entry I’m choosing an entry that goes back to even before I started Monday Morning Greetings—something I wrote almost twenty years ago on the same subject called “Windows to the Material World”. I hope that you enjoy it, ironically, through the facility of social media—but sādhu beware!

Windows to the Material World

May 27, 2004

I just finished assembling my journals into book form for a final edit. Fortunately, I finished the work before my computer crashed. I knew it was on the blink, but I dreaded the day when it needed to be sent for repair. Leaving the shop on my way home, however, I felt a surprising relief, a sense of liberation. Even though I use the computer mostly for my writing and correspondence, it felt as if some shackle of illusion had been lifted.

I vaguely remember a popular book from my college days called The Medium is the Massage by Marshall McLuhan. His point was that the medium in which one receives information has a greater influence than the message it conveys. I recall him describing television as a cold medium because one generally learns passively from it. In contrast, he described the press as a hot medium because we have to activate our intellect in order to assimilate what we’ve read. McLuhan concluded that cold mediums, like television, make one lazy and dull the intelligence, while hot mediums have the opposite effect, regardless of the content one receives from either.

I am convinced that, like television, the medium of the computer also has insidious effects because it subtly injects one with the need for incessant distraction—an especially menacing prospect for those on a spiritual path where the mind needs to be calmed to touch one’s essence.

I lived in Vrindavana for 20 years without even a phone. I didn’t die of boredom; instead, I remained absorbed in scripture, nama (meditation on God’s names), and sevā (service). To be peaceful now, I require the world at my doorstep with the click of a button, even while living in Vrindavana. Something is wrong.

According to the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, God sits within our heart to observe and advise us in the form of the Paramātmā, the Supersoul. It describes this by the analogy of two birds in a tree: one bird is eating the fruits of happiness and distress, while the other is watching, waiting for his friend to turn to him. The observant bird is compared to the Supersoul and the engrossed bird is compared to the individual living entity. The idea is that as long as we are externally absorbed in the chatter of the mind, we cannot hear the voice of God in the heart directing us.

Riding home, unshackled from my computer, it suddenly hit me how the medium of mass communication so strongly allures us to the platform of the mind, and how the effect is so pervasive that we usually mistake our bondage for normal life. I felt cheated of my innocence, a life unfettered by the unremitting dialogue of the mind that affords one the quietude to turn toward the Lord in the heart. Sadly we have been drawn in droves to the life of the engrossed bird. Perhaps it is more like lemmings to the sea.

Just to the right of the foot of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s (my guru’s) bed in Vrindavana hang two beautiful paintings: one of Krishna and the cowherd boys returning home from the forest of Vrindavana, the other of Radha and Krishna by the bank of the Yamuna under a kadamba tree. Śrīla Prabhupāda called such paintings of Krishna “windows to the spiritual world.” In my early Vrindavana days, I would gaze at these masterpieces during japa and think of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s “windows” analogy. It made so much sense. Today I thought of another “windows” analogy, and unfortunately, it made just as much sense: Computers are the windows to the material world.

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Dhanurdhara Swami October 17th, 2022

Help Wanted: Messenger needed to deliver confidential message to pacify the anxiety of My dearest family members and friends, especially My girlfriends residing in Vrindavan, who are near dead from the snake bite of separation from Me. Must have ministerial and communication skills, be very dear to Me, highly educated in śāstra, and extremely intelligent. Only close associates need apply. Those interested contact Śrī Krishna, Palace of Rukmiṇī, New Dvārakā.

Just having some fun here. I just finished studying and teaching the pastime of Uddhava visiting Vrindavan. I was intrigued by the character of Śrī Uddhava and why Śrī Krishna chose him to execute two of the most challenging tasks: to deliver a message from Him to pacify the gopīs, headed by Śrī Radha, and to witness, understand, and disseminate the glories of the gopīs’ topmost devotion.

Let’s analyze below the qualities of Śrī Uddhava that made him ideal for task at hand as expressed in the first verse of the story:[1]

vṛṣṇīnāṁ pravaro mantrī (The best counselor of the Vṛṣṇi dynasty)

The gopīs were in a most highly intense emotional state. Anything in reference to Krishna could easily set them off into an even deeper emotional state. One trying to pacify them would need the most highly developed emotional intelligence and the most profound skill in counseling to understand their mind and to know exactly what to say to them.

kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā (The beloved friend of Krishna)

Uddhava was the dearest devotee of Krishna in Dvārakā and thus held a position of great status. The pride of any devotee in their own devotion, however, no matter how advanced they were, would be crushed to dust in comparison to the topmost devotion of the gopīs. Anyone carrying this task would therefore require the deepest love for Krishna to not be overcome with some form of envy. What better candidate to deliver a message to the gopīs than the beloved friend of Krishna?

The message was also extremely confidential, which means not easily understood outside of the frame of reference of one’s own heart and mind. Krishna could therefore only share this missive with someone so close—a beloved friend—with whom He could trust to share His heart.

śiṣyo bṛhaspateḥ sākṣād (Direct disciple of Bṛhaspati)

Uddhava was a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati, the guru of the demigods. He was therefore learned in practically all subjects of knowledge. Although he was being sent to Vrindavan to learn about the prema of the gopīs, only one with such vast knowledge in śāstra would have the frame of reference to identify and appreciate their topmost ecstasies and not be confused by them.[2]

uddhavo buddhi-sattamaḥ (Having the highest quality intelligence)

When Uddhava returned from Dvārakā he was able to successfully share what he experienced with Śrī Krishna, Lord Balarama, and some of the elders of Dvārakā such as King Ugrasena and Vasudeva. Only one with the highest quality of realization and intelligence would be able to successfully conceptualize and express such deep ideas.

These four qualities allow Śrī Uddhava to successfully pacify the gopīs and to understand and communicate their glories. They also serve another purpose. They help demonstrate the exalted love of the gopīs. If the topmost devotee of Krishna outside of Vrindavan, the chief counselor, and the most intelligent and learned person of Dvārakā is so humbled by the devotion of the gopīs that he prayed to be grass in Vrindavan so the dust of their feet may fall on him, we can only imagine the glory of their rūḍha-bhāva, the very height of devotion.

My prayer: I am not the most intelligent nor the most learned, and certainly not the most beloved friend of Krishna, but I am the humble servant of Śrīla Prabhupāda. By his mercy, may I carry His sweet message of devotion to all!

[1] śrī-śuka uvāca
vṛṣṇīnāṁ pravaro mantrī
kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā
śiṣyo bṛhaspateḥ sākṣād
uddhavo buddhi-sattamaḥ

Synonyms

śrī–śukaḥ uvāca — Śukadeva Gosvāmī said; vṛṣṇīnām — of the Vṛṣṇis; pravaraḥ — the best; mantrī — adviser; kṛṣṇasya — of Kṛṣṇa; dayitaḥ — beloved; sakhā — friend; śiṣyaḥ — disciple; bṛhaspateḥ — of Bṛhaspati, the spiritual master of the demigods; sākṣāt — directly; uddhavaḥ — Uddhava; buddhi — having intelligence; sat–tamaḥ — of the highest quality.

Translation

Śukadeva Gosvāmī said: The supremely intelligent Uddhava was the best counselor of the Vṛṣṇi dynasty, a beloved friend of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa and a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati.

[2] Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya was the most learned scholar in South India. When he saw Śrī Caitanya faint in the Jagannath temple he had his servants take Him to his house to recover. Although Śrī Caitanya was in a catatonic state, Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya was able, by his vast knowledge, to know that Śrī Caitanya was not suffering from a physical ailment but rather was in a state of ecstasy.

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Dhanurdhara Swami October 10th, 2022

Lord of the Flies is an acclaimed novel written by William Golding in 1954 about a group of young boys stranded on a deserted island who revert to savagery and primitive ritualistic behavior. One of the boys, named Ralph, assumes the role of ruler of the other young and confused boys and gets carried away with his power, and from this the term “Lord of the Flies” acquired an idiomatic meaning indicating a leader ruling peers with an inflated self-perception of their own status and dominion. I have also heard the term used to describe the early days of ISKCON, especially after Śrīla Prabhupāda left this world, when sincere young men, most less than ten years in the movement, assumed immense positions of authority over their peers, not only as spiritual masters, but as ācāryas, the institutional and spiritual heads of large zonal areas covering many countries.

I am not writing this to place blame on anybody. Mostly, I am reflecting on my own immaturity as a young devotee who was, at the age of 28, thrust into a position of authority and prestige way above my pay grade as the head of a relatively prestigious educational institution, the ISKCON school in Vrindavan. The sign above my office, placed by the previous principal, an elderly and distinguished Indian gentleman, read “Prādhān Ācārya”—the Hindi nomenclature for principal. “Ācārya” means guru and “Prādhān” means the chief. The sign above my door thus literally read, “Chief Ācārya” or “Chief Guru”. What a joke! I am glad most ISKCON devotees at the time, who were mostly foreigners, couldn’t read Hindi. Was that not, in a sense, Lord of the Flies?

Śrīla Prabhupāda recognized the quandary of trying to establish a spiritual institution, which is still corporate, by placing young and uneducated men in positions of authority. In that regard, he described his predicament and offered a Bengali proverb to illustrate his dilemma: “Sometimes my god-brothers criticized me, but there is one thing that they were correct about—I gave very young men sannyāsa, but what could I do? ‘When there are no large trees in the forest the castor oil tree looks big.’” In other words, his preaching movement required a social structure with a class of people holding spiritual authority to move forward, which in his lineage meant the renounced or sannyāsa order. But, as there were no elders, all he had to choose from were inexperienced men in their early twenties. What could he do? But was the sannyāsa order at the time in ISKCON not in a sense Lord of the Flies?

Two young men were barely past twenty when Śrīla Prabhupāda gave them sannyāsa.[1] They immediately began to travel to South India to defeat all opposing views to Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, their lineage, as they thought was their duty as sannyāsi spiritual leaders. They first met Pejavara Swami, the most distinguished and learned Madhva sannyāsa and guru. They immediately challenged him: “What are three aspects of the Absolute Truth?” It was the most rudimentary question, but not for them. The saintly Pejavara Swami didn’t get angry. He was just amused and smiled at these immature children in the guise of sannyāsis trying to sincerely serve their guru. It’s astounding how much we were Lord of the Flies.

Ravindra Svarupa Prabhu, a saintly god-brother known for his clarity of thought and sharp wit, years ago summed up the challenges of ISKCON in its budding days:

“The problem with ISKCON in the early days was that Śrīla Prabhupāda was the only adult!”

The behaviors of the early devotees were not savage, but there is something to be learned from Golding’s cautionary tale. Still, there were significant problems caused at least in part by lack of maturity. So, I look back and lament. But I also feel hope for a more grounded and realistic understanding of who I am. I am also seeing how much devotees have matured, and hopefully so have I. I pray for more years so that I can now relish the depth and sweetness of true Vaiṣṇava relationships free from the Lord of the Flies.

[1] This was told to me over thirty years ago by one of those men. As I haven’t had to time to get his permission to use the story and confirm the details, I have kept their names anonymous.

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