Humbled

About two weeks ago, I felt deeply provoked with anger, this white-hot rage.

I was in the computer lab at school. I opened my journal to write and write and write - I allowed myself to express the most hateful, spiteful words. I did not want to get up and leave the lab and actually I felt grateful to be surrounded by quiet. I felt no need to scream or to sob or run 5 miles. The anger rushed through me in tidal waves and I kept breathing and writing.

I read what I had written in my journal over and over and over. I felt this deep need to share this entry with someone, I needed it to be received by someone who would unequivocally accept my experience. So I transcribed the entry and sent it to my life coach and guide, Malini dasi.

A whole other experience descended upon me to read over the entry with the intention of sharing it. There in the computer lab, I was faced with the anger and hatred and pain in my heart, and that another human being would be witness to this.

Silent tears poured down my face.

In my experience of anger, there's a fall-out. And sure enough, the fall-out hit me as I picked up my things and headed out to my next class. I cried the whole way. I felt devastated. I felt smothered in that familiar experience - that I'm unlovable, I'm a monster, dangerous, unpredictable.

The next morning, the fall-out was still there. By God's grace, I was given the shelter of watching an Islamic song in praise of Allah. I wept and wept as I watched it over and over again, taking shelter in God's grace, His love and forgiveness. I surrendered my pain. I watched the song until the tears ceased to flow.

I felt clean. I feel clean.

From that fateful evening two weeks ago, I have felt so deeply humbled to experience my frailties. I am also realizing that lust, anger, greed, pride, illusion, envy and hate can never be transcended by being shoved away, pushed away, run away from.

I am finding that the only shelter is to embrace my frailties and allow Krishna to carry me.

My dear Lord, please carry me. In this vast ocean of pain, I am drowning and I can't swim. Please carry me. Only within Your arms do I find peace.

"But those who worship Me with devotion, meditating on My transcendental form - to them I carry what they lack and preserve what they have." - Bhagavad Gita, 9.22



link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhwdEtO5fJE

The Song of the Gopis

"Tomorrow I will be visiting the holy land of Sri Vrindavan for the very first time," I told Radhanath Swami. We were sitting in his room on a bright morning in Mumbai. 

"The first time?" he inquired. I had grown up as a devotee of Krishna, and I imagine he found it surprising that I was 21 before I had finally come to make this pilgrimage.  

"Yes, Maharaj," I replied. "Would you please offer me some guidance on how I should approach the holy land?"

Radhanath Swami pondered for several long moments. Then his eyes held mine and he said in a deep tone, "Seek out those who live pure lives. You can socialize anywhere in the world, but the holy land is special. So seek the essence in your association." 

The very next day, the romantic vision of the holy land that I had grown up with came crashing all around me in a cold shock. One person who saved me was my friend Manjari. I lived with her for a month and a half, and on that fateful night of arrival, she welcomed me into the heart of Vrindavan.

Manjari is a beautiful young woman who long ago committed to the path of celibacy and has dedicated her entire being to the service of her spiritual master and to God. She is also an artist and a singer.

Many mornings, in the silky quiet, I would wake up to the soft, deep voice of Manjari in the room next to mine. She would be singing Gopi Gita, or "The Song of the Gopis". She would light two or three candles and sing to several sacred pictures. Then when she finished singing the Gopi Gita, she would fall into the resonant tones of chanting the Hare Krishna mantra.

During the day she would pour her soul onto canvas. For hours upon hours on end, she would immerse herself in the scene where Krishna comes to beg forgiveness from the gopis after they offer such heartfelt prayers.

I offer my deep gratitude to Manjari. She showed me a glimpse of Vrindavan that I never saw with my material eyes.

***

Below is a simple video I created that I have been meaning to publish for many months now in her honor.

Lullaby

"I am drowning in this ocean of misery, my dear Lord. Please rescue me."

This is a line from one of my favorite songs, Dukher Sagore. I have sought solace in this song for many, many years, even when I was just listening to an old tape recording and didn't even know what the words meant. You could say that this sounds like such a dire prayer, but as time goes on I experience more and more peace and surrender in this bhajan whenever I sing it. Curious, huh?

Last night when I stepped inside of the temple, the muscles in my face went soft. In the winter quiet and stillness, I let my fingers flow over the keys of the harmonium. The curtains swung open and I offered obeisance to my Lords, Sri Radha Shyamasundar. I sang Dukher Sagore as an offering, a lullaby, and quiet and stillness surrounded me like a deep lake that mirrors the sky.

Maybe I find such solace in this bhajan because when I come before the Lord with soft eyes and a soft voice in prayer, I allow the Lord to rescue me. 


I was given the opportunity to sing for the 24 Hour Kirtan in New Vrindavan this past summer. I decided to sing Hare Krishna in the melody of this song, and below is a portion of that video.

I poured every moment and memory of lullaby into the kirtan.



or click here

Grief

Three devotees left this world last night in a car accident. I knew all three - Tim, Yadupati, and Nitai.

I have had a hard time catching my breath all day. I feel dizzy. I've walked through my day here but not here, like my head is floating above my body. I've paced the house, my mind scattered into shards of glass thoughts. I have felt and heard my heart pumping all day. I want to be around people and I want to be alone. Prayers don't come to mind. Only memories and images.

This evening I left for the kirtan memorial at the temple, unable to bear being alone in my grief any more. I entered into the softly lit templeroom, the room resounding from wall to wall with the beat of the mridanga drum and hundreds of voices.

I settled in close. I closed my eyes and felt my tornado of confusion and sadness and anger all twisting and whirling about inside of me. The kirtan kept building. At last, at last, my body responded in a way my mind never could -

I raised my arms.

The only relief from the tornado was to raise my arms. Surrender. I don't know, Krishna, I don't know. I don't even know if You exist, but I surrender anyway.

When the curtains opened for all of us to receive the darshan of Gaura Nitai, Radhe Shyam, and Krishna Balaram, I felt the urge to cover my head and go right up to the altar. I leaned up against the wall in front of Gaura Nitai. I felt so fragile. I realized that my whole body was trembling.

Images of Tim, Yadupati, and Nitai kept flashing through my mind. All loved kirtan. All loved to serve. The three of them were probably off on some service venture when the Lord took them.

I remember Tim in kirtan - he seemed to be a man who lived and breathed off of kirtan, whether the crowd was in the hundreds or just the two of us singing on campus at Krishna Lunch. Yadupati was an older gurukuli who was also addicted to kirtan - I rarely saw him without a drum. I saw him always within the whorl of the holy name.

Nitai was a dear friend whom my family and I have known for many years, and he was also a godbrother, his face so effulgent. I remember him always - always - talking about Radhanath Swami and his next scheme to somehow or other serve his beloved guru. His smile and enthusiasm was contagious.

And now they're gone.

Gone.

I have just returned from the temple to write this. I do not know where to go from here. I just feel this need to write, to express grief.

Śrī Chaitanya Mahāprabhu asked, "Of all kinds of distress, what is the most painful?" Śrī Rāmānanda Rāya replied, "Apart from separation from the devotee of Kṛṣṇa, I know of no unbearable unhappiness." 
- CC Madhya 8.248

Tim

Yadupati

Nitai

Illuminate Me

I have sat before the Gaura Nitai deities in my living room for two and a half years to chant the holy name. I strive to wake up before the sun rises (recently this is quite rare!) and place myself before the altar. I'm usually half-awake.

For the first time in years, and maybe this only happens in the winter, this morning I noted something special. I was murmuring the holy name as the sun rose, and slowly, so slowly, light from the window began to directly fall upon the golden forms of Gaura Nitai. The light was soft and gentle and illuminated Their smiles.

I sat in wonder. 

I thought of The Sunrise Song (Udilo Aruna); the Bengali song describes Lord Chaitanya as He rises at dawn to give the holy name to all.

So for a little while, I set aside my beads and brought out my deep-throated harmonium to sing. 

"To bring joy to all souls, the Holy Name has descended into this world to remove the darkness of ignorance and to shine in the sky of the heart."

Chills rolled through my body the entire time I sang. When the last note of the harmonium rung out, my body tingled. Oh holy name, I whispered in my mind, please shine in the sky of my heart. 

Adventure of the Soul

I write this in a mountain town of Mexico called Uruapan. As the Winter Bus Tour draws to a close, I reflect upon the journey that 28 of us have embarked upon throughout this magnificent country.

I am quieted.

I thought that when I boarded our bus on that now-faraway December night, I would be adventuring out into familiar pyramids, waterfalls, and beaches, then exploring far-flung villages to buy gifts and lots of earrings.And of course, throw in some kirtan for spiritual fun! As in previous years, I assumed a great outward explosion or curiosity and wonder.

Instead, the journey has turned inward. The wonders I thought I would be reeling in have lost their luster to me. It´s strange.

The true jewel has become the holy name. We sing kirtan every night for sometimes hours, and I teach sometimes hundreds of people to dance. I have witnessed miracles blossom before my very eyes - people weep in kirtan and smiles of the soul blossom on faces young and old. I have spoken with several people in my limited Spanish, and the words that come from their mouths are, "I am at peace. My heart is free! This is food for my soul."

I am humbled. This is my fourth Winter Bus Tour, but I realize that I´ve never dived into this country the way I have for the past several weeks. Some days I have almost felt disppointed to realize that Mexico is not about the pyramids or the waterfalls or beaches. And actually, I have not bought a single pair of earrings (oh my!).

Mexico is about the people; people who move my heart in a way no other people on earth have - people who have never heard of Krishna but as soon as they see His picture and chant His name, they instantly fall in love. Even the woman who collects highway tolls asked our bus driver today who Krishna is (since our bus is painted with the words Krishna Culture Festival Tour). We gave her a mantra card.

I am surrounded by people who simply love God and want to know Him and joyously chant His holy name.

Maybe because the holy name is so profound, I have found myself questioning the very foundations of Krishna Consciousness. The externals of my life seem to have been stripped away. I wonder at the purpose of service, and I question every direction in life I thought I was heading into. Some days I have retreated deep inside my heart, grasping and sometimes weeping for answers.

It´s a strange life I live - a day filled with questions while the night filled with answers. 

I have found that each morning that I wake up on my swaying bunk, I wonder what the day and evening shall bring. What adventure shall the holy name usher into hundreds of lives... and into my own?

Bereft

I wrote this several days ago in my journal:

This morning Manorama Prabhu received a text message that the beloved illuminary of service and devotion, Mother Yamuna, had left this world. Right now we're singing kirtan in her honor, and the voices of everyone encircle me in an embrace.

Life is tottering like a drop of water on a lotus petal.

This morning I have experienced that fragility of life. As we sang the Vaishnava song of mourning, I saw people cry that I have never heard or seen cry before. When we sang the Govindam prayers in her honor, many wept. I wept. The voice of Mother Yamuna has been embroidered upon the heart of every person on this bus as well as thousands upon thousands of others.

I do not want to take a moment of this life for granted, and yet all too soon that drop of water shall fall from the lotus petal. Am I ready? Am I ready?

"We must live our material lives as though we shall live forever; we must live our spiritual lives as though we shall die tomorrow." - Unknown