Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami June 29th, 2020

It is one of those weeks that I am not inspired to write. I am still recovering from some health issues that significantly reduced my chanting and hearing, which substantially limits my ability to conceptualize and express ideas. It’s the way it works. It seems all I can think about deeply is the body, and I wrote about that last week. The only thought that has come to mind is how much the world has changed in such a short time. The title of a Bob Dylan song about “changin’” just came to mind. I hope it activates some insights, because I need to write something today. I’ve delayed long enough.

We are eternal, so it’s natural that we want an “always”, not changing, situation that pleases us. Most people therefore make plans around such life fixtures, but because of recent events many of those things are no longer certain. For example, I live for visiting and residing in Vrindavan. That has been a given for forty-four years, but who knows if that is even an option, at least for the immediate future. And it is like that about so many things now that used to be permanent fixtures in our life. We thus fear the times they are a-changin’.

In fact, loss (change) of the things we are attached to is the very definition of suffering. I thought of three categories where we can place all changing, and thus suffering.

Let’s make the first category of change the big one ­– death ­– where all material attachments are obliterated. As death causes the biggest change, it is therefore the greatest suffering. It does, however, do one very important thing. It informs our life that all our material attachments, even those serving some purpose at the time, are temporary, and only gain real value when connected to the eternal.[1]

There are times in life when we may not feel immediately threatened with death, but still major fixtures in our world are seriously disturbed. Let’s call that second category of change calamity. We will see how the pandemic and the resultant unrest plays out, but we can’t discount the possibility of it turning into a more serious calamity, where our key life foundations are endangered. The times they are a-changin’ doesn’t bode well.

For one in the consciousness of enjoyer, daily life is suffering, because to enjoy we need to be the controller, and we are just not. We thus suffer from one small change that goes against our desire to another, from the common flu to relational disappointments, and so on. The third category of change we can just call daily life.

Attachment means suffering, because whether it is small changes, calamitous ones, or final ones, everything we like will change, and we have no power to control that. The only solution is to become unmoved by the changes around us. That is called detachment, which does not just mean to renounce things, but to be satisfied with God’s will no matter how He moves the world around us. Here is how it works:

A spiritual person is unmoved by destiny because he views it differently. Rather than seeing destiny as happiness, which is beyond one’s control, he views the development of consciousness as happiness, which is dependent on one’s free will. He thus remains detached from the changes in the world, because they have little bearing on his main objective of enlightenment. Every change is thus simply a different opportunity to develop one’s inner life, or to serve God. For such a person the times they are a-changin’ hardly matters.

“Devotees solely engaged in the devotional service of the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Nārāyaṇa, never fear any condition of life. For them the heavenly planets, liberation and the hellish planets are all the same, for such devotees are interested only in the service of the Lord.” (Bhag.  6.17.28)

[1] An example of connecting a material attachment to the eternal is family life, but only if one does it as dharma, meaning properly according to one’s duties ordained by God.

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 22nd, 2020

I wrote about this subject a month ago. This time it’s different. In that article I wrote theoretically about pain in relationship to the pandemic in terms of how pain, or reversals in life, are not bad, but are rather the indication that something is wrong and how it is mercy. However, this time it is personal. I’m actually in pain.

It started about nine days ago. My left thigh became sore and became progressively worse until I couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep at night. The pain then spread to my other thigh and then my upper arms and neck, which made it even worse. Now my whole schedule has been thrown off.

I think I am beginning to understand the purpose of all this. I had just finished almost three months hunkered down in New Jersey. I described this before as a blissful “boring” life. All my needs were perfectly being met, and I was able to do the same thing at the same time every day. I would rest very early, rise just after midnight, and regulate my day mostly around chanting and hearing until evening. As I look back at those months, there wasn’t a minute in my day that I would want to change, but in retrospect there was something in my thinking that needed to be adjusted to deepen my practices further.

An ordinary person’s goal in life is to enjoy the world, which naturally entails trying to control it. That, in a nutshell, is material consciousness. Of course, I regulated myself during the pandemic for the purpose of focusing on the holy name, a type of control that is naturally a good thing. But to the extent one’s effort fosters a sense of “doership” and control, one’s practices will lose the full sense of dependency and humility foundational to bhakti and become mechanical. This subtle type of tether to material consciousness is described in the commentary to Nārada’s failure to attain perfection despite his notable efforts.

“There is no mechanical process to see the form of the Lord. It completely depends on the causeless mercy of the Lord […] When He pleases, being satisfied with the sincere attempt of devotional service depending completely on the mercy of the Lord [emphasis mine], then He may be seen out of His own accord.” (Bhag. 1.6.19, Purport)

So, I see this karmic episode of discomfort and pain that has torpedoed my regulation and practices as just a reset. I hope to soon begin again with a greater vigilance, so that in regulating my life it doesn’t engender the misconception that I can control or earn Krishna’s mercy, a thinking that covers the sense of dependence necessary to actually attract the Lord’s mercy. I guess Krishna doesn’t want me in any way, shape, or form to maintain a sense of trying to control and enjoy if I want to deepen my internal life.

I started seeing a chiropractor a few days ago. I can sleep now, but, so far, the discomfort during the day hasn’t abated. Two more realizations came today about the internal components of spiritual life that this experience is giving me. I am practically never ill, in pain, or without full energy. As one tends to see the world through the lens of their own experience, it is harder for me to fully empathize with those in physical pain. There is a component here of increasing my empathy that I see as essential for deepening my spiritual life. Also, taken in the right way, pain can foster detachment for material enjoyment and serve as an impetus to increase one’s determination to realize the self.

Sorry to talk so much about myself, but I have no other choice in Monday Morning Greetings than to write unabashedly what is on my mind, and this is it. I shouldn’t actually complain. I know many who live with worse discomfort all the time and rarely talk about it. It is just that I am not use to this, so I take it hard. It is not so bad, and the gifts of essential realization are worth the pain. I’m grateful.

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 15th, 2020

I received some unusual feedback from a friend on my last article, “Krishna Loves the Earth”. “Hilarious, the world is burning!” It was tongue-in-cheek, but he had a point. Monday Morning Greetings is the platform where I try to serve as a public intellectual, and one important aspect of that is reflecting on my tradition to make it relevant to current issues. My regular readers over the years know that I have never shied away from addressing the issues at hand, so the question arises, why have I not yet addressed this crucial one? Truth just doesn’t neatly fit in an ideological box. In a world that is increasingly polarized it is not an easy task to represent our tradition in a way that will not be misunderstood by people on both ends of the political spectrum. Don’t get me wrong. I have patiently heard the views of many people on this issue and have come to my own conclusions about its cause and where the solution rests. My understanding of the prejudice African Americans face has certainly deepened. I have just become painfully aware from my experience in being inadvertently drawn into such discussions that I would not be an effective agent of change here, nor is it particularly my duty to do so. I will leave that service to others,[1] but I will do my part in another way that very much reflects our tradition and my personal mission, which is to highlight the ancient practice of turning our minds to God in all circumstances, especially in times of social tumult. I hope I have not disappointed you, and that doesn’t discourage you from reading “Krishna Loves the Trees”.

In the two previous posts, I have discussed the need to more deeply realize the pastimes of Krishna by understanding the mind of the main protagonists. I demonstrated this through an analysis of Krishna’s exchange with Mother Earth. I would like to continue this theme in terms of Krishna’s relationship with the trees.

When Krishna enters the forest of Vrindavan, all the trees simultaneously blossom with the most exotic fruits and flowers, which display gorgeous colors, stunning designs, and emit ambrosial fragrances, all manifesting as an offering of unalloyed devotion. Other forest entities vie for Krishna’s attention with no less beauty and devotion. Each bird sings beautifully in a variety of tunes and pitches. Of the sounds Krishna hears, He is especially allured by the bees buzzing with intoxicated devotion, but all the animals of the forest come to the path where Krishna is walking to offer Him their best, from the beauty of the peacocks, to the cute auspicious glances of the does. Although Krishna looks here and there all over the forest in appreciation of the many exquisite devotional offerings, He first turns His attention to the trees by pointing them out to His brother Balarama. Why of all the millions of entities in the forest welcoming Him are the trees recognized by Krishna first?

As Krishna enters the forest, the tallest trees lining the path gradually bend so their reddish flowers touch Krishna’s lotus feet as if to announce, “The opulence and beauty of our flowers is nothing compared to stunning red lac on Your lotus feet.” Krishna reads their minds: “We are so fallen. Due to our sinful life as trees, we are cursed to stand stationary, while all others can follow You into the forest.” Their sentiment especially moves Krishna’s inner heart as He considers their disability — their inability to move. Overflowing with affection, Krishna therefore veers towards them to accept their offerings. Perhaps more than any other quality, Krishna exudes compassion and is allured by those humble souls who realize their dependence and take shelter of His lotus feet.

The trees are described as vanaspatim, the Lords of the forest (vanas) because they stand tall and erect and project a sense of aristocracy. There is special charm when those with status humble themselves. But it is not just their humility that invokes Krishna’s attention, it is there unparalleled level of service. In the Bhagavad-gītā Krishna deems four natural items that can be offered in devotion: a fruit, flower, leaf, and water.[2] Is there any other entity among all innumerable devotees in the forest that can offer to Krishna, from their own body, three of the four items mentioned by Him as offerings of devotion?

Krishna’s relationship with the trees is so sweet. The trees are humble, dependent, and dedicated to service. Krishna’s heart melts in response, and He reciprocates with their desire to serve. In fact, there is not a flower or fruit in the forest that He does not personally harvest and accept.

The world is burning in hatred. If I was more qualified and had more time, then maybe I could have added something of significance to that discussion. But perhaps there is relief to hear that there is actually a world where God loves the trees.

[1] There is an attempt to analyze the current controversy from the standpoint of śāstra by Hari Pārṣada Dās, a scholar whose articles I have often shared with you. I appreciate people who can step out of ideological lenses and look at issues neutrally. I will send out his article on Tuesday to everyone here.

[2] Bg. 9.26

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 8th, 2020

To truly perceive another person requires more than just what we overtly see. It requires an understanding of the mind behind what we perceive. For example, when someone is happy, we don’t see just the end of the lips curl up and the teeth show, we see the emotion of happiness. All actions represent the consciousness that produce them. If we miss that, our perception is very limited. This principle is especially important in understanding Krishna’s pastimes as described in the Tenth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. I discussed this in a previous post called “Spiritual Autism”.[1] Let us now look at the pastimes of Krishna through the lens of the consciousness behind what is described, specifically in relation to Krishna’s feet touching the ground of Vṛndāvana as He is about to enter the forest.

When Krishna first enters the forest, the marks of His feet make the ground of Vṛndāvana auspicious. As mentioned above, one must also see in this pastime the affection with which Krishna touches the Earth and the emotions that she feels in response. Another name for the Earth is dharaṇī meaning “one who sustains and maintains”, for the Earth sustains and maintains everything in this world, including Krishna’s abode there. Krishna’s feet touching the ground is therefore an expression of overwhelming gratitude for her service. In fact, His feet not only touch the ground, but caress it as He compassionately walks behind the cows to pacify the Earth, which is being trampled by the stampede of His beloved cows.

There are so many pebbles, thorns, and other rough patches in the thick forest of Vṛndāvana. His mother therefore implores Him to wear shoes. Krishna refuses. He argues that a servant cannot enjoy more than the master, and therefore as the servant of the cows, He must also walk barefoot like them. His argument to not wear shoes, however, is just an excuse.  When, in desperation, Krishna’s mother offers to make silver shoes for all the cows in Vṛndāvana, He still refuses. Why is Krishna so adamant? He loves the Earth so much that He just wants to reciprocate with her by placing His soles on her dust without a covering in between. Krishna’s feet touching the ground of Vṛndāvana is thus a deeply affectionate act of gratitude, compassion, and devotion. To truly see this pastime of Krishna is to also see this.

For a devotee there is nothing more stimulating to one’s devotion than a tangible acknowledgment by Krishna of their relationship. When Krishna’s feet affectionately touch the ground, Mother Earth intensely feels the exchange of energy flowing between the Lord and His devotee called prema. As the Lord’s lotus feet step-by-step make imprints in her dust, a deep sense of belonging to the Lord increasingly awakens in her heart. Those footprints then become her tilaka, the sign of devotional belonging to one’s revered lineage and ultimately Krishna. Her sense of belonging to Krishna then becomes so deep that she never allows those imprints, her tilaka of belonging, to fade, even while the cows trample them.

How could the Earth allow Krishna to walk barefoot and bruise His soft lotus feet? Isn’t she concerned, like the gopīs, that His feet will be bruised and pained? Mother Earth is completely absorbed in sevā-bhāva, the mood of service, and like all great devotees she transforms in devotional ecstasy by that sevā. As Krishna’s feet touch her ground, the Earth therefore in devotional ecstasy immediately softens like butter to protect Krishna’s lotus feet.

This connection with the Divine that moves the heart to ecstasy is the greatest mercy. The Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam therefore describes that the Lord’s feet made the Earth ati-punyam, extremely auspicious. In conclusion, we should try to understand and hear the Lord’s pastimes by seeing the emotions that are generated by Krishna’s loving exchanges with His devotees and, in doing so, become inspired to make our lives auspicious by a connection with the Divine, especially His presence in the holy name.

“O dearly beloved! Your lotus feet are so soft that we place them gently on our breasts, fearing that Your feet will be hurt. Our life rests only in You. Our minds, therefore, are filled with anxiety that Your tender feet might be wounded by pebbles as You roam about the forest path.” (Bhag. 10.31.19, The Gopīs to Krishna)

[1] I received comments after my last article on “Spiritual Autism” that my definition of autism as “mind blindness” was too narrow, and there are multiple ways to describe such brain complexity.

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Dhanurdhara Swami June 1st, 2020

Have I Become Nārada Muni?

A vision came. It was post quarantine New York. Pedestrians again filled the street. Cars again packed the road. All of sudden my mind let out a scream, “No!!!” What a strange reaction from this born and bred New Yorker. The peace and goodness of the last two months has indeed been spiritually intoxicating. I feared losing it. “Have you become Nārada Muni?” What a strange thought.

Nārada Muni gained audience with God only to have that vision quickly disappear. In desperation, he repeatedly tried to regain it, but to no avail. Finally, a divine voice from the sky revealed his defect, “You are not yet complete in service and have a material taint!” His taint? He was attached to the peace and goodness of the serene mountain place where he was meditating. How is that a blemish? Attachment even to goodness is passion and thus stains an otherwise pure consciousness. Permanent audience with God is only for those in viśuddha sattva, pure goodness, who are completely selfless and detached, and they go wherever service takes them, even New York. I hope this helps put my strange question in perspective.

Some Sannyāsī!

My students and friends from the Middle East were visiting me. I was being lavished with their gifts, and the bed where I was sitting was obscenely piled up with the exotic fruits, nuts and dried fruits from their country. I especially liked the pomegranates as big as softballs, the ambrosial sweet lemons, and the packages and packages of fresh saffron. A new devotee who was visiting Vṛndāvana, a red-headed actress and comedian from New York, suddenly walked in and paid obeisances in front of my bed. She then sat up, looked up at my bounty, and quipped, “Some sannyāsī!”

I loved it. That’s my type of city humor. Thinking back on it, I see some truth in it. Sannyāsa literally means “to practice dying”, learning the joy of shedding attachments before they are forcibly taken away. Modern sannyāsa, however, is filled with the accoutrements of opulence, such as followers and wealth. It poses a challenge to anyone entering that order, like sitting on a bed surrounded by doting followers and being showered with opulence. This is not by any means a blanket condemnation of the modern saffron soldiers. It is a caution, especially as a personal reflection on my own life.

In the last four months there have been challenges to the order of my world. I tend to handle things well, but when major attachments are threatened it tends to become a bit scary. But realizations also come. Why fret over that which you will lose anyway? Give it up now. Practice dying. Isn’t that what sannyāsa is for anyway? Otherwise, the red-head would be right, “Some sannyāsī!”

The Heart of Bhakti

Bhakti means devotion or love for God. Love manifest through relationship. The heart of chanting must be a call to understand our relationship with God. That is the specialness of the bhakti theology. Lover? Parent? Friend? O Lord, who am I? Please fully instill that sense in my heart.

A final thought: “Have I become Nārada Muni?” What a joke!

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 25th, 2020

Autism is a mental disability where one lacks the ability to read minds to the degree that it seriously impairs ordinary social functioning. When I say “autism” in the context of the phrase “spiritual autism”, I am not using the term to describe a mental disability, but rather to describe in an analogous way[1] the general inability of one to comprehend an action without understanding the mind behind it, especially when trying to fully comprehend Krishna’s pastimes.

For example, the loving relations between Krishna and the gopīs have nothing to do with mundane lust, the consciousness corresponding to the exchange of similar forms in this world. They are purely a manifestation of the highest devotional mind. One who is not mature in devotion, however, will fail to see that, which is why comparing the inability to understand Krishna’s pastimes and autism is such a good analogy.

Another example of what I call “spiritual autism” is the inability to understand spiritual texts without realizing the intention or mind behind their composition. This is described in the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad:

“Only unto those great souls who have implicit faith in both the Lord and the spiritual master are all the imports of Vedic knowledge automatically revealed.” (ŚU 6.23)

The import of the Vedas is that one must give up the false ego, the desire for control and superiority. To realize that import, as to understand any deep subject, some preliminary frame of reference is required, a phenomenon of learning similar to how a very young girl must first mature before understanding romance. The Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad therefore reminds one that only those who are sincerely trying to transcend the false ego by humbly taking shelter of both the Lord and the spiritual master will have the frame of reference to recognize that same principle in the Vedas. On the other hand, those lacking such a reference, will be unable to comprehend its meaning despite intellectual and linguistic prowess.

I was inspired to come up with the analogy of spiritual autism to help communicate a principle that is foundational in achieving perfection on the path of bhakti. The perfection of devotional practice is to fully feel the intense devotion of the pastimes of Krishna described in the Tenth Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, a practice that requires not just understanding the stories, but also realizing the pure intention behind them. Such mature understanding takes place by a systematic reading of the preliminary nine cantos free from spiritual autism, accompanied by the experience of devotion imbibed by humbly taking shelter of Krishna and His devotees. Oh, when will that day be mine?

“His pastimes with the gopīs are all displays of transcendental existence, bliss and knowledge, although these are manifested apparently as sex love. The specific attraction of His pastimes with the gopīs should never be misunderstood. The Bhāgavatam relates these transcendental pastimes in the Tenth Canto. And in order to reach the position to understand the transcendental nature of Lord Krishna’s pastimes with the gopīs, the Bhāgavatam promotes the student gradually in nine other cantos.”  (Bhag. 1.3.28, Purport)

[1] Analogies are meant to compare specific aspects of something with something else. They are not meant necessarily to compare one object with another. For example, if you compare someone’s face to the moon you are complimenting their face for its luster, not as being large and spherical. Similarly, I am using the analogy of autism in terms of the challenge of reading minds and not defining one in total by that, as people with a particular disability such as autism may, of course excel, in other ways intellectually and personally.

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 18th, 2020

Corona, Karuna is a great pun for someone who accepts theistic philosophy, for within the challenges of destiny even something as pernicious as a devastating pandemic (Corona), there is also God’s mercy (karuna). The problem is that the pun is so obvious that it quickly became overused. When originality is lost, the innate beauty of a pun is also sacrificed, which is the creativity that stirs one’s thoughts, activates one’s intelligence, and thus drives home a point more deeply. In other words, it became a cliché.

Where I am going here? I have no specific realization to write about this week, so I am doing what I always do when this happens. I just put my fingers to the keyboard and see what comes. I have spoken about this technique before. There seems to be a magical connection between moving your fingers to write and activating a part of the brain that generates ideas to write about. Well, so far this is what I came up with this week—I said something about clichés that morphed into a discussion of writing. It worked. A topic came. Here’s how:

I was a little tired after my initial writing exercise so before continuing I got up from my desk for a little exercise break. Immediately afterwards, I relaxed on my back listening to a lecture from Śrīla Prabhupāda. I heard him say this:

“We can’t even understand the creation, so how is it possible to understand the creator?  We therefore worship the residents of Vṛndāvana who do not know Krishna. They simply love Krishna.”

I really liked what Śrīla Prabhupāda said, but what struck me more than what he said was the conviction with which he said it. It actually it took me off-guard. A thought spontaneously arose, “This is the voice of the soul.” It made me acknowledge my paltry conviction in comparison to what I had just heard. Feeling exposed is painful. It bruises the ego. I felt it, but there was also some sweetness. Humility opens the heart to devotion. A topic finally came.

“The Mercy of Pain”

I am not sadomasochistic when I say this, but pain is not the problem, the cause of it is. Pain, in fact, has a noble purpose. It is the natural mechanism to indicate that something is wrong. Without pain our problems would go unnoticed and ravage us much more than the pain itself.  One form of pain is internal dissatisfaction. Without that internal sense of discontent, we would never understand that something is wrong and make the effort to go beyond our present level of advancement.

Krishna never lets a sincere practitioner of spiritual life rest on his laurels. Even when there is some success, the same effort that produced that taste in devotion is often met with an undercurrent of dissatisfaction just to force us to deepen our practices and realizations. There is room for just one example:

After Vyāsadeva completed his editing of the Vedas, which included the composition of the Mahābhārata and the Vedānta-sūtras, he still felt dissatisfied, which forced him to search his consciousness for what he did wrong. He realized he hadn’t sufficiently glorified Krishna. Without that dissatisfaction he would have never had the impetus to go further in his service to compile the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam.

That’s the message I got today—embrace dissatisfaction in the heart as an indication sent by God that there is something wrong and use it as an impetus to increase our effort in spiritual life.

As I began the class with an analysis of a clichéd pun, let me try to offer an original one to highlight today’s topic:

Just as mercy (karuna) accompanies pain (Corona), similarly realization and understanding (vidyā) should also be mutual or “co” with our dissatisfaction or pain (Corona). Can we not also call our present crisis “Covidyā-19”?

I hate clichés. Worse than that, my own horrible pun.

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 11th, 2020

A simple sādhu was asked by his friend for his secret in spiritual life. I loved his reply: “I do the same thing every day.” What he said struck me. It was simple and humble, but also brilliant and even witty.

A strictly regulated spiritual life certainly doesn’t conjure up the image of excitement. It is the key, however, to a truly dynamic one. Here’s why.

The strength of spiritual life are our practices, especially meditation, and the foundation of that practice is concentration. When our concentration is prolonged and uninterrupted, the mind gradually evolves to sattva, or goodness, which simultaneously raises one to a higher level of perception and contentment. It is hard to imagine achieving anywhere near this level of enlivenment without this “same thing every day” type of regulation, which fosters resolve and focus.

The mind is usually filled with a myriad of desires and responsibilities, ready at any minute to challenge the object of our meditation for attention. And that challenge becomes infinitely more difficult in today’s world if you add the multiple impressions of media, especially social media, that flood and agitate the mind. Without reserving an exclusive time and space for our spiritual practice every day, where as far as possible there are no other competing responsibilities or attractions, it’s hard to imagine resisting the two main obstacles to our focus, vikṣepa (distraction born of passion) and laya (lethargy and sleep born of ignorance). And without such regulation our practice will surely remain a chore and difficult to maintain. This is certainly true on the path of bhakti.

The foundation of bhakti is our relationship with God. Like all relationships, our attention to the object of our adoration is the basis of nourishing that relationship. But again, without the focus that regulated life affords us, we will likely be challenged on the path of bhakti by distraction or sleep, especially during our most important sādhana, the offering of our consciousness to Krishna in the form of His holy name.

There is no doubt that our goal is spontaneous devotion, but we should never equate our lack of regulation with such spontaneity. Those who truly have spontaneous devotion make every effort to discipline themselves without distraction. The devotion of Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī, the exemplar for spontaneous devotion, was so unwavering and regulated that it was described to be like the lines on a stone.

Those who have studied the life of Śrīla Prabhupāda marveled at how regulated his life was, even during his travels around the globe fourteen times. When I first stayed in Vṛndāvana, I had the fortune of being able to gaze out my window in the very early morning to view His Divine Grace sitting on his āsana in front of his desk on his upstairs porch translating the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. No matter where he was, Śrīla Prabhupāda never failed to do that early morning service. That type of resolve and regulation is the story of every accomplished spiritual adept in the history our lineage, even the modern-day saints of devotion.

It is great to hear about the exemplars of devotion. But what about us? Shouldn’t we feel discouraged in the attainment of such regulated and sattvic meditation and practice? Bhakti is a science. Therefore, we should feel assured that as soon as we set a time and place daily for a practice, our enthusiasm and taste will gradually grow.

I am here in New Jersey on lockdown. It facilitates regulated life. I have strictly scheduled my day mostly around chanting and hearing about Krishna. I joke that I love “my boring life”, but I can’t imagine anything more enlivening than doing the “same thing every day”.

“I offer my respectful obeisances unto the six Gosvāmīs, namely Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī, Śrī Sanātana Gosvāmī, Śrī Raghunātha Bhaṭṭa Gosvāmī, Śrī Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī, Śrī Jiva Gosvāmī, and Śrī Gopāla Bhaṭṭa Gosvāmī, who were engaged in chanting the holy names of the Lord and bowing down in a scheduled measurement. In this way they utilized their valuable lives, and in executing these devotional activities they conquered overeating and sleeping and were always meek and humble, enchanted by remembering the transcendental qualities of the Lord.” (Śrī Śrī Ṣaḍ-gosvāmy-aṣṭaka, v. 6)

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Dhanurdhara Swami May 4th, 2020

On first reading, the story seemed hard to believe. How can one possibly justify Śrī Caitanya chastising Advaita Ācārya, His respected senior by fifty years?

Of, course the simplest explanation was that Śrī Advaita purposely did the one thing that he knew would so infuriate the Lord that He would have no choice but to reprimand Śrī Advaita as an underling. He preached the doctrine of yoga-vāśiṣṭha, a doctrine so antagonistic to the tenets of Śrī Caitanya’s mission that the Lord would certainly lose His temper and take a superior position for the purpose of punishing him. It worked. By breaking the Lord’s “illusion” of reverence for him, Śrī Advaita was finally able to bask in the mood of being accepted as the Lord’s servant, a role where the Lord would now accept his prayers and service. That is the basic justification for the Lord’s behavior, but as the story continues a deeper import is gradually revealed.

When Śrī Caitanya’s anger subsided, He realized Śrī Advaita’s unalloyed devotion and felt extremely embarrassed for what He had just done. To make up for His offense, He offered Śrī Advaita this astounding benediction:

“I will bestow mercy on any living entity—even an ant, insect, animal or bird—who takes shelter of you for even a moment, even if that living entity commits hundreds of offenses against me.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.170)

Śrī Advaita appreciated the sentiment behind Śrī Caitanya’s statement; He simply wanted to exalt His devotee. After hearing what was said, Śrī Advaita cried and caught hold of the Lord’s feet. He couldn’t, however, agree with it literally. How could anyone acting antagonistic to the Lord get His blessing, even when taking shelter of a devotee? Śrī Advaita even cited numerous cases to support his view. Both Hiraṇyakaśipu and Rāvaṇa, who were antagonistic to the Lord, were killed by the Him, despite worshipping and satisfying His devotees. Śrī Advaita’s opinion was unequivocal and very strong:

“If one worships me [the devotee] but does not accept you [the Supreme Lord], then may his devotion to me [the devotee] annihilate him.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.172)

Śrī Caitanya patiently heard Śrī Advaita’s explanation. He did not overtly disagree with him, but became even more determined to return to the import of His original statement, which was to extol the position of respect His devotees hold:

“Everyone listen to My words. Any fallen soul who disrespects My servant and worships Me cuts Me into pieces. His worship feels like fire to my body. My wish-fulfilling holy names destroy one who blasphemes My servant.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.207-209)

Śrī Caitanya continued by not only strengthening His point about avoiding disrespect to His servant, but broadened the scope of who is considered to be a servant:

“All living entities in the innumerable universes are my servants, so anyone who blasphemes any living entity is ruined.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.210)

And He let it be known that no one, even those in the highest position in society, were not spared from His edict:

“If even a sannyāsī blasphemes an innocent person, he goes to hell and all his religious principles are destroyed.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.212)

Śrī Caitanya finally finished this pastime by announcing the real import of what had just transpired:

“Raising His arms, Lord Gauranga declared to the world: Avoid offenses and chant the names of Krishna! If one who is free from blasphemy chants the names of Krishna even once, I will certainly deliver him.”  (Caitanya-bhāgavata Madhya-khaṇḍa 19.213-214)

Advaita did not want to be respected by Śrī Caitanya. He hatched a plan to break the Lord’s reverence for him so that he could therefore serve Him. The Lord responded by chastising Advaita and then glorifying him, which led to a segue that ultimately revealed the deepest import that is the core of Śrī Caitanya’s teachings—unconditional respect for others.

Śrī Caitanya has made it clear that He wants His followers to exemplify the radical respect that He has taught here. Can we rise to meet the challenge?

“One should chant the holy name of the Lord in a humble state of mind, thinking himself lower than the straw in the street. One should be more tolerant than the tree, devoid of all sense of false prestige and ready to offer all respects to others. In such a state of mind one can chant the holy name of the Lord constantly.” (Śikṣāṣṭakm v. 3)

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Dhanurdhara Swami April 27th, 2020

Ravindra Svarupa dasa has a way with words. I heard him say the above more than twenty years ago. At that time, he was about to be installed as the yearly chairman of ISKCON’s Governing Body Commission. He felt that for his purification and the purification of ISKCON, which was naturally facing a myriad of crises, he first needed to sit in Govardhana and chant all day for a month, which he did. His phrase initially sounded strange, but after some thought, I understood what he meant.

The foundational teaching of ISKCON is based on the Bhagavad-gītā. It strongly believes in its message and is focused on sharing that. Naturally, in the struggle to share and maintain its values, many problems have arisen. To rise to the challenge of dealing with them it needs to inspire its members to cooperate, which requires spiritual strength. Its leaders, therefore, must have a strong inner life. Although there are different ways on the path of devotion to do that, it would be helpful if at least a few of its leaders or senior members concentrated exclusively on a contemplative life by withdrawing from external responsibilities to sit down in one place and chant Hare Krishna, or at least to substantially make that more of a priority in their life. In other words, doing nothing, which is not exactly doing nothing, but instead freeing oneself of most external duties so that one can devote the bulk of one’s time to mantra meditation and other forms of chanting and hearing. I surmise that’s what he was implying with his quick-witted phrase. It also exemplifies our tradition.

Śrī Caitanya’s life was ācārya-līlā. He was setting the example, by His life, of how a devotee should live. Part of that example was that the last eighteen years of Śrī Caitanya’s life, and He only lived for forty-eight, was practically devoted to the exclusive cultivation of His inner life. That life wasn’t, however, completely detached from His mission to share Krishna-consciousness. His disciples visited Him yearly and were energized in their service by the depth of His association and the realizations He shared with them.

Śrīla Prabhupāda hinted that he also wanted to be that example for his mission, but there weren’t enough devotees qualified at the time to relieve him of his responsibilities.

“In the last stage of the spiritual master’s life, the devotees of the spiritual master should take the preaching activities into their own hands. In this way the spiritual master can sit down in a solitary place and render nirjana-bhajana [solitary spiritual practice].” (Bhag. 4.28.33, Purport)

I was sort of encouraged in this way myself when I took sannyāsa in 1982 from Satsvarupa das Goswami. He told the initiates, five at the time, that we need leaders whom other people can trust, so we should avoid politics and business. At the time, I was the manager of a large institution, so it was difficult to avoid political and money matters. It came with the territory, so to speak, but what he said did deeply resonate with me. Of course, he didn’t mean to give up preaching activities, but the import was similar: At a certain appropriate time one needs, as a service, to move more towards activities that connect one more directly with one’s inner development to remain spiritually fit for oneself and for the benefit of society.

I am hunkered down here in New Jersey. A few hours ago, Ṭoṭā-gopīnātha, who is near-by, brought me lunch. He shared with me a class he just heard “zoomed” in from Madhavananda das that echoed a similar theme to what I was just writing: “The Krishna consciousness movement began indoors with the devotees cloistered in kirtan at Śrīvāsāṅgana, the house of Śrīvāsa Ṭhākura, and now the mission of Śrī Caitanya is also forced inside. Is it not a call for inner life?”

True, the Krishna conscious movement began inside. The devotees were, in a way, locked down in their spiritual practices by the force of the Mogul rule and thus couldn’t practice their devotion outside. That deep internal cultivation of the holy name amongst them, however, created almost a centripetal force that quickly propelled the mission beyond the walls of their houses and into the streets to share their joy. Is history, in a way, repeating itself? Will being hunkered down inside force us to go deeper in our practices and impel us to return outside with a greater force and joy?

I turn seventy years of age this year and am happily confined inside, where I am increasingly inspired, as a service to the mission of Śrī Caitanya, to be a devotee who “does nothing”.

Chant Hare Krishna!

“So this preaching is also chanting Hare Krishna mantra. This is preaching. That has been so when he is firmly convinced, then he can give up preaching and sit down and simply chant. Not in the beginning. That is imitation. He must be firmly convinced. So we have to study Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s life. Except—this is the clear and simple truth—except chanting the Hare Krishna mantra, there is no other business of the human being shown by all the disciples of Caitanya Mahāprabhu.” (Morning walk May 8, 1975)

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