Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami August 31st, 2020

Regret is the first stage of devotion. Without regretting, to one degree or another, our past mistakes that were based on a desire to control and enjoy, how will we ultimately embrace our identity as unalloyed servants of God? The Sanskrit for regret or remorse is tapa, which is the same word for austerity or heat. There is nothing that burns the false ego more than acknowledging that our life and self-image as the center was regrettable. Tapa is therefore the first of five saṁskāras for those committing themselves to the devotional path.

Those who can relinquish the false ego in this way and humbly surrender to the tenets of the bhakti lineage become qualified to awaken their spiritual identity. I lament that when first committing myself to bhakti my regret was not deep enough to thwart my lingering false ego that sometimes mixed with my devotional service. At the age of 70, I therefore look back on my life and see within my service many mistakes due to material identity (false ego).

Although it is difficult to look back and acknowledge our frailties, I can sense how sincere regret can potentially deepen devotion. The false ego covers the soul from feeling our connection with Krishna. Regret razes the ego, allowing us to directly feel Krishna’s mercy, which inspires us to call out His name in devotion.

Perhaps this sounds a bit morbid. Isn’t our self-esteem today already so battered?  It is true that regret diminishes our self-conception, but I think that is very different from low self-esteem. Low self-esteem is feeling bad about one’s lack of material status, although still desiring it. Tapa, on the others hand, is not about lamenting material status, but regretting having desired it, and in the process forgetting God. Regret thus uncovers the soul and allows one to feel authentic self-worth, being loved and recognized by God as His insignificant humble servant.

A well-known example of the type of tapa that impels one to heights of devotion is found in the story of Yāmunācārya. He was a king who naturally enjoyed the pleasure of wealth and women. Upon visiting the famous Ranganatha temple, he had an epiphany that his life of sensual pleasure was regrettable. He immediately renounced the world to live as a sannyāsa. His strong sentiments of tapa or regret kept him humble and inspired. They are immortalized in a famous line from one of his compositions:

“Since I have been engaged in the transcendental loving service of Krishna, realizing ever-new pleasure in Him, whenever I think of sex pleasure I spit at the thought, and my lips curl with distaste.”

Yāmunācārya was speaking as a great renunciate, who had transcended the bodily platform and was relishing the highest levels of devotional ecstasy. His mood of regret, however, is something for us all to emulate. I regret.

Regretting old faults,
toss them on the altar flames.
Fragrant soul ascends.

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Dhanurdhara Swami August 24th, 2020

1. In this world everyone is seeking happiness, and that happiness is ultimately found in love.
    
2. If that is the guiding principle in this world, why should it not be part of its source, the ultimate reality?
    
3. If there is love in the spiritual realm, there must also be beauty, for love means to offer the best.
    
4. This correlation between happiness, love, and beauty is the key to understanding Śrī Rādhā.
    
5. Krishna’s happiness potency (that which gives Him pleasure) is called hlādinī śakti, the essence of which is Krishna prema or love of Godhead. When that love is heightened to the highest degree, it is called mahābhāva. Śrī Rādhā is mahābhāva svarūpa, the form of the highest love (and pleasure). In other words, as Radha is the personification of the happiness potency, which is intense love, Radha has the full capacity to offer such love in terms of Her exemplary qualities.
    
6. To understand Radha more deeply one has to understand the relationship between love, an internal emotion, and the necessity of a concrete expression of that love to enable another to feel it. An example should help. When we love someone, we may offer them flowers to express our love. Why? Flowers are fragrant, colorful, and may be soft and smooth. The experience of those flowers is not just a sensual experience, but an emotional one, which is the experience of the love from the person who has offered it so nicely.
    
7. Similarly, as Śrī Rādhā is an expression of God’s own potency of love, there is no limit to the intensity and greatness of Her qualities to express that love. Descriptions of those characteristics and abilities, however, can give us some idea of the intensity of her love. For example, here is a description of Śrī Rādhā’s beauty from Ujjvala-nīlamaṇi, just one of Her twenty-five prominent qualities:
    
   “The beauty of Śrī Rādhā’s smile defeats the beauty of a blue lotus. The beauty of Her face defeats the beauty of a forest of blue lotuses, and the luster of Her body puts gold in a painful situation.”
    
8. Śrī Rādhā’s many ornaments and decorations, which She adorns only for the pleasure of Krishna, are also a personification of mahābhāva, the highest manifestation of Krishna prema, and naturally non-different from Her. Therefore, Krishna’s experience of Śrī Rādhā, down to His appreciation of those decorations, are the highest experience of happiness.
    
9. Only someone who is impersonal is not conquered by love. As Krishna is the Supreme Person, He is responsive to and conquered by true devotion. As Śrī Rādhā is the highest form of love, Her twenty-fifth transcendental quality is that She always keeps Krishna under Her control.
    
10. How is this relevant to us? Śrīla Prabhupāda instructs us:
     
    “Rādhārāṇī, the symbol of the topmost bhakti, is so powerful that She has purchased Krishna. Therefore, Vrajavāsīs[1] take shelter of the lotus feet of Rādhārāṇī, for if She recommends, ‘O here is a nice devotee,’ Krishna must accept him.” (Teachings of Queen Kuntī)
     

[1] The devotees who reside in Vṛndāvana, Śrī Krishna’s abode.

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Dhanurdhara Swami August 17th, 2020

There is something charming about Krishna’s relationship with the residents of Vrindavan. Almost as enlivening as hearing about the rasa of Krishna and the Brijabasis is hearing the gems of philosophical understanding that are placed within those stories. It is almost as if they have been carefully placed there just to take advantage of the receptive heart that has been opened by the sweetness of those stories itself. Today we will discuss one of those points. First the context:

Krishna’s friends forcibly, but with love, ask Krishna and Balarama to quell their hunger by going to the forest of Tālavana, where hundreds of thousands of succulent, fragrant tāla fruits are lying on the ground, guarded by the ferocious man-eating ass demon and his cohorts. After informing Krishna three times in no uncertain terms how great their desire is for these fruits, they end their entreaty by qualifying their request with two simple words: yadi rocate (“if you think it is a good idea”). Thus, hidden within this sweet story rests a powerful instruction: There is room on the path of bhakti for our own personal desires, as long as they conform to the will of God.

Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura speaks very strongly about the necessity for personal enjoyment even when on the path of bhakti: “Without enjoying the sense objects, a living entity cannot survive. As soon as the living entity gives up sense enjoyment, he leaves the body.” (Śrī Bhaktyāloka p. 2)

When I initially read Śrīla Bhaktivinoda’s comment, I was a bit surprised by how strong it was, considering that the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam seems to repeatedly espouse almost the opposite. One of my favorite verses in this regard: “My dear sons, there is no reason to labor very hard for sense pleasure while in this human form of life; such pleasures are available to the stool-eaters (hogs).” (Bhag. 5.5.1)

The simple reconciliation of the two perspectives is that sense gratification is heavily condemned when not sanctioned by the Lord and allowed if Krishna “thinks it is a good idea.” The question, then, is when does Krishna think it is a good idea?

A healthy peaceful mind facilitates meditation and devotional service. For that, different people require different levels of enjoyment. When our goal is self-realization and we sincerely take only what is prescribed to keep body and soul together, then our sense gratification is what Krishna so desires, or at least has been sanctioned by Him.

When sense pleasure, however, becomes the goal in itself, which is usually the case in this world, then it is not what Krishna thinks is a good idea. It is then utterly condemned.

This relationship between sense pleasure and devotion is clearly outlined in Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 1.2.10 in response to a question that commentators imply from the previous verse: “What about sense gratification (kāma) on the path of bhakti?” Sūta Gosvāmī answers that sense gratification is not for the pleasure of the senses in itself (kāmasya nendriya-prītir). We should only take as much as we need (lābho jīveta yāvatā) to maintain a heathy life for the purpose of realizing the self (jīvasya tattva-jijñāsā). Simply put, although we may get pleasure from the senses, its purpose should only be to satisfy our need for a peaceful mind for the higher endeavor of self-realization.

The cowherd boys’ simple words, “if you think it is a good idea”, in the midst of their sweet, playful exchanges with Krishna are a powerful template for all of one’s activities. The most important consciousness for a devotee to have, therefore, is the mood and conviction that nothing I do or want should be independent of the will of God. A sincere bhakta, therefore, carefully gauges all of their activities, even their sensual and emotional needs, by sincerely petitioning Krishna in their heart with the same simple words of Krishna’s friends: “if you think it is a good idea.”

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Dhanurdhara Swami August 12th, 2020

The Highest Scoring Spiritual Performance

I was a fan of watching the Olympics when I was young. One thing that I found intriguing was that gymnastics and diving competitors wouldn’t be scored just for the quality of their performance, but the degree of difficulty of the routine or dive they were attempting. I had a thought today. Why not use that same lens to increase our appreciation of what Śrīla Prabhupāda achieved in his mission by briefly highlighting the degree of difficulty of the task he accomplished?

For those of you who may not know, Śrīla Prabhupāda crossed the ocean by steamship in 1965 at the age of seventy to start his world mission in New York. By the time he left the world twelve years later, he established over 108 centers worldwide with thousands of followers dedicated to the promotion of bhakti-yoga, primarily focused on kīrtana. He also personally translated, expounded upon, and published over eighty volumes of authentic Indian spiritual texts, which were then translated into over fifty languages. More than a half a billion of those books have since been distributed worldwide. There’s more, but let’s keep our focus on our subject: the difficulty of his task.

Śrīla Prabhupāda alights on the shore of the New York Harbor with only eight dollars in his pocket and a trunk of his translated works. His mission is to spread bhakti and kīrtana in the Western world and to transplant an ancient culture, which, for all practical purposes, has never before left the shores of India. He stands there as a lone man with no backing, followers, or resources directly facing his opposition to the West – the full force of the most powerful material civilization known to man. Perhaps an even greater challenge is where, by providence, he was directed to start his mission.

After a short while in America, he winds up living in the Bowery sharing a loft with a young man he hopes to teach Sanskrit. One evening the young man suddenly loses his mind on LSD and Prabhupāda is forced onto the streets of the Bowery in the depth of night. With the help of some early followers, he soon settles in an apartment in the Lower East Side with use of a storefront for his lectures. The impediments he faces are unimaginable, especially for a man of his culture.

“Why have I come to this place? Why have I come to this place?” he ponders while sitting in his storefront in the Lower East Side, the last place a devotional, learned, and cultured Bengali Vaiṣṇava gentlemen would retire to serve his own personal needs. He immediately answers his own audible reflection, “I was cent per cent faithful to the order of my spiritual master!” By force of that faith, he continues with his calling.

He gradually collects a group of sincere young people to help him. It is by no means easy. His field of potential candidates is not of any noted culture or training, to say the least. He takes what comes and tries to train them. One story comes to mind:

A young lady from the Lower East Side joins the mission and is soon initiated by Śrīla Prabhupāda. To start his mission, he has no choice but to be extremely merciful. This young lady, however, hates men. After six months she requests to see Śrīla Prabhupāda. He grants her audience. “I have been chanted Hare Kṛṣṇa for six months, but I just can’t stand worshipping that man Kṛṣṇa!” Śrīla Prabhupāda, replies without losing a beat, “That’s OK, we worship Rādhā.”

It is hard to imagine a more insane place to try to transplant traditional Vaiṣṇava culture than the sex-crazed, drugged-out, hippy land of the Lower East Side.

Another story comes to mind:

Śrīla Prabhupāda’s new disciples indiscriminately organize programs for him to share his message of devotion and culture. They arrange for him to speak at a rally of Louis Abolafia, the founder of the Naked Party. He is running for President of the United States with a catchy slogan: “What have I got to hide?” When Śrīla Prabhupāda enters the room, the supporters of Louis Abolafia are dressed as bananas and are wildly dancing, mostly naked. Śrīla Prabhupāda remains sober, talks briefly, and leaves. Afterwards one of his disciples informs Śrīla Prabhupāda that Louis Abolafia couldn’t officially run for President because he didn’t meet the minimum age required. Śrīla Prabhupāda finds that hysterical and bursts into laughter. He certainly had a sense of humor and would sometimes chuckle or laugh, but the devotees never saw him laugh so hard. I can imagine what he was thinking: “As if his age was the reason he has not qualified!”

It is hard to imagine that a person whose mission was to create a class of Vaiṣṇava brāhmaṇas actually accomplished it within such a milieu of madness and at such an advanced age, with challenged health, I should add. He had suffered two heart attacks on his journey across the sea. Should not the score of his unprecedented accomplishments therefore be exponentially increased by the substantial challenges he faced?

A final story:

It was the disappearance festival of Śrīla Prabhupāda in 1978. Several of the most distinguished scholars of Vṛndāvana were assembled to offer their respects. I remember the homage of one of them. “If Śrīla Haridās Ṭhākur, Śrīla Rupa Gosvāmī, and Śrīla Prabhupāda were in the same room and Śrī Caitanya appeared, who would he go to first? I say Śrīla Prabhupāda! Who could be more attached to the holy name than that person who spread it around the world!”

Of course, Śrīla Prabhupāda had just recently passed from this world and the talks were in the mood of eulogy, but considering what he accomplished and the degree of difficulty of his task, is it not possible that we have witnessed the highest-scoring spiritual performance in the history of Vaiṣṇavism?

• Srila Prabhupada , Vyasa-puja
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Dhanurdhara Swami August 10th, 2020

A friend recommended that I look through the discourses of Epictetus, one of the prominent Stoic philosophers who taught during the second century AD. He marveled how much Epictetus’s teachings paralleled basic Bhagavad-gītā philosophy. I was especially intrigued by how the Stoics described karmic challenges, such as slander and sickness, as God bestowing one with the means to go deeper in spiritual understanding. Their perspective would be analogous to the tougher and tougher challenges a trainer gives to the trainee when it is time to go to the next level of fitness.

The basic Stoic philosophy is that God has given us the gift of making good use of our will or choice. If we focus our lives on making the best use of that power by making honest choices, which is always within our control, rather than trying to focus on what happens to us, which fluctuates beyond our control, we can always live with dignity and satisfaction.

The word “stoic” therefore became synonymous with the act of enduring hardship without showing feelings, because a true Stoic is even minded in response to happiness and distress, knowing that glory and virtue lie not in destiny, but in free will. Sounds like Bhagavad-gītā:

“Act while fixed in yoga, abandoning attachment, and remaining the same in success or failure. Such even-mindedness is called yoga.” (Bg. 2.48)

This concept of Stoicism, as found in Epictetus, is especially comforting in relationship to one of the most disturbing karmic situations, slander.

When one’s objective is the reformation of consciousness rather than the outcome of events then even the most disappointing consequences, such as being slandered, are no longer disturbing because they serve one’s mission, which is to uplift one’s thoughts. Such consciousness is certainly not easy when one’s reputation is sullied or one is ill, but a yogi (stoic) trained as described above, is already naturally, as the Bhagavad-gītā says, “indifferent to all that has been heard and all that is to be heard,” (2.52) which certainly includes slander. In that regard, I love how Epictetus instructs a student who is concerned about how people will think of him:

“It is not in a good person’s nature to grieve, complain or whine; they don’t go pale, tremble and say, ‘What kind of hearing or reception will he give me?’ Idiot, that’s his concern—don’t concern yourself with other people’s business. It’s his problem if he receives you badly.” (Discourses and Selected Writings II.2. 17)

A perfect example of a yogic or stoic response to slander is Socrates’s response to the Senate assembly in Greece when they unfairly accused him of treason and condemned him to death.[1] His response can almost serve as a mantra for the yogic view of tolerating slander, which deems the offender who misuses his will as harming himself more than the victim who responds with reason:

“If you think you can harm me, you will not harm me; you will only harm yourself.”

The Stoic’s reaction to illness parallels his reaction to slander, so there is not much more to add. We do our duty to keep the body reasonably fit[2] and leave the results to God. As the results, whether health or illness, are the will of God, we remain equipoised towards the body’s condition and instead focus on the deepening of our consciousness in response to whatever God has brought us.

Conclusion: We do not suffer from the events in our lives, but to our response to them. We can thus always live with inner peace and integrity, especially in this increasingly turbulent world filled with sickness and slander that inevitably ends in death, if we simply choose to respond to what comes to us with dharma and devotion, rather than ceaselessly trying to alter our fate.

What gems of realization the Stoic’s shared with us, and how much they parallel the basic teachings of our eternal Bhagavad-gītā!

 “God’s greatest gift to man
In all the bounty He was moved to make
Throughout creation-the one gift the most
Close to his goodness and the one He calls
Most precious-is free will.”
― Dante Alighieri, Paradiso

[1] Although Socrates predates the Stoics, it is not surprising that aspects of their philosophy parallel his, as he was certainly one of their inspirations.

[2] When Epictetus was asked how much we should be concerned with external things like health he answered, “Only so far as not to trouble himself about them unreasonably.” (Discourses and Selected Writings I. 10.16)

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Dhanurdhara Swami August 3rd, 2020

Last week, my new book, Monday Morning Greetings: Giving Strength to the Week, went to print. It contains more than three years of my weekly posts. When I skimmed through the articles in the galley, it was hard to imagine how I was able to come up with something somewhat original to write about every week.

Of course, many posts came from an event during the week that sparked a realization, but that was certainly not always the case. Sometimes an idea came from a weekly inspiration that suddenly popped into my mind, often the day before I needed to start my writing. I can’t claim any major significance to what I write, but many great artistic compositions or startling scientific discoveries are reportedly born from inspiration, where brilliant and often fully formed ideas enter the mind far beyond one’s conscious endeavor, as if from an external source. This is how Mozart described such a creative process:

“When I feel well and in good humor when I am taking a drive or walk…thoughts crowd into my mind as easily as you could wish. Whence and how do they come? I do not know and have nothing to do with it… once I have a theme, another melody comes, linking itself with the first one, in needs of the composition as a whole. It does not come to me successively, with its various parts worked out in detail, as they will be later on, but it is in its entirety that my imagination lets me hear.”

Mozart is such a good example of demonstrating the power of inspiration, and there are several ways to explain it from the Vedic perspective – but back to the subject of my inspiration, the main subject of the post.

One of the most powerful effects for me in the experience of inspiration is the strengthening of faith in God, for higher guidance seems to have much more explanatory power to describe the phenomena of inspiration than randomness, the only alternative explanation.

Inspiration also seems to have a special place on the path of bhakti. Bhakti is the path of grace, which means that a dedicated practitioner is able to achieve far beyond their capability in service and practice. By its very nature, bhakti is therefore the path of inspiration, the descent of higher guidance.

“To those who are constantly devoted to serving Me with love, I give the understanding by which they can come to Me.” (Bg. 10.10)

It is interesting here how easily in bhakti inspiration generates feelings of mercy or kindness, because no matter how great the idea one comes up with, or however brilliant the plan to execute it, both are ultimately the mercy or inspiration of Krishna.

“I am situated in everyone’s heart, and from Me comes remembrance, knowledge, and forgetfulness […]” (Bg. 15.15)

Inspiration is therefore a powerful tool to cultivate humility, for the experience of inspiration informs us that no matter how much we accomplish, our achievements are dependent on the grace of God.

I am excited that Monday Morning Greetings: Giving Strength to the Week has finally gone to press. Do I feel a sense of accomplishment? I can’t say I don’t, but thankfully in writing it I’ve had enough experiences of something greater than me working through me to be convinced that it is all the mercy of guru and Krishna.

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 27th, 2020

I woke up last week to an unexpected thought: “Your sādhana has crashed. No excuse!” Since my health challenges began, my chanting has gone down, and my deity worship has been manasa-pūjā (done mentally). I began to reflect on what happened.

One rarely starts meditation with full absorption and taste. You need a little effort and discipline at the beginning to gradually come to that stage. Deep meditation is just like a car that cannot begin in fifth gear, but instead must first rev up through the other gears. Not being able now to sit comfortably made that initial discipline of chanting much more austere, giving my mind the excuse not to make the extra effort needed for taste. As my energy level waned and my chanting became more of a struggle, my practices were reduced to my minimum vows.

“No excuse” is exactly the loud message I needed to hear. The mind always looks for the easy way out, or the road less traveled. The phrase “the road less traveled” is derived from a line from the poem “The Road Not Taken”[1] by former American Poet Laurette Robert Frost, and later became the title of a best seller by Scott Peck, a prominent psychologist. Scott Peck used the phrase to indicate that on the path of true fulfillment one often avoids the essential components of that path, delayed gratification and personal responsibility, which today, unfortunately, is too often the road less traveled. For me that meant to abdicate spiritual responsibility to some degree by the excuse of poor health.

The Yoga Sutras explain that we do āsana so that the body is happy and steady, so poor health can, and usually will, reduce one’s ability to adopt the austerity and discipline of spiritual practice. That’s natural. What I did, however, was use health as an excuse to reduce my discipline and spiritual responsibility beyond what I now think I was capable of performing, even if that capability was less than my usual standard.

If we are just a little mindful, we will observe a multitude of ways that our mind justifies avoiding the challenging work often needed to move to the next step in our spiritual life. For example, I have become vigilant about how powerful victim consciousness is, taking the easy way out of blaming the cause of one’s own failures on others, rather than doing the hard work of purifying oneself. In general, my health challenges just made me more aware that I need to take full responsibility for my spiritual life.

I have again picked up my practices. My health has also somewhat improved, but it is not just that. I heeded the warning of “no excuses!” I also see the gift of health challenges. When you lose physical power due to health, your engine of determination must come more from the heart, which now has a much deeper voice of dependence on mercy, and that is the real impetus for full absorption in the holy name, whether you are healthy or not.

“No excuses!”

“People who are evil attack others rather than face their own failures.” – Scott Peck

“Rationalization is intelligence in the service of the false ego.” – Dhanurdhara Swami

[1] Scott Peck adapted the name The Road Less Traveled from the last lines in Frost’s poem: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—/ I took the one less traveled by, /And that has made all the difference.”

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 20th, 2020

I am no stranger to the tragedy of police brutality. I have mentioned this before. My very beloved youngest cousin, Jeffrey, was murdered at the hands of the police 45 years ago in a Midwest jail. His crime: He was Jewish. I am also no stranger to the hell of weak government in relation to effective law enforcement. I am from New York City. When I would return from India for the summer in the early 1990s, I couldn’t help but notice how dangerous it had become to walk the streets at night. Violent crimes especially plagued the poorer neighborhoods. I then watched how a stronger government quickly turned the situation around to make New York City one of the safest cities in the world.

Any system of hierarchy or authority, however, is by human nature challenged by the abuse of power. We shouldn’t be surprised to see such stark examples of that today. That doesn’t deny or justify, however, that law enforcement is still plagued by, to one degree or another, the problems of excess force and racism, and that this problem needs to be addressed. As the scope of the issue is much too broad for a Monday Morning Greetings, my discussion will be limited just to the necessity of having a strong police force in society and the qualification of people fit for that service. I will do that from the standpoint of the ancient texts of India, which I consider authoritative.

The Sanskrit for a person in society responsible for law enforcement is kṣatriya, which literally means to protect one from hurt.[1] What is implied here is that there must be a specific class of people in society to keep society safe and secure. In other words, society will not be peaceful unless there is a specific group of qualified people that have the strength and character to appropriately use force to subdue unsocial elements. There should be cooperation with the community, but any conception to protect citizens from crime that minimizes a strong and qualified police force is just sentiment according to the Vedic version.

What the texts therefore see as a solution to proper law enforcement in society is a strong enforcement presence of qualified people with a system of vigilance against its natural abuse. One story from the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam comes to mind that illustrates this.

When the powerful King Aṅga  abdicated his throne and left for the forest, the kingdom became overrun with crime. The respected brāhmaṇa priests became concerned that if they didn’t act quickly it would become worse, and therefore immediately installed Aṅga ’s very powerful son, Vena, as the next leader. Although the elements of lawlessness were quickly quelled, Vena also abused innocent people. The priestly caste found themselves in a dilemma that is described in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam by a powerful analogy.

“When the great sages consulted one another, they saw that the people were in a dangerous position from both directions. When a fire blazes on both ends of a log, the ants in the middle are in a very dangerous situation. Similarly, at that time the people in general were in a dangerous position due to an irresponsible king on one side and thieves and rogues on the other.” (Bhag. 4.14.8, Purport)

The brāhmaṇas then forcibly removed Vena and managed to replace him with a powerful leader of impeccable character. The brāhmaṇa solution to police overreach is instructive. They realized the necessity of both reform and change, but not at the expense of strong law enforcement. But what are the qualifications of a kṣatriya?

“Heroism, power, determination, resourcefulness, courage in battle, generosity and leadership are the natural qualities of work for the kṣatriya.” (Bg. 18. 43)

Of note is the qualities of enforcement are always tempered with the character of generosity or kindness.

There are a myriad of problems in today’s world. People are passionate about solutions. How to know that what one proposes will actually be effective? I put my trust in Vedic knowledge. Otherwise, solutions will be based on how they sound or feel according to one’s ideology, and not whether they are practical and effective. A safe and secure society therefore requires a strong police force screened for both powerful and noble qualifications. There is no other option.

[1] The basic derivation I heard from Prabhupāda is: “kṣa” – destruction, injury, loss, etc (coming from ‘ksati’) + “triya” – one who protects (from the verb ‘tra’).

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 13th, 2020

When I left India in March, my life was in transition, both by the circumstances of my life and by my age. I made a resolution after much thought. My service from now on would be the holy name, and I would consciously cultivate being equal in happiness and distress. The Hare Krishna movement is so service oriented in an active way that such a resolve for chanting almost seems radical. It’s not. Although I would prioritize my schedule around the holy name, there would still be time for my weekly blog and classes. I would also continue to meet with people, which now I could hopefully do from a higher level of spiritual integrity. To reserve time for chanting in my schedule, I would not take up any more time-consuming endeavors such as writing new books or organizing new retreats or projects, activities that had very much been my nature.

This type of life change is actually very standard in the culture in which my tradition is born. I am in the renounced order of life, sannyāsa, which has four stages. Modern sannyāsa very much begins and focuses on the third stage called parivrājakācārya. Parivrājakācārya means to cultivate detachment by constant travel so that one is unable to become attached to home and hearth and to a world under the illusion of one’s control. The final, or fourth stage, is paramahaṁsa, where one sits in a holy place and completely depends on God, dedicating the rest of one’s life to chanting the holy name.

I am not a paramahaṁsa, which also means one who is completely above the modes of material nature, so my renunciation will not be that radical. I won’t retire to Radha Kunda and live in seclusion or anything like that, but I will increase my chanting and make that the most important thing in my life.

The most important thing in bhakti is being available for service as directed by the spiritual master. At the highest level that means a life completely free from frivolousness and hypocrisy. In other words, to know truth as far as possible and the practical application of it, and to live by that exclusively without any deviation, whether in the world of family responsibilities or the renounced order of life. I am open to Krishna’s will and the directions of those whom I respect, but as far as I can ascertain, and in consultation with others, what I have described above is now my calling in life.

For three months I was relishing my new focus in life. I also got a lot of inspiration to continue this service by seeing how much of a focus on spiritual practice empowered my writing, my classes, and most importantly the quality of my contact with others. It was also enlivening for me as a disciple of Śrīla Prabhupāda to see how my service was enhancing my contribution to his mission in this way beyond my own personal spiritual cultivation. Krishna also mercifully gave me a chance to practice the second resolution I made leaving India, to be equal in happiness and distress.

Health challenges suddenly came, and my whole program was thrown off keel. I hope it’s temporary, but I see that my illness is gifting me so many important realizations for inner life and spiritual practice, especially this importance of being equal in happiness and distress. There is no question of bhajan, deep spiritual practice, if one’s moods are too affected by the ever-changing world around one, especially various bodily afflictions that come with life, and especially old age.

My conclusion is that too feverishly trying to the control world as it moves beyond one’s control is just as painful, or even more so, than the afflictions one is trying to counteract. I am thus trying to remain detached, happy with God’s will, whatever it puts on my plate. Where does that leave me now?

I am just doing my duty by reasonably trying to get healthy, but ultimately leaving the result up to Krishna, and trying to build my spiritual practice again, whatever physical condition Krishna puts me in. That has been quite a test.

I shared with my friend this ironic twist of events in my life: I set off from India with the determination to live the rest of life as a more traditional Vrindavan sādhu, and I wound up in New Jersey wearing pants,[1] living twenty minutes from my mother. The well-known quote by 18^th Century Scottish poet Robert Burns comes to mind:

“The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.”

Note: As many of the readers are my friends and well-wishers, I think it is incumbent to explain a little bit more about my health. For over a month I have been having different arthritic muscle pains shifting to different parts of the body that make ordinary activities, and certainly sitting for chanting, a bit challenging. So far blood tests have shown no indications of rheumatoid arthritis or any other cause. I have been on a very strict anti-inflammatory diet and have seen a chiropractor. The discomfort has lessened, and for the last week I have been reasonably functional, but not nearly to the level of my previous health.  

[1] My illness made my body quite cold, and thus I am forced to wear pants to keep warm, which is something I never do.

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Dhanurdhara Swami July 6th, 2020

In Memoriam: Before this Monday Morning Greetings, I want to offer some heartfelt remembrance of His Holiness Bhakti Caru Swami, who passed away this Saturday. Perhaps many of you are not familiar with him, but he was my god-brother and a respected spiritual leader in the Hare Krishna movement. There will be many things spoken about his accomplishments, which were many, but I wanted to just say something personal. All of my exchanges with him were filled with his respect, kindness, and expressions of empathy. It was humbling to be in his presence. He was a rare soul and will be missed dearly.  

Sounds of the Ultimate Reality

Love is an emotion, but it is experienced through the senses. If someone says they love you, does not the sound carry their emotion or conviction? On Mother’s Day, or another noted occasion, we may receive flowers or a garland. Do we not experience the other person’s affection through the shape, color, and fragrance of the flowers? Whether it is sound, sight, taste, fragrance, or touch, feelings are mostly communicated through the objects of senses.

This emotion/sense relation has a strong bearing on the krishna–bhakti conception of the ultimate reality. In krishna–bhakti, the highest reality is the overwhelming experience of universal love between the Supreme Soul, Krishna, and His unlimited parts and parcels played out through His līlā, a divine drama of loving exchange, or rasa. As this reality is a world of pure love, it is therefore also a world of beautiful sights, sonorous and ambrosial sounds, and delectable tastes, all manifest as an expression or vehicle for devotion. If we hold pure love as the most universally exalted concept is not, then the sensually expressive krishna–līlā a reasonable conception of what the ultimate reality may be? Let’s explore this contention through just one of the objects of the senses described there as a vehicle of perfect love: sound.

Upon entering the forest, Krishna blows His flute. Imagine what that sounds like, but more importantly try to understand where that matchless sound is coming from. Krishna is overjoyed entering the Vrindavan forest, the land of love, where even out of devotion the wind is intentionally carrying the fragrance of the flowers and the cool droplets of the lake for the His pleasure and that of His devotees. The supreme sound is thus carrying Krishna’s joy and His love of His devotees.

The sound of the flute is also a personal expression of Krishna’s heart. It announces Krishna’s affection for each particular devotee, who somehow hear in that sound their name and a confirmation of Krishna’s love for them. In response to Krishna’s acknowledgement, the cowherd boys sing songs of Krishna’s pastimes deep from the heart, with sonorous melodies supported by the perfectly driven beat of the wood drums of a few select friends. The kirtan slowly builds up to such an unprecedented level of joy that some boys even spontaneously grab the big shiny leaves of particular trees and roll them as trumpets to add the sound of triumph to Krishna’s march through the forest.

When Krishna enters the forest there is the stunning sound of the singing of thousands and thousands of birds and bees, a breath-taking spectacular that would even shame the forest sounds of a modern science fiction extravaganza set in the background of a tropical jungle or forest. Anyway, accompanying the flute and cowherd kirtan is the all-pervading and overwhelming chirping and buzzing of devotion.

Despite the brilliant forest choir of birds, Krishna somehow initially becomes allured by the sounds of the bees. They have drunk the pollen of flower after flower, and are now buzzing, with eyes closed, in a state of intoxication. Actually, they are simply overwhelmed with singing for Krishna as they surround His garland. Krishna then adds something new and extraordinary to the forest symphony. He perfectly imitates the bees in the intricacy of their songs, and then, while exploring their various forest paths, He spontaneously replicates all the varieties of feathered crooners in the forest. Mind you, these are not ordinary birds who have just one tune and pitch, but Krishna’s birds, who are operatic and expert as they glorify Krishna in different pitches, cadences, and tunes.

The cowherd boys will not be outdone by the birds and bees. They bring their kirtan to new heights even outdoing the bees. All that can then be heard in the forest is the extra-ordinary sounds of devotion. The heart of any entity, therefore, who simply opens their ears in Vrindavan completely melts overflooded with prema.

Ah, the sounds of Vrindavan! May we all one day hear the sound of Krishna’s flute, but more importantly, feel the joy and love it carries!

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